The odd request (For Mafalda)

[edwardjameson]

Edward was alone. An odd thing, being alone. The world was surreal, and the vastness of the stands surrouding the quidditch pitch intensified it all. Being alone in a ten by ten room was nothing compared to being alone in the middle of a gargantuan sports arena. But alone was the best way to practice smacking bludgers around; it greatly lowered the chance of breaking somebody's nose with one of the vicious black spheres. As the bludger's sole target, it came back time and time again, only to be reflected with a firm smack from Edward's bat. The quaffle rings were his targets, and he was doing fairly well if he did think so himself.

Since his arms were tiring, Edward figured it was about time for him to quit for the evening. The sky was beginning to redden as the sun made its way across the horizon, and it seemed as though it would be dark before too long. So, after one final hit, Edward dropped his bat, planted his feet, and readied himself. It didn't take long for the bludger to turn itself around and fly straight back at him. Realizing it was heading straight for his skull, the Gryffindor ducked and covered just in time for the malicious bludger to pass overhead. "Bugger," he said to himself as it wheeled around for a second coming.

A sudden crash from the Quidditch changing rooms gave him a start and caused him to look away from the bludger. He only had time enough to deeply regret this reflex as he felt something strike him right between his shoulder blades and send him tumbling to the ground, lungs refusing to cooperate. He quickly rolled over onto his back, still gasping for breath, and caught the bludger as it made another attempt at collapsing his chest cavity. Before he had even taken a breath the air was swept out of him a second time, but he was able to keep a hold on the ball for long enough to catch his breath and work his way over to the chest of quidditch balls. Once the bludger was safely restrained, Edward picked up his bat and gave it a good, solid whack before he slammed the case shut.

With the dangerous ball safely shut away, Edward heaved a sigh of relief and rolled over onto his back, breathing deeply to satisfy his aching chest. He could hear someone approaching, soft footsteps on the grass that heralded company, but he didn't quite have it in him to look around. Though by far not the worst beating he had ever taken, getting the wind knocked out of him had never quite been his favorite feeling; in fact, it fell somewhere between vomiting and being choked. Eyes closed tight, Edward concentrated on breathing and just waited for his mysterious guest to reveal him or herself; whoever they were, they obviously weren't terribly concerned about him.

[britkneeboo]

It wasn't often that Mafalda was heading out to the Quidditch pitch around late afternoon, but this afternoon she was. It wasn't because of a quidditch game, Mafalda hated quidditch games, but another reason brought her. She was looking for a friend. Usually she only met Ludo at the pitch late at night, because they liked to goof off and talk without people butting in, but the meeting she was hoping to make today was an unplanned one. She wanted to find him because she wanted to talk about him and his date to the ball. She had tried to just accept it and leave it alone, but she was having a hard time. It just didn't make sense, but things seldom did to her lately. Things had ended badly, as far as feelings were concerned, when she had talked to Ludovic last. They had ended badly for her at least, because she really chose not to let her feelings be known and so she kept them inside this time. It really wasn't any of her business who is date was, she just wanted to know why. Had he been on drugs when he asked her or did he really think he had no other option? He couldn't really like her.

Mafalda didn't notice anybody flying when she arrived at the pitch and so she had decided to have a look inside the changing rooms. It was possible that he was in there - she had found him there before. This time, though, the room was empty and Mafalda sat down on a bench, letting out a long sigh. She was becoming frustrated at how she couldn't find him whenever she really wanted to talk to him most. Finally deciding to leave, Mafalda let out one more sigh and then stood up. She walked toward the door, cringing at all the clothes lying around. It really was unorganized and looked like it had been torn apart by animals, though teenage boys weren't much different. She hadn't been paying much attention to where she was going while she scanned the room, and ran straight into a giant wooden beam. "Merlins beard!" she yelled, tripping over a pile of dirty laundry and hitting the ground hard. She managed to make quite a lot of noise in the process. Her head was pounding, but she managed to stand back up and get to the door. The Ravenclaw changing rooms were a dangerous place for a Hufflepuff girl.

Prying the door open she peeked out. Still no sign of Ludo, but there was a crumpled figure laying on the ground about twenty-five yards away. She started walking in the direction of the person, wondering if they were hurt, and suddenly realized who it was. He wasn't Ludovic, but Edward was somebody at least. As she approached she noticed his eyes were shut, but at least he was breathing. Coming to a stop beside him she fell down on her knees at his side, and leaned over him. She lowered her face down toward his, wondering why he hadn't opened his eyes yet. Surely he had heard her. By now he should have been able to feel her breath on his cheek. She smiled big and waited for him to look at her. Did he know it was her yet? Probably not - she tried not to laugh.

"Are you okay?" she asked, waiting for an answer. "Not sleeping are you?"

[edwardjameson]

Better be a girl, he thought. There was breath on his face, and while Edward had no issue with that sort thing in general, he'd really rather just open his eyes to a beautiful girl's face above him. A voice finally rang in his ears, and as his eyelids slid open he smiled dumbly. His wish came true; above him was the face of a blonde angel, a smooth face framed in golden locks, haloed by a circle of red from the fading sun. His eyes hurt a bit, and the red light flooding his retinas made it difficult to see the details of the face hovering above him, already mostly obscured by shadow. "Hi," he replied dumbly to her questions, the stupid smile still lingering on his lips. He blinked a few times, trying to focus better.

For a moment he revelled in the feeling of this girl's breath on his cheeks. Her hair hung near his face and he could vaguely smell the pleasant scent that lingered there. He was in love with everything about this girl, the way her voice carried her words into his ears, the scent that drifted to his nose, and the beautiful way the light hugged her skull and let it sink into his eyes; however, her face remained obscured. That moment ended all too soon. Finally, back still stiff from the hits he took, Edward planted his hands and pushed himself up slowly, strong arms remaining reliable when all other parts of his body, even his mind, protested to his activity. Maybe they knew something he didn't.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Edward blinked several times and tried to focus on this girl's face. The smile fell from his face as recognition hit him just about as hard as the bludger had. His darkness shrouded crimson angel was none other than Mafalda Hopkirk, the seventh year Hufflepuff with a penchant for pissing him off and pushing every single button he had and a few he didn't even know he had. What a sodding jip that one turned out to be. "Mafalda," he said in a rather flat tone, meeting her gaze with a somehwat disappointed look on his face. He tried to hide it a little; after all, he wasn't out to make her feel bad. Regardless of the fact that her identity sullied everything, she remained pretty.

"Was that racket you in there? Landed me a nice spine realignment, you did," he stated calmly, twisting his neck to one side until it let out a satisfying crack. He was trying not to sound too antagonizing, but the pain in his back was her fault and he didn't like it one bit. With a sigh he brought his legs up and around to sit cross-legged facing her. His mind was already building up a dislike for her today, so he could only hope that she was in a good enough mood not to made him any more angry. The chances of that were thinner than slim; may as well ask Narcissa to the ball and expect a yes.

[britkneeboo]

Mafalda silently wondered what was taking Edward so long to open his eyes. He was breathing, but that didn't mean he was conscious. Perhaps he'd been knocked out. If that was the case she hoped he didn't have brain damage or anything. It would be awfully hard to argue with somebody that had brain damage. Well, maybe not hard, but not very entertaining and definitely not as steamy. Okay, steamy may have been an odd choice of words for arguing. Steamed would have worked good, but steamy sounded like something out a dirty romance novel, which is why it worked so much better than steamed for the way she was meaning it.

She was just about to speak again when Edward opened his eyes. A huge weight lifted off her chest when she realized he wasn't unconscious. She really was in no position to carry him to the hospital wing. For a moment Mafalda thought that was what she might have to do though, because of the way he was looking at her. She leaned up a little, worried that he might try to kiss her. She hadn't ever seen a boy in absolute love before, except when Regulus talked about Indigo. The way he looked when he said her name was so strange to watch. When the two of them had actually discussed love she had thought it sounded like having a stomach flu, and Edward definitely looked like he was either going to kiss her or yack on her and so she was really wondering what was going on.

As Edward started to sit up Mafalda had to lean back rather quickly to avoid getting knocked in the head. He didn't seem to care much if he injured her in the process. When he spoke her name she immediately knew he wasn't as excited to see her as she had thought he might be. This also was a huge relief though, because it meant that he had suffered no brain damage and was acting like his regular self. "Yea. I tripped," she said, falling back onto her hands, and crossing her legs as he did. "Spine realignment? Well shoot. I'm rather sorry it didn't just break." Everything Edward said to her made her want to retaliate. She couldn't stand how he sometimes talked to her like she was some dumb blonde, not worthy to breath the same air as him. He acted like if he was around her too long he might catch some stupidity. He really irritated her sometimes, but she supposed that she provoked him a lot as well.

[edwardjameson]

The reply that he got didn't surprise him in the least. He had hoped things could remain somewhat civil for a little while, but they never did. Edward and Mafalda shared an odd relationship that centered around fighting and arguments. Even if they did manage to share an opinion on something, one of them would almost certainly disregard their personal beliefs for the sake of disagreement (this was usually Mafalda, of course). For all he knew, her favorite kind of pie was pumpkin pie; she would never say this to him, of course, because pumpkin was his favorite. Were they to argue about how good pumpkin pie was, she would without a doubt say that pumpkin was inferior to all other kinds. An odd example, no doubt, but a perfect one for the demonstrating the nature of the relationship that this odd couple shared.

This really was the defining characteristic of their feelings for each other. It was unfortunate that they only truly liked each other when they hated each other, because it meant they could never really like each other unless they hated each other, and time spent hating someone is no time to like them, but love was about love not like, but he didn't love her, and she didn't love him, because he hated her and she hated him, unless of course hate has nothing to do with love, but since like has something to do with love then hate must too, but none of it really mattered because even if some understanding were reached about any of this then the other would simply disagree in order to avoid agreeing...or something like that. Vicious cycle kind of sitatuion, no real logic behind any of it at all. The biggest mystery about the whole thing was whether or not the two were aware of it...had that blow done something wonky to his head?

"Oh, we've moved on to physical injury then? I suppose attacking my self confidence gets old after a little while," he shot back at her, certain that her comment wasn't meant to be as comical as she made it sound. The thoughts that had filled his mind with happiness and put that stupid grin on his face were long forgotten now, nesting somewhere in the back of his mind where things tended to stay put and rot into obscurity. He still found her very pretty, yes; her beauty couldn't be denied by one such as himself, but she was nothing less than the most intolerable person he had ever met...yet that in itself, for some reason that Merlin himself would struggle to understand, caused thoughts and feelings not unlike those that overtook him as he lay on the ground, unaware of whose breath drew him from his rest, whose scent and voice enraptured him like few had ever before.

Still, Edward thought better of such a hostile retort and, immature as it may have been, stuck his tongue out at the girl. It was a way of ensuring that, just in case he had misinterpreted her remark, what he said wasn't taken too harshly. Naturally, if Mafalda really had intended her comment to be interpreted in a somewhat vicious manner then his childish gesture may do little more than upset her further. Why would she be upset anyway? She probably tripped over things all the time, and she obviously wasn't upset about damn near causing him to become a paraplegic, so there was obviously something bugging her.

[britkneeboo]

Well, nobody could say Edward wasn't good with the comebacks, even if they were a little cold. Mafalda couldn't really say much though. She had only provoked him with her response, and if she had to tell the truth she did it almost intentionally. The girl loved to get a rise out of him. One time they had tried being civil, and even managed to keep it up for awhile, but it freaked her out. The talk seemed so cheap and boring, like they were old friends who had just run into each other and had to converse because it was their obligation. The snide comments and heated discussion was so much more fun and...addicting. She wouldn't dare try fake kindness again, because the boy in front of her was at least worth more than that. She knew her genuine rudeness was a much better way of saying she liked him, and she hoped he felt the same way. If he hated her then she didn't know why he bothered talking to her at all. It wasn't a very good way of getting her to go away.

"Considering there isn't much self confidence to attack, sure," she said, rolling her eyes very visibly at him. "And don't flatter yourself. I didn't go out of my way to fall just so you would hear me and get....whatever you got." Mafalda tilted her a head a little, studying him. She still wasn't sure exactly what happened, and she definitely didn't know how it related to her in any way. "What exactly did you get anyway?"

As soon as she had asked, Mafalda saw the case on the other side of Edward. Now, she suddenly wished she hadn't asked the question, because she had a sneaking suspicion that a bludger had done what he called spinal realignment. She still didn't know how her falling had caused any of this, though.

When Edward's tongue shot out Mafalda replied by sticking her tongue back out at him. Even while he answered her question, she continued to do it. He's sooo immature, she thought, watching him and hoping she got to him by returning the gesture. Obviously she had no idea that copying him was just as childish.

[edwardjameson]

Edward set a fine glare right in her direction as his tongue slipped back into his mouth. Well, clearly she had intended it just as he suspected she had, and his tiny little attempt to loosen the hostility of his own statement heralded mockery on Mafalda's part. Real nice, he thought. Funny, though, she had almost sounded genuinely concerned about what had caused him pain. The girl probably just wanted to know so she could thank it for doing her vile work for her, the saucy minx. It's not like it wasn't obvious anyway, the case had only just ceased its incessent shaking as the bludger finally gave up its futile attempt to escape from its restraints. Maybe she was asking because she wanted to hear him say it, so he'd have to be embarassed about what happened. She would do something like that, he told himself.

"Sounds like somebody's got their knickers in a twist," he shot at her, "send another boy screaming?" Despite the rashness of this statement and how unfiltered it was, its wording was censored. No matter how bad things got, there were certain subjects that both of them knew to avoid, things they just didn't say no matter how angry they got at each other. In this case, Edward specifically left out Ludovic's name, certain that any mention of it would have a much worse effect on Mafalda than he wanted to inflict. Still, what he said was close enough to home that he quickly decided he may be better off not leaving her enough time to put together a reply. So, he answered her question instead.

"If you must know, the noise you made startled me and I took my eyes off of a bludger. Decked me right good, it did," he said, the tone in his voice projecting a good deal of blame on her. He wouldn't have made a point to call her out on it being her fault were it not for the fact that their tempers were already starting to take control of this situation. There was a good chance that there would be mere minutes before it became a shouting match; luckily there was nobody around for a good distance on any side, so at least their yelling would go mostly unnoticed by their fellows.

"Not like you care anyway," Edward added broodingly.

[britkneeboo]

Mafalda waited a few moments after Edward's tongue was out of sight before she finally withdrew her own. She wanted to let it linger just long enough to get her point across, whatever it might be. Currently, the only point it made was that she could hold her tongue out of her mouth longer than he could, which could actually be taken in a way that was not to her advantage. When Edward spoke next Mafalda had to literally bite her tongue to keep from yelling at him. She knew exactly what he had meant by saying it, and she felt like it crossed a line a little bit. She hadn't said anything nearly as cruel. It was a good thing she didn't know about his fascination with Narcissa or else she might have struck back. It was a mystery why she didn't retort. Why was she holding back? It was quite possibly because he had struck a serious chord with her and she didn't know how to defend herself. It was obvious that he didn't mean to offend her as much as he had, because neither of them realized her jealousy when it came to Ludo yet - herself included. It might have also had something to do with the fact that he continued talking, not giving her time to say anything first.

Normally she might have apologized for him getting hurt, even if it was muttered and didn't sound authentic. She really would have been sorry. It wasn't her fault that she caused such a racket, and she didn't feel like it was her fault, but she didn't want him getting hurt because of it. He could have seriously been injured by one of those things if it would have hit him in the right spot. It was probably lucky that he had now pissed her off though, because they wouldn't have to share the awkward moment of her apology.

"You know what?" she said, leaning forward, trying not to glare as much as she really wanted to. "I don't care." Mafalda raised her voice a little, him asking if she sent another boy screaming echoing again in her head. "I care so little that I'm actually mildly disappointed you managed to sit up. You aren't hurt so stop trying to make me feel sorry for you, and for your information I don't care about Ludo anyway!"

Mafalda broke her stare with Edward when she was finished talking, really wishing she hadn't said the last part. He had never said anything about Ludovic, and so bringing it up was dumb, but it just came out. She had no control over what she had said. She silently wished he wouldn't notice, but hoping for that wasn't even worth the effort.

[edwardjameson]

Uh-Oh.

Yeah, now he'd done it. It was all there in her face, the look she gave him that emulated a basilisk's gaze. He struck a chord and the string vibrated, and then broke as the words started coming out of her mouth. It was predictable things would end up this way, though they got there unusually fast. It could probably be attributed to the fact neither were in the best of moods when they met on this particular occasion. Then, of course, there was the fact that the Quidditch pitch was empty, so they didn't need to worry about embarassing themselves in front of anyone. "You know what?"

Oh damn.

She leaned forward. She seemed to be giving him the strongest death glare she could muster; it was lucky she didn't know about his little crush on Narcissa, because he really didn't want to get railed about that right now, not so soon after being rejected by her. "I don't care. I care so little that I'm actually mildly disappointed you managed to sit up. You aren't hurt so stop trying to make me feel sorry for you, and for your information I don't care about Ludo anyway!" Aaaaand...there it was. Ludo had made his way into things. But honestly, that was beyond the point. Feel sorry for him? He didn't need her to feel sorry for him. He didn't need her bloody sympathy, especially not over something as paltry as this. He stood up (sitting is no position for the angry), then told her so.

"I don't need your bloody sympathy!" he barked, quite a bit louder than he wanted, as he climbed to his feet. "I've taken worse than that and I don't need some dumb girl feeling sorry for me!" Maybe dumb was harsh? Harsh kind of lost its meaning when he was like this. Thus far he had avoided mentioning Ludo still, but there was no telling what could happen. "Think I care about your stupid little love life!? I've got enough to worry about without having to deal with all your problems!" He was yelling now.

Too harsh? Maybe.

[britkneeboo]

Yeah, he had definitely done it.

What the hell gave him the right to argue back with what she had said? All her points had been made because he deserved them, and she wasn't about to stand there and let him yell back at her, especially about stuff that was none of his business. It wasn't like anything he ever brought up about her was really his business, but this was far more personal.

"I don't need your bloody sympathy! I've taken worse than that and I don't need some dumb girl feeling sorry for me!" That was close to the last straw. If there was one thing Mafalda wasn't, it was dumb. She made bad choices sometimes, and she was very naive, but dumb was definitely a slap in the face. She had been called worse names that stung less than that. "Think I care about your stupid little love life!? I've got enough to worry about without having to deal with all your problems!" And, there went the final straw. Since when had any of this been about her problems? He had started it with his whining and complaining about his stupid back. It was his problems that caused the argument in the first place - well that and the name Ludo, that was unmentioned. How that worked out she wouldn't have been able to explain, it just had.

Mafalda wasn't about to let him talk down to her and so she decided to stand as well. If he thought he could get the upper-hand by leaving her down there on the ground, he was mistaken. "You're right. My love-life is definitely none of your concern, so don't start trying to meddle in it!" she yelled, angry that it had even gone this far. They fought all the time, but there was a weird tension between them this time. It wasn't a sarcastic argument, like usual, but full-out yelling about things they were both very serious about. She found a ton of different things going through her head. She started to wonder why he had brought up her love-life in the first place, and why he was as defensive as she was about it. She had no idea why he was suddenly so concerned with who she was sending screaming anyway.

She stopped yelling long enough to really notice his own anger. Her eyes moved from his eyes, across his angry face, down his neck, over his chest, and then she began to feel a familiar emotion sweep over her. It was a good emotion - great emotion, and it made her angry at herself for letting her guard down for as long as she had. "And for your information, you never deal with my problems! You're always so wrapped up in your own! At least I have a love-life - you're pathetic!"

[edwardjameson]

She was on her feet now. Edward's height didn't quite match Mafalda's, but looking up at his opponent was nothing new to him. He remained steely as ever, his glare just as powerful. Inside his thick skull, his brain made a point to remind him that this was escalating quickly and showed no signs of stopping; he promptly ignored it.

"You're right. My love life is definitely none of your concern, so don't start trying to meddle in it!

Like always, thoughts ran through his head and a mile a minute. Similar to most people, Edward didn't entirely pay attention to what was being said by the other person in an argument (Mafalda, in this case). No, he was too busy searching his mind for things to yell at her about, related or no, filing them into a temporary place where they would be easily accessible. Because of this, he didn't actually have anything to counter her initial comment (can they be called comments?) with. Instead he just stood glaring at her, huffing and puffing, trying to look scarier to make up for her height advantage. It didn't seem to be working.

"And for your information, you never deal with my problems! You're always so wrapped up in your own! At least I have a love-life - you're pathetic!"

"Pathetic!?" he bellowed, the words hardly even running by his mind before they made it out his mouth. "My love life is doing fine," lie "I'm not the one chasing someone who obviously doesn't want me," lie "and at least I don't have a problem dealing with rejection!" lie.

But even as he spoke, he saw it. It went beyond anger. It was fury, eyes flashing from within their sockets. It was hatred, pouring out from within as the floodgates of her emotions broke. It was vengeance, a need to strike back at him with equal force for what he had said. It was passion, heated passion that flowed from her and became embodied in the red light that surrounded them. It was beautiful.

Few people ever allowed themselves to experience what Edward and Mafalda were sharing. It was almost primal, allowing themselves to be lost in their anger. Their passion was the cornerstone of it all, what fueled them as they carried on, the adrenaline that could keep them going for hours. But it was now, eyes wide, chest heaving, teeth seemingly ready to take out his jugular at any moment, her red-stained golden locks swaying in the gentle breeze, the same breeze that made her skirt sway just so...this was Mafalda at her most beautiful.

[britkneeboo]

As Edward looked up at her, eyes fierce, she couldn't help but feel like she could crush him. Their height difference never seemed to matter much to her except for when they fought. She felt like she always held an advantage over him, being so much taller, but she always figured out quickly that his words got to her in ways that his height never could. She was intimidated by the way he talked about her, not the way he looked standing in front of her. Besides, he wasn't thaaat much shorter. Hell, she could even kiss him if- Ewwwww, what are you thinking?! she thought, mentally slapping herself on the hand. That one had come right out of the blue, and she was almost ashamed to even be thinking it, especially considering the circumstances.

"Pathetic!? My love life is doing fine! I'm not the one chasing someone who obviously doesn't want me, and at least I don't have a problem dealing with rejection!" This time she was finding it hard not to hit him. Right when she thought he couldn't go any further, he went and did it. If this was a game, Edward was winning, but Mafalda refused to go down without a fight. "Ludo doesn't not want me!" she screamed, not holding anything back. The thought that Ludo did want her had never even crossed her mind, and it was in the midst of all their yelling that it dawned on her. She wanted him. It made no sense to her. She had never wanted him before. She had never cared the slightest little bit about him in any way more than that of a friend. She saw him with girls - she even helped hook him up, but the thought of walking in on him naked would have made her want to scratch her eyes out before then. It was like a light had gone off in her head and illuminated the part of her brain that wanted Ludo to tell her he needed more than friendship. All it had taken was Edward to provoke it.

Now she started to get flushed. Her cheeks grew redder with anger, embarrassment, and a mix of passion. She hated that he could make her feel things that she didn't feel with anybody else - it really set her off. It took everything inside of her to keep from slapping him. She wanted to run away, but she knew she had to stand her ground. She was going to let him know how much she hated him. She was going to let him know that she never wanted to speak to him again, and that she hoped he dropped dead. She was going to open her mouth and let him have it.

"Go to the ball with me."

[edwardjameson]

Her cry was shrill to his ears, desperate even. It was as though she was attempting to convince the world, herself included, that it was true. It didn't quite work, Edward wasn't convinced for certain. Mafalda's voice echoed around the patch, and the words "not want me" dominated. He was winning, Mafalda didn't have anything. She was only on defense now, and it was all too easy to rip through that defense. Under normal circumstances he might have had the compassion to stop right there, to show some mercy and just leave it be. Not today, not now, he was far too gone at this point. He wasn't going to stop until she gave up or started crying.

"You're right, he wants you ever so badly. That's why he's running around with that Ravenclaw instead of his beloved Hufflepuff tart, yeah?" he said, his voice quieted now; every ounce of what went into his screams was still present. He was hardly thinking about what came out of his mouth anymore. There was no question that all barriers had long since been shattered; Edward was just lucky that Mafalda didn't know a thing about the girls in his life. Nothing she could use against him anyway. That's when it went away.

It all began to fade. The fury, the hatred...and yet, as blood rushed into her cheeks, bringing to her face a brilliant shade that even the sun could not create, something remained: the passion. It was not as grand, not as beautiful, but was as a flame blowing in the wind, flickering low for only a moment before returning to its full form. Anticipating that she might strike him, Edward prepared himself to take the hit. If she felt the need to hit him, he welcomed it. He wouldn't try to stop it nor would he even consider striking back. It was simply something that she could do that he couldn't, but it didn't matter anymore.

"Go to the ball with me."

His mouth was left half open, a retort dead halfway out his mouth. What did she say? Where did that come from? And...after what he had just said to her? With his eyes focused on her, the beauty that had marked her face prior hadn't yet faded. She was almost serene now, and the sight of her caused the words to just tumble out of his lips.

"I'd like that."

[britkneeboo]

The words that escaped Mafalda's mouth were not intentional. Sure, she had been thinking them, but she hadn't planned on actually sputtering them out. Sputtering wasn't a good word, for she hadn't stumbled over them in the slightest. They came out crisp, clear, and almost eagerly. Too eagerly. She was ready for what he had to offer up. She anticipated it to be extremely cruel, but what he said to her was about as surprising as what she had said to him, and it left her dumb-struck for a moment.

I'd like that. Had she heard him right? She blinked, staring, a few times, and tried to comprehend. It wasn't easy.

"Good," she said, almost commanding him to be happy with the arrangement. Her tone seemed to ask, how lucky was he? He should be honored to be allowed to attend the ball with her. This wasn't really how she felt though, just the impression she wanted to give. She couldn't possibly let him know that she was excited to be going with him - relieved to even have a date after the luck she had been having with boys - in awe that he had said yes. All thoughts of Ludo flew out the window, but one thing remained.

"And, I am not a tart. I don't know why you would say that," she said, getting defensive again, but not mean. She tried to keep her strong composure, but she faltered, and looked from him to the ground. It was weird for her to give up so easily, but she had sort of forfeited when she asked him to the Winter Ball, so it wasn't as big of a deal to go weak now. "Unless....thats really....is that really what you think?" Mafalda looked back up, waiting for an answer. She wanted the truth. She wanted it even if it did start another argument, because she wanted to know what he thought about her. They hadn't ever discussed their opinions of one another. They were always too busy screaming in each others faces. "'Cause, you don't have to go with me if it's just out of pity, you know?"

[edwardjameson]

Edward had no choice but he fight back the smile that was threatening to force its way onto his lips. The look on her face was priceless, followed up by the statement of one word: "Good." It was almost like she would have jumped on him and started beating his face in if he had given her a different answer. Hopefully she wouldn't regret asking him, because it seemed pretty spur of the moment. However, this idea didn't hold up when she started talking again.

He listened quietly, somewhat remorsefully, as she started questioning him. Calling her a tart was a bit out of line...a lot out of line. Suddenly victory in their fight didn't mean anything at all. His gut wrenched within him as the guilt settled in, and he quietly thought of how to answer her. The look on his face was similar to that of a confused deer; he was still trying to let it settle in that he had said yes to the entirely off-the-wall invitation she extended his way. "I..." he started, but trailed off to look at the grass beneath his feet. He wished she hadn't added that last little bit.

"Sorry...Mafalda, I don't think you're a tart," he said, scratching his head as he kept his eyes locked firmly on the ground. He was afraid to look up, worried that there might be a hurt look on her face. "It's not pity...I like you...you're my friend. I'm sorry we fight so much, but I don't mean everything I say," he said weakly, finally lifting his head to look at her again. The anger was beginning to disintegrate, and an encouraging smile spread on his lips for her.

Seeing her like this...the girl he didn't know came back. The girl whose beauty and charms he allowed himself, just for a short time, to be lost in. The angel that he never met, and disappeared the moment that Mafalda appeared. He didn't need to experience, but in this moment she was sweet and loving, the girl who Aphrodite herself could envy and the reason that the sun god Apollo brought the sun back each day.