Lakeside Shenanigans PV Closed

Mentioning: @Geoffrey Donovan | Dialogue Hex: #143314

Should one have summoned the sureness Leonard Oaksworth could only hope to simulate and approach the aforementioned boy with the request for him to summarise the new school year, he would have already concocted a scientifically solid statement for an answer: eventful. Dear Merlin, had the twelve days and odd amount of hours he’d spent so far at the castle been so very eventful. He hadn’t quite expected complete peace and quiet from the corridors and elaborate candle setups that would be considered illegal in about every other continent, of course he hadn’t. Being considered an upperclassmen to all the arrivals who’d had the deficiency in the universe’s favour to be coming along on that fateful train ride was not a title that came easy, nor was it an honorific that came without any less likable labels trailing along as they get dragged on the floor, unable to be shaken off for the rest of time. One would be mistaken to think the Slytherin hadn’t anticipated any of those other hateful handles, however, having been constructing an outline of his ages to be applied on the academy’s ever-growing list of casualties since the day he’d first accidentally combusted cookies to ashes. He’d been knowledgeable to the horrors of reality for over a decade, and he certainly wasn’t going to let that knowledge go to waste on pretentious poetry and stroking his id’s oblivious back. A sad brag? Perhaps. A sad brag he would continue to pride himself on until his next dip in self esteem due to getting a single question wrong on a Charms exam? Most definitely.

The cynical common sense and circumstantial caution was not born of only armchair examinations and the complimentary, overly prolonged judgemental stare he handed out to everyone who caught his sight, for his previous year at Hogwarts had been legions more eventful in pure spite of whatever hope he’d had for his future. It was a cycle more vicious than even the anarchy nature wrought upon the Earth every few centuries it got bored, a racing circuit with convoluted roads and complicated routes that had all forms of odious ordeals coming around to snag the licensing required to be the next loathsome development in his life. The steps were simple to list, horribly difficult to endure upon its happenings, and if he was even thinking about planning for the possibilities? When that foolish thought crossed his mind, the ground all but rumbled in laughter, the sky all but shook in its guffaws, and both made sure to amplify his suffering. Indeed, though he’d somewhat avoided dancing with death as often as some of his classmates evidently had, scars and stories abound everywhere save for his own corporal form. It was through a combination of strategic sleep patterns and general hermit life he’d accomplished the deed, stopping to chat exclusively when he could meet that point one per cent failure limit. The social portion of his regrettably human mind had been suffocated, surely, but it was a worthwhile undertaking to narrowly dodge incurable curses and a few other types of curses his classmates would introduce him to.

There was a saying that perfectly encompassed the reasoning for the humiliation he’d had to endure in his second and third year, however, and it was that of how nothing gold could stay. Having the house colours of green and silver slightly dampened the poem’s meaning, and most people would say that survival isn’t exactly gold in its purest form, but he’d never cared much for other opinions than his own. Besides, he had the lingering uneasiness around water and recurring nightmares to prove that his gold had certainly been tarnished, and he’d hoped to devote his third year to cleaning it back up again. A redemption, of sorts.

And so, it was with anewed courage, if he’d ever had it in the first place, he’d trotted over to a tree close enough to the Great Lake. Naturally, that meant the tree was rather distant from the selected body of water, but it was close enough for him to be giving steady supplies of aside glances, even an insignificant ripple of water being enough to steal his attention near-permanently from the pages of whichever tragic novel he’d picked up from his trunk. It seemed this particular habit did have a purpose beyond that of his paranoia, for a flat thud that otherwise wouldn’t have been noticed gave way to observing a silhouette make said sound. A silhouette that looked to have just suffered an injury. Why had he thought he could avoid things like this? Idiotic, utterly idiotic.

Leonard ran to the figure, more details becoming apparent as he sprinted as quickly as his sticks of legs could take him. He couldn’t recognise the other, though that could have been attributed to his growing alarm at the pancake position the brunet had taken. “Are you okay?”

His free hand was offered to the other boy, a concerned tone with generous amounts of panic laced in coming to take over his voice. His gaze flitted from his poor peer to a familiar item, a muggle item. The snake had never owned a skateboard—he’d never owned any vehicle, in truth, having viewed them as the contemporary death trap for children his then-age—but that did nothing to quell his growing curiosity. How had that piece of wheeled sports equipment made its way to the Great Lake? Had it been enchanted to do so by an unsuspecting muggleborn wizard, some unlucky incident to be forgotten as they grew older to be remembered upon receiving that piece of parchment resting between beaks? Had it rolled down a very angular hill after being abandoned by some careless Scotsman, traversing through forest and being foraged for food by the wildlife to finally reach its fated destination? Had someone muttered the summoning charm in their sleep, with the closest match to their next mumblings being this plank of recreational wood? No matter, the comparably crucial investigation that had better taken place first was whether or not he hadn’t just witnessed a stranger being paralysed.

Thank heavens for the helmet.

The brunette was dizzy and sore from the unplanned flight, so to speak, but he was...okay would be pushing. Alive and mostly uninjured was probably most accurate. He groaned quietly as he lay there, eyes closed as he tried to gather enough of himself and his strength to sit up. At best no one noticed, at the worst the wrong person noticed and he could potentially lose his skateboard or get detention. Or even worse...both. Before he could sit up he heard someone's voice, and it pulled another groan out of him.

'Please, not a teacher,' he thought as he opened his eyes.

It took a second for his vision to clear—that tended to happen when he opened his eyes too fast and it was bright outside. To his surprise and relief, it wasn't a teacher. No, it was another boy. And that was about all he could tell; the brightness behind and perhaps the daze from his little stunt affecting his vision still. He took the offered hand and pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"Thanks. I've actually had worse falls," he said with a grimace. He could feel some injuries on his back, though whether they were scrapes, bruises, cuts, deep indentations from the debris that he landed on or all of the above, he couldn't tell. His words were truthful, though. Skateboarding was far from the safest sport a kid could get into, but fortunately his worst injury so far had been an attempt at a kickflip into a 50 50 gone horribly wrong. Not only did he manage to break his board, but the momentum threw him against the railing at a horrible angle and he managed to break his arm.

It wasn't pretty.

So this? This was...well, not fine. Alive and uninjured.

When he felt confident he wouldn't just topple right back over, Geoffrey got up and dusted himself off. Thankfully it was autumn—just about, anyway—and he was wearing jeans else he'd probably have scrapes and cuts all over his legs. As it happened, he noted that only his hands had any kind of visible injury to them. He was in a thin sweater-shirt, jeans, and a sneaker. And of course his helmet, which upon inspection showed a new addition to its ever growing collection of scuffs and scratches to show for its protective capabilities. He heaved a sigh and threw the helmet back on his head, though for now he didn't buckle it on.

Geoffrey looked back at the other boy then, somehow relieved to find himself with company, unexpected or otherwise. "Also thanks for not being a teacher. Not sure I could handle it if they confiscated my board." He extended his hand.

The usual awkward mannerisms and tones were absent with his introduction this time. Perhaps it was because this other boy had been kind enough to offer him a hand up and some part of him already felt comfortable around him. Or perhaps because he was too preoccupied feeling a little embarrassed on top of a confusing mix of curious, nervous, and happy to not be alone.

"Uh...I'm Geoffrey—prefer Rhys though, if ya don't mind."

@Leonard Oaksworth