so all the things can grow [senna]

Barbara hadn’t been home for May -- her mother had suggested that she appeal to the professors to let her leave over the weekend, but she’d put it off for too long and then claimed to be studying -- but, said her father, it was the busiest time of the year, these days. People alone and people with families; people coming just to drop by, people who had clearly just left the Ministry event and people on their way to the one at the Hog’s Head.

She didn’t want to be home for it anymore; it stressed her mum out and it made Ralph the groundskeeper sad. When she’d been barely eleven, the year before she’d started at Hogwarts, she had found Ralph in the 1500s cutting the grass -- something he rarely did for the 1500s -- and when she’d asked, he’d said he hated seeing people leave flowers he’d have to remove in a week, and he hated to be a bother anyway.

Barbara didn’t want to be a bother either; she couldn’t do any magic to help, but she could sit next to Ralph and watch the enchanted clippers work.

It was quieter in the summer, drier and dustier. Barbara made her rounds through the 1500s, where nobody left flowers anymore, and then turned back toward the house. She didn’t visit Florence too often but it was a quiet, dry, dusty day, and it felt right.

But there was another girl there -- she was too solid to be a ghost, and too light to be Mary or Caitlin; Barbara quickened her pace, swinging wide around the Willoughby family plots, and was relieved to recognise her sister’s visitor: “Senna,” she said, as loudly as she dared, still a few yards away; in the stillness of late afternoon it sounded high and shrill. She picked up her robes to hurry closer, and stopped on the other side of the tombstone, where she couldn’t see Florence’s name, or any flowers. For the moment she didn’t want to know if there were flowers, or if they were from Senna.

There was a lot she could have said -- fancy seeing you here or how are you? -- but what came out was, “I didn’t know you still came by.”

@Senna O'Shea

Hogsmeade Cemetery. Once such a lovely, peaceful place for her and now somewhere she had avoided for years.

Senna O'Shea had stood looking up at the creaky iron-wrought sign with its twisting letters and austere welcome and felt none of the glee she once felt when walking under its sign. As a third year who had visited Hogsmeade for the first time with her housemates who had giggled and purposely ran away hiding from her, the cemetery had been like a welcome home to her. She had often walked through the graveyard down the block from her house back in Dublin and she was pleasantly surprised to find this one here too. Now, however, it was a slightly different story, its edges twisted.

Her silver blonde hair caught on the the slight breeze and she drew her hands back behind her, clasping them together as she moved onward. Walking down row upon row, seeing familiar names etched into stone. "Hello Gladys... missed you Herb... looking good Edith," she murmured, her voice high and light as air as she passed headstones she had memorized, wilted flowers laid lovingly next to some. But these memorized gravestones were not what she was looking for. She was headed to the newer section, a place she had avoided for years, feeling like any other witch or wizard who avoided death because of the pain it brought them. That was an odd feeling for someone like her, but her tarot deck had guided her here, so here she was.

She had wandered up and down the rows, her footsteps light, her eyes searching, before she stopped in front of the one that had been calling her name for years from the beyond. Kneeling down, she gently wiped away some crumbled leaves and instead left a litle piece of parchment with her scribbled handwriting. Song lyrics. For her. For her teenage love who had died the night of the battle.

Florence Gibson.

Senna had spent some time there, talking to the headstone as if she fully expected Florence's ghost to rise up and reply. She knew she wouldn't. Florence had been someone who looked ahead rather than staring behind and Senna had always known not to look for her as spirit. Still, she wasn't quite sure how to feel. Normally she didn't have these issues in cemeteries. Senna had always found peace in places like this, but maybe it had been because she hadn't loved anyone enough to miss them like she did Florence. Hearing her name on the breeze, she glanced up, her green eyes finding the slight frame of Barbara. "Oh hello Barbie," she greeted her with an airy smile, looking at her over the headstone of her sister.

She smiled at her, not having seen her in a while, unwillingly seeing all of the similarities to Florence that she hadn't appreciated enough before. "Oh, well," Senna said, her gaze glancing down to trace the name on the stone. "It's been a while.." she admitted honestly, her gaze flicking back up to Barbara's. "I miss her," she offered suddenly after a beat, her honesty raw but light, not holding the angst and emotion she used to when she thought of Florence. Time had healed some wounds, but not all.

Once she’d spoken -- not even very intelligently -- Barbara had nothing else to say. All she could do was gawp from Florence’s other side, her eyes round and buggy, her hands half-clenched at her sides. Senna’s hair was stirring in the wind; even in this situation Barbara’s eyes followed it, lingered on the way it wisped up. It’d been a while, said Senna -- but Barbie had guessed that already.

Her whole life, she’d been dealing with the bereaved -- sometimes with those she knew and liked very much. It changed people; she had learned not to take things personally, not to judge. (She had seen a few funerals dissolve into arguments -- once there’d even been a duel, and her mother had hauled her and the deceased’s children out by their collars.) Senna hadn’t gone to Florence’s funeral, and then Senna hadn’t been around at all. But that was grief, wasn’t it? Barbara had no right to be bitter.

“I miss her too,” she said.

Was there anything else to say? They both knew all of this. It made her sad -- once she had practically wanted to be Senna. She had been a child, she told herself a little harshly; all she’d wanted was to be grown-up, not to be Senna. It wasn’t fair to want to be someone else, not to her and not to Senna. One hand drifted to her own hair, twirled some of it onto a finger. “What are you up to these days?” she said. “I’ve just finished fourth year.”

She wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear -- she thought that finding Senna had been a reclusive shut-in since the war would be as heartbreaking as hearing that Senna had been having a perfectly grand five time. It was a stupid way to feel, anyway -- if Barbie knew Senna (and she thought she did, at least a little bit) she knew that Senna wouldn’t do either. More likely Senna was like her -- just getting through.

They had a lot in common, she thought, or they would when she grew up a little bit. Barbara bit at her lower lip and finally walked around to stand closer -- she glanced down at Florence, spotted a little scrap of parchment. It made her terribly sad to think that it would be binned by the end of the week -- she forced her gaze back up to meet Senna’s and decided, instead, to think that the parchment would blow away in the wind, and that whatever was written on it would get to see the world, or at least the hill behind the house. Florence would like that. “I missed you too,” Barbara said, after a moment.

Senna nodded as Barbie confessed to the same feeling. Senna had never had a sister and she wasn't even that close with her cousins so she wondered with one part of her mind how much worse it was to lose someone that the heavens had chosen to bind you to. Senna and Florence had chosen each other and there was beauty in that, but Barbara and Florence were made of the same cosmic dust and would always share a bond that was more than just romantic love and affection. Her heart squeezed in her chest and she was reminded of the days when she could hardly breath with the loss, her memories of Florence trickling in her mind's eye over and over again.

"She was.. amazing," she offered, though the word didn't really encapsulate everything that Florence had been. It wasn't a good enough word for her, not bold and brave enough, not colorful and bright enough to describe the light that was Florence Gibson, but Senna knew that with Barbie she probably didn't have to explain it better. Barbie probably knew better than she did in some regards. A distant tinge of envy stirred in her chest.

With a tilt of her head, Senna smiled softly at the younger Gibson, touched by the kind question. "I'm a musician, part of Oliver Rigby and the Band. Our first album is set to come out soon," she told her, feeling odd about the whole thing now that the words were out there. This was Barbie, someone she had been around during her school years when she had worked at the funeral home and especially later when she had been with Florence. The air of neglect that hung between them didn't sit well with her and Senna knew it was her fault. "Fourth year?" she asked, surprise coloring her tone. "Wow, all grown up. How's Hogwarts been? Do you like it?" She wanted to say she was proud of her, but on second thought, she kept that quiet. Proud of what? Not dying in a battle at school? She didn't like the way her thoughts were drifting..

Senna shuffled a bit to one side so Barbie could stand next to her, like two little sentries standing guard for someone they loved. She saw her parchment with scribbled song lyrics fluttering in the light breeze and wondered if Barbie would be curious enough to read it when she stepped away. It wasn't anything she hadn't put out into the world already, the song being a part of her set list for years since she had written the song. It spoke of heartbreak and yearning and the bleak sadness that had shrouded her after Florence's death, but it was something she had never given directly to the girl who had once held her heart. Barbie's words had Senna glancing over at her, reaching out a hand to rub the other girl's arm softly as she was honest too. "Missed you too, Barbie. I'm.. I'm sorry I didn't visit after.." She couldn't really bring herself to say it. Even after all these years. The idea felt even more poignant now as she was staring at the pretty white headstone.

Barbie, for the first few years of her sister’s affair with Senna, had been disinclined to believe Senna was going to stick around, that Senna was anything to worry about. Looking at Senna now she wondered if they’d been in real love -- Florence had said they were, once or twice, but in the way that she might have said she was tired or happy. Barbara had always felt like being in love was something more than a regular feeling, something at once grander and more hushed.

It hadn’t sat well with her at the time -- she remembered pulling her lips into a tight, puggish pout and saying, Okay. At six years old Barbara had thought it the gravest insult that Florence could love somebody else.

She looked down at the tombstone between them, again, and nodded.

With Mary she didn’t talk so much about Florence -- in five years they’d filled the hole of their one commonality with cheaper things they had alike -- muggle clothes and gossip and romance. She was hopeful that there was something like that with Senna but the names given -- Oliver Rigby and the band (it sounded awfully important the way Senna had said it; she wondered if it was capitalised) -- weren’t anything she’d heard of before. “What do you play?” she asked -- “or do you sing?”

It didn’t matter either way, she mused. Barbara didn’t listen to much music -- not outside of the classical things her mother owned and a few songs from the band that Owain’s cousin was in, which she was reticent to tell him she didn’t care for. They had some things in common that she already knew about -- death and blonde hair and being girls -- but she would have to try harder. She couldn’t let Senna slip away again, she had decided in the last thirty seconds.

“It’s been -- a lot,” she said honestly. “But it’s okay. I have a lot of good friends.” She hesitated, trying to gauge if it sounded like gloating when she knew Senna had lost a partner, and added finally, “I have a boyfriend.”

Barbara startled a little bit at Senna’s hand on her arm, but she relaxed into the touch, even though she couldn’t bring herself to look back at the older girl just yet. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice small and more hollow than she meant it to be. “You’re here now.”

This was as much of that as she could bear, though, so she looked up at Senna and said, “If your album is good enough, will you get to go to Europe?”

At the question, Senna almost wished she had guitar with her. Maybe the moment would've felt more comfortable if she had something familiar in her hands, maybe it would ease the tension she felt between her shoulders even though this had been a long time coming. "Guitar and backup vocals mostly," she said with a soft smile as she glanced over at Barbie, appreciative of her interest. "My best friend plays drums, she's wicked on drums really. Then we have a guy name Jonesy on bass and Ollie, of course, as front man. I'll owl you some of our music if you're interested," she offered, though her tone was light and free, no pressure at all or expected. It did make her wonder a bit if Florence would've liked the songs they were producing now. Maybe, she thought with a smile.

Senna nodded as the younger girl talked about Hogwarts, empathizing completely. Hogwarts hadn't been a walk in the park for her either and really the brightest part of her whole school experience had really been Florence herself. She was lucky enough to make a couple of friends at the end of her tenure there like Rheya and Brennan, but for a lot of years, it had felt like hell. "Yeah, Hogwarts can be tough, but I'm glad you have friends to help you through it," Senna said with a smile in Barbie's direction before her eyes went wide with interest an impish smile appearing.

"A boyfriend? What's his name? Tell me all about him," she asked, curious to know who could capture the younger Gibson's heart. She knew the thrills of young love and she could only hope that it worked out better for Barbie than it had for herself.

She gave her a grateful smile, appreciative of the forgiveness, patting her arm a couple of times before retracting her touch to tuck her silvery blonde hair behind her ear. She grinned at the question about touring and gave her a hopeful look. "Hopefully," she answered. "That's the dream. If the album gets great reviews, we might get enough airtime and that'll lead to more fans and more fans will lead to a tour. I would love to go back to Paris with the band soon. I loved it there." She glanced at Barbie with a soft smile. "They have really great macarons, so delicious. I'll owl you some," she promised. While she her offer was genuine, she felt a little like she had to make up for lost time too.

Barbara wondered if she ought to have known that Senna played the guitar; not for the first time she wished she’d listened more to Florence talking about her friends. She’d been young enough and stupid enough to think that if she missed something, she could have it repeated to her louder. That’d always worked before. She said, “Oh.” She had never met a drummer before -- though her thoughts strayed to her boyfriend, whose cousin was a drummer in a band too -- it seemed very modern to have a woman as a drummer; it seemed like such a violent instrument.

Senna had always been very modern, though -- so had Florence. Barbara had heard more than one relative say so in a bit of a sneer, before the battle. Nobody said it anymore, of course.

“I’d like that,” she said. Her family had a record player downstairs where they held wakes; she wondered what sort of music Senna could be involved in. Melodic, she thought. Pretty. But -- the drums.

She was distracted from sudden, burgeoning curiosity about Senna’s Hogwarts years by the mention of her boyfriend; Barbara smiled sheepishly, pink-faced, and said, “He’s from ballet -- his name is Owain. He’s a Gryffindor.” It did feel like gloating to go on, so she shrugged rather than go on. She was curious again about Senna, about whether Senna was seeing someone new, but -- no, she couldn’t ask that.

Though she knew the thought was ridiculous, that Senna couldn’t read her mind, it felt like the older girl had let go of her arm as soon as Barbie had had the thought; she shivered guiltily.

“A tour would be nice,” she said. She’d only occasionally left Hogsmeade, and even then had only ever gone to London. She wrapped her hands over her goosebumpy arms and sighed -- “I’d like that,” she said. “Macarons are the nicest desserts in the world.” Belatedly she remembered to add, “Thank you.” She meant it for more than the macarons.

They fell into a moment of silence. It had been five years, and life had gone on, and yet Barbara couldn’t think of anything to talk about but how Florence was still dead and her family was still shattered. She couldn’t think of anything else to wonder about but whether Senna was still shattered, too. For a moment, as the breeze blew her skirts around her legs, she was overwhelmed with all the spiteful, angry grief she worked so hard to ignore -- but then the wind dropped again and she regained her sense, her breath; she glanced away from Senna and blinked tears out of her eyes. It wouldn’t be fair, she reminded herself firmly, to ask Senna anything about Florence.

“Do you write music?” she asked instead.

"Well then I'll send you some records," she promised, already filtering through her mind of what songs Barbie might like best, what songs would speak to her the most. Hummingbird, maybe. Or Golden. Maybe she'd get Ollie and the whole band to sign it too for her. Might be worth something if they made it big someday. The thought brought a soft smile to her face.

That smile grew, knowing and indulgent, as the younger girl blushed as she talked about her boyfriend. It was sweet and reminded Senna of what it felt like to be so new to love, like a window to the past. "Oh so he's a good dancer then?" she asked. "I bet he has a great bum," she teased with a light nudging elbow and a wicked twinkle in her green eyes. A Gryffindor. Seemed like everyone had a thing for Gryffindors.

The wind blew her hair again, the silver strands dancing on the breeze, and the air felt like it was growing cooler. Senna cast a small warming charm to envelop them and ward off the chill as she waved her hand, brushing off the gratitude. "Of course, of course," she said, her voice musical as she nodded. "You'd really like the French ones, mm delicious!" she said letting her eyes flutter close at just the thought. Florence would've liked them too.

But with the wind and the warming charm and a comfortable silence cropping up between them, Senna let her mind wander. Everything and nothing in particular, straying to memories of Hogsmeade and Florence and twining with thoughts of Ollie and Rhey and the band. Past and present and future mingling as she stood next to Barbie. "Hmm?" she hummed in question before she belatedly realized the question Barbie had asked. "Oh yes, all the time. I've worked with Ollie on some songs recently that the band has played," she said, glancing over at the Ravenclaw. Then she smiled and her lips quirked. "Much better than the songs I wrote when I was younger. I don't know why Florence told me they were any good," she said laughing at the memory. "They were terrible!"

(hope you don't mind me resurrecting this one xD feel free to ignore if you're no longer musey for it <33)

Barbara nodded -- “Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound overeager. She didn’t have many records -- just the few that her sister’s roommates had brought by after the battle and left for her, and it was sort of neat to own music, to have it to listen to whenever she wanted to, rather than having to go somewhere or wait for it to get on the radio. She wondered if Senna’s Oliver Rigby and Band friends were on the radio -- if she could tell people, like how Owain could say his cousin was in Banshee, that she knew one of the Band.

(It was sort of silly and vain, to want that for herself, so she tamped down that thrill and gripped her elbows in her hands, nudging at a bit of broken stone with the toe of her shoe, only half visible under her long robes. She was not obsessed with celebrity.)

She realised belatedly that she had started grinning like a monkey about her boyfriend; she tried unsuccessfully to wipe the cheerful look off her face and gave Senna an amused, offended look -- “Senna!” Then, cagily, “I mean… I suppose, if I were looking, perhaps he has.” (With that, she couldn’t help smiling again; she covered her mouth with one hand and fought again to control the impulse to giggle. They were standing in front of her sister’s grave, for Merlin’s sake.)

That thought did the trick, and Barbara felt an odd guilty solemnity, focusing her gaze again on the slip of parchment Senna had left -- but it was wiggling in a sort of comical way, and after a moment she lit on the thought that, if Florence had wanted anything for Barbara and Senna, she probably would have been glad that they were standing here together in a good mood for once.

“Ooh,” she said politely, though she didn’t really know how writing music worked. Mostly she was envious of any creative process -- she was a mediocre painter and a mediocre dancer and, probably, a mediocre everything else. She had grown up with a good appreciation for art, and no way to create her own, and it was frustrating. “I’m sure it was all good,” she said, and grinned at Senna’s melodic laughter. “Well, I’m sure Florence meant it, at least. She really liked you.” Barbara was -- she decided -- not quite ready to use a word any stronger than that.

Senna watched Florence's sister with a happy smile on her face. Happy? It felt at odds with where they were and the thoughts circling her mind, but it was welcome nonetheless, especially as she watched the younger girl fight the smile on her face. Young love, how precious. Senna hoped to whatever goodness there was left in this universe that things turned out better for Barbie than it had for her. She thought someone as good as Florence's sister deserved it. "What?" she asked with an innocent look and then she grinned impishly. "See! I'm right. Make sure to give Mr. Cute Bum a pinch for me," Senna said with another gentle nudge of her elbow, adding it just to tease and getting the feeling that the other girl would balk at the idea which made it even funnier.

Their laughter quieted and Senna followed her gaze to Florence's headstone. She acutely felt the weight of where they were and while she never saw cemeteries as sad, depressing places, she did have to wonder if Barbie felt like that. How could someone whose family was centered around death still feel like a stranger to it. She reached out a gentle hand, touching Barbie's forearm, as she said softly. "It's ok to be happy. She would have wanted that." It was something she had told herself in the years after Florence's death, as she tried herself to heal from the loss. Never moving past it, but simply going forward. She wasn't sure if it was because she never had a sibling herself, but Senna felt a strong pull toward guiding Barbie and she wasn't fighting it. She liked the idea of being a big sister if that was something the younger girl needed from her.

Senna shook her head, quietly disputing Barbie's words, but without censure for her past self. They really were terrible. Her and Rhey had been laughing at some of the lyrics she wrote years ago and had laughed until they cried. She smiled fondly at the mention of Florence and tilted her head a bit as she glanced at Barbie. "She really did, didn't she," she mused, her lips turned up as if she still wasn't quite sure how she had been so lucky. "I loved her," she added simply, then her brows pulled together as a thought occurred to her. "Sometimes I think I still do, but that's silly right? To love a ghost." It was rich coming from her who loved ghosts, but she also knew that years later, it wasn't the healthiest thing either. Her last boyfriend that had mentioned she was comparing everyone to her dead girlfriend had been thrown out quicker than a sneeze, but she didn't quite like those thoughts so she gave an artful shrug to Barbie. 

“Senna!” gasped Barbara again, though a little less scandalised: she supposed this time she’d expected that whatever the older girl said would be crude. But still. She was not pinching anybody’s bum. Even the thought was mortifying; she was turning pink.

They’d been standing close – Senna had even nudged her a few times – but it felt different somehow when she reached for Barbara, brushing her arm as lightly as a butterfly wing might have – Barbara shivered a little, knew the words to be true, but still couldn’t fight back the slight off feeling, that this wasn’t appropriate somehow. She said, her voice small, “Yeah. I know.”

In the quiet, as she fought off the guilty urge to laugh, Barbara became aware of another, guiltier urge to lean against Senna and hold onto her, just for a second. Senna wasn’t her sister, just like Mary and Caitlin and Eileen weren’t her sister, and Barbara knew they were all looking out for her, sometimes, maybe, because of Florence, and it wasn’t that she felt bad because they were no replacement for her sister, but she felt something bad, and didn’t know what it was. Just that something in this whole business was rotten – all these people she knew she could trust, all these people she probably knew better than she’d ever known Florence, at this point – and now Senna too.

And she missed her sister, but what did she really know about her sister? What had her sister really known about her? Barbara had just been a little girl.

I loved her, said Senna, and Barbara folded her arms over her chest as though she were cold, irrationally irritated that Senna hadn’t taken her cue not to say anything about anyone loving anybody. The prickly feeling faded a moment later: she glanced upward again, at Senna’s tight expression. “No,” she said, “It’s not silly. I love her still, too.” Too – she realised belatedly what she’d agreed to, with that, but it was too late to take it back now. She drew her own eyebrows together. “She isn’t a ghost, though.” At least not one Barbara had ever seen; until she’d gotten old enough to recognise how mournful most ghosts were, she’d been rather bitter about it.

"What?" Senna asked innocently as Barbie gasped her name. Her smile made her cheeks tight in the best way and was that a blush? Barbie was literally the cutest. Seeing how easy it was to shock the younger girl made Senna want to do it again for some reason, push the boundaries, but she guessed now wasn't the best time so she resisted the temptation.

It made her wonder what Florence would have done with her burgeoning sister, provide a safe space or push her outside her comfort zone. Or maybe a bit of both. And it also made her wonder the how of it all - how could she still feel so tied to someone who had been gone for years, how could someone have affected her that much when any relationships lately felt surface level at best and oppressive at worst. Barbie's voice floated back to her, pulling her back from questions she didn't have answers too, and Senna made herself nod.

"No, she's not," Senna said softly but with a thread of steel in her tone. "She wouldn't have wanted that, right?" She told her with a little smile. She didn't want to give any false hopes on that particular idea because she knew the darkness and the twisted hope that came with it. It was something she had stupidly clung to for a short while after Florence's death, but she had had to let that go. And she told herself it was for the best.

Except she couldn't quite let go of Florence entirely. Maybe it was something she was going to try after all these years and that's why she had come, but seeing Barbie had derailed her and now whatever commitment she had had before was gone now. "Hey, want to get an ice cream?" she asked instead with a nod toward the path that would take them back into town. "I'll buy," she offered with a smile.

“No,” agreed Barbara, who knew it was true, though she couldn’t help sounding a little regretful all the same – it was all very well to agree that the saddest thing in the world was a ghost that wanted to leave, but it hadn’t made things any easier when she was ten, and even though she was so much older and wiser now, she still didn’t feel quite good about it.

She wondered if Senna had looked for Florence, though – if she’d wandered around Hogwarts trying to find her, or if she’d ever come back to the Gibsons’ to look around the grounds, through the house, even in the basement where Barbara’s father worked. (She hadn’t seen Senna since Florence had died – she had to remind herself firmly that she was not going to be bitter about that – but Barbara, in the days following the last battle of the war, had only had her own house to search, and by the time she had started at Hogwarts, she had known not to get her hopes up.)

Senna looked down at her, then nodded down the path – want to get an ice cream? Barbara thought, fleetingly, of her sister taking her down to the village for an ice cream cone (black cherry for Barbie, chocolate for Florence) when she’d been little. Then she pushed the thought away – she was with Senna, not Florence – and said, “Yes – that would be nice. Thank you,” and waited for Senna to lead the way.


OUT

For someone so intrigued by ghosts, that idea haunted her in the months after Florence's death. It was something she had had to come to grips with and it had been messy and hard and she had to wonder if Barbie had gone through the same thing.

Sen couldn't help but try to find Florence in the face of her younger sister even though she knew there were two totally separate beings, their auras weren't even that similar. Same golden threads at the edges but Florence's had been vibrant pink and purple whereas Barbie's was the palest of blues like a morning sky that could promise rain or sunshine at the turn of a dime.

And yet, she still felt a pull towards it whether it was because of shared history or some kind of ill-placed obligation or something altogether something different. Senna wasn't sure, but she also didn't think it was something to fight. She gazed at the younger girl, wondering what she might have said if she was a little more outspoken like her sister had been.

"C'mon then, you can get as many scoops as you'd like," she told the younger girl indulgently, for a moment imagining ordering four scoops all in different flavors, but she'd probably change her mind at the last second and get something like a sprinkle-covered cone. She led the way, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was following.

/end