into a crisis. [open]

[celeste trista aurelia]

[classy=celtext0][classy=celicon0][/classy]The room was a disaster area. It wouldn't have been surprising if there was some sort of hex placed on the room -- the entire thing looked like it could contain some sort of toxic, bio-hazardous mess that required a full-body bubble charm. Piles of stuff were everywhere; not one inch of space wasn't occupied by random junk. Every possible surface was covered in all typs of stuff, from rolled-up scrolls to star charts, from (empty, overturned) goldfish bowls to a (battered, broken) squeaky toy -- "Oh, there you are, darling!" the professor exclaimed, diving for the little rubber duckie. Her movement caused a whole 'nother pile of goods to topple over, but the woman didn't really care about that at the moment ... despite the fact that her first class of the year started in five minutes, and her students were due at any moment. Whipping out her wand, she murmured a little spell, repairing the mutilated toy. With another wave of her wand, it began to squawk like a real duck. Celeste placed the protesting rubber duckie into the pocket of her robes -- it was to be used later for scaring a few unruly students. ... or maybe just to pass the time with. (She didn't know yet.)

Drawing herself up to her full height, the astronomy professor regarded her classroom with a skeptical eye. Even to her untrained, careless eyes the class needed some cleaning before her students entered and had some nasty accidents. Sighing, the raven-haired woman set to work. Viciously attacking a dangerously teetering pile of punching telescopes and 'lost' homework from last year, she chucked all of the papers out of the window hoping that they wouldn't be found by the students they belonged to and gathered up all of the telescopes she used for a joke-slash-punishment, placing them into an almost overflowing cabinet and hastily slamming the door before everything fell out like a poisonous avalanche (she could only guess what had been fermenting in there for the entire summer). Sighing with relief, Celeste wiped (non-existent) sweat off of her brow. "Whew," she sighed turning back to her room.

It was still a mess.

"Ah, whatever," she groaned, pulling out her wand again. With a swish and flick, almost everything rearranged itself. Books and chairs and logs (?!) floated around the room, each settling into their 'rightful' place in the astronomy professor's room. To some people, it was just a rearrangement of the mess that was her room, but there was a bit more space to walk around. The poor, abused students would just have to find their own seats once class started -- Celeste was almost positive that nobody would sustain serious injuries from an accidental toppling of books onto their person. Tapping her wand on her hip, the professor nodded in satisfaction. Things were acceptable. She could clean up the rest later.

Shoving a stack of muggle toys (for example, a chess set that didn't move on its own and a pack of cards that, amazingly, didn't explode) off of the couch in her classroom into a corner, the woman decided to take a little rest and catch some well-earned snoozes. Cel had done a good job. Five minutes of 'cleaning' were enough to tire anyone out or Celeste was just lazy. Settling into a comfortable position on the elongated couch, Professor Celeste Aurelia fell into a light sleep, the rubber duckie still squished in her pocket (giving a few weak quacks of protest as it got crushed between the couch and Celeste's body).

ooc: open for anyone to join; just be careful not to touch anything, or things might end up crashing down in an avalanche of arceus-knows-what. (or touch stuff and get buried for the luls, I don't really mind.) [/classy][newclass=celtext0]font-size: 10px; width: 350px; text-align: justify[/newclass][newclass=celtext0 b]font-weight: bold; color: #bb4433[/newclass][newclass=celicon0]float: left; margin: 5 8 1 0; border: 3px solid #bb4433;[/newclass]

[sigurd bastien asgaard]

[classy=writesig]he can never bring himself to admit that he needed extra credit for any sort of subject. somehow, he manages to pull through every time, and sigurd being sigurd, once again slips through the jaws of failing his tests. he remembers getting lucky during his o.w.l.s; he would have been barred from continuing in hogwarts had he not passed. he knows he's been lucky a fair few times, and people are standing by the sidelines, waiting, wanting to know when he trips and falls. when that day comes -- he doesn't want to think about it.

clutching his moon phase chart in his hand, the slytherin sighs and clears his throat as he raps lightly on the door to the room. he knows that the professor is in there; professor aurelia rarely stepped outside the tower, but he did hear some rather interesting rumors about her. hearing no sound from the inside, he places his hand on the door and gives it a gentle push -- it opens, but he is not surprised. he wonders, briefly, if the professor is out after all.

professor aurelia? he calls out, unsure. the first thing he sees is the couch, and the lanky body of the professor napping on it. he stops in his tracks. sigurd contemplates placing the charts on the desk and leaving, but at the same time, he can't quite leave it here -- he has in mind a few confusions he needed to clear up. astronomy isn't quite his strong suit, and he knows that she has noticed his struggles in class. linus may have been able to help him with homework, but the tests and exams were all supposed to be done alone. his friend couldn't help him then.

deciding to not disturb the professor's sleep, he sidesteps stacks of paper and homework (he could have sworn one of the names on the papers belonged to a graduated student), and sinks into a chair at the corner of the room, by the window. he notices a pack of cards and raises an eyebrow at it; funny, how life seems to catch everyone in its tracks. it's a pack of muggle cards, non-exploding, completely safe to play with -- but lacking excitement, he thinks.

he opens the pack of cards, and draws from it the quartet of jokers. he knows how to play basic card games on it from his siblings; his stepmother had taught them some games like poker, blackjack and the like. he had watched them play, and picked up whatever skills he could. the skills have unexpectedly come in handy as he waited for his professor, his hands dealing himself and an invisible opponent a hand of poker each. the student glances up from his seat and desk at professor's figure, discerns that she is still asleep, before leaning back in the chair, waiting.

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[celeste trista aurelia]

[classy=celtext0][classy=celicon0][/classy]Contrary to popular belief, Celeste was a light sleeper. The opening of her door only served to rouse her consciousness, but the woman didn't move -- not yet. With any luck, whoever was bothering her would decide that waiting on an unmoving body was boring enough to make them leave and possibly come back later (or not at all, she hoped). To her dismay -- she wanted to sleep in peace, was that too much to ask? -- she heard her name called out (professor, he said; of all people interrupting her, it had to be a student) and the women inwardly frowned. Here's hoping he'd have enough decency to leave her 'sleeping' self alone.

Or not.

The rustle of cards was a clear signal to the woman. Whoever this was, he seemed pretty intent on speaking to her. Celeste, clinging onto the last shreds of hope, continued to 'sleep' and waited for the footsteps that would bring him out of her tower and back to wherever he came from. (Unfortunately, it didn't seem like he was going to leave anytime soon.) "Damn," the woman sighed, her eyes fluttering open. "You're quite patient, aren't you?" She stretched and sat up. It was clear now that sleeping had only been an act. Her eyes fell on the blond boy, and she laughed. "Well, if it isn't little Sigurd Asgaard." Of course. He was one of the few who actually put up with her. (She still didn't know why he kept taking her classes, considering how close he had come to failing. Constantly.)

She surveyed the room -- pity, none of the stacks had fallen on him -- then eyed the deck of cards, vaguely interested. So he knew how to play muggle games? The woman never would have thought. Then she slowly dragged her attention back to Sigurd, and what was obviously a chart in his hand. She rolled her eyes. "Clearly, you are not here to play strip poker with me, are you?" Ugh, it was no fun if students only talked to her about astronomy ... but that was usually the only reason anyone visited her in her tower.

The woman moved to stand up when a relieved squeak came from the pocket of her robes. "Oh!" Celeste fished out the now-slightly-deformed rubber duckie, which quacked at her in indignation. Apparently, being squished wasn't the most pleasant experience in the world. "Forgive me, darling, I completely forgot about you." She rose and walked over to her student, placing the still-quacking toy onto his desk. "Be nice and make friends, okay?" she said to the duck. Quack. Celeste ignored Sigurd for a few moments as she gently patted the toy's yellow head, then went to take the seat in front of him.

Celeste turned around so that she was facing him, then laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her hands. The professor stared at Sigurd for a few moments, unblinking, then sighed again. "So." Down to -- ew -- business. "Why are you here, dear?"

ooc: tagged for sigurd, and another person if they want to join.[/classy]

[sigurd bastien asgaard]

[classy=writesig]he flips the cards one by one, but he finds it too slow, too boring. he leans back in his seat; unaware of the fact that the professor is merely pretending to be asleep, he rearranges the cards into deck form, before setting them out to play a game of solitaire. nothing like a game of cards meant to be played by one per -- sorry i woke you up, professor. he sweeps a hand across the table, gathering the cards up as he went. all fifty-two cards neatly in a deck now, he shuffles them one-handedly while watching celeste saunter over to sit opposite him.

he no longer finds it strange to listen to the way she speaks or her mannerisms when it comes to various things in her tower. if anything, he finds himself the odd one out -- without the other students present, it is rather awkward to consider the idea of a student sitting in the tower, but here he is, waiting for the professor in order to ask her a question. (he knows he can't afford to fail; he's barely making it through her classes, and he's been saved more than once -- it's more chances given than anything else.)

consultations. for some reason, he avoids eye contact with the professor. he isn't too sure of his actions; it certainly feels nothing like shame or embarrassment. he forces his head up, and pulls the astronomy charts across the table. what would he give for them to be playing a game of cards right now, blackjack, baccarat, anything. he unrolls the charts.

they are drawn well for a student, neat and clearly-labelled. however, given his track record at astronomy, it isn't hard for anyone to come to the conclusion that he simply doesn't have an affinity for the subject -- other than drawing the charts. (he fares better at group work than solo assignments.) well, professor. his eyes are back on the charts and lines now, away from her. at this point, he's trying to convince himself it's normal, it's logical to feel intimidated when asking questions which answers are clear as day to even the average bystander, but he can't help -- he can't help being bad at this.

the words are almost at the edges of his lips, but he can't bring himself to say them. you're probably wondering why i've continued taking this subject even after o.w.l.s., and even when i've ... skirted between failing and passing a little too often. he can't; he just can't get to what he wants to say. it's harder than he thinks it is, and it's rather irrational for a rational man.

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[celeste trista aurelia]

[classy=celtext0][classy=celicon0][/classy]Celeste's eyebrow raises in curiosity. "Consultations." She repeats it, the single word. The woman finds it odd -- but still rather amusing -- that he refuses to look at her. Why he does so, she hasn't the foggiest idea, but when he finally looks up and pulls out the charts she makes a face. Work, work, work. Always with the work. With him, of course, it's to be expected. (As she had so eloquently mentioned earlier, he wasn't here for any rounds of strip poker.)

The woman knows what to expect from the pieces of parchment. She has been his teacher for years now, and it's still a small wonder how a boy who is always so close to failing is able to produce such impeccable work. In her years at Hogwarts, living in the Tower, there have been so very few with such ability; to draw so very meticulously yet fail almost every test she hands out. Celeste is silent, instead using her finger to push the charts toward her. To Sigurd's eternal credit, the flaws are few and far-between. (She's still amazed at his skills, as well as his lack thereof.)

She notices that his eyes are no longer on her, and the woman chuckles. "Shy, are we?" she comments. Of course, this boy isn't shy -- she knows that much -- only rather reserved. (She can't help but take jabs at him whenever she can, though. It's a bad habit, but it's not one the woman is willing to kick any time soon.) She expects questions, questions about her homework, her class, the stars. Whatever he needs to somehow learn in order to pass her class and graduate properly. The professor is perfectly willing to answer, too. She actually wants to see him succeed, and knows he has the potential to -- just, y'know, not in her subject. She accepted that he is horrible at astronomy years ago.

To her surprise, he instead asks about her. Celeste laughs. "Is it not because I am a beautiful woman?" she teases, leaning back in her seat. "You simply cannot resist." That, or he is a sucker for punishment; she does not go easy on those in her upper classes. As capricious and carefree as the woman seems, Celeste is not merciful. She regards him with an amused eye. "In all honesty, however ... I do sometimes wonder." Why continue with astronomy at all? Even if he had passed his O.W.L.s in the subject (by virtue of some goddess of luck or something similar), Celeste never expected him to be in her class for the next year.

Celeste leans forward again, looking at Sigurd. He seems hesitant to speak -- Merlin knows why. She is tempted to blatantly ask him why, exactly, he is here, but perhaps going along with him (at least for the moment) isn't such a bad idea. "So, Asgaard," she begins. "You tell me. Why are you still in my class, darling?" She smiles wryly. "Nobody knows your grades better than I, after all." Of course -- she is the one giving him his grade.

ooc: for sigurd! it came out in present tense and I ran with it, so I'm sorry for the change. I'm not very good at it, so if there's anything you have questions on don't hesitate to ask. "orz[/classy]

[sigurd bastien asgaard]

[classy=writesig]shy? by now, he's anything but shy in presence, but she already knows that. he has been her student for all these years, after all -- she most likely knows that this is his last year, and he can't afford anything but a pass in the subject. he thinks she might be waiting for a question, and gets nothing but his beating around the bush. he allows himself a quiet, half-laugh as she cracks what seems to be a joke. she is indeed a beautiful woman, but before he says anything else, he finds himself surprised that she agrees with him.

so she knows, then. of course; he doesn't doubt that a professor knows their students well. he's still in her class, and out of desperation, he steels his pride, hardens his head, just to ask her a few questions that he hasn't a figment of doubt that she would laugh at. (except linus. he never laughs at him, and that's probably why he appreciates the ravenclaw's company more than he does other students.) the question celeste asks has a fairly obvious answer as well, but he doesn't say as much.

instead, he settles for a different excuse -- the professor can't be a legilimens. it's better than other classes that i'll outright get a troll for. it's the truth, however horrible it may be. he remembers what happened during history of magic -- he wrote nothing but random things he noticed in class; ancient runes was a complete mess before he decided to drop the class; arithmancy, he swore to never give it a second look after sitting in one class. the other professors won't accept anything below a decent grade, and so, his choices back then were particularly limited.

the other professors wouldn't take anything below exceeds expectations. some even required an outstanding. he laughs, more at himself then at anyone else. he knows where he stands better than anyone else. i needed more classes. what for? merlin knows he isn't going to be an auror. not a healer either; he doesn't have the qualifications for half the subjects required.

his statement still doesn't answer why he's in professor aurelia's astronomy classes, and as he travels along his line of thought, it becomes painfully apparent to the asgaard.

it ... it might come in handy one day. it's lame, but the ability to draw well isn't a skill everyone has.

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