[ kirkwall • i pray i will, i pray i might • lionel ]

s t i l l   b e   s o m e b o d y   w o r t h   t h e   f i g h t

So. This was a little crazy.

A lot crazy, but the young witch was trying not to think about that. Her fifteenth birthday had come several days previously and it had just seemed... hollow. Weirdly empty. She knew that she shouldn't have placed so much importance on hearing from one person, especially after they hadn't talked in a serious way for months, but she had. It wasn't rational to expect someone to remember her birthday when they hadn't talked. Whose fault was that, though? Was it her fault because she'd kissed him? Or was it his fault because of how he'd responded to it? The whole thing was mind-boggling. And produced endless questions.

The only solution to the whole debacle, she'd decided, was to goad her sister into (reluctantly, but graciously) apparating her to the Isles of Orkney. To Kirkwall. To see him. In person. Of course, it'd all been a spur of the moment type of decision, as her decisions tended to be. Sometimes those impulses proved gutsy and useful, and sometimes they tended to alienate people who hadn't been expecting such actions. Kind of like their little incident in the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room had done. Clementine wasn't really sure how to feel about all of it, herself -- she couldn't put her finger on the quality of the decisions they'd both made the previous year. She couldn't decide whether or not they'd been positive, negative, or some strange conglomerate of both.

Her sister made a quiet snide remark, resembling something about the Sterlings' house being a dark, drippy pureblood dungeon, and Clem crushed Jessalyn's perfectly-French-manicured hand in hers a little too tightly for comfort. If Jess yelped in pain, she didn't notice. She only noticed the unsettling sensation that felt eerily like her organs were being scrambled and rearranged in her abdomen, which didn't settle so well with her dinner. Once they'd arrived at his house, she ran clutching her stomach toward the nearest bush she could find and threw up, much to her sister's squealing dismay. "Oh, shut up. Maybe if you were better at it, I wouldn't be heaving in my ... in Lionel's bushes." Clem snarled, fetching the flask she'd brought with her from the pocket of her leather jacket to take a swig and oust the smell -- and taste -- from her senses.

"Guess I should knock on the door now. You gonna stick around?" She perked a curious brow at her older sister, shrugging indifferently when Jess' mouth moved around imaginary syllables that she doubted even made real words. She either got all blushy and weird at the mention of Kay or bit her head off. There was no in-between. Seemed to be a trend with Russell women.

The blonde witch closed her eyes for a moment, releasing all the tension and anxiety in her body with one heaving exhale. Her hand balled up into a tight fist and rapped on the door a couple of times, and until the second after she'd done that, it hadn't occurred to her that it was only just eight o'clock and that they could be in the middle of dinner. The blood drained from her face when she heard footsteps coming to the door, and she straightened up, unsure whether to smile or to look all business. "Hi," She blurted, perhaps interrupting whoever answered the door. It wasn't Lionel. "I'm not selling anything, I just... wanted to know if Lionel was home? I'm a... friend from school."

@Lionel Sterling

Lionel was home from another long day at work, in which he spent most of his time recording and packaging shipments, stocking the shelves, occasionally dealing with a customer who wanted something more in his line of expertise, and reading up on Transfiguration theory in preparation for O.W.L. year. With Gaheris spending less and less time at the shop, Lionel was de facto the most educated person there when it came to the contents of the shop aside from his parents, despite being 15, and cared more for scholarship than either of them, and he was pleased to be encountering people he could learn from, although he cared little for the rest of his duties. They were considerably easier than they had been just a few years ago with his added inches, however.

Time at home really was mostly spent in studying--there was, after all, nothing else to do on Fara, considering they were quite literally the only people on the island. And the Sterling home was rather depressing--his pureblood ancestors had not exactly liked light, for whatever reason, so it was easier to bury himself in something else and forget. They did have dinner together, though, a dinner spent with his parents occasionally exchanging sentences and silence all around, otherwise. Lionel had just taken a particularly large bite of mutton when a rap on the door interrupted his father's discourse on something about the latest Ministry affairs that he'd read in the Prophet, silencing everyone. The Sterlings never got visitors. Ever. They didn't even bother with wards on the house other than the anti-Muggle ones because everyone knew that Fara was uninhabited.

Gaheris stood up and went for the door, and Lionel felt his stomach drop when he heard her voice, freezing mid-chew. What in Merlin's name was she doing here? How had she gotten here? Jessalyn, he concluded immediately, raising a brief eyebrow at Kay before returning to his own predicament. I just...wanted to know if Lionel was home? filtered in to the table and Iain Sterling immediately gave his youngest son a long, hard, and thoroughly displeased look. His father's place faced the door, and Lionel knew that as Gaheris turned back he had a full view of the short Gryffindor, leather jacket and jeans and all. A distinct contrast to the black robes and dark hair that all the people at the table currently possessed. Obvious lack of blood purity.

He hastily swallowed and stood up abruptly. "I'll...see what she wants." Everyone's gaze followed him as he passed Gaheris in the entry. Thankfully, his oldest brother's expression was blank. Turning his head back to consider briefly, Lionel stepped out and shut the door heavily, knowing that while that might not be in his favor bringing her into the sitting room would be even less so.

The Slytherin boy rounded on her. "What do you think you're doing here?" he hissed, taking in the look of her. Something about seeing her produced a funny feeling in his chest underneath the dominant feeling of minor fury. He hadn't really seen much more of her than flashes for a good part of the year, and not at all during the summer. "I don't recall saying visitors were appreciated here. Especially not..." he cut himself off, settling for "did you see the way my father looked at you?" to express what he didn't feel he ought to say. A long breath through his nose in an attempt to calm himself brought a sharp scent to his attention. "Are you...drunk or something?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You can go, Jess. Or, just, like... hide behind the house. Or something. Go. Gogogo." She waved her sister away rather vigorously, reverting to the false cheesy grin-thing she'd been wearing before. If they were going to think anything about her, at least they wouldn't think heinous bitch. Right? Hopefully. Clementine was lucky enough to have an entirely nonjudgmental set of parents. Her siblings were another story, but her parents were good at welcoming people into their home. It didn't seem the Sterlings had learned the same set of hosting skills.

The tension in the air was almost audible, almost ringing in her ears. Her fingers tapped a haphazard pattern on the seams of her pants, and she tried not to twitch with the anticipation. After all, they'd not seen each other in months. Not had a real conversation in months, either. She stepped off the ledge just outside the front door when he came outside. Clem opened her mouth to greet him, but snapped it right shut when he hissed at her. Her honey-brown eyes widened at the behavior, and her brow scrunched intensely. Honestly, how dare he? "Especially not what? Especially not me? Wow. No, I didn't stare down your father to see how harshly he was judging me. What do I think I'm doing here? I came to see you, obviously. You didn't come to see me for months, so I had a think on it and this was the only thing that made sense. You don't need to be an asshole." She remarked, folding her arms defensively over her chest.

"Anyway, you weren't going to come to my house. When school started it'd be too easy for you to just start avoiding me again, so, here I am." Her frown deepened when he asked her whether or not she was drunk. What the hell? Oh. The vomit. He was smelling the vomit. "No, that smell is... I threw up in the bush just there." She pointed apologetically, wincing a little at the admission. "Jessalyn isn't that great at apparition yet, and I'd just eaten dinner, so I... yeah." Clem pursed her lips, grabbing the flask in her pocket and holding it up. "I do have this, though, if you want a drink. Or something. I brought it in case my nerves ate me alive. They kind of are, but, I figured we should get a few sentences in before I started drinking."

The blonde stepped backward a few more times and gestured in a vague direction the other way, shrugging her shoulders. "Do you want to walk or something? I doubt you'd want your family hearing us. Unless you're in that much of a hurry to get rid of me, but, I'm here now, so I don't see what the point in that would be."

She wasn't happy with him, but he wasn't exactly happy with her. In fact, she was making him more furious by the second. "Especially not someone who isn't pureblood," he said coldly, knowing full well what he was getting himself into. "You know I don't give a flobberworm's rear end, but you might have remembered I come from a line that rather prefers to live in quite literally the middle of nowhere," he waved his arm around the barren landscape toward the bleak North Sea, "to preserve its pride. Made sense? I work in the middle of Hogsmeade how in the name of Merlin's pants did you decide that this made more sense?" He took a deep breath but didn't feel like repressing another hard look.

Lionel looked at her blankly, some of the edge of his anger taken off by her admission. "No, what? No, I smelled the alcohol. But thanks for informing me I should get Mark to use a scouring charm on it." He eyed the flask even more suspiciously than before, then turned around and strode off in the direction she pointed. "Okay, fine. Come on, the beach is this way." Silence fell for a bit until he abruptly sat down on a log that was worn smooth by his frequent use of it for reading when the morning sun didn't properly illuminate his room. He grabbed a rock and tossed it into the gray waves. "Did you want to talk about something, then?" he said gruffly.

His behavior was rather inexcusable, but Lionel felt he had the right considering she had come to his place and not the other way around. Obviously she wanted to talk about something, but he wasn't about to start begging for forgiveness the moment she turned up at his place. Should he have avoided her for months? Probably not. Had he resolved the reason for it yet? Not particularly, so he wasn't about to go back on it now. He sighed inwardly, outwardly inscrutable, waiting for the anticipated onslaught. His stomach growled briefly. The mutton had been awful, but at least it had been food.

She'd known that would be the answer, but it sounded harsher coming out of his mouth. If he didn't really care, why did he play into the stereotypes and the stupid bullshit that surrounded pureblood elitist culture? She'd never understand it. Never think it was justified, either. Jeans and t-shirts were more comfortable and less boring than dumb old robes anyway. Anybody who had any sense knew that -- except maybe Jess, who seemed to prefer dresses and skirts no matter the activity. Those had a time and place, but -- whatever. Whatever. She was getting sidetracked. Clem closed her eyes and exhaled for a long time through her nose, expelling all of the red-hot rage she felt thumping in her chest. Better not to fly off the handle now. There'd be no chance in hell of getting him to say anything to her if she infuriated him even further.

Clementine waved her hands around in front of her chest aimlessly, shaking her head. "Whatever. Sure, it was my bad, showing up here, but I only just decided to do this and I knew the shop would be closed. Okay? Sorry." That was that, then. Moving on. She even laughed a little that his nose was so keen. That was probably the reason he was better at potions and all the related subjects than she. "Impressive," She grinned, shaking her head and making a face. "Nah, I just took a swig of this after I upchucked to get the taste out of my mouth. I hope that's okay? Or would you rather smell puke-breath?" She only laughed even harder at that, clutching her stomach as she struggled to catch up to him.

"Well, yeah. I didn't just come for shits and giggles. I kind of wanted to talk about the whole we-haven't-spoken-to-each-other-in-months-because-I-kissed-you thing." Her face heated up with a relatively uncharacteristic blush -- it tingled all the way down to her collarbones. He was really the only person who could expose that she even possessed any vulnerability. Most other people got the warmth and none of the insecurity. She heard his stomach growl then and sank down onto the log next to him, maybe or maybe not deliberately so that their legs were touching. It was nice to have the contact before he inevitably scooted away from her. "Here. Have a drink of this." Clem shook the flask, faint sloshing to be heard inside the metal container while she shoved it into his palm. "It'll help with the digestion." Of course, she wasn't sure that was entirely true, but maybe it'd get him to loosen up a little.

"You know, it... it kind of sucks. I thought we had a good thing going. Whatever it ... you know, was." She coughed, purely out of want to clear her throat and not at all out of necessity. It was an awkward subject to broach. "I just kinda wish you'd talk to me. I wished that for months, but as far as I knew, you were pretending I didn't exist."

Lionel was rather surprised that she had let it go, and blinked at her a few times. Part of him had perhaps wanted to make her as mad as she seemed to make him half the times he saw her. "Um. You're forgiven, I suppose. Just, next time, maybe consider whether it's quite that urgent." He wasn't looking forward to going back inside, not that he was about to tell her about that, but honestly, Iain Sterling would probably forget about it after an hour had passed, although he expected to brace himself for snide remarks once in a while for quite some time. He never did pay that much attention to Lionel. Like anyone around here did.

He watched her laughing bemusedly, not quite able to connect with the humor. His brows creased in incomprehension. "I don't even know how you expect me to respond to that, so I'm not going to try." He took another look at the bush and shook his head as they walked away. He was quite literally never going to be able to look at it the same way again. Perhaps some re-landscaping was in order. He doubted anyone would notice.

"Well, I think you may have come for the latter," he pointed out, eyebrow raised. She was blushing, and it made him uncomfortable. All of it made him uncomfortable. He let it sit for a moment before he pulled his leg slightly to the left. "Liquids don't exactly make me full," he said, turning the flask over in his hand. "Do you always carry this around nowadays?" He was avoiding the subject, like he'd been avoiding her for months. It had started out as a lack of understanding, of the situation, and where he situated himself within it. After, it had just been easier to let it go amidst everything else that was happening. He respected her, thought a good many but not all situations could be improved by her presence, she gave every memory a certain flavor, but he also didn't need her. Perhaps he had been trying to prove that to himself.

He balanced the flask standing up on the ground, then clasped his hands and looked back out at the choppy waves. "Well, I guess I'm talking now. Wishes do come true," he said, semi-sarcastically. Shaking a dark curl out of his left eye, he shuffled his boots on the ground. "Look, Clementine." He paused. "I know you know how much I need control in my life. You're something else, and I'd be a fool not to recognize that things are different when you're around. Frequently, in a relatively positive way. But you're also...unpredictable." As evidenced by a certain encounter. "And that's difficult." He thought of his studies, the Transfiguration articles they had been reading. Clementine might understand them, but she wasn't passionate for it in the way that he was. She didn't fit naturally into the bulk of his life. Taking things to their logical conclusion, by...accepting whatever that kiss had meant, meant a host of things he wasn't exactly ready for, nor thought he could be.

"Mm." She hummed, neither in agreement nor disagreement to the statement about liquids not making him full. She'd half expected him to put the flask back down on the ground or to hand it back to her, so she wasn't very offended. Or surprised. Clementine quickly retrieved it from the sand and unscrewed the cap, taking a long swig herself. She stayed silent while he struggled to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say. She actually hadn't known what that might've been. It was easy to get lost in thoughts that resembled him thinking she was ugly or undesirable or insane for stepping out on such a limb, so she was a little relieved that what he told her didn't mimic any of those things very closely.

There was a problem, though, and it was that she was... impulsive. Her eyes flickered down to his hands, which were clasped pretty tightly together(which she wondered whether or not was on purpose), and then up to his face, which was pointed out toward the water. If he thought no eye contact made things easier, so be it. She'd rather him let it all out than be a mess because he was trying to have manners and look her in the face. His hair was getting long, too, and -- that was beside the point. No need to get involved in the admittedly distracting -- but superficial -- things right now.

"Difficult." She echoed, narrowing her eyes just a little. "That's not... necessarily bad, now, is it? I mean... we've both had to achieve and deal with difficult things in our lives. Sometimes they're rewarding. Right?" Clem leaned forward and tried to catch a glimpse of his expression, but it was kinda stony. Hard to read. That seemed to be a typical thing with Lionel, but she also knew she was pretty good at picking up on energies and vibes and all those things. It felt like there were things he wasn't saying, but she didn't want to push so hard. They were only just getting this conversation off the ground. Another drink, she decided, lifting the cold metal to her lips and reveling in the distraction the burning in her chest provided. Another one, even, and she was well on her way to forced relaxation.

"Listen, Lionel, I know I make instantaneous decisions sometimes. But I do think. A lot. It's one of those four seconds of courage things, you know, if you have a second of courage you can reap the benefits and that all drowns out the awkwardness of the courage." She paused a brief second, then barreled on. "I don't regret any decision that I've made, really. I do the things I want. And I want you to be involved in my life. I think we value some similar things, you know?" Being passionate. A desire to be the best at the things we do. There were more things, but, she was distracted. Clementine tried to calm down, and focused on the sounds of breathing. "Do you want me to ask before I do things? Because I can. Can I touch you?" She muttered, a little quieter, less intent than before. She didn't really know what she'd do if he said no, but it was a start. Maybe if they could meet somewhere in the middle, all of this would be less tense.

"Can you what?" Lionel closed his eyes for a moment. "No, wait. This is what I meant." He looked down again, to slightly whitened knuckles, and relaxed his grip. "You say you want me to be involved in your life, but then..." he made a vague gesture with his right hand. "You ask something like that, and the...kiss," it was hard for him to say that word; since when did Lionel Sterling talk about kissing, much less with himself involved? "I don't doubt that you think. Difficult things can be rewarding. I suppose some of our values intersect." That accounted for most of the questions, except the last. He focused. "I know we get on all right, when we're watching an aurora, or when our cohort gets together, or in class. I may be presuming, but taking your actions to their logical conclusion suggests that you want something more than that. And..."

Lionel reached inside his robes to pull out the latest paper he and Jacqueline had been discussing, the margins filled with the cramped annotations of a scholar, and set it on the ground. "Have you started thinking about O.W.L.s? I have. And not just because I want to pass, or even excel. I'm not particularly concerned about my ability to do so. This is what I've been spending my spare time on this summer. I know you have the capacity to understand it, but you don't love it the same way. What I mean is..." He looked back out towards the waves. "It's one thing to point out the things that we have in common, but it's another to ignore the differences. So much of my life is like this," he gestured at the paper. "It's not a space you fit into easily, nor one I believe you want to. And I don't fit into yours. You shine in the spotlight, win glory on the pitch. Your friends..." He remembered a thoroughly awkward conversation, or rather lack thereof, with Sophie Scott in the Gryffindor Common Room last year. "Frankly, we struggle to speak in any meaningful context. And I know you have opinions about mine."

He glanced at her. "You know more about me than a lot of people do. So you know that I can't be a lot of the things you need in your life. And I'm not ready for the kinds of things I see in...relationships among our peers."

"Is that a no, then?" She asked feebly, chewing on her lip. She was getting anxious. The whole direction this was going was filling her with a probably-warranted feeling of dread. So, she drank more, trying to listen intently as she felt her limbs becoming heavy and the blood slowing down in her veins. She wished he'd throw out the logical conclusions for once and pay more attention to the way he felt. All of these were surmountable circumstances, weren't they? That said, though, if he wasn't willing to give a little ground, she supposed she wasn't, either. "You're not presuming. Maybe you're presuming the timeline, but I guess you're not far off base with my intentions." Clem admitted, her eyes lingering on his mouth for a second. If she looked there for too long, it only reminded her of what had predated and caused this whole conversation.

Clementine watched him reach into his robes and exhaled heavily, eyeing the paper. She'd hoped the whole scholarship thing wouldn't come up. Or her... affinity for athleticism. Those seemed so very external to her. Not essential to their conversation at all, but she supposed that's what made them different. "Okay, so?" She shrugged her shoulders, frowning a little at him. "You have different interests. Including scholarship. Mine have to do with athletics. We each have a different thing we're passionate about. We share the same passion, right? Why does it have to be the same thing? I kind of feel like it'd be boring if we didn't have differences." Clementine's heart rate was speeding up, and she feared the way he'd answer her rebuttal. All of this was heading down a dangerous path, but she supposed they had to go there eventually. "Yeah, I think they're boring. You're allowed to think my friends are boring. I'm fine with that. I do kind of think that your friends don't like me, though. I wouldn't necessarily say mine don't like you. I'm a pretty friendly person and I have issues getting yours to say more than three words to me. Maybe they think I'm stupid because I play on the team or only care a bunch about my favorite subjects, I don't know."

The last thing he said was valid. That was more of an issue than anything else he'd said. What did he mean, he couldn't be what she needed? Who said she needed anyone? Not being ready was sort of understandable. They were still young. Of course, eager as she tended to be, she kind of wanted to know about when he'd be ready. "What do you think that I need? And what sort of things aren't you ready for? Help me understand." Her arm was itching to extend to grab his hand, but her pride didn't need another significant blow administered to it just yet, so she waited. Maybe if things improved.

"Don't get distracted," he responded, a little harsher than he'd intended. "...Please," he added lamely. He knew he was right, but it was another thing to hear it from her. Part of him still didn't understand why. Why him? His failure to comprehend was tied up in his feelings. "It's not that they have to be the same thing, it's that there's not..." He swallowed and continued on, hearing the severity of his words in his ears. People were rarely spared from Lionel's remarks when they were this close to his tongue. "...room in our lives for more blending. You're not going to sit there for three hours while I argue with Peter about the implications of the implementation of a historical law. I'm not going to skip literature review with Jacqueline to...to go to some party on Friday night because you and Sophie won the game. Isn't that what people are supposed to do when they're together?"

"And you need..." He took a breath. "I guess I mean you need someone who's willing to put themselves in those places for you, and give up some of those things for you. Who won't choose to avoid half the situations you enjoy. Someone who wants to be more...physical, hold...hands in the corridor, snog in the corner at a party..." It wasn't like Lionel had never thought about what it would be like, especially after the incident, but he just wasn't there yet. "Someone who'll drink out of your flask and doesn't think flying is semi-suicidal."

He let out a breath. "Maybe not someone who's the same as you, but there are a lot of ways to be closer than I am."

Not room in their lives? Not room? That was the excuse people made when they absolutely weren't interested in making more room. It was the excuse people made when they were comfortably numb where they were at, thank you very much, and they didn't want any riff-raff getting in the middle of it. It was when they'd rather cling to their things and their hobbies than experience any kind of genuine human connection. Because they were scared. She understood, really, she did -- she'd been in that place. It was harder for her to deeply connect with people and, admittedly, it was easier to stay all surface-level. But that wasn't what she wanted here. It wasn't what she was interested in with Lionel. He knew that, and he was rejecting her anyway. Maybe not so harshly and flat-out, but that's what this was. Clementine wasn't about to let herself be fooled by the careful pauses and the relatively neutral tone.

"I'm not, am I?" She gritted out through her teeth, the look of indignation she was beginning to wear on her features unmistakable. "Well, you wouldn't know, now, would you? Because you haven't asked me to do any of that. You've just assumed I'm selfish enough to say that I wouldn't." The blonde stood up, not exactly looking forward to how he'd tower over her when he also stood. It didn't matter. Her anger right now was present enough to bolster that insecurity. "However," She began, smile that was entirely not rooted in any kind of happiness tugging at the corners of her mouth, "You've made it perfectly clear that that is YOUR opinion as you've just said as much. I don't have to presume where you're concerned that you'd rather hang around with Jacqueline than sacrifice any of your time to do anything important for me. Relationships aside, people who care about one another are supposed to do that!" The Gryffindor felt her blood starting to boil and she could hear thumping in her ears. No going back now.

"I guess that I do need someone who even moderately seems to give a shit about my feelings. I could've been patient with the other things, Lionel, but if you're just not interested in messing up your perfect schedule and your perfect friends and your perfect routine, there's not much I can fucking do about that, now, is there?" Clem shouted, feeling the corners of her eyes start to sting harshly. Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. This was wandering into a scary place. The last thing she'd wanted was to come here and end up spitting mad and crying in front of him. She didn't really cry in front of people. Thought it was a blatant sign of weakness. "This is just  absolutely fucking rich. I don't want anyone else, you buffoon. I don't even know why you'd say that to me. As if I've given anyone else the time of day the last five years." She shook her head and closed her eyes for a minute, sifting her fingers into the blonde wispies at the crown of her head and raking backward, enjoying the gentle tingling she felt when the nerve endings on her scalp woke up for a second.

It all left him cold.

Lionel regarded her with a dispassionate eye when she stood up, fire burning in every pore of her being. His brain appeared to be somewhere else, removed from the moment at hand. He couldn't really feel bodily sensations anymore. Typical Gryffindor, he thought abstractly, considering the fury in her eyes, ignoring the fact that he had been perfectly angry with her ten minutes prior. "You're lying to yourself if you think you'd do it other than reluctantly, Clementine," he said coolly, standing up casually and crossing his arms. His expression had gone flat, the way it used to when Mark and Kay wouldn't leave him alone. He was on autopilot, and there was no need for pauses on autopilot.

"And you're lying to yourself if you don't think I'm right. I have never made any secret of the fact that I will look after my interests first. Want it in plainer terms? Sure. Fine. I'm not ready to give this up yet. Or start doing those things. And the fact that you're crying right now just shows that I'm right about what you need. If I was wrong, you'd just agree to mold yourself to fit my life. And it's a good thing, because it would be terrible for you if you did." Lines all delivered with shocking detachment. His words rang in the vacuum that appeared to surround his ears.

"And if you didn't know this," he said finally, "then you didn't know as much about me as I thought you did."

He wanted to continue, to point out that it didn't make any sense why she would want him if she knew all these things about him. It was insulting to her intelligence and perspicacity to assume that she thought he was anything other than who he was. If she needed the other things, why him? He wasn't ready to give them, and wasn't sure if he'd ever be. But a switch had turned off somewhere, so he let the silence stretch, regarding her smaller figure in front of him in cool curiosity.

"Yeah, whatever. You know everything about me and what I think, apparently." She seethed, folding her arms and digging her varnished fingernails into the leather of her jacket. She was almost warm enough to take it off, but she wasn't about to do that and risk being made fun of. "Your interests, sure, whatever, I get it. You just don't get that you ARE one of my interests!" All of these things she said were coming out much louder than the things he was saying, and that made her even angrier. Why didn't he care at all? Why wasn't he showing an inkling of emotion?

Clem felt some tension building up and shooting out of her hands and feet like fire and shook a little, stomping her foot on the sand. All it did was kick up a bunch of the fine little rocks and made her cough. "You know what, Lionel, you're just a jerk." She shrieked, regretting the salty, hot trails that trickled over the apples of her cheeks as soon as they left her eyes. "Just. A fuckin' asshole of epic proportions. And I'm not crying because you're not what I NEED. I'm crying because you make me fuckin' angry when you pretend you don't have any emotions. Okay?" She spat the last word and gestured grandly with her arms.

She needed a cigarette. Shaking her head vigorously and hissing under her breath, her trembling fingers fished out a pack she had in her back pocket and the corresponding lighter. Putting the slender stick of tobacco to her lips, watching the tip of it burn into a hot red coal of sweet addiction relieved her immediately. She took a long drag and managed to calm down a little, flicking the ashes into the dirt.

"Look. I know you. I was just wishing you'd answer differently. Kinda was wishing you'd grow the hell up." She raised her eyebrows at him to emphasize her point and slapped her free hand down on her leg. "That's all. I obviously came in with unrealistic expectations. I'll finish my fag and be out of your hair if that's what you want."

"That fact remains quite puzzling, I assure you," Lionel said, a tiny edge of heat tinging the edge of his words, leaking through the ice. One of her interests? What was he, a zoological specimen? Why did she have to come here and ask him for anything at all? Why did she have to decide she wanted something he didn't want to give? What was she expecting, anyway? Apart from ignoring her this year--which might have been objectively unnecessary, but subjectively understandable, frankly, under the circumstances--they did have a good thing. One that sat on a healthy dose of mutual respect and not on anyone doing anything they didn't want to. Merlin, she was the only reason he was taking Care of Magical Creatures in the first place already, which was saying plenty, and was also likely to be dropped after O.W.L.s. Then there was that dance. It wasn't like he'd never bent at all.

The leak had evidently rather widened to a small flood, and Lionel's jaw set in a very stubborn way. "Perfect. Thanks for informing me. My apologies for being capable of exercising some self-control," he gestured in a twisted mirror of her actions, sarcasm dripping from his voice like acid. He wrinkled his nose at the odor when she produced a pack of cigarettes but held his tongue, inwardly adding And you're inviting an early death by concussion, repeated bone damage, and putrid lung disease and crossing his arms again. Silence was fine. He'd rather gotten used to it.

"If acting more like the rest of the lovelorn fools that fill the upperclassman dormitories is your definition of growing up, I'm fine with passing," he shot back. "You know, if you'd really just wanted things to go back to the way they were, maybe there was somewhere to go. I've said the piece it took me all year to figure out, so that's clear. But evidently we have different expectations about where this should go, so frankly, do whatever you like. You needn't ask my opinion."

The wind picked up, whipping his too-long hair in front of his eyes, bringing a little sting of sandy debris. Normally, Lionel would extricate himself from a conversation that was going nowhere, but he held his ground. She'd shown up uninvited to his place, so she could be the first to leave.

Puzzling, huh? Well, if nothing else, at least she was enigmatic to him. She liked a part of herself to remain a mystery and to remain hidden away. She projected openness and spontaneity, but there were subcutaneous layers underneath all of it that almost no one knew existed or tried to access. The unsettling thing about Lionel was that he just sliced through all of them without trying. The part about all of this that hurt the most was that he'd managed to successfully root around under her skin and still didn't like what he saw enough to do anything about it. He'd seen her mind laid bare and didn't want it. How was she supposed to handle that? How was she supposed to look at him and not be stung by that every single time?

She wasn't sure if she'd let herself be led on earlier, either. Deluded herself with the time in the garden or in the corridor or even at that stupid ball. They'd shared some moments of closeness that she was sure he hadn't with the other people in his year, except for maybe Peter -- and even then, she'd felt it was different between them. So what was it? It was going to drive her mad, not being able to fix it or change it.

Clementine actually rolled her eyes at the acidic wit he dug into her with and spoke out of the side of her mouth, trying to be at least courteous enough not to blow her smoke into his face as she exhaled. "I don't even know what you're on about. What are you saying? That if I'd pretended nothing had happened last term that it would've all gone back to normal? That it could've developed?" In how many years, though?  "Seems a bit resentful to reject me just because I didn't lay down and let you walk over me like a doormat, doesn't it?" She rose a thick brow and took another drag, holding the tar in her lungs until it burned enough that she had to let it go again.

"You ever gonna cut your hair?" This inquiry was lighter, a little softer. "Not that I'm saying you should. It's just long." She'd always been the one with short hair in the family. She'd chopped it as a little girl multiple times into boxy little mismatched lengths and driven her mother batty. Jessalyn was the one with the long, pretty hair. Clem had been considering growing it out as of late, but she wasn't sure it'd be worth the upkeep and all.