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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 14, 2017 18:01:25 GMT -5
beauregard abernathy wednesday morning; detention
If the mere act of detention hadn’t been enough, there were plenty of miniscule details to make matters worse. Like splinters. Barely there and yet, somehow, they were the only thing that mattered. One of those splinters is the very Ravenclaw that Beau had decked yesterday evening. Some part of him seeths at the sight of him. At the very least, Beau had hoped to see him sporting a black eye and a broken nose. Reminders. Things he would feel and see and remember that talking smack about an Abernathy behind his back (literally) was a no-go. Instead, he gets eyeful of patched-up and perfect. The nurse had worked her magic (also literally). Black eye? Vanished. Broken nose? Gone. Hopping jinx? The fact that the Ravenclaw and sauntered into the classroom spoke for itself. Regardless of the results, Beau is satisfied with his work. All he had needed was to remind the Ravenclaw boy of his place. Not because Beau’s father was Absolon Abernathy, but because he was Beauregard Abernathy. He did not take lightly to slights against him. Not even the smallest slip of the tongue. Unfortunately, the Ravenclaw boy wasn’t even the biggest splinter in the room. That title went to detention’s newest addition. She walks in like brilliant winter sun. Cold and bright. Snowy blonde hair. Frostbite words. Her eyes were the most striking of her features. A rare strain of blue. The frigid, glittering kind you’d find under lock and key in a jeweller’s shop. Not the prettiest girl he’d seen, but second place wasn’t so bad. As a Slytherin, she no doubt looked good in silver. Leona Winterbottom. Beau fights the urge to recoil at the sight of her and the rosy glow her skin has taken on. She looks like a child, eyes gleaming with all the whimsy and wonder of a kid who’s found a sparkly new toy. It made him want to gouge those eyes out. But with her here, his work was cut in half. Maybe if he bribed her enough, he could get her to take on his load of cauldron-cleaning for him. Silently, he mulls over the details of the bribe while Leona has found herself someone else to be the mouse to her cat. Beau hiccups a snort of laughter at the mention of removing noses. It was always good to know that the kid’s pummeling hadn’t gone unnoticed. Good. Best to lay down the law while it’s still early. “Please,” Beau chimes in, “If I wanted to remove his nose I would have done it with my wand. My hands are far too valuable to be covered in that much blood.” But not too valuable to be covered in a generous amount of it entirely. If there was one thing Beau loved, it was fighting his own battles. Headmaster’s son or not, he was always down for a good brawl.
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Post by mags on Jun 14, 2017 18:45:30 GMT -5
strawberry apricot henderson - - - - -
"Ah, Blueberry, yes?"
He grimaced. Actually. Freaking. Grimaced. And the little half-nervous-half-hopeful smile brightening his expression drooped just a smidge. Because it was bad enough to be named after two types of fruit. But when people couldn't remember which fruit...it just made him sad. For a moment, his confidence faltered. But then he remembered that this year was supposed to be a new start for him. And he was supposed to be making new friends. Meeting new people! Having new experiences! Stepping outside of his comfort zone!
(But, really, how hard was it to remember the name 'Strawberry' when the guy looked like...that? Face as red as a ripe tomato. And the amount of freckles that kid had put the number of seeds on an actual strawberry to shame. But. The point was, did he look like a blueberry?? Did he, Sadja??? No. As he thought about it some more, he began to understand, perhaps for the first time, why his parents may have considered 'Strawberry' to be an appropriate name for him. Or. At least he tried to rationalize it.)
(Anyway.)
His smile returned as he peered up the couple of inches at Sadja.
"It's Strawberry, actually."
His voice was barely more than a murmur, a soft hum that could have easily been lost in the ruckus of silverware clanging against dishes and conversation and laughter. His face, rather pale a few moments earlier, now began to darken, starting with a light pink in his cheeks and eventually morphing into something? Almost magenta-like? Probably not that dark. But close. It spread from his cheeks, to his jaw, to his neck, and even to the tips of his ears. His gaze cast downward, and he eyed his shoes, silently willing his face to return to its normal color.
Thankfully, within a few moments, he got his wish.
The Hufflepuff table seemed like a really nice place with really nice people, so of course Mr. Strawberry Henderson was more than happy to eat there. (It wasn't like he would have said no, though. Not when he was trying to Seize The Moment And Make A New Friend. It's okay, Strawb. You'll find a pal. Promise.) Nodding lightly as Sadja's hand came to rest upon his shoulder, he walked beside the seventh-year and the first-year to the other house's table.
And then. Then he noticed Jasmin Valeska. And his heart skipped about twenty beats right then and there. Because that kid was freaking beautiful. Completely taken by Sadja al-Jarad, herself, but. Still. Was it a crime for Strawberry to completely innocently admire his beauty from afar? (Or up close? Since he was now coming over to them.) Quite possibly.
He returned the wave, and took a seat beside Sadja, feeling oh-so-out-of-place at Hufflepuff's table, but grateful for the invitation all the same.
Who knew what this year had to offer? Maybe some friends. Definitely some memories. And Strawberry Apricot Henderson, for the first time since he'd arrived at school, felt ready to conquer seventh-year head-on.
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 14, 2017 20:06:29 GMT -5
Sadja al-Jarad “Strawberry?” She spoke his name like she was tasting it. Her own face tinted a shade darker as she realized she had gotten his name wrong. They were in the same year and the same house and she didn’t even know his name. She must have seemed so cruel to him. “Oh. Oh, my. How insulting of me i’m very sorry.” Sadja offered him a quick bow, her hair dipping with her. As she stood upright again she said, “My apologies, Strawberry, your name is lovely I didn’t mean to forget it.” Tightening her lips a pinch she looked into his blue eyes. But she couldn’t spend forever apologizing to him, though she’d find a way to make it up to him. As the Great Hall buzzed like a beehive, busy and swarming with activity as students gathered to eat and mingle. The moment Sadja entered the Great Hall she found herself surrounded by people. Not just the ones that were sitting down for their breakfast, but now the ones that began to flock to her. She couldn’t say she disliked it, she was a social person after all. And the students that found their way to her were all too friendly for her to turn them away. Like moths to a flame, attracted to her light and warmth she welcomed them to her. But no matter how many people were around her she could always pick out one face in particular. A sea of people could drown her and there was always one hand she’d reach out and find. It was his face that she saw first. His dimpled cheeks splattered with freckles and eyes of blue and brown. She doesn’t bother to contain the smile already widening on her face, a smile that stretched over her cheeks and reached up into her eyes with a brightness that the sun itself had to contend with. Her heart skipped a beat or two as he approached. His presence didn’t just brighten her mood though, as he spoke to Gabi she could the girl was feeling more comfortable. The girl only gave an answering nod however, perhaps still too shy to reply. Lovely. Jasmin called her lovely. She had confessed her feelings for him last year and they were trying this relationship out, she hadn’t gotten the chance to see him all summer but she’d written him letters. Or tried to at least. She’d had to slow herself down a few times when she got excited and slipped from writing in English to writing in Arabic and at that point would have to start the letter over again. But she couldn’t tell if “lovely” was meant to be a nickname or if he just thought she looked lovely. Not that she cared whichever one it was because hearing him say it scattered a flurry of butterflies through her stomach like she was a tall lanky awkward first year again trying her hardest to tone down her accent so people could understand her. Sadja was glowing now as she addressed Jasmin, “Good morning, Pretty Jas.” She was about to reach for his hand, having the urge to just touch him. It wasn’t just him of course, Sadja was a naturally touchy person. But she didn’t know how he’d feel about the contact so before her hand reached him she dipped her body into another bow as a reflex, unsure of how else to counter the intrusive thought. “My new friends and I will be joining you at the Hufflepuff table today. Gabi here is heart sick for home and Strawberry would like to sit with us. I hope the table is not to crowded this morning, it would be wrong to intrude.” As she situated herself at the table a bright flash of color caught her eye. Bright yellow where everyone else was wearing black and a splotch of their house colors. She was a lightning strike in the middle of the Great Hall. As if the dress in exchange for the uniform wasn’t confusing enough the blue haired girl called her a kid? Without much thought Sadja spoke up “I am no child,” there was nothing accusing in the tone it was more confusion."But my night was well." She recognized her, sort of, there was another girl with hair dyed blue. It would have been more appropriate if she had called her Blueberry by mistake. Suddenly, Sadja perked up again as she remembered something. “Ah a joke!” she smacked her hands together. “I have a joke for you,” speaking to anyone of her friends that were listening. “What do you call a wizard that brings muggles into the wizarding world?” Pausing for a moment she said “A smuggler!” She tried to contain herself for a moment before laughing at her own bad joke.
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Post by koi on Jun 14, 2017 20:30:38 GMT -5
MAGNOLIA CICUTA Magnolia, first of all, wonders why no one else has stopped to ask this dark blur of a girl why she’s screaming a weather phenomenon before breakfast, instead all passing by her like wind through a bug screen. Her underwhelmingly green eyes just blink steady at Palesa, as she starts going on about the weather even more. Wasn’t she just going on about thunder? What is she saying? She wants to inquire how she’s really doing, y’know, brain-wise, is she a little sick, when Palesa starts explaining herself. But Magnolia is not anymore settled than she had been before. “A desert rain frog?” Magnolia’s face is a blank estate of pale slopes and falls. Her entire colour palette is desaturated and rather sad, really, looks more like a nondescript stone than a lush flower. “I’ve never seen one’a those. What do they even--” her eyes leave Palesa’s to give a quick once-over the ground, already tread on by many students. She gets why Palesa must be so worried.Magnolia does not know how to do math, but she figures small frog + many feet = big smooshy mess, and probably owl food. “What’s he look like, this frog you ‘ave?” After a moment, her green eyes pale and unnerving and half-lidded in what looks like an odd sort of boredom, “Maybe my owl ate him this morning.” Then comes a grin that looks like if a snake came down to the garden with a full set of human’s teeth, a little misplaced on her understated face. She’s joking. She hopes Palesa knows she’s joking. Her smile, pale lips encircling it, drops, uncertain. “You know, I could. Um. Help you--” It is then Palesa starts speaking again, prying her hand off her dark wrist, and Magnolia watches as she does it, her pale finger suddenly losing grip, eyes wide. “Oh, bloody ‘ell I hold on hard don’t I,” she comments, more like an anecdote than anything else, eyes flicking back up to Palesa. She does not like talking to people all that much, more than she should, because every single word that exits her mouth ends up being a big regret, something she thinks about later and sighs a very long ‘godddaaaamnnnn b*tchhhhhhh’ about and presses a pillow over her head, but Palesa seems very worried, like she must care for this frog quite a lot, and Magnolia wouldn’t mind searching with her for a minute or two, or keeping her eye out for her. Palesa is cute, really, making a big fuss over what seems like a very little frog, but it’s not like she can blame her. She is very opposite to Magnolia, though the same age (she thinks, at least) and the same height, she’s chubby and her wrist was soft over Magnolia’s hand, wheras Magnolia has bruised herself on her own elbows like sharp countertop edges, has hard muscle covering bone instead of anything else. She thinks about it a little too hard. When Palesa pats her closely shaven head, she almost jumps through the roof. As an afterthought, her stupid, pale-as-uncooked-chicken skin floods as bright and vivid as dianthus. “Oh--uh,” she doesn’t want to say that she cuts it that short because she hates when she can feel hair touching her head, it’s disgusting. “I don’t have to tie it back for quidditch, um, when it’s, uh, like this.” Smooth as riverbed rocks. “Also, you don’t get bad hair days, you know?” She shuts her eyes for a second just longer than a blink. She needs to Chill Out. She wonders if there’s a charm for that. “Do you...want help? With Thunder.” She sounds like a daft git saying it, like Palesa needs help controlling lightning.
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Post by ᴘᴀʟᴀᴅɪɴ ✧ on Jun 14, 2017 20:55:55 GMT -5
Camille Latier. Camille claps her hands together, looking at the space behind the headboard of her bed and beaming, finally satisfied with the end result. A series of photos - both magical and not - were pinned there, something she did every single year because it made the room seem more "personalized" to her. She squints slightly at the faces smiling out at her, unable to stop her own lips from quirking upwards in delight as she recognized each and every one of them. Smiling might be too strong a word but her expression is soft, her posture relaxed, and her lips are curved upward at the edges.
A photo to the far left showed Madison, her cousin who had graduated from Hogwarts about three years prior, waiting for Camille by the stairs. She was leaning up against a nearby wall, hair pulled back into a high, monster of a ponytail and her head bowed over her phone. Even in sweatpants and a tank top she had slept in, she looks good. She’s all curves and dark skin, black hair and large eyes. She’s tall, with curves and muscle, and god damn if she isn’t one of the most attractive women Camille has ever seen. It was a magical photograph and was simply just animated images occurring in a continuous loop, with little photograph Madison glancing up from her phone to smile and wiggle her fingers in the photographer's direction.
Camille leans forward a little more, placing her hands onto her knees to steady herself as she inches a little closer to the wall of photos. She can see her eldest brother, Niccolo, in one of them, arm wound around the shoulders of a younger looking her. The scar on his upper lip was more pronounced then normal, which indicated that it was taken a little after he left hockey. His mouth is slightly swollen and red from stitches but his smile is so warm and easy. She's in a baby blue sweatshirt and skater skirt, looking terribly overdressed compared to him, in a grey NASA shirt with the logo so faded that the white lettering looks more like NSA. It's a normal photo, which means photograph Camille is mid-laugh, gazing up at Nico with a hand holding onto the arm draped around her shoulder. One of her eyes is more closed than the other and Camille inwardly cringes. Why did she keep the photos she looked bad in?
There's a time to spare before she completely misses breakfast, so she inspects the photos some more.
There are a few of her and an older, Muggle friend and one such picture features both of them covered in paint, bashful smiles plastered on their faces as they lean on each other. There are a few of Emerson, one of them with him standing to the left of an older woman, who's dark hair is streaked with gray and a warm smile that's a mirror image of Emerson's, if not a touch less forced.
Another photo of Emerson, ew, almost lost among a sea of other photos with more of her friends, catches her attention and Camille clicks her tongue in disapproval, sounding much like a teacher. It's just her stupid older brother, yes, though much younger as he smiles brightly at the camera, holding up a golden trophy. Long, dark hair - though nearly not as long as it was now - framed eyes that were fiery and intense with unabashed pride. It's been torn straight down the middle, one of his arms lost with the other half of the photo. Calloused, tanned fingers grip the edge of his bright red, black, and white jersey anyway and she bites her lips, trying to think of a viable explanation and coming up empty. Eh, whatever. She'll just owl her mother for the full version and replace it later.
Camille tore her gaze from her wall, deciding against making the commitment of taking a full-blown trip down memory lane. Because, y'know, she's responsible. And hungry, at that. She rolls off her bed rather ungracefully, placing the back of her hand to her forehead with a loud, overly dramatic sigh. She knows she's late for breakfast but we don't talk about that. After a couple seconds of simply sitting on the floor, Camille finally finds the willpower to grab her bag, sling it over her shoulder, and go. The Ravenclaw common room is empty and unsurprisingly so - almost all of her housemates are actually punctual and don't waste their mornings gawking over pictures she brings with her every single year. She quickly glances in the mirror before leaving and her appearance passes muster. She's rather grateful she actually took the time to do her hair because the half-up/half-down space buns with the Dutch braids going back into them she was currently sporting made her feel pretty damn cute. Getting prettied up was fun.
Hmm, where's brother dearest? It's hard to miss Emerson but at this particular moment, she can't seem to find him. Probably because Pal here hasn't gotten around to writing for him so of course he's not... anywhere, really. She moves a tad closer to the Gryffindor table, gaze curiously flicking over a Hufflepuff girl with incredibly light hair and paint smudged onto her skirt and Camille can't help but **** her head in mild fascination. Camille didn't recognize her, which probably meant they were in different years. Not that it meant they couldn't talk, of course. She slides into the seat across from Friday, all smiles.
"Morning!" She chirps in typical Camille fashion, cheerful and as friendly as could be. "I'm not a Gryffindor and neither are you but! Looks like we're both sitting at this table either way without a real reason but we might as well commit, huh?" Camille pauses, momentarily turning icy blue eyes upwards in thought. "Well, I guess I do kind of have a reason. My brother is in this house but we don't talk about that." She's speaking very fast now, surprisingly animated in the morning as she waves her hands about vaguely. "Oh, and by the way! What's your name and are you okay? You seem a little upset - something happen?"
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Post by koi on Jun 14, 2017 22:00:28 GMT -5
JASMIN VALESKA There is a moment in which Jasmin’s eyes connect with Sadja’s and he is reminded of the adrenaline he gets before he goes onstage. The way it tenfolds when he’s in the middle of the marley flooring, realizing he can’t get offstage now but he doesn’t mind the way the lights are so warm on his face, casting shadows from his bangs, hiding his eyes. He always feels like he might throw up, but not really--a similar feeling, a feeling of not being able to control what happens, you may think to yourself “I’m going for that triple,” but when it comes down to it, your body goes back to two rotations only because it’s what it’s used to doing, when blinded by stage lights. Though not the most observant, he notices how Sadja reaches her hand out to touch him, then it slips back, and she bows. He thinks of the pirouette analogy. It’s easy to go back to what you’re comfortable with, but it’s so satisfying to wave that damn triple pirouette in his teacher’s face with an unspoken “how does it feel to know you’ve underestimated me?” But that’s other news. So Jasmin takes initiative, for a short moment, grins like a bad idea has formed in his head though it’s not half-awful, and starts where Sadja has left off--reaches out and connects their hands, giving it a quick squeeze but keeps them joined, fingers interlacing with hers, trying to ease her nerves. It’s okay, you know, he thinks, if I can do it, then you sure can. “Not t-too c-crowded at all,” he says, trying to sound confident in front of the hoard of people that’ve gathered around Sadja like ducklings following their mother (there are only 2 people, jeez, Jasmin. Wait. Hang on. Another wild person has appeared! Jasmin has social anxiety). He wants to say, there’s always room for you, to Sadja, like his heart is a bus carrying only a few passengers but she was the one driving it, but thinks against it, as something else slips out of his mouth instead, a little less cheesy, “Seriously. C-come sit.” He squeezes her hand again and sits next to her, but within a moment, when Strawberry takes a seat as well, his eyes slip off her her face and onto his freckled face, staring blankly at Jasmin like he’s done something especially wrong, like, he’s wearing his shirt backwards and his mismatched eyes are offensive or maybe his eyebrows are too strong and are gaining a mind of his own, and he wants to mutter a quiet apology to the boy, for something that Jasmin doesn’t even know he’s done. Strawberry is blushing as red as his namesake and Jasmin distantly reminds himself of his dumb cousin who blushes if you so much as breathe in front of him. (It’s a Valeska thing. Meaning, Jasmin blushes just as much--he just vehemently denies it.) His attention gets brought upwards and away from Strawberry and Sadja, up to--holy snap that is a lot of yellow. Oh lord. Oh lord? He wonders distantly where the heck her uniform is, blinking up at her like she was the actual sun and he couldn’t stare directly at her, or, I mean, maybe it’s the social anxiety, but he gets reminded of when Gio used to call him her Very Small Son even though he was both older and taller than her when Rowen refers to the lot of them as kids. Did Jasmin sleep well? He slept well enough, with a cat plastered so firmly on his face he probably has white fur in his mouth still. “Uh,” he starts, and he’s as blank as bleached-white printing paper. “Yeah. Yeah? Yeah. What about--uh, what a-about you?” He’s not sure he’s ever talked to Rowan before. He hopes to every deity that may exist up above that she already is aware of the stutter situation, because he really does not need another person to think that he’s stuttering because he’s nervous talking to them. Good god. His head turns suddenly, eyes big as he looks in Sadja’s direction, mouth open, and after a moment where he stares blandly at her, he snorts out a short bit of laughter, squeezes her hand again. Who the hell told her that joke? Did she come up with it now, in a nervous flutter, on the fly? Oh no. He already told the pile of kittens joke his second year, so he can’t counter with that.
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 14, 2017 23:42:02 GMT -5
Palesa Raynon Macrops Palesa ran a hand over her shaven head, the soft fuzz tickling her palms. She held her hands up again as if she could draw the frog in the air and show Magnolia what he looked like. To be honest she wasn’t even sure it was a he. Of course there was a way to tell but she’d never learned, so to her Thunder remained a he. It wasn’t like Thunder cared if he was misgendered at any rate. In fact, at the moment Thunder seemed more occupied with freedom than any human problems. “He’s small and round, he’s white and brown and tan.” Palesa described him like a mother describing a lost child, although he was probably the only frog in the corridor so Magnolia would know if she saw him anyway. But as Palesa ran a look over Magnolia again she found that there was a sort of boredom to her face that insulted Palesa. She would have pointed it out had Magnolia not made that cruel comment about her owl first. Palesa’s hands flew to her lips as she let out a noise that sounded like a squeak of horror. Was this girl just here to bully Palesa? Trying to push her buttons for no other reason than she was bored and she could. Narrowing her eyes Palesa shot her a look that should have meant business if she wasn’t so darn cute. “If your owl ate my frog then i’ll-” Her cheeks were puffing up again as though she herself were truly trying to make herself look bigger in an odd defense that would strike fear into Magnolia’s heart. Fear or distaste… Palesa would have continued her rant, ready to tear into the Gryffindor. Just because Palesa was a Hufflepuff didn’t mean she couldn’t be as brave as any Gryffindor. She thought Slytherins were supposed to be the mean ones. “Wait. Help me? You want to help me find Thunder?” She asked, curious if this was just some kind of trick to make Palesa look like a fool. She paused for a moment tapping her foot against the floor as she weighed her options. While she couldn’t quite pin down Magnolia’s true character and couldn’t be sure if she ulterior motives. She knew for certain that of all the students that had been passing her by while she shouted about the weather like a lunatic, Magnolia had been the only one to stop and ask what was wrong. To top it off Thunder was a very small frog and would not be easy to find if she had to continue her search alone and breakfast was almost over. Palesa’s stomach growled at that last thought as she remembered how hungry she was. Even if this was a deal with the devil Palesa gave a curt nod. “Okay, you can help me. But only if you promise not to hurt my frog, got it?” Palesa wasn’t usually so suspicious of people. She’d always found that trust went a long ways. To remain paranoid and skeptical of everyone around you would only lead to a miserable existence. At least Magnolia seemed honest in her invitation to help. Perhaps she wasn’t trying to be rude maybe this was her way of being friendly, if she could be friendly that was. Come to think of it Palesa wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Magnolia talk to a lot of people, then again Palesa only saw her sometimes and hadn’t paid her much mind so her own bias was clouding her judgement. She turned on her heel to hurry down the hall and resume the search party for her missing frog. But as her had went to touch her head again, another nervous habit, she glanced over her shoulder at Magnolia. "Oh and uh, yeah I get it. About the hair I mean. I don't play quidditch but my hair was sort of...hard to manage, so it's just easier this way is all."
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Post by koi on Jun 15, 2017 14:17:32 GMT -5
MAGNOLIA CICUTA Magnolia’s spring-pale eyes widen significantly as soon as Palesa lets out a squeak that sounds like a kitten getting squeezed. Y’know, not squeezed-to-death, but a firm little huggin’. That’s what Palesa sounds like. “Oh Lord, good Merlin, I was kidding,” Magnolia is saying, eyes squeezing shut as if in prayer, teeth gritting. Palesa, in front of her, tries to puff herself up, in some sort of attempt to be intimidating, expression hardening as much as Magnolia thinks someone with such round cheeks can, and it is not fear or distaste that she strikes into Magnolia’s, really, it’s something else entirely. Lord, she is cute! Magnolia stares at her with her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed, eyes widened, and it’s all she can think. She’s like a baby bird puffing its chest. She snorts out a laugh at the imagery, one that she doesn’t mean to sound cruel, but it comes out like that anyway, as things like that often do. Her cheeks heat up like a fire meeting wind for the first time. “Er, uh,” she starts, bug-coloured eyes watching her own shoulder, “I mean, can’t be sure what my owl gets up to in his spare time, but he ‘as one eye and can barely find me when I stick a whole letter in his face.” Blinks idly at the ground for a short second. God, why did she bother asking? Nothing ever good comes out of stopping a girl in her tracks and asking her why she was screaming out the weather. Nothing. This is Magnolia’s first time with this experience, but she knows she would never do it again. Never! Still, she finds herself staring blankly at Palesa again, a stone wall made of pale rock. “Why would I hurt your frog?” she finds herself saying, dumbly, as if she’s forgotten the entire last few minutes. Her eyes narrow, cheeks the colour of carnations, or other flowers, she doesn’t know, she never paid attention when listening to her mother talk about them, “But, er, I promise, I suppose...?” Palesa takes off again, whirls around to keep looking for her frog, and Magnolia trains her eyes to the floor, a focused expression camping on her face, kneels down just a second later. In a second, she’s flat down on her stomach and has her cheek to the dirty floor, eyes scanning the line of the floor for any precarious, frog shaped bumps. “Is he ugly, this frog of yours?” Magnolia says to Palesa, in a half-hearted attempt to keep conversation going. She realizes how bad that may seem, but she keeps talking, stony and trying not to let her embarrassment show, “Sounds rude, innit? I like uglier things. Makes’m more charming, don’t you think?”
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Jun 15, 2017 15:30:18 GMT -5
friday fishman wednesday morning; the great hall
Friday’s eyes stretch wide as a Ravenclaw girl slides into the seat across from her. Her face all but sizzles with hot embarrassment, insides alive and teeming with shame like a swarm of flies. Some part of her had hoped no one would notice her mistake, as though there might be a chance for her to right the wrong before it was too late. A friendly, smiling face had dashed her hopes. Friday fights the overwhelming urge to sink lower into her seat and disappear. Maybe some stray spell will hit her and she’ll ooze away as a sentient puddle of goo. Not likely. She swallows, clutching her notebook tight. Steeling herself, the Hufflepuff shrugs and gives a sad excuse of a laugh, “Upset? Me? No, I just thought I’d sit at the Gryffindor table today. Y’know, new year and all, thought I’d try and make some new friends.”
New friends. Did Friday have any old friends to speak of? The few people that tried to break through to her were always pushed away. Brushed off in favor of paintbrushes and easels and late nights giving life to colors. Friday didn’t need or want friends. She had her cousins, anyway, surely they were enough. She wondered how they were doing. Fox and Newt didn’t start school till late September.
No doubt they were spending their time wisely. She could picture the two of them clearly in her mind, racing through the forest, hurtling over logs dressed in mossy gowns, shoving past each other in a competition for the rope swing that launch them into the deep green swimming hole like the cold, sunken heart of the forest. If she closed her eyes, she could see their rust-colored hair, streaked with sweat and prickling with decaying leaves a wrestling session gone awry. They were like puppies. Eager, boundless energy, always looking for something to do. Friday blinks, snapping to attention as she realizes she’d drifted off. “Oh! I’m Friday, by the way. What’s your name?” She offers a lopsided smile, hoping the Ravenclaw girl hadn’t noticed her daydreaming. A voice in her head━ frantic to bridge the silence, change the subject ━offers a new topic. “So you have a brother? That must be… Nice. What’s his name? What’s he like? What’s your name? ...Did I already ask your name?”
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 15, 2017 17:40:30 GMT -5
Palesa Raynon Macrops Palesa is an oblivious person. She doesn’t easily pick up on social cues or people’s emotions in general. If had noticed how flustered Magnolia seemed she would have had more sympathy. In truth she should have realized that the comment about the owl was only a joke even if Magnolia wasn’t a very good joke teller, but Palesa wasn’t great with jokes either. Or maybe if Palesa hadn’t been so caught up in her missing frog, if the poor girl hadn’t already been a whirlwind of worry she could have gotten off to a better start with Magnolia. In a moment she was a flurry in the corridor again. A dark spot of freckles against the grey stone of the hall. Her footsteps echoed against the stone, pausing every so often to get a close look at a shadow that she had mistaken for the form of her frog. And despite not seeing any sign of Thunder she was a little relieved, because she also did not see him squished into the floor. “Ugly?” Palesa finally spoke as if she had only just heard Magnolia’s question. “Oh my no, he’s adorable. He’s as round as a coin with stubby legs and silver eyes. He’s quite a handsome boy you know.” She kept talking while she looked, stooping down to check a crack in the wall. She slipped her fingers into the crack, feeling the cool stone against her skin. Judging that it was too small for even Thunder to squeeze into she stood back up again. “Some people might say that he’s ugly or even slimey and gross but I don’t think that’s true, I think he’s a beautiful boy. So...I suppose I can see where you’re coming from when you say that you like ugly things. Even ugly things need love.” When she turned to look at Magnolia she saw her flat on the floor and made a face hurrying over. “You really don’t have to do that you know.” Palesa set her hand on Magnolia’s shoulder to help her up. That was when she heard the telltale squeak. A high pitched battle cry that made Palesa leave Magnolia’s side to find it. Not that she had to go very far. In a couple of footsteps she found the source of the meeps. Thunder was puffed up in a corner of the hall, trying to stand tall on his stubby legs as he let out another cry. When Palesa saw the source of his fear she whipped out her wand and aimed it at the culprit. A big black rat had Thunder corner, it’s sniffing nose made it’s whiskers twitch as it’s long tail flicked back and forth. “Leave Thunder alone!” The rat oddly enough turned to look at Palesa, something glinted in it’s beady dark eyes as it rested back on it’s haunches. In the blink of an eye it went from a black rat into a boy with black hair, too many piercings, who was covered in tattoos. He arched a brow at Palesa’s wand and snorted, “You’re holding that thing like you were ready to battle it out with a rat.” He walked over and put his finger on her wand, pointing it away from himself and towards the wall. “It’s rude to point your wand at a fellow student.” Palesa’s mouth was gaping open as she stared at Gustav Jung. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for a rat in a school full of wizards to turn into a rat but she couldn’t help but feel surprise. Straightening herself out again she simply glared at Gustav “Well it’s rude to go about tormenting people’s pets,” she sniped at him as she pushed past him and tenderly scooped up her startled frog.
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Post by Salted Squid on Jun 16, 2017 0:17:01 GMT -5
Skylar Brennan)
To say that Skylar Rose Brennan was happy to return to Hogwarts for the year would have been an understatement. The sixth year, as a matter of fact, was absolutely thrilled to be freed from the empty, echoing halls of Brennan Manor. Her childhood home had never been all that welcoming, even when she was young; the manor house was always cold, both in appearance and in temperature, long hallways with high arched ceilings and stark white walls and immaculately shined white marble floors, all contributing to the feeling that the large and elegant manor was more of a sterilized hospital than the home of a family of five. As a child, she had found the manor off-putting; lately, it had become nearly unbearable for her to be trapped within it. Her own bedroom was only slightly more appealing, with pale blue walls and gray marble floors and a pale blue area rug, with white curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling arched windows. White dressers, desk, bookshelves, and nightstands. Her bed, its Slytherin green quilt the most colorful decoration in the room, sat on a raised platform, the marble tiles that covered it identical to the white ones in the hallway. As a little girl, she had loved her bedroom; it was as big as the dormitory that she shared with three other girls here at Hogwarts, and it had felt fit for a princess (her bedspread had been frilly and pink back then). But, over the summer, it had felt like a prison to her, her only company the willow tree visible through her bedroom window, her cat, and Whitley (who, honestly, was more of an unwelcome intruder than a guest-- but still, he was company).
No Quidditch. No magic. Frequent massive dinner parties, during which she was required to stand to the left of her father for hours on end as he showed her off to his associates like a prized pony (though at least she'd managed to have some fun shooting spitballs at Whitley behind James' back). No, home was no longer warm and welcoming; home was like a version of hell that was all cold and ice and formality rather than fire and chaos.
So it was no surprise that the redhead was in a rather chipper mood this morning as she strolled to breakfast from the Slytherin dungeon. She walked with an air that would have made her father proud, with her head held high and her hands folded neatly behind her back. James would not have been so proud of the fact that her robes were wrinkled from the way she had shoved them into her trunk last year, or the way that her green-and-silver necktie was slightly crooked, or the way that she wore her hair in a high, crooked ponytail off to the left side of her head. He would have been furious at the smirk on her face and the arrogant twinkle in her eyes, and the way that she allowed Saladin, her cat (James had never liked the silver tomcat much), perch upon her shoulder like an oversized parrot with his beautiful speckled tail looped around her neck, and he might've blown a fuse at the sight of how casually she'd tucked her wand behind her ear. But she carried herself with pride, proud of all of the things that she did which would have set her father off like a bomb, because James Brennan was not here, and damned if she'd let him control her life at school as much as he controlled her while she was at home.
So far, her Wednesday morning was going wonderfully. She'd managed to avoid Whitley in the common room, which meant that either he was still asleep (not likely) or that he'd managed to make friendly with some other Slytherin first years, and had gone down to breakfast with them and was going to leave her alone (please, let that be the case), or, most likely, he was waiting in the Great Hall to ambush his dear older sister the moment she walked in (if he tried to embarrass her she might just strangle him). For the first time, she let out a sigh, some of the smirk fading from her pale, freckled face. Knowing Whitley Brennan, he'd just smile and start talking, playing the part of the cheerful, doting little brother even though they both knew that he hated her guts, he hated Willow too, and if he could be an only child he would take that chance in a heartbeat. She scowled, the thought only making her want to strangle him even more.
But, as it turned out, murder would have to wait, for as she rounded the corner she was greeted with a somewhat pleasant surprise. A pair of girls, one of whom she knew rather well, the other an apparent Hufflepuff with a shaved head and a dark complexion that contrasted rather nicely with the first. Skylar barely paid the Hufflepuff a second of her attention, which was quickly turned to the pale skinned girl who lay flat on her belly with her face against the floor.
Magnolia Cicuta was like a flower, small and thin and beautiful, but a poisoned one, the type that would draw you in to take a sniff of its petals and have you dead on the floor in moments. Magnolia looked small and delicate, but Skylar knew from experience that the Gryffindor could pack quite the punch if she wanted to (if she tried hard enough, Skylar thought that she could still feel the pain in her ribs where Magnolia had creamed her with a bludger once, during the last match of the season which Gryffindor had won, much to the distaste of the Slytherin seeker). Though honestly, Skylar wouldn't mind if Magnolia beat her up. At least she'd be bloody, bruised, and staring up at a pretty face.
She paused in her progress, taking a moment to lean up against the wall next to Magnolia as the smirk returned, taking the place of the scowl that had been there moments before. For a moment, she simply watched, hoping that her amusement at finding her bitter rival in such a compromising position didn't show through too much as she somewhat admired the other girl's small but lengthy figure.
Finally, after a moment's pause, she spoke.
"Hey there, Petal." Petal. Because Magnolia's name was a flower. Get it? Skylar thought she was clever, coming up with that nickname. She was pretty sure that Magnolia hated it. Which was exactly why she called her that. A smile curled her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest, debating. "So, I hear that Team Gryffindor has come up with a few new training techniques for this season, eh? Whaddya call this one, eating dust?"
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Post by koi on Jun 16, 2017 15:29:28 GMT -5
MAGNOLIA CICUTA It may look like Magnolia is doing next to nothing, lying with her cheek smashed against the floor like mashed potatoes dropped from the sky, anyway, she’s doing a lot from down here, thank you very much. She decides one area of the hallway is safe, so she tilts her head the other way and checks the line where the wall meets floor on the other side. “My owls the ugliest thing since spattergroit,” Magnolia says in reply, voice absent-minded and quiet, a little bored sounding, but more focused than that, as she scours the floor for a frog she’s not sure what even looks like. “Not gonna sugar coat it by sayin’ he’s handsome or anythin’, but I mean.” Dead silence as Magnolia raises her head, rubs her cheek, then puts it back down (hiding her face as she says it)--”He’s still my Special Boy.” The floor is cold against her skin--kind of grounding in a way, cools down the blush high on her cheeks--and her eyes travel over the line of the floor, looking for any precarious bumps, eyes narrowing, because there really seems like there’s...nothing. Not even dust bunnies hopping around when Magnolia lets out a huff of breath against the floor. Is Palesa sure this is exactly where she lost her frog? How did she lose her frog in such an awkward part of the school, anyhow? She is in the middle of vocalizing this when Palesa is pulling her up by shoulder, off the ground. “How’d you lose him any--oh, it’s fine, really.” She pulls herself up from the ground anyway, shoulders raising and her head following last as she gets a big dizzy spell from it--no breakfast does that to a person when you’re used to shoving food into your mouth as soon as you’re awake. Magnolia may be a wisp of a thing and this is especially true when she is under big, big robes, but in reality, she eats more than grown men do. “Wouldn’t be on the ground if I didn’t wanna be,” she says, like some sort of line of defense, even though Palesa is just looking out for her, not attacking her. She raises to her feet anyway, checking all around the ground, lest she end up stepping on the damned frog as she does so, Lord, that would be harrowing. Her cheek with a red indication she had pressed it into the floor, something she doesn’t notice in the least, she whirls around when Palesa suddenly leaves her side with an exclamation. Dear Lord, that is a big rat! Her eyes widen but not a lot else happens on her stony face, stance wide like she’s not sure whether to kick that rat into oblivion or let Palesa defend her poor froggy friend and Magnolia sees what Palesa was saying now, when she looks at that teeny abomination of an animal. She has never seen anything so genuinely beautiful in her life. “How mean,” Magnolia says, idly, disappointment thick in her wishy-washy voice. She really did like rats, because they were ugly, misunderstood things, and she liked their little peaked faces, but how could any creature hurt something as lovely as Thunder? Feeling very put-out, she stands next to her newfound probably-not-friend-but-Magnolia-can-hope and glares at that damned rat, when-- “Good Merlin!” Magnolia exclaims, sticks a hand straight over her heart, where it is actually not that bothered by the scenario and pumps blood steadily under her palm anyhow, like it’s glaring disdainfully and telling Magnolia, you live in a school with a hoard of other magical folk, of course you shouldn’t be surprised by this, “Lord!” Why was Gustav Jung bullying a tiny defenseless frog! For a moment, Magnolia just stares at the boy who had been her potions partner on at least one occasion. Sure, she can be a Mean Girl when she wanted to be--or, not when she wanted to be exactly, but when it slipped out of her mouth and she regrets it a second after the fact, but would she ever turn into a rat just to bully another students pet? Absolutely not. It all leaves her brain pretty fast, as she stares with her jaw set and lets Palesa shoulder by Gustav--face-full-of-metal, expression full of something that makes Magnolia’s jaw set harder as if she just ate a lemon slice--and scoop up her precious frog. Magnolia takes a step back, ready to excuse herself and recommend that Palesa does the same and leaves Gustav alone, when she hears a voice, and grits her teeth so tightly, wound like twine around branches, that she feels her teeth grind and gnash together. Magnolia does not have a good relationship with Skylar Brennan, and this is partly because she is not a soft girl inherently, no contrast between Magnolia’s inherent b*tchiness and Skylar’s similarities. Magnolia has nothing but the twist of Skylar’s lips in a smirk for her harsh glances to bounce off. She tries not to whirl around fast--instead, tilts her head for a short moment and cringes, like a tick, and turns around, slowly, tries to be calculated, ends up turning around with her jaw still set and her eyes so half-lidded under disproving eyebrows she thinks she’s about to break her face in half with her emotion, or, lack of all emotion except for damn it, I just wanted to hold Palesa’s frog, y’know. Magnolia is also seventy times more likely to spark fights during quidditch than simply in a corridor, especially before breakfast, so there is not as much fuelling her barely-there fire today. She slips the shoulder of her robe that had fallen down to elbow back up, and tries to look like a jade statue. Magnolia hates flowers. Skylar calling her petal makes her want to kick her over the head. But she can’t, because she is not that flexible, and it’s fine, and it’s fine because Magnolia makes it fine, just regards Skylar coldly, before saying, “I don’t want to talk to you before I’ve eaten,” but it’s sort of helpful Magnolia hasn’t eaten before now, because it doesn’t give her as much to throw up when Skylar inevitably calls her Petal again. She whirls around, now. “Palesa, d’you want to go to breakfast, then? Now that you’ve found Thunder, n' all.” Pleasepleaseplease I don’t wanna have to interact with Skylar by myself, goes unsaid.
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 16, 2017 17:12:21 GMT -5
Palesa Raynon Macrops & Gustav Jung Palesa cradled the tiny in her hands, assessing him to be sure that he was okay. She would have given him a kiss but the poor dear was already frightened enough and having her mouth on him would make him think he’s about to be eaten. So instead she opted to gently stroke him before carefully tucking him away into her robes, where this time he would be safe and she would know better then to present another chance for him to escape. Gustav remained leaning against the wall, now picking at his nails idly. He looked at them with half closed eyes, the dark crescents that shadowed his eyes were signs that he didn’t spend much time sleeping. He crooked a brow at the girls in a bored sort of manner. “Am I really so mean? I was only curious about the weird frog in the hall. It’s not my fault you can’t keep track of your pets you know.” It was clear to Palesa that the form of a rat really did suit Gustav, as she stuck her tongue out at him in a petty and childish manner. “Pick on someone your own size you big bully.” Gustav pushed off the wall and rolled his shoulders as he put his hands on his hips and scrutinized the girls before him, “Certainly not you then.” He nodded to Magnolia in greeting. They weren’t close but they’d been potions partners so he knew her, he knew that sometimes she’d work too fast while also trying to be the best. Treating classes and tests like they were all a competition. Whereas Gustav took nothing seriously and simply breezed through life with a lazy gait. “Have fun with your weird frog,” he grunted with a detached wave as he strode past them back toward the Great Hall for some more food. His muffin hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. Palesa mumbled something under her breath as she watched Gustav walk away. A flash of red caught Palesa’s eye, she twisted to see Skylar Brennan already chatting with Magnolia. She furrowed her brow curiously. Unsure of what to make of the interaction. She assumed they were sort of rivals since they were on opposing quidditch teams and were both competitive. But it also looked to her that Skylar was playfully teasing Magnolia. Words from Magnolia were directed at Palesa and she could only blink as she registered what was said. “Huh? Oh, uh yeah sure.” She smiled at her, light hearted again now that Thunder had been safely returned to her. “I could really use something to eat.” She started making her way down the corridor and looked back at Magnolia, “And thanks for helping me find my frog. I know I kinda snapped at you earlier but I do really appreciate it since no one else actually stopped, you know?” A lopsided smile graced her face as she awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck. Tossing a glance to Skylar she offered her a wave "And good morning to you." Though Skylar had not given Palesa a second glance let alone greeted her she still thought it would be impolite to at least not offer her a good morning.
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Post by mags on Jun 16, 2017 23:37:09 GMT -5
strawberry apricot henderson - - - - -
In all honesty, once Strawberry A. Henderson plopped himself down at the Hufflepuff table, he barely even noticed Sadja and Jasmin anymore. At least, for like. Right now. Because staring at him from just across the table was a girl he could have sworn he’d never seen before -- and blue hair wasn’t exactly something he could easily forget, mind you. But, really, it wasn’t even the hair that caught him off-guard. It was her choice of attire. He found himself glancing over his shoulder a few times and scanning the students around him, if only to see if he hadn’t been the one to dress appropriately, to see if maybe robes were...somehow out of dress code? But, alas, as he originally believed, he was not in the minority. But the girl sitting across from him looking like a blindingly-bright yellow highlighter? Well. He couldn’t exactly say the same for her, now could he? And then she was speaking and he was squinting and, frankly, he almost missed what she had to say. Almost. “I, uh,” he began, “yeah. I guess I slept pretty well. You?” He paused. And blinked. Three times. “I’m...so sorry. So bad with names.” He paused, shaking his head as if to clear it. “But who are you again?” He felt somewhat guilty for not knowing who the girl was. But...at least she wasn’t a Gryffindor, right? It would have been worse had she been from his own house, yes? Strawberry’s memory, admittedly, wasn’t the greatest. Probably because of some other random side-effect of that wonderful little potion he drank when he was fourteen. Not only did it stop his growth (or, as his older brothers liked to say, stopped him from becoming a man) but it messed with his cognitive functions as well. Not a fun time. His attention was torn away from the out-of-uniform Hufflepuff girl, however, when Sadja began to speak again. And at the mention of the word, “smugglers”, a broad grin began to spread across the freckled boy’s features. A light, rather embarrassingly high-pitched laugh escaped his lips, and he brought a hand up, covering his mouth with his palm. Again, to his dismay, he blushed. He couldn’t help it. And again, he began to think that perhaps Strawberry was an appropriate name for him, after all. “Golly. That’s actually really clever!” he exclaimed, his voice too boyish and nasal and altogether sounding like that of a kid who had yet to hit puberty. He liked that joke. He would use it one day. Even though it was corny, he appreciated it greatly. Thank you, Sadja al-Jarad. Thank you very much.
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Post by Salted Squid on Jun 17, 2017 0:11:52 GMT -5
Skylar Brennan)* (it's actually an end parenthesis but it looks cool huh?)
"I don't want to talk to you before I've eaten."
If Skylar Brennan were any less of a human being she may have been offended by Magnolia's words. Take that, and combine it with the look on the short girl's face, that look of eww I've just stepped in a massive pile of dung or, even better, how dare you come along breathing and ruining my morning, and a lesser Slytherin may have found themselves crawling back to their own table in the Great Hall with a sulk. But Skylar, bless her heart, was not as easy as many to shake off. She simply grinned, that type of grin that made it clear that she found this fun, and that in no way was she going to be letting the Gryffindor off as easily as she had planned.
"Personally, I find pre-breakfast conversation to be rather enlightening," she said cheerily, raising up her arms to tuck them behind her head in an oh so casual manner. "Some of my best ideas come to me from conversations that were had before eating. But it's understandable that you might not feel the same way."
Dear god, she realized. She was starting to sound like Whitley. The realization made her positively wilt inside. She lowered her arms, raising up a hand to absentmindedly scratch a now very displeased Saladin behind the ears. He let out a low mrrp of discontent, then a purr, nuzzling her hand in an effort to be awarded more pets. Skylar gladly gave him his wish, rubbing his soft ears up until the Hufflepuff joined them again.
She offered a smile, partly out of trained properness and partly out of a desire to not seem rude. For the first time she really took a look at the chubby girl, and decided to herself that she looked positively froglike. She did not seem to notice Rat Boy off in the corner, or if she did notice him, she paid him no mind.
Palesa! It was a pretty name, Skylar realized as Magnolia spoke it, and she gave a slight nod, as if in approval. "Your name's Palesa, hmm? I like it, that's a cute name." The words were out before she'd realized that she had decided to say them, and she felt heat rise up in her cheeks. Had she just called the frog girl's name cute? How humiliating for both parties. She decided to cover it up with a wink and a grin, turning to loop an arm around Magnolia's shoulders as if the pair were old friends, though she was ninety percent sure that doing so would lead to her either getting punched in the face or waking up with masses of hair growing in undesirable places. Ironically, both of those things had happened to poor Skylar during her time at Hogwarts. "It ain't as cute as Petal, though, right Petal?" She flashed yet another wink. "Anyway, breakfast sounds like a splendid idea. Mind if I join you? Don't say no, you could do with the companionship. Loneliness really doesn't look good on you, Magnolia Cicuta."
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Post by servalstrike on Jun 17, 2017 0:58:03 GMT -5
Sadja al-Jarad Sadja felt Jasmin’s hand wrap around hers and there were sparks between their fingers. She tilted her face up to meet his gaze and he offered her a look of reassurance. One that told her that she wasn’t crossing a line, that she wasn’t making him uncomfortable and he was okay with what seemed like such a simple touch. Every inch of where they connected felt like the warmth of sunshine after a cold night. They molded perfectly into each other. Sadja looked up at Jasmin with a smile full of the light of a thousand dawns and sunsets, dark eyes glittering like they were full of stars. Surrounded by people, most of whom were new to her, Sadja reigned in her brief moment of untamable joy and schooled her expression into something more calm. But the rippling light in her eyes still danced with joy. As pure and rich and sweet as concentrated honey. Sadja squeezed Jasmin’s hand. They were getting there. The transition from friends to lovers was a twisting and awkward road with misplaced bumps and potholes and they’d find a few ruts and stop signs but they’d navigate together. No relationship was perfect. It would take time and patience and work but it was worth it. After catching her breath after a fit of laughter from her own corny joke “To be truthful, it was not my joke. I heard it from some other students last night and thought it was too good not to share.” She clapped her hands together, still beaming. “It is funny because to smuggle is to bring something somewhere in secrecy and because it sounds like muggle. Sharing humor is the best way to make others smile.” Looking at Strawberry’s smiling face only made her own smile grow wider, telling bad jokes was also the best way to make new friends it seemed. As Sadja scanned over the table full of food her stomach growled in anticipation of the meal she would have. Trays of a variety of breakfast foods called to her with their enticing smells. Pancakes, sausages, and eggs. Just the sight of it made Sadja almost forget her manners. Keeping one hand twined with Jasmin’s she started to fill her plate. Still smiling over her cheesy joke. Picking up a plate of pancakes she reached over and offered some to Strawberry, "A peace offering for my earlier transgression. I hear pancakes and strawberries go well together," she spoke with a sincere smile. “Did you really sleep well, Pretty Jas? Is the kitty finally leaving you in peace?” She dipped her chin to look up at him. “If he does not you should offer him a bowl of warm milk, kitties love milk don’t they, and warm milk is supposed to help you sleep? My Mother told me that when I was little I couldn’t sleep until I was given some honey and milk, I still have it sometimes when i’m especially anxious.” She chatted on while she ate, somehow while speaking and eating she retained her grace and manners. Never spilling her food or talking with her mouth full. Sadja tucked a lock of midnight hair behind her ear and readjusted the sleeves of her robe. “I have a free period today if anyone would like to join me for some fun. I do not yet know what the fun will be but I do hope to enjoy it.” Dusting some stray crumbs off her robe she straightened her posture as if she were about to say something rather important. “Perhaps if we aimlessly wander the halls we will discover some of the secrets that this castle likes to hide. Maybe we will see a ghost. I have heard rumors that this place is haunted you know.” A whisper of a laugh tinged her voice as amusement danced in her eyes, another bad joke.
She leaned over to Jasmin and lowered her voice "If you like I could sneak into the kitchens and take a snack for us, Pretty Jas." Sadja al-Jarad of course was no thief and when she said that what she really meant was that she was going to politely ask someone for a snack. But that didn't sound as daring as plundering the kitchen.
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Post by ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ on Jun 18, 2017 16:52:12 GMT -5
charlotte "charlie" maisie keilani
Mornings and Charlotte Maisie Keilani simply did not get along. Ironically enough, Charlotte was a perpetually early riser. She rose and slept with the sun, typically, although she found that as the year would drag along at Hogwarts, she would be sleeping with the sun later and later every night. Not that she minded. She was used to fairly little sleep, and knew that the coffee here was exceptionally delicious, as was all the food. Her stomach rumbled at the thought, so she hopped out of bed, heading to the bathrooms to shower. One perk of waking early is that you get the bathrooms all to yourself... she mused, a smile itching at the corner of her lips. Charlie was famous for taking hot showers, ones that steamed the entire bathroom and turned it into a muggy swamp that made it difficult to breathe. When questioned as to what would possess her to do so, she would merely shrug and respond with a simple, "Gotta clean the sinuses with the rest of me", which would infuriate the listener further because that doesn't even make sense?
Not that Charlie cares.
Emerging spick and span, clean as a whistle and smelling faintly of her soap (a nice, green bar called Irish that hinted at Silver Birch Yankee Candle smell but only slightly sweeter), Charlotte dressed herself in her uniform and brushed her teeth, not bothering with her hair. It's not like it made a difference anyway, combing it or not combing it. So, why bother?
She headed back to her room and folded her PJ's neatly on her bed after making the bed itself, eyes a bit sharper than they were about 45 minutes ago, having woken up some with the bloodflow from walking. She felt her ears, putting in three pairs of studs in each, and an extra hoop in her left one up in the cartilage, grinning slightly. Next year, she'd get her cartilage on the right and be perfectly even. One for each year of school (counting the one year of muggle Kindergarten that her parents had attempted to put her in before a series of "mysterious events" led to the glorified daycare requesting she be homeschooled from then on. She had been quite pleased with herself, despite only being 5 years old at the time). She turned, noting the other girls in her room were now in various stages of getting ready, and headed out, deciding a small walk before breakfast sounded rather lovely.
When she arrived back in the hallway, she noticed how crowded it had become. She didn't mind though; she moved with such grace and ease, aloof confidence oozing from her in such a way that most students just moved themselves around her. She was tall and quiet, and made no bother with "pardon me"'s, or "excuse me"'s, or even a simple "move". She noted the odd girl shouting "Thunder!", but paid no mind as it was none of her business as to why the girl with what appeared to be a shaved head was yelling weather forecasts. It did look a bit cloudy, she supposed, but not nearly enough for rain. No matter
She was, however, alerted to another matter at hand, when she heard an all too familiar voice ring out nearby. "Did you just...push past me?" Charlie's upper lip curled slightly, and she rolled her eyes. Ah yes, Katherine Petrovina, a seventh year from her own house. Charlotte didn't really care either way about other people, typically, but Charlie did care about bullies. She couldn't stand them, not even in the slightest, probably due to the fact that herself had been the victim of bullying for a number of years when she was younger, thanks to her height and "no care" attitude. She turned, watching as Katherine robbed the girl of her black ribbon, leaving the first year shuddering as she waltzed off, another insult stabbing the poor girl in the back. Charlotte's nostrils flared slightly, and before she could think, she crossed the distance between her and Katherine in three easy strides for her, grabbing the girl on the shoulder and pulling her to a halt.
"I think you have something of hers," Charlotte's voice was low and calm, steady and rather deep for a girl, but it was one that commanded respect. Her expression was odd, almost as if she were bored with the whole ordeal, but her dark eyes betrayed the irritation beneath the cool exterior, hand still heavy on Katherine's shoulder as she pulled the girl around to face her, wand ready in the other hand.
Charlie doesn't like Mean Girls™.
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lυмoѕ -- ✦
Jun 18, 2017 18:12:26 GMT -5
via mobile
Post by ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ on Jun 18, 2017 18:12:26 GMT -5
hazel ruth janna
Hazel Ruth Janna scowled in contempt at her reflection. The look was odd on the seemingly perpetually cheerful girl, her little nose all screwed up and eyebrows furrowed together. However, Hazel was uncharacteristically rather not joyful. Her was decidedly ridiculous, and she couldn't stand it. She couldn't put it up, the strands falling out wildly and criss crossing in every direction, fly aways seeming to try to pull free of her scalp. She couldn't leave it down, the hair an even bigger mess than it was up, her straight hair standing up in nearly every which way. This was impossible.
If Isabel could only see you now... she huffed irritably, picking up the brush yet again to try to get some semblance of order, or at least pretend to. Her scowl deepened at her thought, and she glared away from her reflection and at the sink. Yeah, well we both know very well why she isn't here, so shut up about her already... she scolded, sighing as her face softened into something more despondent. Yet another strange emotion to see on Hazel's usually sunny face: Sadness.
She blinked, glancing up and forcing a smile on her face. It seemed rather fake, but she figured if she kept it there long enough it would turn into less of a grimace and more of a sleepy grin, for she was exhausted. Especially since she had spent half the morning wrestling with her hair after an agonizing night of tossing and turning, feeling regret over it and the strangeness of being away from home yet again. Not that she didn't love Hogwarts, but it just wasn't the same. Of course, it was a lot happier here.
She didn't allow herself to dwell on that thought, brushing out her hair vigorously once more and throwing what she could into a bun. Various strands floated out about it, and she still looked a little wild. But that was the trend now a days, yes? Wild and free, all natural. She sighed, giving up and reaching for her clear lip gloss, spreadig a thin layer on her rosy lips to give them a little shine, and then a quick layer of mascara to pull her lashes up and out from her eyes. She gave another smile, looking much better, and headed out, pulling her toiletry bag with her. She tossed it on her stuff, pulling on her socks and shoes hastily, throwing her robes over her clothes sloppily, glancing down at her plain, black Fitbit Alta on her slender wrist as she slung her bag over one shoulder (because Hazel tried to give herself the allusion that she was fit enough for a Fitbit. Please. Magnolia's pinky would eat you for breakfast). She was later than she had hoped.
She scurried out and down the hallway, brushing the stray strands of hair out of her eyes with pale pink fingertips, darting towards the Great Hall. At least I don't have that far to go... she sighed, adjusting her bag on her shoulders, straightening her robes as she went. She looked at the other girls in the hallway with a friendly smile, inside burning with envy at how much better their hair looked.
Hey, you're the one that cut it...Yeah, and you can stop reminding me of that anytime now... she argued with herself, although inside she would swear it was Isabel talking to her. But, that couldn't be because Isabel was a different person, and they certainly didn't have ESP, and anyway, Isabel is...
Are those the Winterbottoms? she interrupted herself, smiling truly now with excitement, squinting slightly as ahe realized she forgot both her glasses and her contacts. Hazel had had a crush on the older boy, Meriwether, ever since her first year when he had come to her rescue as she struggled to remember which barrel would let her into their common room and which would release a spout of vinegar on her (yet again, as she'd already done that twice that week). She began to walk a little faster, struggling theough the throng of students in the hallway.
She finally burst free as Leona walked off, heart thumping a bit faster now from the exertion of the fight through with her short little legs. Her heart only increased speed as she realized she would be alone with Meriwether. Just say hell or good morning you doofus...
"Hello Morning! I mean, Good Hello!" she exclaimed, pausing and shaking her head, cheeks flushing bright pink now. "NO, I mean Hello, Good Morning!" she giggled, shyly.
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Post by ɪɴᴛʀᴀɴꜱɪɢᴇɴᴛ on Jun 19, 2017 9:18:53 GMT -5
moomba
Moomba was dozing peacefully in his bed. He had been dreaming of who knows what (probably a girl or something fruity like that), and had been out cold, like a log, when his alarm went off. Rather, an alarm his mother had packed in the still closed suitcase tucked under his bed. He jerked up, slamming his head against his bed post, and cussed loud enough that it woke the rest of his dorm that wasn't already awake (which was basically, his entire room, lucky for him). He scrambled to the floor, rippinng the suitcase out and tearing through the neatly organized package, eyes groggy and squinty, glasses somewhere on the floor. He finally found it, laughing slightly, looking around at the groggy and highly irritated faces.
"I'll get it next year boys, I promise!" he grinned, blocking his head from the incoming pillows. Shortly there after, everyone was up and dressed, punctual as they were. Moomba pulled his dreadlocks up into a bun, pushing his glasses up his nose and onto his face as he grabbed his bag, loading his books for the day. He slid his wand into his hair, yawning and pushing his glasses up his nose yet again as he did, the blasted things being extraordinarily stubbrn this morning. He grabbed his books and slid them orderly into his bag, turning and bounding out the door. He was rather chipper this morning, his eyes alert already, mind beginning its thousand mile per hour whirl wind.
He was nearly to the Great Hall when he became aware of a sort of conflict nearby. Two girls with a shaved head, and one girl with a long ponytail were all seemingly bickering, but one of the two shaved head, rounder girls leaned down, yelling at what appeared to be a rat. He came to a stop, head tilting slightly as he watched them, before startling faintly when the rat turned into a man. He was only alarmed for a moment, as he realized that this man was an animagus! Gosh, he had always wanted to meet one. He had read stories about them all the time, and had never actually seen or met one up close, but it had been on his bucket list since he was about nine and Terrence had come home, bragging about one of his mew friends being able to change into an animal and all that cool stff that came with it, and how long of a process his friend had to go through. Moomba had been filled with fascination and wonder, and wanted to meet this person immediately, but they were gone by the time he arrived at Hogwarts (and he'd sort of pushed it to the back burner of his mind because holy crow, he was at a magic school!!)
He was about to throw himself into the fray, excitement building wih a flurry in his chest at the the thought, when the boy began to walk off, piercings glinting in the sunlight faintly. Moomba hesitated, wanting immensely to see what the girl was folding into her robes so cautiously, but his desire to question an animagus outruled that curiosity and he scurried off, darting as fast as his little legs could. He caught up to the boy, fairly quickly, putting a hand on his arm.
"Hey!" he greeted, panting slightly because little legs can only go so fast and this vaguely familiar stranger had a long stride and well, his bag was really heavy, okay? "Hey, you're a rat!" he declared excitedly, seeming overjoyed by the fact that this pierced and tattoo'd boy was what some would deem an insult in this odd context. Moomba hesitated, eyes flickering with concern as his eyebrows drew together slightly, realizing how rude and insane he was being.
"My apologies, I merely meant that you could turn into and out of a rat at will, like, well you're an animagus, yes?" he struggled to clarify emphatically, silently praying that this boy would not just boogey hex him straight into thr fiery pits of hell he longed for right at this moment because man oh man, did he deserve it. He blinked, offering a friendly but nervous smile, having yet to take his arm off the taller man, excitementment beginning to creep back in because that was literally the coolest thing he had ever seen. Well, to clarify...
The coolest thing he'd seen all year.
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Post by maple on Jun 19, 2017 11:50:27 GMT -5
katherine petrovina...At first, Katherine was fairly surprised that someone actually cared enough to intervene, most people pretended not to see; after all, she had the reputation for inflicting havoc on those courageous few that dared to question her choices. Most were smart enough to turn the the other way and avert their eyes, it wasn't their business after all, so it was normal not to care -- right? Those Gryffindors, they were usually the ones that got all brave and dutiful, she expected that from their kind. But someone from her own house? That was an unusual shocker all right, but the fact that it was Charlotte Keilani -- eh, well, that wasn't so astonishing. She'd always gotten the faint vibe that the other girl didn't like her, or at least disapproved in some way. However, being yanked backwards and spun around roughly was definitely the wrong move; see, Katherine didn't care whether or not someone liked her, they could despise her and she would be oblivious to it, but the moment they disrupted her everyday life that was when she cared. That's when she noticed.
Katherine's eyes flickered immediately to the wand in Charlotte's hand, that of which was poised threateningly in the air as if ready to strike. She let her gaze rest there for only a brief moment before tearing it away, slowly inching her right hand into the folds of her uniform for her own wand. She smiled though, a smug little sneer, jerking her shoulder away from the tall girl's iron grip. "Oh?" she stalled, touching the ribbon at her throat, "This old thing?" A cruel laugh escaped her lips and her chocolate brown eyes seemed to glimmer with amusement. She was shorter than Charlotte by a few inches, standing around five feet and seven inches, but if she was intimidated (which she wasn't) not a bit of it showed. Katherine seemed to enjoy the confrontation almost (even though she was hungry and this was delaying her much needed breakfast), it was like a game, as mean as that seems. There were times when she almost welcomed a challenge, times when she wanted someone to be that challenge for her.
The thing was, Katherine didn't even want the ribbon, she had only planned on flaunting it around for while before discarding it; the reason why she did what she did was simple. That tiny, shiny black strip of fabric, symbolized how easy it was for her to take whatever she wanted from whomever happened to be unfortunate enough to catch her attention. Despite her disinterest towards the object, she didn't have any intention of just giving it back.
Flicking her wand from her robe, Katherine untied the ribbon from her neck in one swift motion, presuming to dangle it between her index finger and her thumb. She tilted her head to the side and spoke in a sickly sweet voice, "You want this? Sure, you can have it," a smirk played across her lips, "when I light it on fire you can collect the ashes."
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