Art Club (Room Four) on Magical Arts Room and Sports

Katerina Vorontsov

March 20, 2020 3:56 PM

Art Club (Room Four) by Katerina Vorontsov

The first time, Katya thought, she had been too ambitious in her ideas for the art club. She had imagined it as something like a salon, with her coordinating but everyone contributing knowledge and skill to the whole group. That, however, had been something of an overreach, at least for most people - and, to an extent, for her as well. She had been a first year, only modestly talented, with only moderately good English and no experience trying to lead things. It had been a mess, especially since she had only done it for spite.

This time, she had decided, she was going to take another approach. She had decided to divide meetings into two parts: a first part, with light refreshments, where anyone was welcome to either share a piece of art they had been working on - in any medium; drawing, the different kinds of painting, the different kinds of needlework, photography, ceramics, whatever - or just enjoy refreshments and look at other people's pieces. Then, in the second part of the meeting, Katya would offer a short presentation to offer inspiration to anyone who wanted it, and then they all just...worked on art until the end of the meeting or until they felt ready to leave.

It was a bit of a challenge for her to run it this way for two reasons. One was that it felt odd to just...let a bunch of people do what they wanted in the same space, and call it an activity. Not having a carefully controlled and planned program felt unnatural to her, but it was easier to work with and more likely to get an audience, which increased her chances of being named prefect. The other reason, though, involved doing more work, rather than feeling she wasn't doing enough: she always had to make sure she had enough new pieces, or at least pieces with noticeable progress on them, to ensure there was something for people to look at during the first part of the meeting if no-one else brought anything. Meetings were only once a fortnight, but this was still, as it turned out, a lot of work. Katya enjoyed art, and believed she had reasonable skill in a few kinds of it, but producing substantial amounts of quality work that fast, while also keeping up with the degree of studying she needed to do for her English classes and keeping up with her other languages, would, she thought, have been a challenge even for a professional. For the last meeting before Christmas, when she had been so nervous about the need to do some higher-level options on her midterms that she had started feeling ill at random times for no clear reason, she had taken the Russian rough draft of one of her essays, copied part of it, many sizes larger than the original, in Cyrillic script with paintbrushes and shimmering peacock-overtoned blue-green paint, glued bits of feathers onto the large parchment, and called that art. Tatya - probably the only person at Sonora who could read handwritten, cursive Russian well enough to realize what it was - had laughed, thinking it was a joke, and had then apologized on and off for the entirety of the midterm break after Katya had blown up at her for it after that meeting.

This time, however, she had no need to resort to anything as outlandish as that. She had completed two small paintings over the holidays - a pastel study of the stark beauty of the park around her house in the snow, and a watercolor of the village with all the lights and garlands of Rozhdestvo - and had finished an embroidery project she had started several months later, a complicated representation of the Sun Chariot all in red - a copy of a traditional pattern from the north of Russia. She had the small staff of elves assisting her display these spaced well apart, with empty easels between them for anyone else who wished to use. She fussed over the exact placement of furniture in the art room and refreshments on the tables, and then the elves were gone and she was in place just in time to start welcoming people to the first part of the meeting with a smile.

"I hope all were able to do art during the holiday," she said to the room in general, her grammar rising significantly in quality in a rehearsed speech, once it was time to start. "I had time - I made these paintings, this sewing," she told them. She tried not to start meetings with comments on her own work, but at first meetings like this, it seemed important - especially after the bizarre thing she had put up, though not discussed at all unless directly questioned, last time. "These are all things from my home - that was our tree for - you say Christmas. We say Rozhdestvo. That is my village - it is a watercolor. And this is sewing in a way that is done in Russia. Red is the color of beauty," she added helpfully. "Anyone else wish to show art?"

Once she thought everyone who wanted to show something had, she took the floor again. "Thank you all - now we can make art until time to leave. If anyone needs inspirations - maybe try to make the same picture with watercolor, but one time, use wet-on-dry, and on another, use wet-on-wet," she suggested. "See how they look. I will help if you want to try but do not know how," she added, and then moved over to the work area to start working on her own next project until someone asked her about watercolor techniques.

Subthreads:

What did I miss? [Katerina] by Alexander Pierce-Beales with Katerina Vorontsov

Came for the Roommate, Stayed for the Art by Lyssa Fitzgerald with Katerina Vorontsov, Jessica Hayles

Supporting a friend by Allegra Brockert with Nathaniel Mordue

Bettering my chances by Topaz Brockert

Living the dream. by Tatiana Vorontsova

16 Katerina Vorontsov Art Club (Room Four) 1418 1 5

Alexander Pierce-Beales

March 27, 2020 9:14 PM

What did I miss? [Katerina] by Alexander Pierce-Beales

Alexander had spent a lot of time trying to decide whether he wanted to go to the Art Club meeting. He'd seen the posting up in a few places around school, but he wasn't sure where he was feeling brave enough. He wished he had a close friend to go with, but although his classmates and Housemates were perfectly nice, he wouldn't have said any of them were particularly close to him. Barnabus would come, but then he'd have to try to hide him. Or let him be seen. Neither of those was a good option.

Finally, the day had come. Then the time had come. Alexander had watched the time tick by and felt the urge to go grow right alongside his fear of going. However, he was just sitting in his room drawing anyway, so maybe he should just go?

He still wasn't convinced he'd made the right decision when he arrived at the MARS rooms, Barnabus and his notepad tucked into his booklet. He opened the door and found, to his horror, that everyone was leaving. No wait! They were just disbanding. The room seemed to be set up for almost any kind of art that could be imagined. One girl seemed to be leading it because she took a moment to look around at everyone before making her way to a place to sit on her own. She was also centered in the room, which helped Alexander put two and two together.

Taking a deep breath, Alexander crossed the room after her and cocked his head. "Hi," he said quietly, his mouth a flat line. "I'm Alexander. Sorry I'm late . . . is it okay if I stay?"

22 Alexander Pierce-Beales What did I miss? [Katerina] 1475 0 5

Katerina Vorontsov

March 28, 2020 1:39 PM

Just the faux cocktail party. by Katerina Vorontsov

"Hi."

Katya looked up from the canvas she was contemplating to see a small boy - possibly smaller, physically, than herself even, despite the fact she was occasionally dismayed by her own failure to grow taller as fast as she might have hoped to. A first year, and one from her House; she had seen him around the common room before, though she did not think they had spoken, unless it was a cordiality in passing near the exit or something. She smiled at him.

"Hello," she said. "Welcome to Art Club."

He was Alexander - an easy name to remember, as it was so very close to a name from her own world, though she suspected she would have trouble not saying 'Aleksandr' if she addressed him by name; hopefully, if she did, it would pass for just another part of her still rather strong Russian accent - and he was sorry he was late. What was more surprising was his suggestion that she might answer his question in the negative. "Of course," she said, adding a smile. "All are welcome. I am Katerina Vorontsov - I run club. My art is making painting, making sewing," she added. "What art do you do? All kinds are welcome." She gestured around to the room, where there were supplies available for many kinds of art. Katya saw her own sister at one station, seeming to do something involving beads and wires, which was rather far away from Katya's projects. There were other canvasses and easels if people wanted to paint, but also drawing paper, a potter's wheel, and a variety of other supplies on the shelves against the walls, just waiting for anyone with an interest to pick them up.

16 Katerina Vorontsov Just the faux cocktail party. 1418 0 5

Alexander Pierce-Beales

March 31, 2020 4:19 PM

Oh good, that sounds awful. by Alexander Pierce-Beales

Alexander shuffled a little at Katerina's friendliness. He was fairly well accustomed to the fact that people at Sonora were nicer than people in his life beforehand, particularly if they were in his own House, but it still felt odd not to be chastised for appearing late to a scheduled event. He supposed that she didn't know he planned to come, so maybe he was exactly on time, but he knew that wasn't the case.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his very serious eyes expressing as much or more gratitude than did his words. He looked around when she did and was surprised by the number of art varieties present in the room. His own suddenly seemed much more mundane than anyone else's, but he also didn't see anyone else drawing at first glance. Maybe there were and he just didn't notice, but that either meant that he was very boring or very unique. That was one heck of a spectrum to try to land on with both feet.

He turned back to Katerina. "I make drawings," he said, naturally copying her sentence structure and pulling his sketchbook out of his bag. He clutched it with both hands when he looked back to her. "Comic books, too. Do you know . . . when will I learn how to make them move?"

22 Alexander Pierce-Beales Oh good, that sounds awful. 1475 0 5

Katerina Vorontsov

March 31, 2020 9:26 PM

I don't mind it, really. by Katerina Vorontsov

"You are most welcome," said Katya warmly with another smile when he thanked her for welcoming him. She thought it odd, the proper response to an English 'thank you' - it was the same word she would use to tell a person she was happy they were in the room - but she imagined there were just as many words in Russian which someone who learned the language would think something like that about it. Things just sounded natural in the language one learned when very small, when the idea of language meaning anything first formed and attached itself to objects and ideas.

She nodded when he said his preferred form of art was drawing. "This is a very good art," she assured him. "We will be happy to see your drawings, if you want to show them," she added.

It took her a second to parse his question for her, as he started it one way and then changed directions. "I do not know for sure," she said. "If I understand your question. I think it is different for...each art." She had seen statues and engravings that could move, and line drawings in books, and of course photographs and paintings. They were all composed so differently, and in many cases behaved so differently that it made no sense for them to all animate the same way. Plus, one could not put a line drawing in a potion the way one would to develop a photograph....

"With photograph, you make a potion and put film in it to make the picture move," she explained. "Drawing I think may be a charm - perhaps you will ask Professor Wright, and can share with all this group another time," she said encouragingly. "Maybe we try it on painting too, to see what happens. This will be good to learn, yes?"

16 Katerina Vorontsov I don't mind it, really. 1418 0 5

Lyssa Fitzgerald

April 08, 2020 6:40 PM

Came for the Roommate, Stayed for the Art by Lyssa Fitzgerald

Lyssa hadn’t gone to Katya’s first Art Club, but she’d heard about it and decided when she saw Katya was going to do it again to support her. Lyssa enjoyed art and knew how to draw, but felt more at home in the garden and using her words. Still, branching out and having all kinds of hobbies was important. Perhaps Lyssa could find an art form that she could do that didn't involve words. Lyssa did enjoy writing though, so she brought some of her non-prose with her as Katya had made clear that people would show their art.

Lyssa had knocked and stuck her head into the room to see Katay there already set up with refreshments. Lyssa walked in amazed by what she saw. Katya had planned everything. Not that Lyssa was completely surprised. Katya was actually pretty amazing and that was just doubly shown when she presented her art work. Lyssa wasn’t an art connoisseur, but the water painting of her village in the snow was something Lyssa couldn’t stop staring at. It was, no pun intended, magical. There was something about it that captivated her.

As other students stood up to present their art Lyssa kept looking over at Katya’s painting. In her mind something sparked and she started writing on the back of one of her poems.

She stood up, and started.
“Umm I don’t have art in the sense that our Club president has displayed. My art is usually in my words, and her art inspired me so…umm I guess, here we go.”

She could feel herself tremble a bit and took a deep breath pulling the piece of paper out for her to read. She’d never actually read any of her poetry out loud before. Prose, yes. Poetry no, and for some reason this felt more vulnerable.

“Perhaps this is where the world began.
Around this familial hearth.

A place to melt the accumulated ice,
To hang up clothes and sit down
While grandfather tells one of his stories
And uncle acts the clown.

We lie to each other and cry with each other,
Celebrate with cheers and make the dead known.
We can always find space for one more,
But still have somewhere to call your own.

Feasts are held, brothers laugh and sisters drink
As the children run between legs.
Books are opened wide and others slammed shut,
All while cups sit warming their last dregs.

Perhaps this is where the world began,
Around this familiar hearth.

And perhaps it is where it will end,
As we toast and sing and dance
Together.

Lyssa looked up from her paper. Somehow this felt more… personal and difficult for her to control as she read. She didn’t like the feeling.

“Next time, I’ll bring a painting,” she said with a slight laugh trying to push this vulnerability away and sat down.

Once she had a moment Lyssa walked up to Katya.
"Hey Katya, can we put that painting up in our room?"

41 Lyssa Fitzgerald Came for the Roommate, Stayed for the Art 1421 0 5

Allegra Brockert

April 12, 2020 4:11 PM

Supporting a friend by Allegra Brockert

Allegra was generally a fairly shy person and not someone who would normally join a club. However, this was a club that Katerina had started and she wanted to support her friend so she came. Fortunately for her, her favorite hobbies were considered art forms. She loved to quilt and crochet and generally, the finished products made Allegra feel a sense of pride. It made her so happy to see Uriah or her little cousins using the baby blankets she had made them when they were born. Plus, she actually felt sort of an attachment to things she made even though she made stuff for other people too.

Currently, she was working on a quilt for Emerald's wedding present. The Crotalus wasn't sure whether or not Winston would like it but she knew that her cousin would know that it came from the heart and appreciate it.

However, Allegra was probably not ever going to be comfortable showing off her work to a bunch of people she didn't know and wasn't very at ease with. What if they criticized it. Especially since the fourth year had just spotted Topaz here. She was even less comfortable sharing things and speaking in front of her cousin than she was people she didn't know. Topaz would say something nasty to her, to embarrass her and make her feel bad about herself, just for the sake of it whether or not the Aladren actually thought Allegra's quilt was ugly.

And what was Topaz doing here anyway? The Crotalus sincerely doubted it was to support Katerina since her cousin wasn't....well, the supportive type. Something more sinister or at least more self-serving was probably going on. This was Topaz after all.

Allegra also noticed that her cousin was carrying a dead squirrel. Great, so this was a taxidermy thing. Gross. Well, she supposed it was better than a "harass Allegra" thing. Her cousin was probably here to show them the" wonders of her art form" or something like that. She was sure that was what Topaz would claim. That or supporting Katerina. The former seemed more...plausible as the truth.

And she really really did not want to know how that squirrel came to be dead either. Aside from a family owl who'd died, the Crotalus was pretty sure that Topaz was poisoning creatures in order to stuff them.

The club meeting began with people showing their art work. Katerina had done a lovely painting and some sewing and then Lyssa got up and shared a poem. Once the sharing was done and they went to work on their own projects, Allegra retreated into a corner with her quilt, hoping that Topaz would be too caught up in stuffing that poor squirrel to bother her.

She was so caught up in her quilting that she barely noticed when someone came up to her. "Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just really into my project."

11 Allegra Brockert Supporting a friend 1426 Allegra Brockert 0 5

Katerina Vorontsov

April 15, 2020 10:43 AM

I am pleased with both of those rationales. by Katerina Vorontsov

Things seemed to be going well!

Katya could never decide if she should be a little surprised when that happened or not. On one hand, she was a perfectly competent organizer. She had always loved order, which was one of the things which could make it difficult sharing a room with Tatiana at home - her sister was a cyclone, and this often put Katya in the position of deciding whether to stand for the principle of tidiness or stand for the principle of not picking up after other people. On the other, though...well, she still thought of herself sometimes as that little foreigner who Julius Astley had made fun of on their first day at school. To have a good number of people here, with different projects, working and talking, all very civilized and exciting, all because of her...

Her thoughts, running in the back of her head as she kept an eye out for anyone else who looked like they might want a word or do better for a visit, were interrupted when she was approached by her roommate. She smiled at Lyssa, first automatically, then with surprise and pleasure as she understood the question being put to her.

"Mine?" she asked. "You may have one, if you like it." Her cheeks flushed slightly, more from enjoyment than embarrassment at the idea of someone liking her art that well. She had always supposed she would sell work in her life, but at bazaars at home, where work - sewn items, paintings, whatever - by wealthy women was sold to raise galleons for various causes in the community. Someone who purchased one of Katya's paintings might like it, true - but might also wish to ingratiate themselves with the Vorontsovs over another family whose daughter had something, or with both the Vorontsovs and the organization involved, or with just the organization. Plus, there was always the chance one's stuff was just bought to avoid being rude or seeming disinterested in the community, which was frowned upon. There was every chance that Lyssa simply wished to be nice to her, or else to flatter someone of a higher social standing to gain a patroness - but if those were her motives, they were working. "Your poem also is very beautiful," she added. "May I read later? To understand better?"

16 Katerina Vorontsov I am pleased with both of those rationales. 1418 0 5

Nathaniel Mordue

April 15, 2020 4:03 PM

Trying to convince a cousin. by Nathaniel Mordue

There were debates, going back as far as the invention of the camera, as far as Nathaniel could tell, about whether photography counted as an art. As far as Nathaniel was concerned, these debates were absurd. Photography was not just a matter of pointing a camera at something and clicking a button - any three-year-old child could do that. Real photography - especially that at the highest levels, beyond what Nathaniel could even do now, though he was working on it; it was a relief, having a project other than trying to figure out how to save his family or how to get through another summer like last one, and he managed to spend a fair amount of time on it, despite CATS and his damned incessant bouts of exhaustion - required quite as much of a grasp of potions as any painter used, and a decent bit of charm's work, and more besides. All this came before, of course, the issues of lighting and composition, and choosing exactly which lenses and potion variations to use, and....

Well, in better times, he could have given a spirited defense of why photography was art. At the moment, he would still defend the notion that it was at least as much of an art as anything else if pressed, but he was mostly going to the Art Club because its founder was in Sylvia's clique and because he thought going to a club was the kind of thing that would help convince Sylvia she didn't need to worry so much about him.

His mother didn't know about his condition, really. He had never seen fit to inform her of the effect her behavior, along with that of his uncle and brother and Sylvia, had had on him - something he regretted not doing last year, after the shock he had given Sylvia by accident had clued him in to how effective it might have been, but which there was no good in doing now. She had enough to worry about, he thought, just having Jeremy for an estranged son, without knowing Nathaniel's brain was wrong - and that was without knowing much about Jeremy was actually doing these days. Jeremy was just someone who it was natural to be concerned about, he thought, even when you weren't living witness to his actual behavior. Sylvia, however...Nathaniel had gone out of his way to tell her that it wasn't her fault, what had happened to him, but she still worried about him, as though still afraid he might do something untoward if not carefully watched and handled with the finest of cotton gloves, and he felt wretched about it. He supposed there was a part of him that was still angry with her, too, just as much as with his mother, but it was not substantial enough for him to want to cause her anxiety. He didn't want revenge against Sylvia or his mother - only against the men. So he tried to give the women as little cause for worry as he could.

The group was not entirely composed of girls - his unlikely protege Alexander showed up late, he noticed, with a nod to the boy - but they easily made up a majority. On the whole, raised for the most part by a single mother and with his closest relationships being her, his female cousin, and his female therapist, he did not mind the company of women. The company of Lyssa Fitzgerald, however, was another matter entirely, and he made a point of steering clear, especially after she read her poem. He thought he would have steered clear even had she been someone else, after that; he had discovered with Alexander that the company of someone who gave any indication they might Understand could be even more of a knife to the gut than that of someone who clearly didn't understand at all. Instead, also avoiding Tatiana Vorontsov for the moment, he wandered back into the company of the prettiest of the Miss Brockerts.

It was odd, he thought, how differently girls could make impressions. Tatiana and Allegra actually looked somewhat alike, now that he thought of it - perhaps he had a liking for not-blonde hair and pale eyes - but he didn't think the same things at all of them. He could imagine kissing either, but it was...all different just the same. Tatiana was the sort of girl he, at least, could imagine shoving up against things, and being shoved in return; he also fancied that a significantly closer acquaintance with her, for some reason, would necessarily involve laughter or else an abrupt end to her interest in the acquaintance. Allegra was...not that sort of girl, at least in his head. More of a fragile little porcelain doll, someone who seemed like she ought to be protected and indulged and handled as though she might break - the sort of girl who (had things gone differently) he might have married, then inevitably have made miserable because he was a wretched excuse for a person and could only keep up an illusion he was anything else for so long. Only Sylvia, he thought, could ever get particularly close to him - in the emotional sense only, of course - and still care much for what she saw; he supposed it was down to childhood attachments, plus the fact that he - as far as she knew - almost invariably did what she said. Sylvia had always, thought, been something of an exemplar of the answer to the old riddle about what women wanted most, even if she was clever enough not to show it too clearly....

However, with the way things had gone, he doubted he would ever marry, and if he did, it would be years and years from now. Before, he had been the primary heir to a substantial fortune; his mother could have publicly kept him up for decades, really, had he been determined to make a shiftless fool of himself. Now...well, he could not say for sure that his uncle had not changed his will to include Nathaniel and Jeremy, but he doubted it - he expected his uncle might support them through university, and maybe finance housing for them if they took positions in the world which were approved of by Uncle Alexander and which benefited Uncle Alexander in some way, but that would probably be all - and he found it even more unlikely that Simon would countenance relinquishing enough of his own future shares to make Nathaniel and Jeremy particularly appealing prospects. There were only so many pure-blood men on the market, it was true, but there were also only so many heiresses, and Mama and Father had doubtless cast such a shadow over Nathaniel and Jeremy both that said heiresses (or rather, said heiresses' fathers) would doubtless look elsewhere for respectable but relatively impoverished husbands. Eventually, some younger daughters of some family might get stuck with them, but while Allegra Brockert was not an heiress in particular, nor was she insignificant enough, as Brockerts went, to end up betrothed to someone supporting himself on seven thousand a year replicating things in triplicate for the government or something else equally as absurd, or only a very little bit less so. So it was quite safe to speak to her with no fear of marriage.

"Good evening, Miss Brockert," he said.

She seemed startled, further supporting his idea of her as delicate. Though it was curious that she of all people would be working on quilts. Quilts went on beds, which were not a subject to think of in company....

Dear Merlin, he could not wait until he was thirty. Surely by then he would be sufficiently decrepit to keep That Subject off his mind at times when he was not exhausted for no reason the Healers could figure out and which Dr. Greene would therefore insist was a side effect of ongoing nervous depression. It was not as if the poor girl was sewing a trousseau - and if she was, well, good for her and her fiance. Plus, he was fairly sure he had seen a quilt in a museum once, so they apparently did count as art at least as much as his photographs.

He smiled as he said, "I'm sorry to have interrupted you. It's nice to see you again." She was, at least, someone in this room who was perfectly respectable to associate with and who had no desire to slap him. As far as he knew, anyway. "A new project, or an ongoing one?"

OOC: Nathaniel's "seven thousand a year" is based on the Harry Potter Lexicon's currency converter; as of today, 7000 galleons would be the equivalent of a bit more than $43,000. Where the author lives, at least, this is a perfectly livable income, especially if you own your own home and are not in a place with particularly high property taxes, but it would not support a lifestyle which involves ordering custom gowns and throwing pureblood parties to wear them to on a regular basis.

16 Nathaniel Mordue Trying to convince a cousin. 1412 Nathaniel Mordue 0 5

Jessica Hayles

April 16, 2020 1:23 PM

Rationality is a desirable quality. by Jessica Hayles

The visual arts had never held any particular appeal for Jessica. She had gone to art class three times a week with the rest of her classes in school, and she had been to exhibitions at the High and the like with her family, but none of these experiences had ever made visual art make sense to her as art. Pictures and photographs could be pretty and decorative, but she couldn't tell the difference between what was supposed to be good and what was supposed to be bad half the time, and none of it made much of an impression on her. She supposed she had spent too much of her life looking over her father's shoulder at advertising campaigns, or else sitting for parts in them.

Despite this, she showed up at Katerina Vorontsov's art club and tried her hand at the exercises the fourth year suggested. For one thing, it was pleasant getting to see what other people were able to produce - better, at least, than sitting alone - and for another, this was the closest thing to cultural life this dump seemed to get, so she felt something of an obligation to show up. Let no-one say she hadn't given them a fair chance to impress her.

Katerina, she thought, was a genuinely impressive person, her somewhat stilted and accented English aside. Either visual arts did make sense to Katerina, or the Teppenpaw was good at faking it. She could not tell if the paintings and stitching had artistic value, but they were pretty, which was a fair bit more than most people (including some people whose work was, usually completely inexplicably, credited with having artistic value) could say for their pieces, and that was in two or three different mediums. More evidence, she thought, for her Elizabeth Barrett Browning idea about the wizarding world - some people were exquisitely educated, really in more depth in many areas than could be done in a real school, but everyone else was...not. Which also explained a lot about the social structure, she thought. She had written several poems on the nineteenth century socio-political protest models about that idea, in her journals, though she had yet to give into the impulse to scatter copies around the school. She was, after all, as far as she knew, the only poet at Sonora - at least until a girl she recognized from classes but did not know stood up during the sharing portion of the meeting.

She leaned forward, listening closely, word by word, as the other girl read her work to them all. It felt old, in the structure and to an extent the wording, but there were modern archetypes there - foolish uncles and whatnot; she thought that in really old stuff, uncles were generally evil or something - and plus it was just, well, good.

We lie to each other and cry with each other,
Celebrate with cheers and make the dead known.

How many family events had Jessica attended which almost followed that prescription exactly? More than she could count, minus the crying. Crying was not attractive, and definitely not something to do with the other members of her family. It was not dignified, and it made everyone else uncomfortable. She had learned to hide it from others when she needed to cry before she could even remember consciously knowing she should. The rest, though...

Perhaps this is where the world began,
Around this familiar hearth.

And perhaps it is where it will end,
As we toast and sing and dance...

Would that, Jessica wondered, constitute ending with a bang or a whimper? Or something else altogether? Dancing and toasting at the end of the world - or even the end of one's own life - seemed counter-intuitive, but - well - what else would one have to do, really? Nothing more pressing in any event.

More seriously, it was a curious thought, considering one's family one's whole world. Jessica couldn't decide if her family was like that or not. On one hand, they had always stuck together, because they were family, and because it was simpler when they were by themselves, without outsiders getting involved. On the other, though, they lived in the public space far more than the private one. Arvale was like a sixth member of the family, and one which spread out into the whole world. Most of it, anyway. It was an interesting question.

More interesting than questions, however, was the thought of making the acquaintance of another of her own kind. That the other girl was speaking with Katerina was just icing on the cake - another chance to expand her social circle, with someone definitely rich, cultured, and accomplished, and probably tipped for power next year with the prefect system. Not in Crotalus, but still. Really, if Jessica had known how well she would do socially these days without Felipe, she might have thrown him over, rather than sticking around until he'd done it to her...the Deutschtent, Sadie, Leonor, possibly these two, if she played her cards right. It was the most non-functional social contact she'd ever had with other children in her life.

Waiting until she spotted what looked like a natural break in their conversation, she approached them with a smile. "Hi," she said, sharing the smile between them. "I'm Jessica. I just wanted to say, both of you did gorgeous work." She looked specifically at Lyssa then. "I especially liked yours - I'm a poet, too," she added. "I didn't know there were any others at Sonora."

16 Jessica Hayles Rationality is a desirable quality. 1442 0 5

Topaz Brockert

April 16, 2020 1:39 PM

Bettering my chances by Topaz Brockert

Topaz strode into Art Club, carrying her new little friend Nuts the squirrel. Normally, she wouldn't bother with a club but prefects were being picked this year and school involvement was a thing that helped one to get the honor. She shouldn't need to though. Not only was her grandfather the Headmaster but the alternative was Snotti-Ness! That girl was the absolute worst, she was self-righteous and judgemental and had it in for all purebloods. Topaz at least treated everyone the way that they deserved to be treated.

And if Snotti-Ness got prefect, she would pay for it. Topaz would make sure of that. She couldn't lose to that wretched creature, she just couldn't .

Art Club was really the only club for her to join though as the Aladren wasn't about to do some stupid Muggle thing with a group that included her roommate. Besides, taxidermy was an old and noble art form. People used it all the time for museum exhibits and hunting trophies and the magical stuffing just added an extra oomph to it. It certainly bothered Snotti-Ness and that was enough for Topaz.

The thing was though, that others were judgemental about taxidermy too. The fourth year couldn't figure out for the life of her why. It was as much an art as Allegra's quilting and crochet. Just because it wasn't mainstream. And yes, animal guts were involved, but they were involved in potions too. Besides, there were methods that didn't involve removing the guts, Topaz just didn't use them.

Honestly, her roommate should have appreciated the non-mainstream aspect of taxidermy, the way she wanted to portray herself as being this open understanding person who didn't care for the norms of society. But of course, she was a vegetarian . Because the rights of everyone were important, except for purebloods and traditionally feminine girls.

The meeting started with Katerina showing off her artwork and Lyssa reading a poem. Once people were done showing their work, Topaz found a station to work at. She got out her materials including Nuts. She had decided that she was going to have him nibble on an acorn.

Or maybe she'd make a like, a tree for him to climb up and down. That would really freak out Snotti-Ness.

11 Topaz Brockert Bettering my chances 1427 0 5

Tatiana Vorontsova

April 16, 2020 2:50 PM

Living the dream. by Tatiana Vorontsova

When she had first realized that Katya was trying to start up her art club again, Tatiana had wanted to groan and put her head down on the nearest table. Her sister had tried this before, and it had not gone all that well. Tatiana distinctly remembered Jasmine showing up mainly as a favor to Tatiana - and the two of them possibly just making the thing more absurd, being so much older than their host, in school terms. No, she really did not think the last time had gone well at all, which was why she had winced when she realized Katya was at it again.

It was, she thought, this odd compulsion her sister had to ingratiate herself to the Americans. She trailed along after Sylvia Alexandrovna and her crew, despite the fact Tatiana was nearly certain they all looked down at her. She was clearly now making a play for prefect, despite her imperfect English skills, along with yet again seeking to establish herself as a person of note among the Americans. What did she mean by it? Tatiana had very quickly, when she came to Sonora, settled into her group of true friends, with the Quidditch team as friendly associates, and that had been enough for her all these years. She would insist to her dying breath that she could have been a prefect, but she did not mind that she was not. Tatiana had found a way to be content when she had barely even been able to communicate, something that should have been easier for her sister from the get-go with all the German speakers in the lower years. Why could Katya not do likewise?

She had shown up to be supportive, reasoning that sixth and fourth years could mix more respectably than first and third years, but had not expected much, which was why what was actually going on had come as such a surprise to her. This time, her sister had actually managed to draw a quite respectable crowd, and was managing it like a seasoned professional, at least as far as Tatiana could tell. Katya looked perfectly at her ease, and her English almost sounded as good as the natives' to Tatiana (who invariably spoke Russian with Katya and had thus never really noticed the improvement in her sister's other languages) now. Looking carefully, she could also see that while it was enough of a regular club for anyone, Katya also had something of the atmosphere of a party about the whole thing, with people mingling and viewing art as well as trying to make things.

Tatiana, with her hair swept up in a chignon which was supposed to signify a greater degree of social maturity than her sister possessed, was not sure what to make of this. She could not have done it. She knew this almost as well as she knew her own name. She didn't have the patience or subtlety to play these games even in her native language, never mind in English. But Katya did, and Katya was fourteen years old.

Chto so mnoy? she thought as she settled into a station.

One of the interesting things about this room was that it seemed able to provide almost anything which was requested, and the materials could be removed from it - they were real. Including, by appearance, things that were not supposed to be so readily conjured. She thought she had a good eye for precious metals and stones, and the things which appeared for her here certainly looked real enough, though it seemed impossible that they could really be what they seemed. If they were, after all, Tatiana could in theory create herself a fortune from the air - she could simply imagine valuable things in raw forms until she had enough to make her rich as a tsaritsa. It was not, after all, as if she did not know anything about how jewelry began or who made it into its final forms at the end; figuring out how to sell such things was something she thought she could do at need. She was scouring the potions and charms texts for anything that might help her test the supplies to see what she was really working with, but so far had found nothing.

In the meantime, she took several fine golden chains and began braiding them together, ostensibly working on a watch-chain to give Vladya for his seventeenth this summer. In reality, she would give him something a bit better than what she could cobble together in art club, but she needed a reason to be here, and this was amusing enough. She might make herself a bracelet, too - or instead - to see how well the materials did with leaving Sonora altogether at the end of the year. For now, however, she was just playing, fancying herself living one of her childhood dreams, and it was an amusing enough way to pass a few hours without worrying over Dorian, especially if she had an amusing conversation.

16 Tatiana Vorontsova Living the dream. 1396 0 5

Lyssa Fitzgerald

April 16, 2020 3:36 PM

Rationality implies the conformity... so I'm a bit irrational by Lyssa Fitzgerald

Lyssa was positively ecstatic, a big smile blossoming onto her face.

“I can have one? Really? Thank you Katia, that is so nice of you. I really do like your painting of your town,” Lyssa stopped herself, that wasn’t what Katia had said, “no your village. Your painting feels so… welcoming. Maybe one day I will get to see your village and compare.” Lyssa smiled imagining the ice and snow crunching underfoot as she ran from house to house with all the lovely decorations. Lyssa didn’t want to seem like she was inviting herself though. They were roommates, but not exactly friends, but not enemies either. Better than most roommates as they both had a focus on tidiness and not bothering each other. “If you want, you could come to my house. Only so long as my older brother wasn’t there.”

Lyssa didn’t think Katia should meet John Jr. She didn’t think anyone at school should really. Though she loved her family and her older brother, who was getting better, JR was still the person who haunted her nightmares when she had them.

Lyssa’s smile became even bigger at Katia’s request for her poem. She restrained herself from showing too much excitement knowing that her words might get lost with too much movement and intensity. But it was nice to be complimented by someone she knew as well as her roommate. There was something comforting in being seen by her.

“Thank you Katia. That is very nice to say. I’ll rewrite the poem so it is easier to read though. I wrote it fast. See?” Lyssa held up the piece of paper she’d the poem written on. It had things crossed off and pieces written in with arrows pointing to where new sentences and phrases should go. There was also a list of things that rhymed with down and legs off to the side. “I’ll make it tidy and then you can read it. Ok?”

Just then another girl walked up.

Lyssa recognized her immediately, though didn’t know her. It was hard to forget redheads, even in a school of magical people redheads stood out and it felt like the girl had been a heat seeking missile coming straight towards the pair causing Lyssa to momentarily put up her inner defenses. Then she received her second compliment for her poem and they lowered a bit. Lyssa was used to writing things and getting them put in magazines or the newspapers in the Wizarding world. People would respond to them, some positive others negative, but never in person. She always felt like her journalistic letter writing was similar to the social media posts her friends were always talking about when she was home.

Poems, though, were different. Those she’d kept those to herself, but maybe she shouldn’t.

“Oh. Thanks Jessica. That’s very nice of you to say,” she said sticking out her hand. “My name’s Lyssa. Just Lyssa. No Wizarding family name attached that pushes others around and denegrades diversity. Just Muggle born Lyssa,” she said with a smile. “It’s so nice to meet a fellow poet and writer!”

She was used to these Wizarding introductions at this point. She had begun making it a point to get the fact that she wasn’t from a Wizarding family and was in fact Muggle-born. That way, if they wanted to stop talking with her it would be over with quickly and she could move on to people who didn’t care as much.

Lyssa was honestly excited to meet another writer though. Someone who wanted to speak her own truth. It sparked something in Lyssa. Katia had gotten the Art Club off the ground. Maybe Lyssa should try her hand at starting something. She’d thrown around the idea of starting a speech and debate club before. Maybe Jessica would want to take part. Or maybe something else.

41 Lyssa Fitzgerald Rationality implies the conformity... so I'm a bit irrational 1421 0 5

Katerina Vorontsov

April 16, 2020 4:32 PM

Everything in moderation, I suppose. by Katerina Vorontsov

Katya was surprised by Lyssa's specification that her older brother needed to be absent before Katya could visit wherever it was the Fitzgeralds were from, but decided not to ask in such a public venue. Perhaps Lyssa and her brother did not get along. Perhaps it was some odd American social custom - rude for a woman to have guests while the men of the house were in the house. Either way, it seemed like something to discuss in private rather than public, if at all.

"Home is very pretty," she agreed with earlier, less controversial statements. "I hope you can see it someday. You might have to see my old brother too, though, and the little one - they know English. Maybe some in the village do also." As much as she loved to look at it from the windows of her house, Katya knew relatively little about the people in the village, but it seemed reasonable to think they might have to deal with outsiders far more than a cloistered youngest daughter of one of the founding families of the village would. "At my house - mostly talk Russian, or French, but Papa and Grigori and Alexei know English, and Tatiana."

She hated to admit it would be easier to understand Lyssa's poem if she saw a neater copy, but she suspected this was true to some extent of everyone, interesting as it was to see some of the process of composition. "I think this would be easier to understand," she said gently. "If it does not cause you trouble to copy it." She did not want anyone going out of their way on her account.

Another girl approached - one of the third years, the red-haired Crotalus girl. Katya had noted her name in class roll calls, but it was one of those dreadful unpronounceable American ones...Jessica, she called herself. Katya could think it clearly enough, but when she tried to say it, she was fairly sure she would mess it up.

She smiled when she heard that both her work and Lyssa's had earned Jessica's approval. Her smile faded, however, as Lyssa introduced herself and rapidly stopped being quite comprehensible. Lyssa was not just Lyssa; she was Lyssa Fitzgerald. She had a family name. Plus, what did denigrates diversity mean? Did not grade...maths? What did that have to do with family names? Except - no, the math was division....

"I am Katerina Vorontsov," she said instead of thinking about it more. "Thank you for coming to this club tonight. You must show us your poem sometime also." She smiled at both girls. "I must go round and round, so everyone is ok," she said. "Lyssa, you may have painting when we go out tonight, ok? Nice to meet you - " concentrate. Con. cen. trate. "Dzhezika."

Close enough, she supposed.

16 Katerina Vorontsov Everything in moderation, I suppose. 1418 0 5

Jessica Hayles

April 16, 2020 4:43 PM

Does that mean I can practice just a few Dark Arts? by Jessica Hayles

"“My name’s Lyssa. Just Lyssa. No Wizarding family name attached that pushes others around and denegrades diversity."

Oh God. She was one of those poets - or even just one of those people in general.

Jessica understood very little about wizard politics, but she had gathered enough to know that she had just walked up to someone who was the sort of person to throw her politics into the very way she introduced herself, which was a bad sign. Religion and politics were discussions that inevitably came into play with art, but they still weren't really appropriate for one's introduction even in that context. Especially if Just Lyssa was a dedicated poet. If she was one, then Jessica had probably just blundered her way into having to listen to a very dull tirade.

Katerina's expression was hard to interpret - was she offended, or just confused? She recovered before Jessica could decide - and then extricated herself. Jessica wanted to ask her to stay but figured she'd just make things worse if she did.

"I'll bring something along next time," she promised. "Have a good evening."

She smiled at Lyssa, hoping she could steer the conversation to pleasant topics. "So, how long have you been writing?" she asked. If they could talk about writing itself, that would be pleasant enough of a topic, not to mention one Jessica could follow. Wizard politics were a different matter on both fronts.

16 Jessica Hayles Does that mean I can practice just a few Dark Arts? 1442 0 5

Allegra Brockert

April 20, 2020 2:20 PM

I wish I could convince mine to go away. by Allegra Brockert

Allegra smiled pleasantly when she saw who had approached her. Nathaniel Mordue was decidedly someone she found to be decent company so she was not just relieved-that it wasn't Topaz, who seemed to be happily stuffing her squirrel-but relatively pleased. He was fairly respectable-despite any rumors to the contrary, he was Sylvia's cousin and therefore, Allegra had to think of him as such because Sylvia would not take kindly to the fourth year thinking any other way-and fairly...nice, based on being a Teppenpaw and previous experience.

Which mattered a good deal more than one might think. When one had spent their entire life tormented by someone, kindness went a long way. Honestly, Nathaniel and Sylvia were so lucky to have each other, rather than a cousin who was evil incarnate. Of course, Allegra also had Emerald, Ruby and Sapphire, as well as her own sisters, but to have a cousin your own exact age who was your best friend rather than your worst nightmare was something that the Crotalus could only imagine.

Also, one did not want to marry a "brute" as Esme called Uncle Eustace. One wanted to find a husband who was respectable and kind and that loved and cared for you like her cousin Owen did with Jemima. Not one that treated you with disdain and condescension-at best-like Uncle Eustace did Aunt Helena. Her uncle was just as bad as Topaz in his way, only he mostly ignored Allegra, thank Merlin. He still bullied her little brothers, even though Uriah was only two. Uncle Eustace criticize Uriah's weight-she was given the impression that was why Aunt Helena was so thin too- as well as referring to Olaf as a little nerd. And not in a good way as in Uncle Eustace's world, being a nerd was a terrible crime against nature. Not that Olaf cared.

Honestly, Allegra admired her six year old brother's...ability not to care what others think. The fourth year knew there were opinions she shouldn't care about like those of either non-members of society or those of terrible people but still, she wanted to be liked. Besides, when you heard negative things about yourself for so long, you started to believe them. That was certainly the case with Sapphire. Allegra felt the second year was much smarter than Topaz or Aunt Opal or Sapphire herself gave her credit for.

"Good evening Mr. Mordue." The Crotalus replied. She blushed when Nathaniel said it was nice to see her again. Okay, yes, they saw each other in class most days but to have someone say it was nice to see her felt good. "It's nice to see you too."

She gestured towards the quilt. "It's a wedding gift for my cousin Emerald. I've been working on it all year. Do you have work displayed or something you're working on?"

11 Allegra Brockert I wish I could convince mine to go away. 1426 0 5

Nathaniel Mordue

April 23, 2020 1:28 PM

Just bring her around me. Everyone around me goes away sooner or later. by Nathaniel Mordue

Emerald. Yes, that would be Emerald Brockert - one of the gemstones, he thought, suppressing a smile at the memory of Sylvia reminding him of the two sets and how they were related to each other and the headmaster. The vowels were easier to put ages to (Allegra's letter came first in the alphabet, and he could only assume someone obsessive-compulsive enough to follow such a scheme would do so in alphabetical order), but he knew Emerald had left with Simon, as the wedding Allegra was referring to was supposed, as far as he knew, to feature Simon's old roommate in the insignificant bit part of 'the groom'.

"All I know is, I'm sorry for the man," Simon had said over the summer, between themselves after a larger discussion had touched on the issue; since Nathaniel had used Simon as his ambassador to worm his way back into Uncle Alexander's good graces last year (as he had known he could never pull off the full act himself), Simon seemed to think this meant they had some kind of slight bond, Nathaniel thought. Or else he assumed Nathaniel would be too grateful to have a place in the family to ever think to carry tales. Or he was just an idiot. "We finally get out of school - and to jump straight into marriage? I suppose it's necessary, that 'aunt' of his might put something even worse in his cup than they say she did in his cousin's if he doesn't get started on half a dozen sons right off - but I'm damned glad it's not me. Not yet, anyway."

Eventually, of course, it would have to be; Uncle Alexander would probably do to Nathaniel and Jeremy what Simon thought the Mrs. Pierce Who Oughtn't Have Been A Mrs. Pierce would do to Winston if it ever crossed Uncle Alexander's mind that Nathaniel and Jeremy might become the sole people capable of carrying on the name Mordue. Better to have the line vanish completely than have it belong only to them, he expected - and, to be fair, Nathaniel couldn't argue that from the positions they'd all been raised to take, it did seem like the more prudent decision. However, since Simon would inevitably, as the heir, end up married and under significant pressure to produce half a dozen respectable sons of his own, to blot out all the marks on the family honor put there by Nathaniel's immediate family unit by becoming the very standard-bearers of an army of propriety, Nathaniel expected he and his brother were reasonably safe for now.

"I brought some prints," he said, nodding to a position on the other side of the room. He had not bothered to present them himself, but they were over there. "I thought it might not be the best idea to try to work on photographs in here, though, in all this light and with so many people - the potions and all, you know." Especially since he had started experimenting with them; sometimes he got something interesting, but other times, he merely ended up producing massive amounts of foul-smelling smoke, or else stains on the floor - or, on one memorable occasion, the ceiling. It was not a very pro-social endeavor. "So at this point, I'm just socializing," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Winston and Miss Emerald have set a date, then? If you are allowed to say," he added, remembering that some people could be very peculiar about these things. "I wouldn't ask you to break a confidence, of course."

16 Nathaniel Mordue Just bring her around me. Everyone around me goes away sooner or later. 1412 0 5