Introductions
“Strike Takhús Allen,” Alfie repeated softly.
He had no trouble duplicating the voiced ‘ch’ sound in Takhús. It reminded him of ‘bach'1 the Welsh word for small, which was also used as a term of endearment. Alfie’s nain2 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.'
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!”3
--------------------------------
He had no trouble duplicating the voiced ‘ch’ sound in Takhús. It reminded him of ‘bach'1 the Welsh word for small, which was also used as a term of endearment. Alfie’s nain2 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.'
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!”3
--------------------------------
Welsh Vocabulary:
Reducio
1Bach──────
*
*
*
*
(bahkh) Meaning "small" or "little." It functions as a term of endearment [indent]similar to "dear" or "little one". Used in everyday speech across Wales as an affectionate suffix to names, as in "Alfie bach" or as a warm greeting for friends, children, or customers, as in "Alright, bach!"
*2Nain──
*
*
(like Eng. "nine") In north Wales "nain" is grandmother and is used both in Welsh and English. The south Wales equivalent is mamgu.
*
3Iesu bach
(YEH-sih Bahkh) Literally 'Little Jesus' but used as the exclamation 'Sweet Jesus!
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 28 Aug 2026, 19:58, edited 8 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 good-looking guard dog, 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 a few seconds to display a fake desperation over his bent, curly-tipped shoe, Clayton's smirk would creep up ever so slightly as he took one step back and circumvented 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, inadvertently 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 in which 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.
Last edited by Clayton Lamont on 10 Aug 2026, 20:41, edited 1 time in total.
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.
Introductions
The red-headed (for now) boy's initial response to Jo's question earned him raised eyebrows and a flat stare. She didn't care to have what she already knew confirmed, she wanted to know why. And she would definitely like to verbalise that thought as soon as she could pull her gaze away from the boy's eyes, whose colour had suddenly seeped out until she was looking into what she could imagine her own eyes looked to someone else. It was more than a little eerie, but she found she could hardly look away.
Further questions proved unnecessary. The boy immediately introduced himself and everything became clear. Lamont, like the government name of Gloria Shine, famous actress and metamorphmagus. If Jo usually thought her parents were rich, she was pretty sure the Lamonts made them seem like paupers. Her parents had worked a few of the woman's private events and the descriptions of her estate had seemed frankly decadent. It certainly explained the posh accents, the posh clothes and the snooty atttitude. And of course, it explained the colour-changing, since metamorphmagi often passed on their talent to their kids.
Given how rare they were supposed to be, Jo probably was lucky indeed to meet one, but the boy's next few words cooled her enthusiasm faster than anything else he could've said. An autograph? Really?
She snorted. "You wish. Being a metamorphmagus is hardly an accomplishment. All you did was be born." It was maybe not the right thing to say. Her mother would've certainly disapproved. Someone with Clayton's powers (not to mention wealth and connections and whatnot) could be very good to know; but Jo had met so many kids through her parents who thought having rich, pureblood parents made them God's gift to mankind, that she had very little patience for it. It almost made Jeremy refreshing.
Speaking of, their cabin was now so much fuller than before, and it seemed like everyone had moved on to introductions, so Jo chimed in with her own.
"I'm Jo. I'm also a first year. Like Jeremy." She added the last two words with a little smirk and a look in his direction. She'd heard what he'd said earlier while she was talking to Clayton, and the boy was making himself look ridiculous by pretending to be older. It wasn't a lie that would last very long, considering they were all about to go to the same school (not to mention in a camp with organisers who knew all their ages). She was doing him a favour, really. (Plus, she maybe felt a little bad for the short boy, who had at least tried to be nice, if condescendingly).
She pointedly said nothing about the fact that a boy was lying on the floor for no reason. Her mum would've been proud of her restraint, though she really wanted to know why he had expected to be 'deceased'.
Further questions proved unnecessary. The boy immediately introduced himself and everything became clear. Lamont, like the government name of Gloria Shine, famous actress and metamorphmagus. If Jo usually thought her parents were rich, she was pretty sure the Lamonts made them seem like paupers. Her parents had worked a few of the woman's private events and the descriptions of her estate had seemed frankly decadent. It certainly explained the posh accents, the posh clothes and the snooty atttitude. And of course, it explained the colour-changing, since metamorphmagi often passed on their talent to their kids.
Given how rare they were supposed to be, Jo probably was lucky indeed to meet one, but the boy's next few words cooled her enthusiasm faster than anything else he could've said. An autograph? Really?
She snorted. "You wish. Being a metamorphmagus is hardly an accomplishment. All you did was be born." It was maybe not the right thing to say. Her mother would've certainly disapproved. Someone with Clayton's powers (not to mention wealth and connections and whatnot) could be very good to know; but Jo had met so many kids through her parents who thought having rich, pureblood parents made them God's gift to mankind, that she had very little patience for it. It almost made Jeremy refreshing.
Speaking of, their cabin was now so much fuller than before, and it seemed like everyone had moved on to introductions, so Jo chimed in with her own.
"I'm Jo. I'm also a first year. Like Jeremy." She added the last two words with a little smirk and a look in his direction. She'd heard what he'd said earlier while she was talking to Clayton, and the boy was making himself look ridiculous by pretending to be older. It wasn't a lie that would last very long, considering they were all about to go to the same school (not to mention in a camp with organisers who knew all their ages). She was doing him a favour, really. (Plus, she maybe felt a little bad for the short boy, who had at least tried to be nice, if condescendingly).
She pointedly said nothing about the fact that a boy was lying on the floor for no reason. Her mum would've been proud of her restraint, though she really wanted to know why he had expected to be 'deceased'.
Introductions
✧✧✧✧✧
| Location: Campgrounds | Date: August 1st, 2026 | Word Count: 576 | Speech #1587A4 | Thoughts #1587A4 |
───────────────────────────────────────────────────────Despite his earlier attempts to defend them going disastrously awry, the fact that the metamorphmagus boy... Clayton, if memory served... conveniently ignored his own part in tripping over the luggage, well... frankly it churned Henry's stomach a bit. This attitude always brought back painful memories for him, faint though they were, of how his dad's side of the family had always behaved - back when they were on speaking terms. Like being well off somehow made everyone poorer than you either your plaything or as unworthy of note as the dirt caked on the sole of his shoes. He shot the formerly brown eyed Scottish boy what was meant to be a withering glance in response, however it was more than likely nothing to write home about as far as dirty looks go. Some people just aren't built for them.
When the boy who owned the luggage doubled down on his statement about being in his own year or possibly even higher by proclaiming that he also didn't remember Henry, he felt an odd mixture of emotions. In a way, that was fair enough, given his own lapses in his ability to recall things on occasion. Though he also felt a bit of a jab at his ego. He could see why someone might not have remembered him from his first year, he supposed. He'd been more or less a loner until the final few months. He'd avoided balls like the plague. Hadn't gotten a single detention. He hadn't gone to any of the other schools prior to the trip to Castelobruxo that had cost him his wand. His first real appearance at any optional event was the pride event a few months prior where he'd hung out with some fellow queer kids and allies and helped them decorate a boat. He'd gotten the most house points in the school the final month before summer break, but nobody else had brought it up in conversation so he'd assumed nobody was geeking out over it - unless you counted his mum. He honestly kinda was a nobody. But he supposed there were six more years to improve on his initial lackluster showing.
A particularly amused snort erupted from his nose at the girl's jab concerning Clay's lack of accomplishment at simply being born into his powers. Seemed like just desserts given how things had been going thus far. Granted the laugh was far louder than he'd intended it to be.
He'd been about to ask the boy what House he was in, when the girl he'd been talking to revealed that all of Henry's anxiety spiraling had been for naught. The words died on his lips as he realized Jeremy had been less than honest in their first exchange. His brow furrowed even harder now.
"Bit rude to lie about it..." He muttered, looking back towards the opening door, his blue eyes widening as one of the people entering tripped arse over tea kettle and wound up with a face full of floor.
Rushing forward, he stooped by the boy on the floor, "Blimey, deceased or not, that looked like it hurt." He offered a hand to help him up, somehow still failing to realize from the earlier interaction that not everyone wanted help. "My mum had me pack a first aid kit. I... I mean I don't particularly know how to use it, but if you're hurt I'm sure we could give it our best shot..."─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
| Interaction: C.O.M.B.|
| OOC Notes: None |
Introductions
Only a sibling could fiddle with ones emotions so effortlessly. Here Gyle was showing genuine concern for his little brother, and he was repaid with what? A snarky comment about his virtue? Any concern for his kin was quickly replaced with annoyance. Not for his twin's arrogance or ego - those were two traits they shared - but for the fact that he was not allowed to introduce himself. And that it wasn't even a good introduction. "Justiciar." Did Clay think he was reading some sort of script? He could hear the word coming from their tutor McDougal's mouth as he explained medieval English bureaucracy. Figures Clay would have stashed it away for later use like a little thespian wannabe. And Gyle had it all planned out too. The tone, pacing, delivery. The intonations as he listed the positions he currently held. All ruined.
At least there would be more chances for introductions. A month here was going to have plenty of it. He wouldn't let his twin get a rise out of him just yet. That is what he wanted after all. Gyle would give the girl a small nod, and a quick smile to Clay. Clay was good at reading him, but he had to hope a smile would throw him off a bit. Besides, there seemed to be so much going on around them that he wasn't even sure Clayton would see.
The most interesting thing going on (besides the obviously lying 1st year) was the arrival of a child half-way to the infirmary's door. Watch enough people duel you got a rough sense of how people were holding up, and how much they could take - this child could maybe take the impact from a light breeze. He was an intriguing opportunity. One that got even better when the rude boy who'd thought he could stand up to the Lamonts offered him a first aid kit. Rude and stupid. They didn't need silly stuff like that. They had magic. Or maybe he needed stuff like that - but Gyle didn't.
He would approach the half-dead kid as well, painting his face in concern. He'd hold up his wand to the pair, and shake it slightly, to catch their attention. "Oh, don't worry." We'd shoot a small smirk at Henry. ”I know how to use this. I can have you right as rain in no time." He'd point his wand down towards the injured kid. "Please move aside." He'd look to Henry as he said it, brandish the same smug smile as before.
"Ferula"
ReducioWDC: 10
Wisdom Check: [d20: 19] + 9 = 28 > 10 -> Success!
Effects: A healing charm that conjures bandages and wraps, splinting any broken bones and easing pain.
He was so close. Enunciation, wrist movement, wand control, breath control. Everything was so close to perfect. Yet it wasn’t. Bandages spun out of the tip of his wand and began wrapping the injured boy’s wounds neatly and cleanly. It was effortless for the young Lamont, and he hoped Henry saw how easy it had come. How easy it was for him to cast an upper year spell on a whim. And of course he hoped the strange sickly boy felt a bit better. That too.
Permission given by Demo to be cast upon
Introductions
It made Strike feel a little better to know Alfie seemed as new and as clueless about what they were supposed to wear as he was. He supposed they could both figure it out later...maybe together...once they were both settled in. Maybe even one of the other kids already in the cabin could tell them.
Also, if Alfie was new, that meant maybe brooms were alright to have at camp after all. He'd just have to wait and see.
The blond startled when an exhausted-looking boy walked past them and seemed to fall flat on his face next to his backpack. He loudly proclaimed he was not deceased, which Strike was glad of, but it had to make him wonder if the boy fell over so often that people frequently had to wonder if he was deceased or not.
Before he could react to the kid on the floor, however, a series of other things were happening. The training he had been given to observe and pay careful attention to his surroundings and what was going on around him suddenly kicked in. He absorbed what he could and filtered through whatever information he thought he could use to determine notable events occurring and who was involved.
For starters, he recalled Alfie behind him exclaiming 'Iesu bach'. It must have been a different language. He wondered which. Perhaps he could find out later as well as what the exclaimed words had meant.
Then there were the exchanges between the other kids already in the cabin. Clayton Lamont introducing himself and his twin brother, Gyle Lamont. Sons of a famous actress and members of a pureblooded household like his own. But of course, just because he knew of them didn't mean he knew them personally. Perhaps he would get his chance this summer.
The first and perhaps only one to acknowledge his presence, however, was another boy who told him that he and Alfie could enter the cabin and not to worry. Strike smiled unconsciously at that, grateful for the invitation, but was still taking everything in. Not to mention there was a kid on the ground in the way who still had to be addressed. The same boy who had addressed him attempted to address the non-deceased one, extending a hand and introducing himself as Jeremy. Another mental note made in Strike's mind.
A feminine voice came through, higher than the others'. A girl? She mentioned that someone was born a metamorphmagus and that it was hardly an accomplishment. Strike agreed, but checked who she was talking to. Oh; the twin named Clay. He was a metamorphmagus? Interesting. Was his brother, too...? Definitely something to be looked into later.
The girl introduced herself as Jo. A first year. Like Jeremy. So Jeremy was a first year, too? But Jo was wearing her school uniform and Jeremy was not. That was odd.
If they were calling themselves first years, did that mean they were already attending Hogwarts, or no? Could they possibly just be preparing to attend like himself? Strike wasn't sure, but just then didn't seem like the best time to ask. Another question for another time.
Fortunately for him, his parents had taught him a number of memorization tricks, so he didn't need to write anything down just yet.
From deeper inside the cabin, another kid came out, rushing to the fellow on the ground. He commented about how it looked like falling to the ground had hurt and mentioned his mum had him pack a first aid kit. Strike wasn't sure what that was, but from context clues, it seemed like something to help someone who was hurt.
The Greek boy's chest tightened painfully. He was like Liron. He wanted to help people who were hurt. Like Liron had always rushed to help him when he was hurt, immediately drawn to someone in need.
But what was this kid's name?
However, Gyle wasted no time in assuring the helping boy that he knew how to use his wand and telling the one on the ground that he could have him 'right as rain' in no time. Then he told the helping boy to 'please move aside', following his request with a nearly perfect Bandaging Charm.
"Whoooa," he said, watching the magic commence as picked up his trunk and edged around the spectacle in order to get into the cabin. He wanted to get out of the way, too, both so Alfie could enter after him and so that he didn't interfere with the spell. "That's amazing!"
It was impressive, Strike had to admit. But he was still more impressed by the helping boy's eagerness to assist a hurt stranger.
Once inside the door, he set his small trunk along the wall where it wouldn't be in the way until he could figure out where it was really supposed to go. Then he turned back to the door threshold to coax in his broom as well and Alfie's trunk which dangled from its handle. Alfie, too, if his new acquaintance still lingered outside.
"Excuse me," Strike spoke up, turning to the helping boy while he got everything and everyone inside as best he could, "What's your name?"
@Demo Chatura, @Alfie Owen, @Henry Holbrook, @Jeremy Slater, @Josephine Byrne, @Gyle Lamont, & @Clayton Lamont
Last edited by Strike Allen on 12 Aug 2026, 16:10, edited 1 time in total.
2nd Gen PC: Strike Allen
1st Gen PC: Jack Burnett | iNPC: Ginyami Midorimori | Former staff account: Kit Paine
Introductions
They had barely made it inside the threshold with Alfie still gaping at the lavish and artificially expanded interior, when another person barreled past them.
'Rude', Alfie thought, before realizing the new-comer had pitched himself forward and more or less face planted in the middle of the room. Alfie's eye's darted uneasily from the carcass to the other inmates to try to judge how normal or bizarre this was. He didn't want to under-react or over-react. He might be witnessing a fit or just a drama queen throwing a bit of a strop. The loud self-declaration denying his own passing seemed to point to the latter in Alfie's opinion, though he noticed that as least some of the campers were showing more concern than he was.
Alfie glanced about quickly trying to draw some conclusions. He could have filled his notebook just describing the expanded room, the intense color, and strange furnishings. Except for the sea and the sky, Holyhead was dominated by beiges and grays, and for that matter, you could include the sky in the gray category for most of the year. But as much as Alfie might have admired the decorations had he more time, it seemed more pressing to sort out the people and his own place among them.
His first observation was the lack of black robes. He'd gotten the dress code wrong apparently, and while that was a strike against him, there was at least one other person as fashionably challenged as he.
It was a girl. The only one. Irish and a bit of a snarky bite to her tone. She was saying something about First Years indicating herself and another which seemed to imply to Alfie that not everyone here was.
Which made sense, as the similar looking boys with the obnoxiously posh sounding voices were clearly taller than Alfie and displayed more attitude, which probably came with seniority but also, undoubtedly, wealth.
Wealth was an issue for Alfie. He had clocked Strike as a little rich boy but these older boys' dress seemed to indicate even more wealth, or possibly some sort of clowning troop, the robes a bit too loud and theatrical to register as anything Alfie had seen before. Honestly they all looked wealthier than Alfie was used to, so he needed to table his assumptions until he could gather more evidence.
Alfie missed the Lamont part entirely. He wouldn't have known a Lamont from a tea-cozy, so even if he had heard the name it would have meant nothing. Missing the metamorphic transformation was more of a tragedy, but miss it he did, both due to his angle and the many other distractions.
Instead he was drawn to the cluster of activity around the limp bloke in the center of the room. He assumed some of these people were helpful and nice. There was a dark-haired boy not much taller than Alfie who seemed older, if only because of his solicitousness. He seemed like he'd be useful. while the posh one who whipped out his wand, Alfie was more wary of. His smirk and his flourish as he drew out his wand seemed show-offy to Alfie, if only because it was the sort of thing that Alfie himself might had done had he only known how.
Strike was impressed though, so Alfie thought it worthwhile to echo his sentiment. "Aye, good on ye1," he agreed heartily, stepping into the room. "Well done." It was enough to sound agreeable without being fawning. No need for them to know just how impressed he actually was.
"I'm Alfie," he added, "and this is Strike. There's still room for us, isn't it?"2 He smiled confidently. It was a statement more than a question. If there was room for the lump on the floor there was surely room for him.
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'Rude', Alfie thought, before realizing the new-comer had pitched himself forward and more or less face planted in the middle of the room. Alfie's eye's darted uneasily from the carcass to the other inmates to try to judge how normal or bizarre this was. He didn't want to under-react or over-react. He might be witnessing a fit or just a drama queen throwing a bit of a strop. The loud self-declaration denying his own passing seemed to point to the latter in Alfie's opinion, though he noticed that as least some of the campers were showing more concern than he was.
Alfie glanced about quickly trying to draw some conclusions. He could have filled his notebook just describing the expanded room, the intense color, and strange furnishings. Except for the sea and the sky, Holyhead was dominated by beiges and grays, and for that matter, you could include the sky in the gray category for most of the year. But as much as Alfie might have admired the decorations had he more time, it seemed more pressing to sort out the people and his own place among them.
His first observation was the lack of black robes. He'd gotten the dress code wrong apparently, and while that was a strike against him, there was at least one other person as fashionably challenged as he.
It was a girl. The only one. Irish and a bit of a snarky bite to her tone. She was saying something about First Years indicating herself and another which seemed to imply to Alfie that not everyone here was.
Which made sense, as the similar looking boys with the obnoxiously posh sounding voices were clearly taller than Alfie and displayed more attitude, which probably came with seniority but also, undoubtedly, wealth.
Wealth was an issue for Alfie. He had clocked Strike as a little rich boy but these older boys' dress seemed to indicate even more wealth, or possibly some sort of clowning troop, the robes a bit too loud and theatrical to register as anything Alfie had seen before. Honestly they all looked wealthier than Alfie was used to, so he needed to table his assumptions until he could gather more evidence.
Alfie missed the Lamont part entirely. He wouldn't have known a Lamont from a tea-cozy, so even if he had heard the name it would have meant nothing. Missing the metamorphic transformation was more of a tragedy, but miss it he did, both due to his angle and the many other distractions.
Instead he was drawn to the cluster of activity around the limp bloke in the center of the room. He assumed some of these people were helpful and nice. There was a dark-haired boy not much taller than Alfie who seemed older, if only because of his solicitousness. He seemed like he'd be useful. while the posh one who whipped out his wand, Alfie was more wary of. His smirk and his flourish as he drew out his wand seemed show-offy to Alfie, if only because it was the sort of thing that Alfie himself might had done had he only known how.
Strike was impressed though, so Alfie thought it worthwhile to echo his sentiment. "Aye, good on ye1," he agreed heartily, stepping into the room. "Well done." It was enough to sound agreeable without being fawning. No need for them to know just how impressed he actually was.
"I'm Alfie," he added, "and this is Strike. There's still room for us, isn't it?"2 He smiled confidently. It was a statement more than a question. If there was room for the lump on the floor there was surely room for him.
--------------------------------
English colloqualisms used in Wales:
Reducio
- 1Aye, good on ye*****Yes, well done.
- 2Isn't it?**************Welsh English often uses "isn't it?" as an all-purpose tag regardless of the preceding statement. Tag questions at the end of statements is a prominent feature of Welsh English, influenced by Welsh grammar.
Last edited by Alfie Owen on 28 Aug 2026, 03:12, edited 1 time in total.
Introductions
camp arrival xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 01.08.2026
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As much as he might have liked it to be otherwise, the urge to continue to devise a strategy to sneak into Hogwarts proper mill about was made increasingly undesirable and generally just inconvenient for two reasons. First, Owen's trunk was getting rather cumbersome as the levitation charm cast by the long-departed governess began to wane. And second, by Merlin's maroon mittens was he getting hungry. If he waited any longer in getting his belongings stashed away, he surmised, he might actually perish in the effort of doing so.
"Pardon me," he uttered as he hurried past a quizzical looking senior. "Coming through," came his announcement as he rushed through another throng of students. "Sorry 'bout that!" he called back over his shoulder as the trunk—careening side to side with the waning levitation as though riding invisible waves that threatened to sink it into the ground—clipped the hip of an unfortunate victim. "Didn't mean to! Swear it!"
He practically broke into a run at that point, throwing his body weight behind his barely floating trunk in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and whoever he'd just assaulted. Great first impression, that was. With luck, though, they wouldn't recognize him by the time the embarrassment had faded from his cheeks. Still, as the leather started to skip and hop against the ground, he grew more frantic, eyes hastily scanning this way and that in search of his cabin. Easier said than done, though. While the descriptions had differentiated the different 'departments', the exteriors all looked practically the same. Or perhaps it was just desperation clouding his ability to discriminate. It didn't help that he didn't know anyone here. So many other students also filing into what would become their new lodgings for the next month, yet none to turn to.
"It's gotta be one o—OOF!" Whatever lingering effects of the levitation spell waned, and with it, the trunk dipped, catching its corner solidly on a stone to bring it to a sudden halt. Momentum worked against Owen, driving the edge of the lid right into his solar plexus and the air from his lungs. Winded, he fell back onto his rear just as his trunk plopped with a dull thud onto the packed earth.
For the second time in an hour, Owen grimaced as he rose, dusting dirt and dust from what had once been clean and crisp ivory linens. Cheeks puffing, he gave one good heave of his trunk to try to make it budge. It didn't. So he pulled with all the might of his noodly arms. Still it stood fast. Palms dropped to pat against his thighs, helpless. Releasing the air he'd been holding, he turned on the spot and plopped down on the lid, fingers tapping against his chin. Oh how he suddenly regretted not having been just a touch more attentive with his tutors. No doubt, his brother would have been able to renew the levitation charm and whisk it off to his cabin. In that moment, he almost wished Anrai was there to help him out. Almost.
Well, there was nothing to be done. Not alone anyway. Glancing up, Owen set his gaze on the nearest cabin and hopped up to his feet, sleeveless half-robe flagging behind him as loped over to the door. It stood ajar, a plethora of voices animatedly conversing within. He gave a little rap of his knuckles on the doorframe as he poked his head through the entrance, "'Allo there! Any chance an—"
The question of whether any of them could help him with directions to his cabin and whether any of them would be able to help him relocate the trunk he'd left outside to said cabin went unfinished. As his brain caught up with processing, the unfolding of the interior scene before him quickly took precedence. Front and center, a student—Owen assumed, based on the size of the humanoid—lay prone and covered in bandages. Stooped above, a boy seemed to be reaching to try to help him up. Nearby, another boy held a wand aloft, pointed in the unfortunate's direction. Owen also managed to clock five other students in various states of intrigue or conversation. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't been privy to the series of events that had led up to this moment, but what he did hear was several statements—
"Pardon me," he uttered as he hurried past a quizzical looking senior. "Coming through," came his announcement as he rushed through another throng of students. "Sorry 'bout that!" he called back over his shoulder as the trunk—careening side to side with the waning levitation as though riding invisible waves that threatened to sink it into the ground—clipped the hip of an unfortunate victim. "Didn't mean to! Swear it!"
He practically broke into a run at that point, throwing his body weight behind his barely floating trunk in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and whoever he'd just assaulted. Great first impression, that was. With luck, though, they wouldn't recognize him by the time the embarrassment had faded from his cheeks. Still, as the leather started to skip and hop against the ground, he grew more frantic, eyes hastily scanning this way and that in search of his cabin. Easier said than done, though. While the descriptions had differentiated the different 'departments', the exteriors all looked practically the same. Or perhaps it was just desperation clouding his ability to discriminate. It didn't help that he didn't know anyone here. So many other students also filing into what would become their new lodgings for the next month, yet none to turn to.
"It's gotta be one o—OOF!" Whatever lingering effects of the levitation spell waned, and with it, the trunk dipped, catching its corner solidly on a stone to bring it to a sudden halt. Momentum worked against Owen, driving the edge of the lid right into his solar plexus and the air from his lungs. Winded, he fell back onto his rear just as his trunk plopped with a dull thud onto the packed earth.
For the second time in an hour, Owen grimaced as he rose, dusting dirt and dust from what had once been clean and crisp ivory linens. Cheeks puffing, he gave one good heave of his trunk to try to make it budge. It didn't. So he pulled with all the might of his noodly arms. Still it stood fast. Palms dropped to pat against his thighs, helpless. Releasing the air he'd been holding, he turned on the spot and plopped down on the lid, fingers tapping against his chin. Oh how he suddenly regretted not having been just a touch more attentive with his tutors. No doubt, his brother would have been able to renew the levitation charm and whisk it off to his cabin. In that moment, he almost wished Anrai was there to help him out. Almost.
Well, there was nothing to be done. Not alone anyway. Glancing up, Owen set his gaze on the nearest cabin and hopped up to his feet, sleeveless half-robe flagging behind him as loped over to the door. It stood ajar, a plethora of voices animatedly conversing within. He gave a little rap of his knuckles on the doorframe as he poked his head through the entrance, "'Allo there! Any chance an—"
The question of whether any of them could help him with directions to his cabin and whether any of them would be able to help him relocate the trunk he'd left outside to said cabin went unfinished. As his brain caught up with processing, the unfolding of the interior scene before him quickly took precedence. Front and center, a student—Owen assumed, based on the size of the humanoid—lay prone and covered in bandages. Stooped above, a boy seemed to be reaching to try to help him up. Nearby, another boy held a wand aloft, pointed in the unfortunate's direction. Owen also managed to clock five other students in various states of intrigue or conversation. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't been privy to the series of events that had led up to this moment, but what he did hear was several statements—
"...not diseased either."
"...diseased or not, that..."
"...diseased or not, that..."
—rather casually tossed about. Forward movement abruptly halted, knuckles curling about the door frame like an anchor on which to pull him from the dark depths of a hungry sea. "D-diseased??" After all, deceased... diseased... they sounded so very much the same. New questions jumped to the surface of his thoughts, eyes training right back on the mummy at the center of the room. He took a tentative step back and pointed at the downed individual, eyes wide and imploringly searching the rest of them while completely disregarding the introductions for the immediate moment.
"'That one has a disease? What kind of disease?" The colour had drained from his face, concern and helpless horror evident in his features. But surely they wouldn't have let a sick student come to camp? That's why his mother never wanted to let him attend functions with other children in the past. Not after what had happened to his sister. No this couldn't be happening... "Shouldn't... should we get one of the adults or something?"
"'That one has a disease? What kind of disease?" The colour had drained from his face, concern and helpless horror evident in his features. But surely they wouldn't have let a sick student come to camp? That's why his mother never wanted to let him attend functions with other children in the past. Not after what had happened to his sister. No this couldn't be happening... "Shouldn't... should we get one of the adults or something?"
action: looking about ready to run for an adult
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English [#a9882d] | Gaeilge [#a77406]
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English [#a9882d] | Gaeilge [#a77406]