Monday 1
Characters are not my own. Enjoy!
Luna Lovegood hop-dances around the bright studio. The room provides a variety of comfortable seating arranged in a circular shape – beanbags, armchairs, a hollywood swing, to name a few. Plants frame every corner of the room, and shimmering lights seem to hover around them like otherworldly insects. (They totally are some sort of magical creature.)
Luna deeply breathes in the jasmine incense and smiles at the rich colours of the studio, illuminated by the sun shining through the large windows. She clasps her hands at her heart, then turns around to greet the arriving members of this new group.
As the young, light haired woman steps outside, Baz unnoticedly drops the dry squirrel behind the low wall he is leaning against. Luckily he never gets any blood onto his clothes while feeding, even if a few drops of red would probably pass as another rose on his floral patterned suit. He turns to follow the rest of the group.
“Welcome,” says Luna to the assembled as the pale man in the flowery apparel joins the gathering. “We aren’t complete yet, but you can already follow me inside.”
As they cross the entrance hall, Luna motions to an extensive coat rack and hall stand. “Please leave your weapons here. The room we are about to enter is a place of trust and peace, you won’t need them there.”
Baz lifts his eyebrows. Supposing that his wand doesn’t - strictly speaking - count as a weapon but rather a general tool, he crosses the hall and watches the as others present quite a remarkable collection of weaponry.
A dark haired guy dressed completely in black leather deposits his bow and quiver, after a second of reflection (or maybe due to Luna’s knowing glance in his direction) he also pulls a long knife from his boot and adds it to the collection.
Another puts down an impressive looking sword.
“You’ve got a gun in you pocket,” Luna remarks in her light voice, addressing a tall man in a dark Belstaff coat. “Don’t worry, it will be safe here.” Her tone is kind, but not open to discussion.
“So let’s see who is already here,” Luna announces as the group enter the studio. “You may choose a seat in the meanwhile. Peter Parker?”
No answer.
“Henry Montague?”
No answer either. Luna, however, remains unsettled.
“Oh, they will join us eventually. Alexander Lightwood?”
The guy in leather, who has taken a seat on a mustard coloured cocktail chair, raises his hand.
Luna smiles warmly.
“Sherlock Holmes?”
“Here.” It’s Mr. I-had-a-gun-in-my-very-British-coat, who now sits in the hollywood swing, feet propped up on the seat and arms wrapped around his shins. The posture very much doesn’t go with the fancy dark suit he wears. Luna nods in his direction, studying the list in her hand.
“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?” she asks.
“That’s me.” ‘Me’ being Baz, who has taken seat in a dark green armchair. Yes, partly because the colour matched the colours he wears. Luna nods again.
“Hamlet, Prince of Denmark?”
It’s sword guy, now inspecting his beanbag seat with curiosity.
“And Edward Cullen.”
“Ah yes, I’m right here.” Even though the newcomer clearly wasn’t there a second ago, he is now seated in another cocktail chair in the only shady corner of the studio. He almost looks underdressed in his plain blue shirt and dark jeans, apart from the the group head maybe, who wears lilac dungarees over a burgundy jumper. To Sherlock, it’s certain that Cullen must possess some superhuman powers (as many in this room do), even if Luna contently mumbles something about “flying with the heliopaths” which is clearly nonsense, let alone scientifically proven.
Peter Parker is late in spite of superhuman powers. He arrives after another ten minutes as Luna has just handed out tea.
“Hey guys I’m so sorry I’m late look I was on my way and there was this old lady who lost her way so I helped her find the right street and I kinda lost track of time as she bought be a burrito as thanks, that was really nice of her, anyways I hope I haven’t missed anything, really Miss Lovegood, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine, Peter.” Luna smiles at him. “Have a seat, I’ll fetch you some tea.”
Peter drops into another beanbag.
“So, as we’re nearly complete, I’d like to assure you again that this is a safe space.” Luna says. She is now sat cross-legged upon a cushioned bench, holding her own teacup in her hands. “You are free to share how much, or how little you like. I think we can all agree that what happens in this room stays in this room. Can we?”
“Yes,” states Peter, the rest of the group simply nod.
“Okay. I would say we can all introduce ourselves now and maybe tell the others why we’re here, so we can get to know each other better. I’ll start.
“I’m Luna. In my free time I like to go looking for unknown creatures, but thats not the point of this group. I thought I would create this space to give all of us the opportunity to have some time off from the rest of the world, which can become quite of a humdrum” (Baz exhales loudly.) “But if I do find the Crumple-Horned Snarkack, I might bring some pictures. Who wants to go next?”
Nobody answers.
“It’s okay to be afraid. But you don’t need to worry, No one will judge you,” Luna encourages.
Apparently, several of the assembled seem to have their doubts. (For a reason.)
“Alright ah, I’m Edward Cullen. I’m 17” (Sherlock raises his eyebrows.) “and let’s just say I’ve got – er, family issues”
“We’re glad that you’re here, Edward,” Luna says.
“I’m Hamlet, I’m thirty years this winter. Two months ago, my father died. Has it been two months already? I cannot believe it! My mother, she re-married – with mine uncle! I know not why she has done so, it seems she never felt that sorrow – What hath become of this world?!“
Luna hands him a box of tissues.
“You’re having trouble getting accustomed to this new situation, but you’re still in grief,” she says, nodding. “We’re glad you’re here, Hamlet.”
Hamlet blows his nose.
“Uh, I’m Alec, I’m 22, and well, my sister Izzy and Magnus – that’s my husband” (Baz and Sherlock look up) “they convinced me to find somebody to talk to, not that I had much choice in the matter, so yeah, here I am.”
“We’re glad you’re here, Alec.”
“I’m Sherlock, I’m 35, and I’m here for – er – a case.”
Luna smiles at him in a we-both-know-that’s-not-quite-true way. “Well, we’re glad you’re here, Sherlock.”
“I’m Baz, I’m 20. Heads up, I’m about as good at talking about emotions as Sherlock is, which er, apparently makes my life rather complicated sometimes. Okay, often times.”
“Let’s just see what you feel comfortable with, Baz,” Luna says. “We’re glad you’re here.”
“Well hi, I’m Peter, I’m 17. It’s a bit difficult to describe because my job, strictly speaking - , well it requires secrecy. It’s just that I feel like I really don’t manage life anymore – I really try, but I don’t handle my responsibility well at all, I’m so afraid of screwing up, but I already have. Fucked up everything. Multiple times.” His shoulders drop, and he wraps his arms around his legs.
“What responsibility can you have, kid?” Alec demands sarcastically. “Homework?”
“Alec!” Luna exclaims. “We’re here to support, not to attack!”
“Parker is Spider Man from the Avengers,” Sherlock says in a how-stupid-do-you-have-to-be-to-miss-it tone. “Obviously. Same voice, same physique.You can look him up on YouTube.”
Peter’s jaw drops.
“It’s okay, Peter,” Luna assures him. “What happens in this room stays in this room – we won’t tell on you. We’re glad you’re here.”
Luna goes on to talk about how brave it is from all of them to show up, because acknowledging the struggle really is the most important step in the beginning. She asks if anyone wants to “share” meaning talking about feelings? Past events? Troubling thoughts? Anything, apparently.
No one even moves.
Sherlock looks at Luna astounded that she even tries. “You can’t seriously expect me to” says his expression.
Hamlet’s eyes have taken on a weird glaze, he seems to have gone to a sort of mind palace of his own, a few hundred years away.
Alec draws smileys onto the velvet of his cocktail chair with his index finger.
“That’s okay,” Luna says calmly, smiling again. “It’s quite reasonable, actually. If I was in a room full of strangers, I wouldn’t directly pour my heart out, so I don’t expect anyone else to.”
She goes on to tell the group about one of her expeditions to Sweden with her father in search of that Crumple-Horned Snarkack, whatever that might be. Apparently, this is her example for sharing something enjoyable. She invites the rest of the group to do the same.
Encouraged, Peter talks about how he and his friend Ned built the Millennium Falcon from Lego the other week. “I’m not actually that much of a fan of Star Wars,” he admits, “but it’s fun because Ned gets super excited. Anyways, then I had to go because some guys were robbing a bank from across the street”
“What’s Star Wars,” Alec and Sherlock say.
“Seriously? Where have you spent the last 50 years, on the moon?”
“BAZ!” Luna calls out. “That’s both unfair to Alec and Sherlock and the Grey-belted Grindlers who live there. Support, remember?”
“But honestly, what are those Star Wars?” Hamlet wonders. “Is it a metaphor for combat of major countries? In the moment of my latest inquiries, my kingdom awaited an invasion from Fortinbras of Norway…”
“It’s a movie,” Edward answers, which settles the matter for everyone but Hamlet.
As the end of the session draws near, Luna suggests they do some chanting together. She unpacks a ukulele with daisies painted on it.
“I really have to insist,” she responds to the rolled eyes, crossed arms and raised eyebrows. “This would hardly be a self-support group without a bit of singing. You’ll see, it’s not so bad.”
And she smiles so warmly that none of them dare to protest anymore.
“… Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind / let our hearts like doors, open wide, open wide...”
Baz sways halfheartedly in his armchair, feigning enthusiasm and fake grinning at Sherlock, who scoffs.
“Settle our bones like wood over time, over time / Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine…”
They sing shyly, like schoolboys who are afraid of their puberty vocal change, except from Edward, who fails to pretend otherwise but is perfectly aware that his voice sounds godly, and Peter, who sings loudly and falsely.
Luna enjoys it all the same.
“That was actually pretty okay, even the chanting!” Peter tells Luna cheerfully as the group leave, having collected their armaments. (Alec and Hamlet still rant about each others weapons. “Thy bow is light as feathers, what matter is it made of?” - “Carbon.” - “It is unknown to me. How astounding!”)
“See you next Monday! Don’t ditch, we would miss you!” Luna calls. She turns back to Peter.
“I know it wasn’t,” she asserts confidently. “Probably because we weren't actually chanting. It’s a song called “North” by Sleeping at Last, I didn’t want to completely overwhelm you the first time.”