Post by Cassandra Robinson on Jan 1, 2011 1:51:44 GMT -5
ooc: AHHH CYAN I will treasure that description of Cassandra forever and ever I don't even
"You shouldn't take points for something that isn't his fault."
Cassandra's narrowed gaze darted back to Gabriel, having successfully transferred her load of drawing supplies to its rightful owner. "I suppose it's your doing, then," she said coolly, not even a trace of jest or inquiry in her terse voice. "Care to explain yourself, Gabriel? Such as what you were doing stripping down an underclassman, ripping his garments, and generally terrifying him?" That, and why do you still have a knife?, why are you injured again?, what have you done with your wand?, or how did you even get in the library without my noticing? But those were less important questions, at least less important at the moment, and Cassandra held her tongue for those, settling with glowering mutely for answers.
"I-I'll help."
Cassandra jerked back to face the drawing boy, color returning to her cheeks in pale, angry splotches. "Sorry, what?" she said softly, chillingly, with the exact tone often heard by her younger brothers, nevermind that the eldest boy was several years younger than he. "Did you not hear me the first time? Are you aware that this is insubordination? I'll have your name before you go, if you would." It was bad enough that Gabriel had decided to just go and disclose what he'd needed when some innocent young soul had still been loitering around, but even worse, he had done it while looking so—so pitiable, so weak, so very in need that some shy little boy had felt compelled to disobey her suggestion to exit the room to instead offer his "help."
This was the same little boy that had just been harassed and presumably had his robes ripped to shreds by Gabriel moments before, mind you.
And there was no way, in any shape or form, Cassandra would willingly burden this boy with the troubles that seemed to follow Gabriel like an endless shadow, trouble emanating so thickly from his person, like a poisonous, cloying smog, that it would scar his face, maim his limbs, leave him bleeding on musty shelves while his flesh rotted, convince him he did not, would not, could not ask for anyone else's support—not doctors, especially doctors—even with injuries that would have taken down any other normal human, magical or not.
Trouble that had gotten him solitary confinement.
And medication—willingly taken or not—left its effects, even after years of prolonged discontinuation, and she would not let this boy be another victim like the two described in the articles Gabriel had all but thrown at her. Especially not a boy as kind as this one. Kindness, it seemed, was in desperately short supply in these dangerous times--and neither she nor Gabriel deserved it. Let him hate her all the more for it, if it would keep him out of danger.
"I hope you do realize," Cassandra answered Gabriel, slowly, the barest touch of condescension in her tone, trying not to see how much Gabriel was supported by the shelf behind him, or how frighteningly unadulterated relief spilled openly across his (pale, pale) face, "that blood-replenishing potions only temporarily relieve the symptoms of blood loss, even if it were easily brewed or bought, which it isn't." She felt the beginnings of a lecture swelling in her throat, and she could not contain it, not when Gabriel had been reduced to this, as if he were walking the very border between shadow and life, obdurately overexerting and pushing himself until there was almost nothing left. "You can't take them forever; transfigured blood only does so much before the body gives out. And with—with the way you keep doing things, you won't last long." She breathed, angry, bold from his weakened state, eyeing him with a dark look comparable to a particularly ill-willed dragon sighting the same moron of a thief that had not learned his lesson.
"I'll buy you some doses of the potion from Drakborough and give them to you at the Ravenclaw Tower." There were few enough other Ravenclaws these days, and in any case, most kept to themselves in spheres of self-induced solitude. Cassandra looked at him, hard. "But this—is—it. Do you understand? Now, I suggest you stay in your room until I return. Will you need assistance on your way there?"
She obviously thought he did, no matter what his answer was.
"You shouldn't take points for something that isn't his fault."
Cassandra's narrowed gaze darted back to Gabriel, having successfully transferred her load of drawing supplies to its rightful owner. "I suppose it's your doing, then," she said coolly, not even a trace of jest or inquiry in her terse voice. "Care to explain yourself, Gabriel? Such as what you were doing stripping down an underclassman, ripping his garments, and generally terrifying him?" That, and why do you still have a knife?, why are you injured again?, what have you done with your wand?, or how did you even get in the library without my noticing? But those were less important questions, at least less important at the moment, and Cassandra held her tongue for those, settling with glowering mutely for answers.
"I-I'll help."
Cassandra jerked back to face the drawing boy, color returning to her cheeks in pale, angry splotches. "Sorry, what?" she said softly, chillingly, with the exact tone often heard by her younger brothers, nevermind that the eldest boy was several years younger than he. "Did you not hear me the first time? Are you aware that this is insubordination? I'll have your name before you go, if you would." It was bad enough that Gabriel had decided to just go and disclose what he'd needed when some innocent young soul had still been loitering around, but even worse, he had done it while looking so—so pitiable, so weak, so very in need that some shy little boy had felt compelled to disobey her suggestion to exit the room to instead offer his "help."
This was the same little boy that had just been harassed and presumably had his robes ripped to shreds by Gabriel moments before, mind you.
And there was no way, in any shape or form, Cassandra would willingly burden this boy with the troubles that seemed to follow Gabriel like an endless shadow, trouble emanating so thickly from his person, like a poisonous, cloying smog, that it would scar his face, maim his limbs, leave him bleeding on musty shelves while his flesh rotted, convince him he did not, would not, could not ask for anyone else's support—not doctors, especially doctors—even with injuries that would have taken down any other normal human, magical or not.
Trouble that had gotten him solitary confinement.
And medication—willingly taken or not—left its effects, even after years of prolonged discontinuation, and she would not let this boy be another victim like the two described in the articles Gabriel had all but thrown at her. Especially not a boy as kind as this one. Kindness, it seemed, was in desperately short supply in these dangerous times--and neither she nor Gabriel deserved it. Let him hate her all the more for it, if it would keep him out of danger.
"I hope you do realize," Cassandra answered Gabriel, slowly, the barest touch of condescension in her tone, trying not to see how much Gabriel was supported by the shelf behind him, or how frighteningly unadulterated relief spilled openly across his (pale, pale) face, "that blood-replenishing potions only temporarily relieve the symptoms of blood loss, even if it were easily brewed or bought, which it isn't." She felt the beginnings of a lecture swelling in her throat, and she could not contain it, not when Gabriel had been reduced to this, as if he were walking the very border between shadow and life, obdurately overexerting and pushing himself until there was almost nothing left. "You can't take them forever; transfigured blood only does so much before the body gives out. And with—with the way you keep doing things, you won't last long." She breathed, angry, bold from his weakened state, eyeing him with a dark look comparable to a particularly ill-willed dragon sighting the same moron of a thief that had not learned his lesson.
"I'll buy you some doses of the potion from Drakborough and give them to you at the Ravenclaw Tower." There were few enough other Ravenclaws these days, and in any case, most kept to themselves in spheres of self-induced solitude. Cassandra looked at him, hard. "But this—is—it. Do you understand? Now, I suggest you stay in your room until I return. Will you need assistance on your way there?"
She obviously thought he did, no matter what his answer was.