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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 5, 2017 14:20:45 GMT -5
L u m o s
table of contents: post 1 ---- links post 2 ---- rules post 3 ---- members, news, & plots post 4 ---- hogwarts staff post 5 ---- gryffindor post 6 ---- slytherin post 7 ---- ravenclaw post 8 ----- hufflepuff post 9 ---- save
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 5, 2017 14:40:20 GMT -5
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 5, 2017 14:42:16 GMT -5
R u l e s
FORUM RULES must be followed at all times.
LITERACY is whatever you want it to be. I ask for a paragraph at the most, but otherwise keep quality of quantity in mind. it isn't always necessary to use ten words where two will suffice, but give people something to work with. one-liners are frowned upon as they lack the substance to produce a reasonable reply or move the plot along.
ACTIVITY is pretty lax. social, personal, work, and school lives take priority over roleplaying. however, i do expect you to try and keep up with rping as much as possible, or have the courteous to let us or your roleplay partener know when you're about to go MIA. it's only fair.
CHARACTERS are the core of every roleplay and every story in general. bad characters mean a bad roleplay. try to make well-rounded and interesting characters. this means no one perfect or, for whatever reason, completely flawed. i know everyone despises perfect characters, but overly-flawed ones can be just as bad. strive for a well-balanced characters with an even amount of good and bad traits.
SPAM is an absolute no. stopping by to chat with a friend is fine so long as it is done in small doses. if you are not a part of this roleplay then you have no business being here.
LGBTQ+ is not only allowed in this roleplay, but encouraged. if you are not okay with this, then i suggest not joining. you are free to make any character that tickles your fancy. homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, asexual. any sexuality and any gender are all welcome here. all i ask is that you are respectful about it. no bullying and no forced pairings.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 5, 2017 14:47:11 GMT -5
M e m b e r s, N e w s, & P l o t s
[ MEMBERS ]
honeybadger;; beauregard abernathy, friday fishman amphithea march-wilde, absolon abernathy, rodney applejuice
servalstrike;; sadja al-jarad, gustav jung, palesa macrops
heffalump;; jasmin valeska, magnolia cicuta, lysander nightjar
owl;; leona winterbottom, meriwether winterbottom
briar;; eanna kielinski, rowen dahlander, ishmael nieto
mags;; strawberry henderson, mason reynolds, celeste fournier
ruby rose;; skylar brennan, whitley brennan, aviva harel
intransigent;; moomba, hazel janna, antonio ramon, charlotte keilani
xiahou dun;; alphonse fournier, colette fournier, william anderson, jasper lee
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 5, 2017 15:43:59 GMT -5
staff professors, headmaster, librarians, groundskeepers, ect.
Absolon Nigel Abernathy ] -- headmaster;; none;; half-blood Rodney Applejuice ] -- divination professor;; none;; ??? Gray Markell ] -- charms professor;; Ravenclaw;; pureblood Alphonse Fournier ] -- Defense Against the Dark Arts professor;; Ravenclaw;; pureblood name ] -- job;; former house;; blood status name ] -- job;; former house;; blood status
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 10, 2017 13:44:09 GMT -5
You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; Traits: Chivalry, Daring, & Bravery Colors: Scarlet & Gold Common Room: Gryffindor Tower
Beauregard Florence Abernathy ] -- seventh year;; pureblood Magnolia Anthousai Cicuta ] -- sixth year;; pureblood Sadja al-Jarad ] -- seventh year;; half-blood Rowen Noel Dahlander ] -- sixth year;; half-blood Strawberry Apricot Henderson ] -- seventh year;; pureblood Emerson Gray Latier ] -- seventh year;; half-blood name ] -- year;; blood status name ] -- year;; blood status name ] -- year;; blood status
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 10, 2017 15:19:04 GMT -5
Or perhaps in Slytherin You’ll make your real friends, Those cunning folks use any means To achieve their ends. Traits: Cunning, Ambition, Creativity, & Resourcefulness Colors: Green & Silver Common Room: Slytherin Dungeon
Lysander Meredith Nightjar ] -- seventh year;; pureblood Leona Ida Winterbottom ] -- seventh year;; pureblood Skylar Rose Brennan ] -- sixth year;; pureblood Whitley Brennan ] -- first year;; pureblood Adriáno Calderón Reyes ] -- sixth year;; muggleborn Katherine Emilia Petrovina ] -- seventh year;; pureblood name ] -- year;; blood status name ] -- year;; blood status
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 12, 2017 12:19:28 GMT -5
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you’ve a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind Traits: Intelligence, Wit, Creativity, & Individuality Colors: Blue & Bronze Common Room: Ravenclaw Tower
Amphithea Eurythemis March-Wilde ] -- seventh year;; pureblood Ishmael Clementine Nieto ] -- seventh year;; pureblood Penelope Ann Mercier ] -- fifth year;; half-blood Celeste Aurora Fournier ] -- fifth year;; pureblood Jasper Alexander Lee ] -- fifth year;; half-blood Camille Jocelyn Latier ] -- fifth year;; half-blood name ] -- year;; blood status name ] -- year;; blood status
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 12, 2017 12:35:33 GMT -5
You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil; Traits: Trustworthy, Loyalty, Kindness, Dedication, & Just Colors: Yellow & Black Common Room: Hufflepuff Basement
Friday Galilea Fishman] -- sixth year;; half-blood Hannah Bethany Malone ] -- sixth year;; muggleborn Jasmin Marlowe Valeska ] -- seventh year;; unknown Gustav Gretel Jung ] -- sixth year;; muggleborn Palesa Raynon Macrops ] -- sixth year;; pureblood Meriwether Quinn Winterbottom ] -- seventh year;; pureblood William Anderson ] -- seventh year;; muggleborn Baby "Rose" Darling ] -- sixth year;; half-blood name ] -- year;; blood status name ] -- year;; blood status
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 12, 2017 14:00:52 GMT -5
save
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 12, 2017 19:38:41 GMT -5
and this is now officially open! yay!
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Post by ᴏᴡʟ on Jun 12, 2017 19:40:45 GMT -5
-THROWS MYSELF IN-
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 12, 2017 19:41:45 GMT -5
{ hello owl. excuse me while i get a starter up because my computer is about to die and i gotta go fast }
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Post by Salted Squid on Jun 12, 2017 19:44:10 GMT -5
Yay hi
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Post by ᴏᴡʟ on Jun 12, 2017 19:44:34 GMT -5
( Good luck, Sonic. )
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 12, 2017 20:03:05 GMT -5
beauregard abernathy wednesday morning; detention
If you ask him, Beauregard will assure you the Ravenclaw boy deserved it. Actually, he’ll tell you he deserved a lot worse than a broken nose and a jinx that made him hop like a hare wherever he went. After a trip to the Headmaster’s office, the Gryffindor boy had spent the rest of his evening brooding over the matter of two weeks detention and had come to this conclusion: he didn’t regret it. The moment he had pulled out his wand, Beau didn’t feel an ounce of hesitation and even now that sentiment held firm. The Ravenclaw boy deserved it. The list of his crimes numbered in a single bullet point: - He insulted Beau. Anyone bright enough to call themselves a Ravenclaw should be bright enough to know that insulting Beauregard Abernathy is as good as asking to spend the night in the infirmary. It had happened yesterday evening at dinner. Beau didn’t even know the boy’s name, by the look of him he could only assume he was a seventh year. He’d been talking loud, loud enough for Beau to hear his name followed by “spoiled brat” and that had been enough for him. He was too busy pummeling the kid’s nose to a mess of blood and crushed cartilage to notice the professors trying to remove him before he could do more damage. Outside, the sky blooms in the colors of peonies and wisteria, melting away the stars. Brandishing a wooden brush and soapy water, Beau vigorously scrubs a cauldron and seethes. The potions classroom was eerily quiet, deserted of students and teachers alike. His stomach growls, an ornery reminder of why the classroom is empty. Beau’s convinced that missing breakfast for detention counts as cruel and unusual punishment. His only hope was that he’d be suffering alone. Not because he cared for the well-being of his classmates, but because he couldn’t stand them. It was bad enough he would be spending breakfast scrubbing cauldrons till his fingers ached and putrid, sudsy water turned his hands to prunes. The smallest mercy that Beau could receive was that he would be serving out his sentence in peaceful solitude. But that wouldn’t happen. He can still hear the disappointment in his father’s voice, the exhaustion that had slid like a bitter January wind from him. Headmaster Abernathy’s countenance had been a midnight lake━ unbroken calm that should have laced Beau’s veins with fear had he not been swimming in this lake before. “If it were anyone else,” his father had said, “I would have expelled you by now. Don’t push your luck any farther than it can go, Beauregard.” That had been the end of a one-sided lecture. Beau scrubs harder, boiling just below the surface. Some part of him wished he would get expelled, though he couldn’t really say why. To Beau, expulsion was less a severe punishment and more a nuisance, like a mosquito that could be squashed with that swat of a hand. His time at Hogwarts would be over and he’d move on to the next school. He always wondered what it would be like to study at Durmstrang, though his mother certainly wouldn’t approve.
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 12, 2017 20:23:10 GMT -5
Sadja al-Jarad Hogwarts was alive again. Sadja could never imagine the place to ever be still and lifeless, even at night there was activity somewhere. As she strode down the stairs with her robes flowing behind her and following after her motions and she could hear the buzz of excited voices it was even harder to picture the school without its students. Steps echoing through the corridors was the heartbeat of the castle. But even without the students and professors Sadja was certain that the castle was truly sentient. If she put her ear to the stone and listened close she would not be surprised to hear it breathe. As Sadja descended the staircase, her strides long and edged with a natural grace she didn’t have to try for, her footsteps resounded and echoed off the stone. She heard the crying before she saw who it was coming from. The sound bounced off the stone and rang through the halls and it struck something deep in her gut, a sort of instinct that made her quicken her pace. Rounding a corner Sadja entered a hallway where the crying grew louder. Her dark brows knitted together in concern as she approached a bench in an empty hall. Situated on top of the bench was a first year girl wearing the colors of a Hufflepuff, her head bent down while another sob racked her body and her light hair shrouded her face. Sadja leaned forward letting her thick dark hair tumble past her shoulders like a curtain of ink as she angled her head to try and see the child’s face. “Small one?” The girl’s sniffling paused for a moment as she registered Sadja’s voice. “Why are you alone? Why do you cry?” A kind and motherly tone had etched itself into her accented voice. The girl finally looked up and Sadja could see the tear stained face in the light of the sconces. Her eyes still glistening with unshed tears while Sadja took in every inch of her splotchy red face, still a little pudgy with baby fat. “I-I…” the girl whimpered still considering whether she was brave enough to divulge anything to Sadja. “I w-wanna go home. I m-miss my Mom and Dad and little brother-” She was cut off as another cry escaped her and more tears slid down her cheeks. Sadja knelt down so she could look into the child’s face. She rested her hands on her own knees for the moment, although she wanted desperately to reach out and comfort the girl she restrained herself. The poor thing was in a new and intimidating place and needed some reassurance. “What is your name?” Her voice was soft. “Gabi,” she answered her voice hushed and raw from crying. A smile tugged at Sadja’s lips, “That is the loveliest of names, Gabi. I think your family misses you too but they would not want you to cry. Wouldn’t your parents and little brother want you to make friends and do your best to learn magic?” Sadja took a seat next to Gabi on the bench “You can make this place your home and everyone here like your family. Learn magic and be the best witch you can be and when your little brother comes to this school he will have his big sister to help him, yes?” Her words seemed to help calm the girl down as she dried her cheeks on her sleeves. “Y-yeah, I can do that.” Gabi offered a grateful smile. Sadja smiled and held out her hand “Allow me the pleasure of escorting you to breakfast, Gabi.” The little spared only a moment before taking Sadja’s outstretched hand and walking with her to the great hall. Palesa Macrops If Palesa had any hair she’d be pulling it. Certainly she was quite a sight as she scurried about the halls calling out “Thunder!” when the skies were as clear and bright as a new mirror. But with the way she was frantically scouring the ground while she hurried down the hall it would only take a moment for someone to realize that she wasn’t predicting the weather but instead trying to find some poor lost thing. Palesa was very careful where she stepped as she scanned the hall she was in, students busied themselves with getting to their classes. Their voices muffled together and drowned out all other sounds. Including the squeaks of her precious frog. “Thunder!” she called again, although it was more than unlikely that the frog would neither answer her nor come to the sound of his name. She practically tiptoed while she searched, fearful that she would accidentally misstep and crush her pet. Most of the students passing her outright ignored her save for their curious or strange looks at the weird girl who looked on the verge of panicking. She didn’t know how he got away. Not really, but she knew it was definitely her fault. This was what she gets for fitting the tiny rain frog into her sleeve so she could take him to breakfast with her. And of course it worked, at least until she left the kitchens leading to the Hufflepuff common room when he escaped her and was now wandering the crowded hallway unsupervised. Palesa’s dark eyes glanced to the students around her, well mainly their feet which might as well have been giant anvils meant for the sole purpose of smashing tiny lost frogs into the ground. “Thunder!” Palesa called again as she hurried her searching. The frog couldn’t have gotten that far. His legs were too small so he couldn’t hop, only walk. But what if he’d made his way outside? She’d never find him than! Palesa glanced out one of the windows and into the courtyard. The day was beautiful and bright. The school was alive again after it’s students had been away for their nine weeks of no homework or exams. It was not a day for a sixth year Hufflepuff to be dreading the worst for her frog. What a terrible way to start her year.
Gustav Jung Gustav was practicing magic. In his own way that was. With a muffin he had swiped from the Great Hall he lounged in an open window, one foot dangling precariously over the edge as he watched the returning students make their way to classes down below. He could hear the laughter and voices mill together and fill the warm air. It was a pleasant day. Such a pleasant day that Gustav had the urge to simply sit on that windowsill, close his eyes, and take a well deserved nap. But Gustav had only just closed his eyes when a gentle sniffing at his ear roused his attention once more. He opened one eye and peeked at the rat on his shoulder out of the corner of his eye. She was fat and black and her whiskers twitched as she propped herself on her hind legs and looked out into the sunny day ahead. “You’re always keeping me in check, don’t want me to doze off by mistake and fall out the window is that it?” The rat merely looked at him as if in agreement. With a flick of her tail she rested all four paws back on his shoulder and wiggled her nose at the students walking below them. Gustav tilted his head and looked down as well. With a smirk he added “You mischievous girl, you just want to play is that it?” It was more likely that it was Gustav who wanted to have some fun but Gingerbread didn’t bother to stop him as he flicked his wand towards a bucket of water that had been sitting by the window waiting patiently for this very purpose. Water spooled into the air in a glistening stream until Hansel had formed an orb of water that floated in the air. With another wave of his wand Hansel had the ball of water out the window, hovering above the unsuspecting students. Hansel needed to only wait a moment before a target to enter his line of sight, then he let the water fall onto them. The surprised scream suddenly turned to anger as his victim searched for where the water had come from. Hansel let a laugh escape him as he watched the poor student hurry into the castle to dry themselves off.
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Post by Salted Squid on Jun 12, 2017 20:31:23 GMT -5
Sadja Al-Jarad is my spirit animal tbh))
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Post by ᴏᴡʟ on Jun 12, 2017 21:50:12 GMT -5
The Winterbottoms
“I will never get tired of hearing people snicker at our names.”
“Really...? I wish I had your patience...”
For as long as he could remember, and perhaps farther than he was aware, Meriwether Quinn had always known a giggle or a covered smile to be the first response upon introduction. A feigned spasm if the lips, or a weak attempt at recovering one's composure and polite demeanour; he'd seen it all, and if he hadn't witnessed it for as long as he had, he might have found it demeaning… but could he really blame them for laughing at a name like ‘Winterbottom?’
No, no he couldn't.
“Yeah! I mean, sure, it's kinda funny, but we're a prestigious family, you know!”
Was ‘prestigious’ the right word for it? Meriwether had always thought ‘pretentious’ was a bit more fitting of his household, but he supposed he only shared this idea with one person in particular- his uncle, Osmond. However, Osmond Winterbottom- with whom he got his namesake from (Osmond Meriwether Winterbottom, was the poor man’s full name)- wasn't what Meriwether would call... a ‘common’ sort of person.
‘They're a very, uh… wordy… sort of bunch. Very socially driven... Lots of yammering on about class and status, and all that stuff, but not a lot of talk about anything important… like plants.’
Minus the part about plants, Meriwether had agreed with the sentiment shared then, ages ago when the Winterbottom boy had joined his uncle at work one morning. They’d been pulling mandrakes that day- just seedlings, as Osmond wouldn’t dare let his nephew go around anything bigger- and between the squall of wailing infantile plants, his uncle had muttered those very words in that trailing, fluttery voice of his.
‘I’d much rather deal with these mandrakes than with your father, if I’m to be perfectly honest.’
Deep down in his gut, Meriwether couldn’t help but quietly agree- as he did with most of the herbologist’s opinions- and for a long moment, he almost contemplated saying so himself; but in the end, he’d settled for changing the subject to something… well, while he hadn’t intended it to be- something equally depressing.
‘Didn’t you say my father tried to trade you for a new broom once, when you were kids?’
To say the least, the question had been so startling to shivering little Osmond Winterbottom, that as he’d looked over at his pale-eyed nephew, he simply forgot to put his earmuffs on; and with one quick yank, he’d uttered a simple ‘ha?’ before the mandrake seedling was free of its bed, and shrieking in his ear.
In the end, Osmond hadn’t died, but Meriwether was sure his pride had… along with his career in the mandrake business.
“Prestigious or not, I can’t say I take it seriously.”
Glancing over at the pale-haired figure beside him, Meriwether (or “Meri”, as he so eagerly chose to call himself) could only scoff beneath his breath and roll his eyes as he went about voicing his opinion on his family’s name-- or rather, on their family name.
Leona Winterbottom, who practically bounced as she trotted along beside him, seemed to have a completely different impression when it came to their surname; but then again, he and Leona- despite being twins- didn’t often share when it came to their opinions. Despite them both having hair as light as one could imagine, and eyes cooler than winter ice, the two siblings- when it came to their mindsets- were as different as one could be. That, in a simple way, was represented in their houses: Slytherin and Hufflepuff, with Meri in the latter.
“Oh, you’re just bitter because of that one time you got a letter addressed to a 'Mary Weatherbottle’,” Leona practically crowed, her wand a blur of stained dark wood as she went about tapping it upon her thigh. Darting around to face him head on, her steps a clumsy dance of backwards walking, the girl promptly arched her pale brows high overtop her eyes as she fixed him with that fishbowl gaze of hers. “Go on,” she challenged with a grin. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
Like a wounded bird, hit by the rock of a child’s slingshot, Leona practically fell flat on her butt as her steps went and faltered beneath her. “What?” She practically cried as she stumbled to right herself once again. Having decided that a side by side conversation was good enough for her, the girl swiftly took her place at his left before she continued on to state her (rather simple) protest. “You’re lying!”
Rolling his pale eyes, Meri gave yet another scoff of subtle amusement as he let just a hint of a smirk play across his pale white features. “We both know you’re the liar, between the two of us,” he reminded his sister, who- after stubbornly glaring at him for a moment- eventually nodded relentingly in response, and let out a grumbled ‘true’. “I’m just concerned that poor Mary Weatherbottle hasn’t been receiving all of her mail for the past two years.”
Speaking of which, we should really inform the post of that...
Puffing out a great exasperated sigh, Leona looked so thoroughly tired of his his response, you’d have thought Meri had just proclaimed the sun to be square, and the sky to be orange. If anything, Leona was more likely to have given a response like that, so in a way, it was almost an ironic scenario- but still, that was beside the point.
“You’re a bore, Meriwether Winterbottom,” she stated rather simply.
“Yes, I am,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “Now don’t you have someone else to torture today, or is it just me?”
With his steps slowing ever so slightly as his sister lulled briefly behind him, he watched with that lax blue gaze of his as she seemed to mentally tick off some long and winding list of names, stored safely behind those clever eyes of hers.
Once upon a time, Leona had confided into him. ‘I have a hitlist,’ she’d said. ‘Up here, in my brain.’ She’d tapped a single toothpick of a finger against her temple, a devilish smile spread wildly across her heart-shaped features. The two’s great grandmother, Neva (of who they sometimes called ‘Nevil’, as a combination of her name and the word ‘devil’) had apparently not liked this statement, however, as- before either of the twins had even noticed her- the woman had swooped down and swatted Leona square across the back of her head with a fresh addition of the Daily Prophet, and proceeded to crow at the two like some nasty old bird.
Grandma Nevil had- to say the least- always been a delight.
“I’d planned on seeing if I could finally prank Professor Fournier successfully today,” she finally admitted. “I’d almost got him yesterday, I’m sure--”
Cutting her off with an amused snort, Meri couldn’t help but interrupt her. “Or he just didn’t have the time to crush your hopes so early.”
Watching as the girl began to bristle and flush a threatening shade of pink, it wasn’t long before Meri was staring down the wand of Leona Ida Winterbottom as it came level to his nose. He backed off silently, his chuckles surprised behind tightly lips, and his palms exposed in defense (though the cringe at the corner of his eyes said he was anything, if not entirely amused). “Alright, alright, I take it back,” he relented. “You may have--”
The wand pressed against the end of his pointed nose.
“You almost had him.”
The wand was lowered.
“Supposedly.”
“I wish I could turn you into a toad, then maybe I could put you in Fournier’s soup this time.”
Last time, he supposed, Digby had been the one to invade the poor professor’s meal; Digby, being Leona’s pet toad.
Sucking in a breath of much needed air, because really, talking to Leona left one a big lightheaded and dizzy, for more than one reason (the primary being she was- essentially- exhausting to deal with), Meri sound found himself waving a hand absently through the air at her, as if she were a pestersome fly refusing to be rid of. "Yeah, yeah. If you’re gonna get detention, do it now, or come eat breakfast first. Your pick.”
Listening to the soon arriving chatter of the Great Hall, Meri paused his step as he turned to face the pale girl trailing after him now. With a look of great trouble, she stood there for a moment, her white teeth coming to knaw thoughtfully upon her lower lip. Apparently, deciding between detention and food was quite the difficult thing to choose between for Leona, and in a way, it reminded him a little bit of a dog trying to pick between its favorite toys. He supposed that wasn’t an entirely innaccurate picture, though; after all, he had seen her waste entire meals before only in order to pull one measly trick on a poor, unsuspecting housemate of hers. Of course, these tricks were never appreciated- especially because said unsuspecting housemates were of the Slytherin folk.
“... Alright, I'll skip and just eat double at lunch.”
Detention it was.
Somehow Meri wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
“Have fun then. I'll eat in your place.”
“Appreciated.”
Pushing his way into the Great Hall where food and chatter greeted him, Meri could only roll his eyes good naturedly as his sister went about fishing Digby the toad from among her robes, and searching the crowd for her chosen target.
What a mess...
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Post by mags on Jun 13, 2017 23:16:27 GMT -5
strawberry apricot henderson - - - - -
As Strawberry Apricot Henderson leisurely meandered toward the Great Hall, he realized that he was almost an adult. In a matter of months, he would be a full-fledged, legal wizard. (Well. Technically he was already seventeen. But he still had to finish his seventh year of school before things were Officially Official, right? Then he would be independent. And able to do magic whenever he pleased, he might add.) And he would be lying if he said the thought did not terrify him. He barely trusted himself to make a piece of toast on his own. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t a responsible kid, for he was. For the most par, anyway. He always turned his assignments in on time, did his chores when at home, and was usually on time to things. But? In all honesty, Strawberry didn’t have the best luck, or the best instincts. So the idea of using magic without the guidance of a “real” witch or wizard absolutely gave him the heebie-jeebies.
But. Enough about that. He had some time before he had to worry about being out and about on his own.
The sound of his growling stomach softly echoed throughout the stone hallway — though it was mostly drowned out by his clunky footsteps (y’know, for a kid as small as Strawberry, you would think he would tread a little lighter, right?) — as he began to near the staircase that would take him to the correct level of the castle. Right where he needed to be. Eating breakfast! Didn’t that sound nice? Again, his stomach rumbled, and the freckled, floofy-haired, seventeen-year-old Gryffindor placed a hand over his abdomen as his lips curled slightly downward, eyebrows furrowing across his forehead. For an instant, his eyes flickered closed, and he began to almost fantasize about the possibilities of breakfast food that his school would offer that morning.
Pancakes. He honestly hoped that there would be pancakes.
He began to salivate at the thought. And in his somewhat-distracted state, he tripped down the first stair.
Grunting a sharp exhale, his arms flailed as he struggled to regain his balance and footing, and for a moment, he gripped the railing so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned white. (Well. Whiter, I guess. Since he was already pretty pale.) After pausing for a second or two longer, he brushed a hand over his robes to smooth them down, then continued on his way, keeping his blue eyes trained upon the steps in front of him to ensure that he didn’t miss another one or something.
Finally, he reached the final step, and as he stepped down, he heard two slightly-muffled voices that grew clearer by the second. Glancing to his left, he spotted two figures emerging from another hallway. Strawberry certainly recognized one — the taller one, the older one — as Sadja al-Jarad, one of the girls from his house. And his year, actually. She had a reputation for being kind and gentle, and Strawberry had always…admired her. She was the type of person he would have liked to associate with (but instead he found himself constantly in the company of slimy snakes from Slytherin…you know who you are). And maybe this year, he would turn over a new leaf. Maybe this year would be Strawberry Henderson’s chance to, well, make some good friends. Hang out with people who wouldn’t think that drinking random potions made with entirely stolen supplies would be a fun idea.
The girl standing beside Sadja — from the looks of it, a first-year — was unfamiliar. And he watched as Sadja knelt beside her, presumably to comfort her, though he couldn’t quite distinguish their words, he began to approach them.
Strawberry caught up with the pair as they entered the Great Hall.
“Sadja!” he called behind her, jogging the last few steps and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. A small, rather unsure smile curled the corners of his lips upward as he asked simply, “Mind if I join you?”
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Post by maple on Jun 14, 2017 2:04:46 GMT -5
katherine petrovina... The beginning of the school year and Katherine have a very complicated relationship. She likes it because it's the perfect time to exercise her dominance over those who either have forgotten her outstanding personality (i'm being sarcastic here guys.) or don't know who she is yet. On the other hand, everyone's so disgustingly happy that she wants to vomit. Like honestly, why do they have to be so cheery? Every year is the same, it's not like people suddenly show up different -- at least not in her opinion.
Katherine certainly hasn't changed since her first day at Hogwarts; sure, she doesn't look eleven anymore, but her personality has always been the same. Bold, unforgiving, ruthless, selfish. She's quite aware of her far from friendly demeanor, unsurprisingly, she's actually fairly proud of her fake smiles and back stabbing habits. It's just a reminder that Katherine Petrovina relies on herself, and only herself.
That particular morning Katherine looked her usual gorgeous self, perfectly polished and dressed to impress (or intimidate?). Dark hair curled in loose waves, cheeks rosy, skin glowing -- but her eyes; they gave away her intentions. Two chestnut colored irises scanning the corridors like a predator, lips curling at the corners almost wickedly. She strode confidently like an entitled queen, daring anyone to get in her way. And, ultimately, someone did just that.
A first year, obviously in a rush to get somewhere, was the unfortunate soul to bump shoulders with Katherine Petrovina. Poor thing. Katherine, though barely touched, spun around like someone had slapped her across the face. "Did you just... push past me?" Her voice was a harsh sound, cutting through the sound of lighthearted greetings like a knife. The dark haired girl slowly brushed a lock of hair from her thin shoulder, head tilting to the side as she sized up the tiny student before her.
"Sorry, it's not like I meant to." The other girl made the mistake of rolling her green eyes with -- what? Exasperation? Haughtiness? Whatever the emotion was, it certainly wouldn't last long, that attitude would be smacked right off.
Katherine raised an eyebrow, a quirk of a smirk tugging at her lips, "Oh? Is that so?" she tapped her cheek, stepping closer as the girl shrunk back. Her brown eyes flicked to the younger girl's ponytail, specifically to the black ribbon tied in a pretty little bow at the base. "Cute ribbon. I want it." Katherine was met my a feeble protest, already weakening from the precise intimidation techniques the Slytherin girl was so good at. A few student's looked their way, but most were too lost in their own world's to care that a mere child was being harassed by a seventeen year old. Katherine held out a hand, "Give it to me," her tone was flat, but a clear demand, "or I'll make sure your life here is a living hell."
It was no surprise that the newbie cracked under Katherine's cruelty, it wasn't as if she was the first to give in. When she dropped the ribbon into Katherine's open palm, the older girl practically beamed, making sure to flick the little treasure about with flourish before she presumed to tie it around her slender neck as a makeshift choker. Then, before walking away, she glanced over her shoulder with a sickly sweet smile, "Don't look so sad, it didn't look good on you anyway."
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Post by koi on Jun 14, 2017 3:29:00 GMT -5
MAGNOLIA CICUTA
(not a flower)
The summer is long. The summer is longer than it should be--longer than one break should be, and Magnolia would know this. The maintenance during the summer that someone who does sports for a whole school year has to do is absolutely taxing, and Magnolia and her popping abs know this all too well. Magnolia is twenty percent person and eighty percent cloak at this time in the school year--or, well, always. She is near constantly wearing a heavy, two-sizes-too-big-and-much-too-long cloak around her shoulders. So it’s not all for looks, all that upkeep she does, the strengthening in her offtime that she does in the back of her room with the blinds shut because the sun that pours in through the glass is too hot and Magnolia thrives off of darkness and, well, food and water, just as I’m sure other humans do. She’s never checked. Most of it is for quidditch. Some of it is for her own gratification. What Magnolia really needs is an exercise bike and friends, but let me assure you, I’m not gonna be the one to tell her this.
All she needs is quidditch and her owl, really. Magnolia knows this, even if she doesn’t know she needs more social interaction and different exercise where she can read a book while doing it instead of doing a plank for five minutes and sweating onto her stolen-from-a-classmate copy of Twilight: Breaking Dawn, and reading parts all over again because she was too focused on keeping her shoulder blades down to really take it in, repeating to herself, oh god oh god three more minutes then I can come down. She’s also never read the other installments. This was the only book Alisa had, seriously. And Magnolia took it back first day of school, anyhow.
Still, Magnolia’s muscles in her shoulders kind of hurt from trying to deadlift a new first year last night. Gryffindor Common Room Initiation, and all that. Her arm being dug into by Owly’s talons as well give her a bit of an ouchie, but she ignores it, because Magnolia never stops grinding, and pain means nothing when it comes to success. She also never stops cooing over her owl, but that has nothing to do with success.
Snowy Owly The Snowy Owl has one eye and has lost a majority of feathers on his chest. He’s the ugliest bird Magnolia has personally ever seen and this is why she loves him so very much.
“You’re my fat chubby boy, aren’t you,” Magnolia coos as Owly coos back. What a sweetheart. She all does it under her breath--there is no one in the general vicinity but there might be someone lurking, or like, an owl that teases Owly after she leaves for having such a dumb mom who dotes on him too much. She tries to be modest. “Look, your feathers are growing back in,” she speaks to him, green eyes wide, mimicking his amber ones, head pivoting on a dime all around, watching other birds. “Handsome boy.”
She oughta be going down to the great hall by now, try to get some protein in. She gives Owly one last look as her stomach growls. “Catch some mices, sweets. I’ve heard there’s a problem with lots of mice here.” (conspiratorial, like she can’t let the other owls hear, lest they listen and steal all the mice for themselves). She shakes Owly off of her pale, candlestick-translucent skin and marvels at the way blood flows back into her wrist, shakes her hand out, gives Owly one last sad goodbye-glance. His feathers really are growing back in, maybe, she can’t tell.
It’s an uneventful trip to the Great Hall for half the way. She sees that first year that she’d deadlifted and gives him a solid thumbs up (she had not been flexing to assert dominance while doing so, no way), and that’s about where the eventfulness ends. It isn’t until Magnolia hits the halfway mark with her steps that she hears something that’s a little peculiar. It has her craning her head, rubbing a hand across her close-shaven head. She wonders quietly at it for a hot second, whispering a “what in Merlin’s word…?” before pieces start, well, piecing themselves together, like a teacup slamming back together piece by aggressive piece after a badly placed mental breakdown. Magnolia’s magic tends to be as aggressive and rough as her playing style, really. What Magnolia pieces together is this: obviously, someone is warning others about thunder in the area.
Damn, quidditch would be fun in a storm, thinks Magnolia, stuck on the spot with her jaw stuck out and her eyebrows furrowed confusedly, looking as if she had just remembered she left the stove on.
Hold on. It’s then that a blur of dark skin and Hufflepuff robes storms past her calling out Thunder! and Magnolia wonders if it’s in reference to how she is frantically moving, storm-like and unpredictable in its worry, and she unthinkingly catches the girl by the shoulder as she goes by, hand slipping to her wrist. Magnolia shoulders past someone to get in her field of vision.
”What in the god given world are you yelling about?” she asks, the words ‘you bloody git’ going unsaid as she lets go of her cushiony arm in order not to, say, come off as an aggressor. She recognizes her: Palesa, obviously a Hufflepuff, soft around the edges, looks sick, like she’s green with worry underneath her generous melanin. ”There isn’t a storm coming, is there?"
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 14, 2017 12:23:05 GMT -5
Sadja al-Jarad: Sadja was escorting Gabi to the Hufflepuff table, of course she didn’t want to leave her side just yet. Though the young girl was starting to calm down her blotchy face and swollen red eyes were still indicators of the pain she was feeling. She wished she could take her to the hospital wing, she wished there was some medicine that would help her. Not because Sadja wanted to be rid of her, but so Gabi wouldn’t have to hurt the way she was hurting. Sadja knew what it was like. To miss home. A sickness of the heart was not one that could be easily cured with a simple potion or quick spell. No, it was a longing and an ache that only time could heal. A void that could only be filled with love. Sadja’s eyes had not left Gabi as they entered the Great Hall together but a voice called her name and as she looked up to find who the voice belonged to a hand found her shoulder. She turned and was met with freckles and blue eyes and fluffy red hair. For a moment, because of his height, she almost mistook him for a third year but corrected herself as she remembered quickly that he was in her year and that he was in her house. A smile brushed her cheeks “Ah, Blueberry yes?” She said it with such confidence that there was no way she could be wrong. “Of course you can join us,” placing her hand on Gabi’s shoulder she motioned to the girl, “I was just taking young Gabi here to the table of Hufflepuffs. Her heart is sick for home and I wish to make her feel better.” She knew of the boy with freckles and red hair but she hadn’t gotten the chance to know him personally. Which seemed like such a loss in all honesty since she had seen him around and he seemed like such a genuinely nice person that Sadja thinks she would have enjoyed his company. But fate presented an opportunity to become his friend and she would be remiss to pass it up. “The table of Hufflepuffs seems like a good place to sit this morning does it not?” She gently put her hand on Strawberry’s shoulder and kept the other one on Gabi as she led them both to the Hufflepuff table.
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Post by koi on Jun 14, 2017 14:12:40 GMT -5
JASMIN VALESKA Jasmin has a love-hate relationship with coming back to school, as some people do when it comes to Hogwarts. In some cases, they can’t wait to come back, because Magic! and, It’s Fun! In other cases, they just really don’t want to come back because they might get murdered because Hogwarts has a problem with murders, really. But this is me breaking the fourth wall and bringing up previous roleplays where murders were like, a main part of the plot. But god knows what’s happening with this plot because I don’t think Honey or Serv are letting me in on it. But we all know they have nasty tricks up their grubby sleeves. Pray for our children. Pray! Jasmin is not entirely fond of his hometown, which is where he lives currently and where he lives during the summer, mostly because his childhood friends are disgusting, his dance teacher hates Jasmin more than it should be allowed, he can’t get his damn quad pirouette to the right side, and being in the studio dawn til dusk really doesn’t do anything but exacerbate this. Is he just...not very aerodynamic? Anton Sevigny-Noel can do five pirouettes to the left, and Jasmin is a broken shell of a man who almost failed his Advanced One Ballet exam. So, yeah. It’s nice to get away from all that, drama and dance and such. But it’s also nice to not get murdered? Jasmin may have a small bit of trepidation in his step when he walks down to breakfast, but this is not necessarily because of any one major reason, because of any particular people--it’s mostly because Jasmin loves a good dose of social anxiety on a weekday. But he’s been trying to get over this, y’see. This has been a big constant in the past few months (but still, being told “Hey, Jizzface, wanna come to this party in the abandoned Walmart parking lot?” is probably not gonna make him more social, or make him want to break out of his shell and start partying. That’s really gross. He hates his old friends). He thinks to himself, y’know what’s worse than getting a little bit of a fright over speaking in public and being around a lot of people? Murder. And instantly, he feels 2% better. It hasn’t been working very well beside that. Also, Jasmin is an idiot. There are a lot of words that I, myself, would use to describe Sadja Al-Jarad. Beautiful would be one of them. Celestial could be another one. Like, Pretty Cool would probably be how Jasmin would describe her because he has the vocabulary of a rock. But regardless of any words that may pop into his head when he walks to the Hufflepuff table, planning on grabbing an apple and popping over to the Gryffindor table afterwards to visit her anyway, is a long suffering Shiiiiiiiiit, that tapers off into a faster paced sh*t sh*t sh*t sh*t. Now, this is not because Jasmin does not like Sadja, or because she scares him, or because--well, she kind of scares him (The Pancake Incident!!!!). It’s mostly because Jasmin is a little bit flippin’ in love with her. Shhhhhh don’t tell anyone!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So his cheeks might violently turn as red as the apple Jasmin was planning on sniping before visiting Sadja himself, when he turns his eyes to her, herding a young girl over to her house’s table, Strawberry in tow, So What? It’s none of your business, f*ck off. To quote one Rory Valeska, “B*tch, I think you’re in love.” To quote one Jasmin Valeska in reply, “My mom says I need to go home right now right now.” It’s not that Jasmin is scared of love, because that would be way too ‘I’m A Valeska So I’m Messed Up When It Comes To Romance’. It’s actually that he’s terrified of it. Jasmin finds himself dumbstruck and a little bit gobsmacked when he nears her and just awkwardly waves to her like he’s in his first year again and they’re bonding over their shared inability to speak English (Sadja’s was justified, Jasmin’s...he has issues). He waves to Strawberry, also, makes sure not to ignore his presence entirely in favour of getting all gooey in front of Sadja, and lastly, acknowledges Gabi. “Hello,” he says, stutter free, because the angels of light and all that bright stuffs are shining on him, cheeks red, trying to look not-as-intimidating as he usually does, “Are y-you another r-r-recruit to the Hufflepuff B-Breakfast Table? Incredible. W-wanna sit down, then? Promise we’re not that s-scary. Actually, the lot’a us are the n-nicest here.” He offers a smile to her that makes his cheeks indent, makes the blue parts of his eyes look brighter. Looking over her head, Jasmin’s smile widens, cracks right between his lips to show teeth artificially straightened by lots of retainers and two years of braces that cut his hours of ballet in half to pay for. “Hey, lovely,” he says to Sadja, oh jeez he is in too deep, “You j-joining us?”
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 14, 2017 14:41:56 GMT -5
Palesa Raynon Macrops
The hall began to clear student by student as everyone emptied into the Great Hall. But Palesa’s worry did not go with them, though there were now less people to accidentally step on her frog that didn’t mean it didn’t already happen. She was a whirlwind in the corridor. Eyes glued to the ground in search of her pet. What had been hunger in her gut moments ago was now worry. Palesa had become consumed in her search oblivious to the world around her until a hand caught her on the shoulder. Palesa dragged her dark eyes from the floor to meet the stare of another girl as that same hand clamped onto her wrist. Pale, the girl was pale from her eyes to her skin but she was lovely. Palesa recognized her almost immediately as a Gryffindor from her year and the daughter of the Herbology professor. What was her name again? Some sort of flower Palesa was sure, what else would a herbologist name her daughter after all. Palesa found herself staring at the girl with the shaved head until it came to her. Magnolia! Magnolia Cicuta, she was on the Quidditch team and she was anything but delicate she seemed like the type of girl that was always burning. She blinked. Once then twice as she tried to register what the girl had said. “Oh a storm?” Palesa turned her gaze toward one the windows but saw only brilliant sunshine and a sky the color of a robins egg. “I hope so, I do love the rain you know. But I don’t think it will rain today.” It was only after the words had left her that she realized she hadn’t simply been inquiring about the weather, she thought that Palesa had been hurrying up and down the hall giving an impromptu weather forecast like some sort of crazy seer. Her cheeks darkened at her inaccurate assumption, however thanks to her skin tone it was hard to tell she was blushing. Even though her eyes gave away the fullness of her embarrassment. “A storm. No, no storm I was just looking for my frog. He’s a desert rain frog, you see, and his name is Thunder. I thought it was a rather clever name.” She could have gone on about how she thought the name Thunder suited him. He was so small but he had quite the squeak on him so it was almost ironic that Palesa would name him after something recognized for how loud it was. But she didn’t have time to drone on and make herself look only more like a lunatic. Her cheeks puffed as she drew in a breath and held it, a nervous habit of hers when she was under stress. Slowly she exhaled. Her gaze darted back towards the floor. “And he’s rather small you know,” she held her hands together letting the space between her palms indicate his size, “I’m afraid that someone might have stomped on him or if he gets too far I might not find him again. But he’s also got stubby legs so he couldn’t have gotten far.” Palesa was rambling again. Her cheeks were puffing again as she glanced down at the hand still holding her wrist. A rather aggressive touch Palesa noticed as she carefully worked to pry off Magnolia’s fingers. “Well I’m sorry to have worried you about the weather, I’m be out of your hair n-” She clamped her mouth shut before finishing her sentence. Magnolia’s head was fuzzy and mostly void of hair. “Oh. Ah,” Palesa tried to smile as she reached out and patted Magnolia’s fuzz. “Shaved head buddies.” Nice save.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Jun 14, 2017 15:18:27 GMT -5
Ishmael Nieto //
“So I got punched in the face”, Ishmael recalled the story to the teacher supervising detention, he had never like, seen them before, probably a new staff member or someone he didn’t actually care about, which was, in truth, most people, but whatever, “and - because it was the Headmasters son -” he pauses for emphasis – “you put me in detention?”
No response.
“He broke my nose!”
Read 11:15am
“I didn’t even fight back!”
The staff member was, of course, not having any of it, so here Ishmael was, sitting at a desk several feet away from one Beauregard Abernathy, pretentious little git that he was, picking at a pencil eraser. “[oops! please keep language appropriate & don't evade censors, thanks!] political corruption”, he mumbles to himself, too low for anyone else in the room to hear as anything besides a low grumble. He hadn’t been trying to instigate a fight between him and the Abernathy boy – some girl at the table had just commented that he was attractive, which honestly Ishmael couldn’t see he looked more like that one kid that never grew out of their emo phase than someone worth investing time into, but maybe that’s just him and his ridiculously high standards, Ishmael never really found people attractive, took their personalities too much into account he supposes, doesn’t really care. Anyways, the girl had been all like, “ugh, I want to have Beauregard Abernathy’s babies, mmm daddy”, and Ishmael, his award-winning patience making yet another appearance, had responded that “Beauregard Abernathy is a spoiled brat with the emotional maturity of a five year old on crack”.
Apparently his timing was as equally stellar as his patience levels. The Abernathy boy’s hand had connected with Ishmael’s nose about twelve seconds after he made that comment. It took him off guard, Ishmael had to be honest. Did he deserve it – well… maybe…. it was kind of a rude thing to say…. Ha! Just kidding! No, Ishmael wasn’t about to call himself a patron saint but he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. If anything Beau just proved his point: he sees an issue, what better way to solve it then just punch that [oops! please keep language appropriate & don't evade censors, thanks!] in the face! Yes! We have a winner! Maturity 101. Daddy taught him well.
Ishmael leans his face down onto the table, presses his forehead into the wood, black curls sticking to his face and obstructing whatever vision he would have had. He considers that he really needs a haircut. His father had wanted to give him one before he left, but Ishmael had, on point, refused it. He didn’t rebel for the sake of rebelling, he rebelled because he knew it made his father irritated. He didn’t need to prove his independence; Ishmael didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He was completely self-aware, or, at least, self-aware enough. Nah. Ishmael just hated his father and would do anything if it made him angry.
Which was kind of stupid, now that he thought about it, but Ishmael didn’t claim to be the smartest cookie in the jar. Like, yeah, he was a genius, but in the common sense department he may be lacking. Common sense would tell someone not to insult Adult-Temper-Tantrum’s in the middle of the Great Hall. At least he had the decency not to punch back. As a chaser for the Ravenclaw quidditch team, Ishmael Nieto was fast, in shape, and had pretty good reflexes. Which is to say that he could have probably socked Beauregard Abernathy right back in the face, if he wanted to. Granted the face is not where he would have aimed, but that’s beside the point.
Ishmael held back because if he punched Beau then Daddy Dearest would have had a Fit. And Absolon Abernathy was not someone Ishmael particularly wanted to be on the bad side of.
So here he was.
In detention.
Counting lines drawn into a desk like clockwork.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 14, 2017 15:30:16 GMT -5
friday fishman wednesday morning; the great hall
Friday stares at the monster and smiles because it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. It’s tall and gangly, with long legs and four arms and a halo of fulgid eyes encircling its head. The eyes are the best part, she thought. There are dozens of them━ jewel-bright and wide ━the deep, startling pink of oriental lilies set in skin of the deepest midnight blue. They run like stripes along the monster’s arms and torso, everywhere eyes should not be. Blazing white teeth glitter in the creature’s mouth, rows upon rows of them.
Friday sits back in her chair and beams with pride, practically glows with it. It isn’t done yet, though the paint smearing her cheeks and staining her hands would have you believe otherwise.
The girl looks at her work and sees a myriad of errors riddling her painting like ugly little scars.
A lopsided eye.
A too-short finger.
The background isn’t done, Friday has yet to bring to life the swarm of roses and thorns that would be the monster’s homes. She needs red for that. Vivid red.
It’s only when she turns away to rummage through her squashed tubes of acrylics does Friday notice the quiet. The Hufflepuff dorms aren’t the loudest place in Hogwarts. In fact, Friday would bet that Gryffindors are the rowdiest bunch the school has to offer. But this sort of snowy silence is unnerving.
The girl purses her lips, straining her ears for a hint of life.
Nothing.
She pats her hands on her skirt, smudging streaks of dark blue and pink and white. The act would have sullied the fabric if all of Friday’s clothes weren’t already in an identical state of paint-stained. Only magic could salvage her wardrobe and that was a task she simply didn’t have the time for. Wait, where were we? Oh, right, Friday is alone.
Her stomach growls. Realization dawns on her in a way that the actual dawn hadn’t: she’d spent the entire night painting.
“Oh jeez! Oh sheesh!” She scrambles in a whirlwind, made frantic by the awareness that she’s late for breakfast, covered in paint, and still hasn’t finished her potions homework. Features twisted in a cross between panic and the onset of sleep deprivation, Friday hurdles out of the door and barrels through the Hufflepuff common room. But not before snatching her notebook off her bed, sending a few stray papers flying in the process, caught in the remains of her tornado-haste.
Like her, a few stray students have begun making their way to breakfast. However, to their credit, they aren’t covered in paint and sporting bruise-colored bags under their eyes. They also probably finished their homework.
Raking her hands through her frost-blonde hair, Friday finds an open seat and snaps it up without a second thought. She flips open her notebook, skimming through the pages, eyes searching. Weird, there’s a lot of stuff about astronomy, but nothing on potions? The notion strikes her as odd. Why is her potions notebook filled with notes on constellations and the sketchy tracings of star maps? Did the curriculum change?
Oh no. Wait. This is her astronomy notebook.
Friday bottles up a groan and swallows the urge to cry into her hands. To make matters worse━ or more embarrassing ━she’s only just beginning to notice the crush of scarlet and bronze surrounding her on all sides like an army of lions. She was sitting at the Gryffindor’s table. Covered in paint. And on the verge of tears because she’d grabbed the wrong notebook.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Jun 14, 2017 16:25:38 GMT -5
Rowan Dahlander
warning: this is very bad
//
Being that the sky was shrouded by clouds, in its in absence Rowan decided to become the sun. Which is to say, when picking out her wardrobe that morning, a task that took a sold half-hour on a good day, she chose the most obnoxiously yellow dress she owned. Strapless and dappled with white lilies, she looked more like she was going to church on Easter Sunday than a cloaked student on her way to potions. No matter. Rowan dressed to captivate. She remakes herself every morning; colors her face like a painting, shadowing the cheekbones, high-lighting like contrast, blends clay with skin in seamless brush strokes. In this she was a nontraditional artist, different from the painting who plays god, creating beauty where there was nothing before. Rowan takes imperfections and hides them; god’s janitor.
Every morning she cleans up the mess he left behind.
Approximately an hour after she wakes up, after she clothes herself in a yellow-wrapped starburst, after she puts on her face, combs her hair, stares into the mirror for fifteen minutes wondering if she forgot anything, prodding at her chest as if sheer will would make her body more shapely, Rowan leaves the Hufflepuff dorms. In the corner she notices Friday Fishman hunched over at an easel. Rowan considers approaching the other girl – classes would be starting soon, and Friday, a girl who seemed more fantasy than anything to Rowan, fairy blonde hair and eyes blue eyes wider than the ocean, seemed so caught up in her work that Rowan wondered if she knew there was a world outside of her panting.
But Rowan did not know Friday well. They might have talked a couple times, certainly, but Rowan was not one to catalogue her interactions with people. It was common for students to approach her in the halls and talk like they were friends without Rowan even knowing their first name; she went along with it, of course. Not to do so would be awkward. Friday could easily have been one of those people. Except, of course, Rowan knew her name. The girl had been there when Rowan went to bed at about 2am the night before – some Gryffindor had thrown a small party in an abandoned classroom to celebrate the start of the new term. Rowan had gotten plastered; she thinks, well, knows but it’s hazy, that she had made out with some Slytherin upperclassman. She can’t remember his name, she’s actually not sure he even told her.
Oh well. She’d probably make eye contact with him in the hall today, as things always happen. She would blush, but under all this concealer no one would be able to notice. It was one of the many perks of makeup. Along with hiding the bruises like footsteps trailing down the left side of her neck. Anyone who critiqued her heavy used of makeup had obviously never dealt with the stares that a girl, more unattached balloon than person at this point, received the morning after.
Which is why Rowan dressed like she were the sun.
If she smiled, said hello to people in the hallways, waved like everyone were her friend, well, no one paid attention to the details then.
Hufflepuffs least of all; that’s why their table in the Great Hall was always far more crowded than it should be. Students from other houses tended to gravitate towards them; it was not uncommon to see red and green dotting the yellow emblemed masses like Christmas lights. Case in point – there were Sadja al-Jarad and Strawberry, yeah Rowan didn’t know his surname but who needed one when you were named Strawberry, squeezed in oddly colored roses. Sadja was a usual attendant of the table – she was dating the pretty boy, Jasmin Valeska. Rowan was quite proud of her butt, but no one could hold a candle to Jasmin Valeska. (Perks of being a dancer, she supposes.)
Anyways, being the chatty soul she is, and because I can’t write anymore and I’m straight out of muse, it’s great, the best, Rowan saunters right over the little gathering like she belonged there. “Morning, kids”, which is ironic because she’s younger than most of them. “Sleep well?”
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Post by ᴏᴡʟ on Jun 14, 2017 17:16:08 GMT -5
Leona Winterbottom
Ah, detention… Leona Winterbottom knew it well; knew it like the back of her alabaster hand, and could trace it’s routine like the veins upon her twig-thin wrist. She knew it better than any other class, or any other Hufflepuff rugrat; and thanks to detention, she could scrub a caldron like nobody's business (a skill that she was quite proud of, much to her own surprise). Above all else, however, Leona Winterbottom found detention to be an utterly wondrous event; or at least, just this once it could and most certainly would be.
Today, Leona mused with a curl of her blossom-pink lips, is starting off good. “Beauregard Abernathy!” Came the girl’s crowing voice. “Now, who would have ever thought I’d run into you here, of all places?” With a bare of her bright white teeth and a clap of her hands, blue eyes the color of pallor sky practically speared through the figure that everyone- from the young to the old- knew to be the infamous son of the headmaster, Absolon Abernathy. Infamous or not, however, Leona looked about as delighted as a child on Christmas as she gazed into the back of the boy, her white cheeks flushed an excited pink, and brows lifted high above her dollish eyes. If there was one person that Leona had always enjoyed messing with, above all others, it would have to be this kid; this volatile, spit-fire kid, who was all snarled words and bloodied knuckles, and who she ever so lovingly referred to as Beau. “Scrubbing cauldrons again, are we?” Tromping up to stand before him, her robes entangled angrily between her thin and swinging legs, Leona briefly bent beside him, her eyes peering greedily at the Gryffindor's ever so sour face. Scrubbing cauldrons was a messy job, she knew, and by the looks of it, Beau was none too happy to be performing such a task; but really, no one besides her ever really was. Still, couldn’t he have even looked vaguely happy to see his friend there to help him? Oh, but then, Beau wasn’t exactly her friend. Beau probably wanted to turn her into an ant just so that he could squash her beneath his thumb, and not have to deal with clean up afterwards. Nah, he’s more clever than that. Crushing an ant is just too easy for him. “Well, you’re lucky I like cleaning.” Standing up so suddenly that her back let out a resounding crack, there was a brief moment where the girl looked vaguely concerned for the state of spine, until finally a lump in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and caused her to turn ever so momentarily from the figure of Beau. “Oh!” She then practically cried. “Woah, you must be that kid Beau smeared all over the floor earlier! Damn-- did he try to remove your nose entirely, or what?” Honestly, Leona wouldn’t put it past that kid.
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