RP: Other
Character: Cho Weasley.
Location: Flat.
Date: 25th of May, 2000.
Status/Warning: Openish.
Summary: Cho and Tamarind bond over crickets.
Completion: Complete.
"Open up..."
The owl squawked, rolling its eyes, but Cho maintained posture, modeling an open mouth for her pet. "Open! Mmm, delicious."
Between them was a hovering hand, a pair of chopsticks, and a dead cricket. On an idle afternoon it was not uncommon for there to be experiments, and these tended to be either with magic or with food; Percy had not been a stranger to her culinary adventures, but Tamarind was a new victim, and thus approached with more zeal than ever.
"Crickets! Crickets. Mmm. Now say.... 'Thank you, Cho! A thousand gratitudes to my glorious master.'"
Cho gestured to the bowl, where the little creatures had been awkwardly rolled in spices -- which hadn't been easy to choose, thank you, for someone who had never eaten such a thing before. (Or at least, that was what the Londoner in her wanted to say.) Tamarind had been made a very special lunch, though it'd been obvious from previous efforts at using the insects as treats that they weren't -- and would never be -- his favorite. However, this did not stop an aspiring chef: she positioned her chopsticks as if his (poor) face were a bull's eye, and the instant his beak opened in they went.
And Tamarind visibly shivered.
"Come on! You're an owl, aren't you supposed to eat insects? Am I wrong? I put in... What did I put in?"
Cho paused, taking a moment to study a collection of bottled spices on the table. It couldn't be the crickets themselves; she specifically remembered that Boreal owls were supposed to enjoy that sort of thing. Then again, Tam had a history of being and doing exactly the opposite of what she expected. He was a difficult pet, and in a way she appreciated his audacity; he was one of the few people in her life that hadn't treated her differently after all of that. They'd even gotten closer for it -- he'd comforted her, although now did his best to pretend it hadn't happened.
"I put in things I imagine I would like, if I were a bird. Five-spice... And something Mister and I had in Machu Picchu..."
Tamarind shook his head violently, as if fighting the urge to implode.
"Tam. Tam, what am I to do with this if you're picky?" She glanced pointedly for Hermes, who was -- conveniently -- not present. For a moment the girl and her pet watched eachother carefully, equally stubborn; finally the owl seemed to shrug, opening his beak.
"Perfect!" Cho grinned. "You are lovely for putting up with me. Anyway -- at least this isn't like the dumplings... Or the layer cake... Or the horrid soup. I am rather ambitious for a beginner, we've seen. In fact, I don't know that I'll ever succeed as I'd like. I think... Someone told me..." Another cricket. "That it's a bit like chemistry or potions, putting it all together. But I swear -- it doesn't seem to matter how I think of these things! It all comes out wrong. The recipe will be correct, but I'm always missing something, even if I watch the process carefully. What do you think?"
Tamarind clicked his beak thoughtfully in response.
"I've always assumed it had something to do with inadequate supplies; I'm constantly improvising because we haven't got all of these ridiculous tools. Why should I pay for things I may never use again? It's absolutely sad, though... I know what I like, don't I, and I've got all these recipes from dad's family that would be smashing if I could get them right -- but I can't read all of it, and I don't know half the terminology, and it's all horribly frustrating."
"I don't know why these things have to be so difficult, Tamarind. I really don't. At this rate I'll be cooking as though I were raised... Raised on English food. I mean, obviously I am English, but my stomach isn't."
Cho laughed quietly to herself, pausing; it was funny that she should talk to a bird, but of course Tam was different there as well. He really seemed to understand. (If he didn't he was terribly polite about it.)
"Merlin, I... I just don't like trying to figure it out anymore. ...In general, even! I'm awfully tired of being two things -- I'd rather be just one, like... Like everyone else. That would be lovely. It'd be perfect. I... I wanted to be all London when I was younger, you know. I tried to lighten my hair and everything. Father made a great fuss over it, and I was happy when I was away from the flat, when I could think outside of our.... Culture? Is that what it is? Yes, I... I suppose. But I'll never get straight what is and isn't part of it -- what's just me, and what's..."
She trailed off, realising that she'd been forgetting to feed him; the owl did not look enthused that she'd remembered.
"You know. It's hard when you're a part of something, when you've been a part of it forever. You can't always tell what its characteristics are -- what really makes it different. Living here I think... I almost understand now, what makes me English and what makes me... Other. I don't know if I'll ever understand all of it, Tam. I still don't know what to call myself. It's just... It's terribly confusing. I know perhaps it shouldn't be, but... I've got to have everything in its place..." A sigh. "Maybe I'll grow out of it. Who knows? I'm only twenty, after all."
The words were less imposing than before. Being a year older so far hadn't felt any different so far, after all; for all intents and purposes, Cho could have been any age, really. She still didn't like sharing the things that made her weak, but... It felt all right here, as they were. Tam couldn't tell a soul anyway, could he?
"I just hope that I don't... I hope I don't make things difficult for..."
Ugh.
"For certain... For future p... Ugh."
Try again.
"All right, here it is: when I have children, I hope I don't make things... Difficult. For them. I'm... I'm not even half of anything -- racially, I'm... I'm pure. But I'm still confused." Cho grinned, a kind of loopy nausea: thinking of children made her heart thrill a little now, which was completely strange, but in the same instant made her feel... Well, a bit sick. "I can't imagine what it must be like when that confusion is part of your genes. I hope I can manage so that they know what to call themselves. But... You know... Maybe it won't be important to them at all."
"Maybe... Maybe I think a little too much."
They both seemed to stew over this for a moment, Tamarind's beak full and Cho's jaw gone loose again. She set her eyes on the scenery out the window, thinking; it was a cloudy day, not uncommon for London, and somewhere a car alarm went off with great enthusiasm.
"I've been saying this an awful lot lately... But I'm happy. I really am." She said this with certainty, though perhaps it was a bit quiet. "I love to dance now -- I used to be awful -- and you know, I just... I feel better. I don't need help with things as much anymore. I'm playing music again. I'm flying, even!" Cho colored slightly, pausing. "And Percy hasn't had to carry me to bed in a long time, except for... You know. I've going out on my own, too. It's not the same as it was before."
"I feel so... different. I don't know if it's all good -- I don't know if it'll stay -- but I'm happy. I feel.. I feel tender at all of it. I don't feel the way I did. I don't know if I even feel like... Like before any of it happened."
To tell the truth, much of that time had fallen into a kind of idealistic stupor; Cho remembered being happy, being content with herself for the most part. She knew that backing away from the Corps had been a bit of a thorn in the palm -- worse even than one in the side -- but there had been a kind of sleepy goodness to everything, even with what had been hard to swallow. Then again... She couldn't tell if things had really gotten along so wonderfully (even Percy's arm, even the hospital) or if it was all some sort of twisted defense mechanism, a ride to distance her from things she hadn't gotten a chance to complete. On the worst days Cho observed her own memories from a third-person perspective, unable to differentiate from her real feelings and what she'd hoped to achieve in expressing them just that way. It made things difficult when you tried to control yourself so thoroughly; back then, sometimes it'd been as if the things Cho said were not all her own.
Still...
She wanted more than anything to be genuine now, but there weremoments when she wondered if she even knew how. (Or, rather, if she even knew how without Percy -- and that put her breathless in every way possible.)
Take the good with the bad.
"We were right... We were right when we got married. I'm sure everyone will understand one day." Cho nodded firmly to herself; a smile inched its way onto her face, replacing a mirror of Tamarind's almost-apathy. "We were right when we said it wouldn't really change how things were -- how they are -- between us."
...
"And I'm not afraid of that stupid old man, either. I'm not afraid of anything!"
Tamarind appeared to laugh, fluttering his wings; Cho could only shake her head, finally laughing along with him. It was a preposterous statement; even pride could tell. "You're right. What am I saying? He'll make a skin out of me! It's only ever a matter of time. Father and I... We're going to have the row of all rows. The fight of all fights. He'll send Liu Peng for my ring finger in a little green basket. You'll see, I'm a trophy till the end."
And I hear the powdered bones of my redheaded husband make a good antidote for a broken heart.
But no. No, it wouldn't come to that.
Only close.
(Yes, it'd be a little too close, close as skin again -- like everything else in life.)
Location: Flat.
Date: 25th of May, 2000.
Status/Warning: Openish.
Summary: Cho and Tamarind bond over crickets.
Completion: Complete.
"Open up..."
The owl squawked, rolling its eyes, but Cho maintained posture, modeling an open mouth for her pet. "Open! Mmm, delicious."
Between them was a hovering hand, a pair of chopsticks, and a dead cricket. On an idle afternoon it was not uncommon for there to be experiments, and these tended to be either with magic or with food; Percy had not been a stranger to her culinary adventures, but Tamarind was a new victim, and thus approached with more zeal than ever.
"Crickets! Crickets. Mmm. Now say.... 'Thank you, Cho! A thousand gratitudes to my glorious master.'"
Cho gestured to the bowl, where the little creatures had been awkwardly rolled in spices -- which hadn't been easy to choose, thank you, for someone who had never eaten such a thing before. (Or at least, that was what the Londoner in her wanted to say.) Tamarind had been made a very special lunch, though it'd been obvious from previous efforts at using the insects as treats that they weren't -- and would never be -- his favorite. However, this did not stop an aspiring chef: she positioned her chopsticks as if his (poor) face were a bull's eye, and the instant his beak opened in they went.
And Tamarind visibly shivered.
"Come on! You're an owl, aren't you supposed to eat insects? Am I wrong? I put in... What did I put in?"
Cho paused, taking a moment to study a collection of bottled spices on the table. It couldn't be the crickets themselves; she specifically remembered that Boreal owls were supposed to enjoy that sort of thing. Then again, Tam had a history of being and doing exactly the opposite of what she expected. He was a difficult pet, and in a way she appreciated his audacity; he was one of the few people in her life that hadn't treated her differently after all of that. They'd even gotten closer for it -- he'd comforted her, although now did his best to pretend it hadn't happened.
"I put in things I imagine I would like, if I were a bird. Five-spice... And something Mister and I had in Machu Picchu..."
Tamarind shook his head violently, as if fighting the urge to implode.
"Tam. Tam, what am I to do with this if you're picky?" She glanced pointedly for Hermes, who was -- conveniently -- not present. For a moment the girl and her pet watched eachother carefully, equally stubborn; finally the owl seemed to shrug, opening his beak.
"Perfect!" Cho grinned. "You are lovely for putting up with me. Anyway -- at least this isn't like the dumplings... Or the layer cake... Or the horrid soup. I am rather ambitious for a beginner, we've seen. In fact, I don't know that I'll ever succeed as I'd like. I think... Someone told me..." Another cricket. "That it's a bit like chemistry or potions, putting it all together. But I swear -- it doesn't seem to matter how I think of these things! It all comes out wrong. The recipe will be correct, but I'm always missing something, even if I watch the process carefully. What do you think?"
Tamarind clicked his beak thoughtfully in response.
"I've always assumed it had something to do with inadequate supplies; I'm constantly improvising because we haven't got all of these ridiculous tools. Why should I pay for things I may never use again? It's absolutely sad, though... I know what I like, don't I, and I've got all these recipes from dad's family that would be smashing if I could get them right -- but I can't read all of it, and I don't know half the terminology, and it's all horribly frustrating."
"I don't know why these things have to be so difficult, Tamarind. I really don't. At this rate I'll be cooking as though I were raised... Raised on English food. I mean, obviously I am English, but my stomach isn't."
Cho laughed quietly to herself, pausing; it was funny that she should talk to a bird, but of course Tam was different there as well. He really seemed to understand. (If he didn't he was terribly polite about it.)
"Merlin, I... I just don't like trying to figure it out anymore. ...In general, even! I'm awfully tired of being two things -- I'd rather be just one, like... Like everyone else. That would be lovely. It'd be perfect. I... I wanted to be all London when I was younger, you know. I tried to lighten my hair and everything. Father made a great fuss over it, and I was happy when I was away from the flat, when I could think outside of our.... Culture? Is that what it is? Yes, I... I suppose. But I'll never get straight what is and isn't part of it -- what's just me, and what's..."
She trailed off, realising that she'd been forgetting to feed him; the owl did not look enthused that she'd remembered.
"You know. It's hard when you're a part of something, when you've been a part of it forever. You can't always tell what its characteristics are -- what really makes it different. Living here I think... I almost understand now, what makes me English and what makes me... Other. I don't know if I'll ever understand all of it, Tam. I still don't know what to call myself. It's just... It's terribly confusing. I know perhaps it shouldn't be, but... I've got to have everything in its place..." A sigh. "Maybe I'll grow out of it. Who knows? I'm only twenty, after all."
The words were less imposing than before. Being a year older so far hadn't felt any different so far, after all; for all intents and purposes, Cho could have been any age, really. She still didn't like sharing the things that made her weak, but... It felt all right here, as they were. Tam couldn't tell a soul anyway, could he?
"I just hope that I don't... I hope I don't make things difficult for..."
Ugh.
"For certain... For future p... Ugh."
Try again.
"All right, here it is: when I have children, I hope I don't make things... Difficult. For them. I'm... I'm not even half of anything -- racially, I'm... I'm pure. But I'm still confused." Cho grinned, a kind of loopy nausea: thinking of children made her heart thrill a little now, which was completely strange, but in the same instant made her feel... Well, a bit sick. "I can't imagine what it must be like when that confusion is part of your genes. I hope I can manage so that they know what to call themselves. But... You know... Maybe it won't be important to them at all."
"Maybe... Maybe I think a little too much."
They both seemed to stew over this for a moment, Tamarind's beak full and Cho's jaw gone loose again. She set her eyes on the scenery out the window, thinking; it was a cloudy day, not uncommon for London, and somewhere a car alarm went off with great enthusiasm.
"I've been saying this an awful lot lately... But I'm happy. I really am." She said this with certainty, though perhaps it was a bit quiet. "I love to dance now -- I used to be awful -- and you know, I just... I feel better. I don't need help with things as much anymore. I'm playing music again. I'm flying, even!" Cho colored slightly, pausing. "And Percy hasn't had to carry me to bed in a long time, except for... You know. I've going out on my own, too. It's not the same as it was before."
"I feel so... different. I don't know if it's all good -- I don't know if it'll stay -- but I'm happy. I feel.. I feel tender at all of it. I don't feel the way I did. I don't know if I even feel like... Like before any of it happened."
To tell the truth, much of that time had fallen into a kind of idealistic stupor; Cho remembered being happy, being content with herself for the most part. She knew that backing away from the Corps had been a bit of a thorn in the palm -- worse even than one in the side -- but there had been a kind of sleepy goodness to everything, even with what had been hard to swallow. Then again... She couldn't tell if things had really gotten along so wonderfully (even Percy's arm, even the hospital) or if it was all some sort of twisted defense mechanism, a ride to distance her from things she hadn't gotten a chance to complete. On the worst days Cho observed her own memories from a third-person perspective, unable to differentiate from her real feelings and what she'd hoped to achieve in expressing them just that way. It made things difficult when you tried to control yourself so thoroughly; back then, sometimes it'd been as if the things Cho said were not all her own.
Still...
She wanted more than anything to be genuine now, but there weremoments when she wondered if she even knew how. (Or, rather, if she even knew how without Percy -- and that put her breathless in every way possible.)
Take the good with the bad.
"We were right... We were right when we got married. I'm sure everyone will understand one day." Cho nodded firmly to herself; a smile inched its way onto her face, replacing a mirror of Tamarind's almost-apathy. "We were right when we said it wouldn't really change how things were -- how they are -- between us."
...
"And I'm not afraid of that stupid old man, either. I'm not afraid of anything!"
Tamarind appeared to laugh, fluttering his wings; Cho could only shake her head, finally laughing along with him. It was a preposterous statement; even pride could tell. "You're right. What am I saying? He'll make a skin out of me! It's only ever a matter of time. Father and I... We're going to have the row of all rows. The fight of all fights. He'll send Liu Peng for my ring finger in a little green basket. You'll see, I'm a trophy till the end."
And I hear the powdered bones of my redheaded husband make a good antidote for a broken heart.
But no. No, it wouldn't come to that.
Only close.
(Yes, it'd be a little too close, close as skin again -- like everything else in life.)