the fire and the thud priv. morgan b. Closed

He thought the quiet would help.

Morgan was an appreciator of scenery, and how things changed. He wanted to catch the exact moment when the water rippled, or when the tones in the sky changed for ones deeper. He'd been laying with upper back and head rested against one of the tall tears standing near the lake. He could see Hogsmeade Station, a few shrubs and leaves covering the exit out of Hogwarts. One of his legs losely hung over his bent knee, and he swung his foot from side to side rhythmically, like a metronome, disappearing into his own thoughts. He'd been peeling himself an orange, accidentally jabbing his nails past the shell more than once, earning him a faint but apparent smell of the fruit on his hands. He enjoyed it greatly, the taste; but the lingering smell often sent him away from others because it was just too drowning, apparently.

^{"Did any of you see where he was?"
"Naw, sort of just disappeared, it looks like."
"Ugh."}

The faint voices had garnered his attention away from what he was currently doing. Morgan dropped the orange against his chest; and it rolled down to his lap as he sat up curiously, looking between the barks to try and find the source of the different voices. He squinted, coming upon three males he hadn't recognized before. They were dressed in green, so of course, that made sense. Not that he was much for cliques, but he was definitely against cults-- and no doubt thats what they were.

He concentrated on their conversation in an attempt to understand what they were saying. He could read lips but only at a limit, and it was harder since they wouldn't stand still. Morgan took it upon himself to infer further.

It wasn't impossible to be quiet–– his shoes were off–– discarded next to the stump he had been dozing by, leaving himself to his socks. He wiggled his toes against the grass, it was so cold.

Morgan kept his distance, laying his body against one of the nearby trees where there was enough of an opening where he could see the commotion at hand. He witnessed as those two pratts got their licks in with some guy. He twisted his face; geez, they were just gonna leave that poor bloke right there for his face to swell up? It'd be a miracle if he made it all the way back, no way he was seein' after a jab like that one.

He probably wasn't goin' to bleed to death, but still, he thought he oughta lend his hand out-- once they were gone, of course. He wouldn't be much help if he'd had his face kicked in as well, huh?

"How's et feelin', mate?" Was that a foolish question to ask? Probably. Morgan pursed his lips together, his eyebrows furrowing over his forehead as he stood up straight after having leaned over to take a good look at him.

"Hm, just as I suspected," he began, "Yore hideous. They got ya good-- I don't think yer own mother's goin' to recognize you, even with a billion surgeries." He was probably being a proper dick right now, which no doubt wasn't what this chap here needed, but he couldn't help himself. All in good fun, though. He tried to keep the air light, finding a seat next to his laid out corpse with his knees against his chest.

"What'd ya do to get yerself into hefty waters like that, eh?" Not that one ever needed to do much to provoke guys like that. He'd seen it before, lotsof times. None of 'em felt very good. No doubt not for the kid gettin' the pounding.

"^{Ya know,} if youva gotta cry.. I won't tell anyone or nothin', not like they can hear you out here."

Gem hadn't even moved when he heard someone shift nearby him. He was ready to have his face stepped on or something, finally put him out of his misery - he wouldn't bother to look at who was speaking, just some Welsh lad, it sounded like, maybe he was trying to make it better, but it was hard to focus on him when he was busy focusing on not getting blood on his newly washed shirt. He ended up getting on his knees, dripping the blood out in the river, with a few hesitant sniffs.

"You know, mate," He started, turning his head to look at him, narrowing his eyes a bit. "You're quite helpful, I fink you might like to consider bein' a life coach." He shook his head, taking a few steps back to lean his back against the tree he'd tried to hide behind in the first place, a loud, stressed sigh leaving his lips.

Now that he was getting a proper gander at him, he'd realized he hadn't seen this boy in his whole time at Hogwarts, which may or may not have been a good thing; he couldn't tell, he was being a proper wank stain right around now, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to continue speaking to him... Gryffindor or not, he was a bit of a dick.

"That... fookin', blimey bastard... um- well, this sounds a bit weird, but," He wiped his nose with his wrist, smearing some of the blood that had run out all over the top of his hand and over his wrist. "He thought I wos e' one who stole his underwear. Stupid, innit? I don't even know where he... got that idea, but ov course I 'ad to run me mouth like that, so here I am." Talking to someone who said I looked right hideous.

"Okay, your turn. Wot're you here for, aye? Don't see why anyone ought ta come here other than... well, for whatever reason... I used ta like it here, 'till I found out they used this place as e' sewage system fer Hogwarts... don't even like ta touch the water, after hearin' that." He scrunched his face up, glaring at the water as if it had personally wronged him. In a pause, he glanced down at the Gryffindor's... lack of sneakers, furrowing his brows confusedly. Some of the kids at this school had him a bit bewildered, but at least they had the sense to wear a pair of trainers when they went outside - by a lake.

Maybe he was being too judgmental, he'd been in a bad mood all week and it was difficult to find the amusement - or good - in any of the situations he was in anymore. Maybe that was him being dramatic, but he felt like it was okay right now, considering the way his face had just been knocked into with little mercy to show. "Oh, I'm Gem Stuart, by e' way, good ta meet you," He offered him a tight-lipped smile, no handshake this time, since his palms were all muddy and full of his own blood.

Morgan raised his eyebrows high until they disappeared behind the tufts of curls that sprung over his forehead. He supposed he deserved the spiteful attitude, which is why he only smiled and didn't let it go much to heart. Besides, his words had been far more harsh. Perhaps not the smartest way to set about his reputation. Before this, the lad properly kept to himself. He wasn't mute or the likes of it, just liked picking and choosing his battles. Luckily for him he hadn't had any battles, because he had the fortune of knowing when not to run his mouth. He couldn't say the same for his new friend here, though.


He hadn't recognized his face around though, but maybe he'd have a better chance once he got a good look at it without the obscurity. "So he gave ya a lickin' cause he wen on an' misplaced his trousers?" Progressive. It seemed the whim of men was reverting backwards far faster than he'd figured. They looked like real lard heads, too. Morgan pushed some of his hair back behind in ear in thought. He hadn't had any personal run-ins with the lot, but he'd seen it happen couple of times. Some less aggressive or clever than others.

Not too long ago he saw one of the boys he'd waved around the common room a couple of times getting pick pocketed by a pair of Slytherin girls. They went and tricked the poor chum; one with her hand in her hair while her patsy was off taking all of his quid. Poor bastard, never really had much. And even though he himself was a bit skint; Morgan offered to buy him a piece of sweets to cheer him up a tad once he figured he'd been swindled.

"Well luckily, I wasn't goin' in for a splash." Morgan looked out into the surface of the water. How could something that looked so crystalized have such an ugly fate? "I fink it's quite nice out here. Like you said, no muchofa good reason for someone ta come around here, yeah? It's quiet." He supposed if he had to pick a place to get smashed to bits and pieces by bullies, it'd be this one. Despite his new gained knowledge of the less than tasteful ending of all their loo business; the water still smelled fresh. And the wind when it tickled under his hair and past his neck, it was other worldly. "You like quiet, don't ya, Gem Stuart?" He returned the smile. Though his was more wide-mouthed. The left corner of his lip lifted up, and he grinned enough where his canine fang poked out against his bottom lip. "Morgan." He'd never been on the whole first name and last name basis, but that seemed to be pretty common around here. "..Bowens."

Whoever this bloke was, he had taken that punch like a champ. He wanted to offer him a pat on the back or a trip to the infirmary; but he was more doggone sure that he smelt completely of oranges, and that this Gem Stuart was fine and would live another day to tell his story. "Did ya wanna come n' hang out wiff me by the lake, then? 'Lest you got somewhere else to be." He nodded his head over to the tree where he had been staying by. His shoes were there, along with the orange he dropped and half water bottle. You couldn't tell but the label had been slipped half off. He'd been attempting to see how many times he could paste it back just to see how close to the original he could get it.

The company, it could be nice. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from this guy–– about putting yourself out there and all, and maybe he could teach him how to block a punch. Most effective when you didn't have three punts on your arse, though.

"Promise we 'on't got to go swimming."

interacting with @Morgan Bowens
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Gem held that question into consideration, narrowing his eyes down at the lake like he were waiting for an answer from it. Morgan, he seemed like a nice bloke, didn't sound like he had anything bad to his name, he had no reason to turn him down... it'd probably feel a little better than going to the infirmary, he never liked admitting himself to those, no matter how quickly it was over.

"Don't see e' issue, sure." He pushed himself back on his feet, dusting his pants off in an attempt to get some of the damp dirt off, though it was to no avail. "Better not swim, I heard they've got grindylows in this lake 'ere."

He balanced over some rocks down the bank, testing them out so he knew he wouldn't slip on them before he made his advances. While he walked, he spoke, mostly questions prodding at Morgan's person. "Where're ya from, sound like yer from, ehm, Wales," He wobbled a bit, keeping his arms spread out to try and balance himself, "I went ta Wales over winter break cos me dad is makin' a record wiv his band, an' they're tryin' out this recording studio there. Quite cozy, I fink, joost a bit cold, but... yunno, I wos there over e' winter."

"I've never met ya before, though I wos gone fer a bit... n' we're in two different classes. D'yknow this kid Rafael? He got me this black eye, not realleh his fault, but it still sort ov was..." He trailed off, hopping off the stones until they got to a more comfortable area by the lake, getting himself situated on the grass, sitting criss cross, watching the water - how peaceful, despite being full of human waste. "Is this yer favorite place 'round the school? It used ta be mine." Nothing happened, he'd just found better places to go once he found out this place had shit water.

Was it strange he smiled at the thought of encountering a Grindylow? It'd be a sight to see, and even more so to write about. He'd read about their sickly green skin, and sharp pointed teeth. He'd know better than to go around messing with something mythical like that, anyways, but the thought was nice.

As Gem got up to experiment with his tight rope walking career, he followed just behind on the grass, watching up above at the male. "Mhm. Me mum and me grandparents and I, we'r all from Wales. Came to England so we could be a family, but I was a just a sprog, tho, so I wasn't too gutted abou et. Hm, Did you? Et's been quite long since I've been back. Where I'm from is a tad bit more nippy so I had too get acoostumed to da weather when I visited."

"Yore dad's gat a band?" He smiled again, perhaps bigger than the last time. God- he could feel his cheeks hurtin' just as much as when he got his retainers tightened.

"Wot sort'v music dos he play? Somethin' solid, I propose? Is he one of them famous rockstars?" He was an appreciator of many things, but maybe music took the top of the list. Not precisely #1, but it was well enough high up there to count. He couldn't play anything himself, and he'd try but he just wasn't made up for the tempo and rhythm. "How abou you, then? Where you from? Tell me abou yer town n' stuff.. what'd you do fer fun before ya got here? An' don't smidgeon it."

He couldn't guess, not from his accent, at least. Morgan hadn't been much elsewhere than Dewsbury. He always wondered how others possessed the talent to do such things like that.

"No, I've neva met the likes of anyone by that name, but maybe after this I'll start seein' him around, then? Who is he?" He had to be someone, enough for you to so commonly speak about them despite receiving a black eye allegedly caused by them. It'd be good to meet new people, and if this Gem guy could help him do that, then maybe he'd cut sideways for him. "You get into a lat of trooble wiff people, eh? You know, mate. I was kittin' before, but yer might really damage yer noggin' there if you keep throwin' punches with others."

When they stopped walking Morgan took a seat next to Gem. He let himself fall back on the grass, squinting his eyes as the rays of the sun harshly pressed into his face. He blocked them with his palm, watching the bit of light trying to sneak through his fingers. "I like the idea of bein' on a boat in the middle of an ocean. Where oi can look up at the skey, I fink for now this is the closest I'v gotten to et." He let his palm fall against his chest, turning his head over to look at Gem, blowing the standing grass away from his face. "Wots yer favorite place now?"

interacting with @Morgan Bowens
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"You could say that, famous musicians..." Gem sniffed, the ends of his nose perking up a bit. "The Revolvers, I don't know if many people know em'... I fink they're mostly popular out in the muggle world, since me dad's a big fan of them - I fink he might like em' more than wizards, I wasn't sure why, at first, but after spendin' some more time wiv em'... I quite like them, so innovative, you know?" He shrugged, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small box of matches, lighting one up and keeping it lit until it reached where the tip of his thumb was, from there, he tossed it into the lake.

"Grew up in High Green, Sheffield. I didn't have very many friends, so I spent quite a bit of me time wiv me cousins, smaller house, right, quite humble... I was taught to appreciate fings," he smiled a bit, "I learned the piano an' the guitar, sort of learnin' the bass, too, but that's a big work in progress, now. I mostly read, stayed indoors, listened ta music, spent a lot ov time wiv me dad's producer Leland, cos he's real cool..." He shifted so that his legs had pressed into his chest, offering the box of matches over to Morgan, he didn't need them anymore, since he had a lighter, so he'd go wasting them away. "I dunno, I used to like it here a lot more than my home, but since..." Since that warm welcoming of two punches in the face and vomiting up slugs at a party in front of a bunch of people, "...since I got ta know my family a bit more, I miss home, I s'ppose."

"Rafa... D'Spacito, captain of e' Gryffindor quidditch team, shocked ya haven't heard of him, kind ov a star, I guess," He chewed the inside of his cheek, reaching back down into his pocket to get himself a cigarette, holding it up to his lips. Before he lit it, he glanced at Morgan, both eyebrows raised. "You don't mind, do you?"

He narrowed his eyes at the lake again, wrapping both of his arms around his legs, keeping his body in a tight little ball. It was easy for him, since he was so short and lanky, that was one thing he could appreciate about his stature. He felt himself smile a bit, turning his head to look at his new friend, a bit surprised at his answer. "Realleh? Out in e' sea? Yeh, okay... I guess I understand..." He looked back out at the scenery, messing with the cigarette between his lips. "I like... the courtyard. I can joost sit down an' properly enjoy myself, read a bit while there are a few other people talkin' to one another. I don't like total silence, I like a bit of chatter, not sure why. Maybe I'm an extravert."

He'd have to ask his mother if she knew anything about them. He was sure she did; Morgan was convinced she knew all the music ever created, and that it was made for her, because she just enjoyed it so much. She liked the kind with no words, and orchestral instruments that overlapped softly over one another. She didn't speak much, just as him, she just had a different way about her and their bond began silently.

"Get me a signed cd copee next toime you see him. I cood find a wey to play it real loud. My doormitory mate's always down somewhere else, I neva reely see much o' him until we head to bed, so we cood listen to et together if yew'd like." Morgan wasn't much sure how he'd pull that off. He didn't really have a proper way to listen to music these days, but he'd solution it out. Maybe there was someone in all of Hogwarts who could let him borrow a player, he’d be damned if no one had some spare gears around. It could be a fun side project; he'd never tampered much with electronics, but this seemed like a good a time as any.


"Reely? So et's noice there, then?" It sounded like one of those warm places, where the sun was always out and bugging your eyes. But he supposed thats as good as any weather.

Taking the box of matches into his possession, he brought the small carton closer to his view for better inspection. Gently, he grazed his nail up and down the side with the red phosphorus, causing for the pad of his finger to turn a slight red from the burn in the pressure. Morgan opened it up just to peak inside at how many were left, though not sure when he'd use it, he'd keep it close by. "So you've lots ta occupy yer mind, then? That's nice. You shood play fo' me sumtiem. I've neva been very musically incloined, but oi enjoy it."

He wouldn't mind seeing much of Gem around. He seemed pretty interesting, like he had some hobbies he fancied knowing a bit more about.


Morgan shook his head. Gem might as well've been talking about an Alien. Maybe he oughta get himself familiarized with the starlight faces of his own house. "Do we loike 'em?" Which he gathered.. maybe not. Not by the way Gem pulled out that cigarette, something his grandmother would do whenever she'd been gravely upset. Whether it was at her husband, or when he'd been out to play all day without remembering to tell her where he'd be and causing her to worry. Those moments seemed so faint, now, with all that's happened. And not that much had–– but he'd discovered about himself what she wasn't able to tell him.

He guessed they were different in that way. He could appreciate a silent presence.

"Wots dis taste like?" He watched Gem fiddle with his cigarette, watching some of the ashes fall down into the grass. He moved his fingers there, getting them a bit dirty with the black tar stain. He'd never had one, even with them so out in the open back home. It'd never really crossed his mind to try one, but now it did. That was as impressionable as you were allowed to be at this age, at least he thought so. Without much permission, he swiped the stick from Gem's lips, careful not to burn himself, and stuck between his own. "I forgot to rub yer spit off of et," he joked, his voice a bit muffled as he pushed it to the corner of his mouth, leaning back down to where he was.

Gem never liked to make people's judgements for them, but if he had a personal opinion on the matter, a lot of people would be hating each other - it was sort of in his nature to see the beauty and the ugly in someone, but he never ever spoke on the ugly-- unless they deserved it.

"I fink you're allowed to like him, yeah," He grinned, a little, sniffy chuckle following. "Quite a nice guy, gives good hugs, though I don't... recommend, givin' him a hug. I don't fink he's the touchy type, only was for me." Thinking about that again made him smile a bit, he missed that, physical embrace. Never got much of that in Manchester, unless he'd force himself under his father's arm and demand some sort of a side-hug silently.

He was taken aback when his cigarette was swiped from him, his fingers spreading out a bit in surprise. At first, he figured that Morgan was gonna toss it into the lake because smoking was a bad habit, but to both his pleasure and mild disconcertment, he'd taken a drag of the cancer stick. It wasn't an unusual response, either they took it to throw it, or they took it out of curiosity, and he was quite happy it was the latter. "Guess that means we kissed," He snorted, turning around to rip some grass out of the ground and throw it on his sneakers. "Don't suck up too much, you'll cough yer lungs out. How's it taste?"

"Wot abou yoo? Yoo favor hugs?" He held the cigarette right in front of him, crossing his eyes to look at it like It had much of a mind of it's own, and that if he took his gaze off of it for a mere second it'd animate and bite his finger off. He took in a little, huffing it until he felt his chest fill up. And he'd kept it there, because that's what he'd seen the adults in his life do. He'd also seen his grandfather use chewing tobacco. And until this day he still didn't know what chewing and spitting up what looked like a liquid form of mud did for anyone.

Morgan pushed his brows down as he exhaled the smoke. It clouded his vision more than he'd like, not to mention the stinging sensation it left on his lips. It almost tickled, and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip to ease the feeling. "I hope yore kisses tastes nothin' like that," he shook his head, handing him back what was his. "Here you are, hope you didn't mind me filchin' yore stick."


He'd grab another drag, though, if Gem was okay with it.

"May'be yoo can wave at me at uh,,wan of those queeditch games, then." He smiled, sitting up so he was at shoulder level with Gem. That way he could lean into his side, maybe shove him a little, playfully though. "I fink 'am an excellent clapper. "Yew kno, wan time I went to fis stadeeum wiff me grandpa. I gots to wear wan of ta team shirts, and it wos big bot comfy. And me grandpa and I wore matchin' caps." He wasn't much in favor of sports, but the memory was a nice one. He didn't catch any flyaway baseballs or have his first lick at root beer, but he was spending time with a man he adored–– even if he didn't understand anything that was happening.

"An' so, fis big guy, he's ronnin' 'cross the field with ta ball in his hands and all of ta sudden three otha are followin' behind him. I wos havin' a big hotdog, and I was gettin' mustard all over my face so I almost mist it." He told him about how just when the man on the team he and his grandpa were cheering for was about to touch down, the other three guys jumped on him and covered his body with theirs. Poor chap broke both his ankles...... but his hand had landed just across the yellow line, and they got the point. "Oi stood up n' clapped so hard, until me hands got blisterin' red." The team hadn't won that day, but it was still a good feeling.