Introductions
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| Location: Campgrounds | Date: August 1st, 2026 | Word Count: 246 | Speech #1587A4 | Thoughts #1587A4 |
───────────────────────────────────────────────────────Henry's dark eyebrows drooped at the center, the skin between them pinching ever so slightly. For all the effort it had taken him to take that stand for the younger cabinmates, his attempts had backfired. Spectacularly. His lungs felt like they were getting uncomfortably squeezed as the back of his neck flushed, and his ears followed suit. Drawing up the courage to voice his concerns had already been a monumental task for the short boy. Getting turned on by those he was trying to help? Even though the girl hadn't spoken her grievances the same way the boy had, the expression she wore seemed (at least to him) as though she was also less than impressed at being defended. It made him feel even smaller than he already was.
He ducked his head and turned away from the assembled quartet. "R-right. Yes. Of course. Silly me thinking... thinking you needed help. I imagine you can both manage fine on your own. Heh..." The tone was decidedly defeated. Maybe even verging on a sullen tone.
He picked up his things from where they rested, no spells needed - it wasn't the muggleborn's instinct to resort to magic when you had perfectly good hands and the task was simple enough. "I suppose I must've overlooked you last year then, if you're not a firstie. Sorry... I'm not always as observant as I should be... I'll um... I'll just go pick out one of the bunks, then, shall I?"─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
| Interaction: C.O.M.B.; specifically @Jeremy Slater + @Josephine Byrne|
| OOC Notes: None |
Introductions
The blond kid stared and blinked at the brunet one and the guilty expression on his face, unsure of what he might have been looking guilty for. Even so, he listened when the boy explained himself before he seemed to get distracted by the sight of Strike's broom.
"Oh...we weren't...supposed to bring them...?" Strike asked timidly, suddenly looking worriedly at the thing. If only Liron had been there. Liron would have been able to tell him whether he should or shouldn't have brought it. He thought for certain his father would have said something if he hadn't been allowed, but maybe he hadn't been as aware of the rules at camp as Strike had thought...?
Would his parents yell at him if he owled them to ask if they could come pick it up for him? And if he didn't, or they took too long to pick it up, would the adults at camp yell at him instead...?
No, no, now wasn't the time to cry. At least there didn't seem to be any other adults around at that moment anyway. Maybe he could hide his broom until his parents could come pick it up from him after all. Or...maybe just hide it under his bed or something for the rest of camp and just not take it out until it was time to go home. It would be fine. Surely.
He was startled out of his thoughts by the boy's new words, telling him it was 'mighty decent of him' - presumably referring to his attempt to assist with the boy's luggage - before squaring his shoulders, extending a hand, and introducing himself.
The first part calmed Strike a bit and made him feel a little better. Even if he might have been doing something he shouldn't have, at least this boy seemed to be grateful to him for it, so that couldn't have meant he'd done something completely wrong. A small, meek smile followed the deduction as Strike reached out to take Alfie's extended hand and shake it.
"Strike ταχύς (Takhús) Allen," he answered. "It's nice to meet you, Alfie."
He noticed Alfie looking him over and couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, especially when he noticed that his dark-haired peer was already wearing his school uniform.
"Oh...were we supposed to change into our uniforms already?" he asked, trying to ignore the thousandth silent mental wish that Liron had been there at camp with him to tell him such things. "I didn't know...if we were allowed...um...well, if I'm allowed, since I don't go to Hogwarts yet. Do you know if I am?"
Alfie may not have been any bigger than he was, but his smile was very reassuring. His uniform also gave the impression to Strike of someone who already belonged at the school and therefore knew it and its rules better than he did. Surely Alfie would be someone who was safe to ask such things, right? Especially if he was cautious and considerate enough to know to wait for a private conversation to finish before entering the cabin.
"Oh...okay," he answered when his presumed peer suggested it was probably safe to go in then. His gesture allowing Strike to go in first earned another shy little smile before the blond reached out and opened the door...only to hear the tail end of someone saying they would go pick out one of the bunks.
"Um...sorry to interrupt," he said, trying to speak up as he stepped over the threshold to enter the room. "...Is it alright if we come in yet...?"
He looked around and made a quick study of first the people and then the surrounding layout of the cabin as he spoke, mentally cataloguing as many of their details he could manage.
@Alfie Owen, @Henry Holbrook, @Jeremy Slater, @Josephine Byrne, @Gyle Lamont, & @Clayton Lamont
2nd Gen PC: Strike Allen
1st Gen PC: Jack Burnett | iNPC: Ginyami Midorimori | Former staff account: Kit Paine
Introductions
“Strike Takhús Allen,” Alfie repeated softly.
He had no trouble duplicating the voiced ‘ch’ sound in Takhús. It reminded him of ‘bach’ the Welsh word for small, which was also used as a term of endearment. Alfie’s nain* had called him 'Alfie bach'.
Immaterial, Alfie thought, tamping down the emotion that came with the fleeting memory. It would help him to remember it anyway, until he was alone and could commit Strike's name to his book of useful information. 'Strike bach', he repeated to himself as unsentimentally as he could manage.
Alfie was brought out of his thoughts by the blond boy’s concern over what they were supposed to wear. Alfie’s own anxiety spiked again.
“I thought so?” he said uncertainly. He was going to feel like such a fool if he was wrong. He'd barely packed any street clothes too, thinking that his muggle clothes might be mocked if he was to appear in them. He looked at Strike, for a moment mirroring the blond boy's panic. Then, seeing how vulnerable Strike appeared, he felt safe to be vulnerable too, if only this once. “I really don’t know," he admitted honestly. "I’m new here too.”
'Wow,' Alfie thought. 'We’re bonding. Weird.'
But feeling much reassured, Alfie followed Strike bach into the unknown.
Peering over his new friend’s shoulder, Alfie’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen an Undetectable Extension Charm before, let alone all this opulence.
“Iesu bach!”* he gasped.
--------------------------------
*Welsh:
Nain: Grandmother
Iesu bach!: Literally 'Little Jesus' but used as the exclamation 'Sweet Jesus!
He had no trouble duplicating the voiced ‘ch’ sound in Takhús. It reminded him of ‘bach’ the Welsh word for small, which was also used as a term of endearment. Alfie’s nain* had called him 'Alfie bach'.
Immaterial, Alfie thought, tamping down the emotion that came with the fleeting memory. It would help him to remember it anyway, until he was alone and could commit Strike's name to his book of useful information. 'Strike bach', he repeated to himself as unsentimentally as he could manage.
Alfie was brought out of his thoughts by the blond boy’s concern over what they were supposed to wear. Alfie’s own anxiety spiked again.
“I thought so?” he said uncertainly. He was going to feel like such a fool if he was wrong. He'd barely packed any street clothes too, thinking that his muggle clothes might be mocked if he was to appear in them. He looked at Strike, for a moment mirroring the blond boy's panic. Then, seeing how vulnerable Strike appeared, he felt safe to be vulnerable too, if only this once. “I really don’t know," he admitted honestly. "I’m new here too.”
'Wow,' Alfie thought. 'We’re bonding. Weird.'
But feeling much reassured, Alfie followed Strike bach into the unknown.
Peering over his new friend’s shoulder, Alfie’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen an Undetectable Extension Charm before, let alone all this opulence.
“Iesu bach!”* he gasped.
--------------------------------
*Welsh:
Nain: Grandmother
Iesu bach!: Literally 'Little Jesus' but used as the exclamation 'Sweet Jesus!
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 6 Aug 2026, 16:27, edited 5 times in total.
Introductions
camp| day | time
On the night of 31st July, it was a 4.
Deadass, there was no such thing as rest day. Things have been a huge blur of events, between almost getting killed(?) by a tree, getting his legs back via sparkle sparkle magic, physiotherapy, visiting his bunda's (mom) grave, house staff being fired and re-hired, moving to a magical neighbourhood in the same town, who could possibly have the time to attend a summer camp?
Demo can, Demo will. Even if Demo has to trip over 12 rocks and got in the wrong tent 3 times.
Do not ask him how he mistook which tent was which. One thing no one will find him doing nothing. Perhaps with the exception of the dreaded few hours of recharging he is obligated to do or else parts of himself shuts down. Unbelievably unproductive! Curse this prison of flesh he's in! Regardless, truthfully he didn't stop to check properly if he was in the wrong or not. Better be wrong than be still! Speaking of stillness - it seems others do not understand this philosophy of life.
He came to the tent in an orange shirt, jacket tied around his waist- scraps of dirt, grass and a wee bit of blood on his elbows, pants. Beads of sweat formed his hairline and panting lightly as he watched the few humans just standing around at the entryway as if they required permission to join. Wtf- weirdos. It makes Demo want to play a game of human bowling and just crash into the pinballs( Strike, Alphie ).
He entered just at the entry of the door by the side, panting as he felt his legs (yeay new legs!!!) giving out as he knelled to the floor, and dropped his body alongside the backpack he had been carrying. Cheek against the floor while he could survey the room from the perspective of an ant given his position, he steadied his breath as he attempted to think on how to differentiate between 1 white boy and another. Wait theres a girl in here too - he thinks - maybe.. or 2. Gosh-
"I AM NOT DECEASED" He announced - loudly, thinking that was important enough to share with the other living fleshes in the room. That's what people usually wanna know right? If one was alive or not. 1... 2.... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... humans in the room. Demo noted it quietly.
Demo is on 50/100 hp from the journey of the entryway and this tent
Demo Enters beep boop
Acknowledges the existence of : @Alfie Owen, @Strike Allen @Henry Holbrook @Josephine Byrne, @Jeremy Slater @Gyle Lamont @Clayton Lamont
Hanako Tone | Sara Kohana | Kotoka Sako
Introductions
And there he was, like a faithful hound launching at command.
What a good little pup his brother made. More like a goodlooking guarddog he should say. Not one he ever aspired to be on the receiving end of. But his brother had his uses. Especially in the field of dutiful performances. A true Javert of Justice. Always eager to step on anyone's toes just to push the book of judgement in their faces. Clay was certain that this sense of daring duty was the reason his brother was sorted in Gryffindor.
After taking few seconds to display a fake desperation on the matter of his bent, curly-tipped shoe, Clayton's smirk would creep up ever so slightly as he made one step backwards and circumvented the on-the-loose luggage. There was no sign left of any sort of foot injury. You would think the people in the room were discussing a matter that had happened in one of these books rather than this very room.
It did bring out the various characters of this little company of cabin cohabitants. Clayton, clearly unable to hide his satisfaction with the transpiring events, made his way towards one of the unoccupied rooms. He as good as ignored the statement of the one familiar face besides his brother. A Hufflepuff. This was the only thing he could recall of the boy. Yes, they shared a year. Clay's shoulders would straighten as he took in the boy's approach. How just he was, almost like Gyle, but ultimately less profound. Clay's interest in the badgering knight vanished as soon as the slob from the couch tore down his own protector's defenses. He shot a doubting look at the mention of him appearing older than he really was.
Curious thing to witness, though. It was clear the slob had something to prove. To who... that was left up for debate. Perhaps it was a show for the only girl in the room. "Apology accepted, my friend." Clay added with the sweetest voice he could glue to his words. He practically ignored the second half of the slob's sentence. He would take no blame in this debacle.
As he left his brother to deal with the managerial tasks of crowd control, his eyes slid over to the girl. She had approached fast and looked at him with investigating intent. By the time he had taken position by the door, his hair would have retracted back and taken on a similar shape and colour to Gyle's once more. He knew his brother hated the fact he could change his features at will. They were supposed to be identical after all. In Gyle's orderly world, there was no room for Clay's gift. Snapping back to reality, he looked and smiled at the girl.
"How kind of you to notice." he said with an approving nod. He did appreciate a perceptive mind. As he concentrated on her expressive blue eyes, his own brown pools would seem to dilute with a bright blue liquid until they too were light and intense. Not exactly like hers, but emanating that same expressiveness. Clay shot out a hand, inadvertedly being the first Lamont to introduce himself.
"Clayton Lamont" The tiniest hint of a Scottish brogue could be noted in the way he presented his name. As if he were copying the manner so many others around him had said it. "And this charming justiciar is my brother, Gyle Lamont." The last name was repeated with an indicating tone, as if that ought to ring a bell to anyone worth their salt in the wizarding world. "Now, did you want like, an autograph? Or are we done stating the obvious? I'd like my luggage to start unpacking you see." There was no snide or exasperation in his voice. He could not turn away a new fan like that. Her admiration ought to be rewarded and not met with scorn.
Introductions
Jeremy paused from where he was dragging his trunk (slowly, why had he packed so many books??) out of the way and looked up again at the hair of the Hurt-Toe-Boy, who, Jeremy now remembered his brother had called ‘Clayton’. Jo was staring up at the strange boy with a fascination that he hadn’t seen since the day they’d drawn that torch rune, in Jo’s family’s library, which made him wary now on instinct. It was a fascination that Jeremy was familiar with, since it was how he got whenever he saw something interesting also, but Jeremy thought that he was a lot more careful about it. That fascination of Jo's was bound to get them all in trouble again one day. Luckily, he could set this one straight.
“No, I’m pretty sure it was always like that,”
But Jeremy’s attention was soon directed away from Clayton and his hair. Instead, he was watching the short (well, to Jeremy he wasn’t short, but for somebody that was older than Jeremy he was short, so that counted) boy who had tried to help him and Jo.
Jeremy had told the boy that he might not be a firstie, because he hadn’t wanted to be treated like a child. He hadn’t counted on how it would have affected the boy. His reaction was unexpected, and that confused Jeremy. Seeing the boy’s ears redden just like Clayton’s hair, Jeremy realized that the boy was pretty upset, though he wasn’t sure why. People sometimes tried to help you, and sometimes you told them not to, sure, but he’d never seen somebody take it so badly.
For just a moment Jer’s face grew conflicted, and he felt a small pang of what he was pretty sure was guilt. He COULD tell the boy that he was a first-year, which might make the boy feel better, and because Jeremy felt a little bad accepting an ‘I’m Sorry’ that he hadn’t earned. But… it also seemed that Jeremy’s lie had worked, unexpectedly, and could he really go back on that now?
“Oh, uh, that’s ok.” Jeremy said, slightly awkwardly. “It’s alright, I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I didn’t remember you either,” he pointed out, in case that helped.
It was probably better this way. If the boy felt that badly about getting something wrong, and Jeremy corrected him, then how would he feel about getting something wrong TWICE? It would only be more embarrassing. Plus, when you really thought about it, it wasn’t like he’d REALLY lied. He’d never said that he WAS a second-year. He’d only said he MIGHT be one. And was it his fault if the boy had believed him? No, it was definitely better this way.
Still, he DID look pretty upset…
Just then he heard a meek voice from the doorway, and saw two new boys arriving, about his size. (He hoped that at least one of them was a second-year, which would really help his story with Henry). One looked amazed, and one...maybe nervous? For once, Jeremy welcomed the arrival of more people. He’d apparently hurt two people already without even trying so something to take his mind off that and also to take off what felt (to him) like the room’s attention would be nice.
“Oh yea, come in, don’t worry!” Jeremy said, ushering them in.
But they weren’t alone, and if Jeremy wanted something to take off the attention off him, he was given a gift from above. Because just then a new boy entered, looking like he'd climbed a mountain, rather than just walked across a pleasant campground. As he threw himself to the ground dramatically, he announced he was alive, and though Jeremy had been forcibly taught a lot about manners from his Mum, he wasn't sure that he'd ever been given the guide to THIS situation.
“Um….that’s good to know,” he said, with a small nod. Not sure what else to do, he stuck out his hand in greeting towards the fallen boy.”I’m Jeremy. I’m not deceased either.” he offered.
“No, I’m pretty sure it was always like that,”
But Jeremy’s attention was soon directed away from Clayton and his hair. Instead, he was watching the short (well, to Jeremy he wasn’t short, but for somebody that was older than Jeremy he was short, so that counted) boy who had tried to help him and Jo.
Jeremy had told the boy that he might not be a firstie, because he hadn’t wanted to be treated like a child. He hadn’t counted on how it would have affected the boy. His reaction was unexpected, and that confused Jeremy. Seeing the boy’s ears redden just like Clayton’s hair, Jeremy realized that the boy was pretty upset, though he wasn’t sure why. People sometimes tried to help you, and sometimes you told them not to, sure, but he’d never seen somebody take it so badly.
For just a moment Jer’s face grew conflicted, and he felt a small pang of what he was pretty sure was guilt. He COULD tell the boy that he was a first-year, which might make the boy feel better, and because Jeremy felt a little bad accepting an ‘I’m Sorry’ that he hadn’t earned. But… it also seemed that Jeremy’s lie had worked, unexpectedly, and could he really go back on that now?
“Oh, uh, that’s ok.” Jeremy said, slightly awkwardly. “It’s alright, I’m not mad at you,” he said. “I didn’t remember you either,” he pointed out, in case that helped.
It was probably better this way. If the boy felt that badly about getting something wrong, and Jeremy corrected him, then how would he feel about getting something wrong TWICE? It would only be more embarrassing. Plus, when you really thought about it, it wasn’t like he’d REALLY lied. He’d never said that he WAS a second-year. He’d only said he MIGHT be one. And was it his fault if the boy had believed him? No, it was definitely better this way.
Still, he DID look pretty upset…
Just then he heard a meek voice from the doorway, and saw two new boys arriving, about his size. (He hoped that at least one of them was a second-year, which would really help his story with Henry). One looked amazed, and one...maybe nervous? For once, Jeremy welcomed the arrival of more people. He’d apparently hurt two people already without even trying so something to take his mind off that and also to take off what felt (to him) like the room’s attention would be nice.
“Oh yea, come in, don’t worry!” Jeremy said, ushering them in.
But they weren’t alone, and if Jeremy wanted something to take off the attention off him, he was given a gift from above. Because just then a new boy entered, looking like he'd climbed a mountain, rather than just walked across a pleasant campground. As he threw himself to the ground dramatically, he announced he was alive, and though Jeremy had been forcibly taught a lot about manners from his Mum, he wasn't sure that he'd ever been given the guide to THIS situation.
“Um….that’s good to know,” he said, with a small nod. Not sure what else to do, he stuck out his hand in greeting towards the fallen boy.”I’m Jeremy. I’m not deceased either.” he offered.