(1939-04-15) Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May
Details for Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May
Summary: Ulysses uses the Garden as a quiet get away to study and Soleil is on a gathering mission for Rose Petals for a commissioned Beautification Potion.
Date: April 15th 1939
Location: Hogwarts - Gardens

It is a spring night. The weather is cool and clear.

Sculpted box woods and grafted flowering trees border fountains and statuary, benches of a wide variety of shapes and sizes affording a person the opportunity to stop and appreciate the beauty here or a quiet moment from the courtyard. A riot of salvia and geraniums are visible from one angle, maroon begonias alongide tall and bright scarlet bee balm blaze from the southern corner. Black eyes susans, contrast with rising sunflowers, tightly-clustered heads of sunny marigold and goldenrod bob lazily in the breezes that blow from the west. Across from the sunflowers, a profusion of green in the form of hostas and ferns coupled with Canterbury bells and even a few pitcher plants twist in a wilder jungle of more loosely-controlled foliage. Deep blue foxgloves, creeping lobelia and Siberian iris serenely fill the northern corner. Seventh Year Herbology students tend the garden of their own House's colors, those who truly care for their duties obviously taking visible pride in the health of their flowers.

Dinner was well over, and yet the sun was still overhead, enough so that there was light to study by, and simply remove oneself from the rest of the stresses of life and school. Well… life at least, Ulysses hasn't found a way to make homework go away. Indeed, it always seems to grow whenever he does. So… manage it instead he intends, a book in one hand, a bit of parchment set on board on his lap, and a quill ready to write.
He's sitting, dutifully in uniform, focus almost entirely on the book in his hand. He's chosen this spot because it's a known dead end, surrounded on all sides.

Soleil head down, black hair a curtain around most of her face that hangs straight and free under her Slytherin colored winter cap she strolls down the path. One hand plucking in obvious disappointment at a small pile of wilted rose petals. There is a gathering of rose bushes to Ulysses' right, that seems to be where she is headed. It's only when his feet come into view in her tunnel visioned path does she look up. "Using the last remnants of sunlight for all it's worth hmm?"

Company. Excellent. A decidedly annoyed grunt escapes the older boy as he looks up at the interrupting inquiry, a brow raised as he tries to place the girl. Sixth year, Slytherin. No hopeful look in her face which means he hasn't dated her, or made any overtures to. This is a good thing. Of course, any further attempt to feign grumpiness is destroyed when, from under the board in his lap, there comes a soft sneezing sound, followed by a mewl, and the face of a slightly teary-eyed blue point Siamese sticks his head out from between a few folds, curious.
Lys reaches over to scratch the thing between its ears, "I was, yes. Trying to get some study in, in relative peace and quiet."

Soleil is certainly not hopeful. She also seems to be able to completely respect one's privacy and desire for quiet as she nods and only says, "I have some Pepperup Potion. It might help." A gloved finger is pointed towards the cat with a cold and then with a little dry smirk she lifts that same pointed finger up to her mouth where she makes a locking motion another nod of her head, this one somewhat bow like in a good-bye before she steps over his legs to enter the flower bed and start examining the rose bushes behind him for any signs of buds or even blooms.

Shaking his head a bit, Lys actually chuckles, "He's not sick. Not a day has gone by without him sneezing at least once every few hours, or minutes, since we adopted him. It's just… part of who he is. Mister Sniffles." Such an add name foe the cat of someone like him. Then again, since it's almost impossible that she doesn't know his sister, it might make perfect sense.
He looks over at what she does when she passes over him, he frowns, "You playing gardener today, or are you one of the herbology students?"

Soleil remarks, "Both and then some." all the while moving with a fluid grace that doesn't rustle the leaves or crunch the mulch under her mary janes as she continues to scavenge for Rose Petals. Her expression is very schooled, just a pleasant if blank look. The expression does brighten a fraction of a watt when she does lay eyes on a bloom. Very gently she plucks the outermost petals away. Leaving the fresher petals as they are so the rose doesn't lose any beauty. In fact some might say with the outer petals that are a bit tattered and old removed the rose is actually prettier now. But the beauty of the rose doesn't seem to affect Soliel one way or the other. "Maybe he's allergic to you."

"Mayhap… but he seems to tolerate the ailment all the same." The writing continues, as Lys returns his attention, at least partly, to his homework, "He actually was a very sickly cat… runt of his litter, malnourished… the wizarding family who had his parents were unable to take care of the entire litter, we assume, and abandoned it. My sister found him still alive, and brought him home, nursed him to health. Then the little blighter decided I was Daddy."

Soleil isn't so jaded as to not crack a soft smile when Ulysses goes from being grumpy at her presence to gushing about the history of the kitten and its attaching itself to him. "There is a familiar resemblance now that I take a second look." She teases in a complete dry and deadpan way. She folds the front of her robes more tightly around her so that it's used to protect and cover her knees as she selects a spot in the mulch to kneel in so she can get at the lower buds and bloom. "Shall I call you Sniffles Senior?"

The Grunt returns in full force, "I'd rather you didn't. I assure you, he's not mine." The page in his book turns and he looks at it a moment, "I'd honestly prefer Ulysses. And not Selwyn. There are far too many of us around for that to be a useful name anymore." He offers with another bit of chuckle. It seems the grumpiness is just as much a part of his personality as the rest.
"And you're a Parkinson, aren't you? I'm blanking on your first name."

Soleil dryly smirks again, "I had no intention in identifying you by your last name. It's a bit of ridiculous practice. If we were meant to be identified by our last names, ancient wizard and muggles wouldn't have devised the concept of a first and/or middle name. I'm Soleil." She says her name with the proper french intonations. "Otherwise known as Sunny. A pleasure to finally have a proper introductions with you Mr. Ulysses Selwyn." It's pretty evident that even though she's dry wit as always she is teasing him in a friendly (for her) manner by using his full name. "It is peculiar that in a school with a rather small population all considered, that there are castes and cliches enough that in six years of going to the same boarding school, we are only now exchanging names face to face. Don't you agree?"

For a moment, Ulysses tilts his head to the side, "Not really, all things considered. Dependent on what circles you run in, and I don't take you for the dueling or athletics type, it's not uncommon for people not to see me." A grin, "I'm busy enough at studies, along with a family of three others to take care of. However," he shifts the subject quickly, "If nicknames are more your style, Lys will do."

Soleil moistens her lips with a subtle slide of her tongue. She's still smirking and her lips aren't used to smiling (at least for her) this much lately. "That all depends on if you consider Quidditch 'athletics'." She drawls out, "I'm the Slytherin Chaser with the long braid that whips about. If you've ever gone to a Slytherin Game." The smirk almost twitches into a playful smile. "NEWTs are quite involved. I've only taken three and it's quite the load. I can only imagine what it's like for you." She's seen him around enough with books and studies from enough different subjects that she's deduced he's taking more NEWTs than she is. "If you are taking Potions and ever need assistance…I'm familiar with seventh year potions as well." Over-achiever raised up on the branch of the Parkinson Family Tree that's responsible for providing most of St. Mungos' potions. But it's back to more dry playfulness. "I just called you Mister Ulysses Selwyn. What part of that makes you think I posses a more 'nickname style'?" Smirking softly she ducks her head back down to harvest some more petals.

"I don't know… short of beaters I've never really seen most Quidditch folks as much more than broom enthusiasts." And this he gives with a flat smirk of his own. "I don't usually go to the games, no. Not enough time in the day. Like you said, NEWTs… and mine aimed at going into Curse-Breaking, so… But I do occasionally work out with those in the club."
At the mention of potions, he shudders, "Potions NEWTs? Merlin save me if I ever even considered that route. I was quite happy leaving that with the OWLs, no offense intended." And then the name, "You mentioned folks called you Sunny. And no one has ever called me 'Mister Ulysses Selwyn' and mean it with any sort of sincerity who wasn't also a teacher scolding me… so… I think it might be a fair assumption."

Soleil quips back but there is more and more sparkle in her eyes the more they banter. "Assumptions are never fair. Also no offense taken. Potions take a certain sort of person, someone with a stillness. Usually the exact opposite of the adventurous sort it takes to find desecrating tombs and stealing from ancient civilizations as an acceptable career path." She must lower her head to hide her smile and keep up the venom-less barb. To ice the cake she adds, "No offense intend, Mister Ulysses Selwyn."

"None taken, Sunshine." Ulysses shoots right back, unafraid of his own smile. The cat in his laps sneezes again, and back into warm-robed-lap-land. "Ah, yes… a vocation dedicated to the removal of precious skins and wings and other body parts or unwitting creatures all to make noxious potions that supposedly make us feel better. At least Muggles use foul-tasting candies."And since the ancient civilizations just left them around to be found by defenseless Muggles to curse and hurt them… you're right. I should be ashamed. I hear there's Janitorial work over at the Ministry. I could try that."

Soleil lifts one of her gloved fingers up to point at him, "Mister Ulysses Selwyn, you behave or I just might inform Nurse Spleen and the Doctors and Nurses of St. Mungos about your low opinion of them and you will rue the day you trip over some lain about ancient relic and fall down a well and break near every bone in your body that you would prefer some Muggle candy to suck on instead of skelegro." She leans around a rose bush to openly look him up and down. "I believe you would be rather fetching in grey with a mop and bucket. Though it would have been more ironically witty to use Mungo's instead of Ministry." She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. "Shameful."

"Why would I want to work there? They have no candy." He shakes his head, "Truth be told, I was always just rubbish at Potions. Great at taking them, not so much at making them. Some of us are simply destined for tomb desecration. You should try it some time."
"And I'll have you know my best color is red. Always has been. Grey indeed. I'm sorry… there's no way you'll find me in something so terrible as a grey outfit. Mungo's does red, don't they?"

Soleil must press her lips together now to keep her smile in check. "They have plenty of candy, just not the rubbish muggles must have to cure ails. I'm afraid that I think the only bits of red you'll find at Mungos is a couple of the badges for specialties and well…blood." She gives a little apathetic shrug. "Sorry." One more rose is pillaged of it's outer petals before she rolls elegantly up into a stand. She takes a few steps over after brushing her robes clean of any clinging mulch. Stopping next to him she bends over wordlessly to put a rather nice red rose petal on the right side of his opened book and then rightens up. That done she begins to walk away but once she's come to the edge of the path that is the source of his little dead end she turns around to call, "Tomb Desecration, what a horrid first date." Once again she clucks her tongue and shakes her head before she breaks out in a wide rare smile before she spins back around to turn a corner and disappear behind the beginning of a tall hedge.

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