branches burst abloom pv: george fin

@Asteria Kurokawa

That leafy temptress calls to George as well as it did to Asteria, with those sturdy branches and wavering fall leaves beckoning him closer. It's only when he gets close that he looks up and realizes that someone's beaten him to the punch. And there she is, relaxing in the upper branches as the afternoon sun starts to give away to some of that autumnal cold. The tree was begging to be climbed, but if the current tenant wasn't interested in company, the whole thing would be a wash. The last place you wanted to have a fight was up in a tree, and he knew that from experience.

She was watching the clouds pass by up there and hadn't noticed the boy now standing to watch her, just below the tree branches. He lifted a hand to his lips and tapped out an idle beat. He wasn't sure how to start a conversation with this sort of verticality, but the alternative was walking away, and that was no alternative at all. It seemed the best way forward was just to take a leap. For him, not for her. No, most certainly not from that altitude.

"Is it a good view up there?" he wondered. His mother told him when in doubt, talk about the weather. The weather didn't look all that stunning from down on the ground, though autumn never had been all that thrilling. No sun, no snow, just cold wind and the odd rain. A sort of unhappy medium. But it would be best enjoyed from in a tree, without a doubt. "Would you mind if I came up? I'm George Henry, I'm in Hufflepuff."

With an introduction made, it was straight to work. He tucked in all loose articles, shoving his shuffle scarf down the front of his shirt and the bottom of his shirt down into his pants, lest any of his garments get caught in the branches. He's sort of struggling on the first part of the trunk, where he has to jump and get a good grasp on the branches, but he remains undeterred. Unless she deters him, of course. But he had no doubt she would accept his lovely company!

Upon hearing another person call out to her, Asteria nearly fell out of the tree, her whole body jerking upwards in shock. That would have been one way to get out of the tree, she supposed, her hands grasping tightly around the branch she rested on now. If she was to remove them, she knew that she would see the rough imprints of bark, as she felt it dig into her palm.

With her potential fall out of the way, she turned her attention towards the boy now clambering up. She supposed she must have seen him in the hubbub of their mutual common room (He had said that he was a Hufflepuff, right? Her memory was unsure, caught up in the haze of adrenaline that accompanies a near death experience). But really, she thought that she would have recognized him, considering his odd assortment of garments. Maybe it was the robes that everyone normally wore. Those tended to hide things, she guessed, with a faint shrug. Now is not the time for this, she reminded herself with an internal shake. The boy (Gene? Gerold? It was something with a G) had asked her a question and she had left him quite literally hanging, as he pulled his way up the tree.

"It's- well it's nice enough up here. A bit nippy, I guess." She forced herself to keep her voice level, to keep the idle anxiety at her inability to get out of the tree at a minimum. Cool and casual, she reminded herself. Yeah, I can do that. "And I would invite you up, but you seem to have taken the initiative. A bit bold, but I can appreciate that." That should be fine, she wasn't making too much a fool of herself, was she? From her perch above the grounds, she shivered a bit, an afternoon breeze rushing past her, and she found herself wishing that she was wearing a jacket thicker than her current threadbare black cardigan.

"Um- I'm Asteria, by-the-way," she tacked on, the tail end rushed. She offered a slight wave with one hand, the other still clamped firmly onto the tree. If one was to share a tree, one should at least try to polite, she reasoned, a veteran of numerous vicious tag games where truces had been sought in high up places. Which reminded her: she would have to get out of this tree at some point. Her brain raced to the future, to the fact that at some point this incredibly forward boy would want to leave the tree and she would have to explain her predicament. Still, the future was the future. The faint coil of anxiety at her stomach, the slight acidic tug, could stay where it was for now, simmering quietly. All of that was a bridge that she could burn when she got there. 

@George Henry

Without the shield of his robes, he certainly looked a lot more distinct. Frayed clothes jostled around as he wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tree and started to shimmy upward like a caterpillar, oversized on his small frame. Family heirlooms, surely. But not ones he minded - they brought with them the smell of home, even if that might not be as pleasant to anyone beside the wearer. Home smelled a lot like firewood and deodorant, in fact. And now it smelled like tree bark.

That tree served as much more of an obstacle than young George had anticipated. He'd gotten about halfway up before he needed a breather, bracing himself precariously on two smaller branches that creaked and threatened to snap under the weight of his tightly-tied dress shoes. While he recovered his stamina, the girl above him spoke and alerted him to her presence once more. That's right - she was the whole reason he'd wanted to come up in the first place. A girl in a tree is a most curious thing to discover, and the questions prompted would keep him up for the rest of the evening if they're left unanswered. Asteria? He'd never heard that one before. Maybe it was a wizard name.

"Aye, a bit cold today. Must be even worse up there!" he jokes, putting on a toothy grin. A bad joke was always good for breaking the ice. Served well as a test for a new friend, as well. If the girl laughed along with it, he knew they'd get along. If she didn't, he'd be in just the right place to throw her out of the tree. It's a winning move in either case. "Asteria? Is that a wizard name? I've never met anyone named Asteria before."

He didn't wait for a reply before his journey continues. A man with a destination in mind, George reached up to grapple on to a branch just above his head. His nose wrinkled as he stared with intense concentration, gathering his strength and pulling hard to bring himself upward. There's a snap, a thump, and an 'agh!' as the branch snaps off and George pulls it down to smack right into his staring face. He lost his grip in shock, but managed to catch the tree trunk with his legs, the branch flying away from his hand in an arc. Warm scarlet dripped onto his finger as he felt his now-fattened lip, split from the impact. "Ow."

It looked painful, but not painful enough to stop George form prodding the wound curiously for a few seconds before wiping the mess off in his sleeve. Nor enough to stop him from just grabbing a new branch and trying out the exact same strategy, albeit with more success. Finally, he pulled himself up to a branch at Asteria's level, flopping over forward to drape over it like a piece of wet laundry on the line. His arms and legs hung carelessly over the edge of the branch.

"I am very bold," he added, as a response to her earlier compliments. His smug smile is made a bit lopsided by his new split-lip, which he licked to try and dull the pain every so often. "You're a... Ravenclaw, I bet!"

She seemed shy, and a bit quiet, and a little kooky. Who sits up in a tree alone but the kin of the birds, anyway? He was confident in his wager, but still turned his head to look at her, tucking his lower lip into his mouth to hide away his cut from the harsh breeze that came through the tree.

She couldn't help but wince, watching the branch fall away in his hands and his near tumble downwards. That could be me, she reminded herself, falling like that. The wind stung at her scraped knee, but she was thankful that she had not obtained any other injures (yet, chimed in a helpful voice at the back of her head). She shook her head to dispel her concerns and continued to track his progress onward and up through the tree.

As he flopped onto an adjacent branch, she took him in more firmly. From the ground, he had been a blur of brown, a fuzzy figure with ill-fitting clothing. Now, up close, she could see the jumble of clothing he wore, the scarf sticking out of his shirt, the carefree smile on his face and the slight cut that graced it. What an odd kid, she thought, unable to conceal the slight smile that passed over her face as she watched him dangle. It took a certain sort of persistence to drag yourself up a tree, especially if you knew you wouldn't be alone in it. What if you hated the other person? Then you'd be stuck up a tree with no ladder and you would have to make awful small talk. She hoped that that wouldn't happen. If it did she might have no choice but to let herself topple from the tree.

She leaned forward towards him slightly, one hand gripping the branch she was on until her knuckles were white, the other hand extended outwards slightly. "To answer your first question," she raised her pointer finger, "it's a Greek name. It might also be a wizard one? I'll have to get back to you on that though." Her mother had picked it. She knew that much at least. It was strange - she'd never considered where it had come from until she came here and was bombarded with names just as strange as her own.

"To answer your second question," she raised up another finger, as if she was counting off, "BZZT! Wrong, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds." So he hadn't seen her before. Interesting. "You get one more guess, then you loose." She smiled, hoping that he wouldn't take her threat seriously. "And what happens after that? Well, who's to say." She shrugged, her legs swinging back and forth, with and against the breeze.

Another thought crossed her mind, as she watched him dangle across from her, having to squint her eyes slightly in the fading red light of the afternoon. "I know you threw your name, but I uh- I didn't catch it. And it would be awfully improper to go around playing trivia with nameless figures. Care to share again?"

It was nice, to rest here, to toss out idle statements like they meant nothing. In many ways, she missed this kind of casualness, hoped that the tentative calm would last, and stared at the boy across from her, attempting to gauge his reaction.

@George Henry

George rolled over, the branch supporting him creaking as his weight shifted from one side to the other and shook off a few of the loose autumn leaves. Licking his wound was getting old, so he let his fat lip protrude again, the chilly breeze catching on his saliva and numbing the cut. It was a brisk wind, one that came by in a hurry and reminded you not to stay out past ten o' clock. George was too busy testing his balance on the tree to pay any attention. The way he leaned back made his scarf dangle over his shoulder, his slow swaying threatening to send him tumbling over backward. He looked down at the grass and tried to remember where the hospital wing was.

When she leaned forward, George mirrored the movement, his nose and cheeks pink from the stinging breeze. It wasn't too cold, but it was cold enough that the pair could feel each other's breath on their faces from this close, and when he pulled back a bit he started to miss the brief respite. He sniffled and grabbed a handful of scarf to wipe his nose, irritating his split lip.

"What's it mean, Asteria? You must have got it for some reason, aye?" suggests, with a helpless shrug. Names like George, Milton, Henry - they had no meaning. If you had one of those, it meant you were an average bloke, you watched the television, and you ate beans and toast for breakfast. Rich people - and, it seemed, wizards - had strange names, from far away places. They meant stuff like flower, or diamond, or money, or death. Something poetic and posh, like that. He'd have to think up a posh name for himself. A proper wizard name.

"Two hundred galleons," George states, with a roll of his eyes so dramatic that it nearly throws him backward off-balance. His expressive motions steadied some as he gripped a stump of branch, thumbing at the splintered flesh of the wood where a stick used to be. she couldn't be a Ravenclaw after all. They would have caught that - pounds were useless here, aside for throwing the 5 pence pieces down at the boy on your lower bunk. Slytherin would have known it too. No Hufflepuff would have been brave enough to climb up in the tree unless they were running from a mouse, or something. This one was a lion. He took a deep breath, then bellowed his guess out with the booming confidence of the sorting hat. "Gryffindor!"

The word echoed out across the great lake and surrounding hills, no doubt confusing the few students who were still out on the grounds. He grinned with an easy confidence despite being entirely incorrect. It was a typical sort of behaviour from him.

"George Henry," he adds, letting one hand free from the branches to swipe his hair back into place and pull his scarf up to his chin. There wasn't a trace of tension in his body as the two shared an easy afternoon chat. Even the tension warranted by their altitude was absent. A lack of fear was one of the great deal of benefits provided by having such a thick skull.

It was starting to freeze up in the tree, as the sun sunk closer to the horizon. At this point I'll either be a popsicle or a pancake, Asteria thought, still scrutinizing the boy across from her. There was a certain carelessness to his motions, an absolute uncaring certainty in how he shifted across the branch he had claimed as his own and moved across it that set every anxious nerve in her focused on the threat of falling ablaze. Hands clenching tighter on the branch, she began to answer his first question.

"A meaning? I don't know, uh-" her nose scrunched up, trying to sift through the simple sum of eleven years of life, "-something about stars? I never really asked." She really hadn't. Growing up, her main concern over her name had been her absolute inability to find a way to shorten it. Meaning had been the furthest thing from her mind most of the time. Self consciously, she raised one of her legs up from where it dangled, resting it more firmly on the branch. At this point, she wished more than anything to be on solid land, to be able to slip into a cross-legged position and flop downwards, like a jack-in-the-box after the song has ended. "What's it to you anyway?" she mumbled, the slight embarrassment of not having an answer made obvious by the flush across her cheeks. Suddenly, she was thankful for the chill and the ruddy nature of both of their cheeks at this moment.

And then came his answer to other question, the answer that sent her swaying backwards as a result of the force of his delivery of it, setting her adrenaline glands to work again. Body racing with the curious courage of concern, she replied in turn: "BZZT, wrong again!" The idea that she could be mistaken for a Gryffindor was amusing in a way - sure, she coveted the nature of that house, the boldness that seemed to follow in all of their footsteps, the automatic "coolness" they seemed to have, but she didn't think that she could live up to it is she was in that house. As her thoughts swirled around, the wind prickled at her, setting her on edge, warning her that if she let go of this branch, she could go flying, a leaf on the wind. She tensed her shoulders, bracing against the draft and determined to not show weakness to this other caution-less child.

"I'm- I'm actually a Hufflepuff too," she offered to the boy in a more subdued tone of voice than his, not wanting to attract any attention. The potential of being found by or baffling other students was the farthest thing from her mind at this point - she hadn't even wanted to be found really, but he was a fine distraction. Oh- she had promised a consequence for failure. Hm. Looking around the old oak that they perched in, she noted a small bundle of acorns, and as surreptitiously as she could (which was not much - she lacked the refinement to not broadcast every aching movement) gathered them up in her hand. "Now George Henry," she said, taking on a jokingly serious tone of voice, all grandiose and dramatic, "you failed my 'puzzle'. Prepare to face your fate," and promptly flicked one of the acorns she had gathered at the boy. 

@George Henry

His eyes trailed after the autumn leaves as the breeze plucked a pair down from the branches and whirled them through the air, spinning around like dance partners until they came gently to rest on the field grass. It was a long way down. Maybe he would fall. He wouldn't die, he knew that for sure - at least, he felt confidently in it. There were a few leaves down there. They could soften the fall, like something out of a cartoon. A bed of leaves.

"Something about stars?" He repeats, with an amused snort. His nose wrinkles, a broad smile concealing the sneer he had on his face for a moment. What's it to him? Well, it's a wizard name. That's what it is to him. But apparently not - it's Greek, which is entirely separate from wizards. Right? He'd have to check in the library for something about it. "I just wanted to know. I don't know what George means, either..."

"...Something about stars." He couldn't resist. Whether she's amused or not, he lets out another giggle, occupying himself with a back-and-forth sway on the branch. The tree creaks under them both, swaying in the wind and along with the reckless motion of the boy's swinging legs.

Just when he'd started to become unpleasant company, the girl reveals her true nature. A Hufflepuff! Of course - he should have known. There was something about her that just made her feel like they'd been friends for ages, like he felt with the boys from his dorm, or the Huffles he'd met at the table in the sorting ceremony. He made himself believe there was, anyway. It sort of removed some of the magical element if he thought about it rationally and admitted that, really, the Hufflepuffs just trended toward being the friendly sort, just like he'd read in his books. But there is no room for logical thinking in a place like this - Hogwarts, of course, not just up in a tree. No form of rationality would hamper his fun.

The squirrel girl's acorn collection goes entirely beyond the boy's perception, even as she picks them right before her his very eyes. It's only when one actually clonks off his nose that he seems to acknowledge them at all. His paused mind suddenly recalled the punishment he'd earned for his failure to recognize that distinct Hufflepuff mystique. The acorn hit harder than one might expect, having the elephant of surprise, and just like that the elephant trampled him over and sent him reeling backward, his back hitting absolutely nothing but air as he started to drop from the sky like a sack of potatoes.

In a circus-worthy show of acrobatics, he clings to the branch with the back of his knee, deflty maneuvering to land on a branch below. And then another. And another. One more. A final branch. Crunch - into the pile of leaves he'd seen accumulating below, face-down in the golden autumn leaves. His clothes cling onto him loosely, making him look like a discarded scarecrow as he rested in the dirt.

"My nothe," he groans, after a few moments of seething on the ground. He reaches up to feel his fat lip, now accompanied by a new scrape across his face. Thank god, the upcoming dance was a masked ball.

When the acorn hit George's nose, it was all she could do to not cackle in laughter, watching the shocked expression spread across his face. "Bullseye!" she shouted. But just as quickly as she began laughing she stopped, a thickening feeling of panic rising in her chest as she watched him topple backwards. Her mouth, once open wide with laughter, shrunk into a small 'o' shape of concern, unable to do anything as she traced his progress down the tree. He just flopped, down down down, landing on the ground with a soft thud, and she did nothing.

She felt frozen, her heart thumping against her chest, the taste of bile in her mouth as her acid reflux kicked into overdrive. Had she killed him? Would she get expelled for accidentally killing another student? It had been an accident right? Her head raced with future scenarios: herself in front of Lear, explaining why they had ended up in a tree, how he had fallen, then her mind skipped forward- oh god, she would have to explain his to his parents. Did he have parents? Her veins coursed with the frantic acid of adrenaline, while her breath was short and all of her being felt as if she was on fire, as she watched his scarecrow like form amidst the leaves.

And then he spoke. The panic began to dwindle, still there of course, but fading. She found herself begin to thaw, her mind stuck less on the form below her and the future, able to take stock of what was happening, even as his fall played on loop in the back of her mind. Leaning forward, she squinted her eyes slightly, the late afternoon having begun to fade into night at this point. Words rose in her throat, a meager Hey are you okay? but they never left her lips. The wind had been rising in ferocity all night and a particularly strong gust hit her square in the back as she leaned over, sending her toppling down the tree. Well at least I was able to get down, was the only thought that crossed her mind as she felt herself fall.

Her body arced downwards, a shooting star falling from her perch and she tumbled through the air, arms scrabbling against branches. Desperate, she reached for bark, but found only air in her fingertips. Unlike George, she was unable to cushion her fall with any additional branches and fell like a rock, picking up more and more velocity until she reached the ground. Wind whipped through hair and her cardigan ballooned outwards like a great dark bird. Then she hit, leaves crunching and billowing up at the point of impact.

She was alive. That was the important thing. Oh sure, there was a pain in her wrist that indicated that something may have been broken, and yes, her body would be covered in bruises the next day, but she was alive. The breath had been knocked out of her and she heaved, trying to regain even the slightest bit of composure.

Turning to the boy next to her, she whispered in a hoarse voice, still weak from the fall. "Um- sorry about that. I didn't mean for either of us to fall, honest." A strange feeling banged around inside of her, a sensation of absolute relief, buffeted by the humor of the whole situation. She began to laugh, a thin reedy one, as she was still regaining her breath, but it was uncontrollable, a response to the strangeness of everything that had happened.

@George Henry

@Asteria Kurokawa

He could see the pattern of his fingertips, the narrow channels filled with red where he'd touched his nose. That's a pity. The boy pushed himself up on one sore arm, shivering before he finally succumbed to weakness again and let himself fall to the side. Dizzy, he couldn't focus his eyes on the tree - but he could see motion up there. Rapid motion. Motion that wore familiar clothes and sounded familiar when it spoke. He blinked. He heard a thump. Air rushed over him, burying him in a wave of autumn leaves that covered him like a blanket. And he realized he hadn't opened his eyes yet, but had laid back down onto the ground. Cold grass and dirt pressed against his scalp. An unlucky leaf was caught between his fingers, and he twisted it between them, letting pieces fall until the whole thing disintegrated. The ground was quite comfortable if you could ignore the pain of meeting it.

The girl spoke again and ruined the silent moment, her voice striking his head like a spark and igniting a vicious headache. The pain of it dulled, but pulsed again in waves when he replied. His voice was just a croak.

"It's okay," he spoke in a breath, gasping to recapture the lost air. "We both fell... so it's fair."

He was no stranger to falling out of trees, but typically, the whole journey was a bit more choreographed. His brother was taller, and older, and more graceful in his ability to climb. On an autumn evening like this, they would go to the forest and see who could shimmy up higher onto the tall tree up the hill. And when George got too scared to continue, his brother would go down and help him, and make sure to soften the landing. This was one of the unfortunate times where one had to meet the ground head on - and while the grass and leaves had done their best, he couldn't help but feel like there could be some serious damage under there somewhere. Permanent damage.

His grasping fingers waded through the pile of leaves, finding himself after a moment. Sitting up was a tremendous effort - so much so that he gave up, deciding that the task would be best left for another 5 minutes. Besides, there was still so much relaxation to be had. The icy autumn breeze grew harsh and stung his lip and nose, chiding him for being so foolish. His fingers slipped through new pockets in his trousers, provided by the branches on his way through. He felt the wind sting him there, too, as it brushed aside the leaves and found his perforated pants.

"Should we go to the nurse?" he murmured, his cheeks red even beside his many scrapes. Admitting defeat. His pride was secondary to his desire for a warm bed and some sort of potion to seal up the stinging scratches he'd put into himself. "...C'mon."