Platform 9¾

Register
Sign in
  Back

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Azaiah strolled absently towards 'Platform 93/4' walking calmly through the wall in between platforms 9 and 10. When he emerged on the other side he looked around and the churning group of Hogwarts students and their guardians. His eyes scanned everything in sight, a flow of information rushing down his mind palace and entering individual doors. He soon walked towards the red engine that rode to Hogwarts. He didn't know what to expect honestly, he only had tidbits of info from his brother and his mother, when she was awake anyhow.


He entered the red engine and was immediately swamped by noise, it was practically unbearable and overloaded his senses, making him uncomfortable. He just wished he had Earl by his side to calm him down, cats can do wonders for Trauma-ridden children, really. He quickly slunk between the throws of students, flinching slightly when someone's hands brush him on his shoulder. He soon found his way out of the crowed of people, much to his relief, and found a relatively quiet car. He settled down and stuck his luggage in the compartment above his seat.

Pulling out a sketch pad he continued drawing the image of his therapy cat, the words Earl Grey scrawled beneath the cluster of circles connected by fine strokes of graphite giving the appearance of fur. He was currently working on the stout, triangular head of the cat perched elegantly above the incomplete body curving the cat into a sitting position, most likely. Semi-large ears perched on top the elegant skull, looking quite realistic. His pencil followed the strokes of the slanted, hazelnut eyes of his mind's picture, fine details already appearing, and the lids were now lazily half-closed, giving it a sleepy but aloof facial expression.


He was startled out of his intense focus when a voice spoke beside him, the tone as if whoever was communicating sounding like they had repeated his name more than once.


He looked up to see a woman, adult, dressed in servant's attire, with a terse smile on her lips. Brown, unremarkable hair framed her slim face, and seemed to draw one's attention to her green eyes. She was pushing a tray of food with an assortment of beverages and edibles on display for the viewer to drool over.


He was no such person, and just looked at the goods with impassive eyes, which snapped up when the waitress let out a attention-demanding, but polite cough.


"Ah, sir, would you like something to eat, drink perhaps?" she spoke in a quiet but audible voice.


He looked at her blankly for a moment, before slowly turning to look at the foods. Chocolate frogs, Acid pops, licorice wands, cockroach clusters, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans adorned the top of the trolley. Whereas the bottom held empty glasses he assumed filled with whatever drink you asked.

"Hmm, I'd just like a Dr. Pepper please," Azaiah stated in a monotone. The Trolley's eyebrow quirked up, but she took a cup from the bottom and filled it up with a tap of a wand, the fizzing drink made his eyes lock onto the it as if craving it with all his might. She smirked and handed him his drink which, he took gratefully and he then pulled out the right amount of coin needed, handing it to her absently, which she took with a small upturn of amusement on her lips. Azaiah ignored her, and she walked away at sometime, he didn't notice or care, too busy savoring the soda and sipping it through his mask, somehow. He looked out the window beside him with lazy, half-lidded eyes. They were still in the station, apparently he had got there earlier then expected, and he was slightly surprised by the fact, but shrugged and continued drinking his favorite beverage, and continuing with the minute details of his cat's head on the sketchpad, an open pencil case beside him. He preferred pencils and pencil crayons to silly quills.


He had hoped he'd be left alone with the one other student in the back, quietly ignoring him, and he doing the same in return. Sadly, the blissful silence didn't last.
Last edited by Azaiah Morgos on 1st October 2018, 4:43 am, edited 1 time in total.

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Stella was excited, she guessed. She wanted to go to Hogwarts, whatever that was. A smug smirk crept onto her lips. This would be fun. Growing up on the streets had made her cunning and malicious, but she was kind at heart to the people she knew. However, if anyone dared to brush her shoulder, they would lose a hand.

She perched on her toes behind a childish boy with white blond hair holding a cup of something. Stella felt contempt coming on, but pushed it down. She didn't want to hate someone she didn't know yet. She didn't want to hurt someone she didn't know yet. But she felt like the boy was one of the rich people. Stella had never ever had something so sweet. She didn't even know what drink he was holding. Stella was about to look at his sketchbook, when the snack woman came around with her trolley to her. Stella smiled, and reached for the one galleon she had found on the platform. Then Stella bought the first candy she saw, a chocolate frog.

Munching on her dessert, Stella walked up to the boy. "Hello!" Her voice sounded icy and cold, she couldn't keep her sudden odd annoyance for him down. Stella tried again. "My name's Stella! What are you drawing?"

Stella could see a cat on the paper, a good one with hazel eyes and a sleek figure. Earl Grey was scribbled on the bottom. Stella imagined having a sketchbook of her own. Even before she became homeless, her family had been too poor to buy anything convenient. Stella smiled, thinking of a cat she had fed on the street. "I like the cat! Why is his name Earl Grey?"

Stella almost had a sixth sense for telling if people were alright. Maybe a trauma, but unlikely. He also had scars. Lots of them. Stella began to slink away.

"I don't have to talk if you don't want me to. I'll go now." She stood without moving, waiting for his response.

Some people had thought she had escaped from a madhouse, like Harley Quinn in the wonderful muggle movies. They asked if they could help her. Would this boy be one of them?
Last edited by Stella Rose on 30th September 2018, 5:43 am, edited 1 time in total.

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

"Hello, My name's Stella! What are you drawing?" He tilted his head around to look at the girl speaking but was interrupted by her. much to his annoyance.

"I like the cat! Why is his name Earl Grey?" he opened his mouth to speak once again, eyebrow twitching wildly.

"I don't have to talk if you don't want me to. I'll go now." He let out an irritated grunt and finally got a word in.


"You didn't let me answer" his voice was slightly stony, but held a bored tone. His eyes were half lidded, and he was calmly sipping his drink as he scanned the girl over, gathering some info about her by her position and tone of voice, along with body language, he filed this away in his 'Mind Palace' for later uses. "For your fist question, you already answered it yourself with the second question, as for the second question itself, I named my cat Earl Grey because of his grey fur, and while I prefer being left alone, I have nothing against socializing."


He watched her quietly before turning back to his sketch, a movement that could be deciphered as being done talking to her, or an invitation to speak. He didn't care which. He already got a bad first impression from her, but he was never one to go by first impressions, that lead to faulty knowledge, which is something he doesn't allow.


So he gave her a chance to make up for her first fumble, and went back to outlining the hazel-shaped eyes of Earl Grey, soon moving on to the whiskers and nose, which he made with equal caution. He also took another sip of his drink, still, somehow, without removing his medical mouth and not leaving any stain behind.
Last edited by Azaiah Morgos on 1st October 2018, 4:44 am, edited 1 time in total.

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

(There. All gone! KAPOOF! I had typed that he seemed like he was one to cower, because Stella likes to pretend that she knows everything about people she doesn't particualrly have the greatest first impression on, but my little sister likes getting on this site and changing things around! Sorry!)

Stella wrinkled her nose. She had definitely chosen the wrong boy to talk to. Of course, she should never go against her conscience. Could it even be possible to make an enemy before Hogwarts had even started? Stella mumbled her quiet, secretive, phrase that always gave her hope. He had nothing against socializing? Well, he wasn't all that great at first impressions. The boy's tone was like steel. It reminded Stella of her father's. It just made her dislike this boy even more.

"I didn't let you talk because I was afraid that you hadn't the brain capacity." Stella snapped. She wasn't usually this sensitive, but the boy reminded her of someone she would like to forget, the same boy who kicked her out of her town. Stella felt bad even still. She didn't want to make this boy feel terrible, and she'd had her own experience in that category, but she also made no move to take back her statement.

Stella again, didn't wait for him to answer. She hoped it bugged him. "I didn't catch your name, either. I guess your "socializing skills" still need work." She was finally talking to someone for the first time in a few months, and whoever this boy was probably already hated her. Stella almost grinned at the thought. She could do a lot worse. She decided it would all depend on this boy's next answer.

She hoped it would be bad, so she would have an excuse to hate him. Stella didn't know why, but she wanted to dislike him. And it was hard to push away this feeling. Stella glared at the so called Earl Grey. She didn't like the cat now, either.

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

"I didn't let you talk because I was afraid that you hadn't the brain capacity."


He raised a brow at this but didn't react in any further way, he couldn't care less what she thinks and didn't bother putting the effort into doing so, but he did respond, didn't want her to get the wrong Idea about his reaction now hmm? "That's kind of harsh now isn't it?" his voice was monotone, no emotion was put behind his sentence, as if he didn't really mean it, "bit quick to think I have a small brain capacity, tell me, how did you come to that conclusion with a glance at me and a couple questions about my drawing?" He swiveled around to face her, giving a full view of his face. he was currently dressed in a simple black trench coat hoodie, and bandages were visible on his fingers and hands, a necklace made of fake silver depicted a snake curling around a black onyx, the lower half of his face was covered with a medical mask and prominent dark bags were under his half-lidded, dull steel eyes his hood was up, and a few bleach-white locks poked out rather messily underneath. All in all he looked like a vert tired child who couldn't care less about how he was dressed.

"I didn't catch your name, either. I guess your "socializing skills" still need work." she looked like she was looking for more of a reaction than what he gave, he inwardly laughed at that, it was hard to offend him, she wouldn't get one soon.


"True, I find socializing overrated but necessary, besides, if I remember correctly you spoke first, isn't it customary to give your name before you speak?" He paused, to let her chew on those words, and because he was musing on that very sentence, "or...is that just a Japanese custom...never bothered to learn much about English customs other than in a business setting, now those were dull... I find the Japanese culture much more interesting honestly" he looked back at her, his voice still sounding lazy and tiered, as if to prove so he let out a large yawn underneath his mask, raising his hand slightly to his mouth as if to stop it, he then blinked the tears of weariness out of his eyes and put the sketchpad and pencils away.


Glancing back up at the antagonizing girl he waited absently for her answer while glancing at his glass, "They call this Dr. Pepper? This taste like fountain pop, I'm personally insulted," he drank it anyways and continued talking mostly to himself, "Though, maybe that's because it's a north American drink, I'm not sure if that's the only place with real Dr. Pepper, how do Pepsi products work in different countries? Are they made with the same formula?" He tilted his head a little to the side, "Guess I'll have to research it," he seemed to remember the girl was there and looked back up at her, "ah, mind giving me your name? I'll give you mine in return." All in all he seemed unbothered by the girl's aggressive attitude, he's seen worse anyways.

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Stella scowled at the boy. Her spiky blue-black hair shivered as a tremor ran through her body.
"I came about that conclusion because you wouldn't talk, like you were unable to. You seemed half there. Loopy, almost." Stella would never tell this boy that that was what people on the street called her, and that those people were right.

"You also remind me of the most idiotic boy I've ever-" She sucked in a big gulp of air. Had she really just said that? That was her worst secret, the one that if anyone brought up, she wouldn't hesitate to do her worst to. Stella grimaced at the terrible boy again. "And I did tell you my name. About 15 minutes ago. I've never to been to Japan. Do all people forget things so easily, or is it just you? You really should get usesd to our customs, now that you're in England. We're much more polite. And I see how that could be hard for you. Some people can never change."

Stella sighed. "Now that I've reminded you that I have told you my name, why don't you tell me yours?"

The boy looked uninterested, really. He had a medical mask and a black trench coat. If he didn't remind Stella of somebody she wanted to forget, she might have even wanted to be friends with him. Yeah, right,Stella grumbled to herself. You're just trying to make yourself feeel better.

She glared at the boy. He still hadn't stated his name. Had he noticed her slipup? This was going to be a loooong train ride.

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

"I came about that conclusion because you wouldn't talk, like you were unable to. You seemed half there. Loopy, almost."


"Well if you had given me a chance in between your questions you would've heard my answers, which I was trying to tell you while you were talking,"

"You also remind me of the most idiotic boy I've ever-" she cut her self of with a slight gasp and a expression between shocked and worried. He rose an eyebrow at this, sounded as if she were surprised she said this, obviously some sort of tidbit of personal info that she were afraid she'd give away. A secret, he filed this away in her metaphysical folder that he had built up about her so far.


she quickly changed the subject, confirming his suspicions, "And I did tell you my name. About 15 minutes ago. I've never to been to Japan. Do all people forget things so easily, or is it just you? You really should get used to our customs, now that you're in England. We're much more polite. And I see how that could be hard for you. Some people can never change."

"Ah, I remember now, Stella was it? Sorry for forgetting I was pretty focused on my sketch," he rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish eye-smile, underneath he was trying to puzzle out her secret, and more about herself according to her appearance, "I was originally born in Japan, spent the first two years of my life there, I just gathered the basics of English culture when I moved here, but I suppose I should learn more about it..." he ignored the passive jab towards his birth-country, and inwardly scoffed at the irony of the statement coming from her, no such reaction surfaced to the outside though.

"Now that I've reminded you that I have told you my name, why don't you tell me yours?"


"Ah, yes, my name is Azaiah Morgos," he held out one bandage-wrapped hand, "nice to meet you," it really wasn't but he'd learned politeness from the many business meeting his father dragged him to, dubbing it 'father-son bonding'. He had many negative things under her file at the moment, impatient, rude, judgmental, quick to jump to conclusions, nothing nice so far, she almost seemed bipolar going by how quickly she switched from eager to irritable and sour. It was unnerving, and faintly reminded him of his tormenter from when he and his younger sister were kidnapped and put through so much pain. His sister dying. pain, pain, pain, pain, pain-

Now silently hyperventilating, his eyes widened faintly in panic, but shook himself out of it after a few moments, though still broken out in a cold sweat. He inwardly winced as his many scars burned in phantom pain. Though for those few moments he looked like a venerable child, pain had been evident in his eyes along with panic, he had been quivering, for those few moments, one could see how broken he really was, but it had shifted to lazy indifference as if flicking a switch. His hand was still out, but shaking like a leaf in the wind, he quickly switched hands, this one steady, the previous shoved in his pocket.


"I do hope we get along." He gave her another eye-smile, filled with warmth, that wasn't real, but still seemed genuine. He wasn't about to go into a panic attack in front of a random girl no need to burden her with his past.

The train had begun to chug off on the journey to Hogwarts.

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Stella watched the boy. She listened. He was reasonable. "Well if you had given me a chance in between your questions you would've heard my answers, which I was trying to tell you while you were talking," the boy said. No, not the boy. Azaiah. Stella's brain began to change it's mind. Maybe he wasn't bad. He just had a faint resemblance to someone she'd like to forget. Yes, that was all. Stella shook his hand tentatively. Then he went into his panic attack. And she remembered.

The boy who always got off easy because of his frequent panic attacks. The boy who hated her, out of all people, her. The boy who made her homeless, who tried to kill her by putting her on the streets. The boy who she had cursed every time a car had splashed her ever filthy threadbare clothes with mud. The boy she wished had never been born every time she went to bed in an alley hungry. The boy she wanted to destroy every time somebody tried to drag her to an orphanage or an asylum. Stella started to hyperventilate. This boy across from her didn't just look like her worst nemisis, he acted like him too.
"I do hope we get along," Azaiah said. Nononononononononono. He would try to get rid of her. He was back. Nononononono.

Stella, calm down, she told herself. This boy is named Azaiah. He is from Japan. He couldn't have gotten you kicked out. He never lived anywhere near you.
But Stella could still see his light panic attack. She was back on a muddy street behind her sister, setting a boy's hat on fire. The boy running. The town council bearing down on her. The boy who looked just like Azaiah Morgos. The boy who had turned every second of her life into torture. The boy she hated. Billy Rosbinskons. From her town. Oh no. Her methods of not flipping out weren't working. Stella took a breath. The lush train walls were closing in.

"Nonononono," Stella muttered. "You-I-You.." Her whole life she had tried to forget came rushing back. Stella tried to squirm away from Azaiah. He was bringing the memories. Street survival instincts cut in. She had to get rid of him. Stay away from him. Stella was back at her sister's bedside, watching her die. She was watching her mother take her last breaths. There was her father, burning the mail. Her brother, face white with shock as he watched her do magic. All the people she had ruined. Flashbacks.

"Help me. Please," Stella tried to push away the memories, but they were to vivid. She was going to vomit. Burying her head in her knees, Stella backed away to the edge of the train cart.

"I-please-I," Stella clenched her hands into fists. "I need to get out of this trolley."

(Sorry I couldn't post longer. I will try for more in my next post! Have a bit of a headache today!)

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

"Nonononono," his eyes widened slightly as he watched her mannerisms switch once again, but this was different, he knew the signs all to personally, she was having a panic attack. He inwardly laughed at the dark irony of the whole situation, but focused back on her, growing serious, "You-I-You.."


"Stella, take deep breaths, you're not there, you're in a train, to Hogwarts, no one is here to hurt you, deep breaths, focus..." his voice was soothing, like that of an older brother's, he didn't try to touch her, knowing he had somehow caused the attack.

"Help me. Please," she was quietly hyperventilating.


"Just take deep breaths, focus on the sounds around you, the real ones, focus on my voice, and if that doesn't help. listen to you're breathing," his eyes had softened and his voice sounded calming, like a brook washing over smooth stones.

"I-please-I," she clenched her hands into fists. He could see how nauseous she was feeling "I need to get out of this trolley."

"Do you need me to get an assistant Stella? They'll most likely have medication to ease your stomach, I'll leave and you can just stay and calm down in here," he was collected on the outside, despite his recent panic attack, but on the inside he was inwardly freaking out. He didn't know how to deal with this, he wasn't good with other people, not since his sister, he just hoped what he was doing was actually helping, this was wreaking havoc on his demeaner, "this is one of the least populated trolleys, going into others with just further your attack, since I'm almost positive I caused it in the first place, somehow, I'll just leave and send in an assistant with medicine, just stay here, trust me, more people crowding around you wont help." he soothed her once more. Merlin he hoped he wasn't making it worse, he knew how bad panic attacks were.


He walked out of the trolley after quickly grabbing his bag, and went to look for an assistant, weaving in and out of the crowd while inwardly pondering recent events.

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Stella watched as he left. She wanted to call out, wanted him to not have people come, but she didn't want to move. Wait. Stella tried to move an inch. She couldn't. She was stuck. What?! What?! No. Stella recalled Azaiah's words. Deep breaths. Try to keep yourself together. Stay still. One more flashback came, this one the most painful. Stella watched her long lost sister's pained face as she died. Then Stella couldn't stand it. Fear. The worst fear she had ever felt. Needed to move. Needed to get out of here. She struggled and then leapt up, finally free. Then she whipped open the compartment doors. The people on the street had been right: She was crazy. All sensible reasoning was drowned out by her latest flashback that kept repeating itself. Over and over. Help.

Stella stopped. She had to. She was going to hurt someone. Better yet, she needed to get off the whole train entirely. Stella knew that at some point she would be too scared and burst out of the compartment and injure a person. She sat back down on the seat and considered her options. She could run. She could hide. She could just fling herself out of the window and hope for the best. Stella decided to go with option D, just sit still and don't move an inch. Wait.

It was painful. The flashbacks had stopped, but that didn't stop the fear. And the realization. The realization she had pushed down all those years. That she could never escape her past. Never. Calm, she told herself. Azaiah probably has it worse. He wears a medical mask. Just the thought of Azaiah made her want to run, scream, hide, laugh. Stella's temple throbbed. A headache. Perfect timing.

The space behind her eyes pounded with pain. Her stomach churned. The fear was still there, more prominent than ever. "Make it stop," Stella said out loud to no one in particular. "Please." She started to cry, for the first time in 4 years.

Azaiah, Stella pleaded inwardly. The name brought a torrent of mental pain, but she knew he would be the only one who could understand. He would be the only one who could help. Azaiah, please come back. Please. Please. I need help.

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

He walked briskly through the crowed, serious as his eyes scanned the robes for the uniform of staff. He quickened his pace as his eyes landed on the girl from before.

'good, girls understand other girls...I think, no matter, she'll be better then I will in this situation...

"Ah, ma'am? I require assistance, a girl is having a panic attack a few trolleys down, do you think you can help her?"

The trolley girl immediately went serious and told him to take her to Stella, he didn't hesitate to do so. Azaiah weaved through he crowd with such ease, that the girl had to struggle to keep up with him. They soon reached the trolley where he found Stella, the trolley girl immediately crouched beside her and started to comfort her, while he just stood near the back of the car, waiting for the drama to pass...he never did like drama, be it at school or home.


He grabbed his bag and withdrew a bottle of Dr. Pepper, and nursed it as if it were tea, his mind was racing, trying to figure out why he triggered such emotions in the girl, and a migraine began to pound the side of his skull. He scowled, banging the side of his head with his hand, as if to get rid of the pain, it didn't work.


Pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, he continued delicately sipping his soda, the caffeine helping the pain lessen somewhat, and he began to hum a quiet tune from one of his favorite artists, as his thoughts began to organise themselves and he came to a conclusion.


According to his reaction to him after seeing his scars she seemed to turn away, which most don't do, instead asking of their origins mostly, it either meant she didn't want to deal with them, or she's seen such things before and knew how people with PTSD could be unpredictable or just didn't like people with PTSD, which is doubtful, but possible. When she saw his appearance a flicker of recognition passed her face, before she became rude, so he must look like someone she didn't like. Last but not least she had a panic attack after seeing hiss, which suggests that that boy had them and caused her trauma in some way while having them, or she herself just couldn't handle his appearance.

He looked back up at the girl and studied her once more, this was all just a theory until she proved it, so he would wait for confirmation.

Maybe this girl would be of some miniscule interest to him...he'll have to find out.

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

The girl from the trolley came to comfort Stella. But she knew it wouldn't help, not at all. She had to talk to this boy. Stella would refer to him as that from now on. The boys name wouldn't exactly help her cause.

Stella pretended that she was all right, but she knew that if someone was educated they would know something was broken, shattered in her eyes. Stella hoped the trolley girl wasn't experienced. "I think I'm fine now." Her voice came out in shallow breaths through clenched teeth.

"I mean, I think you can leave. That was helpful. Thank you." Stella's smooth tone reappeared. She stared straight ahead and not at 'the boy'. Her eyes focused on a point in the distance, but she quickly snapped herself back into reality. Stella didn't want the flashbacks to come again. She had had enough of those.

Finally. Stella turned to- turned to-she groaned. Stella couldn't keep referring to him as "the boy."

"Azaiah." Stella's eyes flashed at the name but she didn't break down. It wouldn't help matters. She needed to find out the truth.

"Some years ago, a boy who resembled you in every way ruined my life. He had panic attacks, so people would never think he was the tormenter. I set his hat on fire when he talked about-about-ab-b..." Stella shook her head. She could DO this. "About my dead mother and sister." A lump welled in her throat. Azaiah would be the first one who she would talk to about this. And the last. Stella would never cry again.

"That was his chance. He told. I was homeless three days later. On the streets. Starving. Dying. It was terrible. You are him. I can't- I can't-"

The only word she could think made no sense, but still she thought that just maybe, there was a chance Azaiah would understand what she was trying to say. Maybe.

"Why?"

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

"Azaiah," He tilted his head to the side, back turned to her, and then slowly faced her direction, face a mask of calm impassiveness. He looked right in her eyes, which where betraying her, showing her internal turmoil, she needed to practice hiding her emotions.

"Some years ago, a boy who resembled you in every way ruined my life. He had panic attacks, so people would never think he was the tormenter. I set his hat on fire when he talked about-about-ab-b..." if he cared about her stuttering, he didn't show it, watching her with a level stare and simply...listening, he was used to that, better then talking anyhow,"About my dead mother and sister." He raised a brow, waiting for her to elaborate, she didn't. It was annoying, but he knew people didn't spill a life story without hiding a few things. No matter, if this relationship grew he'd find out soon enough, and then he'd see if she was worth keeping as an ally.

"That was his chance. He told. I was homeless three days later. On the streets. Starving. Dying. It was terrible. You are him. I can't- I can't-" he stayed silent, though inside he directed this flow of info to the right doors, still mentally sorting through it, yet also paying attention on the outside. This sentence explained many things, and added more pieces to the puzzle of this girl his mind filling in the missing ones, but one piece remained ambiguous, her parents, that piece was shifting with theory, unproven, constantly changing, like a chameleon.


He was nodding minutely, coming up with deductions but quickly throwing them out he mentally sighed, that piece would have to be given willingly.


His Dr. Pepper was limp in his hand, laxly clasped on it's top, his other hand looped behind the strap of his bag so it wouldn't slip from its spot on his shoulder , his eyes scanning the ground almost listlessly, yet still with a purpose . Absently he set his drink down on the seat and looked back up at the girl, heel of his free hand banging the side of his head, as if he were trying to help sort the information he was gathering.

He started slightly as the girl spoke, just above a whisper, but her could hear, and what she said puzzled him for a moment.

"Why?"


His mind skidded to a halt with that one word, before proceeding to try and figure out what she meant. Why what? Was she referring to the boy who tormented her? Who, apparently, looked like him? Or Was she asking why he helped her?


He went with the later, it was the question he could answer, If you're referring to why I helped you then it was simply because one; I didn't want to deal with a girl as, if not more, mentally unstable then me. Two; because we're both going to Hogwarts and it never hurts to have someone in debt to you, and three? Well, lets say I understand how painful and mentally degrading panic attacks are, and had sympathy for you," he shrugged, and took back up his drink, taking a nonchalant sip of it.

"Though, if you need some kind of assurance, I'll let you know I'm not one to cause torment to others, no, too close to torture, I'd never cross that line unless absolutely necessary, " he shuddered, face screwing up with absolute loathing and disgust at the mere thought. Then grew more solemn, looking back up at Stella, "Though I must let you know, I don't think I can comfort you in your turmoil, since I'm going through the same, and the event in my past that causes my panic attacks has left me emotionally detached other than the terror related to the incident. So I implore you don't get attached to me, lest you become more depressed, and for my own reasons," he mumbled the last part, but he always warned people before hand of becoming friends with him, it was necessary, "Though I cannot stop you from befriending me, though it will be a while, maybe never, for me to feel the same," he stared longingly at his soda, as if wishing it were something stronger, before taking a swig of it, letting the blissful taste wash through his mouth, which escaped a sigh of contentment, he than looked back at Stella, "I implore you thinks things through before acting upon any thoughts relating to me."

He walked closer to her, before sitting back in the train booth they had met in, and once more taking his sketch pad out before flipping to the page he was working on. Upon seeing the feline's picture a feeling of depression struck him, and he ran his fingers along the picture, wishing so hard that Earl were here now to comfort his turmoiled mind. The cat was his only link to stability, and this school ripped that away from him with it's ridicules rule of no pets


The drawing now seemed to only taunt him, and he abruptly flipped the page, before working on the beginnings of another sketch, pushing the previous thought to the back of his mind.


Heey, sorry for the late update, my notifications I swore I turned on didn't notify me of your update to the post. Hehe, hope this longer one made up for it...

A.M

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Stella hated him. She hated everything about him. He didn't get it. Not at all. Azaiah Morgos would never understand. The answer to her question had been the simple slip between life and death. He had chosen death. Now you have a reason to hate him,Stella told herself.

"Though, if you need some kind of assurance, I'll let you know I'm not one to cause torment to others, no, too close to torture, I'd never cross that line unless absolutely necessary. Though I must let you know, I don't think I can comfort you in your turmoil, since I'm going through the same, and the event in my past that causes my panic attacks has left me emotionally detached other than the terror related to the incident. So I implore you don't get attached to me, lest you become more depressed, and for my own reasons," Azaiah said.

Stela's features turned to stone. She would never show this boy any more of her emotions. Never. He would not get the chance to comfort her. Not once in his sad, miserable life. Stella pushed herself back as he walked closer, not wanting him anywhere near. She had never loathed someone this much.

Stella wished her pocketknife was here. Or anything, really. Anything to give her comfort. No. Azaiah hadn't helped, but he had shown her one thing. That life needed to be forgotten. Never again would she put trust in someone she had just met.

Stella laughed coldly "Your wish is granted, Azaiah Morgos. Don't expect for me to speak to you again. There's no way I can get attached if that happens."


And with that, she left the train cart.

Ok, I think it's up to you Azaiah. You can end the story, or it can continue. I would go with Option 2.

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.
-Groucho Marx

Enter, a Broken Child  Open to 3 People   Closed 

Everyone that Miranda cared about was at the Platform today. She had ram through the wall crisply, since she'd done it many times before for other siblings. But now she carried her own cart with her books and other belongings and a bright smile. Her mother placed her own worn witch hat on top of her head, crouching down slightly to give her a warm goodbye. Her father was usually a very serious man who rarely smiled but he gazed at her now with the corner of his lip turned up slightly, which was enough for Miranda to run over and hug him.

After hugging and saying goodbye to everyone who wasn't joining her on the Hogwarts Express, Miranda approached the train, stepping on as the man who directed the students instructed. She looked back one last time, her red hair blowing in the wind, and caught the wink her father gave her before he disappeared in the sea of families.

When she got inside, she saw her brother Peter with his friends, talking about sixth-year things. She didn't want to bother them so she kept on walking. In her hand she held a little charm she made back home, a wooden owl that was carved as best a young child could do. She wasn't an artist but she was still proud of her work.

Miranda sat with some other girls for some of the ride but they eventually became rather annoying, since they only talked about little things she didn't really care about. She got up and walked around the train, going to other parts and casually looking around to get an idea of what the students would be like at Hogwarts.

That's when she heard some loud, argumentative voices and she went to investigate. She saw a girl and a boy in a compartment and they seemed to be having a disagreement, especially the girl. She seemed more angry than the boy, who looked like he didn't even want to argue, but Miranda wasn't sure. She pretended to be inside a nearby compartment, slyly watching as the girl furiously left and when she felt like things were quiet enough, Miranda went over and peeked into the compartment.

Eyeing the boy, she asked, "Are you alright? What happened, if I may ask?"
  Back