I'll Take That Broom, Thank You!
Note: I am pinging Ruckus, but I am not intending on (but totally can!) doing a thread. This is meant to be a mini solo, but like I said it can be a thread, just doesn't have to be.
"Ruhckus?" Vlad mumbled as he walked around outside looking for wherever that bloody flying class was. It was funny, at least to him, that when he attended Koldovstoretz, he was in the duelling group, which meant that he did not actually get put into the group that flew around and had a flying class.
However, he was quite fast at picking it up when he was at Koldov, just shortly before he transferred to Hogwarts due to his dad getting a job as that guy that picks up trash off the street, a garbageman.
He felt like he knew everything there was to know about Flying, it wasn't that hard for him to do the obvious and dress appropriately, take care of his broom, and take off the right way, and to follow safety rules. It was pretty much.. common sense. So, why he was out here looking for some man or woman named Ruhckus Wheems, he didn't really know confidently.
He had doubts. Of course he would. "Wheems! Waems! WINGS! WHERE ARE YOU?!" He called out into the dark night. It was near midnight, the sky pitch black enshrouded with heavy storm clouds moving in, and he was walking around calling for a person almost as if he lost a dog or something. Or maybe like a lost toddler looking for his mom.
Answering his call, almost instantly after he hollered out, a gust of wind blew in, and heavy droplets of rain sputtered from the sky, slowly, yet quickly, achieving a natural rainfall as Vlad found himself starting to become drenched.
Vlad took a last look around and turned every which way to try and ensure that there were no one around, and he thought there was no one with his ever so elegant checking. He made his way towards where the school brooms were stored and plucked one out. He couldn't tell if the broom was a school broom, or if it was another broom, but he was still taking it anyways. No one would miss it, surely.
He was ready to start riding it, at least to go see his father, but first..
@Ruckus Weems
(Your order costs 10 less sickles)
"Ruhckus?" Vlad mumbled as he walked around outside looking for wherever that bloody flying class was. It was funny, at least to him, that when he attended Koldovstoretz, he was in the duelling group, which meant that he did not actually get put into the group that flew around and had a flying class.
However, he was quite fast at picking it up when he was at Koldov, just shortly before he transferred to Hogwarts due to his dad getting a job as that guy that picks up trash off the street, a garbageman.
He felt like he knew everything there was to know about Flying, it wasn't that hard for him to do the obvious and dress appropriately, take care of his broom, and take off the right way, and to follow safety rules. It was pretty much.. common sense. So, why he was out here looking for some man or woman named Ruhckus Wheems, he didn't really know confidently.
He had doubts. Of course he would. "Wheems! Waems! WINGS! WHERE ARE YOU?!" He called out into the dark night. It was near midnight, the sky pitch black enshrouded with heavy storm clouds moving in, and he was walking around calling for a person almost as if he lost a dog or something. Or maybe like a lost toddler looking for his mom.
Answering his call, almost instantly after he hollered out, a gust of wind blew in, and heavy droplets of rain sputtered from the sky, slowly, yet quickly, achieving a natural rainfall as Vlad found himself starting to become drenched.
Vlad took a last look around and turned every which way to try and ensure that there were no one around, and he thought there was no one with his ever so elegant checking. He made his way towards where the school brooms were stored and plucked one out. He couldn't tell if the broom was a school broom, or if it was another broom, but he was still taking it anyways. No one would miss it, surely.
He was ready to start riding it, at least to go see his father, but first..
@Ruckus Weems
TenEggsTenMindsTenBaskets(Your order costs 10 less sickles)
In my mind and in my car, we can't rewind, we've gone too far. (Video Killed The Radio Star - The Buggles)
Clark
I'll Take That Broom, Thank You!
catching up to: @Vladislav Liam Gunther
Ruckus Weems followed a strict routine. His years of sailing had beaten the concept into him, and it helped him maintain his professorial duties here at Hogwarts. He got up at dawn, went for a run around the lake (a spell here or there on his shoes allowed him to do this even the in winter), checked on the brooms near the flying grounds, ate a measly breakfast in his office with a good book, and prepared his lessons for the day. This meant he went to bed early—sometimes even forgoing that evening’s feast if socializing seemed like too much trouble.
And yet, there were nights like these. A storm on the horizon. Heavy winds howling and vigorously hitting the castle walls. Ruckus couldn’t sleep. Memories stemming from that night were flashing across his eyelids every time he closed them. This happened every so often—the frequency had decreased over the years. It went from nightly to weekly to whatever it was now. Not enough to fully disrupt his work or his lifestyle. But enough to send him out in the cold Scottish night for a long walk. Why did he never get nightmares when the weather was warm and pleasant?
But the darkness here on the grounds did not scare him. Ruckus was prepared to deal with any ghoul or grim thing that might be stalking him from the forest. A student would be worse, to see him in shambles like this, but the weather and the late hour would be surely be a deterrent—“WINGS! WHERE ARE YOU?!"
Fuckin’ hell. What was that? Of course the sound was coming from his broom shed. Wouldn’t it have been nicer if he was fast asleep in his bed, and the culprit shouting his lungs out in the middle of night could have just gotten away with it? If only.
Ruckus started jogging—nay, sprinting—to the shed. When he arrived, he could just make out a figure in the sky. Someone had stolen a broom. The flying professor had left his own Oakshaft in the closet from the previous day’s lesson, but when he went to grab it, it was gone from its home.
“Oy! That’s me broom! Come back here, ya lil’ twat!”
Partly spurred from being exhausted and partly spurred from the love his dearest broom, Ruckus felt uncharacteristically enraged. He grabbed the first school broom in the shed he could reach and shot up after the thief.
“This is the dialectic—there is a very short distance between high art and trash, and trash that contains an element of craziness is by this very quality nearer to art.” - Douglas Sirk
also Della Barfield | Quentin Gagné