5 Feb 2021, 04:02
Reclusive
@Freya Thomas
It was a new dawn, after all. It was a day in the life of a boy who knew how to hide. He had been through hell and back so many times that he didn't even know where he was anymore, and he didn't care, regardless. It was too tiring, draining, straining on his mind all the time. And it had consistently gotten worse, and worse, until one day it had been too much. It had been far too much, and he had simply turned it off. Of course he had turned it off, what alternative was there? What other way out of his own mind could he possibly have traced?
There was enough rage in his frail body to make all but the bravest souls pale with the fear of it. There was enough hate to twist shadows, to drop the temperature of rooms and make the stalwart candles flicker and fade. It was a storm that had been bottled up in a cast-off mason jar, and then been expected to stay put. And perhaps poetically, the boy really did look like a cast-off mason jar, albeit a skinny one. Stained and fraying robes, skin that looked like death chilled over, and circles under his eyes so deep and dark you would have thought they were disturbing remnants of a frostbite related injury.
But for now, the storm was safe. It was sleeping, just as the boy wished he could. Instead, he was tucked away, nestled in a blanket on one of the chandeliers that decorated the hall, idly watching the students who passed below him with dull, disinterested eyes. He just wanted sleep, peace, rest, it to be over, maybe. An ending to the tragic comedy that was his reality, and the start of a new one filled with trust and friends and rest.
From down below, he would appear to be a bundle of fabric, a mop of dark, tangled, unkempt hair, and a pair of dull, nearly glossed over eyes that stared down at whoever happened to glance upwards with the static disinterest of a hunting trophy.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice
Freya Thomas
7 Feb 2021, 17:23
Reclusive
4th of February
The Small Hall didn't seem so small when you were a girl of twelve, especially when you were a girl of twelve who did not feel like she had a place in the castle. Her presence was tiny and she was reclusive; few knew her name except for those in her dorm and that pompous boy, Flash Holmwood. The castle felt enormous and even her bed felt suffocating in its mass. One day she would grow, Freya hoped. Perhaps not only in physical size but emotionally, as well.
Until then, there were few places that felt comfortable, and although the Small Hall was still quite large, sometimes Freya escaped to it because it was one of the least overwhelming places that existed in the castle, only comparable to any place with plumbing. Sometimes, though, bathrooms made her nostalgic for the past that she had once had, and the future she could have had if only magical fate had not intertwined. It was in those times that she chose the small hall for a recluse, curled up with a book she had gotten in the mail from her mother, Plato the Platypus Plumber (Part Time).
There were hardly any students in the Small Hall, and though it got difficult at points (the water sploshing on the floor certainly stressed Freya out), Freya was fully enthralled, in her little corner, with the tale of Plato and Zanzibar. A mud slide certainly sounded fun, Freya thought when she got to that part, and she turned her gaze away from the book to wonder if the Small Hall could accommodate such an addition. It would certainly make Freya feel more at home; her childhood in Rye frequently consisted of the girl getting dirty outside or beneath pipes.
If this was a magic school as it claimed to be, Freya concluded, the mud slide would have to be even better than something she could make at home. Freya studied the picture of Zanzibar and Plato sliding merrily down the mud slide, with Zanzibar's father making mud bricks. After a minute of contemplation, Freya made the connection between the image and reality: just like Zanzibar's father, the students could make magic mud bricks to elevate the mud slide, and it could start from the ceiling!
Her eyes scanned upward, looking for a starting point and settling on a chandelier near the middle of the room. As she focused in on that chandelier, however, she noticed something peculiar: a mass of fabric and hair, with two dim, beady eyes staring at her. With a small startle, Freya elicited an "Oh!" once she registered that that wasn't just a thing, that was a person.
Most people would likely be concerned about the well-being of the child, but Freya was a problem-solver, and she knew that demonstrating any fear would just make the matter worse. The boy kind of looked dead inside, which was good, because any quick move made from fear could dislodge him from the chandelier and send him tumbling to the hard floor. For now, she would just make him comfortable, she figured, and she would make him comfortable in the only way she knew how: by talking about things related to plumbing. Freya tousled her hair, looked at Plato's image once more for confidence, and said loudly (just in case he couldn't hear up there), "Are you also trying to see if we could start a mud slide up there?"
8 Feb 2021, 01:08
Reclusive
He wasn't too worried about having been noticed. He was fairly high up, and although the girl's lack of a threatening appearance was reasonable justification to believe she WAS, she would need to at least pull her wand out first, and kaegen's left hand was already worming towards his own. He'd have the upper hand, in the end, he'd make sure of it. What threw off his sly preparations were the girl's words. Are you also.
She was, apparently, planning something, probably with the help of the illustrated manual she had been perusing earlier. Plans, graphs, information on hiding places? Or, more likely, blue prints. Mud slide had to be code for something, right? That had to mean something other than a slide for mud, he was sure of it. Mud couldn't even have any fun, why would it need to slide somewhere, especially in a place like the great hall. Unless, of course, she was setting up a trap. A trap to slide mud onto a victim at high velocity.
"Why did you choose to see me."
His coarse voice was all the response she got, not at all what he had meant to say, but it was what he meant. It took effort to control himself, and his paranoia, even in his sleep-deprived near-hibernative state, was working overtime. Kaegen shifted himself slightly, causing the chandelier to wobble dangerously, but he didn't seem to mind. His paranoia didn't include a wobbling perch, dangerous surroundings made him feel safe, if anything, because they were what was familiar to him, they were what was predictable.
About 4 bread rolls fell from where he had stashed them, precarious balance compromised by his own movement, food that had been temporarily forgotten when he had been spotted, but now that the little thuds reminded him of the treasure lost, a nearly pained wince could be seen in his corpselike face. Those would be hard to replace.
She was, apparently, planning something, probably with the help of the illustrated manual she had been perusing earlier. Plans, graphs, information on hiding places? Or, more likely, blue prints. Mud slide had to be code for something, right? That had to mean something other than a slide for mud, he was sure of it. Mud couldn't even have any fun, why would it need to slide somewhere, especially in a place like the great hall. Unless, of course, she was setting up a trap. A trap to slide mud onto a victim at high velocity.
"Why did you choose to see me."
His coarse voice was all the response she got, not at all what he had meant to say, but it was what he meant. It took effort to control himself, and his paranoia, even in his sleep-deprived near-hibernative state, was working overtime. Kaegen shifted himself slightly, causing the chandelier to wobble dangerously, but he didn't seem to mind. His paranoia didn't include a wobbling perch, dangerous surroundings made him feel safe, if anything, because they were what was familiar to him, they were what was predictable.
About 4 bread rolls fell from where he had stashed them, precarious balance compromised by his own movement, food that had been temporarily forgotten when he had been spotted, but now that the little thuds reminded him of the treasure lost, a nearly pained wince could be seen in his corpselike face. Those would be hard to replace.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice
Freya Thomas
8 Feb 2021, 04:36
Reclusive
With Freya, life always followed a logical path. Although The Game of Life* had a format of twists and turns, she much preferred the logic behind its original. You get a job, you get married, you have a kid or twelve, and you get buttloads of money at the end and somehow settle in the Millionaire's Mansion even though you were only a teacher. Like the game, people followed their patterns, easily traceable, and that was that. If her friends fought, it was a communication error or someone had a bad day. When you were tired, you were a bit more clumsy. Freya could typically trace why people behaved the way they did.
This...boy - Certainly he was a boy? Freya wondered - behaved like no other person she had seen before. His response was not even close to what she had asked, instead inquiring why she had chosen to see him, as if she had just left it all up to destiny to plan her days. His voice sounded as though he hadn't utilized it in weeks, cords rubbing against a coarse surface like sandpaper. How long had he been there?
Her nails scratched her scalp in confusion, flurries of pale flecks floating down like snow. The Small Hall was a comfort, of sorts, but it wasn't a place to live. Even Freya knew it was best to rest in the comforts of her dormitory, ever-illuminated with warmth, despite her soul's isolation amongst bodies. Yet, this kid - His hollowed face makes him seem less than youthful, Freya determined - had clearly been up here for at least a few hours, given the rolls that tumbled down.
Freya couldn't fully deviate from logic, it being in her veins, but if the...thing - Was there any other way to classify it? Freya debated - didn't want to answer her question, she could easily change the topic, herself. Nodding towards the bread, she murmured just loudly enough for the boy to hear, "Do you want this back?"
Creeping forward, she refocused her eyes at the ratty ball of hair, uncertain if she dared to meet his eyes. "I could toss it up to you, if you don't want to make the effort to come get it. Not a bother." With a mischievous smirk, she added, "I got plumber's arms, Dad told me."
Perhaps they would enter a spiral of tangential topics, but it seemed that logic wouldn't prevail in this conversation. As she toyed with her ear, Freya dared to look downward, towards what she presumed were brows. Maybe this would be okay, or maybe it would be a disaster, but she could try.
Expect the unexpected.
*OOC: Please note that I believe The Game of Life to be a horrible game. Endorsement is for character purposes only.
10 Feb 2021, 07:28
Reclusive
The little person down below just behaved... confused, almost. Like she was entirely out of her own depth, lost for what to do, scratching her head and deliberating on something that Kaegen could only guess at. She was a person, for sure, with the kind of face that Kaegen would expect to see surrounded by friends. Maybe they were nearby? Providing the material for whatever trap she had planned?
Her question, a simple one, questioning if he wanted his bread back. Why would she offer to return it, was it poisoned? Had the bread been a trap this entire time? It was possible, sure, but he had been so careful, he had taken the loaves exclusively from popular simpletons, sneaking them away from people who wouldn't have enemies, and who would certainly be missed if they died. It was a short list of people who fit his list of those who probably wouldn't be poisoned. That bread was hard to get.
So why, then, would she offer to return safe bread. It was safe, did she not comprehend that? Was there no appreciative greed associated with the knowledge that this was the best bread in all of Hogwarts? Apparently not, as her next offer was to throw it up because her arm was good at unclogging toilets. Did toilet people double as bakers?
"Why is having toilet arms conducive to a safe return of the bread."
Kaegen blinked, confused. He hadn't asked the girl's name, and didn't really plan on it, because he had already come up with one. Plumb. It matched her frankness, and the fact that she had plumbing arms. Toilet arms. What won't they brag about next.
Her question, a simple one, questioning if he wanted his bread back. Why would she offer to return it, was it poisoned? Had the bread been a trap this entire time? It was possible, sure, but he had been so careful, he had taken the loaves exclusively from popular simpletons, sneaking them away from people who wouldn't have enemies, and who would certainly be missed if they died. It was a short list of people who fit his list of those who probably wouldn't be poisoned. That bread was hard to get.
So why, then, would she offer to return safe bread. It was safe, did she not comprehend that? Was there no appreciative greed associated with the knowledge that this was the best bread in all of Hogwarts? Apparently not, as her next offer was to throw it up because her arm was good at unclogging toilets. Did toilet people double as bakers?
"Why is having toilet arms conducive to a safe return of the bread."
Kaegen blinked, confused. He hadn't asked the girl's name, and didn't really plan on it, because he had already come up with one. Plumb. It matched her frankness, and the fact that she had plumbing arms. Toilet arms. What won't they brag about next.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice
Freya Thomas
11 Feb 2021, 03:18
Reclusive
Expect the unexpected, indeed. Freya burst out laughing when the child-mortal-thing asked about her 'toilet arms.' It was a rare loss of composure, for she had been so consumed by the question of if she truly deserved to be in Ravenclaw that she often was in a state of stiff befuddlement. After a brief pause of laughter, she walked closer to the rolls of bread and picked one up in her hand. They seemed to be just like the ones that came from the Great Hall, though Freya doubted, given the ragged appearance of the being above, that he had gotten them from the meeting area of hungry students.
"I don't have toilet arms, silly!" She said with a bemused grin. "Look-"
As soon as the hard sound left her mouth, she lobbed the roll up in an overhand. It was a bit too much power - Freya was truly stronger than she looked - and the girl hoped that its force would send the next hurtling from its perch. She didn't want to have to write her parents about getting a detention, especially when she was already hiding the fact that the reason she disliked Hogwarts so much was because magic school was nothing like plumbing: it was hard for her.
As she watched the doughy ball soar, Freya yelped a small, "Sorry!" and squeezed her eyes tight, wrinkling the lids so that all she could see were vibrant spots within the sanctitude of darkness. Safety would not protect her from a resounding 'thud' if the ragged creature plopped to the ground, but it would ensure that she would not have to watch the horror unfold.
And yet...
Freya wasn't even certain this was a boy, was she? In the past year and a half of her learning, she had heard rumblings that some students at Hogwarts weren't all 'kid,' and while she had never really cared to know what, entirely, that meant, it would be pretty cool if the bread hit him so hard that he showed her he could fly or something. Like what if he was a vampire - were vampires real in magic land? (No wonder she wasn't doing well in school. Nor would Freya have supplemental knowledge of things like 'dhampirs' - she couldn't be bothered to read the Hogwarts Headliner, instead preferring the Muggle children's books and magazines her family sent from time to time.) She thought she had maybe heard something, but she couldn't be sure.
With curiosity getting the better of her, Freya opened her eyes wide toward the chandelier and simply stared in anticipation.
13 Feb 2021, 09:01
Reclusive
In a demonstration of something, apparently a lack of toilet arms, a roll of bread was hurled towards Kaegen with frightening speed. Now, Kaegen was not always the most graceful of individuals. Far from it, his movements frequently looked positively deranged, but he was swift, and his reactions were entirely honed in on escape and evasion. There was nothing he was better at than surviving, and a big part of that was not being hit. By dangerous bread buns, for instance.
But as fast as his reaction time was, there really wasn't much planning involved. He lurched backwards, and found himself free-falling. Twisting himself, Kaegen landed with a thud on his hands and feet like a sack of fraying black cloth someone had thrown from a barn loft. He had been trying to hand on just his feet, and how his hands hurt, but it wasn't bad enough to stop him from immediately lurching upright like an electrified zombie, glaring at the girl in front of him with storm-grey eyes that had begun to animate themselves.
Where one there was still, glassy calm, almost death, now there was an entire sky, a horizon captured behind twin lenses, a roiling, angry horizon that thought it had just been challenged. Little rings of red started to appear around his pupils, shining brighter and brighter, almost with their own bioluminescence. An uncomfortably cold breeze began blowing in from somewhere as the candles on the wall started to flicker, and somehow, someway, it was obvious where this was all coming from. It was obvious who it was all coming from.
"Kaegen Deathmote, Key-keeper, scarf-bearer, monster of hogwarts' halls."
The arms of his sleeves suddenly went slack, as though the emaciated spidery arms had retreated into his robe, leaving the sleeves empty and lifeless behind them. He was standing, although, not straight up and down. There was a noticeable crouch, an obvious narrowing of those eyes that seemed so very much alive, and so very much inhuman.
"You've found it. You found the border and you touched it and now here you are."
Words. He hated words, hated starting a fight like this, with barking, with chattering. But he needed to know, needed to know who she had been setting a trap for. Certainly not him, or she wouldn't have told him about it. There was more, there had to be, and he had to know before he killed her, not after.
But as fast as his reaction time was, there really wasn't much planning involved. He lurched backwards, and found himself free-falling. Twisting himself, Kaegen landed with a thud on his hands and feet like a sack of fraying black cloth someone had thrown from a barn loft. He had been trying to hand on just his feet, and how his hands hurt, but it wasn't bad enough to stop him from immediately lurching upright like an electrified zombie, glaring at the girl in front of him with storm-grey eyes that had begun to animate themselves.
Where one there was still, glassy calm, almost death, now there was an entire sky, a horizon captured behind twin lenses, a roiling, angry horizon that thought it had just been challenged. Little rings of red started to appear around his pupils, shining brighter and brighter, almost with their own bioluminescence. An uncomfortably cold breeze began blowing in from somewhere as the candles on the wall started to flicker, and somehow, someway, it was obvious where this was all coming from. It was obvious who it was all coming from.
"Kaegen Deathmote, Key-keeper, scarf-bearer, monster of hogwarts' halls."
The arms of his sleeves suddenly went slack, as though the emaciated spidery arms had retreated into his robe, leaving the sleeves empty and lifeless behind them. He was standing, although, not straight up and down. There was a noticeable crouch, an obvious narrowing of those eyes that seemed so very much alive, and so very much inhuman.
"You've found it. You found the border and you touched it and now here you are."
Words. He hated words, hated starting a fight like this, with barking, with chattering. But he needed to know, needed to know who she had been setting a trap for. Certainly not him, or she wouldn't have told him about it. There was more, there had to be, and he had to know before he killed her, not after.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice
Freya Thomas
1 Mar 2021, 04:06
Reclusive
Eyes open, Freya followed the being as he fell downward. While it may not have been graceful, Freya's smile lit up as though she was watching acrobatics, though there was no net to catch the grubby creature as it fell. Her smile dissipated as it fell on his hands, and she wondered how much that hurt. Though maybe non-human magic things didn't feel pain? Freya wasn't sure. She had heard that sometimes that happened, though she wasn't sure how, because she certainly felt pain. And if she had fallen like that, it would have hurt real bad.
He arose quite quickly, and the blank stare that Freya had possessed upon its collision quickly turned to shock as she noticed the anger. It seemed his eyes were getting redder, and since that was the only thing Freya had really seen before this moment besides a mess of hair, she knew for a fact that he hadn't been poking his eyeballs before he fell. Perhaps throwing a roll at him hadn't been the best idea.
Her discomfort rose while he stated his name; Freya felt as though the feeling and the accompanying chill emanated from it, though she knew that couldn't possibly be true. Certainly, a window or door had been opened that she just couldn't see. Kids couldn't possibly incite fear in other people like that, even if Freya wasn't entirely certain that he was a kid. But he was here, so he had to be some sort of child, even if he looked a bit...homely. Nonetheless, she had been taught to be kind to all types of clients, and Freya knew that, while she would not be repairing his pipes anytime soon, Kaegen might need her. She ignored her discomfort as best as she could and replied, "I'm Freya Thomas. Plumber, book-reader, and uh...wanting to escape Hogwarts' halls?"
She wasn't sure what he would make of that; it seemed, upon Freya's observations, that most children loved Hogwarts and loathed returning to their homes, while Freya much preferred Muggle over magic. Though that was the most mysterious part about her, whereas it (He, Freya reminded herself. He had a name and was most clearly a he.) spoke in riddles with every statement, each word raising the hair on her nape.
Freya scrunched her nose and frowned deeply as she inquired, "Border?" Gazing down at the book she held, she stared at the cover and determined that the background around Plato was the only border she could think of, though it certainly was mysterious that he would bring that up. "I...I guess so," Freya responded, indicating the contrast of colors. "Though I don't know if touching it did anything. But I am sorry about throwing that roll so hard. Dad says that I'm stronger than I look, and sometimes I forget it, too. I didn't mean to knock you down; you just looked so nice up there that I thought it'd be easier for you to have your bread passed back to you rather than you coming down here, you know?"
She looked back at Kaegen's eyes then flushed deeply when she was reminded of the blood-red that surrounded his pupils. Plato had a much friendlier face, and for a brief moment, as her eyes returned to make contact with the sketched animal, she felt a relief from the chill. Maybe people could cause these weird feelings after all.
29 Mar 2021, 22:57
Reclusive
She gave an interesting couple of titles, interesting because they didn't fit. Hogwarts taught you to fight, it taught you to survive, even if those who dwelled entirely in the light couldn't hardly see that for themselves. But the slide, from earlier. If she really was a lightworlder then she would be a rabbit. But judging by what she had been saying, it was more likely that she was a star. There was no one else around, that had to be right. Kaegen couldn't simply pick fights with everyone now, that didn't work.
Besides, his hands had been hurt. Not nearly as much as you might expect them to, Kaegen was a mass of skin, bones, and wirey muscle that weighed very little, and he had fallen from tall things more times than he could count. And that hurt wouldn't hinder him much, but it would hinder. He would have to be careful with his wrists for a little while. It was far from the ideal scenario to be in, but at least he hadn't hit his head.
But giving herself titles that didn't fit in with hogwarts' militant teaching regime wasn't all that Kaegen noticed. She had said that he wanted to escape this place. She was aware of how dangerous it was, at least enough to want to leave. Which only cemented his belief that the girl in front of him was a star. No true lightworlder would be aware enough to want to leave, no true lightworlder would want to leave so bad that they included it in their titles. This would also explain how she had been able to see him at all.
Kaegen straightened himself back up at the girl's apology, the cold retreating, the red in his eyes fading away, flickering lights calming down, dancing shadows returning to normal. He was just a little boy again, small and thin and more corpse than alive. His sleeves filled back out, one hand emerging with a leather journal that he rapidly began flipping through. He didn't respond at all to Freya's apology, not even acting as if he heard anything. With a deadpan, raspy voice, he began a tale of woe, obviously being read from his book.
"You're the only person who can help at this moment. I don't have any human who I can trust. Please..."
Kaegen's finger, which had been reading along, paused, flipped forward a couple pages, and then flipped back, whereupon he resumed the emotionless plea.
"...Do not reveal my secret and/or location. I have been discriminated against for things beyond my control. I sometimes scare people. That is not always what I mean to do."
The book slipped back into his robe, and he proceeded to simply stand there, looking expectantly at the star in front of him. If it turned out that she wasn't a star, then he would be in a lot of trouble. But her being alone implied that she lived inbetween, in the grey, an outcast. And outlandish ideas? That made him think that she was probably a star. A planet wouldn't bother, neither would a wisp or corpse. No, no he had to be right.
Besides, his hands had been hurt. Not nearly as much as you might expect them to, Kaegen was a mass of skin, bones, and wirey muscle that weighed very little, and he had fallen from tall things more times than he could count. And that hurt wouldn't hinder him much, but it would hinder. He would have to be careful with his wrists for a little while. It was far from the ideal scenario to be in, but at least he hadn't hit his head.
But giving herself titles that didn't fit in with hogwarts' militant teaching regime wasn't all that Kaegen noticed. She had said that he wanted to escape this place. She was aware of how dangerous it was, at least enough to want to leave. Which only cemented his belief that the girl in front of him was a star. No true lightworlder would be aware enough to want to leave, no true lightworlder would want to leave so bad that they included it in their titles. This would also explain how she had been able to see him at all.
Kaegen straightened himself back up at the girl's apology, the cold retreating, the red in his eyes fading away, flickering lights calming down, dancing shadows returning to normal. He was just a little boy again, small and thin and more corpse than alive. His sleeves filled back out, one hand emerging with a leather journal that he rapidly began flipping through. He didn't respond at all to Freya's apology, not even acting as if he heard anything. With a deadpan, raspy voice, he began a tale of woe, obviously being read from his book.
"You're the only person who can help at this moment. I don't have any human who I can trust. Please..."
Kaegen's finger, which had been reading along, paused, flipped forward a couple pages, and then flipped back, whereupon he resumed the emotionless plea.
"...Do not reveal my secret and/or location. I have been discriminated against for things beyond my control. I sometimes scare people. That is not always what I mean to do."
The book slipped back into his robe, and he proceeded to simply stand there, looking expectantly at the star in front of him. If it turned out that she wasn't a star, then he would be in a lot of trouble. But her being alone implied that she lived inbetween, in the grey, an outcast. And outlandish ideas? That made him think that she was probably a star. A planet wouldn't bother, neither would a wisp or corpse. No, no he had to be right.
Shade-Beacon, Master of the Castle of Avarice