Post by caladwen on Dec 12, 2007 3:39:47 GMT -5
The clock chimed the hour loudly, making Tabitha jump slightly. The book that had been resting in her lap slid to the floor with a dull thunk, and she sighed.
It was two in the morning; she still had a long stretch of darkness ahead.
Of course, she might be having the easiest night of them all.
She picked the book up from where it had fallen, secured the blanket around her shoulders, and tried to read on.
She yawned once, twice. The clock's ticking became almost painfully loud in her ear. In vain, she tried to ignore it. All this accomplished, however, was distraction from the words she was trying to embed in her memory.
Only a bit more, Tabitha kept telling herself. By next moon, she should be out there running with them. It was only logical, in her opinion, that she be the last one to get it. Transfiguration was always her worst subject, no matter who taught it or what the subject matter entailed.
She figured it must be something in her brain, something from her Muggle upbringing that hadn't quite clicked. Changing something into something else had always been impossible before the age of eleven. In her mind, somewhere, she still thought it so, therefore she couldn't get something this advanced easily.
It was a bit hard to pretend to be happy for Mercy when she had transformed for the first time. They had all told her the same things: it was just going to take her a bit longer, and if Peter could get it she could too.
She was beginning to doubt that, however.
What frustrated her the most was that it was dancing just beyond her reach. She could feel it, she knew it was there. But she was trapped in some prison of the mind, and she couldn't lean forward. If she could, she knew, she would be able to tap into it, and she will have done it.
The theory of it sprang out at her from the pages. She knew this several times over.
Tabitha groaned in frustration and snapped the book shut, placing it on the table next to her chair. Resting her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her palms and took a few deep breaths.
It all came down to the same thing, after it was all said and done. Always the same problem.
What was her purpose? Everyone else had something that they did, something that they contributed. All of these things came together and made the wheel of the household turn, grindingly slow as it was.
But what did she do? She supposed that she was the reason it was slow and grinding... because any kind of ecosystem relied on every organism within it having a niche, a purpose to fulfill.
She could pretend she was happy, she could pretend that she didn't think she was the problem... but pretending could only get her so far. It was already getting on her nerves, being the only one who couldn't grasp that core that allowed her to shape-shift. Being the only one who couldn't actively do anything...
Day after day, she would tend to the house. Since the other five occupants generally cleaned up after themselves pretty well, there was rarely anything to do in this department. Little bits, here and there... but mostly her days were spent in absolute boredom.
Of course, she could be studying. Studying how to tap into that power... or reading, there was a very large library here. She didn't mind reading all that much, but she didn't want to do it all the time. The studying, on the other hand... she detested it. She knew the theory, she could probably recite all of the books they had on the subject.
Her problem was unique, as far as she could tell. Not that she had told any of the others about it... they all did it with flawless perfection. There was no way they would have had the same problems, not with the way they went about doing it as second nature.
Quite simply, she was a burden to them all.
She would be here in the morning, be the only one that wasn't exhausted from running all night. She would take care of things, for the most part. But she would be the only one, and she was sure they could manage without her. What help could she really be? There would be five people to tend to, five people to help to bed and five people whose wounds (if there were many) would need tending.
She wasn't a healer. She was a reporter.
'Lot of help all that training was,' she thought to herself as she stretched.
She switched to the sofa and rested her head on one of the arms. At least she should try to take a nap, if she had all the tending to look forward to at sunrise.
Tabitha found, however, that her brain wouldn't settle.
Scenarios where she had been particularly unhelpful kept arising... she hadn't realized there were so many of them. She wanted someone, anyone, to tell her that she wasn't completely useless... but she wouldn't ever bring it up, not in the company of others. And besides, everyone was gone now.
Not that she needed their help tonight, after all. There were others that could do with them tonight.
Until she learned someway to overcome this blockage that had arisen, she wouldn't be one of them.
It was two in the morning; she still had a long stretch of darkness ahead.
Of course, she might be having the easiest night of them all.
She picked the book up from where it had fallen, secured the blanket around her shoulders, and tried to read on.
She yawned once, twice. The clock's ticking became almost painfully loud in her ear. In vain, she tried to ignore it. All this accomplished, however, was distraction from the words she was trying to embed in her memory.
Only a bit more, Tabitha kept telling herself. By next moon, she should be out there running with them. It was only logical, in her opinion, that she be the last one to get it. Transfiguration was always her worst subject, no matter who taught it or what the subject matter entailed.
She figured it must be something in her brain, something from her Muggle upbringing that hadn't quite clicked. Changing something into something else had always been impossible before the age of eleven. In her mind, somewhere, she still thought it so, therefore she couldn't get something this advanced easily.
It was a bit hard to pretend to be happy for Mercy when she had transformed for the first time. They had all told her the same things: it was just going to take her a bit longer, and if Peter could get it she could too.
She was beginning to doubt that, however.
What frustrated her the most was that it was dancing just beyond her reach. She could feel it, she knew it was there. But she was trapped in some prison of the mind, and she couldn't lean forward. If she could, she knew, she would be able to tap into it, and she will have done it.
The theory of it sprang out at her from the pages. She knew this several times over.
Tabitha groaned in frustration and snapped the book shut, placing it on the table next to her chair. Resting her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her palms and took a few deep breaths.
It all came down to the same thing, after it was all said and done. Always the same problem.
What was her purpose? Everyone else had something that they did, something that they contributed. All of these things came together and made the wheel of the household turn, grindingly slow as it was.
But what did she do? She supposed that she was the reason it was slow and grinding... because any kind of ecosystem relied on every organism within it having a niche, a purpose to fulfill.
She could pretend she was happy, she could pretend that she didn't think she was the problem... but pretending could only get her so far. It was already getting on her nerves, being the only one who couldn't grasp that core that allowed her to shape-shift. Being the only one who couldn't actively do anything...
Day after day, she would tend to the house. Since the other five occupants generally cleaned up after themselves pretty well, there was rarely anything to do in this department. Little bits, here and there... but mostly her days were spent in absolute boredom.
Of course, she could be studying. Studying how to tap into that power... or reading, there was a very large library here. She didn't mind reading all that much, but she didn't want to do it all the time. The studying, on the other hand... she detested it. She knew the theory, she could probably recite all of the books they had on the subject.
Her problem was unique, as far as she could tell. Not that she had told any of the others about it... they all did it with flawless perfection. There was no way they would have had the same problems, not with the way they went about doing it as second nature.
Quite simply, she was a burden to them all.
She would be here in the morning, be the only one that wasn't exhausted from running all night. She would take care of things, for the most part. But she would be the only one, and she was sure they could manage without her. What help could she really be? There would be five people to tend to, five people to help to bed and five people whose wounds (if there were many) would need tending.
She wasn't a healer. She was a reporter.
'Lot of help all that training was,' she thought to herself as she stretched.
She switched to the sofa and rested her head on one of the arms. At least she should try to take a nap, if she had all the tending to look forward to at sunrise.
Tabitha found, however, that her brain wouldn't settle.
Scenarios where she had been particularly unhelpful kept arising... she hadn't realized there were so many of them. She wanted someone, anyone, to tell her that she wasn't completely useless... but she wouldn't ever bring it up, not in the company of others. And besides, everyone was gone now.
Not that she needed their help tonight, after all. There were others that could do with them tonight.
Until she learned someway to overcome this blockage that had arisen, she wouldn't be one of them.