Disclaimer: SpeaksInRiddles owns nothing. Except Samantha perhaps, seeing how she's a figment of her imagination mirroring what her reactions probably might be.

Fuck. I am freaking out so freaking bad.

Of course I'd been freaking freaking out all along, but just when I freaking think I might be getting freaking slightly less freaked out, I freak out all over again.

Pokerface, where have you gone? I've never needed you this badly. Zen. Inner Calm. Counting to Ten. Breathe slowly now. Or, you know what, just breathe at all. That'd be really, really nice, instead of not doing so. Think Sam. What would Pinky Pie do?

I paused, realizing what exactly I just thought, and face-walled.

I don't even like My Little Pony! It might have a somewhat decent plot-line, but that doesn't take away the fact that they're technicolor ponies with annoyingly high-pitched voices. I'm really not trying to diss it or anything, but I just have very little tolerance when it comes to audio. My surrogate-grandmother still delights in telling me about that one time in kindergarten I beat the snot out of this kid, because he had this high-pitched whiny voice, and I just snapped, yelling something along of the lines of 'Poopy is supposed to get out of the behind not the mouth!', before tackling him and trying to strangle him.

Of course I was admonished for it. To this very day however nobody ever managed to talk about it with a straight face. Even Jack and his parents admit it's pretty damn hilarious in hindsight. Even back then I had been small for my age, The bean as opposed to his beanstalk. I was two. He was three. His voice even became really smexy later on, after puberty had worked it's wonders.

How did I even get to this topic in the first place? Hadn't I been freaking out just moments ago?

Ah... Well... It was a mixed blessing at least. On one hand, my face was tomato-red from having to recall that awkward, awkward time. On the other, my face wasn't tomato-red because my head was about to explode on top of forgetting to breathe.

Taking one last deep breathe, I opened the door and hesitantly stepped out. Moving down the corridor I took a glimpse into my bedroom, the door of which was open. Soggy clothes, check. Used towel, check. Empty room, check.

Konan probably had gone downstairs already. I did take my sweet time after all.

Once again I stood in front of a door.

Once again I couldn't really bring myself to open it.

Feeling decidedly foolish I did so anyway, all the while mentally railing against it. Momentarily I mused that Pottermore should have made me a Gryffindork instead. I still haven't found the part of me that is ambitious and cunning instead. And unfortunately the common sense and survival instinct I did have, have apparently abandoned me.

I stepped inside, eyes most decidedly on the floor.

"Ehr... Hi?", I offered weakly.