Perspective(s)
@Prat Pass| ACTION: Keiran is walking and imagining drawing the view in front of his head, not paying attention, he slams into prat when his feet don't catch up with his thinking when turning to the next corridor.Perspective was such a strange thing, Keiran thought, watching the disjointed zig zag his feet made when he walked, flaring monotonously either way as he attempted to trod in one direction - and failed, repeatedly. An arduous, obsessive debate bounced between his synapses as he headed towards a fork in the corridor; when he looked up from the cracks in the cobblestone, was the view of the looming distance before him in one-point or two-point perspective?
Invisible lines converged and crossed and crumbled away with every slate wiped clean, every thought reworked, rewoven, renewed- Keiran drew it in his head, folding and flattening and distorting cubes and squares and rectangles into the series of windows and winding walls, wondering how they’d fit in either given context. The grid that had sprawled into the empty spaces behind his eyes engraved itself in the back of his mind, moving steadily forward to the front, the spaces between the lines growing more expansive as Keiran trodded closer to the turn he meant to make-
"OoOF-"‘Meant’ being the key word here. See, in preparation for another set of hazy hypotheticals, the grid swerved before Keiran’s feet did, the lines thickening when the boy blinked to accompany the next set of planes and panes when his eyes peeled open. - -Excccept they didn’t get the chance to, squeezing shut even tighter, closing in conjunction with Keiran’s nostrils as he slammed face-first into something tall, solid, and - very unfortunately not a wall.
Perspective(s)
| ———— |  —date. [ 07/03/25 ]——————word count. [ 235 ]——————tag. [ @Keiran Kith ]— Prat who was half lost or as he'd put it, intensely focused deep into the machinations of his own mind rounded the corner with his customary confident stride, only to be abruptly brought back to the harsher realities of the world. All from a sudden collision with something less forgiving than the hypotheticals he had been pondering. His hand shot out instinctively to brace the figure that had crashed into him. Eyes widening in surprise from the collision as he felt the fabric against his palms. Stabilizing the culprit he began "Whoa, hey there, you alright?" his voice a touch gentler from the usual bark it would have carried for a transgression of this magnitude. The boy had recently come into the role of Prefect and while the change was sudden and to an extent overwhelming for the young boy, he was adjusting quite well for himself. Another checklist was crossed off, yet a few remained. Continuing to weigh heavy on his mind. Prat's eyes focused, noticing the face, recognizing it as the other one stared back at him. It was the same boy who had been the preparator of a burglary attempt during the last S.N.O.G. event where he was promptly set ablaze by another student. Taking a moment to ensure the boy was steady before speaking, Prat asked "You're the crisp toasted thief aren't ya? I was there, looked pretty bad. You alright now?" ——— [ notes ] hehe ( codes by uly. )— | ———— |
| Prat Pass - Slytherin | |
Sta: 7 | Eva: 10 | Str: 6 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 7 | Acc: 13 |
Sta: 9 | Eva: 15 | Str: 0 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 5 | Acc: 15 |
Perspective(s)
@Prat Pass| ACTION: Bumping into Prat fustrates Keiran, but the boy's kindness takes him aback. He picks up the books he dropped and tries to look like he's not bothered by the situation.Rage lived inside Keiran. A not-quite-resting dormant force of will that occilated in transverse waves of heat to and through between the confines of his ribcage, bouncing between the organs haphazardly stuffed in there with a reckless abandon that screamed 'let me ouuut'. Some days, he wondered if the way it propelled itself repeatedly against his heart is what kept it beating, if the expansion of his lungs was only a reaction to the changing pressures within the ficle vacum that was his temperment.
So, naturally, after a quater hour of intense introspection, having the sanctity of his mind palace disrupted seemed to be the perfect distraction for its guard to be let down; a rare opprtunity for the frustration to burn, and for it to escape in billows of smoke rising through his throat in the form of verbal retaliation - -except, noo.
Life had other plans.
This plan had broad hands that landed firmly on his shoulders and the cadence of a sheepdog when it spoke. With a firm projection of his voice, the stranger rallied the straggler onto his feet before Keiran met the same fate as his ill-placed comic books that'd fallen out of his open bag. Having been asked twice in 30 seconds if he was 'alright', Keiran was indeed acutely aware that the boy was being kind - and it stupified him. "...Sorrey-"
"Yous mean t'e wee spark I put out-" But Keiran was no sheep. Doing his best to look unbothered, he ducked to pick up his papers, sliding them back under the now assuredly secured buckle of his messenger bag. "With my sleeves? Aye."
"That was me." Standing at his full height now (and perhaps even a little taller), Keiran had unpried himself from the stranger's grasp, arching his brow. "And yous are?"
Perspective(s)
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
Friday, 7th March; Corridors
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Prat watched from above as the scene unfolded before him. This boy who looked to be around his own age, had tumbled to the ground with an unceremonious thump. He was sure this boy was his own age seeing they were in the same year.
Prat's reflexes had seemingly saved the boy from a nasty fall.
As he stepped closer, his eyes scanned the spilled papers that looked awfully like comic books that had been scattered across the pavement. A kaleidoscope of brightly colored pages fluttering in the breeze. Superheroes and villains locked in epic battles, their vibrant world and ideals interrupted by the harsh grey realities of the world they attempted to symbolize.
Prat's mind however remained attentive towards the boy, his curiosity about the comics momentarily forgotten. "Are you sure you're good?" He echoed his question, voice less commanding than usual but equally earnest.
"...Sorrey-"
With the boy's mumbles of an awkward apology, Prat felt a relief was over him, he'd hate to explain how a student ended up with a bruise or an injury upon colliding with him.
"With my sleeves? Aye."
"Sure mate" Prat said with a nonchalant shrug, deciding to let the oddity of the situation slide. His attention now shifted to the treasure trove of comic books that lay scattered around a while ago. "Those are comics right?" He knelt down, picking one of them depicting a caped crusader soaring through a dark city on his crusade against crime.
"Could i maybe look at them sometimes?" He held the page up to Keiran.
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Note.@Keiran Kith
| Prat Pass - Slytherin | |
Sta: 7 | Eva: 10 | Str: 6 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 7 | Acc: 13 |
Sta: 9 | Eva: 15 | Str: 0 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 5 | Acc: 15 |
Perspective(s)
@Prat Pass | ACTION: Keiran is annoyed that Prat is asking to look at his comic, disregarding his request to know who Prat is. He tries to be standoff-ish at first despite being happy that someone else is into his comics, but gives in because of gay panic Prat seems like a nice enough guy.'Sure, mate....' It took a sordid swallow of a sour, surreptitious sigh for the boy not to outwardly express the onset ignition of irritation at his unfounded company's cynical scepticism. Whatever, the time to protest had passed, and as if the callous disregard of Keiran's query wasn't bad enough, the other boy was now after his comics. "You dinnae answer my question."
"Nooh-" Never would Keiran admit to the terrible twist of his stomach at the twinkle in the other Wizard's eye as he ducked down from his ridiculously tall stature to retrieve a haphazardly forgotten volume off the ground. At that moment, something had to give; how could someone be so fundamentally facetious and egregiously agreeable at the same time? At that moment, Keiran had decided that stupid questions would be awarded with stupid answers. "- clearly, tha's me div'nation homewerk."
An unceremonious crinkle of newsprint plastered the inside of Keiran's cochlea as he curtly collected his belongings from the stranger, the dull ache behind his eyes growing sharper at the point where his eyebrows seemed avid to intersect one another. Looking back at him was still the other boy, and in the face of his honeyed-brown, blank stare, Keiran's grimace had grown into a glower.
What was he working himself up over, really - a non-committal nod? Resignation reigned in Keiran's temper, tightening his throat as he muttered with a rattled sigh, ".....fine.."
Perspective(s)
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Friday, 7th March; Corridors
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Prat regarded the bundle now nestled in Keiran's arms like delicate artifacts, wrapped in just enough sarcasm to keep it from being outright endearing unironically.
Straightening to his full height, Prat brushed the nonexistent dust from his robes in a swift, absentminded gesture once again. That little jab about it being homework hadn't gone unnoticed. Of course it hadn't. Even a tone deaf beast could sense that tone.
Still, Prat only offered the faintest and amused smile.
"Of course it is, I'm Prat Raphael Pass, Slytherin's Current Duelling Captain. And you might be?" he replied smoothly, tone pleasant but dipped in knowing sarcasm. "Best not to damage critical paperwork." His hands flexed idly by his side.
Upon asking for an audience with his comics, Keiran’s final word came out wrapped in reluctant surrender. "Fine." Not much, but it was something. Enough for Prat at best. He didn't need to be told twice.
With Keiran's approval, Prat offered him a smaller, more genuine smile in return. Not the stiff performative kind he kept in reserve for other professors or students to impress upon. No this was one of curiosity and subtle approval.
"You know," he said stepping lightly to the boy's side, giving him some room. "I have a few of this in my dorm. Some boxed, some terribly worn out. They nearly got ruined back when our dorms flooded but I managed to save them." He turned his head a little, "I could let you see them sometime. Y'know. You let me read some stuff I'll sneak in some stuff for you? That kinda thing."
"It's odd no one here really keeps any." He nodded around the room. Pointing to a comic book as he jabbed his fingers towards it, "These here my friend, are a rare commodity. You don't see much of these here."
"Everyone here wants to carry what they're supposed to, what they need not what they want. Kids shouldn't be living like that."
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────Note.@Keiran Kith
| Prat Pass - Slytherin | |
Sta: 7 | Eva: 10 | Str: 6 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 7 | Acc: 13 |
Sta: 9 | Eva: 15 | Str: 0 | Wis: 7 | Arc: 5 | Acc: 15 |
Perspective(s)
@Prat PassAn answer finally extended in Keiran’s direction, the olive branch earned his acquaintance a softened look of resignation. A hint of a pull at his cheek.
"......Aye." With an unabashed confidence, audacity that never faltered and a smug grin that would be blinding if the boy's stature did not already block out the light, yes, 'Prat' seemed to be the right name to put to such a face. "Checks out."
Pass, ironically, didn't seem to miss the opportunity to bounce back at banter or let a snide remark slip past him. It was a good quality to have. Kerian had remarked it was equally good that the duelling captain had an iron-clad ego and a particular predilection towards printed paraiahs as opposed to, say, pointing a wand in his general direction.
“Tis one here isa bit old, I’d say it’s more..." Secondhand. He’d found it this way, dog ears clipping every other page - not that he hadn’t cropped a few of his own." ....eh..critically damaged. Than anything.”
When Raphael had smiled instead, for a minute, it was as though something larger had called on their encounter. Some convention of comic book mayhem, lending itself to divine intervention and a spark to the eyes of the boy standing in Pratt’s shadow.
“It’s more odd that you have any, really,” Keiran added after a beat, deciding he’d spent all too much time looking up that day, turning to follow the lines of the floor as they’d begun to walk once more, “They’re a muggle item, and about as hard to come by as they are.”
That was to say, not hard at all. Hence, it was by design. In fact, if Ms Murray knew Keiran snuck even half the amount he had in his trunk, he’d never hear the end of it. He let the implicit assumption of school books being the cause of her complaints hang as they heaved the weight of it all through the train station.
“Sure,” His eyes flitted to the hero Prat pushed deeper into his bag. “Let’s.”