5 Dec 2020, 06:10
Raven in the Hall
@Damion White
Ravenclaws were known for their smarts. The term “Bogie Stalling”, as Jackson had coined it, was first employed by Mars T’ien in his bracket during the duelling tournament of 2020. However, it’s most spectacular use was in the subsequent duel by his fellow Ravenclaw Damion White, who held his own against two physically powerful Gryffindor opponents, narrowly losing to a streak of poor evasive luck.
In spite of his defeat, the ingenuity of the Ravenclaw student drew the fascination of one young aspiring duelist, far more than his victorious opponents had. Luck was the stroke of fate’s brush upon the canvas of destiny. But innovation was the act of seizing that brush to chart one’s own course in life. Jackson admired that.
One day, as the Ravenclaw was resting in the Small Hall with his silver Siberian cat, the young Gryffindor approached him clutching a small black rose between his fingers. The beauty of the rose wasn’t in that it was black, but in that it’s petals were still a part of its bud, whereas many of its siblings lay fallen around their feet such that as Damion and Jackson had entered through the courtyard that morning, their shoes crumpled the damp puzzle of their mat.
“He’s cute,” Jackson said, twirling the rose in hand, other hand in pocket. He squatted down next to the Ravenclaw, waving the rose slowly in front of the cat’s nose. “Can I pet him?”
Ravenclaws were known for their smarts. The term “Bogie Stalling”, as Jackson had coined it, was first employed by Mars T’ien in his bracket during the duelling tournament of 2020. However, it’s most spectacular use was in the subsequent duel by his fellow Ravenclaw Damion White, who held his own against two physically powerful Gryffindor opponents, narrowly losing to a streak of poor evasive luck.
In spite of his defeat, the ingenuity of the Ravenclaw student drew the fascination of one young aspiring duelist, far more than his victorious opponents had. Luck was the stroke of fate’s brush upon the canvas of destiny. But innovation was the act of seizing that brush to chart one’s own course in life. Jackson admired that.
One day, as the Ravenclaw was resting in the Small Hall with his silver Siberian cat, the young Gryffindor approached him clutching a small black rose between his fingers. The beauty of the rose wasn’t in that it was black, but in that it’s petals were still a part of its bud, whereas many of its siblings lay fallen around their feet such that as Damion and Jackson had entered through the courtyard that morning, their shoes crumpled the damp puzzle of their mat.
“He’s cute,” Jackson said, twirling the rose in hand, other hand in pocket. He squatted down next to the Ravenclaw, waving the rose slowly in front of the cat’s nose. “Can I pet him?”
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