Attack!!
"Did you see her at dinner?" Myrtle woke to Hornby's none too discreet whispers.
"It was so funny." A gleeful snigger emanated from somewhere beyond Myrtle's curtains.
"She turned bright as a tomato."
"And then everyone practically ran over them when we left dinner, hiding in that nook."
Quickly sitting up, Myrtle threw aside her curtains to glare at a neatly groomed and all too awake Hornby and companion, who smirked back at her and her wild bed head.
"Sleeping beauty has arisen." Turning their noses up in the air the pair left to bother other, probably more deserving, people.
Rolling her eyes, and refusing to care at all, Myrtle slipped out of bed, and performed her rather brief and simple toilet for hr bland looks.
"All they ever do is babble on and on forever, about absolutely nothing." Bakura commented mildly, his eyes riveted over Myrtle's right shoulder; his fork absently stirring at the fruit arrayed on his plate.
"You are the one who told me to ignore them." Myrtle noted, moving her head an imperceptibly to the right to meet his gaze; his eyes now locked on hers, he seemed to relax as he shrugged off her comment. "Are you alright?"
"Yes."
Myrtle blushed slightly under his gaze; it had been a stupid question, and wasted any other opportunities she might have had to ask more constructive questions.
"Sorry about keeping you out so late." Bakura's eyes fell to his plate, and he began to eat with earnest.
That was a nice, convenient change in subject, Myrtle noted; mentally rolling her eyes. "It was nothing." She mumbled, her eyes flitting up the table to focus on anything that was not the male specimen in front of her; he seemed to be hedging around something, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.
Water and soap mixed and lathered as Myrtle washed her hands, and checked her hair subconsciously in the mirror to see if it was looking more horrible then usual; she was going to study with Bakura in the library, and technically she was already late.
"Pryor."
"Hornby?" Myrtle turned slowly to face her unexpected company; subconsciously wiping her damp hands on her skirt.
"I think moaning old four eyes is getting a little too full of herself." Hornby commented to the two or three hangers on behind her.
"Is that so?" Myrtle asked, entirely unimpressed with her enemies little speech; her hand clasped her wand, slowly drawing it out, as she made to move around Hornby.
"I do think so." Hornby took two quick steps forward to break off any of Myrtle's escape routes, and brought up her own wand to push her prey's out of the way. "What with you and your little Bakura dolly hiding out in little nooks and crannies during dinner."
"We were not." A furious blush forcibly covered Myrtle's face, as she fought to keep her voice steady.
"That's painfully obvious; I mean, Bakura obviously must be some sort of eunuch to pass off real girls like Rosemerta, and us, for such a plain, bespectacled midget like yourself." Taking another step forward Hornby loomed over Myrtle, sneering down at her as she pressed her wand into the other girl's cheek.
Myrtle fought back an illogical wave of tears that seemed bound and determined to break past her eyes and gush down her face like some spontaneous waterfall; instead she shoved Hornby very hard, "Get away from me you jealous cow!" She made to sprint out of the bathroom, and tripped over one of the other girls' foot.
"Cow!" Hornby screeched from somewhere above Myrtle head, as weight, approximate to two of the bone thin girls who accompanied the witch, came down on Myrtle's back with surprising force; effectively pinning her for a minute or two as she struggled, and Hornby, presumably, tried to think.
"Locomotor Mortis." Myrtle felt her legs stiffen as the weight lessened and she began to be dragged across the cobblestone floor, and into a bathroom stall, and farther and farther from her wand.
"We'll just lock you up without your little boy toy then." Hornby sneered at Myrtle as she was propped up on a toilet, before the door slammed. "Colloportus."
And that was that; Myrtle sat there, stunned, for several moments, trying to figure out what had just happened, and how, exactly, she now found herself locked in a bathroom stall without a wand, and without the use of her legs.
Myrtle was angry. Tears tried fought to be shed, and that made her even madder; she propped her legs up and slammed them against the cubicle door. She wanted to scream down curses on their heads, but her throat was dry for want of tears and she couldn't force them out; she could only beat on her prison walls.