Chase my demons away (Open)

Martha ran her fingertips along the shelves, collecting dust and cobwebs. Right now, she didn't mind the cold so much. The dark, and frankly depressing atmosphere down here perfectly reflected her inner feelings at the moment. She wished she could have a glass of wine right about then. At least her grandparents allowed her that privilege sometimes, usually only when important guests were over, but still. Once, she managed to get a serving girl to bring a bottle to her room. She'd gotten so pissed and stumbled down the stairs carrying the bottle by its neck, singing some depressing song she couldn't remember and crying between swigs straight from the bottle. It hadn't even been that good of a vintage, to be honest, but it had served its purpose splendidly.
Her grandparents had been furious, of course. They'd had important guests over. Martha stumbling into the room, piss-ass drunk on two thirds of a bottle of wine, certainly ruined any sophisticated image the Peters had been trying to hold for their guests. They'd fired the serving girl as soon as they'd figured out who it was that had brought Martha the wine and put Martha on lock-down for two weeks. She'd woken up the next morning with a pounding headache and wool in her mouth--both literally and figuratively, as she'd flopped onto bed and bawled into her woolen blanket before falling into a dreamless sleep.
One day, she knew she'd become someone important and she'd shun her grandparents. Completely shut them out. And if she ever had kids, she knew she'd spoil them absolutely rotten. She'd show them that it didn't matter. Money and power were nothing without love. That even the poorest man could be infinitely happy as long as he had someone to love and who loved him.

Oliver's blue eyes were bloodshot beyond reason, he had spent most of the night before trying to figure ouut a way to get around the castle, looking over notes and translating them to English, trying to comunicate with his roommate - some guy named Wilbur who was about to graduate this term. Naturally, Oliver wanted to explore the whole castle. There was so much adventure waiting to be discovered! He wasn't going to sit on his bed when he could be out there getting lost in something great, no matter how tired he was. Putting on a smile, he greeted literally everyone he encountered. Some people were actually very nice, which made Ollie feel more welcome in such a strange school. They wanted to know things about Hogwarts, mostly things to do with the history, things Oliver really didn't know because he'd never paid much attention in History of Magic.

Between his greetings and lack of a map, Oliver found himself strangely uncomfortable. The hallways suddenly appeared darker, colder, gloomier. Durmstrang wasn't a generally happy school, but the place where Oliver now stood was darker than the rest. Walking around, in desperate need of an exist, Oliver hummed to himself a muggle tune. He tried to not be so...muggle-tolerant at Durmstrang, because he's worn a football jersey on his first night at the Folkvang common room and some older students had made fun of him, miserably. He was starting to think Durmstrang had probably been the wrong choice, but the optimist side of him told him to look on the bright side of things. He was doing just fine, really. He kept some muggle treasures to himself, like his music and Batman comic books. He also only talked about Quidditch with his housemates, not football, and he hadn't told them about his love for trees as they would most likely tease him again. Durmstrang certainly wasn't easy on Oliver.

Oliver found a door towards the end of the dungeons - because he'd figured out that's where he must be - and almost instantly ran towards it. That must be the exit! He thought, excited to get out of the gloomy place. However, he was wrong. Upon opening the dokr and walkinbg in like he knew where it would lead him to, Oliver discovered it was merely the entrance to another room. A room even gloomier and crappier than the dungeons themselves. Groaning a little, his eyes settled on the only other human around. A girl. Correction: a very, very pretty girl. His tired eyes suddenly became blue again, and his usual goofy grin spread across his face. He'd seen this girl around, surely, maybe on his first day when the welcoming feast was going on. He wasn't exactly sure where, but he knew he'd seen her. "Hello!" Oliver tried to greet her in his best Norwegian. It was a hard language, really. What comes after hello...? he wondered to himself, trying his best not to look too stupid. "Maybe you can help me find my way? Out of this terrible place, I mean." Dang, his accent was terrible. But, certainly, he'd made his point across. Oliver was good with people. Very good.

Martha jumped nearly a foot in the air when she heard someone shout a greeting. She looked to see a boy about her age grinning. Actually, he looked vaguely familiar...and cute. His accent was a bit off, the way most brits sounded when they tried to speak Norwegian without growing up with it. At last, another English speaking person! Once again donning her most charming southern American accent, she drawled, "Give a girl a heart attack." When he asked how to get out, Martha frowned. This place was fairly new to her as well since she'd only just transferred in time for her fifth year. She shrugged helplessly, "No idea, darlin'. I'm afraid I'm just as new as you are. Pleasure to meet you all the same, the name's Martha-Louise."
She held out her hand, even though they were a fair distance apart. There was a chance he'd be something important in the future given the fact that he decided to transfer to a different school for a term. At least, that's what she assumes he did. It would be beneficial on Martha's part to be as charming as possible until proven otherwise. "You're Norwegian is a bit...off. But, most Brits have difficulty with the vowels so don't be hard on yourself, darlin'. If you ever want help, feel free to ask me," she offered cheerily. The best way to make friends was make them indebted to you, Martha had learned.

Oliver chuckled when she saw the girl jump, because she was so...girly. Girly girls jumped up in the air like that when scared. She must definitely be sixteen like him, or maybe just a few months younger. He kept his grin on his face, because it would have been rude to suddenly let it fall. But, she spoke in such a funny way, and in English! It was like watching a cartoon speak and move as if it were a real person. Oliver loved her accent! "Hey! You're not Norwegian!" Oliver beamed, now much more comfortable with the girl than he was a few seconds ago. "Hope you don't mind me asking, but where are you from?" Was it an American accent? Oliver wasn't sure. Haha, darlin'. Who said it that way? It was adorable! His eyebrows narrowed when she said she was as new as he was. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed. Are you an Exchange student, as well?"

Martha-Louise. "You have a beautiful name, Martha-Louise!" Olive smiled, "I'm Oliver." So generic. Had he not been so enchanted by her accent, he would have not even realized she had her hand held out for him to shake, so walked the distance between them and shook it almost professionally. He rolled his eyes a bit when she mentioned his Norwegian, "I knoooow. I've been trying to learn it, I've gotten myself a dictionary, even!" he admitted, but promised himself to take on the offer if it ever became needed. He stared at her, kind of mindlessly, trying to figure out why she looked so familiar. Maybe she just looked like a cousin or maybe like one of Matthew's friends. That would make some sense. But really, he could have just seen her around and his brain had taken note of her features.

Martha couldn't help grinning at his apparent glee, "Technically I'm half Norwegian on my mother's side, but I'm originally from Kentucky in America. Just transferred in time for my fifth year here." His bubbly nature was rather infectious, and Martha could feel her depression seeping away just a bit.
She blushed at the compliment, "You can shorten it, if you like. I know it can be a mouthful sometimes, Mama hardly called me it unless she was really mad." At this point, she'd take an angry mother over no mother any day so long as she didn't have to spend another second in the company of her grandparents. Based on the way they treated her, she couldn't blame her mother for running out and never going back. "Oliver's a good, simple name. I like it, but do you mind if I call you Ollie?"
She chuckled lightly when he mentioned a dictionary, "Dictionary's only help so much, hon. I've grown up with it, so I can transition easily, but when you're learnin' it more than a decade into your life, it get's a bit harder to master the accent. However, if you ever want to speak English for a bit, feel free to chase me down. Lord knows they look at me funny if I start talkin' this way." It would be nice to have someone to talk in English with. Norwegian was all find and good, but she was still American.

Listening intently to what Martha-Louise was saying, he nodded as she explained how she was really technically Norwegian but not really. That was much more interesting than Ollie's background anyway. He was just plain British. Aha, so she was close to his age! He smiled even bigger, because that meant they would have classes together and could eventually be friends! "That's awesome! I wish I had some interesting lineage in me, but I'm just from London." he shrugged, not really paying much mind to that boring fact about himself. "What's America like? I've never been, sadly." All he knew about America was that In-N-Out burgers were written about in ancient scrolls and football was called soccer - which was stupid - and that everything was bigger in Texas.

Shorten her name? But why would Oliver want that? "Uh, do you go by anytbing else, then? I can call you whatever you want." But, really, Martha-Louise was great as it was. No need for shorter versions. Ah, the mothers and their full-name-calling. Oliver nodded and smiled when she said that, remembering how many times his own mother had called him and Matthew by their full names. Matthew Alexander and Oliver Holden. Nobody needed to know that Oliver's middle name was ridiculous. Only family was allowed. And even then, Matthew always forgot. "Too simple, I think. I think I would name my kids something awesome, like Maximus. Or Ignatius. Or Constance, is it's a girl." No, he really wasn't thinking about kids. He just loved kids in general, and names often had a meaning that Oliver loved to figure out. Those three were some of his favorites so far. "Yeah, lots of people call me Ollie!" Victoria did it all the time, but even though he allowed the thought of her creep into his brain for a mere second, he quickly removed her. No, Victoria was just a friend. No need to think of her more than he had to think about Blake or Aislinn or Jessica.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll most definitely chase you down for some English." He really liked the language, though - Norwegian. It was just a big pain in the behind to learn well. "Do you speak any other languages, or just English and Norwegian?" If she knew any more, he might just tag along with her all the time and learn a few new words. And then, he suddenly had to ask, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but why are you in the wine cellar?" In the middle of their little talks, Oliver had realized they were surrounded by alcoholic beverages and there was no way Ollie would get drunk. Again.

'Just from London'? Martha internally scoffed. The only way that could be boring would be if they were in London. Of course, Martha didn't say that, no need to boost the kid's ego just yet. "America is...diverse. I never left Kentucky, so I don't know much about the other states, but I met a few people from up North. Places like New York and such, and they were rather a lot like I imagine city people to be." Most of them had been wary of any kindness shown to them, sometimes even asking what the catch was. There never was a catch. Not in Martha's po-dunk, little town.
"I go by Martha mostly, or Loo," she didn't mention that her father was the only one who ever called her Loo. Most everyone else called her Martha. Except Nana, of course. Nana called her Martha-Louise all the time. She grinned when he agreed to speak English with her sometimes. His next question had her shaking her head, "No, just English and Norwegian. Mama wanted me to know it just in case, I guess. Said it couldn't hurt to know something other than English."
She looked about with a sigh, "It reflected my mood, at the time. But now, I'm a bit chilled," she chuckled to herself. Somehow this Oliver managed to chase away her demons. If only for a little while.

"I had this neighbor from New York," Oliver began, "And he always said New York was full of everyone but New Yorkers." Ollie didn't mention how the man was a total creep, but he'd always liked the idea of America being full of anything but Americans. It was like America was a nation created to foster everyone who needed a home, and Ollie liked that. The waybshe said city peaople[/color] told him that maybe Kentucky wasn't a city, but a countryside farm or something of the sort. Since he was born and raised in London, Oliver figured he counted as a city person, too. He could relate to the catch part, because his father was always looking for a catch in everything nice, but he himself had never thought about fake kindness, because there wasn't any real reason as to why peope would and should fake being kind. It would be like faking love.

"I like your full name, Martha-Louise." Calling her Loo sounded like he was calling his dog, and he didn't like that. Besides, restrooms. "So, I think I'll stick eith that if you don't mind." he grinned, listening to her admit she only spoke two languages. Oliver loved languages! He knew some Spanish phrases, like [I]Hola, como esta? and Me puede pasar la sal, por favor? Just basic, life-saving phrases. He probably needed a Spanish pen pal, someone from Barcelona or some pretty nice Spanish town. Chilled? Oliver could tell her a pun on that, but decided against it.
"Well, I'm glad you don't feel gloomy anymore, because that's what this whole place radiates. Sad stuff."

Martha chuckled, "One of the visitors said something similar," she commented with a smile. "He was rather surprised by the simplicity of our town, actually. So fascinated by all the space," she widened her eyes for dramatic effect. She huffed a laugh, "Honestly, what did he expect? Skyscrapers?" An unladylike snort escaped. They certainly didn't have anything close to a skyscraper where she was from. City people were a funny sort, to be sure. This one seemed alright, though. To be fair, city folk probably thought country sorts were odd, too.

A bashful smile emerged when he said he'd call her by her full name. To be honest, she'd always liked the way her name sounded, despite the way her grandmother often said it--like it was some kind of dirty rag to be held at a distance. She took in her surroundings with a sad sigh, "Yeah. I haven't been the happiest of people for months. Hard to be cheerful when you're shipped to another country just days after your parent's funeral..." she faded off and shrugged. "Still, it's not so bad. I mean, it's cold as hell, and my grandparents are absolute bastards, and there's no space, and--okay, so it's horrid and I hate it. But, I suppose it could be worse," she added with a half-hearted laugh. She was having a difficult time thinking of how things could possibly be worse, but she was sure there was something. There always was. She could still be absolutely friendless, she supposed with a glance at Oliver. He was a friend of sorts, wasn't he?