Casablanca Sucked Anyway (open)

Rita’s hands were working busily away on the new quill set she had just acquired, special order. The gleaming set sat on one side of her desk while the slightly worn and faded pink Quill Quiver, as she referred to it, resided on the other. In all actuality, the quiver was a simple case that had a single silver clasp binding it together. It opened much like a binder and had many clear pages that protected its fragile feathered contents. These latest quills were of a new color, a ruby that shimmered in the light and made Rita’s eyes sparkle with delight. She divided them easily; long and thin to potions and charms class, short and leaf-like to herbology and possibly transfiguration, and lastly the in-between, the just right type to her journal. When the mission was complete she smiled and closed the quiver, once again replacing it in her bag. She was always prepared.

Setting the bag on her bed, she looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. Her curls were frizzy and her make-up was running. The rainy day had definitely done a number on her. She would have to work on making a de-frizzing potion for the upcoming months. Looking at the clock she realized that dinner had begun. She should be down there, in the Great Hall, acquiring every bit of knowledge that she could. She was very keen on knowing the couples for the upcoming Fall Formal, not to mention the news on the Wizards Cup. With several application slots left open it would be simply thrilling for Rita to gain that wisdom first.

She wiped away the smudged eyeliner and applied a new layer over the top. It was slightly better, however it left a very thick, dark ring around her eye, which was something Rita did not strive for. She ran a brush through her thick, curly, blonde hair. Unfortunately the action only seemed to perpetuate its disheveled state. With a sigh she set the brush down and gave herself a half-smile in the mirror. With a shrug she picked up her bag once more and headed toward the Hufflepuff common room. It was a cozy place, always bringing back the warmth of a winter’s day and cooling down the summer’s sun. Rita often retreated there to the shadows of its circular frame in order to concentrate on studies.

As she came out of the long corridor leading to the girl’s dormitory today however, she saw quite a funny sight in front of her: a girl . . . dancing? A ritual, perhaps? Rita stopped dead in her tracks at the entrance to the common room, tilting her head at the peculiar spectacle. It was slightly bizarre but somehow charming. The girl was moving sporadically, or so it seemed to Rita, since there was no tune to be heard within a mile. Perhaps there was a charm placed so that only she could hear it, though it seemed unlikely. The girls small arms cut through the air like a broom. Her bare feet sparkled, the ruby red nail polish reminded Rita of her fresh quills.

Unaware of the grumbling in her stomach Rita, half-dazed, found her way to an armchair but a few feet from the girl. Pulling her journal out of her bag she quickly chose her favorite quill, which was bright yellow and slightly curled at the end from overuse. She thought she recognized her but could not quite be sure. She looked familiar in a hazy, dream-like way, perhaps from a class or another odd circumstance such as this. Who knew? Regardless, it was great journal material. Thus, she wrote. Glancing from her page to the girl. Rita squinched her eyes and perked up her ears. She tried desperately to hear the murmurs of the few other onlookers. Alas, those who noticed were now awkwardly making their way toward the common room door. “Flailing Girl Freaks Out First Years” she wrote with a wry grin.

“Is this something you always do to clear the room at dinner time?” She asked the befuddling brunette.

Rita watched as the girl answered without the slightest pause in her movements. Swinging and swishing about, she claimed it was simply to dry herself off, before yanking Rita out of her chair to join her. It was an odd thing, for Rita to be spontaneously spun around like a young girl’s ragdoll. She wasn’t used to doing things without a set plan ahead of her. Usually her life was meticulously laid out like a scene in a well-rehearsed play. Her quill and notebook were flung haphazardly on the chair when she was yanked to her feet and she now was feeling a bit dizzy. “Come on. It’s fun. And it works up an appetite.” She said with a giggle. However, it was having quite the opposite effect on Rita as her stomach now began to churn with a different pattern.

Rita was still struggling to remember her name, but she thought it was something with a C, or a K. It slipped her mind again as relief flooded over her. She was freed of crazy movement and allowed to fall back into the armchair once more. She sucked in a large breath as her vision began to stand still. She tried to focus as the girl-with-a-C-sound spoke once more, something about going down to dinner. She was sure that they had classes together, Charms, that was it. Maybe that was the C she was thinking of. Anyhow, Rita was now referring to her as Charms girl in her own head.

Rita was not quite sure what to think of Charms girl. She was also slightly unsure of herself, which was something she wasn’t used to. Being around someone that she couldn’t place was not a situation she was used to. She was more accustomed to being around the talked about people of Hogwarts, those that she would want to find out more about. “Oh, yes, I was actually on my way down when you distracted me.” Rita answered. “Would you care to join me, or have you not quite worked up the appetite yet?” She said with a shy smile.

Ah, so that’s what she had meant. She was shaking the water out of her clothes. That was a rather muggle thing of her to do. It reminded her of her younger years, when magic was still a fanciful and mystical dreamland. She lived very much in the muggle world, surprised by the small things that her father would sometimes do. Things took time and patience, which as a child Rita did not develop, and after being thrust into the magical world, she most definitely did not find any there.
When her father finally introduced her to the subject it was much less momentary and exact than she had read about. It was more of a science than a work of wonder. Of course, Rita didn’t throw it away as too much work or useless, but it was not exactly the spectacle that she had imagined it to be. Magic was very much based around Rita’s interests. She was good at potions, mostly because her father was a potion maker and she wanted to make him happy. She was not very good at history, or charms, simply because they didn’t hold as high a priority in her life. Rita’s world was an unconventional one, to say the least. She ranked gossip and news over learning her class lessons. Though she tried to complete all her work on time, if something fell behind because she was writing a story for the paper, she didn’t get too stressed about it.

Snapping out of her daze and back to the conversation at hand, Rita noticed that the girl ironically had found her wizarding wits as well. She had apparently suddenly remembered a drying spell, which she was now administering to her dampened clothing. She talked faster than Rita thought humanly possible and Rita had to wait a moment and let her brain catch up with the words in order to reply. "Oh, um, yes of course I’m coming. I was quite hungry before the dancing and so I suppose now I must be famished." She bounced up off of the chair. Picking up her shoulder bag she made toward the door, not wanting to wait to be led anywhere.

Once out of the common room, Rita looked back toward the opening, waiting for Charms girl. She was odd, but Rita was attracted to odd. It appealed to her interest in the unusual, the alarming; it was where a story was in the making. "Well come on now, we need to go replenish ourselves. I do plan on doing some more dancing in the future, you know."