Journalistic (or just human) Integrity
| Journalistic (or just human) Integrity | with @Oonagh Brown |
banner by Alyssea Brown| interacting as Archer Duncan
Archer was a fast walker. Brisk, taking each stride with purpose, who rarely strolled these days. He did not stop for the scenic route, preferring efficiency over what views the overpopulated school could have offered. If he was there for the photographs, he would have out on the grounds rather than in the corridors, suffocated by the towering suits of armour and low stone ceilings.
He was not always careless of his surroundings; quite the opposite, in fact, his penchant for observation often proving to be of good use. But today especially, he, being en route to print out a few articles of the newest issue, he had little things to stop for, nor did he want to busy himself with distractions before finishing his work. Papers gathered in his arms, all in various styles of penmanship, some tidy and clean, others more of a headache, though with his own he was hardly entitled to complain. Little people noticed him, and that was a state he preferred above any other. Clutching them close to his chest as he manoeuvred through the throngs of quadri-coloured robes, that duellist and explorer nimbleness put to good use, the boy finally spilled out from the crowds as he reached the office. Archer shifted the stack of writing onto one hand as the other reached forward for the door.
Archer enjoyed his dual-responsibilities in the writing and graphics department. Privileged with the opportunity to express his ideas, no matter how trivial they may be, he also found an odd solace in the strategic plans of formatting and repetitive mechanisms of printing. The only disadvantage to this was being vaguely acquainted with more people than he would have preferred. Twice the responsibility meant twice the people. The Headliner was an endeavour that allowed for enough solitary work, and while discussions were seen among the different roles it was far from the team sports like Quiddtich, it was inevitable that he would be approached, whether it were to ask for a specific picture be included or clarification on what he meant by his word choice. The office was always populated, and sometimes buzzing with quiet conversation, but none were commonly directed at him, exactly like how he preferred.
Twisting the door knob, he pushed into the room with his shoulder and turning, clicked the door behind himself with his back. Dark hazel eyes lifted to survey the room, flitting across the office at the strewn papers about and printing presses in the distance. Familiar, safe, seemingly caught in time as the rest of Hogwarts spun away, he had found himself in that room on a weekly basis almost for a year now. While he did not have, fond memories per se, to recall on, but on some days it was preferable to the unspoken grandeur of the library or the tanning sun of the courtyards. There was a cohesion to the place, students working together without the need of constant communication, so upon entering the space he hadn’t expected solitude, but he wasn’t expected company either.
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Journalistic (or just human) Integrity
Mid September 2025
Mentions: @Silas NorwoodOonagh's brisk pace carried her through the corridors on her way to stop by the the Headliner Office, where she would totally waste her time and leave some kind of weird message on the Eejit-in-Chief's desk. Perhaps with some kind of black marker she would surely find in the classroom. Part of her hoped she would find something a little more permanent that was not removed with the wave of a hand and a few muttered words. But if it could be, then she had to at least make it something worth the time it would be able to remain on the other's desk. A sly grin played at her lip, her bag lazily slung across one shoulder, as she pushed through the corridors.
She was fast to reach the desired corridor and even faster in pushing open the doors to the headliner office. It was a nice place, all things considered. And she quite enjoyed being a distraction to the students who showed up there to actually do something akin to being productive. She herself however, would not mind just doing whatever the hell she wanted and that included heading straight past that boy already within the room - @Archer Duncan - and settling into the chair that Silas claimed belonged to him, though she was not yet sure to believe him.
The chair however seemed comfy enough and momentarily managed to distract her from the person she had no idea about. Intrigued her eyebrow raised as she regarded the boy. "Who be ye?" She asked, though it resembled more a demand and paired with the fact that she was, well, technically sitting in the chair, at the desk, that was reserved for the editor-in-chief, she would be sure to find some amusement in messing with the other student a little bit.
Whoever they were being trivial information in her desire to just be causing some joyful frustration.
| Oonagh Brown - Gryffindor - #A0522D | #5b7a56 - Semyon Reznikov - Durmstrang |
Sta: 10 | Eva: 10 | Str: 10 | Wis: 00 | Arc: 02 | Acc: 10(13) |
Sta: 10 | Eva: 10 | Str: 01 | Wis: 10 | Arc: 10 | Acc: 10 |
Journalistic (or just human) Integrity
“Who be ye?”
Archer was forced to glance up from his work, disgruntled. If there was one thing to know about Archer it was his abhorrence to being disturbed, no matter the circumstance. There could have been a hag attack and he would request to finish his article before the evacuation. Needless to say, for matters as trivial as small talk, he barely bothered.
As his eyes rolled in that classic eye roll then focused, what Archer noticed first about her was her hair. In fact, hair did not give her enough credit. Rather, the girl stood in front of him might as well have been a lion considering the utter blonde mane atop her head. It seemed to have a will entirely of its own, bouncing about as she moved like a prowling predator. Beneath them hid a pair of glimmering blue eyes, making it up with the confident glint in the irises. With her raised brow cocked at Archer, she seemed not just inquisitive but demanding.
Not that Archer was about to give in to it.
“Who are you?” He shot back without a second thought. Quite the opposite, however, the observant Archer had kept tabs on all the Headliner’s new members. From eavesdropping on casual introductions he gathered that the girl’s name was Oonagh, and that, depressingly enough, he seemed to compliment Silas’ personality perfectly. Or perhaps, delightfully, yet another source of entertainment for the comedy show that Archer’s life seemed to have turned into. The joyful part of her frustration would have been shared.
He decided to entertain her. Reaching across a hand and fully expecting her not to take it. “Archer Theodore Duncan,” came the introduction everyone had now grown tired of hearing, one said more out of instinct than choice, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Archer didn’t know how truly pleased he was, but he had better be by the end of the day. He smiled slightly, not one out of the usual politeness but something calculating, scrutinising. Then it passed, and his face was the mask of cordiality once more.
A pause, then a tilt of his head. Barely a few days ago Silas had claimed the chair that had once belonged to Cazares, causing a commotion with his replacement of their ink with an invisible variant. It was Archer who had noticed the ambush, and it was Archer who was the shatter point for all hell to break lose as he pointed it out. The shouts of spells against the now tranquil newsroom made for a stark contrast. Only the low hum of the usual work filled the office, interrupted by the odd few replies in Archer’s conversation. “And whyever are you in Silas’ chair?”
@Oonagh Brown | Banner by Pericles Dralt
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht