The Order of Things
Soon to meet @Ebony Vetra
Saturday, 14 March 2026.
Some days his internship for the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts were exciting and educational and some days it was interesting and intense. And then there were days like this.
Today he was tasked with helping to tidy and inventory supplies for the Hospital Wing. He had already, with the help of some of the school elves, brought all the boxes to the classroom on the second floor of the castle where there was a mix of magical potions, enchanted tools, and random mundane supplies.
Simon would do his best to organize them.
In the background, his wizarding radio could be heard softly broadcasting some Wizzjazz with The Place Cachée Jazz Band playing something from the 1920s.
He had four boxes set up on another table, one for Potions and Liquid Remedies, one for Magical Herbs and Ingredients, one for Generic Medical Supplies, and the last for Enchanted Magical Tools.
Simon then began to unpack the other boxes. The Skele-Grow bottles were checked that they were labeled properly, catagorized, and then placed into the Potions and Liquid Remedies box and then he moved on to the Wiggenweld Potoin and Pepperup Potion, placing the dried Dittany leaves he found on another table beyond for later. Any time he came across some bandages and gauze rolls he placed them out of the way as well for later.
It wasn't the most glamorous or the most prominent thing he could be doing, but it was somehow grounding. This was calming, especially with the music playing, and the smell from the herbs were soothing. It was a moment of quiet focus, when he could line things up, arrange them, count them. He could clear his mind for the moment of the horrors of the past summer and the stress of sixth year school work and thoughts of an upcoming career.
Right now, he was at ease.
Be kind to one another. (*iNPC is Miles Thatcher)
The Order of Things
 banner by Estella Cain |
word count - 461 interacting - @Simon Kincaid speech - #7d7c78 ❝ when I tell you to get lost, |
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_ | Spiralling — A cascade of emptiness, yet there was no vacant space. A void, yet filled with the complications of doom and gloom and all that came with it. Spiralling. As if the brain was confined in a whirlwind of perplexion and… tristesse. Once the spirals begin, they never end, extending into the incessant nothingness. And so her thoughts tendriled, multiplying perpetually and coiling within the depths of her mind. It had been a while since such thoughts had visited her; once upon a time they frequented, congesting every corner of her mind. She had eventually learned to push them away — but what is forced underwater inevitably resurfaces, though in a strange, distorted way. Strange. Was she strange? Strangeness is a peculiar thing. Its fundamentals lie in perception; it is ambiguous, subjective, and dependent upon the individual. Something strange in the eyes of one may not necessarily be strange in the eyes of another. When it came to her, however, there seemed to be a consensus on her strangeness. This particular Ravenclaw’s strangeness seemed to very much take pleasure in forming an invisible pair of hands to push people away just as she pushed away her thoughts — a strangeness perhaps galvanised by the girl’s own displayed willingness to isolate herself. It couldn’t be helped; the isolationism had been built — in reflection to her fragmented childhood recollections — as a wall to shield oneself from the destructions that followed emotional attachment and amity. But deep within, masked behind the pulsation of her walled heart, she yearned. She yearned for connection, for true laughter and the crinkled eyes that came with it. Perhaps the wall was more a curtain, fragile and flimsy and waiting to be opened — but it seemed the clouds of strangeness that emanated from her discouraged any hands that she had allowed to reach close. The resurfacing of such thoughts brought vulnerability, and vulnerability was of course best hidden. Empty classrooms served the purpose of a safe haven, an abode to fleetingly dwell in, where she could let the façade slip away to reveal vulnerabilities if only for a moment. They were almost always void of any other presence, for who would desire to spend a single passing moment in a classroom outside of class time? It was thus somewhat surprising when the door opened to reveal, unprecedentedly, another individual standing inside. Under normal circumstances, Ebony Vetra would have backed out of the room and turned toward another vacant room, but nothing about the day was normal. The room emitted an almost calming, tranquil atmosphere — at the courtesy of the soothing scent of herbs or the foreign but pleasant music, perhaps — that drew the brunette to step into the room and to observe, unspeaking. |
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| iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing | sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15 𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌 |
The Order of Things
Talking with @Ebony Vetra
Simon pulled a glass bottle from the larger box and lifted it up toward the light to examine it since no label seemed to be present. He hadn't noticed her entrance, not yet. Around him, thre was only the sound of the radio playing it's instrumental jazz, muffling any footsteps that might have been heard or even his own breathing.
But then something, whatever it was, maybe his dhampir perception, but he picked up on the awareness of another presence. Simon lowered the bottle and glanced over his shoulder to see her standing there. Her expression was unreadable and he wasn't quite sure if she planned to be there or had just wandered inside.
"Come in if you'd like. Have a seat and relax a bit or you can help me organize the stuff in the boxes down there to the ones up here on the tables," he motioned to the boxes that rested on the ground. "I mean, I'm assuming you're not here to rob the Hospital Wing. All the exciting poisons were with the last shipment," he said as he slipped the bottle in his hand into one of the boxes and grabbed another from the one on the floor and examined it.
"Probably," he replied as he looked over this new bottle but then glanced up to her with a small smile. He was just joking around about poisons at all, hoping to help the girl feel more comfortable.
"You can stay if you want. It's quieter than the library today." She looked as if perhaps she could do with some quieter.
Be kind to one another. (*iNPC is Miles Thatcher)