Racing Raindrops

[Morella Ruthven]

[OOC: This thread is not to be used in any rumours or newspaper articles, given the lengths to which the characters went to avoid detection. Morella is a sneaky blighter!]

February 18, 1884

S

he had been planning on another visit for days, but her schoolwork had to come first. The second she lacked any assignments to complete, however, she once more made the journey to the Forbidden Forest - this time not with blood on her mind, but company. Sure, blood was a thing. She couldn't could the taste out of her thoughts, the memory of how it felt to have it sliding down her throat, drenching her molecules in a sweet bliss she had never experienced before. Okay, so blood was part of it. She was determined, however, to not make her new-found friend feel like a meal on wheels.

She was very careful, taking as long as necessary to exit the castle without prying eyes catching sight of her. She again wore her school uniform and her thick black winter cloak, its hood raised to mask her pale face in the darkness. Her footsteps were silent and sure - more sure than they had been on her first excursion. She knew where they would be taking her.

The walk through the forest was uneventful. She was either too silent - likely - or the creatures sensed a sort of dark kinship through her vampiric blood. Less likely, but also possible. Either way, she made it to Gus' cabin without incident. Except for the rain. The pouring rain. The English rain that managed to soak through the branches and foliage of the forest and drench her through completely. Her clothes stuck to her skin, their wetness clinging to her body as though afraid to lose her in the deluge.

She stepped quickly to the door, her eyelashes catching droplets of the moisture, making them run down her pale cheeks as though she might be crying. She raised a hand and knocked, then waited. She hoped he wasn't on a patrol. She would hate to have to find him in this.

  

[Augustus Davis]

The days felt on the longer side of time since he’d had company over. In the days between the 8th and now, he’d sent exactly two toads to Miss Ruthven. He daren’t send them with any further frequency lest people suspect, but he hoped she enjoyed his gifts. He’d sent them on with her in mind, despite how completely inappropriate it was.

He’d been sleeping soundly when the knock came. Immediately his reflexes kicked in, he rolled out of bed, silently grabbing up his wand. His feet touched the floor, his knees bending quickly. Crouched down low to the wooden floor, one hand on the ground to steady him, his wand was pointed in the direction of the door. His eyes were locked on it, waiting for something to burst through. The vestiges of sleep were dispelled with a quick succession of thoughts. No, he wasn’t expecting anyone. No, nothing like a troll would think to knock prior to entering. Yes, he locked the door earlier. Yes, the windows were intact. No, he didn’t leave milk outside in a bowl. Yes, that was rain outside.

He steadied his breathing, still offset from the door. Finally, he called out, firmly, “Identify yourself.”

When she did, he nearly staggered. What was she doing here? Had she lost her mind? Was it an imposter? Steeling himself, he figured there was only one way to find out. As foolish as this may be… Flicking his wand, he unlocked the door and let it swing open, still not having stood up from his position near the bed. He was still in his nightclothes, a pair of old long pants and a loose cotton shirt that hung around him. His hair was tousled from sleep and he had a wrinkle along his cheek along with a new scab.

  

[Morella Ruthven]

W

ell, she should have expected such a greeting with an Auror-in-Training. She heard a dull thud - like a cat landing heavily on the floor - and then his stern voice commanding her to identify herself. Yes, she supposed he didn't get many visitors out here in the woods.

"Morella Ruthven," she called clearly, brushing rain from her cheek.

When the door swung open, she hopped inside a little faster than she normally would have - it was pouring and she was drenched. And though she didn't feel the cold as well as other humans, she was shivering a little. The combination of freezing wetness had managed to break through her normally apathetic body temperature.

She pushed the hood of her sopping cloak down and looked up to see Augustus crouched near his bed in what she could only assume to be his nightclothes. Her cheeks went pink. of course. He had to sleep sometime, didn't he? Dropping her gaze, sufficiently embarrassed, she murmured an apology.

"My apologies for showing up unannounced," she said, still focused on the floorboards. "I didn't want the letter intercepted, naturally. Shall I go?"

  

[Augustus Davis]

Pushing off of the floor, wand still out, he straightened up. He didn’t wince; obviously free of the injuries he’d been sustaining for so long previously. She had pushed the hood back, water dripping in long thin trails from threads and her hair, stringing it out and darkening it as she stepped through the cabin door. A puddle had already started to develop on a dip in the wooden floor just inside the threshold. His heart was still caught in his throat at his abrupt awakening and mild paranoia. His wet his lips, swallowing a bit of his sleepy parched, dry mouth. He flicked his wand and the door shut, locking and he quickly moved over to consider her, “Why are you here?” He wasn’t looking to intimidate her, he stopped several feet short of the usual appropriate distance for polite conversation.

He saw her soaked clothes, the way they clung; he drew his gaze back up to her face rather than her body, obviously rather peeved at being caught off-guard, but not about to send her away after she’d just entered. He needed a moment to think. …Merlin, she’s prettier than I remembered. Perhaps not the most helpful thought, certainly not a plan for how to deal with errant students. While she answered, he’d glance at his window, noting the torrential downpour. I’d be a fool to send her back out in that. He closed his eyes as he turned his head back and reopened them, surveying her clothes with a critical eye – no longer seeing her shapely curves, but the wet fabric.

Stalking away from her he threw open a trunk and picked through it for a moment before grabbing up some clothes. Has she lost her mind coming back to visit me? I thought I’d made it clear last time… He couldn’t fathom why she’d be back; he was working after all. In the time between their last meeting and his short letters to her, he’d decided that he wouldn’t invite her over. And he was definitely not the charitable sort to gift his blood out again after the last experience. As he’d thought last time, the bite had done a number on him. Certainly he had renewed purpose.

Pulling out a clean set of trousers and shirt, he laid them out on the couch. Looking at her pointedly, he nodded at them, “We’ll need to dry your clothes. Go ahead and change into those.” He could dry her things in a hurry, but the steam would burn her if he did it while she wore them. He offered her the option, turning away from her now to tend to the fire, obviously not intending to turn around whilst she changed. There wasn’t much in the way of privacy in the tiny cabin, unfortunately.

He was very aware of how this essentially compromised her, but her health was honestly on his mind. This far out from civilized society, it was easy to be concerned with more than which tea cup was suitable for company or how best to greet one’s neighbor. Surely even half-vampires suffered from illness. He was crouched, his trousers riding up along the bunched muscles of his calves as he did so, his shirt billowing out past his hips.

  

[Morella Ruthven]

H

e did not look pleased. Of course, that could be due to the fact that she had awoken him from his sleep, but it couldn't be helped - she hardly knew his schedule. And when she had happened upon him the other night he had been rather awake. When he asked what she was doing here, she couldn't answer him straight away. She could hardly tell him she merely fancied some company - though that was at least half true. She fancied his company - someone who knew what she was and did not judge her for it. Someone she could easily talk to and carry on an intelligent conversation with. Not that she severely lacked intelligent conversation, of course. Glenda was a smart cookie.

When he turned away from her, she shifted slightly, suddenly extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be best to leave? She didn't want him to be angry with her or to be putting him out by her presence. His gratitude of the last meeting and his letters since had made her think he would enjoy another visit, but apparently she had been sorely mistaken. When he came back with dry clothes and set them on the couch, she debated on whether to change into them. For one, it seemed highly improper - even for a burgeoning rebel like herself. And for another, she didn't feel entirely welcome enough to lock herself into staying for the duration of her clothes drying.

"You said 'next time,'" she stated, moving over to the couch and feeling the soft fabric of the shirt he had offered her. "You said that next time you would demand to know why I preferred Watson above all other characters. Was it entirely wrong of me to take you at your word?"

She waited, still debating on whether or not to simply leave. Last time he had been... friendlier. With the tea and the game of twenty questions and the... kissing. Now he just seemed annoyed.