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Author Topic: Dreams // Caitlin  (Read 327 times)

* Zak Weiland

    (12/17/2017 at 20:42)
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  • Keeper for Wimbourne Wasps
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  • ['46-'47] Quidditch Champions ['49-'50] Quidditch Champions ['49-'50] Duelling Finalist Player of the Summer
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It was a peculiar thing - numbness next to softness, next to warmth. But it was not the sort of numbness that he associated with physical exercise, or running, or Quidditch. It was numbness in the sense that you did not feel full in the same way after stuffing yourself on seafood. A numbness that betrayed it had more than a little bit to do with magic.

It was a softness that had not been there the last time he'd opened his eyes. A softness that had been put underneath him without his knowledge, though he could not remember having fallen down from the spell that had been put on him either, and he supposed he'd come down somehow. There was too much warmth for it to be the sort that came with simply floating on air, and too much presence next to him.

It smelled too much, he thought, of Caitlin McLeod.

In a sense, it was as though awaking from a sleep that he'd needed for a long time, if only because he'd fallen into it so deeply. Because he did not mind getting lulled on its feathery wings. In reality that much time had not passed, but it felt like hours, and Zak was too fond of disappearing into that warmth to willingly having wanted to push himself back out of it.

Zak had never been knocked out in a duel before.

And so, he sqeezed the hand that he found to be in his own already, fingers entangled all on their own. Silently, knowing interruption would come soon enough in the form of some nurse wanting to check on him - he'd been hit by too many bludgers not to know the routine.

Perhaps, if they lay perfectly still, pretending to be asleep, the sounds that were coming from his right-hand side would go away, leaving them alone.
_…-    _…_……--<"  __……_…--…-
  \___/      \_…----<_  - `-…  _…<_…-
  _-… \___…-           \_…-<__…--<__…-<

Caitlin McLeod

    (01/14/2018 at 22:37)
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  • Gryffindor '52
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  • ['46-'47] Quidditch Champions ['49-'50] Quidditch Champions ['45-'46] Prefect Pick!
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It was easy to doze off. Not completely but until she was caught halfway between sleep and waking, aware of the quiet, familiar bustle, the air of organized hectic that came with the infirmary, the small noises of nurses moving about on their business, checking on the few patients while trying not to disturb them. Aware of the heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest next to her. In and out, rise and fall.

Aware, most of all, of the quiet.

Not the kind that came with low levels of noise, the kind you could experience sometimes on a winter night, alone with the stars, the cold, crisp air and the snow, a light blanket that covered up all the rough edges of the world and omitted the small sounds, when there was nothing there to clutter the silence with words or sound and you were alone with your thoughts.
Neither was it the sometimes a little oppressive silence of the library, alive with the hushed voices of students who hoped they wouldn't draw the attention of the librarian, the dry sounds of rustling pages and quills scraping over parchment to finish this essay or that assignment.

It wasn't even the silence of a hospital though they were in one. Not that heavy silence, leaden with desperate hope and suffocating worry, the low mutter of people exchanging excruciating trivialities because they couldn't bear to even think the important questions let alone ask them out loud, yet couldn't bear the silence any longer, trying to fill the void with only more of the same.

It was a silence of the mind, of thoughts dripping away slowly like thick syrup, of a tired mind, lulled by warmth and softness, by the familiar and comforting, by the exhaustion of the duel. Her mind, usually alive with a million thoughts and ideas, with new impressions being sorted, processed and analyzed, even or maybe especially when she was trying to sleep, was quiet.

If she had paused to think about it for a moment, she might have been unsettled. As it was, she was perfectly content to lay back and revel in a moment that, as far as she was concerned right now, was just about perfect.
And shared with just the right person.

Caitlin shifted slightly like she had twice before, mostly to move a little before settling down pretty much in the same position she had held stubbornly since getting here, snuggled up close, one hand loosely entwined with his, her head resting against his shoulder.

Relaxed and half asleep as she was, it took her a while to realize the change when it came. The slight shift in the rhythm of his breath nearly unnoticed as her sleepy thoughts were still musing about their own uncharacteristic silence. Or, well... relative silence anyway.
But when he squeezed her hand she finally did notice that something very significant had changed, smiling into his shoulder as she squeezed back. “Hey there, sleeping beauty,” she muttered, voice barely loud enough for him to hear.

The last thing she wanted right now was for one of the nurses to notice and decide this had to be the perfect moment to check on them. Sure it was necessary at some point – she had done enough time in the wing to know that – but it didn't have to be right now.
Still, as good as the moment felt – despite the various throbs and numb spots, the headache and syrupy thoughts he had left her with – and as little as she wanted to be interrupted right now, she was glad that he was finally awake. That last spell had hit pretty hard. A lot harder than she had intended it to, anyway.

Glory Roars

#033 McLeod