So what?
Made by the talented @Evander Harvey Beauchamp
Date: Sept. 9th
She's late for class. Of course she is. If that idiotic stupid boy didn't hold her up in the hallway she wouldn't be late. No, let's be honest here. She would still be late but not as late. In her fit of whatever you call it, she ended up actually going down those cursed stairs. This time they didn't switch up on her. Walking into the class she's being forced to go to, What was it? Defense against the Dark arks? She pauses as she ponders this thought, No, she frowns slightly, Dark Arts. Hm actually sounds interesting Looking around she's grateful that no one has spotted her yet. Hurriedly she slides into the last open seat there was. Finally sitting, she ignores whoever is next to her and pulls out whatever is needed for the class and a spare piece of paper. Sighing, with her elbow on the table she rests her head in her hand and listens to the professor speak.
This... is tiring rolling her eyes in annoyance, she sits up in her chair. Looking around, she immediately regrets the seat she chooses. Of course she is most likely sitting next to the one person in this whole damn class that no one else would want too. If only stupid what's his face didn't hold her up. Although her plan was is awesome. I need to tell Alana She could practically hear her friends voice in her ear sprouting off questions. 'Is he cute? What does he look like? You should totally be nice to him!' Willow knows what she'd say to each. No, hideous and no. After all love is just an illusion. It's like promising someone forever. Forever isn't real, everyone dies
Back to reality though. She accidentally chose her seat next to Mr. Loserville.Bartholomew is the person she's sitting next too Now she'll be stuck with him for the rest of the year. Ugh what luck that is. But like if, according to her mother, she's the devils daughter then wouldn't she have all the luck? Sure if she's the devil's daughter then her mother must be the devil. Groaning, her neck starts to flush red, clearly angered that she has to sit next to this low life form. Leaning back in her chair, she tilts her head and looks at him through the corner of her eyes. Brown hair, so dark it's almost black. Messy. Is there some rule here that doesn't require the male population to do their hair?! His eyes were a plain brown colour that she only got a glimpse of when he looked her way. Smirking at him, she continues to watch what he's doing. Quiet, obviously disliking being stared at, she lets out a un-lady like snort through her nose.
Lose- the thought is cut off suddenly when she spots a very familiar red and gold crest. One that she happened to be wearing also. He's another idiotic Gryffindor. Great. Just what I need Letting out a exasperated groan, she mumbles "stupid gryffindors" under her breathe before leaning forward in her seat to start writing.
511
Sorry it's so short!
@Bartholomew Lindenmomo
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So what?
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β DATE: Sept. 9, 2026 | β LOCATION: DADA Classroom | β INTERACTING: @Willow Starch
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β DATE: Sept. 9, 2026 | β LOCATION: DADA Classroom | β INTERACTING: @Willow Starch
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Bartholomew was already settled into his seat at the back of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It was one of the classes Bartholomew was actually looking forward to. The heavy serious nature of the subject usually meant the other first-years were too intimidated to act like menaces guaranteeing Bartholomew a solid hour of peace and quiet. Bartholomew had his parchment neatly laid out his raven feather quill resting beside a bottle of ink and was quietly reviewing the textbook.
That peaceful vibe was immediately shattered when the heavy wooden door creaked open.
A girl hurried in looking completely flustered and radiating an amount of chaotic energy. The girl slid into the available seat left in the room, which unfortunately happened to be the one right next to Bartholomew. Bartholomew did not say anything. Bartholomew just kept his eyes glued to his book resting his chin on his hand.
Bartholomew could feel it. The heavy unmistakable weight of someone staring at Bartholomew.
Bartholomew shifted uncomfortably in his chair trying to ignore it. Out of the corner of Bartholomews eye Bartholomew could see the girl tilting her head openly judging Bartholomew. Then came an abrupt un-ladylike snort.
"Bro, what is her problem?" Bartholomew thought, Bartholomews brow furrowing slightly. Bartholomew had not even said a word to the girl. Bartholomew slowly turned his head to meet the girls gaze, Bartholomews dark brown eyes reflecting confusion rather than anger. The girl just kept smirking at Bartholomew like Bartholomew was the punchline to a joke Bartholomew missed.
Before Bartholomew could even process the interaction the girl let out a dramatic exasperated groan leaning forward to aggressively write something down. Bartholomew easily caught the girl mumbling 'Gryffindors' under her breath.
Bartholomew blinked. Bartholomew slowly looked down at the red and gold crest stitched onto Bartholomews own dark robes and then let Bartholomews eyes drift over to the exact same Gryffindor crest proudly stitched onto the girls. The irony was literally deafening.
Bartholomew couldn't help it. Bartholomew let out a quiet breathy chuckle. Leaning slightly Bartholomew kept his voice low so the professor wouldn't hear, Bartholomews tone completely relaxed despite the girls hostile aura.
"You do realize you are wearing the same colors right?" Bartholomew whispered smoothly a unbothered smirk pulling at the corner of Bartholomews mouth. "But go off I guess."
Without waiting for the girl to snap back Bartholomew casually picked up his quill. Turned his attention back to his parchment completely immune, to the girls bad reputation.
That peaceful vibe was immediately shattered when the heavy wooden door creaked open.
A girl hurried in looking completely flustered and radiating an amount of chaotic energy. The girl slid into the available seat left in the room, which unfortunately happened to be the one right next to Bartholomew. Bartholomew did not say anything. Bartholomew just kept his eyes glued to his book resting his chin on his hand.
Bartholomew could feel it. The heavy unmistakable weight of someone staring at Bartholomew.
Bartholomew shifted uncomfortably in his chair trying to ignore it. Out of the corner of Bartholomews eye Bartholomew could see the girl tilting her head openly judging Bartholomew. Then came an abrupt un-ladylike snort.
"Bro, what is her problem?" Bartholomew thought, Bartholomews brow furrowing slightly. Bartholomew had not even said a word to the girl. Bartholomew slowly turned his head to meet the girls gaze, Bartholomews dark brown eyes reflecting confusion rather than anger. The girl just kept smirking at Bartholomew like Bartholomew was the punchline to a joke Bartholomew missed.
Before Bartholomew could even process the interaction the girl let out a dramatic exasperated groan leaning forward to aggressively write something down. Bartholomew easily caught the girl mumbling 'Gryffindors' under her breath.
Bartholomew blinked. Bartholomew slowly looked down at the red and gold crest stitched onto Bartholomews own dark robes and then let Bartholomews eyes drift over to the exact same Gryffindor crest proudly stitched onto the girls. The irony was literally deafening.
Bartholomew couldn't help it. Bartholomew let out a quiet breathy chuckle. Leaning slightly Bartholomew kept his voice low so the professor wouldn't hear, Bartholomews tone completely relaxed despite the girls hostile aura.
"You do realize you are wearing the same colors right?" Bartholomew whispered smoothly a unbothered smirk pulling at the corner of Bartholomews mouth. "But go off I guess."
Without waiting for the girl to snap back Bartholomew casually picked up his quill. Turned his attention back to his parchment completely immune, to the girls bad reputation.
β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β β
SPEECH: #740001 β¦ THOUGHTS: #1A100E β¦ WORD COUNT: 415
SPEECH: #740001 β¦ THOUGHTS: #1A100E β¦ WORD COUNT: 415
So what?
Made by the talented @Evander Harvey Beauchamp
Date: Sept. 9th
This was stupid. Why does she have to be sorted with the losers? The people who can't even run a brush through his hair? Her hair was perfectly done. She didn't do anything special to it today. She let it flow naturally but still very tamed. Going down her back in a cascading waterfall, there wasn't a hair out of place. Any frizziness was wrestled down in the thirty to hour she took to get dressed. Under her ridiculous robes that made everything look hideous, was her favorite pair of ripped shorts and a boxier shirt that hung off of her shoulder. She made an effort to look nice. Being called ugly her whole life by her family even though outsiders disagree with them, she always put that little bit extra effort to make sure she looked decent. But as always, her outfits, mostly bought from herself by saving up, always looked stunning on her and shaped her well.
Back to the original situation. She hates him. The song from puddle of Mudd races through her mind. The one part would fit him perfectly. She fucking hates me. Trust, she fucking hates me. Lalalal In her head she stops it at the part where he goes 'love.' Why? love is overrated and there's no way this slob would ever ever lik-
He interrupted her. Her thoughts to be exact. Unless she was talking out loud, which she wasn't since that'd be weird and freakish. No, he interrupted her thinking all to say what? That she's wearing the same stupid colours as he. What does he think I am? Stupid?!
Rolling her eyes, she copies him and leans forward. "Oh my God, I totally forgot," sarcasm heavily laced her words, practically dripping, "that I'm being forced to support this 'house of losers'" Emphasizing the word 'loser' she rolls her eyes once more. Why wouldn't he have to mention that she's part of this loser club. She'd give anything to go back home with Alana. Of course they say I'm from hell and I get stuck with these stupid stupid losers
"Not all of us are happy with where they were thrown to by the way. But in my opinion all of the houses suck. Especially this house if I have to be associated with such slobs" With the hand that didn't have her quill in it, she gestures to him when she says slobs. A nasty snarl sets itself upon her pretty face and stays there. Leaning forward she allows her hair to fall to the side blocking her view of him. Scribbling down whatever the professor was saying, she silently doodles on the side for a moment. When she finally lifts her head, her parchment was decorated with groups of block letters, each spelling out something different, like loser and slob, thumbs down and a bunch of other things with negative meanings. In the center of all of it, was 'Hogwarts Sucks' in a flourished cursive with small detailed vines and flowers decorating around it.
"School of magic" she quietly scoffs under her breath, "More like School of lame-os"
521
@Bartholomew Lindenmomo
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