Interruption pv “Isaac W. Pincus” Closed

The boy wouldn't have to worry about his mind slipping into auto-pilot as his fingers lost themselves in the complacence of their muscle memory. A smooth voice, luxurious as velvet, floated over the waves of music. It was only just loud enough for its words to be comprehensible, but it carried throughout the large and empty room, echoing off the walls. It was a voice used to being heard.

"Missing a meal to have this room to yourself, are you?" it asked slowly. "Funny to choose the Ballroom when there's a rehersal room so close by. Is it not to your tastes?"

A green-haired young man with nearly milk-pale skin and yellow eyes leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He pushed off from the frame and began to approach, allowing his arms to drop to his sides. Something wrapped in brown paper could be glimpsed in one of his hands.

"Perhaps it's the food that's not to your tastes. Or the company in the Great Hall." The boy's footfalls grew closer; soft and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. "Or maybe you simply decided to come here to drown in the most utterly depressing melody you could memorize; a reflected puddle of your self pity." His upper lip curled in disgust. "Pathetic."

Eventually, he came close enough to stand by the piano bench on which the younger Slytherin was seated, leaning his arm against the large instrument's polished surface. His yellow gaze was trained disdainfully on the musician who had been playing it. One green brow hovered higher than its twin in silent inquiry.

@Wyatt Starkey

outfit | shoes

[font=times new roman]"Missing a meal to have this room to yourself, are you?"

A voice, talking slowly. Wyatt, who’d stopped playing as soon as he heard the first syllable of this random person’s sentence, wanted whoever this was to be out of his hair. Talking slowly meant that whoever this brat was didn’t mind being here for a long time. Oh, but Wyatt did mind.

What didn’t need was an interruption. Well, what he didn’t need was an interruption from someone he knew that could use anything he’d ever done against him; in this case, playing piano. But the voice that belonged to whoever was behind the Slytherin didn’t seem familiar, so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Slowly as to not make an obnoxiously loud sound, Wyatt pulled down the fallboard. He rested his elbows on the top and interlocked his fingers. Waiting until the intruder had said all he wanted to say.

"Funny to choose the Ballroom when there's a rehersal room so close by. Is it not to your tastes?"

It was a valid question, one Wyatt wouldn’t answer, but a valid one nonetheless. There was no reason he favored the ballroom over the rehearsal room other than the fact that someone was more likely to enter the universal rehearsal room than a ballroom that most people only visit to hold events.

"Perhaps it's the food that's not to your tastes. Or the company on the Great Hall."

Wyatt kept his stare on the top of the fallboard. This student was becoming more and more annoying, going from random topics about whatever not being to his tastes to whether or not he enjoys the company of his peers. It was a bit too personal for Wyatt’s tastes. Who knew there’d be a word of the day…

"Or maybe you simply decided to come here to drown in the most utterly depressing melody you could memorize; a reflected puddle of your self pity." Wyatt inhaled. "Pathetic." Then he sighed.

Once it was clear the brat was done talking for the time being, Wyatt turned his whole body to be facing this kid. From the looks of it, he was slightly older than Wyatt. Not too much older, but enough to make him feel superior, it seemed. Wyatt decided two to three years, was their difference in age.

But the most shocking thing about this boy was not his age, but that he had yellow eyes and bright green hair. Wyatt wanted to laugh, but having been called pathetic moments ago, he found he wasn’t exactly in the right mood to laugh. The word always made him feel less than. It was meant to, anyway.

This green-haired git wore a somewhat disgusted look on his face. Wyatt had seen this look before, but it was difficult for Wyatt to see what had inspired it to appear on the boy before him. Certainly his song choice wasn’t enough to earn a look such as that one, but this kid was quite odd.

“Are you finished?” Wyatt asked, with a calm yet annoyed tone. He kept his expression unreadable, not exactly wanting to give this boy any more information on his “tastes” though his features and reactions. “Surely you understand just as I’m missing a meal, you are too. Maybe I’m not the only one with specific tastes.”

The snake leaned over and put his elbows on his knees, and crossed his fingers just like he’d done on the fallboard moments earlier. His eyes never left the boy.

Wyatt couldn’t say he’d ever seen this particular boy before, which would have been excusable if not for this teen’s distinct look. Hogwarts was a big place, full of many people, but to miss a student with bright green hair and yellow eyes? This boy wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed in a crowd.

“It’s funny. Even though you seem to be the human equivalent of a big, bright neon sign that says “look at me,” I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” Wyatt looked him up and down. “I suppose that’s a good thing, though.”

It seemed like it. God, this git was annoying. His smug strides towards Wyatt and his slow, deliberate speech patterns hinted that he wasn’t just here for a quick chat. He didn’t look like the thought of leaving crossed his mind once.[/font]

@Kit Paine

Isaac's gaze followed his schoolmate's hands when they moved to pull down the fallboard like someone shutting an open, vulnerable part of their heart to the world. The message, whether intentional or not, was clear. The younger boy did not want Isaac anywhere near his more secret, personal self. Evidently, the piano - or, at least, the music he played on it - was part of that self. However, interestingly enough, the underclassman did not respond in an enraged or petulant manner as Isaac had expected he would upon being walked in on during such an obviously personal time.

He guessed at the other boy's real reason for having shown up at the ballroom instead of the rehersal room, of course. The problem was that the latter was better-made and charmed to be soundproof whereas the ballroom was not. That meant that regardless of whomever might have walked in on someone in a rehersal room by accident, having played in the ballroom had allowed piano music to drift to Isaac far enough to grasp him by the curiosity and pull him toward it. Which, naturally, had been how he'd ended up deciding to inturrupt.

The green-haired young man wondered why, at first, the other hadn't looked at him while he'd spoken but stared at the fallboard instead. Was he too angry? Was there some other reason? There seemed little point in asking, however, as he turned to face him soon enough. Though at first unsure the boy would respond verbally to him at all after so long a silence, eventually he did to ask if Isaac was done. Was that what he had been waiting for, then?

Patience. How unusual; particularly in a boy this age who wasn't brought up with the strict, demanding manners of polite society and the upper class. At least, Isaac didn't think the kid was. He began to have his doubts now with the level of maturity the kid answered with. 'Irked but controlled' was much the same demeanor he himself was giving off, after all.

After another long, appraising look, Isaac placed the thing he'd been carrying packaged in brown paper on the fallboard. "Who said I missed a meal?" he asked haughtily. "I eat light. Which is why I won't be needing this." He removed his hand and straightened back up, indicating it was for the other boy to take. "Eat. Don't worry; it's not poisoned," he assured with a sardonic smirk. "Just a meat pastry. Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to stare?"

He'd noticed the other Slytherin staring a while back; he simply had chosen not to comment on it. At least not until the other boy decided to comment on it first. Isaac knew what it was he was staring at, after all; what it ever was they all stared at him for. Despite his words, he no longer found it bothersome; just expected it as inevitable.

He stopped leaning on the piano. "I was born this way, as it so happens," the older boy answered almost without audible emotion. However, his yellow eyes almost seemed to flash with passionate, furious intensity. "Why should I have to hide who I naturally am just to make sensitive blokes like you more comfortable?"

Then, moving around to the bench, he attempted to seat himself on it next to his conversation partner, not seeming to care if he had to shove him a little further down the piece of furniture to do so. One hand rose to knock lightly on the fallboard protecting the piano keys. "Why did you play the song you did? Was it the only one you know, or can you play anything else?"

@Wyatt Starkey