gun.grave<<

[lys]

My heart is yours to fill or burst,
To break or bury, or wear as jewelry,
Which ever you prefer.

Long, pale fingers were curled around a gray mechanical pencil, shifting ever so often. Demetrius was no longer with him. Custody of the feline had been shifted over to the Bouvier at this point. It was her turn. With nothing more to do, he decided sketching was on the top of his list. He found himself wanting to cover the pages with many images, his lack of drawing had him all ready to get back into the swing of things once again. Only the beginning of a picture was visible on the relatively blank sheet of paper. It was merely the outline of a small kitten, a certain kitten. These drawing... these sketches... they were his memories. Just like moments captured on paper.

Every scene was another part of his life and he wanted to remember them all. Or at least, as much as he could get on paper. So he continued to draw, absorbed in its captivating abilities. Anyone that passed by him was ignored, anyone whom spoke to him was ignored... They were just passing specters and they meant nothing to him. He didn't wish to create memories with them. They cared not for his well-being. These scenes he drew... they were of those he wished to keep his memories of. First meetings, second meetings, despair, abandonment, cowardice... so many memories rolled into one quiet boy.

The lead of his pencil scratched against the paper, a soft melody to his ears. He could hear different words from different conversations echoing in his mind. They were always there, circling and waiting for their final act. Yes... that last moment in time where they would be finished and forever sketched onto paper only to be hidden away from the prying eyes of others. They were his memories alone. Never to be shared with "outsiders". Perfectly his.

Up raised the curtains, showing off such perfect spectacles on such a blank stage.
They were on display for the lessers to see.
Such a sad, sad way to go.

Lysander paused momentarily in his intense sketching, glancing around him. There was no one within his range of sight currently. Everyone seemed to be doing something else and somehow he doubted the Library was too popular a place to be, especially with how you had to be quiet. Many seemed quite in to talking insistently no matter where they were or what time it was. That sort of thing annoyed him, to a point. It was so much easier to think in silence - comforting even. Perhaps I should draw the library as the ending scene... And oh what a lovely ending scene it would make.

Perfect for his audience of paper. They would sit eerily still, blank and unfeeling - an ocean of white with one black shade sitting up front. They would all avoid this black shade, a large blank space surrounding it and red 'X' crossed over its heart. The perfect little audience of paper... Silent and there.

[batgirl]

My past is perilous, and each scare I bear s i n g s
Monuments to where I have been, & Melodies to where I am going

She needed somewhere quite. She needed a place where no one was going to pester her with petty little problems, or people with randomized questions where going to come up to her. She didn't really want to be bothered, she needed the silence of a never ending dream, the waking of a never ending reality. Ranka Molohov wanted to sit and read a book. She wanted to watch a person, study their every movements, pick out certain parts of their personality. But she needed a quiet place to watch, a quiet place to read. Because at the moment, her headache was much more aware of you then she was.

School classes where not in for this young Russian at the moment, and the fact that she had some time off from the struggle and pain in the arse homework was a gift from god. She was already out of her uniform, and had been for quiet sometime now. She had replaced them with jeans a t- shirt and a sweatshirt. A book resting underneath her arm, Ranka pushed a stray piece of blond hair form her eyes, walking aimlessly through the hallways of the school. There where so many places Ranka could go to get her piece of mind, but it seemed only one was suiting her today ;; the Library. A stereotypical place for a Ravenclaw. It was perfect.

As Ranka wondered through the halls to the library she began to think, ponder if you will. She watched passing by students, and realized her personality type as she looked at so many others. She has OCD. She can't pay attention to one thing for too long. She is convinced she is bi polar, but her uncle says she is just a moody person. She can be childish. She always is random, does odd things when she gets the chance. She is annoyed easily. Her mind thinks in a philosophical way. These are things she would not go up to a person and just tell them. And yet, she watches all these random people asking the most personal things, and the person they are questioning just answer right away. Ranka wondered if there was any sense of Secrecy anymore.

It didn't take too long for Ranka to arrive at the Library. Or at lest she didn't think so. She was there before she knew what was happening. Pushing her pale hand against the door she entered, hearing a few whispers come from other places in the library. The Librarian sat the the front desk - Ranka gave him a nice wave. Bright brown orbs traveled along the walls for a place worthy of her reading. Making her way to the least crowded area in the library Ranka took a pause, spotting a boy sitting there, drawing/ She arched her eyebrow, biting on her right lip ring of her snake bite. Dare she approach?

Ranka wanted her peace and quiet, and she was sure he did too. But drawing and art was something that fascinated Ranka. She was always so jealous of people that could draw well. The curiosity of what he was drawing got the best of her as she approached cautiously, like a cat walking on eggshells. When she reached the table he was at, Ranka placed her book down and leaned over the table so she could see what he was drawing. A cat...it was pretty good. She leaned back onto her feet again and stood looking at him, not saying a word. She tilted her head to the side a bit, wondering if he was going to say anything...because she wasn't.

[lys]

I don't mean to piss you off with things I might say,
But when I try to shut my mouth they come out anyway.
When I speak my mind, that's when we connect,
But that's not politically correct.

A pause in motion and his figure stiffened momentarily as he noticed the shadow, as near-impossible as it was to see, on the table. For a moment he thought whoever it was was going to say something but when nothing came he found himself somewhat relieved. He hadn't journeyed here in order to be questioned by some random figure nor have his ear talked off. It was all the better when they remained in the silence he entered. He did, however, glance up through his obscenely long banes in order to see just who it was. A girl. One that was being silent at that. It pleased him to know some people understood the value of silence, even if not always. He raised two fingers on his right hand in a form of greeting before continuing his sketch with his left.

Since she wasn't annoying him in the least, he decided it was best to leave her be. She could sit there if she so wished it, it didn't bother him. Perhaps she would pose for him as well? Just as Sebastiania did that first time they met. It had been an odd request on his part but he enjoyed listening to the scratch of paper and pencil, he enjoyed the things one could create all on their own. Why not share it with others? But... only some were to be shared. Wouldn't your models want to see what they inspired? The corners of his lips tilted upward slightly but was entirely hidden by his veil of ebony banes.

Never before had he allowed a stranger see him smile and it certainly wouldn't start now. Actually, the only one that had seen them was the brunette Gryffindor and he got the feeling she was disappointed in both him and his actions. He wasn't meant for companioship... She wanted reassurances on his part. She wanted a simple promise... but he couldn't give it. Coward. His fingers tightened momentarily around the pencil, not nearly enough to be noticed. He'd come to term with that word a while ago. He was a coward; he knew and acknowledged this. He would probably always be a coward as far as he was concerned. A simple promise... Stop thinking about it. She hasn't brought it up... It's not worth it. There was a silence following his thoughts, a blank. Did that mean she wasn't worth it? Or that she was, he just couldn't handle it?

The drawing was unconciously pulled closer to his body as he thought of it, and throughout the entire time his hand had never stopped moving. He continued his sketch on instinct. He knew what it would look like, how it would turn out in the end. His subconcious knew. The Sinclair didn't have to be fully in control of his bodies actions. He didn't... He snapped back into attention and immediately his hand stopped in the middle of a long stroke. Dark green hues cleared slightly as he made his trip back into the realm of reality. I need to stop doing that as well. Spacing out... Though he would never speak it aloud, he was deftly annoyed with his constant trips to 'Oz'. He would zone out and it was like he wasn't even present anymore, just a shell of his usual self carrying out his normal tasks.

Who would ever suspect...?

[batgirl]

Words like Violence break the silence, Come Crashing in,
into my little world. Painful to me, pierce right through me
Can't you understand, oh my little girl

As Ranka stood in front of this boy, she was doing more then just waiting for him to say something. She was doing more then watching him sketch, her bright brown orbs looking at the paper he was currently doodling on. She was studying him, and there was nothing more Ranka had enjoyed then watching a person and the way they interacted with others. She got a greeting, something that she was sure he wanted to give, but did not really want to be bothered. That, or he didn't want his silence to be broken. Ranka could respect that, and she could see that by the way he gave her a greeting. With nothing better to do, Ranka found herself sitting down at the table across from him, still not a word spoken between the two strangers.

It was then Ranka realized she had not even learned his name at lest, not yet. She was starting to wonder if she was even going to learn his name at all, considering this seemed to be a meeting of silence. Ranka often thought that people could communicate with their body, hence why she is a 'people watcher' as she had been so commonly referred to. But most of all, she was convinced that a person could have conversations with just their eyes alone. However, being able to do so actually takes someone with that skill - Ranka did not have it. So that means of talking was not going to happen. As much as she wanted to just tell this boy her name, she refrained - didn't want to scare him off with words, now did she?

Leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs a bit, she gave him a friendly gesture, a greeting of sorts if you will with her hands. So he didn't feel uncomfortable with her just staring at him for such a long time she opened her book. It looked as though Ranka had gotten what she had wanted, a quiet place to read. But the book that was now grasped in her pale lengthy fingers wasn't of the top interest of her right now. No, Grendel could surely wait a bit longer. This boy was more interesting to Ranka then anything at the moment, and the Russian was determined to talk to him without making him want to rip her arm off and beat her with it.

Glancing from the pages of her book over the top of it at the sketching boy she noticed some spacing out, something she does on a regular basis. She arched her eyebrow slightly, biting her bottom right lip ring of her snake bite. Typical nervous habit. She tossed ideas around in her mind of how to properly talk to him without talking to him too much. No, he wouldn't want that, she could tell. Ranka wouldn't want that either, to be truthful. So, very causally, Ranka turned the page of her book, her eyes looking away from the boy and back to her creme colored pages before she actually said a word. She didn't like sitting with strangers. "Ranka Molohov" she slipped into the air, not bothering to look back to him.

Words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm.

[lys]

I don't see anything now,
So just say what you wanna say.
It's kind of funny how I'm not listening anyway.

The silence reigned for a while longer, he having returned to sketching out the kitten. The kitten of which he probably wouldn't be seeing for a while. As troublesome as that was, he could deal with it. The companionship was missed all the same. Dark green hues darkened even further as he drifted into thought, his body once again running on automatic. Words, as clipped as they were, broke him out of his reverie and he directed his gaze back toward the other girl. Ranka Molohov. He was slightly surprised at the sudden break in silence and merely stared at her for a few moments. He had felt her own stare earlier but had decided to ignore it, however he shouldn't be... The Sinclair stared down at his work, biting his lip lightly.

"Lysander Sinclair."

Names had been exchanged and he lapsed back into silence. It was only polite that he return the favor. However, slowly the movement of his pencil and hand once more came to a halt and his dark green gaze slid back up to the girl, Ranka. Yet her own bright brown eyes were focused on the pages in a book of which he did not recognize. For a moment he kept his gaze on her but soon drifted from that and back to the unfinished sketch. Without a word he flipped the page to a blank one and set about another sketch. This time - Ranka Molohov.

Blond hair. Bright brown eyes. Quiet. Reading.

Why not draw her as well? She would be the second person he drew in this school and he would have more human-centered sketches as well. He remembered, once a long time ago his mother commented on one of his pictures of a random person in the park. He never showed her the ones he drew of her... As... self-centered as she could be, she didn't think of herself as something beautiful and she believed, at the time, that his pictures portrayed her that way. So now, he never showed. And the latest sketch of her wasn't one he could find himself feeling proud of. No... He couldn't find himself proud of it at all.

Mentally he scowled at himself at the change of direction his thoughts had taken. For now he would not think of it. Just as every time before. No. He would not dwell on this misfortune until it came to past. Surely his mother would not die in that hospital. She wouldn't want to perish in such a "disgraceful" place. And he found himself hoping that was true... Desperately true. But he forced the thoughts down, not wanting to dwell on them any longer. Later, perhaps. When he was by his lonesome. That would be a better time for dwelling. Of course...

The scratch of lead against paper caused him to forget everything else for the time being. Once again it had become the foremost thing in his mind, allowing him to avoid subjects better not thought of. And it pleased him immensely though he would not show it. The less he thought of other things, the more he could focus on his current sketch. But he found himself wondering, just how long would it take for this Ranka Molohov to notice just what he was sketching out...

[batgirl]

Half of what I saw is meaningless
but I say it just to reach you, Julia

Awkward silences. They where always something that Ranka enjoyed. She could make a random noise to people, she could say something that would make people look at her in a different light. Oh yes, Ranka very much enjoyed Random acts of silence. But this, however was one that she did not like. Why? Hell if she knew, hell if she really cared all that much. The fact of the matter was that Ranka, the girl who seemed to always have to say to strike up conversation with anyone was left speechless at this boy. She did not know why, but it was something. Ranka wanted to find out more. They always said curiosity killed the cat.

Lysander. She had gotten him to speak his name. Lysander Sinclair. It was so simple, yet it meant so much to Ranka, her eyes never moving from the book she was currently reading. Ranka was one who had studied what different names mean, considering she studies people a lot. Lysander came from Greek if she was not mistaken. It meant one who is freed. She also recognized it from a Shakespearean play [ Ranka loves Shakespeare ]. A mid Summer's night dram. . Ranka picked apart his name, picking at every bit of information she may have had on it. Lysander was a Greek commander, Lysander was oh too rare.

Stop.

Ranka was over analyzing things again. She always seemed to do so, her mind always working overtime, a lot more then it had too. Ranka shut her eyes for a moment, draining all those thoughts from her mind as she actually proceeded on to reading her book. Grendel. For any of those who had read the epic poem Beowulf, this was a remake, except told from a different perspective. From the perspective of the beast. It was a story of torment, and loneliness, and Ranka couldn't get enough of it. It was such a good book in her eyes, and anything that had her coming back for more each and every time was surely a good one. Ranka always was reading something, she seemed like such a typical Ravenclaw. It was funny - Ranka hated fitting into the stereotypes.

Ranka watched as Lysander began to sketch again, what looked like something different then a cat. And for this moment, her eyes actually did stray away from her book. The orange - brown cover did not show and sufficient background for her, the art resting in front of her more of a interesting hint. She lifted a bit out of her seat, glancing at the paper. It was then she realized what ti was - He was drawing Her. Ranka bit her right lip ring of her snake bite, a bit nervous at the fact. Why was he drawing her? Strange. But none the less she did not want to mess up the pose she was in. Artists have to constantly look at the person or thing they are drawing, right? So Ranka stayed still, Not wanting to mess up the portrait.

[lys]

Dig a ditch deep enough,
To keep you clear of the sun.
You've been burned more than once.
You don't think much of trust.

Dark green hues jumped up to judge her position once again however they narrowed slightly as they landed on her. She had shifted a bit from her previous spot and her eyes weren't focused on the book any longer. They seemed rather more focused in the direction of his newer sketch. He cleared his throat, the edges of his lips curling upward. He wasn't surprised; he hadn't believed it would take her too long to notice the change in subject nor just what the recent subject was. Judging by the fact she wasn't moving nor acting upset with him for what he was doing, he continued on with it.

Every once in a while he would glance up, wanting to get every detail down to how she bit her lip to one side. Perhaps he would learn just in what instances she performed that action. Human behavior had always interested him and he could come up with a few reasons for why she may be biting her lip as such. Later he may even ask her, much later, if he had not discovered the reason on his own. The second option was more preferable in his mind though. Asking her would be like cheating, in a way and cheating wasn't how you played the game.

How long will she sit like that...? He was truly interested for most he knew did not enjoy sitting still for extended periods of time. It tended to wear on them to the point where they just gave in and moved. He had to admit it would be a bit of a problem if she actually did move, though it depended on how much. Stretching, for example, would be a bit much. The pose wouldn't be as... right anymore. She had already messed with it a bit but that didn't bother him. Since she appeared aware of his presence that was what he would get down on paper as best he could.

Portraying emotions merely through the tip of a pencil always seemed to be the most perplexing part of any sketch. Sinclair spared another glance at Ranka; at least she was cooperating. This... would probably take more time then he would like it to but he wouldn't stop her from leaving nor moving if she truly wished to. He would just have to keep the image fresh in his mind until the sketch was finished. Whether or not it would ever be colored was another mystery. Not many of his finished works ended up in actual color. He preferred the feeling of a black and white themed drawing more than others. They were... eye-catching in his opinion; to him.

[batgirl]

With a chemical appeal, and a picture of me
Arm around in the carnival of me, raising the temperature 100 degrees

Ranka was well aware that by now, she had probably moved out of place from where she was before. But she did not move at all after that. IF there is one other thing Ranka is some what good at, it is standing perfectly still. She had been drawn before, when she was a lot younger. Her mother and father wanted a picture of her and her brother. She was no stranger to the way artists work. Her father was one, that man that sketched her was one, and so was Lysander. This was far from awkward for Miss Molohov. So Ranka kept on biting her right lip ring, and continued to stare down at the book she was reading, even if she was not scanning the pages.

With no other plans for the day, Ranka had no where else to go either.Classes had ended for her, and what seemed to be a boring day actually turned into something that was good. If you are into the kinds of things she is. Standing still probably sounds completely and utterly horrifying to some people, But Ranka can handle it, at lest she thought she could. She was doing a nice job at the moment as well. She wanted so bad to move her eyes away from her book to look at how the sketch was going, but she didn't. It could potentially mess it up or something. That was the last thing she wanted.

Her mind racing, Ranka was happy she came into the library today. she had met Lysander. though almost no words where exchanged, by the way he was behaving Ranka had a feeling she was going to get along quiet well with him. It was about time as well, Ranka needed to meet new people before her uncle exploded. She had not yet made any real 'Friends,' only acquaintances. It will be nice for her uncle to hear that she had actually made some form of a friend, even if they are virtually silent to each other.

Her curiosity growing again, Ranka was tempted to look at the sketch book. But she had self control! Fighting back the temptation, Ranka stayed looking at her book, and actually began to read it a bit before clearing her throat. It was time to speak again, break the silence. It almost seemed like a sin now, to actually talk. Almost like she would be smited by the gods if she uttered a word. As much as she enjoyed the silence, she felt the need to say something. "When you are done.." she began, her thick Russian accent fluent. "I would like to see it" she finished, returning her teeth to gnawing lightly on her bottom right lip ring.

[lys]

She told me, don’t kill the villains.
The pain is not escaping.

Skipping; that was what he felt like doing. He wanted to draw her lips merely because of the habit she seemed to have. Usually he left the face until last. Never did he question why. Perhaps it was because it gave it an aura of something morbid; something untouchable. A blank face to stand out in the crowds of people. Something... different. Remember; you are unique just like everyone else. And what uniqueness one with no face would hold. A face for the ages.

A light sigh escaped him as he once more sparred a glance at the Molohov. Still he admitted that he had been surprised when she sat still. Usually he expected people to become offended or something equally as annoying for not asking them beforehand. If they ever noticed what he was doing that is. Otherwise he was left to his drawing with no interruption. He leaned in closer to his developing sketch, intent on finishing it and perhaps coloring it. Though at that point she wouldn't have to sit still anymore... maybe... The silence surrounding them continued for a little bit longer before she broke in with a request.

At the words he fully lifted his head up and gave a quick nod in return. That he would allow. He already had had full intention on showing it to her when finished in the first place. If he was going to draw her than it was only fair that she got to view the outcome of said drawing. He prided himself on his works, for they were the only things he could truly hang on to. They were a constant point in his life that hadn't been played with or destroyed. Merely for that would he hang onto them...

So many opportunities were provided in his favor as well. Ranging from people to creatures to small critters [such as Demetrius]. These sorts of moments were calming and restful. Never did they cause him any unhappiness or misfortune. Dark green slid back up again to take another look at her. Would she mind becoming a constant subject for his sketches? Just as the Gryffindor had... some what. Having Ranka Molohov as a model appealed to him. Though he would have to ask first, of course. Later. After he had finished.

[batgirl]

It's so good to see, the world is alive
It's so good to see, the world is a lie

Thinking : Ranka had a lot of time to do that while she stayed perfectly still for Mister Lysander. Thinking was something Ranka had always enjoyed, that probably being one of the main reasons why she was placed in the house of Ravenclaw. Stereotypical? In a sense yes, but Ranka never actually liked to fit the mold that everyone was in. Thus concluding why when she sat, she did not throw wise, smart insults that almost no one could understand. In her experience, Ranka found that Ravenclaws like to insult people, a lot. Ick. It was disgusting.

Watching Lysander, she noted his nod in agreement of she being able to see the sketch when he was done - excellent. Even if he said no she would probably wrestle the notebook away from him. If he was drawing her she had the right to see it. She gave herself a mental nod, not actually moving her body [ didn't want to mes sup the drawing, now did she? ]. What a scene that would make, and what a headline for the gossip column. Girl wrestles boy to the ground in library for a notebook! Her conscious was laughing at her own stupid thoughts. Getting rid of those thought,s Ranka continued to stand still. Surprisingly enough, she was actually good at it.

The thought had crossed Ranka's mind to become a full time model. She would walk the catwalk, millions of artists could draw her - oh the possibilities are endless. But of course, Ranka wouldn't do that. To be honest, if she was going to be anyones model, she would probably only agree to be Lysander's. She supported the arts of course, she being an artist herself - but most artists are so damn hard to work with. And already Ranka has previous working skills with Lysander. She didn't think he would ask her to be his model - would he?

Being the center of a drawing made a person want to be artistic as well. Her book still resting in her pale white hands, Ranka had a sudden urge to start and draw, or write, or play music. Something so she didn't feel so dull.. of course, she can't draw for the life of her. She can play music, and she can write. After this encounter she would have to retreat up to her dorm to get all her creative energy out of her body,