assembly. [snowspire event one]

[gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan]

Our story begins at the end of school on the first day back from winter break. It's the time of day when the sunlight glints off the falling snow in such a way that it appears to be raining glitter. The usual cloudbank isn't present to swallow up all the good views. The teachers all disappear to their private quarters and the students are left alone with their few fleeting hours of enrichment time, usually. Today, though, as the students gather their things to go, an announcement comes from Headmaster Walters: all students and faculty are instructed to make their way to the cafeteria for an assembly.

Everyone knows what this means, and the tension instantly becomes so thick one could cut it with a knife. Someone has been adopted. The process wears heavily on the minds of all the students at this time of year, as they're all gearing up for the upcoming talent showcase in the spring. It is particularly uncommon for an adoption to happen so early in the year, but then, there's never a particularly 'active' time of year in general. This is District Ten, after all.

So then who? Many are hopeful. A few may be shocked at the strange feeling of not being ready yet. Some may not think they have a chance for even a second. All are required to attend, anyway.

As the students make their way into the cafeteria, they'll find it already full of its typical ordered chaos. Each grade has its own table, stretching along the great hall perpendicular to the faculty table at the far end, which is on a raised altar. At the very center of the platform is a podium, where Headmaster Walters rests the majority of his weight as he allows everyone to take their seats.

"It is a truly momentus occasion," he explains, once the room has naturally fallen silent and all weary eyes are resting on him. "We resent all of last year's auditions to a group of potential adopters over the break, as we typically do, and wouldn't you know it: a match has been made!" The children's gazes all flit from one to the other, wondering who, hoping.

"It would appear one of our 17 year old's has been adopted!"

The energy at all the tables except the second to last dies. There are a few squeaks of joy and excitement from those sitting there, though.

"Congratulations to Bronte!"

The crowd falls silent.

"Er, I mean, um-" Walters licks at his bottom lip while he reads a few lines from the file in front of him.

"Apologies- What I meant to say was: Congratulations Bailey!" He makes eye contact with the 18 year old table briefly.

A round-faced girl with kind green eyes and mousy hair stands, those closest to her gasping with joy. She's covered her mouth and her eyes are welling with tears, but you can still easily see the smile beneath as she makes her way to the front of the room.

"Everyone, please give Bailey here a proper sendoff with some applause? Congratulations on finding your new home! I hope it is everything you've hoped for."

After the assembly, the students are all left to their devices officially for the day. This is where our writers will begin telling the story.

WELCOME TO SNOWSPIRE!

Ahhhhhh! We begin! I wanted to start with something where everyone was sort of loosely involved and around so that everyone can get better acquainted and comfortable writing together!

This event will be open until JANUARY 20th! This is to give everyone plenty of time to write a post, as it is mandatory for everyone to make one post in this event, by replying to this thread. If you have not replied to this thread by the 20th, you will receive a strike, which will count against you later when *ahem* harvest season comes(: This will not include Arx who has just been accepted to play Joyce today, but if she (or anyone else who gets new characters in the meantime) finishes the bio with enough time to participate, they will be allowed to do so!

Additional threads surrounding the time of the event are welcome and encouraged!

HAS POSTED:

Erras Bronte Farah Coley Dolly Alain Lovie Pippa Hanna Ignis Kaine Grant Sylan Manny Robey Novah Wyatt

HASN’T POSTED (but can)

Joyce Tiara Ulrik Viola Xenia Zelda

[gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

---

I am already one face mask in, ready to run a hot bath and work on a few designs, when the old speakers croak their news.

Really? They couldn’t wait? This is bound to create a dime and a dozen stress lines, which means I wasted an expensive mask on absolutely nothing! I keep it on, of course. And I take the long way to the auditorium, winding around corridors to have ample time for a quick change into my emergency assembly attire – yes, I have one, I am not an animal – and by the time I stride through those rusting doors, I am dressed head to toe in an elegant and silken alteration of our dreadful school uniform, with a dark cape trailing behind my steps. Mid-way, someone takes the spot next to Lovie. I audibly gasp.

“That,” I say, “is reserved seating.”

I have been told I have a mean glare. Not Farah’s I’ll shank you in an instant sort of glare, but more the I’ll make you a social pariah for the rest of the year. And it works. The next thing you know, I am perched cross-legged on my rightful seat next to Lovie.

My hand reaches out towards hers, pure instinct. And nerves. My stomach is in knots, and not the lovely bowed kinds. This is soon. Too soon. Half of my couture is mere sketches only, and the other half is a daring yet feasibly stupid venture into the unknown. I started working with leather. Leather. In District Ten. Groundbreaking, Erras.

I steel my jaw and try not to shake. I can do this. I have done it. Everyone else has talents that are vague, lousy concepts more than anything, but my talent can be worn, can be felt, touched, and improved upon. It’s timeless. It’s time-consuming. Whatever great power out there knows I have spent most of my midnights on sewing seams together, not homework. I am here, and I am ready to prove my damn self.

And yet I turn towards Lovie, look at her smile, and feel my own lips curling to take on a similar, but more menacing one.

“It's gonna be the two of us, together,” I whisper. “We pinky-promised, bitch. That’s oath.” Hell yeah it is. We are a package deal, Lovie and I, and that means we’ll reach the stars hand in hand. Any other scenario does not exist in the grand scheme of my world domination plan, and trust me, when I plan, I do it with every fiber of my being.

Walters saunter up to the podium, drab as ever in terms of clothes, and I mutter to Lovie, “when’s he going to, like, have a heart attack?” Old man is immortal, I swear. I make a mental note to never dress like him when I am greying. Sunglasses on and adorned in the softest fur coat, I also plan to be the coolest old person to ever exist. Maybe a couple cats, also?

Is that, like, too terminal illness or whatever?

He places each one of his bony fingers on the podium’s edges, and the room goes quiet. I do, too. In the pronounced stillness, I swear I heard Ignis mutter something crass and tasteless, and I see Hanna crack her neck almost as if she’s readying herself for a violin solo, and I feel incredibly nauseous all of a sudden, meaning Alain is within my perimeters because it's his cologne that does it, and ... 

Yep. There he is.

I pick up on a lot of small details, I simply choose not to process them. I save that for my talent. The delicacy of needlework, the intricacy of embroidery. It’s important to not lose sight of your goals, lest they run away or vanish. And Walters, from that podium, will praise me for my efforts now. I can feel it.

"We presented all of last year's auditions to a group of potential adopters over the break,” my fingers tauten around Lovie’s, “and wouldn't you know it: a match has been made!"

Dark stars gather around the edges of my eyes and spin there in kaleidoscopic patterns, making the world a strange observatory. I taste pinpricks at the back of my throat. Finally, finally—

"It would appear one of our 17 year old's has been adopted!"

A loud scrape of the chair against the floor as I bolt up, “What?”

“Mr. Erras,” Kim’s dulcet yet threatening tone, “please sit down.”

"Congratulations to Bronte!"

“What?!”

I’ll burn her paintings, I swear it. I swear it, I swear, I swear, 

“Er, I mean, um-" Walter licks his crusty lips, clears his throat. “Apologies- What I meant to say was: Congratulations Bailey!”

My legs go out from under me. “What,” I breathe out each word with a barely-controlled slowness, “the fuck. Is. A. Bailey?”

Whoever she is, I’ll make sure her clothes are a size too small when her shiny new family come to pick her up. My eyes follow her as the crowd all but parts to make her way, her gasps of joy like hornet stings to my ears. Each finger I have around Lovie’s quivers uncontrollably. The world is stippled with tiny stars. I feel very, very dangerously close to the end of my very short fuse.

I seal my lips and let out a soundless scream.

And then I gasp. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, all until the world stops sparkling around me. Still, that's that shard in my chest: all my dreams, flushed down the drain in an instant.

Stolen by fucking Bailey. 

I look at the rest of the eighteen years old, the people who look as miserable as I feel. How does that one saying go again?

Misery loves alcohol?

That doesn’t sound exactly right, but I ask nonetheless in as much of a low, discreet tone as I can muster in the moment: “so, who wants to get wasted tonight? Or, better yet,” and I cannot help but look at Farah when I say it, “who has booze right now?”

[ryan]

they have spent most of their break trying to figure out what to plan for the next showcase in a couple of months. it was weird, thinking this far ahead when bronte truly did not have the mental capacity to actually do so in general. there were far more pressing things in their life, like wondering if she could have made the lines a little bit more curved on her last painting. what effect would have that given on the viewer? they werent sure, but they also had a feeling that someone would tell them. probably erras, or maybe ignis or even farah. someone whose personality was just a little more blunt ended.

bronte had donned a scarf that they had been given by one of the younger kids in the orphanage, its intricate pattern was enough for bronte to even consider wearing it. a beanie had graced her head, black as coal, and their hair had been almost neatly tucked into it. if someone wasnt looking close enough, it might have looked like bronte had shaved off their hair from far away, and even she caught that in the mirror before she had left her room. she made sure to tuck out a couple strands, worried that more rumors would start about them by the end of the night.

the last thing that she needed, was to have to process more trauma on their own.

thats when they hear the announcement, and they had actually been on their way to joyce's room before it was clear that there were other plans for the kids tonight. they sighed for a moment, turning around and making their way to the staircase. they had no clue what the headmaster was going to say, but she did know that if there was some sort of announcement that they had to be present for in person... it meant it was something big. bronte pushed the door open, the sound of the metal hitting against each other making her mind float off for a moment. she came right back to earth though when her hand had grabbed the wooding railing instinctually. their brain almost wired to know exactly when she was going to be going down a flight of stairs at this point.

she had fallen down a good amount of them over the years. all of which nurse kim had scolded them for not paying more attention as she applied ice packs to the areas that had been sore. every single time, bronte had gotten lucky and not broken a bone, but that did not stop anyone from giving them grief for doing something so careless.

this assembly better not be something that could have just been a fucking bulletin board memo.

---

they opened the door to notice that there had already been a good amount of students cramming into the room. they took a mental snapshot of the moment, something about it just popped to them. they snapped out of their imagination and their eyes gravitated towards the table with the other eighteen year olds. she noticed that joyce hadnt joined them yet, which a part of them kicked themselves because she probably could have asked joyce to walk with her. they would pout later, making eye contact with some of the staff who made it very clear that they wanted to get back to whatever they were actually doing with their own night.

bronte had grabbed a seat at the table, right in between robey and alain. they gave a light smile before pulling out a pencil and sketchbook that she had tucked away in the waistline of her outfit. just because she had to attend this assembly, did not mean that she had to give any sort of attention to it. in fact, they could tell that this was probably something that didnt even involve everyone that needed to attend. they sighed as she let her imagination had run wild for a moment. she then heard erras in the background snapping at someone because they had sat next to lovie. the amount of sass coming out of their mouth had been enough for bronte to stop what they were drawing and instead focus on that image instead. she looked up and smirked towards lovie as erras had taken their seat next to them.

sometimes she wondered how erras could care so much. however, that was probably the point. they are whispering at this point and bronte could not be bothered to focus on something that just isnt that important. she didnt even want to be here in the first place. she could have been spending her night pining for a chance to talk to joyce, or anyone else for that matter, but now instead, they had to waste it listening to the headmaster announce something that did not concern them. at least they had the foresight to bring something with them to pass the time.

once everyone had made their way into the cafeteria, thats when the headmaster started to corral their attention. bronte still kept their head down, their hand steady as they continued to draw a picture of erras reaching for a chair that had been lit on fire and claiming it for themselves. they looked up finally when the headmaster's voice had been filled with what he seemed to think was joy. bronte's hand was still going, and it wouldnt stop. they had trusted themselves just enough to not mess up the drawing.

he announced that someone had been adopted from the seventeen year old table, then audibly sighed. "this could have just been for them..." bronte said to themself as they rolled their eyes and started to focus on their drawing more. they had begun to draw a reserve sign over the fiery seat that she had already made on the paper. she could tell that there were eyes on them, but she didnt pay much mind. if it was one of the teachers, they could yell at them later, this was the last thing they wanted to spending time on, and bronte had a feeling that they also felt the same way.

"congratulations to bronte!" he said in his droll voice and bronte simply shrugged. "not me..." she said audibly, they listened to the words that the headmaster had said before. bronte was not seventeen and to be quite honest, they werent proud of the work that they had put together for their last showcase. erras had stood up in disgust, to which they looked up for a moment "watch..." she said to erras as the room had fallen silent.

"er, i mean um-" bronte probably shouldnt have smirked. "apologies, what i meant to say was congratulations bailey!"

"point proven." bronte had looked for a moment and gave a sharp look to the headmaster. he quickly made eye contact with her and then he looked away. bronte couldnt even accept the fact that someone wanted to adopt her at this point. she was waiting for their nineteenth birthday at this point. then she could have probably started their own life away from this place. for now though, she put her head back down and started to work on some of the final details of her drawing. they didnt even pay attention to the girl that had been adopted. bronte didnt even know her to be quite honest. it was not a loss to her, so it was not important.

erras's response though did get a small laugh out of bronte. they couldnt lie, they did enjoy erras's crass responses to things that had been happening to them. of course, they had different ways of reacting, erras had always been more verbal, while bronte had always thought about a way to turn trauma into art. it was always the main difference between them. she put on some final touches before flipping her sketchbook closed and raised her face to make eye contact with everyone else.

it seemed like that was the only announcement that needed to be made, and bronte sighed. she was right, this could have just been a bulletin board memo. now that their night had been effectively ruined, she felt like being social was maybe all that she had left at this point. however, their mind wandered a little bit when erras had begun to ask about alcohol, bronte not really sure if anyone here could have some stashed away. she didnt respond to the question, but instead looked towards the front of the gymnasium to see the girl that was adopted full of joy.

bronte turned back to the group and breathed a sigh of relief. "thank ripred that wasnt me." bronte shared as they gave a small smile, waiting to hear what the plans were.

[✨]

↳ FARAH

She takes her usual, lone seat at the back of the cafeteria and is already bored. Farah makes sure everyone knows it, too. Three eye-rolls in and this old man might just outlive her yet - you can be bored to death, yeah? 

A sigh, a scowl, she picks at nail polish - black, and already peeling - and scatters the flecks on the floors. Terrazzo, she remembers that from her brief stint as an artists before the music called. 

Erras reads her mind and Farah huffs a laugh, glancing up from the floor to shift her weight and fold her arms. Her fingers taptaptap against her skin, five six seven eight, and as her mind wanders she's dancing on the cafeteria tables, leaping from clique to clique. 

Of course it's one of the seventeen year olds. Her chest squeezes then, that old wound called Oscar threatening to make a scene. "Lucky bitch," she mutters under her breath to whoever Bailey is - and then Bronte has the audacity to be relieved they aren't leaving this cold, miserable prison the children are all forced to call home.

"Speak for yourself," Farah shoots toward Bronte, tongue in cheek, kicking the back of her chair for good measure. "I can't wait to get out of this shithole."

There they go, pretty boy reading her mind once more. She grins something wicked, running her tongue across the back of her teeth and clucking. A palm pats the front pocket of her satchel, she'd spent last night swapping out the contents of the bottles in the staff room with cheap fragrance that smelled like Lovie.

"Come with me if you know what's good for you. Or..." Farah looks at the rest, cocking her head at the goodiest-two-shoes of them all, ugh- Dolly, "...don't. I honestly don't give a fuck." 

And with that, she steers toward the co-ed bathrooms - graceful, dancer, troublemaker. 

[ coding by griffin ]

[MATTIO]

c o l e y

Is it naive to be happy at this moment? Assemblies are traditionally good news for someone in the room. I pay little attention during Ms. Cheng's math lessons, but if there's one thing I do know, it's that odds are a contradictory thing. Probability says we shouldn't get our hopes up in these types of situations: rarely, especially during an offseason, do we see farewells in bunches. If just one of us leaves this gothic mountaintop school, what are the chances it'll be me? One in, what, a few hundred?

I get why there are so many long faces. We've been through this before, where we're not that one. But there's a little flame that lights every time. You can see it in most people's eyes. They're ghosts from the olden days, dragging a candle through the halls in search of a hatch that can guide us home. The flame's pulse is weak but burns through the wax just the same, burning our hands and our spirits. One of us makes it. Maybe I'm not jaded enough, or maybe I'm just cracked and broken in too many other ways to care. What odds don't tell you is that there are only two possibilities, despite hundreds of us: stay or leave. One in a hundred, one in a million, one in two; all it takes is one.

I take my seat at the table of eighteens just behind one of the windows. Snowflakes press up against the glass but melt into droplets soon after. We had time off for the winter. In reality, the winter season is just beginning. My lower half wraps around the back legs of the chair as I rock it back and forth. The thumps from the front legs slamming up against the tile floor build a good basis for sound effects. The weather is rumored to get worse later this week. Forecast calls for a winter storm, especially this high up in elevation. It gives me some ideas for a new project that I've been workshopping with Alain. It's dangerous but it has the potential to be a masterpiece, which is exactly why we're both on board. We both say jump, we both say how high. It's just how our partnership works.

The headmaster begins to make his way to the podium, slowly at that. I can't help but keep my eyes on Erras and Lovie as they gossip on the side about Walters' age and health. Does Erras know that they're the loudest person in the room, even when they're trying not to be? And that's coming from an actor who acknowledges that his coping mechanism is being purposefully loud to make everyone think he's just roleplaying still. I chuckle behind closed lips at Erras's joke, just enough to where he can hear me a few seats down. 'Friends' show appreciation for each other by laughing at their jokes, even when it's not very funny. And, as Erras has told me, our status is just that: friends! Same goes for them and Alain, just friends. If I had a dollar for every time they said that, I could adopt myself out of here. Despite all they've been through, I don't believe it when they say there's nothing left there. I'm at peace with knowing that this is as far as I'll get.

(I said at peace, mind you. Not content.)

"and wouldn't you know it– a match has been made!" Those flames of hope are rigid and high at every table like blades of grass in heavy wind. One in a bunch is the same as one in a few…

"It would appear one of our seventeen-year-olds has been adopted!" Lights from all the tables except one flicker before a candle press snuffs it out. Erras says what everyone at our table is thinking. Why not one of us? We had a few hits but now everyone left is chopped liver to the world?

The headmaster calls out the name of the child: Bronte. Oh. Now that's embarrassing. It's a harmless mistake yet I can't help but squirm in my chair. It's giving the jaws dropping on the floor when I said "bring it to my dick" instead of "bring it to my dock" when playing jet set Monroe Downing at a live event a couple years back. The headmaster fumbles through and corrects himself: Bailey. Bronte fades back comfortably as if they refused to believe there was a sliver of a chance that the age was a mistake rather than the name.

I'm not the one. But I'm still happy for her.

Erras's whispers spread across the table in the assembly's aftermath, but most eyes adjust to Farah in the back. Everyone seems to know where the fun kicks up and spins out. Even the tornado itself knows what kind of chaos it offers. She nods along with an invitation to the bathrooms.

I let the leg of my chair press against the top of my shoe a little bit more with every sway back and forth. It's like a personal timer. Pain tells me when I need to stop wallowing and make a decision.

I turn to Alain for his choice. Because he's never made a bad one of those in his life. "Do you wanna go? I'll only go if you go." We're all a school of fish, a pack of ghosts carrying their candelabras down the hallway. Stronger together.

elegant

[gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan]

They were among the first to arrive- not because they were the closest when the announcements were made, but because Dolly personally mastered the art of speed walking in the halls long ago, (no running allowed,) and Grant had really long legs. She absentmindedly took the seat he pulled out for her, resting her bag on the surface of the table with a sense of finality.

"That thing probably weighs a hundred pounds at this point. These new AP classes are no joke!" She spoke to Grant directly, but loudly enough so that the few others who'd already made it to their table could hear. She didn't mention that almost none of them were required credits for her upcoming graduation, but it's like Munroe always said: the harder classes look better on college applications than the easier ones.

Adoption Assemblies were always ridiculously tense things. They happened maybe every month or so, according to the data she'd collected, never any more than three per assembly. Especially not this early after being back from winter break- though she was already aware of the yearly resubmissions during the break. If they remembered to make the changes to the fifth slide in her powerpoint presentation, there was a really strong chance that she'd be getting adopted pretty early in the season. She wondered, in fact, if she'd be around long enough to graduate here at Snowspire, or if she'd have to finish the last bit of her education in the Capitol. Not that she exactly minded the idea- graduating with honors and then having immediate access to all of the Capitol with Grant by her side? It was among her most dizzying of aspirations.

But when Walters announces it is someone younger, Dolly is instantly doing groundwork. Erras stands and shouts, the whole of the cafeteria turning to eye him for a moment. Dolly's hand squeezes Grant's- "I think someone really thought it was his turn," she whispered into his ear so that no one else could see. When she pulled back she made eyes with him, raised her brows and flattened her lips in a oopsie sort of gesture. She thought it was her turn as well, to be fair. They all probably did. She wasn't going to make a scene about it.

But then Walters continued by announcing Bronte as the adoptee. Most seemed to quickly recognize this miscommunication as a result of his old age, so Dolly contributes briefly despite feeling in her chest that it might go a bit deeper than anyone realizes- "Guys, be nice. He's probably going a bit senile." Perhaps one of her greatest fears was reaching a point in her life where the amount of new information she was getting was zero, and the amount of information she was losing was too much. The mere thought of it made her chest flutter.

But he'd looked right at Bronte when he'd accidentally said her name. Right at her. And then corrected himself- Bailey, from the grade below them was getting adopted. Not Bronte. Not the girl whose name he'd said on instinct instead.

Weird.

Once it was all said and done, it wasn't long before people were right back to discussing what they could do next. In Dolly's opinion, the constant distraction is why none of them had been adopted yet. She had at least three hours of homework and an entirely new reading syllabus she had to finish by the summer snows in a couple months and it was literally the first day back in class. How did no one else have any responsibility?

Farah made eye contact with her as she spoke.

"Come with me if you know what's good for you. Or... don't. I honestly don't give a fuck."

Specifically, she'd looked to Dolly when she said the word 'don't.' She felt her cheeks go pink with emotions she wouldn't otherwise allow to surface.

She looked back to Grant, again speaking so that only he or someone deliberately prying could hear.

"I think we should go. I mean, we'll have to go back to my room first so I can grab a better coat and at least start that Calculus sheet before it gets too late. And if we get there and they've somehow actually gotten alcohol, we'll just stay for a couple minutes and then I'll say I'm getting a headache."

It'd probably be fine. None of the chidren in this schol had ever been anywhere except here, so Dolly knew inherently that there wasn't much of a 'party' scene to be had at all. She'd never been drunk, nor had she had the opportunity or desire to be so. If the others had a different level of experience, it couldn't have been by much. But even still, the idea of them all being privy to something she was in the dark about was an absolute big no-no. She pulled away to make eye contact with him, waiting for a silent answer before turning back to Farah and Erras with a snide smile.

"We'll be there."

[ᴥ]

Headmaster Walters' croak takes on a tinny quality as it ambles through the loudspeakers, only adding to the way it grates on my fucking nerves.

It's less dread, more exhaustion burrowing into the hollows of my bones as I follow the flow of hopeful hearts toward the cafeteria. Three times over we've grieved a miracle, whether or not this assembly makes four I'm anticipating fallout anyway. Pretty as this fantasy is, we tend to get restless when they dangle that whole wonderful world we've never known in front of our faces.

Rather than tend to that ache in my chest, I busy my idle hands worrying about the rest of them. Not by making them into burdens mind you, it's little more than a spot a couple feet away from the cafeteria doors held open by rust and sheer force of will where I can watch the rest of my classmates trickle in. I'm not even sure anyone but Joyce has noticed the habit, and even then only because she's always trying to beat me to the punch.

Which she has. This time. Her knuckles freshly bloody. "Hope you didn't sprain your ankle rushing over here." I hiss from in between clenched teeth as I brush past her.

And into the cafeteria, because her hands are regrettably capable.

My place next to Coley is long established and, thankfully, still available when I arrive. "Hey man," I leave the loving analyses of the empty space between my ears for our films because I don't think I'm capable of feeling much outside them. At the very least it all gets muddled and I look like an asshole because I know I'm expected to be feeling something but I can never quite tell what that's supposed to be.

And Coley's good because there's none of that. Because there's this heavy silence between us that's allowed to just rot. I'm almost certain that's what home is.

"Missed ya." The only place I ever feel like I'm saying what I mean.

Walters begins to speak, his voice like waterlogged planks in an old ship giving way. Those wrinkles are an absolute nightmare and I've told Erras more than once he's allowed to shoot me before I even start resembling a sad plastic bag. If things are weird between us now, I haven't noticed.

I've got a reputation for apathy, but on the bright side that means I've never given anyone enough of myself to miss.

And do I miss them?

That's the million dollar question, baby.

Never mind I've kept my favorite photo of Erras stashed in my history textbook for months or that I've pretended to have detention to keep Farah company. Cut to the core of the pretentious artist shit, I find myself very uncomfortable with wondering. About how things are or how they could have been. I haven't lost anything, they're right here. Lovely as ever and better off kept at an arm's length.

Walters' mistake is quickly overshadowed by Erras' outburst, and there's a hint of pity in the laughter I stifle behind my palm. He'd hoped, as we all had. As we all do during an assembly. Bronte, for her part, doesn't seem too upset - perhaps it was a good thing that her name was called, then, because tears make me squeamish.

I'm much better suited to anger and outrage - the very thing hanging on Farah's heels as she stalks after Erras.

"Do you wanna go? I'll only go if you go." Coley rocks back and forth in his seat, blunted metal digging into the top of his foot.

"Careful," I murmur before I realize I've said anything at all, snaking an arm around the back of Coley's chair and pulling back gently in an effort to relieve the pressure.

Somewhere out of my line of sight, Dolly affirms she (and Grant, presumably, given I've never seen him off that short leash) will be there, meaning no one has any excuse not to attend lest they be shown up by Mr. and Mrs. White Picket Fence.

"Of course we're going." I stand, offering Coley a hand he doesn't need but I still hope he'll take. "Things would go shit without me, and no party's fun without you." A statement made without even a hint of shame or humility, around a conspiratorial grin. "Besides I think we all need something to take our minds off this." I gesture back toward the stage, "whateverthefuck."

[d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi]

lovie.

It was a lovely day.

Well, as lovely as the day could possibly get at Snowspire Academy. Which if you ask Lovie, is pretty darn amazing. Her day started with the most delicious breakfast, followed by some quality time in the garden (her roses are thriving in case you were wondering), and then some classes to finish out the day. Lovie wasn’t the brightest in the classroom, but she managed to survive. Sometimes she wonders if she cared for her grades the same way she cared for her plants if they would blossom the same.

But the flowers certainly needed it more.

Her talent is what was going to get her adopted, you know.

At least, that’s what they tell us.

There was little time between classes and the assembly, just enough time to make herself presentable, but not nearly enough time for Hanna to come do her makeup. She had been helping Lovie out recently, so sweet of her really, while she still tried to learn the ins and outs of makeup. She managed to put on mascara that she deemed to look half decent then skipped down the hall and into the cafeteria.

”Hi. Hi. Hello. Hi. How are you?” she said brightly with a smile plastered across her face. She sat in her usual spot, an empty one to her right reserved for Erras whenever he showed up. In the meantime, Lovie turned in the opposite direction to spark a conversation, her specialty really, when only moments later she felt someone sit by her side. Her head whipped around excitedly to greet Erras, but the disappoint splashed across her face when it wasn’t.

”That is reserved seating,” The smile returns as her best friend’s voice rings out.

Always right on time.

Always brave enough to do the things she can’t.

”Erras!” she squeals, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek. ”It’s been like, what? At least twelve hours since I’ve last seen you. Maybe more, but let me tell you it’s been the longest twelve hours of my life,” His hand lands on mine and a soft smile spreads across my lips.

”It’s gonna be the two of us, together. We pinky promised bitch. That’s oath.”

Her eyes go wide in complete shock. ”I would never break a pink promise,” she whispers back at him. ”Erras, I can’t even lie. I get all sweaty, you know this,” Lovie giggles, but quiets down as Headmaster Walters finally makes his way to the front. ”When’s he going to, like, have a heart attack.”

The gasp that escapes her lips is both quiet and loud as she playfully punches Erras in the arm. ”You can’t just say things like that! Haven’t you ever heard of karma?” But then there is nothing but silence when the Headmaster announces that an adoption has been made.

Well, silence until Erras stands and yells.

She tries not to let the butterflies surface, but they start to flutter deep inside. Then just as quickly as they came, they wither as a name that sounds nothing like ‘Lovie’ is called out. She does her best not to show her disappointment, especially not in front of Erras as he finally sits back down. Gently, she places her other hand on top of is, the one clutching her shaking, and she wonders if he might fall apart.

Breathe Erras. Breathe.

Finally, he does.

And finally, she does too.

”So, who wants to get wasted tonight? Or better yet, who has booze right now?”

Lovie finally lets go of his hand to clap. ”Oh, me! Me!” Her eyes follow his instinctively to Farrah’s. Got the good stuff Farah?” A few of the others chime in that they’ll come as well, and she can’t help but clap again.

”Oh this is going to be so much fun!”

She hopes.

Because fun might be the last thing she has to hold on to.

[gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale]

p i p p a ^{✦ snowspire}

No matter whose name is called, you promised yourself a long time ago to always show joy. Just because it's someone else's turn doesn't mean yours isn't right around the corner. You remember Joyce telling you that once, when you were both younger, and you still had a habit of crying over all the things that overwhelmed you in life. Like volcanoes erupting in a classroom, the pretty flash of the firecracker followed by the smell of ash thick enough to choke on; to this day, emotions move through you like natural disasters. Your happiest and saddest words are spoken at the same volume — and who can tell the difference between them anymore?

It's ironic, and you're aware of it, but you gaze at the space over its head like it isn't standing inside every room with you. That simple, inescapable truth. Pippa Snowspire versus the world; you'd trade it away in a heartbeat for the one you've carefully crafted inside your own mind. Where nothing hurts, and change can be as peaceful as the seasons passing, like snow that melts for only a few glorious days a year, the prettiest thing you've ever been allowed to see, like learning what spring is and not being able to stand in a meadow of wildflowers coming to life all around you. There are days where you snap your fingers just to see if you might disappear and end up elsewhere.

If a cold palace in the snow is where you feel the safest, then how frightened are you by the woods surrounding you?

꧁ Breathe. ꧂

The girl who strives for the impossible is so easily shaken by the possible.

Minor slip-ups aside — a meltdown in front of the entire student body for one — you have always believed fiercely in keeping the spirit of magic alive within the academy. If everyone around you is happy, then you get to be happy, too. Maybe that's not the healthiest way to look at it, but to you, the logic is sound enough. When everyone else in the room is laughing, it's not so strange for you to be giggling over every little thing, and if you're being honest, things are just more enjoyable for you when other people are in a good mood. Silent rooms make your skin crawl, so you seek out attention like the moths that gather on the window by your bed, out of reach of the candlelight flickering so warmly within.

You don't know where they come from each winter, so for now, you've convinced yourself that the white fluffy ones are the rarest kind of snowflake, a one in a million chance fluttering just outside the glass for all to see, a fantasy with no consequences. Magic.

All people are destined to be either a performer or a creator, and you, truly and perfectly and unforgivably you, have never shied away from the spotlight. When the assembly is announced and you all gather together, dreamers sitting in organized rows, anyone can tell you have a trick up your sleeve just from the smile on your face alone. As much as you think your previous showcase is deserving of an early adoption, you've fought that battle and lost enough times to never assume. When it happens for you, it'll be perfect and life-affirming, but the magic of when is that it's entirely out of your control.

Bother.

The Headmaster addresses the class of seventeen year old students, and suddenly you are the lone beacon shining in a sea of gloomy faces. Okay, you think to yourself, a thought like clockwork, grin widening, my turn's next! Even devastated, you give only the most genuine of smiles, eyes trained keenly where someone's happiest day is going to happen in front of you all.

The best thing about you, if your say matters, is that you know how to create a moment. So when the elderly man's voice rings out, commanding and wise even after all these years, you are quick to reveal the confetti popper hidden in your palm. One of your many performance props, now repurposed into the perfect opportunity to celebrate someone else's adoption. And, of course, the chance to look up at pretty confetti raining down on you! Most wonderful things come in pairs, after all.

"Congratulations to Bronte!" There's a loud pop! and a flutter of pastel pink, purple, and yellow strips of parchment flutter all around you. In the aftermath, the awkward silence and the deafening sound of the Headmaster fumbling over his words, you realize Bronte's name had been spoken. You turn to look at her, confusion showing in your features but still that genuine excitement peeking through, when the situation corrects itself. Someone named Bailey gets to be the winner in this chapter of the story. These days, it doesn't chip away at your spirit as much as it used to.

You awkwardly hold up the already used confetti popper, shaking loose the last few strips when the girl walks past, mouthing a sincere and apologetic, I only had the one! But what's paper to a wish coming true? She passes you by, and you look away, instead focusing your gaze on your classmates making their evening plans. This is the thing you all want more than anything, and when it happens for someone who isn't any of you, it's like the quickest thing in the world.

Still, you'll never be the person to act as if a party is a bad idea. And with the way Erras looks so tense, shrill voice ringing in your ears all these minutes later, you think a few shots would do him well, Not that you've ever partaken in alcohol, not yet, but the last time you cornered Farrah with your many curious questions, you were lucky to get enough answers from her to walk away learning something new about the whole... rebelling process. You like to think you can live as bravely as anyone else.

What people don't know won't hurt them. / The scene shifts.

Bouncing to your feet, you shake your head and summon a new rainstorm of confetti, brushing off your uniform for good measure. "Oh, wait up, Farrah! Please let me taste test all the different flavors you have! And just checking, do they only make you drunk like normal, or do some of them have other cool side effects?" They sound something like magical potions; and it excites you, distracts you, so politely and energetically chasing after the more aloof girl as she tries to retreat. You'd feel bad for being clingy, but you know you're good company!

You also know that the one person you want to spend the day with hasn't looked you in the eye for the last five years.

Blindfolded, you'll take any chance in the sun you can get.

[🌱 kaitlin.]

HANNA
snowspire.

The sonata I'm working on is going to be the death of me. All the essay's I've read on the theoretical analysis of the damned thing tells me the same thing over and over; the piece is going to play differently for every musician. I've been dreaming about playing the thing since Dragomir gave me that first packet of sheet music for the cello and saw the piece by Kodály mentioned in the foreword. The author, or rather, who ever had collated all the music and bound them together for amateurs like me to learn from, had credited Kodály's Sonata Op. 8 as the reason he knew music expressed emotion better than any other art form. I've want someone to look at me and feel everything that song has to offer. I want them to feel the painful drop, ten minutes into the piece, after having them endure the sharp beats of silence ahead of it. Earn the magic of the allegro molto vivace. I want my echo to ring through them until they forget everything else. That's why I'm late to assembly, you see. Built on idiosyncrasies, it's a feat for any cellist to master, never mind one who's only been at it for a couple of years. The task of it all is why I have to learn it, any good musician would agree, and I tend to use every second allocated to me to practice that I can, and even then some.  Cello is absolutely ruining my sense of style though. I'm so tired of having to wear pants all the time, have been considering just wearing my miniskirt when I play anyway. I can wear black tights, and the body of the cello would block everything else. Not sure if it's a potential fight with Dragomir about presentation though or not, and if it is, I'm not sure it's a fight I feel like picking. So, instead of thinking about it much, I dragged a bag of spare clothes with me to my last period, which was really just a block of time blacked out and intended for me to fine tune my skills on an instrument. Lately, it's been cello, and lately, that's meant changing in the bathroom between mandatory events, and, well, that's meant being late. To, well, a lot of everything. Up until now the I was practicing excuse has gotten me pretty far, but it'll get old eventually. I can hear Farah coming down the hall before I hear anyone else, and a frantic feeling in my belly makes me lean forward again, get one last good look at myself in the mirror before the door inevitably comes swinging open. Because of course she's coming here. She has a habit of doing that, showing up where I am, when that's the last thing in the world I want right now. "Oh, get lost-" I start to say, turning on my heel, an eye roll already loaded up, but I cut myself off before all the words get out because trotting along at Farah's side is Lovie.  Because of course she is.  We are all such unfortunate creatures of habit here at Snowspire. I'm getting rather more and more tired of it every day. "Lovie!" I exclaim with excitement, honest enough, but happy to lay claim to our friendship in front of Farah a little bit, too. "Help braid my hair?" I plead at her with my eyes until she comes over to help. Only then do I look back at Farah. "Couldn't think of somewhere more creative than the bathroom, Fay?" I arch my eyebrow at her like I didn't just slip and and use the childhood nickname I gave her before I realized other people could love her, too. "I mean, really, how year nine." It's off-hand, and I make a show of going back to look at myself in the mirror for a moment before looking past Lovie at her over my shoulder.  "At least tell us you got the good stuff from the lounge. None of that experimental stuff from year nine anymore to match with the scene, right?"

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

k a i n e .

We had to get up early, first day back since they let us out at the beginning of December. Back. It's a funny way of putting it because of course we never left Snowspire, we just avoided the classrooms as if they didn't exist at all for the time we had off. We're pretty good at that as a collective, pretending. Maybe it's our second talent.

Someone sets Degraw off on a tangent in second period and I'm looking right at him but it's like all of his consonants and vowels are just a jumble of meaningless sounds. I think there's something wrong with my head since I hit it on the flagstones out in the courtyard last week. Maybe it's just the sun refracting off of the snow outside.

Blue sky in the middle of winter after days of endless snow and we're stuck in class. It doesn't seem fair, I wish I had someone to hate for it. I'm sure there's some god of fate out there I could shake my fist at.

Each class is shorter than the last, just teachers handing out syllabus' and workbooks, droning on about their plan for the year. They should know by now how little it matters to anyone but Dolly, who looks far too happy to be back. I watch her for too long in Bingham's class, waiting for the mask to slip.

Not even once.

My attention falls back on the world outside the window, still and silent as Bingham outlines the units we'll be studying.

Her voice becomes just more noise filtering through my head as my thoughts drifts, wrapping around the chapter I've been trying to write for the last two weeks. Every time I write even a single sentence it feels wrong though, cheap. I'm in one of those phases I think, where I wonder if I'm actually terrible and everything that flows from my pen is hot garbage.

Wouldn't that be funny?

The final bell rings and the back of my head echoes it. I grimace as I slide my books up off my desk into my arms, fingers curling protectively around the edge of one of my notebooks sandwiched between my chest and my science textbook. I keep my head down as I move through the halls, beelining for my room before anyone else can reach the dorms.

Then the loudspeaker crackles to life and Walter's voice crawls slowly out of it, ordering everyone to the cafeteria for assembly. I pause, pressing my back up against the wall out of habit. An assembly at end of day can only mean one thing, someone was adopted.

Adoptions are strange at Snowspire. Pretty much everyone aches for it as long as they can remember, but they sew that need into you since childhood and then that ache becomes everything that you are in the form of a 'talent'. They tell us that if we work hard enough, someone will watch our tape and they will want us.

I'm not special. I'm just like everybody else, I want parents that love me but I'm not half the fool I wish I was. I know that it's not going to be my name that Walters calls out because I'm far from what most people want in a kid. I'm damaged goods.

But assemblies are mandatory and it's too late to feign sick or pretend I was outside and didn't hear the command so I find myself filing into the cafeteria along with everyone else.

There's a hundred reasons why I hate these things but one of them is I never know where I'm supposed to sit. I'm not particularly wanted anywhere at the table but that also means I fit beside pretty much anyone. I just have to remember the spots reserved always for someone else and avoid those.

I've gotten good at that.

I find a spot at the end of the table closest to the exit and furthest from the podium then lay my head down, fingers crossed over the back of my head, pulling down. The pressure helps to alleviate the pounding at least a little bit and it's also kind of nice and dark. I didn't really sleep last night, procrastinating on shutting myself down as if I could extend winter break that way.

Didn't work obviously.

Sound is muffled like this but I still hear the way the cafeteria goes silent as Walters starts speaking. The table shifts beneath me and I wonder briefly who looks the most hopeful. Usually it's one of the ones with the loud or flashy talents, as if twirling a baton in the air can make someone love you.

There's a pause before Walters says a name and it's like the stillness is a blanket lain over the whole room. For one precious moment, nobody says a single word. I raise my head a little, fingers unfurling against the back of my neck like the petals of a flower. There's a tightness in my chest, this nervous energy and I hear it once, my own heart beat, in the silence.

It's as if time has stopped. I look up and down the table, at the faces of the kids I was raised with and the fearful hope written plainly despite their guarded expressions.

And I wonder briefly, along with everybody else in the room, what it would be like if Walters called out my name, what it would be like if I got to leave here. What I would be like.

The moment passes.

"Bronte."

Sound fills the room again and it has notes to it, like Hanna's sheet music. Confusion first, staccato and sharp, then correction and excitement. Anger, a change in key, then redirection.

Kids bounce back so fast.

Erras goes from yelling his indignation, holding up his own bloody heart as evidence, to making plans for a party in the bathroom. I stay completely still, silent in the background of their conversation. Ideas are offered and then quickly taken off the table. Bailey, the girl who actually is getting adopted, is crying at the front of the room and shaking hands while Farrah is gleefully already leading people out, presumably to get drunk in a bathroom stall.

It's kind of beautiful, the juxtaposition of two different kinds of celebrations happening at once for entirely different reasons. Part of me wants to stand up and yell too, angry, hurt things at the top of my lungs and part of me aches separately. I want to be gracious and happy for Bailey but I hate her.

So I just smile madly down at the notebook on the table in front of me for a moment, trying to swallow down the disappointment in the back of my throat. I knew it couldn't be me.

I've done nothing to deserve love.

I stand up after pretty much everyone else has and then join the stream of our classmates. They follow Farrah down the hall like rats after the pied piper. I fall back slowly until it's just me trailing behind and for a gentle moment I am part of them. Then they all go left so I take a right.

I know I'm not really wanted.

[garnet beauford d8 [earthling]]

IGNIS

The cigarette, little more than a nub, falls from his fingertips into the fresh snow. No one's expecting Ignis to be on time. So when the announcement is made he considers lighting another. Click, click, the lighter chirps in his left palm. A bell rings, warning the dwaddlers. He inhales so deeply the bitter air is like spikes in his lungs.

When he emerges in the cafeteria nearly everyone else is seated. He takes his usual perch: leaning against the wall next to the eighteen year old tables. He yawns when the announcement is made, snickers when Walters characteristically fucks up. Instead of clapping, he steeples his hands together and then drops all the fingers but the middle arch for Bailey.

The cliques circle quickly. It's amazing only in that they've already cut Bailey out. Ignis shadows the popular crowd, considers that it might make for a good change of pace to abuse his liver rather than his lungs, when he sees Kaine looming over a notebook.

It would be so easy to snatch it, drag his lighter across his jeans, and ignite whatever pathetic words Kaine has committed to paper. Too easy. He watches as Kaine very nearly joins the pack. He could trip him, say something cutting. He could, but isn't in that sort of mood. Not today.

"See you 'round," he says, letting his chin drift over his rights shoulder so that it will carry down the hallway, wrapping around Kaine.

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

k a i n e .

"See you 'round."

I pause, fingers digging tighter into my books as a cold finger runs down the back of my neck. When I turn and look over my shoulder, Ignis is already walking away with everyone else. I turn to look forwards again, willing myself to keep walking but I can't seem to lift my feet.

Bile rises in the back of my throat, what did he mean by that?

Is he going to be somewhere waiting for me? Today or tomorrow? When? I want to keep moving so badly but it's like the hallway is getting longer or my breathing is shorter and everything is harder and it doesn't seem fair that it's him who gets to be one of them and it's me here alone, I haven't done anything wrong. Not anything I can remember at least.

I press my palm against my forehead, pushing hard as if that will help me remember my supposed transgression but all it does is create a central spot for my brain to keep pounding against my skull. I shut my eyes against the pain and will it away, shoulders dropping, breath coming slower again as the last echo of my classmates' footsteps fades out and I am finally left alone.

My hand drops slowly and I open my eyes, focusing my vision on the window beside me. The last bit of sun still shines from the crest of the mountain, creating fractals on the snow. My eyes get lost in them, vision blurring as I stare too long.

"Come on Kaine," I whisper finally, "Just keep going."

And I do.

[calla]

g r a n t.

The walk from the dorms to the cafeterias is a bit of a daze. Adoption is always supposed to be a happy time, he knows - the energy thrums through the halls and settles down near everyone's ankles. Grant has to hold tight to Dolly as a knot of younger kids go barreling by, already shrieking, already speculating, loud and echoing like a stampede.

The sound digs into his skull. Leaves him a little unsteady. But he smiles when Dolly turns to check on him, he pulls her chair out for her out of instinct. He moves on autopilot while his brain keeps up a steady chant of not me not me please Ripred not me.

It makes him feel guilty. Makes him a little ashamed of how he's so afraid of getting what other kids would kill for.

His foot tap tap taps against the floor, fiddling with Dolly's hand on the table and trying to look anywhere but the podium. The ringing in his ears never really quiets down. The chatter starts and then stops and then starts up again, but its all just a steady dull roar. He can feel his hands getting clammy, his fingers going cold, his vision tunnelling.

The fluorescents overhead all go bright and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to call back all those breathing exercises that Munroe tried to push on him.

"I think someone really thought it was his turn." Dolly whispers, pulling Grant back, and he finally takes a breath, slumping in his chair with something like relief. He latches onto the subject a little desperately, eyeing Erras and blinking as the lights dim back to normal.

"Not surprising." He says back to Dolly quietly, forcing one side of his mouth up, convincing himself to sound normal. At least he knows how to react to this though - Erras' tantrums still sound the same as they did when they were kids. There's a can of worms waiting there, one that makes Grant squeeze Dolly's hand in answer and look away.

Now at this point, Grant is enough of a man to admit that Farrah scares the absolute shit out of him. More than Ignis. More than even Walters on most days.

Dolly takes the lead and Grant lets her. She know's what he's like, just like he knows what she's like. That's why they work. Grant runs his thumb over her knuckles and she makes plans for possible the worst night of their lives. They'll make an appearance, just to say they were there, and then they'll leave, and it'll be fine. It's not either of their scenes - it's just that simple.

He leans over to kiss her cheek, completely and utterly normal, "What's the worst that could happen?"

[Deleted]

"Ohhh shit, you know what that means," an assembly? Time to go do literally anything else! Nah, it really means some winner got adopted- yea yea, good for them. I doubt I'll ever get adopted, which sucks but once you accept it you can start living life now instead of waiting for what'll never come. You see? It's all about that P.M.A.

Positive Mental Attitude! And I'm absolutely positive I'd rather get blitzed in the gym while the coast is clear. The rest of those nerds can go celebrate whoever's getting out of here, I'll be chasing the high of my dreams. Might as well break out the new year stash, right? Viola and I are sitting in the stands with our legs crossed together, passing the blunt back and forth and taking turns scratching our initials into the wood. Well, I'm carving S+V18 and she's busy making predictions on who got adopted. 

Like all good things, the blunt ends and I stuff the roach into my back pocket - can't waste good leaf. 

It's honestly all Wyatt's, but good buds share good bud and all that. Viola and I bounce from the gym after she's done coughing up a lung, "I think I'm- AGHUGHA-"

"Damn, girl," get it out. She tells me she's going to stick around and practice her dribble, and I just shrug it off and kiss her on the cheek before I head out. Yeah, yeah, can't afford not to - whateeever, I don't have to practice biking, I just become the bike. Once I rear out the gym, I hear what sounds like a swarm of dumbasses and my fomo triggers immediately. 

Am I missing something stupid? 

Sure enough, it's about half of my class stuffing themselves into a co-ed bathroom. Well, everyone but my bro's, of course, but that doesn't stop me from jumping in - "woah, woah, woah. What's with all the motion in the ocean?" I say, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em in the handicap stall. 

"AYE! IS WYATT IN HERE?!" Counting heads and squeezing into the bathroom, I pull out a second blunt from my varsity jacket, "more importantly, who wants in this circle??"

[         S     Y     L     A     N          ]

table by: z o e