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I was bored, so I wrote my own meme!
Here's how it goes: inside the cut above is the 'Coming-Out' stories of my six current characters-- their first signs of magic when they were young. You get to go to each and decide whose each one is. After doing that, YOU get the glory of going back to your own journal and doing it for everyone else to guess! Have fun!
Remember, my characters (in no order) are Lou Hawkins, Illiad Hawkins, Sorrows Askes, Madira Wilde, Bacchus Donovan, and Hisoka Akemi-Byrd!
They're pretty obvious xD But I thought it might be fun!
One:
Two:
Three:
Four:
Five:
Six:
One.
She was staring at him and that meant that there was trouble. He always gauged her moods by how she looked at him.
He hadn’t meant to do it. He -never- meant to do it. The thing was, that bird sitting on the window sill, with its long, beautiful white feathers drooping over on to the ugly stain of the yellow walls, thickened by her rotting nicotine… he’d wanted to touch it. He’d wanted to touch it so bad! But he knew if he approached it, like all the birds that came, and the rats, sometimes, too, it would fly away, scared of him. They were always scared when he came towards them.
He didn’t think calling it in his head would’ve worked, would’ve made the bird actually fly over to him to land on his arm, knocking down her bottle, which was also sitting on the sill, casting pretty amber lights on the walls and on his face. He didn’t think that would happen.
“Foul, little demon’s spawn!” she had cried, right as the bottle shattered at her feet. A fleck of something hit him under the eye and the child drew in a harsh breath, wincing. It was glass and he was bleeding.
He didn’t have time to think about it though, because a moment later, he was on the floor. She was striking him again.
--
Two.
His mother is frowning. She really looks like she wants to be angry, but something inside of her seems to say that it wasn’t worth it.
“Darling,” she starts. “You know that this can’t keep happening-“
“-who’s gonna stop it?!” he demands, fat tears in his big eyes.
She sits down on the bed and sets a hand on his knee. She wants to be supportive-afterall, she remembers how it was when she started showing her first signs of magic! But really, now her son was just being ridiculous.
“Sweetheart,” she coos. “You must realize-it is very hard for Mama to date when you turn everything every man who enters this house touches into a rubber duck!”
His lip is quivering.
And then-
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he cries out and throws his arms around the woman. She pulls him close in a hug, unable to keep the tears from her own eyes.
“I know, baby. I know.”
--
Three.
That damnable girl!
“Stoppit!” he cries. Honestly, it is his hair and she has no right to be pulling on it! He swats at her, the back of his hand colliding with her cheek.
Instant regret.
The girl bursts into tears. It’s a noise he hates worse than her tugging on his hair. But parents do not come running-there are enough children around that the random fights aren’t cared for-unless, of course, it’s a much bigger one against a much smaller one. That’s unfair and they aren’t allowed to fight unfair fights. Family rule.
“Stop crying!” he demands, always a child of demands. But she doesn’t.
“I said stop crying!” he cries out, and goes to hit her again, his chubby six-year-old fist flying at her face. But he stops it before it ever gets there, remembering the regret from before.
She sobs on.
“STOP CRYING!”
And then-she does.
Her lips are still quivering and her face is still red. Tears are still streaming down her cherubic cheeks.
But the noise is gone.
--
Four.
It is wrecked. Ruined.
He stares down at the toy boat, desperation in his eyes. His father’s gift! Oh, how upset his father will be with him! He won’t be mean-no, he is never mean. But he will get this look in his eyes, this look that always seemed to say it just perfect: ’I’m very disappointed in you, son.’
And how bad he will feel. He’ll feel wretched! His father always goes out of his way to buy him such nice things and he goes and breaks them. He didn’t mean to. What had happened, you see, is that he had taken the boat down to the river to play with it. That’s what you do with toy boats, right? But the current-the one that his mother always scolds him about-was too strong, and the boat had floated down, down, down until he couldn’t see it anymore. His beautiful wooden boat! He’d found it along the reeds, the smokestack broken completely off.
His mother has seen him now. Her in her elegant dress, her narrow figure, like she has fallen right out of a Muggle film. She strides over to him, a look on her face of more annoyance than concern, arms crossed over her chest.
“What are these tears?” she demands of him, softer now that she is close.
He doesn’t want to show her. She’ll be disappointed, too. She frowns at him and it’s the frown he hates.
“What is behind your back, son?” she demands.
He can’t stop himself. With a fearful, terrible gulp, he shuts his eyes and pulls the boat out from behind his back.
She makes a sound of annoyance.
“Your father’s present, yes?” she snaps. “Why has that made you cry, it cost him good money! What don’t you like about it?!” her tone tells him he is being ungrateful, like that time when his grandmother gave him a tie for his birthday and he cried.
He opens his eyes.
The smokestack is reattached. No glue seams, no evidence at all that it has even come off in the first place.
--
Five.
“You wretched little brat!” her mother screams. “Look at what you’ve done-do you have any idea how many galleons these robes cost?! Dress robes, dear daughter, from France! Does that mean anything to you?!!”
“Inga, please, calm down!”
She doesn’t need his help. The nine-year old girl glares at her mother, glares at her face directly on. She is so ugly! Nothing like her! She must get her looks from her father’s family, she decides. It makes sense. She always liked him better! He wasn’t so weak!
“Calm down?! Calm down?!” her mother screeches. She is so frail, so weak-looking. Her daughter hates her for this. Why couldn’t her mother be like her? Not weak in body, not weak in mind! She continues to glare daggers.
Fhoom.
Darling mother is screaming again, but it’s more piercing now.
Darling daughter walks away.
Eyebrows don’t burn long anyway.
--
Six.
He hit her!
For the first time in his life, he actually dared reach out and strike her!
She’s perplexed by this new development in their young relationship. Sure, she’s been hit before. But by him?! No, he was never the sort to hit. He whined a lot, this was true. He himself cried a lot. But he never hit.
It makes her cry.
It makes him pissed.
It makes her stop crying, but she doesn’t know how that happens. It just does! She chokes a little when it first happens, pressing her voice down so hard to try and get it working again, but it doesn’t come out and this makes her hysterical. Only it’s not really hysterics because she isn’t making noise.
And him, he looks terrified! He clearly knows he’s done something wrong, so now, he’s crying, too. He’s pleading with her, too-“Please, please, I am sorry! I am sorry! I didn’t mean to!” he lays his head in her lap and sobs. Only he can make noise.
She hates hearing him cry because it makes her so sad in her heart. She doesn’t want him crying.
Please don’t cry! I love you! Please smile for me!
And then-he does.
His lips are smiling, revealing those little, pretty white teeth, like pearls-the ones she is so jealous of! But his eyes look terrified, like he doesn’t know what is going on. His lips spread wider and wider in that great and terrible smile, eventually stopping in what looks like an uncomfortable position.
She stops crying as she watches it, clearly intrigued, baffled by what she’s done.
“Whasssissdoink?” he whimpers, unable to form the words proper around the Cheshire smile.
She laughs-and she can finally hear her own voice again.
“I made you smile!” she cries, victoriously.
**EDIT** I am sorry the cut isn't working.
I seriously think I am internet-stupid.
LJ hates me.