A petite girl made her way into the sorting room, wearing a plain, white-strapped summer dress and thong sandals. The only other accessories were a cloth rucksack hanging from a shoulder and a leather chord tied around her wrist. Copper curls that once dangled in a wave past her shoulders had been brutally sheared a couple months before, and now
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He also missed New York, though he wouldn't admit it for the world. It didn't bode well, him missing a place. Missing people. Not when everyone and everything around him would fade into dust; this was a lesson he should have learned by now. And yet.
But he was lured, by some irresistible force, into the room, and stood still with shock when he heard a familiar voice. With a smile devoid of any of its usual leering or mockery - in fact, only echoing with a delight rarely seen on Robin's features - he made his way swiftly over to the girl to pick her up in a sweeping hug.
"George."
((If Robin!hugs are not ok, feel free to have Georgie step back. :p And YAY! I LOVE HER. :D))
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George giggled as she held out her arms like she was a much younger girl; but who could blame her when meeting old friends? Although it had been only a month or two for the psychic since the two of them had last spoke, it wasn't uncommon for George to treat every new meeting like a well-cherished reunion. When she was lifted up she let her legs dangle, sandals falling to the ground with a clatter. The fact that she was no doubt expecting this did little to but a hamper on her enthusiasm.
"I missed you," she said into his ear, not bothering with 'how have you been' or 'what are you doing here'. Nice points for conversation, especially if that's what her friend wanted to talk about, but rhetorical questions seemed very silly at the moment.
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Setting her down carefully, Robin then reached up and tugged gently on one shorn corkscrew curl. A flicker of sorrow crossed his face, but his smile never died. "And you look as lovely as ever, George." Her badge of honor, that haircut, and Robin felt the responsiblity of his brethren's work like a keen jab. Hobgoblin might be gone, but his mark remained, and for that Robin felt a sense of responsibility. Misplaced, yes, but there nonetheless.
"And to what does Hogwarts owe the honor?" Hope spilled out in his voice, barely restrained. Surely she couldn't be there to stay?
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George did not connect Robin to Hob for one second. Robin was one of her saviors, and not only of her. He with Promise pulled Cal back from the brink of... So. Such a thing was completely anti-intuitive. And that's even if George didn't communicate through a manner that completely disregarded little things like blood and matter for spirit. But even if George didn't catch that flicker of sorrow, she knew that unfair guilt could very well be within the opaque Puck. And she did not have to be a psychic to know that. She would have to do what she could to make sure his head was back in the right place as soon as she could ( ... )
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She gave the stranger a playful look. "I don't think I can properly answer your question. If I was naive I wouldn't know it, if I was stupid I wouldn't choose correctly, and if I was lying, you wouldn't be able to trust my answer."
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Against the grain of seven years but completely falling into the man he'd been before, Claude held out his hand in greeting. The pleasantries failed him and so he simply offered his smile, apologetic at his ineptitude. It'd been far too long since he'd been real to anyone not trying to kill him or begging him for help.
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"I'm pleased to meet you. I'm called George." She looked around the sorting hall, and simply stated, "This is very different from New York." She didn't whisper, but somehow her words left the impression that it was an observation saved to be shared with just the two of them.
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"I am careful with what I do. I have to be."
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Her smile turned into a grin, and she held out a hand for Matthew to shake on it.
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"Cheesecake? Not an option?!" This could not be passed over with a simple wave of the hand! "Egads, of course it's an option for the cheese question!" I threw both arms up into the air, rather excitably. "If not for the sole fact that it has 'cheese' in the name...!"
Don't get too crazy, Mars. You'll scare away the children.
"Anywho." I jutted out one of said flailing hands. Handshake? More normal? "Veronica Mars. Apparent cheesecake advocate."
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(( XD I was looking desperately for PBs and having no luck, since George is basically a product of many different ethnicities, topped with curly red hair and freckles. And then I caught I shot of a model, and I was all, Mercedes! And she fit almost perfectly and now there's proof I'm a giant dork. But she totally should have won her season, so in a sense I feel like I'm doing my part. Ok, NOW there's proof I'm a giant dork.))
George happily took it, giving it an earnest shake. "George Grainger. Traitor to cheesecake, not because I loved cream cheese less, but because I loved brie more." She gently released the hand; George was cheerful to meet almost anyone, but especially someone who shared her experiences in looking up when talking far more times than what was fair.
"Sorry, I studied Julius Caesar for my finals."
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Brie? I could have scoffed! I could have! Because cheesecake? Being rivaled by something with a moldy rind? Forgiving the fact that all cheeses are aged and mold. Technically. But! Never mind. Cheesecake: in a league of its own. At least there was a nice delivery!
"Ahhh," I tapped my head in recognition. "Et tu, Brute? With the brie, oy."
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"But I promise to make up for the insult by eating more cheesecake than wise later. And so falls George."
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There's finally a break in the parade of weirdness, and Jaime's leaning against a wall when he notices there's someone else in here, writing an application by hand. Which, if he was smart, he would have done instead of allowing it to capture all of his one-sided conversations. Live and learn.
He picks up the application and grins at the answer to question #2. "I don't think anyone's gonna kill you for telling it like it is," he offers. "'Cause Barney and Carrot Top in the same room really would be that bad."
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She was not alarmed by the boy. She knew that she was to meet people here who were as outside the norm as she was, or the company she kept, and was looking to it optimistically, as was her way. "Oh, yes," George answered, but rolled her eyes in self-deprecation. "But the puns, the puns. I'm sorry." She didn't look sorry.
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Jaime wasn't alarmed by her either. Pretty sure she was special herself (who wasn't around here, seriously?) and the scarab, thrown for a loop courtesy of a Ron-induced existential crisis, was just scanning for the hell of it and not bothering with the threat assessment for once. Which made Ron completely awesome in Jaime's book.
"Nah, don't be. Too many people try to sugarcoat the truth to make it less painful, and don't prepare you for the harsh reality. The puns are painful, but they're an integral part of why Carrot Top's an option there." Maybe her serenity was catching, because for the first time since getting dumped in the Sorting Room, he was starting to finally relax. "Anyway, hi. I'm Jaime. Nice to meet you."
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So when she nodded at Jaime's statement, she wasn't only doing so out of amusement. She stood up from her chair to rest against the table. "Hello, I'm George. It's nice to meet you as well." Her frequent grin appeared. "How are you enjoying this, so far?"
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