22 Jan 2021, 08:03
Phantom of the Halls
Mentioning: @Jacob Sprout | Dialogue Hex: #0f1c0f | Backdated to September 5, 2020It was a normal day, normal as any day spent at the school of mental instability and having one's world thrown upside down could possibly be. There were no flaming felines dashing around the halls, no amateur duel to the knockout by the lake, no sinister, strangely coloured frogs hopping around and injecting sparkly venom into peoples' brains. For the younger, newer additions to the student body, it could have been considered something of a disappointment. After all, they had been promised adventure and action, classes worthy of an award-winning fantasy film. They had expected to learn of the incantations thought only possible in novels, of shooting jets of fire and bright beams of green and red. To think even a minute passing without such was possible, why, it was almost a disgrace to the very title of being a wizard.
Leonard, however, fulfilled neither the quality of being younger or newer, and he delighted in the familiar dullness of the day. Though it had only been a few days since his departure from his muggle town, he'd found that time slowed immensely with displeasure, as it sped up when he felt the rare feeling of fun. Days seemingly turned into decades without sight of one thing that could confirm Hogwarts wasn't an exasperatingly long, concerningly intricate dream. And so, during the scarce times when anything remotely normal took place, the snake was determined to savor it.
Wishing to make the most of the calm before the inevitable storm, the snake had taken to leaning against the wall, far from any possible disturbances. People passed by, chattering silhouettes mumbling about classes or crushes or something other that neither concerned Leonard nor was something he wished to concern himself with. The boy's only concern, aside from his perpetual questioning of the laws of the universe in the background of his brain, was the book in his hands, a leather-bound journal containing all his father's misadventures during his long-past school years. Before, Leonard had, for the most part, dismissed the stories. During his younger days, his old man's tales of unicorns, ridiculous Quidditch fouls, nearly fatal enchanted pillow fights, and all the rest that had happened within a month of his arrival were rather unbelievable. Now, however, they might as well have been a survival guide. And so, he'd spent the past hour preparing for whatever was to come, a practical joke or a life-changing trial. Perhaps even both.
Taking a glance at the world around him, the Slytherin saw an unfamiliar figure, of short dark hair and a pale complexion rapidly approaching. Grabbing his wand with his free hand and returning his attention to the journal, he hoped whoever (perhaps even whatever) the being was, it wouldn't come approaching with either a practical joke or a life-changing trial.
And most definitely not both.
Last edited by Leonard Oaksworth on 28 Jan 2021, 05:23, edited 1 time in total.
much to the detriment of leonard oaksworth’s mental health...
23 Jan 2021, 23:51
Phantom of the Halls
Mentioning: @Leonard Oaksworth
It was a normal day, normal as any day spent at the school of mental instability and having one's world thrown upside down could possibly be.
Finding classes, dorm rooms and even toilets had been a nightmare. Jacob always had a terrible sense of direction; on top of that, stairs were incredibly confusing: some of them were small and narrow, some others very large, some stayed the same (how kind of them), some liked to change their destination to confuse the naive firsties (how rude of them). Paintings hanging on the walls were alive (some even said something and scared the boy to death), and he was pretty sure that the heavy armours found here and there in the corridors could walk too.
Ghosts were wandering around the school, just for fun. During the Start-of-Term Feast Harry was introduced to the Fat Friar: the strange fat man tried to give him a pat on the back, and Jacob felt as if he just plunged into a pool of ice. Well, the point is, the school is a mess, and these first five days were an absolute TRAUMA. How could people even live with this amount of craziness without going nuts themselves?
These thoughts swarmed the kid's mind day and night, and as a result he had dark circles the size of hula-hoops. His hair was ruffled and dirty, just like his uniform. Lifelessly walking through the corridors, trying to get to his destination (did he even remember what it was?), he spotted another one of those silly ghosts. This time the unfamiliar figure wasn't ripping his head apart, floating a dozen of sticks in the air or just being creepy in general like the others he had seen at the banquet: this one seemed to be "chill" (accurate term, considering we're talking about ghosts). It was a young boy (probably around his age, Jacob thought), although he couldn't really make out its hair and eye colour, since, well, the "thing" looked transparent, duh. It had a rather noble posture and it was reading a leather-bound book that looked ancient; the wand in its hand gave it a clever and classy touch. Could ghosts even cast spells? Sprout really wished the answer was no, even though this time his new "acquaintance" looked like the opposite of trouble.
For some reason Jacob kept staring and walking, as though ghosts wouldn't find that behaviour strange or rude. He walked up to the thing and... poked it. Yes, he poked it. On the shoulder. Why? Not even god knows why- but he poked it. To his surprise, the finger didn't sink inside the phantom's empty body, and the icy sensation that he was expecting was now awkwardly replaced by an awkwardly awkward silence...
Action:
10 Feb 2021, 08:49
Phantom of the Halls
Mentioning: @Jacob Hawthorn | Dialogue Hex: #0f1c0fBothersome was a word commonly used by Leonard to describe any being who dared to exist within a fifty mile radius of him, but he'd hoped so dearly for the being that was becoming less than fifteen feet away rather quickly to not be an overly enthusiastic, naïve newcomer in search of a friend. While interrupting his peace was treachery enough, he was studying. In fact, he was the very picture of the word studying, leaning over a dusty, leather-bound book with yellowed, slightly crumpled pages. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the type of studying Hogwarts offered, but surely a survival guide with dubious romantic advice interspersed was important enough to require a few minutes of analyzation?
However, the boy drawing closer and closer yet didn't seem to take the nonverbal hint, nor mind the infallible energy of a wish to be left alone radiating around the snake.
The Slytherin grasped the magical twig of all arcane power in his pocket, a habit he'd gained from weeks of built up paranoia regarding the return to the death trap of an academic building he called school. In the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he saw the portrait of some dark-haired, purple-robed ancient sorcerer shake her head in either disapproval or disappointment. Leonard refused the urge to snarl at the painting, instead turning his attention to the much-too-close student that looked intent on speaking to him.
The boy was around his height, he mentally noted. Perhaps a tad shorter, even, but it was hard to tell from a distance. Frankly, Leonard would've loved it if the other kept at the distance, but the universe seemed to hold a perpetual grudge that could only be resolved temporarily resolved by becoming a puppet in its loud, crowd-filled play. There was also dark hair, somewhere between a raven's feather and a dark wood. What really stuck out to the snake, though was how absolutely messy it was. Not exactly the best first impression for anyone.
Leonard's first impression of Mister Ruffled Hair was one thing, but Ruffled's first action was something else entirely. He'd expected a word or twenty-five to come out at a rapid pace, but instead, there was a stare. Then...a poke.
A poke?
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, more in confusion and rising irritation than nervousness, rubbing the poked area. "What in Merlin's beard was that for?"
much to the detriment of leonard oaksworth’s mental health...