Psyche went first to the room she shared with Eros, but only long enough to scribble a brief note, and wrap a blanket around her shoulders. She was still shivering pretty continually, and she wondered in a vague way if there was something else she should do for that. As she stepped back out into the halls outside the Gryffindor common room, she
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*slightly more adept attempt at a smile this time, though it's really just a movement of her mouth, unreflected in her eyes* Oh, I'm babbling, aren't I? I'm sorry, I told you I wasn't too coherent. And of course talking about owls and sentient hats and things makes it sound even more like Edward Lear-type nonsense, doesn't it?
*Psyche's not feeling too enthusiastic about going back into the Gryffindor common room, as she's spent time there with Eros. She's too polite to say so, though, and anyway it would involve explaining everything else*
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I was accidentally scratched by one of the lead arrows that cause indifference. I'm not...I'm trying to hold together. I'm sure I'll be fine. In whatever way I have to be.
Eros has gone off to Olympus to get more gold arrows; he'll be back in a few hours, I suppose, and he'll want to "fix" me. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know I'm not my normal self. But I'd really rather not be around him more than I have to, and I can't stand the thought of sharing space or sleeping with him right now.
I'm not sure if or when the arrow will wear off. Logic says it should, since this isn't my natural state. I don't think. But I don't know if that arrow had a time-expiration attached to it, like the ones he used on Valentine's, or if it was meant to be permanent. And I don't know how it will interact with my own powers.
I don't particularly want to move out of Gryffindor, but I'll go wherever I need to. Though, please, not to that room where we were hiding. I certainly don't want to ( ... )
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If Psyche is willing, i'd be happy to room with her. I am concerned for her well being and would like to be her friend if she would let me.
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...but are you sure you want to room with me? My husband is not going to be...happy about the situation, to begin with. Logically he must know that I can't involve myself with someone else without his knowing and, in fact, allowing me to do so, but...logic has never been one of his distinguishing characteristics. I wouldn't want your generosity to be rewarded by his anger.
Oh, and now I'm countering my own request, aren't I? I always seem to be contradicting myself. I just don't want...well, anyway. Are you sure about that offer, Duo?
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((Has he actually given her the valentine yet?))
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((Not yet. He will in a moment.))
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And now that she had started thinking about that she had lost her comfort with the conversation. She forced herself to think of something to say, something about him and not her own problems. "What are you doing wandering around with all those...what are those?"
((I'm just about to collapse into bed. We can pick this up in the morning, if you like...))
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Then he looked up.
Mister Teatime did not make a habit out of noticing beauty, which was somewhat shallow and really didn't suit his purpose, but it was shoved into his eyes like a rusty---all right, bad comparison. All the same, his interest was piqued. She looked rather miserable, or at least lonely. Isn't she Eros' wife? What could be wrong with her? He walked over.
"Hi!" he said, as means of introduction, or just notification of his prescence. "What's wrong?"
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"Oh?" he asked pleasantly. "I'm sure anyone else would have done the same. Your situation, though, must be awful, mustn't it, Miss Psyche?" His eye widened ever so slightly, as his corkscrew mind whirred (it was only just barely inaudible). "But why was he toying with his arrows around you, madam?"
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She shrugged. "He always does play with them," she said, irritation clear in her voice. "Like a little boy with his first wooden sword. You'd think he would have learned...I suppose he likes to be reminded of his powers. Hephaestus makes them for him, you know, but they're really a physical manifestation of Eros's power. That's why they don't physically hurt mortals. It's usually the gold ones he plays with, of course, and it doesn't matter when he nicks himself with those. But he ran out on Valentine's Day shooting everyone else in the entire damn school which meant when the lead-tipped scratched me..." she broke off, and squeezed her eyes closed.
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