All In Your Head (TheNerd & Treasure)

Damien waited until she was down the stairs to shove a chair securely in front of the door, wedging it under the knob so it wouldn't turn. Since the door only actually locked on the outside, he'd gotten very good at blocking the door. The windows didn't open, so he didn't even bother glancing at those. Only once he was alone did he uncover his blackboards and start working once more.
 
Celia felt it off her well concealed quirk usage, turning around, heading straight back up the stairs with the glass of water she had swiftly gotten, and doing the unthinkable. She made a strange body gesture, whispering something to herself, which somehow phased some sort of power through the door, knocking off the chair, though it looked like a weak wedging, so inertia and gravity worked together. She then opened the door, expecting him to his at her, still with a smile on her face.
 
Damien jumped, his chalk screeching across the door. He whipped around and scowled at her. "YOU! What did you do? How did you do it?" he demanded.
 
She was calm and collected as ever. "I haven't done anything, sir. I merely brought your drink, the chair could have just fallen. You don't need to be afraid of me, you know," she said, her tone trying to persuade him to relax.
 
Damien glanced at the chair. It had been firmly wedged. No one had ever managed to knock it down so easily before, and here it was on the floor like a plaything. "I am not afraid of you," he snapped coldly, moving in front of his blackboard to block the view. "No more afraid than is rational considering you did the impossible. I want you to get out. I don't know who or what you are, and I want nothing to do with you."
 
She still stood there, her demeanor changing a bit. She was getting tired of trying to make him realize she wasn't dangerous. In fact, everything she did from now on was for him. She hated to be ordered around unfairly, so she decided she'd take the mentally medical route, her way.

"Mr. Damien, sir. I cannot leave. I've been strictly ordered to stay with you, whether you like it or not. I'm not sure how else to put it, but I'm not leaving. Whatever it is you think I am, say it now. I've heard many people's descriptions, whatever you say won't hurt me," she said, her high pitch lowered a bit in emphasis.
 
Damien hesitated, glaring at her. He couldn't say what she was. If he was right, she'd lop off his head, or, worse, make him forget again. If he was wrong, then it was just more insanity being spewed by someone labeled as inconsequential. Either way, he had to get her away from him. He needed to work!

"I think," he said coldly, his mind racing to the worst things possible, "that your voice is the most grating, chipmunk-tortured, hellish thing I have ever heard in my life. I think you are nothing more than an imposter trying to raise her status in this world by playing doctor when really you should be kneeling in the mud scrubbing shoes. I think I would rather fling myself down those stairs and break my own kneck than to put my trust in such a little ingrate such as yourself."
 
Celia gave an unimpressed look to him. "Really? Over my voice? That's all? You don't have anything else to say?," she asked, a deadpan tone in her voice. "Also, I'm not who you think. If you think otherwise, I'm not calling you crazy. A lot of others have thought the same, that there's something wrong with me. I frankly think they need a little optimism."
 
Damien threw his chalk piece at her. Thanks to his rather weak arms, it did not make it far, falling just short of its intended target. Instead, it landed with a rather insulting little "plunk" sound right in the glass of water. He stared at it, shocked for just a moment. He couldn't have made that throw if he was deliberately trying. Then his anger returned.

"I don't care who you are or who you think you are or who you think I think you are!" he snapped. "I want you out. STOP! TALKING!"

Actually, he did find her high-pitched voice very annoying, but that was just the excuse he was latching onto.
 
This was okay, as Celia always had backup for it. She had concealed her quirk in her position beforehand, and he didn't know another risky thing she was about to do, especially for this type of breaking point. She said something as internally and unnoticeably as she could, casting an invisible calming spell upon the whole room, and Damien. This was meant to calm without him knowing, but she had no idea if it would work or not. Drastic times called for much more drastic measures, didn't they?
 
The spell did work... kind of. Damien's mind whirled with sparks and pain all the time, something he tried to hide from the physicians, and especially his mother. A mind as shattered as his did not take easily to such magical spells, but it did soothe him. Only a little, but that little was enough to keep him from actually trying to do something drastically stupid like attempt to bodily shove her out the door and most likely injure only himself. He still glared, but his shoulders were slightly less tense.

"You aren't leaving," he pointed out caustically in a quieter tone. "I told you to leave. You work for my family, and therefore you work for me, and I am ordering you to get your posterior out of my room!"
 
"Even if you did, I choose not to for your better and of your mother's orders," she said, calmly as possible. She looked him in the eyes, with a genuine concern nobody else had showed. "Look, as much as you think I'd rather leave, I can't. I can't leave another one because of a request to leave them to die."
 
Damien snorted and turned his back on the grating little fly hoovering about his bedroom door. "You know nothing." He picked up the old bed sheet and put it over his blackboard. "You think you know everything, and perhaps you do know a lot, maybe even more than me, miss world traveler, but you have no idea about me, and I would thank you to stop making those pitiful eyes in my direction."
 
"Well, would you prefer I treated you like a crazy person? An invalid?" she asked, rhetorically. "Or would you at least like a little freedom around me? It's not like I'll bite or scream or run away."

This was all said as she performed an under the table reading of his past. He shouldn't notice this. She was sensing it all and felt a little more than just pity for him. She walked a little more into the room and shut the door behind her, as attention would be drawn if she kept the door open any longer.
 
Damien snorted, still refusing to look at her. "I could leave if I wanted to, but there is nothing for me out there. This place suits my needs perfectly fine. You hamper any freedom I should want, not help it. How could your presence here possibly give me freedom?"
 
Celia had an earnest look on her face. She was not about to give up, she had a steel clad resolve.

"At least you wouldn't be judged for saying anything that goes on in your mind. I also swear secrecy, it's never, and I mean never shared with anyone else except you," she said, those odd eyes still looking at him with the most genuine concern he's ever gotten.

She was hoping being available would help. Please, just tell me, I want to help you out of this melancholy, she thought.
 
"Uh-huh, I am certain you keep your secrets well," Damien said dryly, not believing a word of what she said. "You say I can tell you anything that goes on inside my head? Very well. What is going on now is that I am thirsty, and you have a water glass filled with chalk water."

He moved away from the boards and opened his wardrobe. Half of the shelves intended for clothing bore books instead. He selected one and sat on his bed, stretching out comfortably. He gave Celia a look deliberately intended to be as condescending as possible. "Well? Hop to it and do your job, woman. I need a drink." He turned his eyes to his book.

He couldn't order her to leave, the stubborn thing. He couldn't convince his mother he didn't need a nurse. He couldn't keep her out. So he would do the one thing he could to get rid of her: be as absolutely boarish as possible and drive her out with sheer arrogance and snobbery.
 
She seemed actually happy about it. Well, only time can tell now whether she'll run.

"Right away, sir," she said, a small smile gracing her lips. She then exited to get a new glass of water, coming back with a fresh glass in a short amount of time. She was punctual, there wasn't any lie about that.
 
Damien glanced at the glass. "Hmm, no, I do not want water," he said. "I desire lemonade, and certainly not in that glass. Make it something a bit more fitting, if you would." He looked away. "And be quick about it this time. Don't dawdle!"
 
Celia nodded obediently and rushed downstairs again, then went straight for the lemons. She always had a certain philosophy: when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. She sort of chuckled to herself as she squeezed the lemons dry and got a good amount of sugar, then mixed it with the water. She didn't really take her time, but she definitely made some pretty good lemonade. She then quickly brought it back up in a fancy chalice, which was a refresher. She was oddly not deterred by the arrogance, instead choosing to meet it with unmatched kindness.
 
Back
Top