Ding. Dong. Dell.

12 February, 2008 (7:14pm) - 13 March, 2008 (4:39pm)
Link.

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Feet hit the side of the age-old wall in a rhythmic beat that was mimicked by the irritating nursery rhyme that spun around Graffi’s skull. Ding, Dong, Dell…pussy’s in the well. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Graffi could almost imagine the room, deprived of light by his precarious seat in the window, being the depths of a gigantic well. He didn’t much fancy himself being the cat though…he’d always been much more of a dog person.

His momentary glance over his shoulder and put a stop to the steady beating of his heels against the tower wall, so upon finding himself staring out once more on the distant horizon – Graffi resumed his heel-hitting, accentuating it by softly humming the children’s rhyme. Who knew what had brought it into his head, half of the time he wasn’t sure where anything in his head came from…let alone something like this. Shaking his shaggy head in bemusement, Graffi tilted his head and allowed the setting sun to hit his face and warm away the bite of the wind.

He had taken to the clock tower the instant he had been induced into Beauxbatons, and it had been his place of self-amusement and comfort ever since. Perhaps it was being so high up, set apart from all the busy little people scurrying below, or maybe it was the prompting it gave to his imagination – giving further inspiration to his dreams of being able to fly, like the feathers he adored in collecting.

Glancing at his watch, Graffi gave a grim, tight smile and shuffled a little further back on the window ledge – though still not far enough back to be considered safe by any stretch of the imagination. Seconds after his movements, the giant clock bellowed out the time of afternoon – the sound ringing about Graffi’s head and erasing anything gently musing there. Even after it had finished, Graffi’s head still rang with it – the peal of the bell the only thing on his mind and in his ears.

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Aife pushed off the last step to the grand staircase with gusto, her feet hitting the floor with a large splat that resounded throughout the hall. She turned, taking one long hallway, and, counting the doors to the seventeenth one, pulled open the large oak door. It was never locked, not many students bothered to brave the passageways with exams creeping up quickly on their calendars.

But she needed a vent. She needed to scream, and to yell, and to let out some steam, and the bell tower was the perfect place to do just that. The glorious chimes of the bells resonated off those thick, stony walls, covering any other noise occupying the lofty room. She'd all ready used it for one or two venting sessions, an other wouldn't hurt.

She stomped up the stairs, her footsteps coming as loud thuds on the rickety wooden stairs. Her hands trailed the walls, sometimes smacking the cracks, sometimes balling in anger. If you knew her at all, it would be easy to guess the source of her fustration, for her darling cat, Dorian, was an immense crease in her carefully planned days.

"That damn cat... I'm gonna kill 'im, I am!" she cried, her usually carefully formed words taught and lilted with infuriation. "That beasty won't be able to see next time I find 'im!" Her normally porcelain features were coloured red, her calm, flawless features riddled with wrinkly lines as she screwed her face up to begin yet an other admonition. She grumbled, cursing the frisky charteaux to kingdom come.

Her flats flapped at her ankles, irritating the skin there, and she cried out as she stubbed her toe on one step, too eager to ascend the next. She cursed the day, she cursed her cat, and last and most quietly of all, her grandmother who'd insisted she bring the ghastly demon along for companionship. As if she suspected I might need some help... she thought. The words raged through her mind, her anger coming through at full force now.

Aife slammed an open door shut on her way up the thin staircase, passing the likely forgotten doors. She jumped over this step, that she knew would disappear, and that one, that cracked in half and screamed if you stepped too hard. The lamps swinging from the ceiling beams came farther apart, the stairs working their way over a stony ledge and up onto a the solid flooring.

A door stood before her, finally, and she twisted the knob, putting the whole force of her body behind the oaken expanse as it swung into the room. She let it go, reveling as it hit the wall with a crack, the echo significantly louder in the vast room. Her bag flew down as she chucked it to the floor. The door bounced against the wall a few times, and she pulled on it, swinging it shut with a force equal to that which she'd used to open it. She was pleased to feel the frustration fade with each bang. Her temper felt as if it needed... what was it? A punching bag she thought. That was it. A punching bag.

The bells chimed loudly, striking the hour. The magnificent peals carried with them the intimidating beauty of the hosts of Heaven. Aife held her head back, watching the bells swing back and forth behind the massive beams, their golden curves shifting the air, the breeze stirring her hair. She felt for sure they were venting with her, heightening the satisfying feeling of an urgent release. The bells calmed, their music fading slowly.

Suddenly, she heard something behind her. Turning, she observed the boy before her. Immediately, she shoved her ailments to the back of her mind. Her mouth dropped; she didn't know what to say. Had he seen everything? Of course he had. Her inner demons screamed at each other, her embarrassment flooding her cheeks anew. She muttered, trying to calm the excited butterflies that hurriedly occupied her stomach.

"Erm..." she stammered. "I- I am so sorry", she cried. "I didn't know... I mean, I couldn't hear above the noise..." Her hands moved quickly, emphasizing her rushed speech. "I should have checked if anyone was here..." she said apologetically. She crossed her ankles, one bowed toe resting on the cold floor. Her fingers pressed into her temples, she made a desperate attempt to gather her thoughts. "I'm sorry, really. I'll go, I didn't realize anyone was here..." she exclaimed, trying to make obvious the sincerity with which she offered her words. Instead of turning, leaving- which she should have done, she stood still, her legs rooted to the floor, her embarrassment immobilizing any decision making abilities that remained in her mind.

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Moments before the bells had unleashed their vociferous tolling of the hour, Graffi was sure he had heard the door of the clock tower swing, or rather slam in this case, shut. He hadn’t paid much attention to it at that particular moment, allowing himself to be carried through the pealing of bells with his eyes closed. His newly acquired side-long seat in the window would allow him both a view of the inside of the well-like room, and the endless horizon that lay spattered by the rays of the setting sun outside.

As the bells began to settle, Graffi opened his eyes – and flicked a curious glance into the dim interior of the room, the stark contrast in light compared to outside causing him to blink blearily for a few moments. He was surprised to see that in this case, his hearing had been correct and he had been wrong to assume that it was a trick of the imagination. Shaking his head slightly, Graffi watched silently – slightly bemused to see the slim, porcelain-like girl seemingly enraptured by the bells. She seemed completely at home standing there, a smooth camellia pale figurine carved to bring that touch of purity and elegance to an otherwise unremarkable room. She was an attractive, silvery contrast to the golden tones of the heavyweight bell – and a welcome one at that.

Shifting ever so slightly, his entire body tensing in order to remain as quiet as possible – Graffi endeavoured to get a better view of his silent, surprise companion with the exquisitely unique flame coloured hair. It really was alluring, the bell throwing its metallic gleam to dance along the autumnal, glowing shades of her hair. Unfortunately, his attention being so taken with her hair and slight figure – Graffi had forgotten his aim of remaining unnoticed, and with an abrupt intake of breath – he found one foot scrabble helplessly off of the ledge, sending a smattering of small pebbles to the floor and inevitably – alerting the girl’s attention. His half scowl signified his annoyance, but never the less – he would have taken it upon himself to get to know her eventually. It was just a little sooner than perhaps e had anticipated.

A flush hurried to occupy her milky cheeks, contrasting attractively with her hair and provoking an unsure, yet still warm smile of greeting from Graffi. He didn’t need to, or get the chance to expand on his simmering greeting – her apologies coming out too thick and too fast for him to manage sliding something in. So he remained silent, his eyebrow slightly raised and his face forming an expression of amused bewilderment. His gaze followed the liquid-like movement of her hands, expressing how much his presence had in fact affected her. After a moment or too he started to feel bad for being there in the first place, her distress was so obvious. It wasn’t like he’d seen anything embarrassing…or was it? Clearing his throat slightly and hopping down from the window, Graffi smiled a little warily – spreading his hands as one might to calm a highly strung young horse, or deer. Yes, that’s what she reminded him of…a deer.

“Well…I don’t usually have that effect on people.”

He joked lightly, not sure how well she would take to his teasing mannerisms. Holding out a hand in the worl recognised greeting, he smiled hopefully – the dimple in his left cheek just beginning to show.

“Charlton Glashtyn…and please, don’t worry on my behalf. I promise I didn’t see anything…so you’re more than welcome to give me a little company. I’ve been moping on my own too long anyway.”

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Aife groaned inwardly with embarrassment as she watched the boy come forward, his hands spread out, reminding her of herself when she sought to capture Dorian. She wasn't exactly sure how to take his comment- was he arrogant? Or simply teasing. A slight smile appeared across his lips, resigning her to believe the latter.

He held his hand aloft in the space between them, and she moved forward tentatively to return the gesture. His grip was firm, decided. Her own tightened, seeking to match the strength in it, but she was sure she yielded an unequal pump as their hands moved. She withdrew silently and listened as the boy introduced himself.

"Well... I mean, I've all ready disturbed your peace", she responded. Aife watched his face to see if there was any bearing in that statement and, seeing no evidence, looked about the room. She noticed the low sill of the window, and realized where he'd just been sitting. "You were sitting in the sill?" she asked him. Her feet lead her slowly to the window. Her eyes widened as she noted the unobstructed view- no panes, no bar, nothing. Just a sheer drop down the side of the clock tower.

Aife stepped back quickly, her vision becoming blurry as her fear of heights reminded her not to stand too close to any long drops. There was no way anyone would ever catch her sitting in that. She hadn't even thought about the possibility of it being used as a seat on her previous visits to the tower. Usually, she didn't even think about it being there- it was just a window.

Her mind returned to her companion, "Why were you sitting there?" she asked. "I mean- you weren't contemplating anything drastic, were you?" Her gaze wandered to the sill again, before returning to Graffi's face. As he replied to her query, Aife's eyes drifted over his form, taking in everything from the chucks that seemed to be popular amongst most of the students, to his shaggy crown of hair.

He was charming, with his eager smile, and easygoing demeanor. He stood much taller than she, though his stocky frame stunted his appearance considerably. Though he wasn't incredibly tidy in presentation, there was a certain air of careful consideration that hung about him, as if every tuck and fold had been carefully planned as he dressed that morning. Aife smiled as she noted his drawling tone, the soft, lilting inflections soothing her previously bewildered mien.

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Her hand tightened in his ever so slightly, out of sync with her first, tentive movements into their handshake. To Graffi, it allowed a brief insight into someone perhaps a little more spirited than she let on – her own handshake seeking to match his. He was almost tempted to hang onto her hand for a little longer than was proper, if only to gauge her reaction and see the blush flame her cheeks again. He’d found himself to have quite a penchant for a rosy blush.

Unfortunately it was not to be, and she withdrew silently. It appeared that despite her claims of having disturbed his peace, she was more than comfortable to stay - her gaze obviously searching his face for any sign of displeasure or falseness in his words. Graffi didn’t have to take care in his expression, because he genuinely did want her to stay. It was nice to be able to delve into one’s own mind sometimes – but it didn’t do well to get lost in it. The presence of his fame-haired beauty was an all too welcome distraction.

He gave no response as she questioned where he had been sitting, taking it to be more of a rhetorical question – or an exclamation of surprise. It was a precarious seat indeed, but that was partly the reason Graffi loved it. It was true freedom, without peering through bars or glass into a world he couldn’t touch. If he chose to jump, there would be nothing to stop him – and he revelled in that. He watched silently as she made her graceful way toward his much-loved perch – the light from the window casting an almost ethereal glow along her pale jaw line and cheekbones – both notable features that only served to add to the lovely image she portrayed.

After a few seconds of standing close to the window, he was surprised to see her take a few quick steps back – and whether she was aware of it or not, for a few moments her breathing intensified as though she was being chased. Graffi couldn’t see her expression, the backlighting from the world outside giving him only her silhouette to judge by – but he would have sworn she was afraid.

Turning back, the fear that Graffi had been doggedly sure of seemed to have evaporated – her smooth, almost serene expression never having changed. His eyebrows twitched down slightly, a small frown of confusion darkening his eyes momentarily. Brushing the idea away, Graffi shrugged at her question – a teasing smile lifting the corners of his mouth and lighting his eyes once more.

“Well I was contemplating jumping…if you could count that as drastic.”

He paused for slight effect, his eyes giving him away – crinkling minutely in the corner to match the twitch of amusement that threatened his mouth. He noted her observing him, cerulean gaze lightly taking in his form so obviously it couldn’t be ignored. It provoked another roguish grin, but he didn’t comment, choosing instead to continue with their previous line of conversation. It could be saved for later, when the conversation called for a sweet blush and lowered lashes.

“Nah, I’m teasing…I’d only jump if I was sure there would be something to stop me killing myself. I’ve always wanted to fly, that’s ultimate freedom you know? So it’s a good place to help the daydreams have that “reality” edge.”

He cast what might have appeared to be an almost forlorn look toward the sky outside the window, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip in resignation. There were always brooms to fly with, but it wasn’t truly flying. Besides, any hopes of flying a broom had been abruptly cut off by his father, who didn’t approve. Graffi didn’t approve of his father being an alcoholic – but that had never changed anything.

He switched his gaze back to settle on her face, and had the pleasure of seeing the smile that now graced her features – lighting up her complexion and adding stars to her eyes.

“So, now all’s said and done – am I going to be given the pleasure of knowing your name?”

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Aife watched as Charlton turned his head, regarding the window with an almost wistful expression. Her stomach churned at the thought of sitting so close to absolutely nothing. She let him stand, considering his thoughts in silence, until he returned his gaze to her. Her eyes widened as he queried her name; she'd forgotten that part of her manners. She offered her hand and, remembering they'd covered that area, withdrew it sheepishly.

"My name is Aife", she said. "Aife Argent. I'm in Rouerie. You aren't, though. Right?" she asked. She hadn't noticed the boy at school yet, and she was sure she would have had he been induced into her house. She inspected his face, trying to think where might place him. Not Rouerie, she decided. Maybe Cossu... he had the look down. But something in his face made her guess at Sournois. Whether is was the mischievous sparkle in his green eyes, or the vexatious grin that lurked beneath the sculpted lips, his whole impression hinted at the more troublesome of the houses.

"Sournois", Aife said, trying the name out. "I would put you in Sournois." She looked up at him, her hands accompanying her words. "Not that you look haughty or mean or anything. Or, I hope you aren't", she explained. "You just have this air... like you're up to no good." Realizing she might have been a little bold, she stepped down and shut her mouth. A blush threatened to creep yet again into her cheeks, and she took a breath, trying to keep the embarrassing heat from her face. She calmed, and returned her gaze to his, her hands tucked safely behind her back. It was a senescent trick that kept her from rambling, and she'd found herself using it even more when she came to school.

"Sorry", Aife said, "I ramble a lot." She shrugged her shoulders, affirming the irritation held behind her voice. She smiled as he began to speak, relaxing as the soft timbre that rolled off his tongue. She figured she would have to keep up a correspondence with him, just for his voice. The inflections rose and fell with ease, endings lilting here and there. She reminded herself silently to pay attention to the real form of the words, rather than follow their sound, no matter how appealing they were.

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Her forgetfulness was endearing – if a little amusing. He resisted the urge to laugh, not wanting to make her feel anymore ill at ease than she already did. Aife: it was an intriguing name that he hadn’t come across before, unique and unusual, a perfect match with the porcelain beauty that stood before him. He inclined his head slightly, his grin brightening again as he acknowledged her question and agreed.

He shifted slightly under Aife’s renewed interest in his appearance, the corners of his mouth quirking slightly as he again resisted the desire to grin. The intensity in her expression was probably one she didn’t realise, her smooth features darkening as her sapphire gaze attempted to place him in one of Beauxbatons houses. Wrinkling his nose, he too attempted to examine what she might be seeing in his appearance. Before he’d managed to get very far with his own inspections – she cut into his reverie. Graffi was impressed, her assumption being correct first time.

“Correct…I am in Sournois. As for the rest…well, you’ll have to find out for yourself, now – won’t you?”

He smiled, one of pure mischief that personified everything she had just mentioned. He noted she had tucked her hands behind her back, whether to hide them from shaking or to prevent them from wringing the life out of one another he couldn’t be sure – but either way it seemed to calm her nerves, and stop the blush he had been anticipating from creeping onto her lovely features. Feeling slightly disappointed, Graffi took a few steps closer – his stint of standing still leaving him fidgety and with a need to move. So he took to prowling a little closer to Aife, openly inspecting her, his hands deep in his pockets.

“So…what brings you to the furthest reaches of the palace…I was hoping it was me – but judging by the surprised expression on your face, I reckon you didn’t know me to be here.”

Graffi shrugged lightly, his face moving in and out of the shadows as he shifted position. His voice had an underlying hint of humour and his eyes danced merrily – the dimple darkening in his left cheek as he resisted the urge to smile again.

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Aife smiled hesitantly at Charlton's comment. "You would let me find out?" she asked. "Everyone here seems so eager to harbor their secrets." She looked up at him, her gaze skeptical. His grin was typical of the critique she just gave him. He seemed to be teaming with mischief and trouble. She wasn't surprised she was correct in her assumptions- he fit the bill well.

Aife's hands pulled at each other, eager to wring themselves out. She seemed almost fidgety, the anger still boiling beneath it's lid. The boy, Charlton, moved closer to her, his hands buried safely in his pockets. She looked up at him, her head tilting to allow her access to his gaze.

What brings you to the furthest reaches of the palace... I was hoping it was me...

A laugh escaped her lips. Was he flirting? No, he couldn't have been... only teasing, she told herself. Though they were often the same. Aife shrugged, filtering through excuses in her mind. She decided to tell the truth.

"Well, there's this cat..." she began, a grin tracing her lips. "Dorian. He's mine, I guess. He is... erm..." she tried to come up with a good discription. "A nuisance", she said finally. "He's belonged in my family for such a long time... but he takes great pleasure in destroying all calm." Her anger faded a bit as she spoke. "He is the force behind Murphy's Law. If there is anything that could go wrong, he makes sure of it", she said, chuckling. From this distance, his daily musings seemed less threatening.

"I've been here a few times, mostly to let out frustrations", she explained, an unwanted heat creeping into her cheeks. ''It's a good place for that... usually." What if he thought she was a drama queen? Or that she couldn't hold a temper? "I don't usually like to show my angry side to other people..." she claimed, paying extra special attention to her toes. She wondered what it was about the boy that made her so embarrassed... Other than the fact that so few people ever saw her lacking the calm demeanor she was known for.

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He couldn’t help but allow his expression to soften, the doubt and hesitance moulding her exquisite, angular features provoking a softer, less impish smile and a flurry of emotion that he couldn’t place. He liked the openness of her emotions, the vulnerability she didn’t seem to mind revealing and the blush that seemed all too ready to highlight her cheeks seductively.

“Of course I’d let you find out…there’s no point teasing someone with something if you’re not up for giving them a taste. And I’m sure you’d be only too willing to do tit for tat…”

He answered softly; the humour in his voice still merrily twining it’s way through his lilting speech – but with a certain degree of seriousness that hadn’t been there before. Graffi endeavoured to keep most things open, not liking the dark promise that the shadows of secrets brought with them.

The laugh that fell from her lips brought a similar reaction in him, the smile dimpling into broader grin across a face still tanned from a life well spent outdoors. He waited for her reaction to his comment, watching the display of emotions flit across her face. She seemed uncertain, unsure of his motive and whether his remarks lurked in the depths of jest or seriousness. His light flirting, underlining his enquiry had gone unnoticed with her – and Graffi found himself surprisingly disappointed.

The realisation of this amused him slightly, and as she spoke – he allowed himself the luxury of examining her fine, porcelain features again. Aife seemed to be filled with an underlying passion, which had yet to be aired, and on further explanation of her cat Dorian – Graffi observed that it quietened a little beneath her smooth complexion. Never the less, recalling the quandaries her cat had managed to get himself into brought an almost ethereal glow to her camellia-pale skin, illuminating her sapphire eyes and adding animation to everyone of her delicate features. Graffi found himself captivated not only by her conversation and excitable speech – but by the way her face communicated so well with her mood.

He raised his eyebrows, allowing her privy to his knowledge that her cheeks once again were graced by the attractive rose hue which tied in with her colouring so well. It appeared her had caught on her on a bad day – well. It was hardly a bad day for her, but she considered her lack of control over herself as something bad. Graffi felt quite the opposite – feeling rather privileged to have caught her in such a state. He didn’t much go for the blank, pouting facial expressions that some girl’s thought bore well. He liked to be able to see the charisma in someone’s face, to see their spirit. Graffi resisted the urge to laugh, not wanting her to feel any more ill at ease than she apparently already did.

“Ahh, so I’m to blame for your angry side breaking free?”

He teased her, attempting to peer into the down-turned face – the ghost of a smile curving his mouth.

“I have to say, that’s not usually the effect I’d go for. However, I’ll let it go – seeing as I’m in agreement with your views on this place. Tis a good place to let go, I’ve become quite a regular. In fact, I’m disappointed I haven’t seen you sooner. Lucky for you though…you just missed my mad rant. We’re lucky the place is still standing, though I managed to give the old bell a good run for its money.”

His easy manner was an effort at drawing her out of herself again, luring her back into conversation with him. He wasn’t too pleased at the possibility she might scarper.

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Charlton's intense gaze didn't help much as his words passed his lips. Is he serious...? thought Aife. She smiled, unsure how to respond to his teasing. Why did she have to be so horrible at socializing? Was it so hard for fate to bestow upon her that easygoing charm she envied so greedily? His expression was comical, though she noted duly the seriousness beheld in his eyes.

It was no secret to her how he watched her, her movements, her expressions, her quick change in moods. This was one person you probably couldn't hide much from. His face took on a mocking expression, like he was trying not to laugh at her. Aife sighed, realizing that Dorian's antics were most likely hilarious when viewed from afar.

Ahh... so I'm to blame for your angry side breaking free?

Aife paused, wondering how to respond, when he continued. She was glad he agreed with her on the usefulness of the location. "If you are so regular", she said, "I'm surprised I haven't met you sooner." She wondered how Charlton looked in his ravings. It was a toss up between sullen mulling and passionate outbursts. His reference to the room's state led her to believe the latter.

Aife looked around, there wasn't anywhere to sit- she was starting to feel silly just standing in the middle of the room, she needed a base. She settled on seating against the wall, and she walked over, sinking to the floor, her back supported by the cold stone. "You aren't really to blame for my rediculous exertions", she claimed. "It's just Dorian. I should be used to it by now... but every time things seem to be going well- no incredulous mishaps to be seen- he just has to go and mess it up." Her cheeks heated as she thought about the antagonistic feline. He was never happy unless there was an ounce of fustration present in her mood. "I just do not understand why he has to be so mean..." she said aloud, her head shaking. She sighed and, closing her eyes, she tried to dismiss all thoughts of the evil cat. When she opened them again, her head clear, her gaze returned to Charltons.

"So what has caused such a seemingly controlled person such as yourself to become so in need of release?" she asked him. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "You seem like someone who would probably need a lot of build up to become that angry."

Charlton seemed rather easygoing, but also one capable of intense feelings. He had spirit, that was for sure. She smiled as he thought, wondering if she seemed as interesting to him as he was to her. Her legs fell into Indian style, and she settled back, resting against the wall, as she waited for him to respond.

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Having never possessed a cat, let alone one who appeared to be the devil incarnate – Graffi didn’t know quite how to respond, or whether he should be perhaps offering some wise words of wisdom and advice. If it was the latter, Aife should be taking whatever he managed to divulge with a pinch of salt.

For a moment, Graffi chose to remain silent – enjoying the still atmosphere that eagerly rushed to fill the void that their voices left behind, leaching over every available space. Every once in a while he could hear the distant cry of some wind-borne bird – its call almost mocking him in his flightlessness. Sighing wistfully, he allowed the lure of the window to draw his tranquilly pacing steps back. Once there, he didn’t indulge in his regular seat in the window – his earlier suspicions of Aife’s fears returning briefly to dissuade him from favouring the ledge over the floor. Following in Aife’s footsteps, Graffi slid down the wall – content to sit beneath the window like a little boy pressed up against the legs of his favourite grandparent. His silence, and return to his own thoughts had allowed Aife the chance to calm the storm that her deviant cat whipped up within her, and when his gaze returned all too willingly to settle on her delicately made features – she had managed to calm the storm, her gaze clear.

Answering her question had been inevitable, he supposed – and it wasn’t that he begrudged doing it, merely he didn’t know how to begin. His pleasure’s in life to an outsider would seem simplistic, and equally so would his annoyances that brought forth the need for release. However, Graffi was not the simplistic person he portrayed and tried to be. Explaining this to someone would prove difficult, and although Graffi had found something intensely attractive about Aife and her personality, he dithered over beginning. Smiling vaguely and pinching the bridge of his nose, Graffi shrugged as a starter to his response.

“Ah, that’s the problem. I don’t actually know…”

He returned quietly, considering her from his position beneath the window. To tell the honest truth, there wasn’t much that irritated Graffi. He was in love with the world, and all it had to offer. He was unique in his need, and demand to see beauty in everything – hence his instant magnetism to people. He fell in love every day, and despite being overly charitable with this, admittedly some considered his attitude fickle, even to the extent of being a player. This was something that did flare annoyance in Graffi, because he enjoyed making people feel adored, special. It wasn’t that his emotions were fickle, no. It took something extraordinary in every way to keep his attentions.
However, with all light – there must be shadow and Graffi was no exception. His black moods were infrequent, agreed – but when there, twas like the most perfect storm. He knew, like the most canny of wildlife – when the storm was due. Days before he could feel it building, simmering in the tightness of his jaw and the pit of his stomach. His rages were brought on by many things and nothing at all – he could never pinpoint the cause because too many things unconsciously contributed.

“Perhaps I’m too busy with my rose tinted glasses to see the storm until it hits me, and by then – I can only see the colour, and not the content of my upset. Life has too much to offer for me to consider what irritates me. It all comes out together, when it rains, it pours.”

Graffi wrinkled his nose at the explanation – wondering if that made any sense at all. He avoided Aife’s gaze abnormally self-conscious, seeing without looking her bemused confusion. He rarely, if ever discussed the black moments in life – preferring to breeze on by. Aife’s quiet curiosity allowed him the chance to consider his emotions, although he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to.