Is this supposed to be fun?

Allen couldn't help but wonder as to what exactly he was doing. He was holding a brush and staring at a blank canvas that stood in front of him. He knew he was painting, yet nothing really came into mind as to what he had been trying to do. Was he trying to paint a masterpiece, or was he just procrastinating...like he always was. It angered him how he had decided to pick up painting at such a random time. He didn't even like painting that much!

Yet something compelled him to do so. Something drove him to be here at this moment. He wouldn't say it was fate, more than likely it was just pure boredom. Fate alone would decide. While fate decided to be confusing once more, Allen still stood looking like an idiot in front of the easel. A couple paint drops had actually toke the time to fall delicately from the tip of his brush and collapse into a small puddle in front of his shoe. He had no creativity, he swore.

Finally Allen had enough. He would paint something. He just had to. He pushed the tip of the brush lightly onto the canvas, letting it sit there for a moment as he began to collect his thoughts. His mind was too wrapped up over what had happened in the common room. How that guy Sam had revealed about Barker. What would happen if Allen himself got wrapped into that business? What if he were to almost die like he and Rhys? Allen glanced to the bottom left of the canvas, wondering what the hell he was trying to paint. Painting a sob story, that's what he was doing.

He moved the brush though, after what had seemed to be an eternity. He moved it slightly downwards, in a gentle motion, making somewhat of a straight line of black. Well if he wanted to get an award for making a stick, he would definitely win first place, that's for sure. He set the brush down for a second and closed his eyes, feeling his bangs hit his eyelids gently. Come on Allen. he thought to himself, his mind clouded by random clutter what should you paint? Paint a freaking pony for Christ's sake if you have to...you don't want to look like an idiot.. He picked up his brush again and relaxed a little.

He drew a circle at the top of the line, making a somewhat botched attempt for a head. He then drew two horizontal lines at the midsection of the terrible line to represent arms. Then made the same thing for the bottom of the line, representing two legs. Allen stared at his painting and realized he had just drawn a stick figure. "Great," Allen said to himself, somewhat muttering and somewhat angrily "You drew yourself a stick figure. You must be soooo proud your parents flew you 600 miles to live in England and become a wizard, but instead become a freaking horrible painter. Worth it of course! Just worth it..."

Roxi was supposed to be somewhere right now, but she wasn't exactly sure where- probably class. But she had suddenly been overtaken by a whimsical frenzy and had broken off from her small gaggle of Gryffindor pals to go on a solitary adventure. She fished a lollipop out of her bag as she went and popped it into her mouth, humming an old muggle pop song, not realizing just how much trouble she could get in for acting in such a manner.

She skipped down the halls, in a naive childlike easy state- ironic, considering she was known for being a drug addicted easy skank who did not know when to shut up. She hopped over a trick step in the staircase she was ascending- typically, she would allow herself to fall right on through so Byron or whoever was around could rescue her, but no such person was there to help her.

She saw the art classroom ahead of her and smiled to herself, what a lovely distraction after all! She did a little shuffle between her feet, removed her lollipop, and gallopped towards the classroom, breaking into song, interupting her humming with a completely new song altogether. "[i]What do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor- EARLY IN THE MORNING!"

She belted the last part of the song and skidded into the arts classroom. Her hip bumped an empty easel and it rocked sideways, before it closed up and collapsed. She shrugged and jumped over it, pausing to throw her arms and say in an affected voice, "Fabulous landing, I'd give her a 9, most definitely." She stuck the lollipop in her mouth and walked over to a shelf.

Oranges, and yellows, and blues, and turquoises, and purples, and pinks, and lime greens, and all the pretty colors she could imagine. She grabbed a handful of bright colors and shoved them into her arms, humming, piling tube after tupe of paints. She spit the lollipop out into the trashcan and carefully fit a bundle to paintbrushes between her teeth. She turned.

And that was when she realized she was not alone.

"Oh," she said, the brushes tumbling out of her mouth and into her arms. Her face brightened. This was Allen. A Gryffindor! And she knew ALL the Gryffindors! "Hi, Allen! Are you painting?! Oooh, I didn't know you painted!"

Allen groaned and wanted to throw away the canvas. Yet it would be such a waste, yes it would. He decided to take his brush and X out the stick figure, obviously not knowing what he was going to paint. He was going to make something fascinating or something spectacular, yet when he tried to put his thought on canvas, he was a lost puppy in an intersection somewhere. Why did he even think of coming here...

Then he heard it, someone randomly...singing? What the hell? Who was out there anyway? He ignored it and began to paint a floor beneath the stick figure's feet, hoping to god he might get some inspiration from a foundation. He blinked a couple times and let his arm fall to his side. His brain hurt badly right now. He put his forehead on the canvas, obviously not letting his face or hair hit the paint. "Maaannnn..." he mumbled to himself. He had a perfect picture in his head, but he couldn't describe it.

Then she showed up.

He heard someone barge into the classroom, obviously knocking something over in the process. Allen slowly glided his head to the left, curious as to who was intruding the peace and quiet. It was a red haired chick, someone who seemed like she was insane. He had seen her around the common room, but it was pretty much already easy to tell she was a Gryffindor...of maybe even a Hufflepuff.

Allen moved his head back towards the painting, looking at his painting again. Maybe the girl would just leave him alone....yeah, that was it! She would accidently come in and perhaps knock over the easel on accident. Yeah, yeah, that was the reason! But he could hear her gathering materials. He hadn't a problem with it, but Allen really wanted to be left alone and not bothered by some insane person.

Then she called him by his name.

F***, f***, f***! he thought to himself, excuse the stars. She knew him?! What?! To be courteous, he glided his head back to the sight of the girl, who seemed to be getting ready to paint something....or go to war. "Uh..." he stumbled, obviously trying to pick his words "Hi....you..." Well at least she'd probably laugh. Or not. Kill me now he thought again.