buriedunderbones-blog

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INTP // THE LOGICIAN 

wisdom begins in wonder 

- s t r e n g t h s -

Great Analysts and Abstract Thinkers – People with the Logician personality type view the world as a big, complex machine, and recognize that as with any machine, all parts are interrelated. Logicians excel in analyzing these connections, seeing how seemingly unrelated factors tie in with each other in ways that bewilder most other personality types.

Imaginative and Original – These connections are the product of an unrelenting imagination – Logicians’ ideas may seem counter-intuitive at a glance, and may never even see the light of day, but they will always prove remarkable innovations.

Open-Minded – Logicians couldn’t make these connections if they thought they knew it all – they are highly receptive to alternate theories, so long as they’re supported by logic and facts. In more subjective matters like social norms and traditions, Logicians are usually fairly liberal, with a “none of my business” sort of attitude – peoples’ ideas are what matter.

Enthusiastic – When a new idea piques their interest, Logicians can be very enthusiastic – they are a reserved personality type, but if another person shares an interest, they can be downright excited about discussing it. More likely though, the only outward evidence of this enthusiasm will be Logicians’ silent pacing or their staring into the distance.

Objective – Logicians’ analysis, creativity and open-mindedness aren’t the tools of some quest for ideology or emotional validation. Rather, it’s as though people with the Logician personality type are a conduit for the truths around them, so far as they can be expressed, and they are proud of this role as theoretical mediator.

Honest and Straightforward – To know one thing and say another would be terribly disingenuous – Logicians don’t often go around intentionally hurting feelings, but they believe that the truth is the most important factor, and they expect that to be appreciated and reciprocated.

- w e a k n e s s e s -

Very Private and Withdrawn – While Logicians’ intellectualism yields many insights into their surroundings, their surroundings are ironically considered an intrusion on their thoughts. This is especially true with people – Logicians are quite shy in social settings. More complicated situations such as parties exacerbate this, but even close friends struggle to get into Logicians’ hearts and minds.

Insensitive – Oftentimes Logician personalities get so caught up in their logic that they forget any kind of emotional consideration – they dismiss subjectivity as irrational and tradition as an attempt to bar much-needed progress. Purely emotional situations are often utterly puzzling to Logicians, and their lack of timely sympathy can easily offend.

Absent-minded – When Logicians’ interest is captured, their absence goes beyond social matters to include the rest of the physical world. Logicians become forgetful, missing even the obvious if it’s unrelated to their current infatuation, and they can even forget their own health, skipping meals and sleep as they muse.

Condescending – Attempts at connecting with others are often worse than Logicians’ withdrawal. People with the Logician personality type take pride in their knowledge and rationale, and enjoy sharing their ideas, but in trying to explain how they got from A to B to Z, they can get frustrated, sometimes simplifying things to the point of insult as they struggle to gauge their conversation partners’ perspective. The ultimate insult comes as Logicians give up with a dismissive “never mind”.

Loathe Rules and Guidelines – These social struggles are partly a product of Logicians’ desire to bypass the rules, of social conduct and otherwise. While this attitude helps Logicians’ strength of unconventional creativity, it also causes them to reinvent the wheel constantly and to shun security in favor of autonomy in ways that can compromise both.

Second-Guess Themselves – Logicians remain so open to new information that they often never commit to a decision at all. This applies to their own skills as well – Logician personalities know that as they practice, they improve, and any work they do is second-best to what they could do. Unable to settle for this, Logicians sometimes delay their output indefinitely with constant revisions, sometimes even quitting before they ever begin.

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florence-wilson‌:

buriedunderbones‌:

The Order Castle August 3rd  @florence-wilson

Florence had been given a task. The young woman – Amelia Bones – had been recovered after being kidnapped by the Death Eaters. She had been through unspeakable horrors. Torture, even. And now that she had physically recovered from the scars and damage that were inflicted upon her, it was up to Florence (and a few others) to use the girl’s anger to Aversio’s advantage. Amelia’s fury was understandable. Warranted. But if it wasn’t harnessed, it could dissipate quickly and turn into a paralyzed sense of fear, guilt, and regret. Florence could only imagine the pain that the woman felt. She felt guilty, using the woman’s trauma to propel her own cause. But it was necessary. Necessary, because if they didn’t act now, all of that suffering would be for nothing. There would be no use for the woman’s pain, and all Amelia and Aversio would be left with was lost time. She hadn’t expected to get along very well with Amelia at first. The girl’s brother, Edgar, was someone who Florence never had seen eye to eye with. They fought over simple things, like respect for and dignity of the dead, or the proper way to protest and make your voice heard. He was young and naïve and filled with a quirky, sad energy that could not be contained. Florence felt that she was a hurricane – directed and strong, but aiming with purpose. But Amelia and Florence seemed to get along just fine. The woman understood what needed to happen, and she didn’t hesitate to help Aversio’s cause. The fact that the two got along so well helped the cause and made Florence’s job easier. As she was walking through the corridor of the Order castle, however, she was stopped by someone yelling her name, walking after her. She knew the voice all too well. Edgar Bones didn’t know how to leave her alone, and Florence knew that if she ignored him, he would resort to more creative means of finding her. “You need to leave me alone. Nobody is manipulating your sister. She has the free will to cut ties with Aversio and to act however she wishes. She’s angry. She’s hurt. And instead of wallowing in that pain, she’s putting it to use. Are you sure that you can say the same, or have you been too busy licking your own wounds to make a tangible difference for our cause?”

The wave of emotion within him felt ready to crash-a tsunami of grief, anger and sadness to an extent he had never experienced before. Edgar wasn’t good with emotions, he knew that, but this was different. Amelia had always been his rock, the only one who could bring him back down to reality, and now she too was untethered. “I don’t give a shit about ‘our cause’, not when the last thing my sister needs is to become propaganda.” He practically spat the words, unable to keep the trace of malice from his tone. Coming into the war, Edgar only agreed to help because of Amelia’s insistence; because both of his siblings believed so strongly against the Death Eaters. He knew it was selfish, to care more about his family than anything else, but frankly he didn’t care. He fought to protect them. His sister’s disappearance changed things, made him want to take a step forward and emulate the goodness he had never truly possessed. 

“And don’t talk about free will-she’s just been kidnapped! She hasn’t had free will in a long time and of course I don’t want to take that away from her. I just don’t think she understands the choices she’s making and you’re deliberately facilitating that. I know you think your agenda is more important, maybe to you it is, but it isn’t to me.” Edgar would die for Amelia, no questions asked. “I want to fight, and I want to win, but I will not put the lives of my family below anything.” 

The storm calmed, briefly, and Edgar took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to make a difference, uniting the Order and Aversio would give us the numbers we need. Political statements are futile at this point-most people have already picked a side.” He didn’t expect Florence to understand, but he wanted her to. “I’m not going to pretend I’m on some moral high ground, but I don’t want everyone I love to do the things that I have when there’s a better way.” 

broken bones | edgar&florence

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broken bones | edgar&florence

The Order Castle August 3rd  @florence-wilson

Before her kidnapping, Edgar had never gone a day of his life without some form of communication with his sister. As children, though they were incredibly different, they shared an inseparable bond. He had always looked up to Amelia; she was far friendlier, kinder and stronger than he could ever hope to be. In her absence, he strived more than anything to emulate her behaviour. Edgar knew his sister like the back of his hand, maybe even more than he knew himself, and yet he somehow predicted her feelings entirely wrong. Instead of focusing on strengthening the groups using peaceful strategy, Amelia was uncharacteristically violent. Despite not expecting the experience to leave her unchanged, such a divergence came as a surprise. 

People like Florence Wilson certainly weren’t helping the situation. Edgar and the witch had never been on the same page, to put it lightly. Seeing his sister getting along so well with the woman made feelings of betrayal, and perhaps jealousy, bubble in his stomach. After what happened, he wanted to make sure nobody took advantage of Amelia again. The way Aversio used her didn't sit right with him and he intended to address it. Edgar had been trying to track Florence down, but the witch was more elusive than he gave her credit for. The moment he laid eyes on her, in an empty corridor of the Order castle, he knew he needed to take the opportunity. 

“Florence!” He shouted, trying not to let any anger seep into his tone. “Wait up! I need to speak with you.” Speeding forward, Edgar didn’t struggle to catch up with the woman. “It’s about my sister-you need to stop manipulating her. She's been through enough.” Not one to beat around the bush, the wizard made his point clear from the beginning. 

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edgar bones // the rising tides

sister // the black keys

sister, sister what did they do to you did they take and try to break a heart that long, it’s so wrong

wherever you will go // the calling

if a great wave shall fall, and fall upon us all then i hope there's someone out there who can bring me back to you

swim good // dermot kennedy 

and i've got this black suit on roamin' around like i'm ready for a funeral five more miles 'til the road runs out

[buriedunderbones-blog]

midnight murmurs | edgar&gilderoy

18 July

Edgar’s flat, Muggle London 

@whois-gilderoylockhart

How ironic, Edgar thought, that the first time in months he hadn't actually been actively looking for his sister should be the one he found her. He knew that image, the one of her bloodied, bruised and very nearly broken, would forever be ingrained into his memory. Being an artist, he had a keen eye for detail and for once in his life he began to wish he didn't. It was a relief to have her safe, of course it was, but Edgar still couldn't rest. She wasn't the same person anymore. Neither was he, but it still hurt. It ached to look into such familiar eyes and yet feel so disconnected.

Before her disappearance, it was Amelia who grounded him. As twins they shared a special bond, something untouchable. But now, now Edgar had a new anchor tying him back to Earth. Gilderoy Lockhart entered his life unexpectedly and altered it forever. Looking into the other wizard's eyes was like taking a fresh breath of air that filled him up with hope and joy and warmth. Curled up on the couch, Edgar held his hand tightly, softly exhaling. "I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight." He murmured tiredly, mostly to himself. "I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years and yet I cannot bear the thought of closing my eyes."

Finding Amelia didn't feel real, even though he could hear her soft snores coming from his second bedroom, and he couldn't relax anyway. Cassandra was still missing. A war was still raging on around them. Edgar should have been happy, but he wasn't. The only thing preventing a breakdown was the warm body pressed against his. "I love you, you know?" Despite being unsure whether he had actually said it before, Edgar had shown it in a million ways. But, being a writer, he understood the significance of words. "I don't know what I'd do without you and it scares me a bit. Shit, maybe a lot." Letting out a muffled snort, Edgar continued, whispering into the crook of the man's neck. "You just ... get me, I guess. Nobody ever has."

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Starter Call

In order to get my muse back in order I’m scrapping all of my previous threads and starting afresh! Like this post for a personalised, plot-related starter (I will probably message you with a few ideas). Not capping this one. I’m so ready to get back into RPing with you all <3

[buriedunderbones-blog]

HOGWARTS EDGAR // SHORT SELF PARA 

(a challenge from a while ago I didn't finish until now)

Stars shone brightly in the night sky, the glow from Edgar’s wand strived to imitate them and illuminate the Astronomy Tower enough to see, but not to be seen. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to wander the castle at night, yet his dorm had grown so stifling that Edgar needed desperately to escape. The tower was quieter, with only the stars and himself for company-it was nice. Unfortunately, not quite nice enough to settle his nerves. Exams were swiftly approaching and it seemed like nobody struggled more than the fifth year Hufflepuff. O.W.L.S. had been more than hard enough, despite trying his best to study Edgar had barely passed them; N.E.W.T.S. were proving completely impossible. Exams brought to the surface all of Edgar’s lingering anxieties about being the failure of the Bones family, doomed to disappoint his parents and live forever in his siblings’ shadows. He didn’t mind the notion as much as he probably should have, but it stung nonetheless. It did not help that Edgar had little friends to study with, or that he hated burdening the few he did have with his struggle. No, he preferred to suffer in silence, and suffer he did. It reached a point where he became so hopeless that he often didn’t bother revising, deciding it was better to do badly without wasting his time trying. The feeling of failure was far worse when he put hours upon hours of effort in, only for none of it to pay off. 

Sighing bleakly, Edgar set his parchment and quill aside and focused instead on the sky above. He found it entirely ironic that someone who spent so much time staring blankly into space could be failing Astronomy. Failing potions made far more sense; Edgar spent as little of his time as possible in the dungeons. While he revelled in being alone, there was something suffocating about the cold stone walls and low ceilings. He saw himself in the stars, in how startlingly bright they were, in how some of them were dead already yet still shining. None of those thoughts, however, helped him learn anything about the constellations. He knew a few; the names and positions of the infamous Black family immortalised in the sky. That was something he never understood: the last thing Edgar Bones wanted was to live forever. 

After a moment, a loud yawn escaped from his lips, stretching through the open air. Edgar grumbled, checking his watch only to find that it was far later than he’d initially expected. The feeling of hopelessness resurfaced morbidly. He had studied for so long and yet knew nothing more than when he started. The only subjects he had even a chance of passing were divination and care of magical creatures. Divination boiled down to mostly storytelling and interpretation-two things he had a knack for-and Edgar liked animals enough that the other class kept him interested. Apparently sketching the creatures led to learning quite a few things about them. It bugged Edgar that most professors did not seem to understand that he wasn’t stupid; he just didn’t learn in the same way as a lot of the other students, their methods wouldn’t work for him. Doing badly in class battered his confidence and, consequently, his motivation. It became a vicious circle. Despite knowing he wasn’t a bad wizard, Hogwarts sometimes made him feel like one. 

[buriedunderbones-blog]

Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.

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whois-gilderoylockhart:

There was something humorous about seeing Edgar wink at him, and Gilderoy wondered happily if they were beginning to rub off on each other just the slightest bit. “I’d like that,” He beamed. “I’m surprised you’ve never thought of it before, considering all the other beautiful things you paint.” How ironic that the loveliest masterpiece of all stood on the other side of the canvas. He looked at the man. “You painted this from memory? I thought you had looked at a photograph or something!” He laughed and looked back at the painting with new eyes. While there were only one or two things he noticed were slightly off, he thought he quite liked seeing himself through the eyes of an artist. “Wow…  Well, any time you’re free, I’ll be too. I’d always fit you into my plans, you know.” Still marveling the canvas, he retreated to take a seat upon the sofa, and grinned up at Edgar. 

“I don’t know that I’d do you justice, but I can’t say I didn’t dabble with the paintbrush in grade school,” He admitted. His time spent in Muggle school before Hogwarts didn’t bring back particularly fond memories, yet he found that most unpleasant topics weren’t so terribly unbearable with Ed. “My mum probably still has about every paper I ever scribbled on. I think she reckoned I would get better and be able to look back at them and laugh. I don’t know that I’ve gotten much better, but it does give me a good laugh when I see them,” Gilderoy revealed. 

Even to his own ears, it felt refreshing to admit that there were some things he simply wasn’t talented at. He knew that Edgar wouldn’t hold it against him or make teasing remarks, which he always took a tad too personally, and it granted him a new freedom in the blooming relationship that excited him. “They weren’t all so terrible, though. I’ll have to show you them some time…” He added for the sake of not being completely unkind to himself. “Your mum’s probably kept mountains of your artwork, huh? I know I would.”

Blood rushed straight to his ears, a blush trailing down his neck. Edgar knew, objectively, that he was attractive and that Gilderoy considered him so, but to hear such compliments from the most beautiful man he had ever seen still affected him. “Maybe I’ll paint us together; double the beauty.” He joked, the redness on his face becoming even more prominent. “I prefer to do it that way, it feels more ... I don’t know ... authentic, I guess.” More intimate too, but he didn’t want to add more potential awkwardness to the conversation. Edgar wasn’t smooth, to say the least, but Gilderoy seemed to like him anyway. He moved to sit next to the man without really thinking. Grinning, he reached out, again almost unconsciously, placing his hand on the Gilderoy’s shoulder. “I do too, but we both know it means a lot more coming from you since I rarely have any plans.” Edgar laughed, squeezing his fingers slightly. 

“That’s adorable!” He exclaimed in a manner that was not quite a squeal, but almost there. Edgar loved to hear stories of a young Gilderoy, before they met and far before they became properly acquainted. “Please do-I’m sure it’s better than you remember. Besides, I can always offer some critiques on how to improve from child level art.” Everyone had to start somewhere, he thought, perhaps he could make an artist out of the wizard yet. As Edgar gazed at the other man, however, he saw not an artist, but a work of art. 

“I didn’t really show my artwork to my mother often, but she would do the same with anything she found lying around. Merlin, I can still remember that god-awful poetry she would show to all of our relatives.” His grin didn’t falter as he laughed easily, relaxing into Gilderoy’s side. “Sometimes I would make Amelia pretend it was her to avoid the attention.” Edgar couldn’t think of anything better than this; these soft, domestic moments that made his heart flutter. 

would it be a sin? | edgar & gilderoy

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Send me a ‘🎨’ for an aesthetic or mood collage for our muses.

If applicable, send a verse too!

[buriedunderbones-blog]

What is your mun's biggest pet peeve?

“Elise is a very polarised person, she either loves something or hates it intensely. It’s quite difficult for me to understand. As for biggest pet peeve, there are a lot of things to choose from. She hates when people act superior about their music tastes, the people in clubs who just stand at the side and glare at others having fun, and the casual sexism, racism homophobia and transphobia present in society. All very specific things, some of which are maybe a tad more important than others.” 

[buriedunderbones-blog]

❝ your expectations for me have been set way too high. ❞

Edgar pondered that in silence, teeth nibbling thoughtfully on his bottom lip. That had always been a problem of his, accidentally idealising people. He tried not to, it didn’t take a genius to know it was unhealthy, but Amos managed to slip through the cracks. The wizard had become Edgar’s ideal of ‘good’-everything the younger man thought he should strive to be. It wasn’t fair, not to Amos and not to himself. “I’m sorry.” His reply came quietly, softly breaking the stillness. Uncharacteristically, the words were drenched in emotion, almost as though a broken sob would follow. Edgar rarely let his emotions out in a normal manner, preferring to use art and poetry to cleanse himself of hurt, but something about Amos brought out this different side of him. “You don’t deserve that.” He had enough to worry about without Edgar putting him on a pedestal. “I just ... it’s ... I admire you a lot.” The words poured from his mouth awkwardly, jumbled and nearly nonsensical. His cheeks flushed brightly, the redness spreading down his neck. “I’m sorry.” 

[buriedunderbones-blog]

hcstia-joncs:

buriedunderbones:

Edgar’s flat, Muggle London

9 July 1979, 12:30am

@hcstia-joncs

Edgar seemed like a nice enough person. Hestia ran into him a few times before, either at Hogwarts or since leaving the school. They weren’t close friends – in fact, they had only spoken a handful of times in the recent months, but Hestia still regarded Edgar as a friend, someone that she could count on for creative endeavors and to bring out the best in her artistic side. Most of the times that they talked, it revolved around writing. Edgar’s work impressed Hestia. It amazed her. Not too many people she knew had an inherent writing ability… but Edgar? Edgar had something special. She’d asked him once or twice if he ever planned to get his work published, but never pushed, figuring that she wasn’t the right person to nudge him in that direction. It took her longer than usual to find his apartment. When she did, she knocked on the door of his flat, running a hand through her hair nervously as she waited. But as soon as he opened the door, her nerves melted away, his warm welcoming presence putting her almost immediately at ease. “Thanks for having me over – I know having people over can be stressful, and I hope you didn’t get too out of sorts or try to clean up just because I was coming over or anything.” She looked around his apartment before taking a seat on one end of his couch. “Coffee would be great, actually. Do you make it strong? Because I could use one of the strongest coffees you’ve got.” She nodded at his suggestion. “There’s definitely a lot to do, and I’m happy to get started sooner, rather than later. I figure we should probably start with a brainstorm – get all of our ideas out there and then narrow them down, you know?”

Looking around his messy flat, Edgar laughed warmly. “I’m sure you can tell that I didn’t; my flat’s a tip.” Books, unfinished sketches, and an unreasonable number of paintbrushes and pencils littered his living room. “I wish I could say it’s an organised mess, but I’m a really bad liar.” He hadn’t thought to tidy beforehand, perhaps he should have, but something about it felt so untrue to his character. Edgar tried to live life as unapologetically himself as possible. “For you? I can definitely make it strong.” Only two minutes passed and he liked Hestia more already. He made his way over to the kitchen side of his main room and began brewing them both enough coffee to keep them up all night. “That sounds perfect.” He agreed easily, grinning at her over his shoulder. “Milk or sugar?” Edgar took his own without, but he was sensitive to the fact that not everyone preferred the same. Amelia had always liked a sweet, creamy concoction that he called a monstrosity, yet he always made it for her anyway. Shaking away any sadness that started to settle on his face, he brought both mugs to the coffee table and took a seat next to the witch. 

Grabbing his sketch pad and a pencil, Edgar turned to face Hestia. “Is there anything specific you had in mind? Like, have you written anything out, or should I help with that as well as the art? I haven’t been completely briefed so you may need to take the lead here...” He trailed off bashfully. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was unprepared-he just didn’t know exactly what they were looking for. Edgar admired the witch immensely: it took a ridiculous amount of talent for someone so young to find a career in writing and she completely deserved it. 

perfect propaganda | edgar&hestia

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Nervous didn’t even begin to describe how Edgar felt as he walked into the grand room. If he was there as himself there was no question that he would have turned and walked straight back out. Unfortunately, Angélique Beauvais lived and breathed these kinds of events. She didn’t only like the attention, she craved it. Plastering on a large grin, he made his way across the room with all of the grace and confidence expected of him. He twirled his long blonde hair, made jokes and small talk with anyone who so much as looked in his direction, and winked at those too far away to speak to. Angélique had a reputation to uphold, after all. Oddly, Edgar had begun to enjoy being someone else. 

Grabbing another glass of champagne, probably the only thing keeping him going, Edgar startled as a man engaged him in conversation. “Oh I don’t know about that.” He giggled, taking a small sip from the flute of liquid courage. “The trick to having fun is not to think too hard about it-and smile!” Edgar didn’t know this man, and he didn’t look to be the type of person that Angélique would know either, but he seemed deeply intriguing; he spoke like he knew something he didn’t. “I love fundraisers.” He gushed, leaning in to tell him as though it was a secret. “What could be bad about a party for a good cause?” Angélique had more money than she knew what to do with, just another thing that differentiated them both. “I’m a lady: I never get drunk.” He winked flirtatiously, taking an even larger gulp of alcohol. 

the magic of money | pj!walden&open

Date: July 8, 1979

Location: St. Mungo’s Fundraiser

OPEN TO ALL !

Walden Macnair looked around at the great turn out of the St. Mungo’s Fundraiser and saw only disaster in the making. Though he couldn’t recognize any Order or Aversio members that may have been nearby, he was certain that the building was crawling with them. While everyone else was busy being friendly and trying to swindle as much money for the cause as they could, he was ready to locate and terminate any intruders. He took a haste walk from one side of the party to the next, recollecting all he knew about his current identity, Edwaldo Oliveira, before he deemed himself ready to approach another guest.

“I think you’re the only person in this whole place that looks like they’re having any bit of fun,” He commented, trying to remember to smile more. “I don’t come to these things often ― I think governments get too money from their people as it is, personally ― but I must admit that whoever organized this event sure did arrange for there to be good alcohol here.” He raised his glass slightly. “I suppose that’s part of the trick though, isn’t it? Well, it’s working on me. How about you?”

[buriedunderbones-blog]

a quiet kind of anger | edgar&marlene

The Order Castle 

25 July, 1979

@marliism

Focusing on anger would never do him any good, Edgar knew that. And yet he still found a rage bubbling under the surface of his skin, scalding and red and aching to burst out. This war, this godforsaken war, had taken so much from him already and he was not ready to let it ravage him any longer. His family didn’t deserve this, his friends didn’t deserve this, and deep down he started to believe that he didn’t either. With the Order and Aversio split and scattered Edgar saw no chance of victory. Before Amelia got herself involved, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with the Order. Now, he had become one of their biggest advocates. That did not stop him, however, from being a realist. On their own they stood absolutely no chance against the Death Eaters. Maybe right now Aversio needed to use their castle for protection, but they all needed each other. Edgar just had to prove that to everybody else. 

Somewhat surprisingly, Marlene McKinnon had been a massive help in doing so. The witch’s involvement in the precarious organisation hadn’t shocked him-the girl’s passionate and somewhat aggressive nature was well known-but he certainly didn’t expect her support. She seemed as eager as he was to unite their groups and fight to end this war for once and for all. Unfortunately that didn't stop the slight air of awkwardness between the two of them that it hung over them like a thin veil of smoke. Edgar had only spoken to Marlene a handful of times throughout their overlapping school years, but not because they didn’t get along. Admittedly, the witch intimidated him. The fact that she was very close friends with his current boyfriend only made the situation more uncomfortable. Determinedly, Edgar decided it was time for him to change that. 

The gathering in the Order castle was the perfect chance to speak to her in a relaxing, non-business environment and Edgar wanted to make the most of it. “Hi Marlene.” He greeted, if slightly quietly, offering her a soft smile. “Is it okay if I sit here?” A mug of hot chocolate was clasped between his hands, warm and comforting, and he took a sip to calm his nerves. “I thought it would be nice to, you know, catch up?” Lack of confidence had Edgar phrasing the statement as more of a question.