The odd request (For Mafalda)

[britkneeboo]

A light breeze blew. It danced through Mafalda's hair, causing it to ruffle as it did. The strands twisted and wrapped themselves around each other, dropping some of it back in her face as it carried on its way. She lifted her hand up to push it out of the way, feeling her fingers lock in it. Mafalda hated it when the wind blew from behind. Pulling her hand back, she realized she didn't cared how she looked around Edward anyway. There was no point in fussing over it yet.

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. It was hard to tell if he was being honest, but she didn't feel like she wanted to strangle him anymore so she figured he could be. The way he said it made her feel sorry for asking. If he didn't mean everything he said, she had no reason to mean everything she said, and therefore no reason to pretend she hated him. The sad part of it was that Mafalda thrived on pretending she hated Edward. It was like some sort of rush. It felt good to actually hate somebody without needing a reason.

"I like you too...I guess," she said, trying not to sound to keen on the idea. She didn't say it in a rude way. She just sort of shrugged it off, hoping to keep progressing forward in the conversation instead of giving him time to rub anything in. "I mean, not like like you or anything. I wouldn't date you. Not that you aren't dateable....or that you are....I just wouldn't. I mean," she paused, not sure of how to word it. It wasn't like it mattered at that point. She had already trapped herself up in that one. "You're alright, kid."

[edwardjameson]

She didn't say anything. When was she going to say something? Was she going to say anything at all? Why wasn't she saying anything? She was toying with her hair; it was like something out of a film, and the next step was crying. Oh God, she wasn't going to cry was she? He wouldn't be able to handle a crying girl right now. 'Please don't cry. Please? You can't hear me,' he thought. Edward reached up with a hand and scratched behind one ear, looking horribly nervous. Mafalda wouldn't cry in front of him, that would just make things far too easy for him. She had an image to uphold, right? He hoped so. She still hadn't said anything. Was she going to admit something? What could she possibly have to admit?

"I like you too...I guess." There it was! The great confession, the words thought only capable of being uttered by her to him in cases of love, death, or bribery. Edward could do nothing to prevent himself from cracking a smile even before she went on babbling. It sounded a lot like the kind of thing that went through his head often enough, but got caught up in the mind filter that kept him from spilling his guts without, at the very least, making it sound presentable. But whatever, the girl couldn't exactly take the time to choose her words, she had to seperate herself from the admission of affection as quickly as she could.

"You're alright, kid." Alright? Yes, that about summed him up. Alright...an adjective meaning adequate or satisfactory. Better than okay, another adjective meaning not excellent, but not poor. Woo, three cheers for all the satisfactory teenage boys in the world who kept their moody female counterparts appeased with pronouncements of liking them and admitting that all the mean things they say are lies. Edward smiled wider and shook his head, proud way down on the inside that he had managed to get that kind of remark out of Madalda.

"Good to know you think so. I think you're alright too, grandma," he said, tossing a wink her way. Then he reached out with both arms, looking at her expectantly. "Hug and make up?"

[britkneeboo]

As soon as she saw Edward smile she wanted to take the entire thing back. Maybe she should have just told him she liked him alright, and then left it at that. The stuttering and fumbling over her words was most definitely not the smoothest thing she had ever done. Lucky for her most people would just dismiss it on the fact that she was a Hufflepuff, thus allowing her to get away with something like that. Then again most people were not Edward.

Good to know you think so. I think you're alright too, grandma. Hug and make up?

Mafalda just began shaking her head, indicating a very obvious 'no.' "Nuh uh, I don't think touching is in order," she said, unintentionally taking a step back from him. She put her hands out in front of her, as if he were going to try and take a hug from her by force. She wouldn't hold that much past him. "Besides, hugging isn't how I make up." Great. There was no way he would misinterpret that. She hadn't just given him any reason to use his imagination at all. She suddenly found herself very glad they argued as much as they did, because she just couldn't find the right words to use when they were acting civil. Well, when they were acting civil-ish.

Mafalda stopped, and dropped her hands to her side. If she knew what was good for her she would tell him she needed to go and just leave. It would save her any more trouble trying to speak in coherent sentences without sounding like a complete moron, and it would also save him the trouble of coming up with witty responses to her insignificant chatter. It was the most logical idea she had yet, and somehow she let it slip away.

"If you're going to hug me, just do it, but I'm not going to hug you back Mr. Jameson, oh no." She averted her eyes, looking sort of left of his face. "Just because you were lucky enough to have me ask you to the yule ball, doesn't mean you are lucky enough to suddenly win all my affections."

[edwardjameson]

Edward eyed her curiously, wondering exactly what her way of making up was. Of course sex sprang to mind first, he was a fifteen-year-old boy. He practically took out a chunk of his tongue trying not to laugh, but he was determined. Having finally secured a date to the ball, he wasn't about to throw it away because she had the absence of mind to say something so blatantly sexual sounding. Wait...wouldn't that have made it her fault? Go figure he was the one in danger of getting in trouble when it was entirely her fault.

Then there was the way she looked like she was defending herself from a charging rhino. What'd she think he was going to do, pounce on her? Being neither a cat nor a drunken schoolboy, tackling her to the ground wasn't first on his mind. It was probably third or fourth, behind such things as pumpkin pie and Narcissa's legs. 'Mmm....pumpkin pie...' he thought, attempting to recall the last time he had gorged himself on the delectable culinary delight.

"If you're going to hug me, just do it, but I'm not going to hug you back Mr. Jameson, oh no."

Her voice brought him back to reality, and suddenly he felt like a bit of a goof. His arms were still stuck out and he was certain that his face had blanked out entirely. He sheepishly lowered his arms, but quickly reassumed his previous demeanor. This was no time to drop his guard. He opened his mouth to speak, but she just barely beat him to it. Why wasn't she looking at him...?

"Just because you were lucky enough to have me ask you to the yule ball, doesn't mean you are lucky enough to suddenly win all my affections."

Cracking a smile, Edward shook his head. He knew she was right, of course. Mafalda was far from the least desirable girl around, and they got along well enough when they tried. He had no reason to feel bad about the arrangement and would have been seriously misled if he believed he could do any better. Anybody else he would have wanted to take was either taken or had turned him down (and did so rather harshly, mind you). "Of course, Mafalda. Truly, my gratitude knows no bounds. I only hope in time that I can gain said affections," he said, his smile seeming to hold a hidden sincerity.

"Now, shall we go in? It'll be dark soon..." he trailed off, glancing toward the darkening sky.