20 Dec 2021, 01:03
Dead Poets
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@no one
| ── | Draven's trip to the train station was uneventful. Much like any other trip his father had requested his presence on, floo powder and a chimney had been involved. They'd come out the chimney of a store near the train station. Two figures dressed in dark cloaks, one carrying a heavy trunk, the other wielding a slender cane. 'Make me proud,' Mr. Mirador had signed, resting a hand on Draven's shoulder, and giving a tiny squeeze. It was the only form of affection the two knew how to show each other, but that was alright. Neither particularly cared for physical touch. "Setting impossible goals for me already?" Draven had asked, earning himself a cough meant to hide a laugh. A warm glow had filled the boy's chest then. Mr. Mirador was a hard man to impress, and a laugh from him was more valuable than gold. That was then. And this was now. Draven had found a quiet hidden compartment and settled down, pushing his trunk under one of the benches. After a moment's debate, he tapped his wand against the lock on the door. It slid down with a silent click, as if welcoming Dray in. He knew the train was meant to be the first social test. And he wasn't ready to take it. Instead, he pulled a tiny book from inside his coat and sat down near the window. The bleak gray light streaming through the glass was perfect reading light, and the train benches were so comfortable Dray wouldn't go stiff for a good long time. |
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@no one
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |