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____________________________________________________________{Paint me in color...}


So, this was it.
Rosie had finally come home.

Despite having never stepped foot into the room before, Rosalin Fletcher just knew that this was her space, had always been hers. A place where she could be strange, artistic, whatever she wanted to be behind closed doors. But the best part was not the privacy this new environment gave her, but how she didn't have to worry about her magic. This, Rosie thought, was her new beginning, the one she had been asking for, for so very long.

She'd been pretty terrible before coming to Grove, though, and that she wouldn't allow herself to forget. Rosie wasn't above being critical of herself, but it didn't stop her from trying to justify it all. For years, odd things would happen and no one could understand. It was all dismissed, which only Rosie felt was dismissing who she was. From vases shattering spontaneously, to things disappearing and reappearing somewhere else, life had always been eventful. Her parents couldn't relate, and in her father's case, they didn't want to.

Her father had thought she was his flawless, beautiful daughter up until high school when her gift (or curse, as she saw it) began surfacing. Suddenly the magic in the bloodline had been awakened, leaving him believing that all her accomplishments had simply been the results of elaborate tricks or deceit. Magical abilities, he came to believe, were things to be ashamed of. Especially when he couldn't tell the difference between her own skill and something that was beyond her control.

Her mother became the passive one. Any wrong-doing on her father's part was glossed over, or excused with cliche reasons. Rosie wanted to believe that her father really must have been in a perpetual state of either being tired, having a long hard day at work, or under a lot of stress. But eventually it was all too apparent that he was just another ignorant, scared person, afraid of something he didn't even try to understand.

Grove was a place full of people who would listen to her and create a place of safety. Grove was a place of hope, her last chance. Whether she was safe from the real world or herself, she wasn't sure, but it was a new opportunity to find out.

And so began the arduous but absolutely wonderful task of unpacking her life from trunks and suit cases to re-sort it all in this new place. Rosie took out old artwork to hang on the wall, pieces of colored cloth and scarves to throw wherever she pleased. Everything was connected through memory, color, and feeling.

It was hers, and Rosie loved it.



{No more scales of gray for me...}

__________________________Яѳsąℓiη
{This Beat - First Train Home}

BANG!
"SHITE!"
It seemed that wherever Ella went, she disturbed the peace, tripping over her own laces..or doorstops...or pretty much anything that, by pure happenstance, was in front of her feet at the time. It seemed to be an unfortunate part of her life, and it seemed to happen when she was carrying things, like now.

"Ow.." Ella grumbled and let out a sigh as she looked to her bag, its contents spilled across the hallway floor, belching out cds and headphones and other music-related devices onto the polished hardwood. She probably looked a little funny sitting there, dressed in a red and black top, skirt, and red high tops that reached up to her knees. Her headphones had miraculously remained around her neck. The teen sighed, leaning across the floor to gather her things, mumbling about 'stupid wood floors' and 'bad luck faeries everywhere.' She hoped she hadn't caused a ruckus for her anti-social neighbor, who was rarely seen walking around, preferring the sanctity of her own space. Ella could respect that, but she seemed like a girl who needed to get out more.

Ella
looked up, hands pausing over dropping a CD back in her bag. Her eyes traveled up to the girl poking her head out, and she let out a soft, awkward laugh. She felt a bit stupid, but there wasn't much she could change about that now. She turned her eyes back down to her stuff, looking over the 30 Seconds to Mars, Fiona Apple, and Relient K cases, and the large chunky headphones used in recording.

"Yea'...sorry 'bout tha'.." She trailed off, flushing slightly as she stuck a pair of ear-buds into a pocket, her British accent lilting as she spoke.
"I didn' disturb ya, di' I?" She asked, hands still going through the motions of putting things away and straightening them.

"I'm Ellanore, by tha' way. You're..Rosalin, righ'?" She hoped she was guessing correctly, she'd already made a fool of herself enough in front of this girl. Not that that was anything new, Ella was a bit used to tripping over things, but it never made a good first impression on people if you cause a racket outside of their dorm door.

Ella
felt a little smirk twitch at her lips before it hid itself in a smile as she stood. She had dealt with girls like this before, and had a good idea of what to do.
" Oh, don' ya worry 'bout i', luv. We can' all be sprightly thins like myself." She reached out and clasped her hand for a quick shake. She winked at the girl, pulling her hand back and adjusting the bag.
" Ah, so i' is Rosie!" She said, brightening before digging in her bag again.
" Jus' a second, eh?" Ella unearthed a small vial of dirt from her bag, capped tightly, but she pulled the cork out and poured a little bit into her hand. It was filled with seeds, and by concentrating, Ella could focus on just one type and grow that.

The teen let out a soft breath, before fixing her eyes on the little spot of dirt in her palm.
'Grow...grow...grow' Before both of their eyes, a tiny sprout formed, a bright green shoot pushing out of the dirt, growing at a quick pace as if the seasons had been kicked into overdrive. After a few precious seconds, a white rose was sitting in her palm, completely perfect. Light beaded on its surface, making it look like glass, and the stem was devoid of thorns. It looked fragile, but Ella designed it so it would be strong and only needed a bit of water every so often to survive, though it would flourish on the normal amount.
" 'Ere you go..on the house." As if this was completely normal, Ella handed it over with a smile.

A warm
smile found its way onto Ellas mouth as Rosie grinned at her, and the little British girl felt proud of herself; in an act that was elementary to her being, she had made the anti-social kid of the class grin and laugh, all in the same sitting.

Ella had a feeling they would be great friends.
" If I 'ad a bi' mo' dirt', I coulda made you a bush.." She trailed off thoughtfully.
" Tha' was jus' my dirt fo' emergencies, though..not allo' wiv me." She smiled again, watching Rosie look at the white rose Ella had crafted with love and contentment wove into its petals, something Ella had a feeling the girl needed.
" So, if ya don' mind my askin', what were ya up tah before I decided to trip ovah my own feet?" Ella inquired, a joking tone painting her voice. Next step, make this girl warm up a bit.

Ella
flushed softly at Rosalins mention of 'trying to paint.'
" Ah, so I di' disturb ya then." Her luminous blue eyes flicked past the girl and she smiled again. Ella absolutely loved her room, and was a bit surprised at the bright colors. Bits of her personality stuck out here and there, catching her eye and causing Ella to study them before moving on to the next piece.

" You 'ave a lovely room, Rosalin." Ella commented, softly stepping over the doorway after receiving a nod from the girl to make sure it was ok. She looked around, but didn't touch anything out of respect for Rosalin. She gently set her bag on the floor, making sure it didn't disturb anything. The normally clumsy girl took great care in her movements now, to ensure she didn't knock anything special over. That was a surefire way to make a good impression.

Ella
looked up at her question, previously looking over her paintings and smiling.
" I sing an' play piano most'y. My bruva plays drums an' guitar, so we'v go' ar' own lih'el band." Her accent was unintelligible sometimes, but hopefully Rosalin could figure it out.

" You play anythin?" She asked, looking back at Rosie with her hand on the desk, tapping her fingers to the piano she could hear in her head. She'd been playing for awhile, and now the British girl ate, breathed, and slept to piano. She absolutely loved it. It was her thing, just like drums and guitar and cooking had ended up as her brothers.