lucindatclkalot

[lucindatclkalot]

lorcvndeath:

“Small talk and compliments, eh?” He had watched the way she shrugged, memorized the way her shoulders moved. Everything about her had fascinated him since their first conversation and he hadn’t meant to let that happen but this girl had explained the exact origin of her name ’It was Italian in its roots, technically, but it created by a Spaniard’ he remembered her saying. And he didn’t know why but he wanted to listen to her explain anything in the world at three in the morning when his mind was flooded with thoughts he couldn’t get together. “Those are bullshit skills anyway,” he told her, shrugging as well. “Real connections are built on conversations about real shit, not about the weather or superficial compliments.” Maybe that’s why he didn’t have very many real connections. Because he, on the other hand, was exceptional at small talk and compliments. But what came from that? Clothes scattered on the floor and nights with girls whose names he’d forget the next week? He didn’t know how to break past that level with anyone. “I guess that’s about the only thing I could beat you at, though,” he said as he shook off the strange thoughts.

He snickered at her answer. “Pure?” Lorcan couldn’t think of anyone who’d ever described anything about him in such a way. “Yes that’s me. Positively pure. But yeah, I mean… I just like making people smile. But music helps me always, so it’s sorta selfish too, because I get the chance to sing.” He pushed his hand through his hair and pursed his lips. “You ever been scared of me, Lucinda? I mean, usually it’s one or the other, people fall all over me or can’t stand to make eye contact. But here you are. It’s… odd. Not that you’re odd, just wondering.”

And maybe he needed her to be one or the either. Maybe he wished she was scared of her or hoped she was swooning over her because he didn’t know how to handle anyone who was in that gray area. “I mean, I’m a big bad vampire, with big sharp teeth. Everyone ought to be afraid of me.” At least that’s what his mother had thought. He stopped thinking about that immediately, feeling like he couldn’t breathe all that well anymore. Because was he a monster? He wasn’t human, but he couldn’t believe that his father was a monster, and since he raised Lorcan, he couldn’t be one either.

He laughed and a big smile spread across his cheeks. “Because everyone expects you to start at one. And I didn’t want to fool you to think that that was a one,” he explained. “I don’t make any drinks that are a measly one, Lucinderella.” He grinned, taking two of the shots. “Mm-hmm. Straight up 34,” Lorcan said, eyeing her curiously. Most people were wobbling on their feet by now. “You don’t need to prove anything to me, y'know. Don’t go overboard. Besides, not many people have drinks personally made for them by the Bat Daddy. I usually just make enough for the whole crowd. It might be extra strong.” He still left the shots out for her, figuring that if he’d learned anything about her, she’d still probably take them. “What would you say if I asked you to dance with me, Lucinda?”

Lucinda watched him steadily. She personally had no use for those skills, so it was easy for her to admit that she didn’t have them, but he did. One could make the argument that Lorcan d’Eath was built for small talk and compliments, for rakish smiles and serenading girls with his guitar. Of course, Lucinda was becoming more and more aware of how much more there was, but that didn’t mean the argument couldn’t have been made. Until he’d barged into her compartment and registered himself on her radar, she’d probably have been perfectly happy to leave her opinion of him at that, with maybe an extra dash of frivolity for good measure. There was more than that, though, she had to acknowledge. She was still deciding how she felt about that. “I’m not particularly well-versed in real connection either, admittedly,” she mentioned. She didn’t know why she was volunteering this information. She wasn’t drunk, but it was just—it was easier, with some alcohol warming her chest and in a place that didn’t feel like it belonged to her life. She didn’t even know if she could count ten people she actually considered friends. She wasn’t the sentimental type either, not likely to tell them how important they were. She shrugged at him, a little more relaxed with her movements than usual. “I don’t mind. I have it where it counts.” She tilted her head thoughtfully at his last comment on the subject. “Nah,” she said after a moment. “You’ve probably got better teeth than me,” she continued, flashing her teeth at him in what most would probably count as a smile, though she would be unlikely to consider it one. “Otherwise... I like to win.”

Lucinda found herself rolling her eyes at him as he snickered. “I don’t mean sexually or anything,” she said matter-of-factly, “but intentions-wise, yes, I think that counts as pure.” He really was full of surprises tonight—or maybe he’d always been, and she’d never paid attention before. Lucinda didn’t see anything wrong with being selfish, so she shrugged. “I don’t see why you would do something if you didn’t enjoy it or benefit from it at all,” she said simply. “The ones who do... well, martyrdom doesn’t usually end well for the person in question.” 

At his question, she tilted her head, considering. “Would you feel more comfortable if I fell all over you?” she asked dryly as she thought about it. Like that would happen. “I don’t think so,” she decided. “I mean—you’re part-vampire and it’s stupid for people to just ignore that, but acknowledging it doesn’t mean you have to be afraid. It’s just cataloguing,” she explained. “I do it to everyone every time I walk into a room—if you know the advantages other people have over you, you can factor it in. You can beat it. So I don’t think you’re more dangerous because you’re part-vampire,” she said with a shrug. “You’re just stronger and have sharper teeth. What matters is what you do with it. And—” she stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of how much she was saying, and the very distinct possibility that alcohol was loosening her tongue slightly. “You’re sharper than a pretty boy with a good voice,” Lucinda said, running a hand up her arm. “And people shouldn’t underestimate that. But that’s not exclusive to being a vampire. People underestimate others all the time when they shouldn’t. That’s the dangerous thing.” She paused. “I don’t tend to get afraid. I just... get angry.” It was more that when she was scared, the anger at the feeling overcame it, but she didn’t know how to explain that. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. “But I’m not scared of you. Never have been.” She shrugged. How could you explain that after seeing real monsters in the eyes of men you were meant to trust, even the world telling you someone was a monster couldn’t make it true if you didn’t see it in their eyes? “I’ve seen things to be scared of before,” she eventually decided. “And you don’t scare me.”

Lucinda shook her head, frowning. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said impatiently, before pausing, thinking. “Okay, no, it’s not, but that’s only because I’ve met Gilderoy Lockhart,” she amended. “But how sharp your teeth are only matters when you use them, and you don’t.” She was incredibly self-assured about it for someone who hadn’t talked to Lorcan many times in depth by this point, but she felt to her bones that it was true. He didn’t just use his teeth like a casual weapon—not like some humans used their fists all the time. “Also, ‘big bad’ vampire? Lorcan, you serenade girls at all hours of the day and carry around lollipops.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “The only thing that’s bad about that is how corny the jokes are sometimes—also, have you heard the muggle myth about vampires needing invitations? Clearly disproved that with the train, but might be worth brushing up on,” she quipped. It was strange for Lucinda to be standing there—this boy whom the world viewed as scary, who so dearly wanted not to be, who laughed and sang to pretty girls and loved music; and then her, lithe and strong but still too small when it came to going against some people, whom the world saw as a pretty girl who probably couldn’t hack it, who strove to succeed and do anything she could to that end, who actively was scary and leant into that.

His scale made her head hurt. “But then the scale starts at one, just you don’t start below sev—whatever,” she muttered, cutting herself off mid-argument to focus on the drinks he was holding, though her eyes shot up at his words. “Did you just call me Lucinderella?” she asked incredulously. She had planned to say several words on why she would take the 34, but that train of thought got derailed by his next words. If she’d been drinking anything, she would have choked on it. She still managed to choke on air a little. “Did you just call—I can’t believe you call yourself Bat Daddy,” Lucinda muttered, reaching for the shot. “Depends on if it’s a challenge or a question,” she retorted, before glancing at her drink. He’d said she didn’t need to prove herself, but she wasn’t proving herself to him ( though that was an added bonus ). She had to do it for herself. Glaring at it, she tilted her throat back and threw it down, before wrinkling her nose and gasping slightly. “God, what the fuck was in that?” she asked, putting the shot glass down and blinking. Everything inside her chest felt a lot warmer, and whilst she had been feeling more at ease and relaxed over the entire course of the conversation, it was only now that she was really letting the music rock through her and actually paying attention to the people around her. People who were dancing, people who were having fun. Lucinda didn’t often let loose—she wasn’t big on instant gratification—but when she did, she liked to have fun. And, currently, she wanted to have fun. She turned back to Lorcan. “All right,” she said abruptly. “I’d say yes—unless you’re scared?” she asked, a teasing grin at her lips—easily the widest smile she’d had all night.

[lucindatclkalot]

MOODBOARD: Lucinda + Lorcan

He found it surreal, on nights like this. He found it surreal that she could stop his hands that shook with anger at the world. He found it surreal that he could listen to her speak about Quidditch and her dreams until her voice ran out when he’d never cared about it before. He found it surreal that she remembered what he looked like with blood still under his nails and staining his tongue and yet she stayed. He found it surreal that she was the muse for his music. He found it surreal how important he had allowed her to become, but most of all, he appreciated that he did.

[lucindatclkalot]

ulvar-dominic-skar:

“Tsk, tsk, are we having a bad day? Again?” Ulvar chuckled, most certainly amused. “You know, what if those ravenclaw boys were just so delicious? You gotta understand them, don’t you?” he added dryly, the sarcasm dripping. 

“It’s always a bad day talking to you, Skar,” Lucinda said, flat smile at her lips. “Oh, yes, so delicious,” she added with an eyeroll, matching his sarcasm with her own, though wrinkling her nose at the use of the word delicious. “Also—delicious? Are we eating Ravenclaw boys now?”

[lucindatclkalot]

chcrrybcmb:

“That’s rather unfortunate to hear Lucinda, I was just gonna invite you to the bathroom to GOSSIP & GIGGLE about Ravenclaw boys.”

“Oh, I’m so busy, what a shame,” Lucinda deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “Don’t fret, a quarter of Fifth Year’s in the bathrooms right now to take my spot. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of that fun activity.” Lucinda was fairly certain that Carter was joking, and also that she spoke the same sort of language as Lucinda—wry, deadpan, sarcastic, mocking, blunt and snarky, or some mix of it all.

[lucindatclkalot]

antheaxdelafuente:

“Why giggle about Ravenclaw boys when you could be giggling about Ravenclaw girls?” Anthea rolled her eyes, grinning. “Although, once I happened to overhear some fourth years giggling about me in the bathroom and that was very satisfying.”

“I think I’d prefer no giggling at all, actually,” Lucinda grumbled, “though girls would at least be better. Well. For the most part.” Before she could get too involved in listing exactly which Ravenclaw girls she’d rather endure gushing about all of the boys in the entire castle over, she smiled at Anthea and bumped her hip slightly. “And in doing so, they raised the average standard of people they giggle over,” Lucinda said, as close to fond as she was like to get. “Of course they giggled over you, Thea, they’d have to be absolutely hopeless not to.”

[lucindatclkalot]

blvckheir:

“Can we please? The most disgusting thing about public bathrooms might actually be the shit I have to hear about my own cousins.”

“Yes, let’s. It’ll be therapeutic. We’re rapidly approaching the point where it’s break something or I make a Fifth Year cry—which is just wet and messy.” She wrinkled her nose. “If people could just not talk in the bathroom,” she started exasperatedly, “which, why they do is beyond me, but if they could not, it would be a much less horrific experience for all involved. Our ears are saved, they are safe from wrath.”

[lucindatclkalot]

fetchitfletcher:

“Let me guess– Ludo, Doc, or Lorcan? I’m too much of an ugly git for girls to giggle over so I know it wasn’t about me.”

“All three,” Lucinda said shortly, rolling her eyes. She didn’t even bother addressing his second part—whether or not he was attractive wasn’t her concern, and she had no intention of either confirming his comment or pandering to it. “Lockhart and Travers too, for some unknown reason,” she added, wrinkling her nose. “Lockhart is a waste of space and Travers is... if they’re dreaming about him, they should re-examine their priorities, because no matter how annoying they are, they’re undoubtedly better than him.” There had probably been other names thrown around, but those were the five she had taken note of—three, as Quidditch players, occurred on her radar; Lorcan occurred on her radar largely because he’d shoved himself onto it when he shoved himself in her compartment; and Lockhart because his irritating qualities transcended even Lucinda’s devotion to not taking note of anyone not worth her time.

[lucindatclkalot]

islagoldstein:

“Could we break the Ravenclaw boys? I’m sure that would be more than enough to get them to stop giggling.”

“True. I wouldn’t mind breaking Ludo Bagman and Caradoc Dearborn before the next match, honestly. Ravenclaw loss, peace for my ears... it’d be a win-win. Except then the castle might be filled with wails, which I doubt is an improvement.”

[lucindatclkalot]

Lucinda Talkalot, it must be said, was not well-versed in Valentine’s Day traditions. It wasn’t something she’d ever considered a shortcoming—at least, not until she’d found herself out of her depth when she actually received a Valentine. The level of speechlessness it had caused had been alarming at least, and her lack of ease in writing him a response had caused her no little consternation. It was time, Lucinda decided, catching sight of a blood-flavoured lollipop in the Unusual Tastes section of Honeydukes, that she got a grip on herself and tried to balance the scales. She purchased it along with, after a moment’s deliberation, some Pepper Imps—her absolute favourites. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure if blood-flavoured lollipops were better gags or legitimate gifts, and so pepper imps would at least be edible if necessary.

It was relatively easy to find Lorcan. Lucinda tuned out most students in Hogwarts, and she had a keen knack for locating those she actually registered—and somewhere along the way, Lorcan d’Eath had worked himself into that category. Coming up from behind and slightly to the side—downwind, so he wouldn’t be able to smell her if that was even a thing he did when people approached, but with fairly firm footsteps, stomping through the snow—Lucinda didn’t even bother to say hello, simply brandishing the blood lollipop at him as she leaned against the rail in front of him. “It’s not cherry,” she said by way of greeting, the faintest of smiles playing at her lips, tone somewhere between brisk and wry. “Didn’t know if you’d need any more sugar on your fangs, considering some of the drinks you mix.” That was almost teasing, and while it wasn’t much from most people, Lucinda was aware, but it was companionable from her—almost unprecedentedly so.

@lorcvndeath

[lucindatclkalot]

Lorcan, d’Eath, Lo I can’t believe how many times you manage to work in referring to yourself as “Bat Daddy” in your life, honestly.

I’ve never sent one either. This is harder than it looks thank you for sen I don’t know what to say Or received, actually. Which probably sounds sad or I’m not meant to say Thea is too busy describing flirting techniques to Reg for me to ask but I’ve never cared bef before. I don’t really know what to say either. I mean 

Thank you. (I decided to start a new line. Seemed less messy. Believe it or not, structure is actually one of my strengths, despite all evidence to the contrary). For sending me that, I mean. 

You’re not a monster. A monster isn’t—you’re not born a monster or made a monster or even one because of something terrible you do. It’s choosing to do it again and again and to buy into it. ( And of course I’m not afraid of you. Exasperated, maybe, but not afraid. Fangs or not, I’ve met real monsters you call yourself Bat Daddy. I’ve met worse. Better ways to refer to themselves, though. Usually just “I”. Surprisingly effective, actually. )

This is alarmingly messy and clearly not my forte and I am going to send this before I set it on fire instead. Thank you. Might have to cash in these vouchers after the next match. 

— Lucinda

P.S. I would draw something, but it seems silly to draw the Captain’s badge and I don’t know how to draw anything tough and Puerto Rican or Welsh except for maybe a Welsh dragon or an angry cookie. I liked your fangs, though.

@lorcvndeath

[lucindatclkalot]

expectatvalentines:

Lorcan’s most valiant attempt at a Valentine for one Lucinda Talkalot. Attached are two vouchers for “Bat Daddy’s Bartending” and a cherry lollipop.

@lucindatclkalot

[lucindatclkalot]

ailvn:

“So apparently rolling up your skirt and wearing pink heals is not ‘appropriate’ and I should really learn to dress more properly for a learning environment …. I didn’t know that you needed to look a certain way to learn shit,” muttered Ailyn, running a hand through her hair. “I know this school is a castle, but that’s no reason to be medieval when it comes to clothing.”

“Surely rolling up your skirt makes it easier to move in, which is useful for duelling?” Lucinda asked, not looking up from where she was analysing the breakdown of the last League match—Appleby Arrows vs Tutshill Tornadoes—instead of paying any attention whatsoever to her DADA essay. “If they’re going to enforce bullshit rules, they ought to at least have a defensible reason,” she said in disgust, finally looking up to meet Ailyn’s eyes, expression disparaging at the ridiculousness of the rule.

[lucindatclkalot]

daenatravers:

“ What about Slytherin boys then? Or is that when you hex something instead of breaking it? ”

“The Slytherin boys all have names long enough that I can actually get out before they manage to get too involved in their giggling, which is when it gets grating. I mean, ‘Rodolphus Lestrange’ is a bit of a mouthful.” She blew some air out of her mouth in a huff. “Though, I suppose now isn’t the worst time for them to be talking themselves silly over Ravenclaw boys,” she allowed grudgingly. “Maybe they’ll succeed in distracting them before the match.” Lucinda’s face set. “Still don’t particularly want to hear Ludo Bagman’s name when our own Beater situation is as indefinite as it is now, though.” This was not a comment Lucinda would make lightly—in fact, only those she trusted (which generally meant the team and a handful of others) were permitted to know if anything about Slytherin Quidditch was not running 100% on track.

[lucindatclkalot]

“If I have to hear one more person giggling in the bathrooms about Ravenclaw boys, I’m going to break something.”

[lucindatclkalot]

fuck the boys club / ailucinthea

The assignment was thus: an extended analysis on a particular charm, hex, jinx or piece of magic with an intensive use of spellwork, in the form of a critical research and theoretical essay, as well as a practical demonstration. It struck Lucinda as having its roots in Magical Theory as an assessment, but she wasn’t complaining. Magical Theory was something she enjoyed greatly.

Having converged around Anthea at the outset of the assignment, it had been agreed that Ailyn, Anthea and Lucinda were to work together on this assignment. Frankly, Lucinda was incredibly confident with them as a team. Lucinda, admittedly, approached most things with a brisk determination that did not allow much room for nervousness or flinching, but this was definitely a merited confidence. Honestly, what couldn’t they do?

The three of them were seated around a bench, preparing to begin. “Given the assignment, I thought it would be interesting if we did the Patronus Charm,” Lucinda said. “A lot of people will be focusing on things like Flipendo and Alohamora, which are absolutely doable, but honestly, I think they’d be boring. Might as well do something worthwhile, right?” A Patronus was built with theory and language, much like many spells, but there was an emotional art to it—emotions were always important with magic, but the Patronus relied on it more than most.

@ailvn @antheaxdelafuente

[lucindatclkalot]

captain’s calling / emma

It was not in Lucinda Talkalot’s nature to welcome conversation in the common room. Admittedly, she would comply easily—by her standards, anyway, though others would balk at describing it as such—for certain people, such as Anthea and Regulus, but one would be misguided to ever label her as “approachable”. It wasn’t that her seeking out people was unheard of—barking at someone counted as approaching, after all. It was simply that it was an uncommon occurrence, especially when it was a friendly one. The people Lucinda Talkalot liked best, after all, especially in Slytherin, could usually be found on her home turf: the Quidditch Pitch.

It was for precisely that reason that Lucinda was approaching someone in the common room, her manner remarkably not hostile. Direct, perhaps, and a touch terse, but not hostile. It was an altogether bizarre situation for Slytherin common room that night, but then, in Lucinda’s opinion, it was bizarre that she had to do this. Absurd more than bizarre, actually, because it was, frankly, ridiculous to Lucinda that she should have to come to the common room to do this, because Emma Vanity belonged on the Pitch. It was, in fact, why Lucinda was approaching her. When something did not make sense to Lucinda, it frustrated her greatly, and she found herself trying to unravel it or working to change it. For the last few months, ever since she was officially named Captain, she’d been engaging with the latter. It was finally time to address it with Emma.

“Emma,” she said, nodding her head, her expression softening in the way it only did around certain people. Sitting down in the seat beside Emma’s without waiting for a return greeting, Lucinda placed her books and pieces of parchment down on the seat beside her, swinging it forward so that it could act as a table for her and Emma. Refusing to beat around the bush—which she would not have done anyway, but was aided by the easy familiarity between the two girls, one that spoke of years of teamwork—Lucinda launched right in. “It’s bullshit that you’ve been banned from the Pitch,” she began, picking a piece of parchment from the pile and smoothing it out in front of them. “It’s why I’m here.” Drumming her finger at the edge of the table-seat for a moment, Lucinda scanned the parchment to ensure it was indeed the correct one, before pushing it slightly towards Emma. It was a practice plan—not the public Slytherin Quidditch one, but one for Emma personally, though Lucinda supposed she would need to explain it, should Emma go through with it.

“I’ve been talking to Slughorn about your situation—frankly, it’s a ridiculous punishment, and you’re in your final year. I think you’ve learned your lesson—if that’s even of importance, who knows? I certainly don’t care. It’s barbaric to deprive you from Quidditch,” she continued, before a slight smirk slid onto her face. “As well as detracting from your future,” she added. “That’s what I’m pushing right now—Quidditch was your plan and his job is to prop up our goals, and anyway, how’s he meant to brag about you if you’re not successful?” Lucinda’s eyeroll showed exactly what she thought of that, but there was no denying the use of having Horace Slughorn on your side. “It’s not confirmed,” she said, though it wasn’t a warning tone, more a measured one, “but I wouldn’t mention it if I wasn’t reasonably sure it would be. He’s meandering so he doesn’t look like a pushover, so I’ve started drawing up plans on how we could do this, if he agrees. Warrington injured himself last practice and has been making noises about not coming back, which is putting a bit of pressure on Slughorn, thankfully. Not for Warrington, I suppose, but if he’s not ready to stick it out and you would, then he’s not my concern right now.” Also, Emma was better. It wasn’t even a question. 

Lucinda, who had not given much space for interruption up until this point, paused for a moment. “This is where Andromeda would probably remind me to actually ask if you even want this, but I don’t really think that’s necessary. Not for you.” There was the barest hint of a question in there, probably indiscernible for people who hadn’t known Lucinda as long as Emma had, but Emma had known her for a long time. No part of Lucinda believed that Emma would walk away from this, but Lucinda would not make her. There was no point in anyone playing it if they didn’t strive for it, if they didn’t want it, in Lucinda’s opinion. 

@emsvcnity​

[lucindatclkalot]

lorcvndeath:

Lorcan didn’t know when he left the woods, it was the only place where he wasn’t scared that he would hurt someone else. Because he didn’t know if maybe he’d never be the same person he was before. Except he did know and he never would be. Because his father was who shaped him, and without him there he didn’t know how he’d be able to handle a world that hated him. Regardless, he eventually had to stumble out of the forest, weak from hunger and thirst. It scared him that he didn’t know what he needed to drink to quench it. He found a restaurant and fumbled around in his pockets for money to buy food but his hand brushed against what he knew was the picture of his father and he found himself retching on the curb by the restaurant. Eventually he ate. A burger and a milkshake. Rare and extra chocolatey, just like his father had ordered. It gave him enough strength to Disapparate back to Hogsmeade. Licenses be damned, he thought. They could catch him for much worse if they wanted.

Hogwarts was large and daunting, but from the calendar in that small Muggle restaurant, he’d been away for five days, and he didn’t know what they thought had happened to him but he hoped at least some people had noticed his absence. Still, as he stared at the castle, the thought of entering drained him of energy. Because within those walls he needed to be somebody he didn’t know if he knew how to be right then.

Still, he stepped onto the grounds and took a deep breath. He could do this he could do this he could do this. But as soon as he entered the castle and someone waved at him, exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks and he immediately disappeared into the most cut off part of the castle that he knew. As he leaned against a wall an overwhelming urge to see Lucinda Talkalot came over him. He remembered his father who chuckled when Lorcan told him she wasn’t falling for his tricks. Then stop playing tricks, Son. Except he didn’t know how to do that, so perhaps it was best that he scared her off or maybe she wouldn’t look at him like a monster and that would be an even scarier outcome.

He walked around the halls in a daze, he didn’t know what anyone said to him when they said it, if people said hello it went right over his head, if they waved he didn’t see. He looked for Lucinda and when he saw her he didn’t know what it was but something shifted inside of him because he saw her. She wasn’t in a fog like everyone else. “Lucinda,” he said, breathing the name out. “Can I talk to you?” As he walked towards a secluded hallway he crumbled, sitting back against the wall. “I did something bad,” Lorcan told her, running his hands down his face. “I did something bad.”

Lucinda Talkalot, by nature, was an observant person. She liked to figure things out, especially without asking for help, because she had learned from a young age that the only person you should rely on was yourself. Observational skills were an integral part of that package. It was fair that a solid percentage of her classmates were unaware of this fact, though, because Lucinda very often did not apply it to them. Lucinda was not interested in unravelling the mysteries of Gilderoy Lockhart’s dalliances, as she did not find Gilderoy a particularly intriguing character, full stop. In fact, she had very little patience for him, and given her general lack of patience with most, this meant that her preferred approach was to disregard him entirely. This was the approach Lucinda chose to take when it came to most of her classmates, it must be said, preferring only to take note of those she deemed relevant or a worthy use of her time.

As a general rule, this meant Quidditch players and the occasional skilled linguist or Slytherin. There were some others that she was aware of, largely due to an irritating frivolity and their habit of exasperating her, but that was a very grudging awareness, sparked mostly by their antics reaching such a level in which she had no choice but to take notice, usually leading to an unimpressed, impatient reaction from Lucinda. Generally, though, the people who took her notice were a select few, and usually, at the least, Quidditch-adjacent.

This is why it hit her so abruptly when she noticed the absence of one Lorcan d’Eath in class. At first, she put it off to skipping, far more concerned with when Lorcan had managed to get off her frivolity radar and onto her genuine radar. Ever since he’d barged into her compartment, she supposed, he’d been slowly becoming a real person to her, which wasn’t exactly an expected turn of events, nor one she knew what to do with. Uneasily, she eventually decided that anyone with whom she could have fun—and she had, at New Years, even if there was alcohol involved, because it was very rare for anyone to be able to convince her to let go; usually, it was Anthea—was someone that made sense for her to be aware of, and returned to focussing on Quidditch. Or so she thought. Because Lorcan d’Eath didn’t show up for any of their shared classes that day, nor the next, nor the next. By the third day, Lucinda was actively scanning the Ravenclaw table, brow furrowed and trying to piece it together. By the fifth, she was highly tempted to just pull Ailyn or Mundungus to the side and figure out if they knew, but there were two problems with that: one, why did she care, and two, she had a policy of not letting people know when she was curious about something. It felt too much like power.

Luckily for her sanity, on the sixth day, as she was walking back to the dungeons, she found him. Or, more accurately, he found her. He was in her path and she was stopping before he even said her name—Lucinda did not stop easily when she had purpose, but she’d been annoyingly aware of his absence for five days, and suddenly there he was, saying her name like it was an exhalation instead of an address. Absolutely none of it was anything she was prepared for, which she usually loathed, but something about the way he looked derailed that. Instead, she nodded and followed him, stopping as he slid down the wall. Hesitantly—she was not good at this, why would he come to her, instead of anyone widely considered to have emotional experience or usefulness?—she sat down beside him, tucking her legs in beneath her.

Lucinda ran his words through her mind and, after a moment, frowned slightly. This solemnity—this disappearing act—was such a departure from the Lorcan she had cultivated in her mind over years of knowing him, from the Lorcan that she knew from their last few interactions—a maddening creature, as exasperating as he was the first day he walked into her compartment, all unrepentant grins and laughter and careless hair flicks, but genuine too, eyes lighting up at the mention of music, humming songs under his breath, grinning at her as he said she beat him at his own game—that she almost didn’t know what to. But Lucinda Talkalot had never not been capable for a day in her life, and she did not intend to start now. She herself had a poor grasp on morality—or perhaps a good one that she elected to ignore when necessary—but even she knew that doing a bad thing didn’t have to make you a bad person. The biggest indicator of that, in her opinion, was the inability to identify your actions as wrong. And so she scooted slightly closer—slightly—and looked at him intently.

“I don’t know what you did—don’t know if you want to tell me,” not that she’d blame him, being one of the least forthcoming people in the castle, though he’d managed to get an alarming amount of conversation out of her over the last two months, “but.” She paused. She was not good at this. She decided to try to be as straightforward and honest as possible. “The fact that you’re calling it a bad thing probably means you’re not a bad person, if that’s any consolation.” Lucinda paused again, struck by an unfamiliar and mildly alarming desire to try help. “Is this to do with why you’ve been gone for five days?” she asked. Maybe he wanted to talk about it. She’d heard that helped. She didn’t know, herself. All she knew was that he looked wrecked and—given her own fairly authoritative classifications of her family by virtue of their sin—if she could help him untangle this knot about doing a bad thing, she would. She would not lie to make him feel better. Everything she had, it’d be honest. If he was prepared for that.

ain't no sunshine // lorcinda