Everyone being just different sorts of weird is one of the reasons Gemma has felt so at home here at Daybreak since she arrived two years ago, fresh off the plane from London with a suitcase full of black clothing from the wake and funeral for her mother. Those first six months had been difficult, to say the least--as with any school, being the new student is not a hat anyone wants to wear. She thinks that she'd had a particularly rough go of it, but that could have been because she'd been equal parts distraught and relieved to be away from her mourning family, which had made getting a handle on her newly-manifested powers a bit complicated. She still thinks she can't really be held accountable for sending her dorm into a panic because she'd summoned illusionary flames in her sleep, or for turning the garden's cupid statue into a fat satyr in a bowler hat.
Well, the second one had just been for a laugh, actually. But the former had undoubtedly been due to stress, and with less than a week between the two incidents, she's content to blame them both on stress.
As things stand, she's finally beginning to feel as if she fits into her skin, which is something that had eluded her for as long as she can remember. It makes her stride into the dining hall with confidence, flashing a smile at the emotionless golems just because she can. Because winter break is over, it's a new beginning, and Gemma Doyle isn't going to make a mess of anything this semester.
At least, that's what she's telling herself as she looks forward again just in time to collide with a young man whose tray is piled so high with food she thinks, briefly, she may have to scavenge for scraps instead of having a proper meal.
The mountain of food wobbles. Gemma can see the avalanche before it even begins, and she does the only thing she can think of between gasping at the impact and the squeak that escapes her as she foresees the inevitable mess: she throws out an arm, drawing on her magic, and commands the food to "Stop!"
There is about a fifty percent chance that the magic will cooperate and actually stop the food before it falls.
b - let me know if this is ok!
Well, the second one had just been for a laugh, actually. But the former had undoubtedly been due to stress, and with less than a week between the two incidents, she's content to blame them both on stress.
As things stand, she's finally beginning to feel as if she fits into her skin, which is something that had eluded her for as long as she can remember. It makes her stride into the dining hall with confidence, flashing a smile at the emotionless golems just because she can. Because winter break is over, it's a new beginning, and Gemma Doyle isn't going to make a mess of anything this semester.
At least, that's what she's telling herself as she looks forward again just in time to collide with a young man whose tray is piled so high with food she thinks, briefly, she may have to scavenge for scraps instead of having a proper meal.
The mountain of food wobbles. Gemma can see the avalanche before it even begins, and she does the only thing she can think of between gasping at the impact and the squeak that escapes her as she foresees the inevitable mess: she throws out an arm, drawing on her magic, and commands the food to "Stop!"
There is about a fifty percent chance that the magic will cooperate and actually stop the food before it falls.