Dreamweavers

songs: Manic Pixie Dream Girl (Addison Grace), New Constellations (Ryn Weaver), Soap (The Oh Hellos), Magnolia (Gang of Youths)

"You know," Lyric points out, vaguely amused but mostly irritated in the tired kind of way that means she needs to lock herself in a room and watch bad movies with Garen for a few hours, "I think we'd learn more if we avoided getting pulled out of class for fighting three times a week."

"You know," Reema replies, slightly-too-small leather jacket riding up over her shoulders as she shrugs as if half committed to being mocking, "I think I'd enjoy your company more if you ever shut up with the responsibility lectures."

Lyric tilts her face away and catches the eye of the Headmistress through her door. The older woman rises from her seat, kindly smile firmly in place, and ushers them in. A shadow uncoils from the wall and snakes its way through the air to their predetermined seats. It's rumoured that Headmistress has placards for them.

"I believe you already know why you're here," she begins, inhaling sweet steam, "but I think I'd like to hear it from you."

A classic. Faint guilt tugs at Lyric as she remembers who exactly got her admitted to Mentality, familiar black spots encroaching on her vision, but they're quickly banished back by a quick glance at Reema. She swipes at her eyes. Maybe she can get the smoky look the other girl seems to gain simply by waking up.

As always, she refamiliarizes herself with Reema's attire: the ever-present black combat boots, leather jacket that she's had since their first year, covered with patches from bands nobody in the magical world admits to knowing, pale skin and almond shaped eyes pairing nicely with the plain navy shirt. The memorization trick has gotten her through the acidic feeling of others' disappointment more times than once.

Lyric runs a hand through her hair nervously. Wishing she could fix her ponytail, she pulls it over her shoulder, flips it back, picks at the polish on her nails. The closest thing to a coordinated outfit she's got is the olive green shirt/nail combination. Somehow, she doesn't think she'll win 'best dressed'.

Maybe this year, she'll stop biting her lips. Garen gets on her case about it. Gives her chapstick every year, since she refuses to tell him her birthday. Come to think of it, it's been a while since he was in here with them, short and stubborn with too much time on his hands. Even then, he was too nice to leave Lyric to deal with Reema's schemes alone.

Now, Salza is doing an admirable job of keeping them out of trouble, when she can. But today they were out on the turf, perfecting their passes or whatever captain and co captain of magical sports do, respectively. Lyric's learned some good offensive movements from watching, but none of the rules.

She takes a hesitant sip of her tea, even though she doesn't like mint, because she hasn't yet mustered up the courage to refuse something offered freely. Reema certainly won't be going first. It's a miracle if they can get her to explain at all, anymore. Was it third year that she stopped providing explanations for her escalation? Second?

She thinks it's about the same time they both started staying at school over the summer, instead of Lyric standing alone, pressing her fingertips to the wall and feeling the reassuring thrum of the wards' magic.

"What're you doing?"

Lyric startles back from the smooth chill of the wall, shoving her hand guiltily behind her back as if caught in the care library after lights out. I don't have to justify my actions to you, of all people, she thinks in a rare moment of bitterness, but reminds herself that she's trying to be nicer. More understanding.