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Post by ASHTA LAKSHMI on Jun 27, 2011 1:00:44 GMT -5
The castle was chilly with the oncoming autumn weather approaching. Fires burned in grates in classrooms and dormitories, but there was little one could do to stave off the chill that seemed to permeate the stone walls.
Ashta had lived at Hogwarts for three years now, and she had traveled extensively, yet it seemed as though she would never adapt to the dreary climate in this part of Europe. She missed the sticky heat of India, the lush, humid air tinged with spices and the exotic tang of magic. Scotland was too cold and too grey, there was no color here, all she could smell was damp earth and rain.
She sat, curled comfortably in a large armchair in front of a crackling fireplace. A tea kettle hovered over the flames, heating something rich and smelling of heady spices, the fragrance filling the empty room with warmth and body.
The woman frowned deeply, a hand pushing back thick, dark hair as she read the essay in her lap. A very poor excuse for a dream interpretation. Ashta reached for her quill and set to work editing it. The sound of quill scratching against parchment was a pleasant one, comfortable and routine.
Halfway finished she shivered lightly despite the warmth of the fire and the curling fragrance of her tea. Setting the parchment down Ashta adjusted the pallu of her sari more securely over her shoulder. This particular sari she wore was a dark, night-sky blue with swirls of veridian and orchid, silver beads stitched along the lining.
Despite the weather, Ashta still wore her clothes from her home country. She owned a few pieces of their styles here and there, but she found them to be unflattering and uncomfortable.
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Post by cyrille on Jun 27, 2011 16:25:17 GMT -5
 it's in your eyes, a c o l o r fade out- - - - - - LOOKS LIKE A N E W TRANSITION, THE STARTING UP AND SHAKING YOUR
GROUND. TURNING YOUR HEAD TO SEE A NEW DAY CALLING - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Nowadays, it was almost a rare occasion that Cyrille had left the isolated refuge of the Astronomy Tower. For so long he had enjoyed the solitude, the peace and quiet… with just the company of leather-bound books and a line of clean and well-kept telescopes to amuse him. And with his class in particular beginning at the peak of midnight, he had adapted to an almost… nocturnal sleeping pattern since he first began teaching nine years into the past. Perhaps that was for the better, though, considering that many romance-stricken couples had shared the same idea that the tower was the best place for "one-on-one time" during the throes of night (when really, their long and passionate getaways would be interrupted by the reverberating yells of "That's fifty points off of each of your Houses if you don't leave this instant! Sors d'ici!" throughout the tower's walls).
However, tonight was different. He had awoken a few hours earlier than usual, which meant that he had more free time to burn off before he had to retreat into his hideaway once more. Such a rare occasion it was… and yet, Cyrille had no problem with using it to his advantage.
He strode down the long and winding staircase with ease, an attempt that he was quietly thankful for achieving without becoming too out of breath near the end, before making his way inside of the school's main castle. Even the stone walls themselves had quivered beneath the cool air of this autumn atmosphere, but Cyrille had paid the oncoming winter no mind. He had grown accustomed to the frigidness that sank in his flesh and bones, even if many others would call him crazy for occasionally sauntering around in a button-up shirt that was always too thin ("Don't you ever get sick, Professor Arceneaux?!" was often a common question). Heading just off the Entrance Hall, Cyrille adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves before he stood in the presence of two perched gargoyles, their menacing eyes staring him down as if they had expected him to give them what they had wanted. Without hesitation, Cyrille uttered a simple word beneath his breath, watching as their stone heads ground against their shoulders to crane their necks towards each other. There was a moment of silence, then the gargoyles turned back to Cyrille and allowed him to proceed.
As soon as the door to the staffroom had opened, a mixture of warmth and the aroma of spices rushed out to greet him, ultimately catching him off-guard. It wasn't very often that he would have someone else join him, but then again, the chances of him ever having a guest pay him a visit in the Astronomy Tower were not quite as peachy as this. With his curiosity piqued, he strode into the near-empty staffroom with the toes of his boots clicking against the floor, his dark eyes immediately combing towards the fireplace. A teakettle sat in the midst of glowing flames, and from the corner of Cyrille's eyes, the orange light had caught hold of shimmering beads woven throughout a flowing curtain of fabric. There was someone in here after all.
"A-Ah… excuse me," he stammered softly, his French accent slathered thickly over his words like layers of marmalade on bread. He offered his fellow teacher a bow of his head and small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. It never did. "I do hope I am not being intrusive."
talking talking talking
other person talking
does it f e e l like a head to lean on?- - - - - - - - A SNAPSHOT FROM WHERE YOU BORN. I'M LOOKING FOR YOUR HAND IN
THE ROUGH, YOU'RE CAUGHT IN THE WIRE. WELL I'LL L I F T YOU OUT - - - - - - - - - - -
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Post by ASHTA LAKSHMI on Jun 27, 2011 17:21:57 GMT -5
Like a subtle whisper, Ashta felt that prickling sense of illiberality catch in the corner of her mind and she knew immediately that someone was soon due to enter the room. She did not know who, her abilities did not work in that manner, but it came as no surprise to her when she heard footsteps along the hall and the creak of the staff room door opening.
She did not lift her head, but she knew it was a man who had entered judging on the weight and rhythm of his footsteps, elegant, but not feminine. A carriage that spoke of good breeding, or at least fine composure.
The resonance of the voice with it's wispy accent told Ashta immediately who had entered and she spoke suddenly, finishing the paper with a flourish of quill. "Good evening Professor Arceneaux." She set the parchment aside, looking up and giving him a pleasant sort of half-smile. She herself carried an accent as well, although hers was darker and more rounded than his.
Ashta had kept the room fairly dark save for the fireplace, but she could see him well through the flickering amber light.
Cyrille Arceneaux the Astronomy professor. She could admit she did not know him very well and rarely saw him outside of staff meetings and mandatory events. Ashta did know that he had been working at the school longer than her modest three year stint, and she was sure she had heard one of the other professors say he had attended Hogwarts as a boy.
"It is rare to see you in the staff room Cyrille." She continued, dipping her peacock feather quill into the bottle of ink in a single fluid movement and returning to the paper in her lap, "Feel free to light to candles if you'd like, I'm afraid I have myself grown used to working in the dark." She smiled wryly, verdant gaze meeting his for a moment, "Horrible habit."
Her own classoom was draped in exotic silks and fabrics, lit only with tealights that did not yield much expansive light. However Ashta had found that the inner eye, hers especially, was much receptive in such dimness and she had grown accustomed to such atmosphere. It did have the reputation of ruining one's eyesight, but it was not uncommon for a seer to go blind in their old age.
"I was just brewing some tea." Ashta said, flicking her wand idly at the fireplace and watching as the kettle slid from the flames to rest on a low stone table between the chairs. "You are more than welcome to share it with me if you would like." |
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Post by cyrille on Jun 27, 2011 19:10:52 GMT -5
it's in your eyes, a c o l o r fade out- - - - - - LOOKS LIKE A N E W TRANSITION, THE STARTING UP AND SHAKING YOUR
GROUND. TURNING YOUR HEAD TO SEE A NEW DAY CALLING - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If Cyrille wasn't perplexed enough from the start, he certainly was at that moment. He had merely blinked once, twice, three times even before he had to shake off his bemusement before Ashta could catch notice of it. Did she even lift her gaze to identify him…? He could have sworn the opposite. In fact, it was almost as if she had expected his arrival before he had even stepped closer to the door… and that… was something that Cyrille truly found interesting, regardless of the fact that he had heard a few things from the grapevine about her abilities as a seer. 'How oracular…' he thought to himself, that small smile growing just the slightest bit wider. "Good evening to you as well… Miss Lakshmi, is it?" Her name had sounded the slightest bit odd when it had left Cyrille's lips, especially when decorated by the feathery air of his accent, but he had tried not to fuss over it too much. Lord only knows what would happen if he had gotten too nit-picky over the simplest of thoughts.
He motioned his way further into the staffroom with the most regal and delicate of steps, almost like a wandering spirit that could not be touched. Upon the mention of his regular absence, though, Cyrille had given somewhat of a modest laugh, reality striking once against as he figured all too well that it was really that obvious. "Yes… well… I'm afraid I am not up and around too often when everyone else is mostly awake," he mused, sliding down into the large armchair opposite of Ashta. The wine-colored cushions gave an airy sigh underneath his weight. "I often rise with the moon, you see." He paused for a moment to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and he offered yet another small smile. "I suppose… that is also a good enough excuse not to bring anymore light to this room."
Much like Ashta, Cyrille himself had taken more of a preference to working in the dark rather than underneath a veil of light. Although many of his students would complain that they needed more candles lit to see their maps, Cyrille would often tell them that light affected the eye's view of the night sky above, and that the iridescent stars and planets would only appear to them in their fullest when the ground beneath them was as dim as possible.
That… and he often got a bit more irritable whenever harsh light would bring some strain to his eyes.
"Is that so?" Cyrille spoke once again as he watched the teakettle float from the eager tongues of flames to the cool, stone perch of the table before them. He crouched forward slightly, his large hands folded neatly in his lap. "In that case, I would be more than honored, Ashta. I will admit that I have never tried Indian tea before."
And he would have been a liar if he said he wasn't curious.
talking talking talking
other person talking
does it f e e l like a head to lean on?- - - - - - - - A SNAPSHOT FROM WHERE YOU BORN. I'M LOOKING FOR YOUR HAND IN
THE ROUGH, YOU'RE CAUGHT IN THE WIRE. WELL I'LL L I F T YOU OUT - - - - - - - - - - -
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Post by ASHTA LAKSHMI on Jun 28, 2011 12:54:01 GMT -5
She watched him move forward with some interest, having always been intrigued with the way he carried himself. Sometimes it seemed as though he was not even of this world and as her particular branch of expertise dealt with matters beyond the physical realm she had always found him rather captivating.
"You may call me Ashta of course." She said, leaning back and smoothing out the fabric of her lehenga, the skirt of her sari. Her legs were curled up underneath her, and the fact that her shoes lay neatly on the floor beside her spoke that she was currently barefoot. "We are equals are we not?" Cool, verdant, eyes watched him for a moment, firelight reflecting off cinnamon skin.
She watched him sit and nodded, "You have an affinity with the stars and constellations afterall, " The corners of her lips tugged upwards, "It seems natural you would plan your hours around being with them." She could understand a connection to natural world, it ran parallel to her connection to things beyond it. Not that the stars and planets had ever really felt that contrived to Ashta. There was ethereal power in the sky. She had spent some time among centaurs and had learned how much could be revealed through the heavens. There was a whole branch of Divination that dealt with planetary orbits and the birth and death of stars that truly fascinated her.
When he accepted her offer she conjured two, smooth, round teacups and reached forward to pour the hot, steaming liquid into his. "Masala Chai." She explained, gesturing to his cup, where the curls of heady steam came from the surface of the creamy, apricot colored mixture. "It's a mixture of milk, water, tea leaves, sugar and spices. There are numerous ways to make it, but this is my family's recipe." There was a soft fondness in her voice when the subject turned that was not usually present. Ashta was known for being controlled and rather unyielding, it was rare for her to speak openly about things that were important to her.
However she had been slightly homesick lately with the turn of the weather, and her thoughts were increasingly on her home back in India. It was nice to have her nephew here at Hogwarts, but he did not come and visit her as often as he used to now that he had his friends.
She poured herself some tea as well, lifting it to her lips and breathing lightly across the warm surface. Steam curled away from her and she closed her eyes, drawing in the familiar scent . Taking a smooth, tentative sip she pulled back slightly and shook her head wryly. It was dark and creamy, tasting of imported spices and lightly sweet, but it was also scalding. "It's still too hot, I've always had the unfortunate habit of burning my tongue ever since I was a child. I suppose I could never be patient enough to wait." |
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