14 Aug 2020, 14:50
This May or May Not Be Forbidden
@Autumn Ivy -edited it, feel free to answer whenever
@Ruby Cazares -any better?
Jax had snuck out of the boy’s dormitory, a small duffle bag slung over one shoulder, a scarf covering his nose and mouth. It was colder than hell itself on the school grounds, and despite being Canadian, he’d never cared for the cold. True, it made the air more breathable, but it also turned your skin numb, made it hard to move after a while. And like anyone who’d ever grabbed a handful of snow and squeezed it between reddening palms, he knew the familiar pain which came along with it. Still, he’d brave the cold before he dared try anything in the boy’s dormitory. He’d already gotten one too many weird looks for drawing, been called a bundle of sticks quite a few times.
So rather than risk any more unwanted attention, he was walking down the front steps of the giant caste, keeping to the shadows, pale white fingers wrapped around the strap of his duffle. Inside it, he’d stashed a jar of ink, his blackbook, a few assorted needles, pencils, and tape. He’d used his wand to put up his hair, which was getting a little too long. Made him look like a chick, but he wasn’t brave enough to try out his luck with a pair of scissors. He’d have to deal with the badly done manbun for now.
Taking an admittedly shaky breath, he approached his tree. It was huge pine with branches low enough that he was able to reach them without too much difficulty. Sure, it wasn’t the best of hiding places, but the thick foliage would conceal the pale light coming from the tip of his wand. Plus, it was in a fairly hidden place, obscured by the smaller trees and bushes around it.
Pulling himself up with a small groan of effort, the young emo boy made his way up the tree, having to stop every few seconds, panting with the difficulty of holding on. By the time he reached his spot, a small hollow in the tree’s bark suspended twenty feet above the ground, his pale skin was covered in a light coat of sweat. The hole in the tree’s bark had been originally occupied by a cluster of pixies, but after much bargaining and pleading, they’d let him have it, provided he’d leave some food whenever he came by. He respected his side of the deal. Somewhere at the bottom of the bag was a napkin with bread and cheese, stolen from the great hall during dinner.
After a few moments spent trying to catch his breath, the stinging pain in his chest and side making him want to kneel over and die, our favorite albino pulled out his jar of ink and the needles, climbing inside the hollow and sitting himself comfortably. The place smelled strongly of sap and despite him clearing the dried pine needles out with his every visit, whenever he returned, it seemed like they’d grown back. A grumble left him as he was forced to scoop up a few of the needles and dump them outside the tree, sending a shower down on whomever was passing underneath. Finally, he was able to settle. The cream colored light coming from his wand light the inside of the hollow when he propped it up against the wooden wall.
And so he got to work. Needle was dipped in ink, held by a remarkably steady hand. He’d had to twist his leg in an awkward position so he could reach his ankle. Some kids were scared of shots. What a joke. Jax worked quietly and efficiently, poking through his skin and enhailing during each prick. It helped distract him from the pain while the tattoo formed under his hands. It wasn’t his first tattoo. Five others littered his skin, most on his stomach, away from infections and praying eyes.
Surprisingly, they’d hurt a lot more than the one he was working on right now. The moon slowly started taking shape ever so slowly, tattooed in terrifyingly accurate detail, from the mountains and shadows to the halo of light which surrounded it. True, Jax only had a small jar of black ink, an even smaller bottle of white, and a few poker cards’ worth of blue ink he’d managed to salvage. But god damn, was he doing a good job.
After two hours, he stuffed everything back in his bag and pulled out the rather squished piece of bread and cheese, wrapping up the tattoo with quick, efficient hands. His ankle hurt like hell, but in its defense, he had poked it with a needle about three hundred times. It was harder to get down from the tree, as he had to put most of his weight on his left ankle rather than his right, but he managed it somehow. And then pulled out a can of spraypaint and a couple stickers. Yes, his main goal had been to get the tattoo done, but it was night, which meant he had to go around tagging, see if any of his marks had been buffed or crossed out.
After another hour spent doing his rounds, he finally approached his latest unfinished piece. It was so realistic it seemed to be floating off the battered, weathered down walls of the castle. He’d only just managed to get a few strokes in, when he was interrupted yet again, just like the last time he’d been working on this piece. Damn, he just had the best of luck, didn’t he?
@Ruby Cazares -any better?
Jax had snuck out of the boy’s dormitory, a small duffle bag slung over one shoulder, a scarf covering his nose and mouth. It was colder than hell itself on the school grounds, and despite being Canadian, he’d never cared for the cold. True, it made the air more breathable, but it also turned your skin numb, made it hard to move after a while. And like anyone who’d ever grabbed a handful of snow and squeezed it between reddening palms, he knew the familiar pain which came along with it. Still, he’d brave the cold before he dared try anything in the boy’s dormitory. He’d already gotten one too many weird looks for drawing, been called a bundle of sticks quite a few times.
So rather than risk any more unwanted attention, he was walking down the front steps of the giant caste, keeping to the shadows, pale white fingers wrapped around the strap of his duffle. Inside it, he’d stashed a jar of ink, his blackbook, a few assorted needles, pencils, and tape. He’d used his wand to put up his hair, which was getting a little too long. Made him look like a chick, but he wasn’t brave enough to try out his luck with a pair of scissors. He’d have to deal with the badly done manbun for now.
Taking an admittedly shaky breath, he approached his tree. It was huge pine with branches low enough that he was able to reach them without too much difficulty. Sure, it wasn’t the best of hiding places, but the thick foliage would conceal the pale light coming from the tip of his wand. Plus, it was in a fairly hidden place, obscured by the smaller trees and bushes around it.
Pulling himself up with a small groan of effort, the young emo boy made his way up the tree, having to stop every few seconds, panting with the difficulty of holding on. By the time he reached his spot, a small hollow in the tree’s bark suspended twenty feet above the ground, his pale skin was covered in a light coat of sweat. The hole in the tree’s bark had been originally occupied by a cluster of pixies, but after much bargaining and pleading, they’d let him have it, provided he’d leave some food whenever he came by. He respected his side of the deal. Somewhere at the bottom of the bag was a napkin with bread and cheese, stolen from the great hall during dinner.
After a few moments spent trying to catch his breath, the stinging pain in his chest and side making him want to kneel over and die, our favorite albino pulled out his jar of ink and the needles, climbing inside the hollow and sitting himself comfortably. The place smelled strongly of sap and despite him clearing the dried pine needles out with his every visit, whenever he returned, it seemed like they’d grown back. A grumble left him as he was forced to scoop up a few of the needles and dump them outside the tree, sending a shower down on whomever was passing underneath. Finally, he was able to settle. The cream colored light coming from his wand light the inside of the hollow when he propped it up against the wooden wall.
And so he got to work. Needle was dipped in ink, held by a remarkably steady hand. He’d had to twist his leg in an awkward position so he could reach his ankle. Some kids were scared of shots. What a joke. Jax worked quietly and efficiently, poking through his skin and enhailing during each prick. It helped distract him from the pain while the tattoo formed under his hands. It wasn’t his first tattoo. Five others littered his skin, most on his stomach, away from infections and praying eyes.
Surprisingly, they’d hurt a lot more than the one he was working on right now. The moon slowly started taking shape ever so slowly, tattooed in terrifyingly accurate detail, from the mountains and shadows to the halo of light which surrounded it. True, Jax only had a small jar of black ink, an even smaller bottle of white, and a few poker cards’ worth of blue ink he’d managed to salvage. But god damn, was he doing a good job.
After two hours, he stuffed everything back in his bag and pulled out the rather squished piece of bread and cheese, wrapping up the tattoo with quick, efficient hands. His ankle hurt like hell, but in its defense, he had poked it with a needle about three hundred times. It was harder to get down from the tree, as he had to put most of his weight on his left ankle rather than his right, but he managed it somehow. And then pulled out a can of spraypaint and a couple stickers. Yes, his main goal had been to get the tattoo done, but it was night, which meant he had to go around tagging, see if any of his marks had been buffed or crossed out.
After another hour spent doing his rounds, he finally approached his latest unfinished piece. It was so realistic it seemed to be floating off the battered, weathered down walls of the castle. He’d only just managed to get a few strokes in, when he was interrupted yet again, just like the last time he’d been working on this piece. Damn, he just had the best of luck, didn’t he?
14 Sep 2020, 13:08
This May or May Not Be Forbidden
Mentioning: @Jackson LockwoodOOC Note; My sincerest apologies for how long this took. Assignment season is finally coming to an end and I can go back to consistent posting again.Autumn took another look at the possessions her duffel bag contained.
iPod she had pickpocketed off of a stranger when she was 6, right before they were discontinued, and headphones to go with it? Check.
Textbooks? Check.
Notebooks? Check.
Muggle fiction books? Check.
Picnic blanket? Check.
Her wand? Check.
Pens? Check.
Spare parchment? Check.
Chamomile tea leaves and rosemary to chew on for concentration? Check.
Pocketwatch so she did not stay out for far too late? Check.
Wonderful. A single glance at her outfit let her know that that was ready as well; a pair of black leggings, a black tee and a short dark red cape. Her hair was in two small space buns. Just because nobody would see her didn't mean she didn't have to look decent. The dark colours were enough to hide her.
Today, for no specific reason, she wanted to take it one step further; nobody was stopping her, were they? Some black cat-eye eyeliner, smoky silver and purple eyeshadow and blood red lipstick never did hurt anybody.
Now all she had to do was get past her roommates without them noticing, which was easier said than done. However, it was entirely possible; it wasn't like she hadn't done this before. Tiptoeing, she made sure to avoid especially the lighter sleepers. Soon she was in the common room. She exhaled. Now that the hard part was over and done with, all she had to do was get the hell out of here and the night would be hers.
She walked quickly and quietly across the common room and made her way out. All that was left was to cross the kitchens. She could do it with her eyes closed. She got out of there and made her way out. The torches supplied enough light for her to navigate her way out.
Shortly, she found herself in the courtyards. Setting the picnic blanket down, she took out her wand and cast lumos. Setting her wand aside, she brought her textbooks out. First she went through her Herbology homework, then her Transfiguration one. She had thought it was a good idea, doing the lessons she was most neutral about first, then her least favourites and then her favourites. It would go in an order of Herbology, Transfiguration and History of Magic first, since they were her most neutral lessons, Flying and Defense Against the Dark Arts next, since they were her least liked, and Charms, Potions and Astronomy last, since they were her favourites.
Unfortunately, she only got up to Flying before hearing noise. She instinctively grabbed her wand and spun to where the noise had come from, already beginning to mutter "fumos" under her breath.
However, as she walked towards the noise, she did not see anything close to what she had been expecting- what had she been expecting?- but rather found a squished sandwich at the bottom of a tree. Probably an offering. Once again, she listened to the noise, and found it was coming from the top of the tree. Now that she was closer, there was no mistaking it, those sounds were sounds of wincing. Whoever- or whatever- was up there was in a lot of pain, and they were not trying to cover it up.
It then occurred to Autumn that this person was not aware of her presence. She could use that to her advantage. Find out who it was, and then approach. And perhaps don't. One of the best parts of the night was a lack of social interaction. She would see how it went.
So, she walked back to her things, packed everything back into her bag, and waited outside the tree. Soon enough, a young boy crawled down. Autumn followed as he checked some tags, which were almost definitely his. Then, he brought Autumn, unknowingly, to a masterpiece. Sure, Autumn saw some flaws here and there, she always saw flaws, but even she had to admit; it was impressive. It was also unfinished. The boy took out a can and began working on it.
Autumn interrupted.
"It's alright. The piece, I mean. Especially for a first year. Or a stupidly-small second year, but if that were the case, I would have known of you long before. But, come on, you're a living cliche. Let me guess; a theatre gay, probably listens to "Michael in the Bathroom" often, almost definitely cries at G notes, has a Tumblr addiction. With your general look and energy, it's pretty obvious."
“THE WORLD WON'T GIVE YOU ANY GIFTS. IF YOU WANT TO HAVE A LIFE, STEAL IT.”
sixth sense, perfectionist, comprehend languages, terrible presence / sta- 8, eva- 9, str- 7, wis- 7, arc- 10, acc- 10
“LONELINESS WILL SIT OVER OUR ROOFS WITH BROODING WINGS”