Literally ‘found object’, in French.
Objects that are often modified, but otherwise serve a non-art purpose, that are presented as art.
Excellent. Things would be awfully boring if it was.
Thanks much for clearing that one up.
i’m so postmodern i had already created an imaginary little brother before you were born but you’ll do i suppose | hugo
“You’ve got a deal,” he said, extending his arms towards her. “Although, lending wouldn’t be the right word for it.” Cookies in exchange for his shirt sounds like a good deal to him. Food in exchange for anything was good enough for him. He was a simple person who found pleasure in simple things.
Details. Details were details - too detailed, in his opinion; not vague enough; disallowing for any sort of divergence from the actual truth. Hugo supposed that for brothers and sisters he and Rose were pretty close. He knew about her (no, not condition; Hugo refused to call it a condition because it sounded so medical and medical meant hospitals and hospitals were cold and dead… Rose wasn’t that) situation. But they never really talked about it and that was how their relationship was. They told each other things by not really telling each other anything.
It was different with Lily. Hugo could tell Lily anything - all the bits and the pieces, the things in between the in betweens, the grime that came with the truth. That was how he was with Lily. But not with Rose. Rose didn’t like to talk too much about things and really, Hugo was fine with that. And as close as he’d like to think they were, Hugo knew that there would always be a wall between them.
“Details? Are you sure you want to know the details?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms across his chest. What was he going to tell her? Oh hey, my girlfriend of almost a year said she loved me and I laughed at her face. That’s nice. That sounded really nice.
“Grawp is a fine half-giant, I’ll have you know. And I am not subjecting Roxy to more of my horrible mainstream music. My music is not mainstream,” he protested. He frowned a little, followed by a shrug. Hugo began walking towards the castle - the frown that he dawned on his face was immediately turned into a smile at the mention of food.
Rose smirked as she shook his hand. He got his food and she got her clothing. It wasn’t even a case of being pleased her plan had worked - offer Hugo food in exchange for his left foot and he would take it if he were hungry enough - but more that fact that she liked to take satisfaction in little things. And she so adored that t-shirt.
“The nitty gritty,” she nodded, only half serious. While she was honestly curious about what was going on with her brother and his first girlfriend (because she would take any opportunity to poke fun at him), it seemed odd having a conversation in which she genuinely wanted to talk. (The last time that had happened, she had been sitting on his bed with her knees hugged to her chest, telling him about how her and mum were going to see the doctor before term started.)
Shaking the thought from her head, she nudged him with her shoulder. “Winding you up, Hugo,” she lilted, a teasing note in her voice.
“I’m sure you and Grawp make excellent friends. And although I may turn up my nose at your ridiculous tastes — I’ll tolerate them this one time. Savvy?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Now, start talking. Or else I’ll start talking about food and we’ll both wind up starving.”
Thinking about it more, she decided that although she may tease him about how much he ate sometimes, on this occasion, Hugo’s love of food was excellent. It allowed them both time to catch up with one another (with plenty of jibes and jokes inbetween) as well as breakfast for Rosie. It seemed like ages since her and Hugo had eaten together, mostly because they sat on separate tables for meals, but also because the mandatory visits to Hagrids had grown fewer over the years, and Rose was pretty sure that Hugo took Lily along now. Or possibly Georgina? Really these things ought to be found out, if just for the satisfaction of crashing a hot date with Hagrid’s famous rock cakes.
A smile. A small one, yes, but it was a smile Carmen had seen on Rose’s lips, so her little trick had worked. People were complicated. It didn’t work on everyone, but it did work on this one. Her eyes followed the redhead as she moved to lean against the wall. What was going on in her head? Carmen let her ponder for a moment in silence, swinging her feet ever so slightly so that her boots clacked against the stone wall. She supposed Rose’s thoughts had something to with her earlier question. Terrifyingly terrifying?
Sure enough, when the girl opened her mouth, Carmen knew she was right. The girl had her concerns about how powerful Carmen was, from the sound of things, and rightly so. For a such a sunshine-sweet little blonde, Carmen could pack a punch with a wand - far more than she let on in class. As far as she knew, no other fifth-year was capable of performing all three unforgivable curses, alongside other dark magic. Then again, they could have been hiding it like her, and she’d only used it on small creatures. Perhaps on people it was different. But all this was besides the point. The point was that Rose was suspicious of her, and she had to rectify that right away.
She started with the slight parting of the lips and the slumping of the shoulders, hurt. It couldn’t be overdone. Over-doing it never worked. Neither did rushing things. So she waited a second for the ‘sinking in’ phase before lowering her eyes and twisting her hands together nervously. There always had to be a moment to process the harsh remarks. Perhaps if her act had been the sharp-tongued bitch, or that of a confidant young woman, she could have gotten away with an instant response. But her act was that of a sweet young girl, a little delicate and shy, but with a smile of sunshine. So she let those few seconds of ‘reaction’ pass before stuttering out a reply.
“I d-didn’t mean to d-do that. I d-didn’t… I feel awful for hurting Lowe. I’m a horrible person.” Now if only she could let out a single tear right at that moment - but she couldn’t do those without a spell to help her out. Perhaps it was best that she didn’t, so as to not over-do it. Good actors excelled in subtlety. Small glances at Rose, looking away as if ashamed. Good good.
Next up was supposed to be assurances of ‘Oh sweety, of course you’re not’. That was how people generally worked: a statement of self-hatred followed by reassurances to the contrary. Unless, of course, the person meant to do the reassuring had a heart of ice. Some said that Rose Weasley did, but Carmen didn’t believe it. If anyone had a heart of ice, it was the blonde on the windowsill, not the redhead next to her. She was positive that Rose had more than enough compassion to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Rose didn’t look at Carmen while she spoke, instead choosing to frown at the opposite wall. As the blonde spoke, she creased her forehead even more with every word until it resembled a piece of paper that had been scrunched up and then somebody had attempted to flatten it out again but it refused to be straight. One the one hand she was sure that her own frustrated dilemmas were influencing how she was responding to Carmen. On the other, it had honestly scared her that she could cast such a horrific incantation. Moreover, it was seemingly an impulse reaction type thing, in which she panicked and cast it because of Lowe coming on to her. Not in a billion years would she ever ever agree with that slimeball’s actions being okay, but… but wouldn’t something a little less harmless have done?
Still frowning and unable to come to a conclusion, she opened her mouth and hesitated - a hesitation which she then let turn to a fairly long pause, before finally speaking.
“One bad thing doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person,” she started, her words lacking the confidence that was usually present in her voice. “Maybe just a person who needs to be careful.” She turned to Carmen then, still frowning but giving her more of a questioning gaze, as if to ask if she had said the right thing or not. Had she known how and been less creeped out by what had happened, she might have better comforted the girl. However she didn’t and she was and the only comfort she can offer Carmen is another frustrated sigh to add to the huge number of frustrated sighs she had already sighed that one day. And it wasn’t as if the sigh would actually offer comfort - it was just her being consumed in her own problems once more, which led her to wondering if her self centeredness was why she couldn’t see past what Carmen had done to see the apologetic, innocent little girl that… she hoped (and presumed) was definitely there. Surely anything otherwise was a bad headache paired with a trick of the light.
Pinching and massaging the bridge of her nose, she apologised, “Sorry. I just want people to be aware of how dangerous spells like that are. But — yeah,” she finished lamely, annoyed that she couldn’t even focus enough to form a decent sentence. She didn’t consider herself a master wordsmith at any level, but liked to think she was a bit better than having just ‘but — yeah’ as her reasoning behind something. (Except she wasn’t doing particularly well with reasoning as of late.)
“Then again, I suppose Wynters is thrilled that one of his students can actually produce something, even if it isn’t strictly defense against the dark arts,” she chuckled, and treated herself to a tiny smirk; pleased at the fact that she could at least manage some humour. And picking fun at her least favourite teacher too. (Oh how she longed to actually do some proper work in his class.)
Oh look, it seems as I’m now a member of the ‘we’ve received creepy, mildly threatening owls and it’s slightly worrying’ club.
Honestly, what do you hope to achieve from sending these?
Setting a bad example for roses everywhere. (I’ll be sure not to follow that trend.)
Actually you probably don’t. I doubt you’ve ever really heard of it.
He grinned at the mention of the Quidditch pitch. Maybe they had that in common - the whole Quidditch thing. Or at least, it was somewhat of a common ground. (He wasn’t sure what else they had in common but there was that. And he supposed that knowing himself and knowing what he knew about Rose Weasley, they may not have a lot in common, really) Except, he would probably never understand what she means when and if she describes to him the way it felt like to be up on a broomstick, zooming about in the mid-air, he would never really understand what she was saying. (Maybe a vague idea of it but he highly doubted that) He liked Quidditch enough - followed the national and international teams and their player stats, but that was all in the surface.
Then again, that was probably what he bargained when he decided that he didn’t want to play Quidditch and that he was fine just commentating. Besides, as he thought about it, he figured he was a better commentator now than he would have ever been a Quidditch player anyway.
He raised an eyebrow, looking back at Rose. “Thinking of the pitch, huh?” he said. “My commentating was good that it reminded you of being out there and playing Quidditch.” He paused and a shrugged, a smug, self-satisfied smirk spread across his face. “I know, I know. I told you I’m good,” he added before he turned once again to look out into the window. Landon listened as she spoke, following her commentary - the said Hufflepuff appearing suddenly as they sped up towards the packet of candies who won the battle against a Slytherin who moved a little slowly and thus, loss.
Landon cleared his throat before responding to Rose’s question. “I suppose we can call it a draw, Weasley. And since as you’ve pointed out that I’ve missed the said Hufflepuff girl, we do make quite a team. You, being there to catch anything I’ve missed,” he said, before taking a sip of his butterbeer once more.
Just then, the two girls walked into the pub, shooting them both a look and Rose Weasley roared with laughter, which only caused several more people in the pub to look at them - mostly with a confused, questioning expression on their faces. Landon leaned in forward, and placed his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. With his other hand, he placed a finger on his lips and told her to shhhh, all the while as he stifled his laughter.
When the girls passed them and the heads of the other on lookers had finally turned, Landon chuckled, dropping his hand back to his side. “Obvious much, Weasley?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
He hit the nail right on the head. My commentating was so good that it reminded you of being out there and playing Quidditch. Smug bastard, she thought to herself as she found herself unable to stop smiling. Although reluctant to confirm out loud that yes he was that good, her smile made obvious without even needing to open her mouth. She could almost feel the wind tangling through her hair and her muscles tensing up, preparing to stretch out her whole body just to extend her fingers a few centimetres further to catch that snitch. She didn’t suppose he could understand the rush and the thrill. Honestly, she didn’t suppose anybody who wasn’t on a team could understand. Perhaps Landon found his passion in commentating. Perhaps other people found theirs in other things, but hers was most certainly Quidditch. And she was good. Rose knew her place on the pitch.
Commentating? Not as such, apparently, but she was thankful that he wasn’t the type of person to rub in that he had most definitely trumped her. Even going so far as to suggest that they made an excellent team instead of rejecting her suggestion of leaving it as a draw. English and Weasley. It was odd - a victory was a victory and surely the winner deserved the glory? Rose had only ever worked on this principle, it was where her competitiveness stemmed from. Yet perhaps this time it wasn’t so much about the winning as… the taking part? Her morning had certainly taken a turn for the amusing - far from how she imagined events to unfold. Offering a small, bemused laugh she nodded.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the girls’ entrance and her exaggerated laughter that refused to quieten down, even though creating a scene was the last thing she wanting. Thankfully, Landon’s hand was soon over her lips and stifling the laughter she hadn’t intended to be so loud. The situation itself just made it worse though, and it’s only when she hadmanaged to regain some control over her laughing and their younger audience is gone that he leans backward. Her first instinct was too shoot him with a raised eyebrow and a half mocking ‘Oh really?’ look, but it was obvious to both that his actions were much wiser than hers.
“Can’t a girl find something funny, English?” she challenged, smirking a she did so. It’s only the sound of hushed whispers from the table across that cause her smile to falter slightly. Her morning had certainly taken a turn for the amusing - far from how she imagined events to unfold… but her early start had also been delayed. Remembering that real life was a thing she should most likely go and attempt once more brought a few creases to her forehead. The change was sudden and seemingly out of nowhere — but yes, yes. She had things to do and the day was ticking over and those girls were pissing her off and. And it had been so — nice, though. Attempting to regain the playful vibe, she looked up and continued smiling, but started playing with her rings as if agitated, like she was anxious to be someplace or do something. “Anyway. Match is over right? But, um, it was a good one. Good team,” she nodded, standing up and preparing to leave.
With another brief smile and a glower over at the girls’ table, she moved to the door. The only apology for her hurried exit that she gave him was a sheepish, quick smile. And for herself, she can’t even think of a decent excuse. Time was ticking on, she still hadn’t got what she wanted, she couldn’t just hold everything up because she decided to have a laugh with the Quidditch commentator. Except it was more than that and the whispering had bugged her and how easily she had let time slip past her had bugged her. All it took was one little nudge for her to realise that reality was right around the corner. And reality involved actions having consequences and Rose Weasley (because she’s Rose Weasley and she’s pretentious and obnoxious and hipster and icy and isn’t she just) being judged for those actions. Except that wasn’t something she could ever articulate aloud. A small, sheepish smile and shrug was all Rose could offer Landon.