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sweetpinkpixie · 04-24-2026, 07:01 AM

Calliope's expression barely shifted at the question — but there it was, if you knew where to look. A flicker somewhere between of course and …right. Not everyone grew up with the flavor of privilege she had. And, trailing just behind that, the faintest brush of secondhand embarrassment — not for fame itself, but for the particular brand of it given the current location.

Her weight shifted onto one hip, shoulder still braced lazily against the shelving as her gaze drifted toward the men's section. Rows of bottles gleamed back at her, all sharp lines and overdesigned labels.

And right in the center —

Her lips pressed together for half a second before she tipped her chin in that direction.

"See that?" She didn’t look at the other girl immediately, giving her just enough time to follow the line of sight and the picture of a man's face printed on the label. "That's my dad."

Her tone was flat, almost bored, as if she hadn't just pointed out the sort of thing people usually led with.

"Nigel Barrington. Bassist for The Dead Kneazles." She shrugged lightly. "He's won Best Hair in Witch Weekly enough times that it stopped being impressive and started being… policy." Her fingers idly traced the edge of a nearby bottle, straightening it by a fraction of an inch that didn't actually matter... but she fixed it anyway. "So, yeah. Hair care wasn’t optional growing up. It was scheduled and a part of nightly bonding."

Calliope looked up again and jabbed her thumb just right of where they stood.

"And my mum is Gaia Barrington." This time, her eyes shifted toward a more polished display consisting of sleeker bottles and subtler branding. She pushed herself off the shelf just enough to gesture faintly in that direction. "She's done campaigns for Ellsberry, Inc. Still does. Sooooooo skincare. Makeup. All of it…" She offered a small, dismissive motion of her hand. "Same as brushing your teeth. Washing your hands. All routine."

There was no pride in her voice, but there was no complaint either ― just ... inevitability. The kind that came from being raised inside other people's enthusiasm, polished and repeated until it stopped feeling optional and started feeling like gravity. Calliope lifted a hand, absently threading her fingers through the length of her hair, the strands slipping smooth and obedient between them. She caught her reflection in the edge of a mirrored display then and tilted her chin a fraction. Her skin held its usual clarity, untouched by the windburn and roughness she'd seen on most Quidditch players.

"So... no memo,” she added, dropping her hand and looking back at the younger girl. "Just a very persistent environment."

04-24-2026, 07:01 AM	#55 (permalink)
sweetpinkpixie SSRPG Admin Gladrags Mod Quibbler Mod Minister for Magic Alley Proprietor Sea Serpent Join Date: Aug 2010 Location: The Paths Posts: 41,436 Hogwarts RPG Name: Professor Cox Ravenclaw Graduated Hogwarts RPG Name: CJ Miller Gryffindor Third Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Nyle Harden Hufflepuff Sixth Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Iris Harden Ravenclaw Sixth Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Calliope Barrington Slytherin Fifth Year Ministry Department Head: Charles Hollingberry Minister's Office Ministry Department Head: Airey Flamsteed Mysteries Diagon Alley Proprietor: Victor García Massey Ollivanders x12 x12	astronomizzle ♧ gryffinDORK \| & the rest is drag ♣ #badluckDerf Calliope's expression barely shifted at the question — but there it was, if you knew where to look. A flicker somewhere between of course and …right. Not everyone grew up with the flavor of privilege she had. And, trailing just behind that, the faintest brush of secondhand embarrassment — not for fame itself, but for the particular brand of it given the current location. Her weight shifted onto one hip, shoulder still braced lazily against the shelving as her gaze drifted toward the men's section. Rows of bottles gleamed back at her, all sharp lines and overdesigned labels. And right in the center — Her lips pressed together for half a second before she tipped her chin in that direction. "See that?" She didn’t look at the other girl immediately, giving her just enough time to follow the line of sight and the picture of a man's face printed on the label. "That's my dad." Her tone was flat, almost bored, as if she hadn't just pointed out the sort of thing people usually led with. "Nigel Barrington. Bassist for The Dead Kneazles." She shrugged lightly. "He's won Best Hair in Witch Weekly enough times that it stopped being impressive and started being… policy." Her fingers idly traced the edge of a nearby bottle, straightening it by a fraction of an inch that didn't actually matter... but she fixed it anyway. "So, yeah. Hair care wasn’t optional growing up. It was scheduled and a part of nightly bonding." Calliope looked up again and jabbed her thumb just right of where they stood. "And my mum is Gaia Barrington." This time, her eyes shifted toward a more polished display consisting of sleeker bottles and subtler branding. She pushed herself off the shelf just enough to gesture faintly in that direction. "*She's done campaigns for Ellsberry, Inc. Still does. Sooooooo* skincare. Makeup. All of it…" She offered a small, dismissive motion of her hand. "Same as brushing your teeth. Washing your hands. All routine." There was no pride in her voice, but there was no complaint either ― just ... inevitability. The kind that came from being raised inside other people's enthusiasm, polished and repeated until it stopped feeling optional and started feeling like gravity. Calliope lifted a hand, absently threading her fingers through the length of her hair, the strands slipping smooth and obedient between them. She caught her reflection in the edge of a mirrored display then and tilted her chin a fraction. Her skin held its usual clarity, untouched by the windburn and roughness she'd seen on most Quidditch players. "So... no memo,” she added, dropping her hand and looking back at the younger girl. "Just a very persistent environment.**" __________________ We broke into a million pieces, and we can't go back......................................... But now we're seeing all the beauty in the broken glass..................................... The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like