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five more seconds;

we stopped time;

to chase these truths

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Well, Solo stole my brain.
five more seconds;
So, was bored, and messing around, and started writing out a lyric to the song 'God Help the Outcasts' from Hunchback of Notre Dame (...I love that song. I don't know why, but I absolutely adore it.) ...and it turned into a really long solo-rambly-type thingie. I'm actually rather amused by it. And it's calmed Hestia's muse quite a bit, which is good because she was getting nigh uncontrollable.

..Sooo yesh..

What: Solo of morning motions.
Who: Hestia Jones.
When: Some random morning. Probably like, this morning. Or tomorrow morning.
Words: 1,810
Rating: PG-13, for some 'nudity' if you will. Nothing is described, but I don't want to scar any children. Or Aramis, as it would be. Cover his eyes for that bit, eh Joie? Don't want him dropping into cardiac arrest. XD

"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there..." She sighed softly, opening her eyes and looking up at the ceiling of her bedroom. Another day, another dollar, if you would. It felt hard, getting up this morning. Almost like lead was in her legs, and all she wanted to do was snuggle down in her covers and go back to sleep, back to dreams.

But, with effort, and lingering on the edge of her bed in an upright position, she traced her fingers absently across her shoulders, touching scars from her past years as an Auror. It was a ritual, every morning to be reminded of near-misses, to be reminded she was still alive. She was glad for it.

Eventually, she stood, and made her way to the door of her room, and into her bathroom where she pulled back the shower curtain and started the tap going.

She disrobed as the water warmed, her blue eyes wandering absently to more scars, hidden by her pajamas previously, now visible in her mirrored reflection.

Frowning, she turned away from her image, and stepped into the shower, now steaming with hot water. She washed quickly, lingering only briefly on a spot beneath the right side of her ribcage, wincing as the foam washed over the still-stinging wound. A left over mark of the Crucio Curse. It was the first time she had been hit with such a curse, felt the extreme pain and suffered the side-effects for nearly two weeks afterwards. It had been a feeling she wished she could forget, but knew she wouldn’t. The mark below her ribcage would forever remind her of the feeling of being torn apart, inside and out.

Once she was clean, she turned the steady stream of water off and stepped from the bath, wandering over to the towel cupboard and pulling said cloth out, and wrapping it around her wet hair. She then pulled her terry cloth robe from its hook on the back of the door, and wrapped that around herself, tying the cloth belt securely around her waist.

She stepped from her bathroom onto the cream-colored carpeting that dominated most of her small flat, and shivered slightly, the rest of the flat being cooler than the bathroom, which was warm with steam. Shaking it off, she padded down the hallway, towards the kitchen.

As she opened the refrigerator and searched around for milk, she heard the first signs of life in the flat above her, the sounds of two pairs of four-year-old feet running down the hallway. She smiled, and withdrew the carton of milk from the fridge, gazing up at the ceiling. The man and woman above her were about her age, and had twins. She’d babysat them on occasion, and privately envied her fellow tenants for their fortune to have two beautiful little girls.

It was always an idle thought that she lingered on longer than she meant to. The hope to one day have children was one she had been dreaming of since she herself had been a child. She had always said she would treat them to all the things she couldn’t do as a child, go where they wanted to go, wear pants and get dirty instead of dressing up in pinafores and sitting twitchily while their mother entertained guests.

Of course, when she’d become an Auror, that had taken precedent over her dating life, and the few men she had seen during her training and early years had soon left her life, feeling she was an ‘insane workaholic’ rather than a woman who would devote time and energy to their relationship. Those she had dated in years after she had settled comfortably into her job had been almost as miserable, only it was more her fault for making choices based on first impressions.

It looked to her that her dreams of a fairytale life like the ones she’d read about and imagined when she was a child, were very unlikely to occur any time soon. The past men she’d dated were anything but princely, and were rather the toads that would never turn into the prince, and sweep her off her feet.

..The last part being utter nonsense, of course. She’d reserved herself on her graduation of Hogwarts not to believe in fairytale endings, and that when she’d been eight when she’d said she had wanted to be a Princess when she grew up, that was just an eight-year-old’s whimsy.

She still had her childish nature, and playful attitude, which may be why she was penned with so many babysitting jobs. She can relate to kids on a personal level! They love her!

…It was true, mostly. But she could behave like an adult, this time being no acception. When she was alone in her flat, standing in her terry cloth robe with a carton of milk in one hand and listening to little feet running up and down her ceiling, she felt very old, and very sad. She was the last of most of her Hogwarts friends who she had shared a dorm with to be unmarried, and without children. Many of them had married their sweethearts, and were terribly happy, or so it seemed.

Hestia looked happy on the outside. She laughed along with her friends, indulged in cookies, and acting like a six-year-old when off duty. But there were things that started on an uplifting pattern, and would drag her downwards, slowly. Deaths that the Order had suffered, her lack of luck in love, needless puppy-drownings, just to name a few.

She shook her head and dismissed her thoughts, placing the carton of milk on her small oval kitchen table, and going to rummage through the cupboards for a bowl, spoon and box of Frosted Flakes.

She situated herself at the table with her ‘Breakfast of Champions’ and attempted to look at one of her files she’d brought home from work and laid ever-so-carefully on her table the night before, with the intent to look them over during breakfast, but her mind wandered from lacerations, burns, and various other forms of mutilation and murder Death Eaters so relish, to the Ministry, where she soon enough would be headed.

She knew it would be a dull work day, full of wandering over to her partner’s cubicle and confirming things, then wandering back to her own, where she’d sit for a long while, writing on a parchment form, before she’d absently glance up and feel compelled to open the jar on her desk, and pull out a fortune cookie.

…Yes, those cookies were a saving grace, really. She’d have to thank Aramis more fully one of these days for them. How, was a good question. He’d been a rather calming presence in her life recently. Except recently, because whenever she saw him, she got an odd fluttering sensation in her stomach. Indeed, almost when she thought of him between spoonfuls of sugary breakfast goodness, her stomach fluttered, and she frowned at herself.

She’d admitted to Merci that she was starting to fall for the man, but that by no means meant this was a good time to be getting into a relationship. Especially with her past record of relationships, she didn’t see how, regardless of all his sweetness and almost knightly presence, it would ever work out. Or, that’s what the logical side of her brain said, the side of her brain that had seen the trips and falls of former relationships, the side of her brain that had given up and settled to a life full of platonic love for sisters and cousins and friends.

The side of her brain that she usually listened to, however, wasn’t going to deny that it may be potentially dangerous to gain a ‘crush’ or ‘fall in love’ or wherever Hestia’s emotions may be leading her, what with her being in the Order, and if her brother, or another Death Eater ever found out that she was….whatever.. with someone, they could so easily destroy something that she’d easily allow herself to care about deeply. It wouldn’t deny that, but it wouldn’t deny the fact that these feelings couldn’t be pushed down, or ignored. Not by Hestia. You could call it her greatest weakness, love. Or her greatest strength, that even after so many failed attempts that she still had the ability to care, the ability to fall for someone.

…Despite all that, she didn’t want to call it love. He was kind to her. He was also kind to other people. From her experience, that was how he was. A nice person, who helped people. It was very possible that the time they’d gone to the faire together had simply been because he thought of her as a friend he’d like to get to know better, and when he’d gone to the Wedding with her that had just been because he’d wanted to wish Arabella and Sirius happy union. Heck, everything could just be him being nice. Because he was. It was very plausible that he wasn’t even remotely interested in her.

…She’d just have to ask him then. It was simple enough, wasn’t it? She’d done it before. Granted it had been in school, and had been one of those notes ‘Do you like me, Circle Yes or No’ but…. She was a big girl, she could go right up to him, and ask him if there was anything going on between them…..couldn’t she?

…That made her a little nervous. She wasn’t a shy person, by any means, but it almost felt like that would be a lousy idea, to put him on the spot like that. She didn’t want him to run away in fear of the wrong answer.

She frowned, dropping her spoon into the now-empty bowl, and standing. She dropped that in the sink, and pulled the towel from her head, running her fingers through her wet and tangled ebony-colored hair.

Maybe I can just…ask him out. On a date… that seemed like a more comfortable thought. A date wasn’t forcing a decision on him, it was just that. A date. Which may lead to discussion of possibly how he feels about her, as she knows how she feels about him, and perhaps, if she’s really lucky, and doesn’t act like a complete spaz and idiot, the news will be good.

A smile returns to her lips as she walks back up the hall, towards her room to get ready for work. Next time she saw him then, she knew what she would say. No slight reddening of cheeks, or almost flustered presence, she’d ask him out on a date. Hey, it’s the twenty-first century. She could swerve off the Damsel path just a bit more, it won’t hurt from her whacking through the bushes as it was, already.

...Yes. The cut text IS from Hercules. I like my Mythological Disney movies, dammit, what's so wrong with that?

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=D! YES! I SO TOTALLY HEART THAT MOVIE....AND THE SERIES!!! Its actually the only Movie-to-series series I like, other than Aladdin, and The Little Mermaid. >.>


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