4 Aug 2023, 03:08
Living Map
Water still dripped down Draven's neck as he paced along the corridors. He was filled with a restless energy, fingers seeking along the walls for a catch in the stone or an imperfection he could spot. There were plenty. Cracks and soot and scratches, but none fit what he was looking for.
The tack was between his lips again. He'd slipped it there about twenty minutes before, and was half focused on not stabbing himself on accident. Or swallowing it. That would have been bad. The sharp end of the tack would have raked down his throat. Perhaps it would have lodged in, and required he be taken to the hospital wing. And then he would have had to explain to the nurse why there was a tack stuck down his throat. Draven cringed. That would have also been bad.
Pushing the tiny piece of plastic towards the front of his teeth, Draven pulled it out, setting it in his pocket. He didn't fancy a trip downstairs, not now. Not when he was so close.
It had taken him a week to remember which floor the Room of Requirement was on, and another three days to work up the nerve and go looking for it. And now there he was, and there it wasn't. He couldn't spot the familiar doorway, tucked away behind marble columns. So good at blending in with its background that you'd miss it. Couldn't feel it either, though he'd been trying to for the better part of an hour. He'd closed his eyes, fingers passing along the walls. He was waiting for the rough transition from stone to wood, but all he'd managed to do thus far was nearly break his neck stumbling on one of the armor stands. He'd come close to setting himself on fire as well, his sleeve passing far too close to one of the torches. Really, those torches were a hazard. Who kept open flames within easy reach of teenagers?
With every odd sound, Draven's eyes fluttered open for a moment. One of the portraits, thank Merlin, had promised to keep watch for him. For the first 20 minutes of his meandering, he hadn't managed to get very far. But she'd caught his unsettled glances backwards, towards the stairs, and had taken pity on him. Though, and he wasn't trying to be ungrateful, she did talk a bit much for someone who was supposed to be on guard.
She was an older lady, with a kindly expression and half-moon glasses perched atop a beaked nose. Draven liked her dress. It was well painted, and the color, a deep-set plum, complimented the woman's olive skin tone. Whoever had been her tailor had done a good job with the fabric.
"There's someone coming," the woman said idly, taking a puff from her pipe. Draven paused, squinting down the dark corridor. Either he wasn't seeing what she was, or she was insane.
Though she's promised to keep watch, that didn't make her anymore reliable than a gargoyle.
"Nevermind dear," she said with a sigh. "Trick of the light. My eyesight isn't what it used to be."
You're a painting, Draven thought dumbly. How did a painting have poor eyesight? How did a painting have eyesight in the first place?
A sharp pain at his temples warned him to not continue down that path.
"You know, I had a grandson who looked just like you," the painting said.
Somehow, he highly doubted that. It felt rude to voice his disbelief.
"Oh!" the lady exclaimed. "Now there's actually someone coming. Oh my he looks just like my son."
Draven, somehow, no longer suspected the painting was lying about her eyesight.
@Elijah Ace
ITS STILL RAINING. WHY IS IT STILL RAINING? sta • 13 | eva • 8 | str • 1 | wis • 15 |arc • 7 | acc • 9 |
12 Aug 2023, 14:40
Living Map
Elijah sniffled miserably as he trudged up the stairs. He had tripped over the same trick step two times in the past 10 minutes and the portraits had taken to snickering each time he passed by. He wasn't even bad at directions, but the castle seemed to be going out of its way to mess with him on purpose. There was simply no other explanation for his current predicament.
He stopped when he reached the top and stared forlornly down the corridor. The normally crowded corridors were empty at this time, quiet enough that he could hear rustling drapes in the light breeze. Paned windows lined the wall but the sun was on the other side of the castle this early in the morning, leaving only the impression of cool shade and the picturesque imagery of the grounds outside. Up ahead he could see the corridor veer left away from the outer wall, disappearing into the shadows. When he set off towards it, his footsteps echoed lightly against stone floor.
There was something eerie about seeing a normally busy place empty. He knew he wasn't alone of course; he'd hurriedly walked past doors with general classroom hubub filtering through, nodded to the occasional student in the halls. The corridors were still largely abandoned though, students and staff neatly filed away to their designated areas and groups, doing the things they were scheduled to be doing. Elijah had missed that mark and now felt like an out of place ghost wandering the school, stuck in a separate bubble of existence.
He'd woken up that morning disgruntled and groggy, a tell-tale sign that he had fallen sick after his little camp outside the other night. All it took was a glance at his room mates empty beds to have him groaning and stumbling out of bed in a rush, clock only confirming what he already knew; he was very late to potions. Now with a barely contained bed head and tie slung around his shoulders from where he'd given up after five frustrated minutes, he was roaming the Hogwarts corridors trying to appear like he wasn't completely lost.
The corridor twisted sharply, stifling whatever natural light had managed to make it this far. The torches took over, casting an uneasy pattern of shadow and warm glow. There were no doors or classrooms in sight and at this point, Elijah was walking aimlessly. He sighed, kicking at the ground as trekked forward. Somewhere along the way he had started counting each stone tile he stepped on, carefully avoiding the cracks. When he got to the stairs, he started counting them too. He was so absorbed in this task that he missed the sound of conversation until he was already at the top, just in time to hear "Oh my, he looks just like my son."
Elijah looked up for the first time in a while to take in the scene in front of him. The corridor was like the others that had led here, not a door or classroom in sight. Which made the sight of the boy with his palms pressed to the wall slightly stranger than it would have already been. Elijah blinked, unsure for a second whether he was hallucinating the raven haired figure. His imagination had always been slightly lackluster though, not enough to keep the consistent image of ashen skin and dark circles that made him think for moment that he'd found a kindred spirit. A glance at the others robes, and the perfectly done tie that he might have spent a few more seconds lingering on than what was considered polite, had him discarding that assumption. Which left him with no assumptions at all, actually, because his sluggish brain couldn't come up another explanation for why else another kid would be here if it wasn't 'slept in and impossibly lost'.
"Uh", he said eloquently before registering entirely too late that the voice he heard had been distinctively female and very un pre-teen sounding. He whirled around, only to come face to face with the portrait of a lady smiling very intently at him. He would deny the undignified yelp he let out as he jumped back, stumbling over his own feet and colliding with the torch on the wall behind him. It fell to the ground with a deafening clatter and Elijah swore loudly as he barely side stepped the flames before they extinguished with the motion, leaving only the sound of his heavy breathing in the pursuing silence. He remained bent over his knees for a few long seconds, taking in lungful's of air as he stared at the fallen torch. He counted down three seconds before he pushed himself up, running a hand through his sweaty bangs as he straightened. He turned to the portrait first, taking her in properly for the first time. Olive skin tone and beaked nose, she looked nothing like him
"Thanks," he said instead, before turning to the mystery kid. He was sure he looked half crazed at this point but he was too hopped up on the adrenaline of the circus that was his morning to care too much about it. When he spoke it was with a composure and resolute calm that he didn't know he could muster.
"Hello, are you alright?"