gooseberryhigh | (no subject)

WHO: Addy & Rosy
WHAT: Chatting with Bluebell
WHEN: BACKDATED to...sometime shortly after Christmas break! This is VERY OLD! But we FINISHED it!
WHERE: The Stables
WARNING/RATING: M for Marker Abuse but it's fine

Rosy sits in the stables, a binder on her lap, Hermeticism textbook at her side, and pretends to read. It's not her usual study spot--Rosy's not in Magizoology, and she'll never understand the appeal of horse smells--but her usual study spots had been failing her lately. Staring at a page in the library, copying notes from one binder to the other in her cabin, nothing stayed in her head. She had to try something new, shake things up, drag herself out of this rut if she ever wanted to make progress on this project.

But even the unicorn in the nearby stable isn't fooled. Rosy isn't retaining anything, and the longer she stares at this page, reading and rereading the same paragraph, uncapped highlighter hovering, the more her thoughts wander. And Rosy doesn't want her thoughts to wander.

“Goddammit,” Rosy says with a sigh and clenches her highlighter harder to resist the urge to chuck it at the wall. She turns to look at Bluebell, the pink of her muzzle immediately visible between the slats of her stall door. “You probably wouldn't like me anymore if you saw me start throwing shit in here, would you?”

Addy tenses a little when she slips into the stables, solely to say hi to the horses, only to find a clenched highlighter and a swearing Rosy. That gives way soon enough to a little smile, and she slips over to Bluebell, the only reason she came here at all. The other girl’s studying,and she doesn’t want to upset that, really.

But she has to answer the question, even as she bypasses Rosy entirely, clicking her tongue and giving this precious unicorn scratches on her nose. “You’d totally still like her and you’ve like. Definitely seen worse than throwing shit. Right?”

Rosy starts slightly at the unexpected arrival of another person. Of course other people were going to come down here, this was an open spot on campus and a lot of people liked horses. Even those who didn't particularly like their smell or their size or their presence might come down to try approaching Bluebell again. She had just kind of… forgotten that in the moment.

“Probably shouldn't push my luck though, right?” Rosy says, an awkward half-joke as she shuts her textbook and pushes it aside. “Mr. Covington probably won't, like, take her word for it that I'm cool if I start busting holes in the wall.” Rosy's also not sure she'd be able to weather rejection from a unicorn right now, so maybe she'd better stay on her best behavior.

“I could back it up, if he, like, needed a human to weigh in for SOME reason.” Addy offers, with her most conspiratorial of grins, laying her head down on Bluebell’s nose, but smiling at Rosy. And then she seems to realize the textbooks are there and wrinkles her nose in empathy. “Oh, sorry. I never study in here. I’ll like...tell everyone to keep it down, if you need.”

She makes eye contact with every single horse to do just that. She’s not exactly sure what would make a person want to throw a highlighter, but there are reasons, she knows.

“I don’t either.” Rosy unzips her bag to cram the books inside. It’s already incredibly full, but with a little muscle and a lot of stubbornness, she manages to squeeze them in. “The library just didn’t have the same charms today, thought I’d see if unicorn magic could help.” Her highlighter goes in the front pocket, slotted into its appropriate space in the pen rainbow. Aside from the dirt and straw covering the bottom of her bag, everything is neat and orderly, and almost okay. “Or, like, I guess I could have asked them if they wanted to help. Kind of rude to leave them out of the Herbology party, right?”

She pushes herself up to her feet and steps closer to Bluebell’s stall. If the unicorn did still like her… maybe she could pet a nose or something before leaving.

“The library never has charms. And herbology is always gonna be boring. ” Addy shakes her head, mournful. She feels suddenly a little guilty about the other girl packing up, and withdraws for a second, hand on the stall instead. “Hey...but if you’d rather like, have the horses to yourself for a while, don’t let me keep you. I was just, you know. Saying hi.”

She gestures over at Bluebell with a fond smile. “I like to see if she still remembers me sometimes. I still kinda expect to get gored one day, you know??”

Rosy shakes her head--the last thing she wants is anyone thinking she's trying to take ownership of the stables right now. She already tends to try and take over whatever room or group she puts herself in. “I was about to throw a highlighter, that's when you know it's a dangerous situation that needs to end.”

She approaches the stall carefully, hand outstretched to let her smell her, in the way Kurt had taught her that first time she came down here to meet the unicorn. “You know, there are old paintings of unicorns with lion’s tails and terrifying five foot horns, makes this thing seem like a toy.” Rosy's fingers lightly brush the tip of Bluebell's soft-as-a-cloud nose. “Gotta respect a girl with a head weapon, though. We should all get one.”

Of course it’s not her business. And Addy even backs off a little to let Rosy have her moment with Bluebell. She’d found that it was best to not crowd the unicorn. She smiles a little, like that could encourage the unicorn to have a cute moment with the other girl, who seems like she kiiinda needs it.

“We gotta get like, different colors and start a...herd? Is it still herd with unicorns? We could kill all our schoolwork THAT way instead.”

That’s the part that’s not really her business, and she hesitates, but tilts her head, in empathy, anyway. “Did you have like, a subject you were aiming for with those highlighters, or?”
Just in case she wants to talk. It’s plenty of room for a lie, still, she thinks.

Rosy works her jaw for a second, teeth grinding in a way that would make her mother cringe (“Rosemary, we’re not buying you a new set of teeth if you grind these to dust”). She wants to make a sarcastic remark—something dry and acerbic and self-deprecating that skirts the truth. Something that shows she knows she’s falling to pieces, but she’s totally in control of the situation and it’s all part of some master plan.

But this is Addy Foster-Hayes she’s talking to. Addy Foster-Hayes, who’s fun and pretty and popular and nice, who would probably want to assure her that she’s not too much of a perfectionist or rude or a giant fucking mess. And the idea of being comforted by someone who outstrips her in so many categories makes Rosy’s stomach churn.

“Just didn’t get what I wanted for Christmas,” she tries to kid through clenched teeth. “That highlighter smears.”

Addy, for all her pretending, isn’t actually dumb. She can tell the clenching of a jaw and the anger wrapped up behind any kind of smile, and Rosy doesn’t even seem to be smiling. She’s also smart enough to know when to shut up about it. Instead, she pulls a truly ridiculous highlighter out of her bag. The brand’s magical, and it really is exceptional for not smearing. The only drawback is the flashing effects and constantly changing color, but Addy likes that. It keeps her awake while studying. She tosses it once to puzzle out what exactly she plans to do here, but it’s Addy, so she sticks it out, unthinking.

“Well. Merry Christmas. If you don’t mind pink? It’s I think a Bluebell-approved color. And def smear-proof.”

She tries not to let it soak in too far that she is, in fact, giving Rosy Stoker a Christmas present for no reason. She’s pretty sure people have died for less. But whatever. There’s a unicorn right here, to witness.

Rosy's eyes fall on the highlighter proffered by Addy. It's a silly gesture. Rosy has plenty of highlighters, she's probably not even familiar with this brand, and a different pen shape would just wreck her carefully organized aesthetic. She doesn't even like Christmas, and everyone knows Rosemary Stoker doesn't do sentiment.

Still, she reaches for the pen.

"... Thanks," she says, and there's a brief, terrible, weird moment, where the hard, guarded edge to Rosy's voice disappears. It's the kind of brief and terrible moment that would usually lead her to start a fight and scare off the offending emotion creeping its way into her voice, throw up her spikes before her walls can come crumbling down.

But it's not like Rosy actually likes being mean. It's just easier than being weak.

A slow, deliberate breath, and she regains her composure after that frankly unacceptable outburst. "Pink's an important part of my system.”

Subtle displays of support are not natural to Addy, and are just barely in her wheelhouse. She reins in her usual impulse to hug Rosy or tell her that it’ll all be all right all the way back down to a little nod and still-too-wide smile.

“God. Pink’s a part of every good system.” She confides, instead. “I use it as like. A more positive red pen to the freshmen’s tests? But I think I might actually be just encouraging them.”

(She thought maybe Rosy would appreciate a nice talk about student discipline instead of any further feelings.)

“Always a bad idea to encourage freshmen.” Rosy doesn't match Addy's smile (she's not sure she's ever actually smiled that wide before?), but she does give her a tight, wry twitch of the lips and a soft exhalation that could be mistaken for a near-laugh. She's trying to smile, and that's a lot because Rosy usually doesn't even go that far.

“I should, uh, take off, though,” she says after another beat, her finger lightly brushing Bluebell's nose for just a second longer. “I have to go, like, count fish and make sure the camp hasn't burned down.” Everyone knows the river adjacent camp of Ribbonfin is always on the brink of bursting into flames.

Addy nods, eyes widening in sympathy that doesn’t look as fake as it probably should. “Ohhhh boy.” She intones. “I super hope you don’t get back to grilled trout.” This is a horrible joke, but Addy’s taking the cue to back toward the door herself, slowly and naturally, so Rosy can have an extra few minutes with Bluebell if she wants them. Before she leaves, she makes a point to pause, tilt her head, and smile into the wind, like she’s assessing it. “I don’t smell any smoke, though. So you’re probably gonna be fine.”