Logic, Legibility, & Striking Lack Thereof PV Orla Finch

Outfit

Reducio

Mentioning: @Orla Finch | Dialogue Hex: #143314

October 16, 2021

Ambitious. Frustrated. Having a constant expression of astonishing emotional constipation and in dire need of the planet Earth’s total stock of caffeine. Neatly summing up the human creature in few choice words with much meaning behind each was not without evident difficulties, but Leonard Wendell Oaksworth was a creature neither human nor neat, despite having spent his thirteen years of life in the selfish pursuit of the latter and somewhat attempting to masquerade as the former. Indeed, all the nurses and obstetricians and doulas and deliverers and the singular dust mite that survived the latest decontamination massacre must have shared his acute condition of insomnia since, knowing they were present for the birth of a monstrosity and didn’t put a stop to it like time travelers witnessing war after inevitable war take place in a thoughtless summer blockbuster starring twenty different Chrises. Further evaluation proved the insect may have appreciated the company of another subterranean animal that would survive the apocalypse only through sheer ignorance of anything but itself and the ability to consume rubbish with little to no complaint. They were nearly the same size, as well, though that had changed by about four inches since conception. It would have been five if he hadn’t watched that film about Notre Dame so much in his childhood. There was also a slight chance he would’ve had a lesser taste for the macabre had he not learned to recognise “Hellfire” from the first note, so it was closer to an equal trade than most things were.

Leonard was many things on the side of pretentious British cynicism and the lower end of the height scale, but perhaps most prominently was he a chronic overthinker. It was a peculiar combination of traits, one that often clashed and appeared to be a quilt haphazardly sewn together by three blind mice who gathered all types of material from the nearest dumpster, that were stitched and seamed together into the a patchy mess that happened to sometimes be less of a mess: impatient, yet diligent; immature, yet formal; incredibly emotional, yet easily replaced with a silent piece of cardboard reading ‘Oh No’ in Times New Roman. Nay, Garamond would be a more appropriate choice. In another world, were the universe to have the slightest idea of balance, he would be but a simple boy from a bakery who liked to read and disliked anything that got in the way of reading. In this world, he was beginning to feel as though his brain was being baked and boiled alive as he took down notes about…whatever the purpose of this impromptu study session had been. There were vague recollections of a lecture wherein their professor warned them of a test, but in the minutes and millenia that had ticked and tocked by he had neglected to remember any particulars such as what the test was about, which professor told them about the test, how he had not succumbed to the dementor of studying and become a soulless husk without a cause. He had brought his bearded dragon, the scion of Diagon Alley’s Magical Menagerie and the light of his life (barring a certain Gryffindor and biscuits from that title were the overwhelming sweetness of boh) Merlin Ddraig-Oaksworth, but he was beginning to experience symptoms of acute amnesia as to whether or not the royal reptile was helping at all. He supposed just a smidgen of it was his fault, for allowing the reptile to act so royal in the first place.

“Merlin.” Merlin yet persisted in the grandiose goal that was soaking up all of the snake’s ink. His gritted teeth were but a signal to go on to this utterly insolent child.

“Merlin.” Merlin yet persisted, the hissing of the syllables apparently giving the beardie the impression of a request to continue rather than save its owner from demise via pure annoyance. The audacity was unbearable, almost unthinkable.

“Merlin Normandy Leonardius Rosconai Owain Ddraig-Oaksworth.” Finally, whatever polysyllabic mess he’d hastily called the little dragon’s full name earned him some respect. The wooden beams and concrete walls of the Ddraig-Oaksworth household were resting on the brittle bones of his shoulder, and between providing for the family and his esoteric education. Truly, the struggles of a student single father were a numeral far too high and growing exponentially by the second. He could only imagine how laborious the work would become once hormones hit. “It would be splendid, incredible, even, if you could cease your attempts to take a luxurious bath in my inkwell.”

The critter’s eyes swiftly sped from its owner to the parchment. Owner to the parchment. Owner to the parchment once more before deciding to peer through esoteric sensibilities and stopping itself from showering in his writing materials. He sighed, letting all the knots in his pallid form loosen a bit in a scarce moment of respite.

“Thank y–” Cut off by the swish of a tail and a flick of pigment onto his jottings, the action promptly sent him into the most muted fit of rage a Slytherin ever experienced.

He stifled a groan in the dusty pages of the Transfiguration textbook picked up along the exhausted way. Leonard hadn’t known what to expect when adopting the scampish specimen, but it was far too late in their relationship to deny that some level of attachment, even affection, had grown between the two, which only. A vine adorned with thorns, equipped with poison, and in possession of an irresistible aroma that promised one sign of fondness per century, such was the plantlife strangling him and one of the many causes of the tense throbbing in his skull. No matter, if he could manage all the examinations before, he could manage this one. He had to, with OWLs approaching faster than he wished.

The boy kept his focus on the pages in front of him, letting everything else blur into the hushed, studious background. The streak of black had only reached the absolute balderdash that were his most recent notes, luckily. He only hoped there weren’t any spelling errors in the scribbled apocalypse.