Introductions
They had barely made it inside the threshold with Alfie still gaping at the lavish and artificially expanded interior, when another person barreled past them.
'Rude', Alfie thought, before realizing the new-comer had pitched himself forward and more or less face planted in the middle of the room. Alfie's eye's darted uneasily from the carcass to the other inmates to try to judge how normal or bizarre this was. He didn't want to under-react or over-react. He might be witnessing a fit or just a drama queen throwing a bit of a strop. The loud self-declaration denying his own passing seemed to point to the latter in Alfie's opinion, though he noticed that as least some of the campers were showing more concern than he was.
Alfie glanced about quickly trying to draw some conclusions. He could have filled his notebook just describing the expanded room, the intense color, and strange furnishings. Except for the sea and the sky, Holyhead was dominated by beiges and grays, and for that matter, you could include the sky in the gray category for most of the year. But as much as Alfie might have admired the decorations had he more time, it seemed more pressing to sort out the people and his own place among them.
His first observation was the lack of black robes. He'd gotten the dress code wrong apparently, and while that was a strike against him, there was at least one other person as fashionably challenged as he.
It was a girl. The only one. Irish and a bit of a snarky bite to her tone. She was saying something about First Years indicating herself and another which seemed to imply to Alfie that not everyone here was.
Which made sense, as the similar looking boys with the obnoxiously posh sounding voices were clearly taller than Alfie and displayed more attitude, which probably came with seniority but also, undoubtedly, wealth.
Wealth was an issue for Alfie. He had clocked Strike as a little rich boy but these older boys' dress seemed to indicate even more wealth, or possibly some sort of clowning troop, the robes a bit too loud and theatrical to register as anything Alfie had seen before. Honestly they all looked wealthier than Alfie was used to, so he needed to table his assumptions until he could gather more evidence.
Alfie missed the Lamont part entirely. He wouldn't have known a Lamont from a tea-cozy, so even if he had heard the name it would have meant nothing. Missing the metamorphic transformation was more of a tragedy, but miss it he did, both due to his angle and the many other distractions.
Instead he was drawn to the cluster of activity around the limp bloke in the center of the room. He assumed some of these people were helpful and nice. There was a dark-haired boy not much taller than Alfie who seemed older, if only because of his solicitousness. He seemed like he'd be useful. while the posh one who whipped out his wand, Alfie was more wary of. His smirk and his flourish as he drew out his wand seemed show-offy to Alfie, if only because it was the sort of thing that Alfie himself might had done had he only known how.
Strike was impressed though, so Alfie thought it worthwhile to echo his sentiment. "Aye, good on ye1," he agreed heartily, stepping into the room. "Well done." It was enough to sound agreeable without being fawning. No need for them to know just how impressed he actually was.
"I'm Alfie," he added, "and this is Strike. There's still room for us, isn't it?"2 He smiled confidently. It was a statement more than a question. If there was room for the lump on the floor there was surely room for him.
--------------------------------
'Rude', Alfie thought, before realizing the new-comer had pitched himself forward and more or less face planted in the middle of the room. Alfie's eye's darted uneasily from the carcass to the other inmates to try to judge how normal or bizarre this was. He didn't want to under-react or over-react. He might be witnessing a fit or just a drama queen throwing a bit of a strop. The loud self-declaration denying his own passing seemed to point to the latter in Alfie's opinion, though he noticed that as least some of the campers were showing more concern than he was.
Alfie glanced about quickly trying to draw some conclusions. He could have filled his notebook just describing the expanded room, the intense color, and strange furnishings. Except for the sea and the sky, Holyhead was dominated by beiges and grays, and for that matter, you could include the sky in the gray category for most of the year. But as much as Alfie might have admired the decorations had he more time, it seemed more pressing to sort out the people and his own place among them.
His first observation was the lack of black robes. He'd gotten the dress code wrong apparently, and while that was a strike against him, there was at least one other person as fashionably challenged as he.
It was a girl. The only one. Irish and a bit of a snarky bite to her tone. She was saying something about First Years indicating herself and another which seemed to imply to Alfie that not everyone here was.
Which made sense, as the similar looking boys with the obnoxiously posh sounding voices were clearly taller than Alfie and displayed more attitude, which probably came with seniority but also, undoubtedly, wealth.
Wealth was an issue for Alfie. He had clocked Strike as a little rich boy but these older boys' dress seemed to indicate even more wealth, or possibly some sort of clowning troop, the robes a bit too loud and theatrical to register as anything Alfie had seen before. Honestly they all looked wealthier than Alfie was used to, so he needed to table his assumptions until he could gather more evidence.
Alfie missed the Lamont part entirely. He wouldn't have known a Lamont from a tea-cozy, so even if he had heard the name it would have meant nothing. Missing the metamorphic transformation was more of a tragedy, but miss it he did, both due to his angle and the many other distractions.
Instead he was drawn to the cluster of activity around the limp bloke in the center of the room. He assumed some of these people were helpful and nice. There was a dark-haired boy not much taller than Alfie who seemed older, if only because of his solicitousness. He seemed like he'd be useful. while the posh one who whipped out his wand, Alfie was more wary of. His smirk and his flourish as he drew out his wand seemed show-offy to Alfie, if only because it was the sort of thing that Alfie himself might had done had he only known how.
Strike was impressed though, so Alfie thought it worthwhile to echo his sentiment. "Aye, good on ye1," he agreed heartily, stepping into the room. "Well done." It was enough to sound agreeable without being fawning. No need for them to know just how impressed he actually was.
"I'm Alfie," he added, "and this is Strike. There's still room for us, isn't it?"2 He smiled confidently. It was a statement more than a question. If there was room for the lump on the floor there was surely room for him.
--------------------------------
English colloqualisms used in Wales:
Reducio
- 1Aye, good on ye*****Yes, well done.
- 2Isn't it?**************Welsh English often uses "isn't it?" as an all-purpose tag regardless of the preceding statement. Tag questions at the end of statements is a prominent feature of Welsh English, influenced by Welsh grammar.
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 28 Aug 2026, 03:12, edited 1 time in total.
Introductions
camp arrival xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 01.08.2026
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As much as he might have liked it to be otherwise, the urge to continue to devise a strategy to sneak into Hogwarts proper mill about was made increasingly undesirable and generally just inconvenient for two reasons. First, Owen's trunk was getting rather cumbersome as the levitation charm cast by the long-departed governess began to wane. And second, by Merlin's maroon mittens was he getting hungry. If he waited any longer in getting his belongings stashed away, he surmised, he might actually perish in the effort of doing so.
"Pardon me," he uttered as he hurried past a quizzical looking senior. "Coming through," came his announcement as he rushed through another throng of students. "Sorry 'bout that!" he called back over his shoulder as the trunk—careening side to side with the waning levitation as though riding invisible waves that threatened to sink it into the ground—clipped the hip of an unfortunate victim. "Didn't mean to! Swear it!"
He practically broke into a run at that point, throwing his body weight behind his barely floating trunk in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and whoever he'd just assaulted. Great first impression, that was. With luck, though, they wouldn't recognize him by the time the embarrassment had faded from his cheeks. Still, as the leather started to skip and hop against the ground, he grew more frantic, eyes hastily scanning this way and that in search of his cabin. Easier said than done, though. While the descriptions had differentiated the different 'departments', the exteriors all looked practically the same. Or perhaps it was just desperation clouding his ability to discriminate. It didn't help that he didn't know anyone here. So many other students also filing into what would become their new lodgings for the next month, yet none to turn to.
"It's gotta be one o—OOF!" Whatever lingering effects of the levitation spell waned, and with it, the trunk dipped, catching its corner solidly on a stone to bring it to a sudden halt. Momentum worked against Owen, driving the edge of the lid right into his solar plexus and the air from his lungs. Winded, he fell back onto his rear just as his trunk plopped with a dull thud onto the packed earth.
For the second time in an hour, Owen grimaced as he rose, dusting dirt and dust from what had once been clean and crisp ivory linens. Cheeks puffing, he gave one good heave of his trunk to try to make it budge. It didn't. So he pulled with all the might of his noodly arms. Still it stood fast. Palms dropped to pat against his thighs, helpless. Releasing the air he'd been holding, he turned on the spot and plopped down on the lid, fingers tapping against his chin. Oh how he suddenly regretted not having been just a touch more attentive with his tutors. No doubt, his brother would have been able to renew the levitation charm and whisk it off to his cabin. In that moment, he almost wished Anrai was there to help him out. Almost.
Well, there was nothing to be done. Not alone anyway. Glancing up, Owen set his gaze on the nearest cabin and hopped up to his feet, sleeveless half-robe flagging behind him as loped over to the door. It stood ajar, a plethora of voices animatedly conversing within. He gave a little rap of his knuckles on the doorframe as he poked his head through the entrance, "'Allo there! Any chance an—"
The question of whether any of them could help him with directions to his cabin and whether any of them would be able to help him relocate the trunk he'd left outside to said cabin went unfinished. As his brain caught up with processing, the unfolding of the interior scene before him quickly took precedence. Front and center, a student—Owen assumed, based on the size of the humanoid—lay prone and covered in bandages. Stooped above, a boy seemed to be reaching to try to help him up. Nearby, another boy held a wand aloft, pointed in the unfortunate's direction. Owen also managed to clock five other students in various states of intrigue or conversation. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't been privy to the series of events that had led up to this moment, but what he did hear was several statements—
"Pardon me," he uttered as he hurried past a quizzical looking senior. "Coming through," came his announcement as he rushed through another throng of students. "Sorry 'bout that!" he called back over his shoulder as the trunk—careening side to side with the waning levitation as though riding invisible waves that threatened to sink it into the ground—clipped the hip of an unfortunate victim. "Didn't mean to! Swear it!"
He practically broke into a run at that point, throwing his body weight behind his barely floating trunk in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and whoever he'd just assaulted. Great first impression, that was. With luck, though, they wouldn't recognize him by the time the embarrassment had faded from his cheeks. Still, as the leather started to skip and hop against the ground, he grew more frantic, eyes hastily scanning this way and that in search of his cabin. Easier said than done, though. While the descriptions had differentiated the different 'departments', the exteriors all looked practically the same. Or perhaps it was just desperation clouding his ability to discriminate. It didn't help that he didn't know anyone here. So many other students also filing into what would become their new lodgings for the next month, yet none to turn to.
"It's gotta be one o—OOF!" Whatever lingering effects of the levitation spell waned, and with it, the trunk dipped, catching its corner solidly on a stone to bring it to a sudden halt. Momentum worked against Owen, driving the edge of the lid right into his solar plexus and the air from his lungs. Winded, he fell back onto his rear just as his trunk plopped with a dull thud onto the packed earth.
For the second time in an hour, Owen grimaced as he rose, dusting dirt and dust from what had once been clean and crisp ivory linens. Cheeks puffing, he gave one good heave of his trunk to try to make it budge. It didn't. So he pulled with all the might of his noodly arms. Still it stood fast. Palms dropped to pat against his thighs, helpless. Releasing the air he'd been holding, he turned on the spot and plopped down on the lid, fingers tapping against his chin. Oh how he suddenly regretted not having been just a touch more attentive with his tutors. No doubt, his brother would have been able to renew the levitation charm and whisk it off to his cabin. In that moment, he almost wished Anrai was there to help him out. Almost.
Well, there was nothing to be done. Not alone anyway. Glancing up, Owen set his gaze on the nearest cabin and hopped up to his feet, sleeveless half-robe flagging behind him as loped over to the door. It stood ajar, a plethora of voices animatedly conversing within. He gave a little rap of his knuckles on the doorframe as he poked his head through the entrance, "'Allo there! Any chance an—"
The question of whether any of them could help him with directions to his cabin and whether any of them would be able to help him relocate the trunk he'd left outside to said cabin went unfinished. As his brain caught up with processing, the unfolding of the interior scene before him quickly took precedence. Front and center, a student—Owen assumed, based on the size of the humanoid—lay prone and covered in bandages. Stooped above, a boy seemed to be reaching to try to help him up. Nearby, another boy held a wand aloft, pointed in the unfortunate's direction. Owen also managed to clock five other students in various states of intrigue or conversation. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't been privy to the series of events that had led up to this moment, but what he did hear was several statements—
"...not diseased either."
"...diseased or not, that..."
"...diseased or not, that..."
—rather casually tossed about. Forward movement abruptly halted, knuckles curling about the door frame like an anchor on which to pull him from the dark depths of a hungry sea. "D-diseased??" After all, deceased... diseased... they sounded so very much the same. New questions jumped to the surface of his thoughts, eyes training right back on the mummy at the center of the room. He took a tentative step back and pointed at the downed individual, eyes wide and imploringly searching the rest of them while completely disregarding the introductions for the immediate moment.
"'That one has a disease? What kind of disease?" The colour had drained from his face, concern and helpless horror evident in his features. But surely they wouldn't have let a sick student come to camp? That's why his mother never wanted to let him attend functions with other children in the past. Not after what had happened to his sister. No this couldn't be happening... "Shouldn't... should we get one of the adults or something?"
"'That one has a disease? What kind of disease?" The colour had drained from his face, concern and helpless horror evident in his features. But surely they wouldn't have let a sick student come to camp? That's why his mother never wanted to let him attend functions with other children in the past. Not after what had happened to his sister. No this couldn't be happening... "Shouldn't... should we get one of the adults or something?"
action: looking about ready to run for an adult
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English [#a9882d] | Gaeilge [#a77406]
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English [#a9882d] | Gaeilge [#a77406]
Introductions
camp| day | time
There were plenty of limitations placed on the human body. Even with half of himself being ‘restored’ at most a few weeks, there were many things machines could do that humans just can’t. Like how little Demo was registering the whole scene of people before and after his arrival just cause he was too battered and breathless.
There were snippets of things that he heard - course. His ears were still working, even if his brain uselessly wanted to drift off to dream land. HAH. No way - Demo is more powerful than what his brain wanted.
Conversations such as apologies being accepted, in a tone similar to what he imagines wood would be after sanded and polished. (Clayton) What that meant- he didn’t know. It just is like that. Probably. Not that he understood what needed to be apologised in the first place.
Jeremy Slater
It was then, someone stated he wasn’t deceased in which Demo replied with a pleased “ Oh congrats congrats congrats!” he says through batted breaths. His cheek was still on the floor, but it was enough to see the same boy extend a hand. To what? Greet him? Help him up? Demo wasn’t sure and it was evident from the way his pupils dart between the hand and the also-not-deceased boy. Looking as if the other showed him a mini cow figurine instead of a hand of greeting. To which Demo thinks: who care? It showed on his face.
Henry Holbrook
Another boy came and did the same thing. Wth were these people on about? Demo already said he wasn’t deceased, he didn’t ASK for follow up questions. Which lead him to ignore the 2nd probably-not-deceased-boy-based-on-available-evidence, and his concern(?) ramblings about helping him.
Demo did however- decide to sit up. A feat in which - he greatly appreciated that he could do himself now without the assistance of unwanted hands supporting his weight. He shakes his head vigorously vertically, more like a dog after being washed. “ enggak enggak enggak [no no no]”. He raised his arms up slightly in a shrug, “ I —- okay” he says as if saying more than that was already daunting.
But that apparently wasn’t enough- since another boy came by- whipped out his wand, and pointed it at Demo. The younger boy didn’t register it as danger. Hardly flinched, and the most expression he shows was a slight furrowed brow as he feels a soothing sensation flow through him. The knees and elbows that stung now had magically have bandages wrapped around them.
Gyle Lamont
Without looking at his ‘healer, he slowly stands up - eyes on his leg. He bends them awkwardly - more like a robot testing out how far it could move it’s mechanically engineered limbs. He looks back at the one who had his latest interaction with Demo. His hands slowly raised a pointed finger at him as his eyes squint. “ nUnnnn…. noonnnn.. nnnn….”
His next words, a lot little more louder - followed by a frown.
“ NONCONSENSUAL!!!”
Then a little more quieter:
“ Nonconsensual - spell casting!!! - you just- while I - didn’t I - “ he takes back his hand and side eyes. He would attempt to take strides closer to the boy (Gyle). With a focused side eye to the boy, he says in a neutral tone.
“ Keep one eye open while you sleep” (because studying one’s eye while they were unconscious would better help Demo memorize who this nonconsensual spellcaster is)
Demo is on 100/100 hp from the journey of the entryway and this tent
Demo.... demo-ing
Acknowledges the existence of : @Alfie Owen, @Strike Allen @Henry Holbrook @Josephine Byrne, @Jeremy Slater @Gyle Lamont @Clayton Lamont
Hanako Tone | Sara Kohana | Kotoka Sako
Introductions
Clayton had no words; only a dark look spread across his face. Whatever role he had planned to conjure up next for himself shattered under the sheer weight of Jo's statement. It left him completely unarmed and vulnerable for the first time in a very long while. A feeling he loathed to feel again. His luggage hovered slowly past him in the few seconds he needed to process what was happening to him. It settled with a soft thud in the room he had aimed at."Leave me be, Clay."
His mother's voice rang through his head like the strike of a church bell. He stood alone in a big drawing room, the ceiling so high it fell out of his imaginary scope. Gloria was fixing an earring as she adjusted her features in a dressing mirror, her eyes not meeting her son's reflection. "You might be born with my gift, but you lack my talent." The little boy tugged his little pretend Roman toga as tears began to drip down his cheeks. His skin had gone pale. "I have important things to do, my dear. Go and play some more with your brother. Be quiet and listen, as he does so well." She rose and passed him by the doorway. "Perhaps practice some more... elsewhere."
"E-excuse me?" Clay stammered with a gaping mouth. He realized too late he had said those words out loud. His hand physically reached out to cover his mouth. Oh Merlin! He was stumbling. He felt as if he were on stage and had forgotten his lines. A crowd of invisible faces stared impatiently for him to pick up the pace again, but the lines wouldn't spring back to mind.
As Jo turned to the others, so did he without thinking. His eyes slid sideways to take another look at her. In one blink, his eyes had shifted back to his brother's colour. Suddenly, everything about him was back to Gyle's appearance. Like a safe space to retreat to, one he knew like the back of his hand. Along with his appearance, a little of Gyle's dry wit slipped in too.
"And you were born with a brain. Doesn't mean everyone makes the most of it." He hissed under his breath. The fact he was able to respond in kind left a secret enjoyment for bickering lingering in his mind.
Yes. The lines had come back. Like ribbons of text swirling in the air around him. All he had to do was reach out with his mind. His confidence instantly rebuilt like a redoubt among the foggy flickers of false failures. Roles, it was all just roles he had to play. Clay imagined himself a minstrel, the kind that had just performed the jovial opening song to a fantastical tale. He tilted his head as he would think a cocky bard would. Some smirk formed in the corner of his mouth before he spoke again, this time out loud. "My sincerest apologies, fair Jo." He recovered most elegantly, reaching out his hand to her. A part of him genuinely trying to make friends. Clay made the effort to laugh at her as she set the record straight for Jeremy.
"Would I know your families?" He asked Jo and Jeremy, or anyone who would boast publicly, as he looked away from them and into the group of students in the room surrounding one boy who had seemingly barged in. Clayton physically jolted backwards one step as the boy screamed into hell about something nonconsensual. "Gyle... what did you do to him?" Clay would ask in shock.
Introductions
Jeremy WAS surprised that his apology had been accepted so readily by Clayton (though he wasn't gonna complain about it), but he was even more surprised by what Jo said next.
"Wait...You're a metamorphmagus?" He looked to the strange pompous boy with a new curiosity. Then maybe his hair HAD changed.
He had heard about metamorphmaguses of course, but he hadn’t ever met one. They were fascinating, able to change into practically anything when they got good enough at it. He was surprised that Jo seemed so angry at him. He remembered how much Jo had talked about spies back when he'd been at her house, and so he’d have thought that she’d have LOVED to meet a metamorphmagus, but she didn’t seem very impressed by Clayton at all. Maybe if he had said he used his powers to break into the top secret gringotts vaults, finding foreign intelligence on Durmstrang, she’d have been more impressed, and taken that autograph he offered her.
Jeremy’s head whipped to the side when, just like that, Jo blabbed to Henry that he was a first-year. Not cool! He scoffed a bit, because he had really dug himself in quite deep on this one, and he’d sort of just been hoping he would never have to see Henry again once school started. He looked to Henry with a shrug, only to be met with a furrowed brow.
‘Bit rude to lie about it…’
That was all the boy said, at least out loud. Jeremy didn’t know why, but something about THIS boy saying that to him made him kinda feel like he had just been given the equivalent of a very long rant with a whole lot of curses.
It was stupid, really. He hadn’t even really LIED. It was….Whatever. It wasn’t like he cared if the boy thought he was rude…especially since he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
…which made it all the more annoying that he felt his ears burning, and found his gaze drifting awkwardly down to his shoes.
He turned his attention pointedly away from the liar-hating boy and towards the not-deceased boy on the floor that they were trying to help. The boy on the ground hadn't taken Jeremy's hand. He had just congratulated him on being alive and then looked at him like he had never seen a hand before. It was almost enough to make Jeremy wonder if he HAD been deceased, and was still trying to acclimate to being alive again.
The liar-hating boy went up to the not-deceased-boy, talking about a first-aid kit. But just then, Gyle, the other twin who Clayton had introduced, the ‘justicer’ or something like that (It was a word that Jeremy hadn’t known, which Jeremy didn’t like. He was the one who was supposed to know things. Hopefully he could figure that out in one of these books) had something better. In a flash, the boy on the ground was wrapped in bandages. He wasn’t sure if the bandages were necessary, but it meant that Gyle was powerful, if not practical, and Jeremy watched with some jealousy. He couldn’t WAIT until he could do magic, and perhaps Gyle might notice the slight amazement in Jeremy’s eyes.
But he wasn’t the only one who was impressed. The two boys about his height from before had come in, and one of them, the blonde boy who was introduced by 'Alfie' as ‘Strike’ (perhaps they were friends), seemed equally impressed by the boy who had called Jeremy a liar as he was by Gyle. Strike, Jeremy noticed, had been helping Alfie with his trunk, if he was right and that second trunk was Alfie's. Strike also put his trunk away to the side carefully, something Jeremy had not remembered to do, starting this whole mess.
But this was perfect! There! Now the liar-hating boy had a first-year (probably) who he could help. A nice one, it seemed, who would almost certainly not lie to him. And so Jeremy didn’t have to feel bad anymore, and he didn’t need to apologize, because that boy would be nice to the older boy, and then they would both be happy. What did he need Jeremy for then?
"Yes of course there's room, don't worry" Jeremy said, nodding in approval as Strike introduced himself to the older boy. Perfect. He stepped away to see what Jo and Clayton were talking about. Clayton asked about their families, and whether he would know them...and well...Jeremy didn't have any idea what some of the other kids' parents did but judging by the way they were dressed, it was probably a lot more than his.
“Oh uh…my family? Probably not. I mean my dad sells potion ingredients and stuff. It’s…well he does sell a lot of them. He doesn’t really like metamorphmaguses though, because they don’t ever need Polyjuice ingredients.”
Though Jeremy had ushered Strike and Alfie in, he didn't think the cabin could hold many more people. Still, sure enough one more boy burst in - this one looking quite panicked. Did he say...the boy on the ground was...diseased?
“Diseased?” Jeremy repeated, looking at the fallen boy again. WAS he diseased? There definitely seemed to be SOMETHING wrong with him. Jeremy squinted and tilted his head. “I don’t…I don’t THINK he’s diseased."
But as the boy sat up and began yelling 'nonconsensual' Jer had second thoughts.
"But he might be….it’s kinda hard to tell” he explained to the newcomer.
@Alfie Owen @Strike Allen @Henry Holbrook @Owen Lochridge @Clayton Lamont @Gyle Lamont @Josephine Byrne @Demo Chatura
"Wait...You're a metamorphmagus?" He looked to the strange pompous boy with a new curiosity. Then maybe his hair HAD changed.
He had heard about metamorphmaguses of course, but he hadn’t ever met one. They were fascinating, able to change into practically anything when they got good enough at it. He was surprised that Jo seemed so angry at him. He remembered how much Jo had talked about spies back when he'd been at her house, and so he’d have thought that she’d have LOVED to meet a metamorphmagus, but she didn’t seem very impressed by Clayton at all. Maybe if he had said he used his powers to break into the top secret gringotts vaults, finding foreign intelligence on Durmstrang, she’d have been more impressed, and taken that autograph he offered her.
Jeremy’s head whipped to the side when, just like that, Jo blabbed to Henry that he was a first-year. Not cool! He scoffed a bit, because he had really dug himself in quite deep on this one, and he’d sort of just been hoping he would never have to see Henry again once school started. He looked to Henry with a shrug, only to be met with a furrowed brow.
‘Bit rude to lie about it…’
That was all the boy said, at least out loud. Jeremy didn’t know why, but something about THIS boy saying that to him made him kinda feel like he had just been given the equivalent of a very long rant with a whole lot of curses.
It was stupid, really. He hadn’t even really LIED. It was….Whatever. It wasn’t like he cared if the boy thought he was rude…especially since he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
…which made it all the more annoying that he felt his ears burning, and found his gaze drifting awkwardly down to his shoes.
He turned his attention pointedly away from the liar-hating boy and towards the not-deceased boy on the floor that they were trying to help. The boy on the ground hadn't taken Jeremy's hand. He had just congratulated him on being alive and then looked at him like he had never seen a hand before. It was almost enough to make Jeremy wonder if he HAD been deceased, and was still trying to acclimate to being alive again.
The liar-hating boy went up to the not-deceased-boy, talking about a first-aid kit. But just then, Gyle, the other twin who Clayton had introduced, the ‘justicer’ or something like that (It was a word that Jeremy hadn’t known, which Jeremy didn’t like. He was the one who was supposed to know things. Hopefully he could figure that out in one of these books) had something better. In a flash, the boy on the ground was wrapped in bandages. He wasn’t sure if the bandages were necessary, but it meant that Gyle was powerful, if not practical, and Jeremy watched with some jealousy. He couldn’t WAIT until he could do magic, and perhaps Gyle might notice the slight amazement in Jeremy’s eyes.
But he wasn’t the only one who was impressed. The two boys about his height from before had come in, and one of them, the blonde boy who was introduced by 'Alfie' as ‘Strike’ (perhaps they were friends), seemed equally impressed by the boy who had called Jeremy a liar as he was by Gyle. Strike, Jeremy noticed, had been helping Alfie with his trunk, if he was right and that second trunk was Alfie's. Strike also put his trunk away to the side carefully, something Jeremy had not remembered to do, starting this whole mess.
But this was perfect! There! Now the liar-hating boy had a first-year (probably) who he could help. A nice one, it seemed, who would almost certainly not lie to him. And so Jeremy didn’t have to feel bad anymore, and he didn’t need to apologize, because that boy would be nice to the older boy, and then they would both be happy. What did he need Jeremy for then?
"Yes of course there's room, don't worry" Jeremy said, nodding in approval as Strike introduced himself to the older boy. Perfect. He stepped away to see what Jo and Clayton were talking about. Clayton asked about their families, and whether he would know them...and well...Jeremy didn't have any idea what some of the other kids' parents did but judging by the way they were dressed, it was probably a lot more than his.
“Oh uh…my family? Probably not. I mean my dad sells potion ingredients and stuff. It’s…well he does sell a lot of them. He doesn’t really like metamorphmaguses though, because they don’t ever need Polyjuice ingredients.”
Though Jeremy had ushered Strike and Alfie in, he didn't think the cabin could hold many more people. Still, sure enough one more boy burst in - this one looking quite panicked. Did he say...the boy on the ground was...diseased?
“Diseased?” Jeremy repeated, looking at the fallen boy again. WAS he diseased? There definitely seemed to be SOMETHING wrong with him. Jeremy squinted and tilted his head. “I don’t…I don’t THINK he’s diseased."
But as the boy sat up and began yelling 'nonconsensual' Jer had second thoughts.
"But he might be….it’s kinda hard to tell” he explained to the newcomer.
@Alfie Owen @Strike Allen @Henry Holbrook @Owen Lochridge @Clayton Lamont @Gyle Lamont @Josephine Byrne @Demo Chatura
Introductions
Jo's granda often told her that tongue of hers would get her into trouble and, for a second, as Clayton's features shifted at her barb, she thought she might be about to prove him right and get herself hexed. But no hex was forthcoming. Instead, it seemed like her words had hit their mark. Clayton stammered and covered his mouth and for one teeny, tiny moment (not longer than a millisecond), Jo felt her conscience twinge at what she'd said. And then the boy was insulting her intelligence and any regret she may have felt instantly evaporated. She rolled her eyes at him, and opened her mouth to utter her comeback (no doubt clever and scathing; once she came up with it, at least) when his demeanour changed yet again, leaving Jo feeling... confused.
Had he decided that insults were too mundane, and was trying to get her to admit that she didn't come from a family as well-known or obscenely wealthy as his? Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she weighed her options. She could lie and say she didn't think he would've heard of her family--a spy should never reveal personal information without a good reason, after all. But that felt suspiciously like being embarrassed, and the thought that this boy could elicit that strong an emotion didn't sit well with her. What her parents did was important and required a lot of knowledge and skill; certainly more than acting.
She crossed her arms across her chest. "Probably. They've worked with your mum on some of her parties. They do security. The warding kind, not like... hiring security trolls or anything like that." She let her chin jut out a smidge, before turning her attention to the rest of the room. She'd tried her best to keep her attention on what was going around them (another important skill for a future spy!), so she wasn't too confused at hearing Jeremy (who had survived his lie surprisingly unscathed) speculating on whether the boy on the floor was diseased. She was surprised, though, to see that the spell the less obnoxious twin, Gyle, had produced had (a) worked remakably well, (b) been received remarkably poorly.
"Diseased in the brain, maybe," she muttered with a chuckle, after the boy on the floor threatened Gyle. "I don't think we need adults. He seems grand to me. It only looked like scrapes before." Scrapes that had now been neatly addressed.
It really was an excellent spell. One she'd very much like to learn (the spies in her da's novels were always getting shot, so learning some basic first aid only seemed like common sense). She wondered how likely it would be that Gyle would agree to teach her the spell after she'd insulted his brother. Maybe she could wait a day or two before asking, wait for tempers to cool. Or... maybe she could ask the one known older boy in the room who had proven his helpfulness, and didn't seem that keen on the twins. Without hesitation, she sidled up to the shorter, older boy. "Say, when do we learn that spell? Do you know it too?"
Had he decided that insults were too mundane, and was trying to get her to admit that she didn't come from a family as well-known or obscenely wealthy as his? Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she weighed her options. She could lie and say she didn't think he would've heard of her family--a spy should never reveal personal information without a good reason, after all. But that felt suspiciously like being embarrassed, and the thought that this boy could elicit that strong an emotion didn't sit well with her. What her parents did was important and required a lot of knowledge and skill; certainly more than acting.
She crossed her arms across her chest. "Probably. They've worked with your mum on some of her parties. They do security. The warding kind, not like... hiring security trolls or anything like that." She let her chin jut out a smidge, before turning her attention to the rest of the room. She'd tried her best to keep her attention on what was going around them (another important skill for a future spy!), so she wasn't too confused at hearing Jeremy (who had survived his lie surprisingly unscathed) speculating on whether the boy on the floor was diseased. She was surprised, though, to see that the spell the less obnoxious twin, Gyle, had produced had (a) worked remakably well, (b) been received remarkably poorly.
"Diseased in the brain, maybe," she muttered with a chuckle, after the boy on the floor threatened Gyle. "I don't think we need adults. He seems grand to me. It only looked like scrapes before." Scrapes that had now been neatly addressed.
It really was an excellent spell. One she'd very much like to learn (the spies in her da's novels were always getting shot, so learning some basic first aid only seemed like common sense). She wondered how likely it would be that Gyle would agree to teach her the spell after she'd insulted his brother. Maybe she could wait a day or two before asking, wait for tempers to cool. Or... maybe she could ask the one known older boy in the room who had proven his helpfulness, and didn't seem that keen on the twins. Without hesitation, she sidled up to the shorter, older boy. "Say, when do we learn that spell? Do you know it too?"
Introductions
✧✧✧✧✧
| Location: Campgrounds | Date: August 1st, 2026 | Word Count: 895 | Speech #1587A4 | Thoughts #1587A4 |
───────────────────────────────────────────────────────Unfortunately for Jeremy, the perturbed twelve year old missed his blush and despondently hanging head. Perhaps if he'd witnessed it, Henry's generally forgiving nature would have won out, but alas it came while his attention was diverted, so his brow remained furrowed.
Though Henry wasn't entirely sure what words the boy who'd recently executed a 10/10 impersonation of a fainting goat meant, he got the general idea that it wasn't 'Oh yes, please help me, that would be lovely, thank you ever so much'.
As the injured party sat up, the second year held up his hands in a pacifying behavior. He knew better than to force his help on others. If only that were true of everyone in the cabin...
He saw the smirk and sighed, just barely able to hold back a tremendous roll of his eyes. Healing someone? Yeah, that was noble. However in this case it seemed far more like a performative gesture rather than the act of compassion it should have been, and while his eyes were under Henry's control, his lip was seemingly less so, judging by how the corner rose in a sneer. As a credit to Jeremy, at least his lies and half-truths hadn't inspired disgust. With that, his gaze turned very deliberately away from the prefect's attempted showboating, treating it with about the same disinterest he'd grant a half-hearted attempt at a cobweb in the corner. He hoped it stung.
The bright blue orbs landed upon first years filing inside after the 'not-deceased' boy. And as he stood - making a point to turn his back on Gyle - his brow finally unknitted from its pinched state. He extended a hand to the blond boy specifically asking for his name. "Henry." He said with a soft smile, "My name's Henry Holbrook. Very kind of you to ask." He asked, glancing around at the assemblage of younger people before him. His eyes crinkled as the Welsh lad answered both for himself as well as the blond boy, "A pleasure to meet both of you. I hope we can be friends, and of course there's room, the more the merrier."
Or at least 'the more of us there are, the more likely some of you are not to be as insufferable as the Lamont twins... he corrected himself in his mind, though he tried to not let the accompanying emotion show too plainly on his face.
Henry's eyes crinkled in delight as he noticed the boy who'd made the introduction was even in his school robes, "I see someone's an overachiever, eh? In uniform a month before you're even sorted? Some of us don't even bother with it when school's on." He teased in a playful tone, hoping the kid would have a good sense of humor about it, then immediately kicking himself as it dawned on him that his joke might instead make the younger boy self conscious, and in typical Henry fashion, his anxiety kicked in and drove him into overcorrection, "It looks great! You might stand out a little, but the professors are gonna love that someone gave enough of a toss to bother with it, I'm sure!"
The hand that HAD been reaching back to rub the back of his neck in a bashful manner paused in the air at the slightly dusty boy mishearing the conversation. His eyes widened as he saw how panicked the poor bloke seemed to be, "No! No! Not diseased, don't worry! I'm sure they wouldn't let us get the plague or whatever at summer camp. This is Hogwarts, when have they ever had anything but our best interests at heart?"
He suppressed another eyeroll at the inquisition into whether or not any of them had families of note, but he was certain the Lamonts knew barely enough about him to know his own family was certainly not in their social circles, so he kept quiet.
As he spoke, the commentary from the peanut gallery about how the previously bellyflopping boy reached his ears and he pinched the bridge of his nose, a heavy sigh freeing itself from his nostrils, "Bloody hell, diseased in the head? That's rather rud- BLOODY HELL!"
He quite literally jumped in place like a startled cat with the scream of NONCONSENSUAL ringing through the space, he looked down at the screaming lad and took a step back, glaring down at Gyle with a tight jawed expression, "I'm sure mummy dearest would agree it's generally proper to ask before using spells on someone." He paled a bit as the slight slipped out unbidden. He can't hold everything in, after all. But he tried playing it off with a laugh and turned to look up at the younger Irish girl who was already multiple inches taller than himself.
"Third year, I think. I remember seeing something about it on Professor Townsend's desk once, but I haven't learned it myself yet." He glanced down at the bandages trussing a certain boy up like a rather upset looking Christmas ham, "Isn't particularly on my list of priorities, given today's showing. But maybe when you ask first, the person you're trying to help is less likely to scream at you." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Loved you taking that smarmy git Clay down a peg, by the way. Even if it didn't last too long. Well done."─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
| Interaction: C.O.M.B.|
| OOC Notes: None |
Introductions
Alfie was not interested in the invalid.
Alright, the healing spell had been impressive. Alfie had seen so little magic up to this point that all of it was impressive to him. However, this was not a good time to learn the spell or to express too much amazement. Surely applying bandages was a fairly mundane skill, just as it was the real world? He had acknowledged the good deed proformatively, but now he really wanted to get on to something he actually cared about: making contacts and setting himself up as a person that was worth knowing.
To that end he'd secured the good will of the first year who was apparently also a liar. Rookie move to get caught on the first day Alfie thought, while returning a pleasant, "Cheers, mate!"1 and a nod.
He took a step to ease himself in the direction his fellow liar was moving. He wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation the boy was joining, which included the girl who, only moments before, had delivered what sounded to Alfie like a savage insult. It was something to the effect that the only good thing the posh bloke had ever done was being born. Alfie hadn't the foggiest about the context, but it was enough of a zinger to inspire an equally cutting response and Alfie didnt want to miss it.
He was somewhat dissappointed then when his progress was arrested by the dark haired boy who was apparently older than he looked and was offering the heartiest of greetings. Without missing a beat, Alfie beamed.
"One can never have too many friends, Henry," he said enthusiastically. His charming smile stiffened however as the older boy continued drawing attention to Alfie's fashion faux pas. He'd framed it as a compliment of sorts but what registered was the subtext. You don't know what you're doing, do you? Alfie's adrenaline spiked as Henry prattled on, but Alfie's confidence had been shattered. "Well, I try," Alfie answered gamely, redoubling his smile. Tomorrow he'd find something else to wear, though he wasn't sure what.
Henry's attention was distracted by reassuring another new student concerned about disease. Alfie welcomed the distraction almost gratefully, he let his attention stray away from medical emergency and cocked an ear, hoping for more interesting conversation even if it wasnt meant for him.
The girl didn't disappoint. Alfie was starting to enjoy her caustic remarks, at least so long as they were directed at someone else. Alfie failed to suppress a smirk regarding the 'diseased in the head' comment. At least someone else agreed with his assessment of the deceased/diseased boy. He might not know much about wizarding society, but he knew that even here there was some behaviour that was just too peculiar. It felt nice to find at himself outside that category for once.
Alfie startled at the sudden loud howling of the weird boy. Apparently Alfie hadn't known the half of it. The cry of 'NON-CONSENSUAL!' reminded Alfie of one of the videos he'd been forced to watch as part of his year six manditory 'Relationhips and Sexual Education' unit. For the first time, Alfie felt a bit bad for the kid, and even Mr Positive, Henry Holbrook, seemed to agree.
Alfie was impressed with the extremely sarcastic reproach that slipped out of Henry's mouth when he glared at the posh boy and his show-offy healing. 'Oh yeah. Henry despises this bloke,' he thought gleefully. This was definitely going to be recorded in Alfie's notebook.
He had a new found respect for Henry as the older boy returned almost calmly to answering first year questions. Alfie considered trying to wrangle himself back into the conversation. While they were on the subject of first aid spells, Alfie could let drop that his own mother was in the medical profession. He could be vague as to which part of the medical profession. Who's to say his mother couldn't be a doctor. It wasn't as if some wizard was going to check her credential. Before Alfie could drop that piece of information, however, his moment had passed. The conversation veered into something less personal but far more interesting. Henry probably hadn't meant Alfie to catch that last bit, but the phrase 'smarmy git' had the ability to carry. Alfie smiled. They may not have meant to share, but the whisper had given him an avenue to pursue in the future.
--------------------------------
Alright, the healing spell had been impressive. Alfie had seen so little magic up to this point that all of it was impressive to him. However, this was not a good time to learn the spell or to express too much amazement. Surely applying bandages was a fairly mundane skill, just as it was the real world? He had acknowledged the good deed proformatively, but now he really wanted to get on to something he actually cared about: making contacts and setting himself up as a person that was worth knowing.
To that end he'd secured the good will of the first year who was apparently also a liar. Rookie move to get caught on the first day Alfie thought, while returning a pleasant, "Cheers, mate!"1 and a nod.
He took a step to ease himself in the direction his fellow liar was moving. He wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation the boy was joining, which included the girl who, only moments before, had delivered what sounded to Alfie like a savage insult. It was something to the effect that the only good thing the posh bloke had ever done was being born. Alfie hadn't the foggiest about the context, but it was enough of a zinger to inspire an equally cutting response and Alfie didnt want to miss it.
He was somewhat dissappointed then when his progress was arrested by the dark haired boy who was apparently older than he looked and was offering the heartiest of greetings. Without missing a beat, Alfie beamed.
"One can never have too many friends, Henry," he said enthusiastically. His charming smile stiffened however as the older boy continued drawing attention to Alfie's fashion faux pas. He'd framed it as a compliment of sorts but what registered was the subtext. You don't know what you're doing, do you? Alfie's adrenaline spiked as Henry prattled on, but Alfie's confidence had been shattered. "Well, I try," Alfie answered gamely, redoubling his smile. Tomorrow he'd find something else to wear, though he wasn't sure what.
Henry's attention was distracted by reassuring another new student concerned about disease. Alfie welcomed the distraction almost gratefully, he let his attention stray away from medical emergency and cocked an ear, hoping for more interesting conversation even if it wasnt meant for him.
The girl didn't disappoint. Alfie was starting to enjoy her caustic remarks, at least so long as they were directed at someone else. Alfie failed to suppress a smirk regarding the 'diseased in the head' comment. At least someone else agreed with his assessment of the deceased/diseased boy. He might not know much about wizarding society, but he knew that even here there was some behaviour that was just too peculiar. It felt nice to find at himself outside that category for once.
Alfie startled at the sudden loud howling of the weird boy. Apparently Alfie hadn't known the half of it. The cry of 'NON-CONSENSUAL!' reminded Alfie of one of the videos he'd been forced to watch as part of his year six manditory 'Relationhips and Sexual Education' unit. For the first time, Alfie felt a bit bad for the kid, and even Mr Positive, Henry Holbrook, seemed to agree.
Alfie was impressed with the extremely sarcastic reproach that slipped out of Henry's mouth when he glared at the posh boy and his show-offy healing. 'Oh yeah. Henry despises this bloke,' he thought gleefully. This was definitely going to be recorded in Alfie's notebook.
He had a new found respect for Henry as the older boy returned almost calmly to answering first year questions. Alfie considered trying to wrangle himself back into the conversation. While they were on the subject of first aid spells, Alfie could let drop that his own mother was in the medical profession. He could be vague as to which part of the medical profession. Who's to say his mother couldn't be a doctor. It wasn't as if some wizard was going to check her credential. Before Alfie could drop that piece of information, however, his moment had passed. The conversation veered into something less personal but far more interesting. Henry probably hadn't meant Alfie to catch that last bit, but the phrase 'smarmy git' had the ability to carry. Alfie smiled. They may not have meant to share, but the whisper had given him an avenue to pursue in the future.
--------------------------------
English colloqualisms used in Wales:
Reducio1Cheers, mate!*****People in North Wales use "cheers mate" as a casual, everyday way to say "thank you" or "goodbye" in English conversation.
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 28 Aug 2026, 02:51, edited 1 time in total.
Introductions
The shy blond was grateful to Alfie for introducing him while he was busy. He'd had to make sure his broom obeyed him on its route indoors and that Alfie's trunk was set down carefully against one wall before extracting his broom handle from the hold of the trunk handle.
"If you need me to move your trunk more anywhere else, just let me know," he whispered to Alfie, not wanting to add too much to the chaotic cacophony of sounds within the cabin just then. Once that was done, he felt he could relax a bit and take in more of what was happening. Alfie had already appeared to start doing so himself.
The helping boy turned his back to Gyle before extending a hand out to Strike and responding to his question with his name and a soft smile. Strike smiled shyly back and shook his hand. He wasn't sure why Henry thought it was kind to ask someone their name when it probably benefitted himself more than anyone else - not to mention Henry had probably already said it before and Strike was pestering him by asking him to repeat himself - but he felt good about being complimented just the same.
"Nice to meet you too, Henry" he answered meekly. "I hope we can be friends, too." His voice might have been lost in all the hullabaloo, but even if it was, that was alright. Jo seemed to require Henry's attention soon after, anyway, and Strike knew it wouldn't have been polite to take up too much of Henry's time; especially when he didn't have anything particularly profound or meaningful to say just then.
An unfamiliar boy came to the door, looking alarmed at the sight of the kid on the floor, and asked something about if they needed to go fetch an adult. Jo told him she didn't think they did, however, as the boy with the bandages had been taken care of more or less, and Henry was quick to assure the newcomer that bandage boy was no more diseased than he was deceased.
Jeremy, the other boy who Strike appreciated for acknowledging him and Alfie, assured them again that there was plenty of room - this time seeming to be speaking more to Alfie than himself - before turning toward the conversation between Jo and Clayton. Clayton had asked...well, it was something of a weird question, because he hadn't asked about the other kids' families, exactly, but if he would know them. Strike didn't understand. How were they supposed to know what families Clayton knew?
As Jeremy and Jo answered him, however, Strike thought he started to understand. Clayton was referring to how famous their families were...probably. Like how his mother was famous. Or...did it have something to do with whether or not their families worked together, like how Jo said her parents had worked with Clayton's mum on some of her parties? Maybe it was just Clayton's way of asking what other people's families did...? Maybe all of the above...?
Then again...Clayton really could have been just referring to the families he knew; families like the ones Strike's parents had him memorize upon moving to London. All the prominent pureblood family names in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, especially those who might have had children attending Hogwarts - he'd had to memorize a good many of them. Was still in the process of memorizing them still.
Strike's parents were from Greece and he didn't know how famous they were; therefore, he didn't know if Clayton would have known them or not. However, they often did work in England and the surrounding area, so maybe there was a chance he might have known them after all. It was just...Strike had never really quite had a single name for what his parents' professions were because they seemed to do so much. One day his father would be dressed as a train conductor and his mother might have been a shop clerk. Another day one of them might have looked the part of a nurse or a chef or a lawyer. It was almost like it was their job to play pretend, but Strike knew for a fact they weren't actors like Clayton's mother. So, in the end, he really wasn't sure what to say.
"I think...my mom did security too, once," he ended up murmuring, not even sure by then if anyone still cared to hear or know. He remembered his parents discussing security very intently with one another one night, though. And it had definitely been for a job of some sort. "I think she was a security guard. But I don't know who for. And it wasn't for very long."
As Jo moved to talk to Henry and Jeremy spoke with Clay while Alfie listened in, Strike took another look around, feeling as though he was missing something; something important. By then, there were a total of two kids in the room that Strike could not identify - the dramatic child who had been magically wrapped in bandages and the panicked one who had come in wondering if they needed to get an adult. There still seemed to be too much excitement surrounding the first to even consider asking him for his name, but the second one -
Wait. Where was his trunk? Surely he had to have belongings somewhere, didn't he? Everyone else had theirs...unless he had already settled into the cabin, but Strike highly doubted that. The rest of the place had appeared mostly untouched when he'd first come in and briefly regarded everything. And this kid seemed to have just come up to the door from the outside. Who knew if that was even his cabin?
Strike rushed over to the boy in the doorway. "Um...do you need help with your stuff?" Surely he had some belongings to bring to camp, didn't he? He tried to peer past the boy to see if he could spot his possessions. Luggage of some sort. Anything. "If you have a lot, I could try to get my broom to carry it for you like it did for Alfie."
@Owen Lochridge, @Alfie Owen, @Henry Holbrook, @Jeremy Slater, @Josephine Byrne, @Gyle Lamont, & @Clayton Lamont
2nd Gen PC: Strike Allen
1st Gen PC: Jack Burnett | iNPC: Ginyami Midorimori | Former staff account: Kit Paine
Introductions
Oh, summer, what a joy. Because a shining sun and the even more brightly gleaming personalities of fellow camp-goers were precisely what one with the complexion and demeanor of a corpse lived for.
Curses, how could anyone see a thing with that orb of death beating on their senses from its throne in the sky? He felt like a roach beneath a spotlight — disoriented and oh, so far from his destination. He also wouldn’t be hard-pressed to assume any and all who milled around his person would like to crush him ‘neath their heel; but like any good roach, he would not die so easily. It would take more than a shoe to quash his shell, and more than their caustic stares to sway his disdain.
To the admitted credit of any prying eyes, he must have presented quite the image. Dragging a trunk on wheels that his dear grandmother hadn’t deigned to enchant, the boy’s hands were the only bits of skin bare to the sun’s wrath. Legs clad in dark cargo pants, torso and arms adorned in a sweatshirt of black, he didn’t exactly fit the ‘gleeful camper’ aesthetic. In fact, it seemed he preferred to die in the heat rather than enjoy it. To the contrary, he rather liked his skin where it was and not burned off of his bones; a novel concept for the half-naked summer enthusiasts he’d had the displeasure of seeing in his lifetime.
A pair of sunglasses worked overtime atop his nose, shading his eyes and shielding those they fell upon from the animosity in their depths. The idea of attending this camp had not been his own, but that of two grandparents eager to rid their home of his stench. It wasn’t as though he wanted to spend an extra month within the confines of their wretched estate, but did they understand how the sun affected him? Of course they did; they simply didn’t care. Or perhaps they hoped it would prove fatal, as it might have done for his mother. How unfortunate for them that cockroaches were immortal.
His gaze shifted from the querying faces as he reached a stretch designated for the living quarters of campers — another idea that filled him with no end of apprehension. He had never shared a bedroom with a soul, nor had intrusion into his parents’ quarters been permitted, for reasons his mother would never disclose. For better or worse, his privacy had been absolute, save for the early days of Laoise’s appearance in their home, when the small girl had been too frightened of her reality to spend the night alone. He hadn’t turned her away like his mother had done to him, but even those days had passed, and the company of one girl paled in comparison to nine strangers.
He swept aside the tangles of black hair that hung before his eyes, cascading out the front of his hood like a waterfall of static ink. Perhaps he should have trimmed his hair for this endeavor, but then, the Blackwells hated his unkempt nest of obsidian, with their well-groomed heads of chestnut tint, and that meant he adored it.
In that moment a flare of sharp pain exploded in the back of his hip, and a string of colorful language from his mouth. Inelegantly thrown to one side by the sudden impact from behind, Declan crashed face first into the unwelcoming arms of an upperclassman. The older boy shoved him away with an insult, and he shoved back in equal measure, sunglasses askew to exaggerate his disgruntled state.
"Sorry 'bout that!" The exclaimed apology drew his attention back to the real culprit of his misfortune. Craning his neck, he saw a shock of retreating brown hair on the other side of an excuse. "Didn't mean to! Swear it!" The boy moved in a frantic rush, hurrying behind a trunk which swayed drunkenly through the air; clearly enchanted for the sake of ease, or its intention at least.
“Kurac,” Declan swore in his wake, adjusting his glasses with one hand and rubbing at the pain in his hip with the other. Then, stooping to retrieve the trunk he’d been forced to drop, he would resume his diffident search.
Some time later, his gaze having swept from one cabin to the next for what felt like enough time to contract heat stroke, the darkly clad boy cast his displeasure over what — finally — fit the description of his cabin. While he felt little relish for meeting his roommates within, his burning body craved the respite that might be found there. All he had to do now was drag this blasted trunk through the door, which… as the gloried whims of fate would have it, was currently blocked by a very familiar shock of brown hair. The identity of its owner was confirmed when he squeaked an exclamation regarding something or other, matching the tone Declan had heard minutes before.
Looming silently behind the shorter boy, Declan kept a grip on his trunk with one hand, using the opposite arm to reach forward and shove the ‘Kurac’ aside. There was no restraint in the action; no, he wanted his previous assailant to stumble just as gracelessly as he had.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he hissed, voice rasping through his parched throat, its cadence like gravel poured over concrete. He lingered over each word, hoping they would bite. “Didn’t mean to. Swear it.”
With naught more than a shadowed glance in the boy’s direction, Declan would stalk through the threshold and find a rather overwhelming number of things to greet him. The first of these things was yet another boy, blond hair, amber eyes, shorter than him just like the last. This one, standing beside the door, had certainly witnessed what he’d just done. He experienced no inclination to explain or justify his actions; and frankly, he couldn’t care less if it had been justice or cruelty. So he merely cocked his hooded head at the blond, as if daring a challenge.
The other pieces of information to gather once inside the cabin consisted of its decor — which pleased him well enough — and what seemed to him like numberless concourses of kids roughly his age. His eyes slid smoothly across all of this, processing numbers, if not faces, while his own expression stayed as stone. Impassive. Unresponsive. Inanimate.
Interactions
@Owen Lochridge
@Strike Allen
Permission granted by Owen for the little shove