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Date Posted: 22:10:56 03/27/02 Wed
Author: Magnolia Fairchild
Subject: At your feet...
In reply to: Lissane Krauss 's message, "Matters of high importance..." on 18:51:25 03/23/02 Sat

Petite femme pauses outside the massive doors to the great room. Was she honestly ready to come here? She would be so far behind the rest of her class. Damn those parents of hers. Takes a large inhalation and straightens hair. What are you doing? Has never cared what others think about her. She had never been entirely normal, a hardcore anticonformist. Palm presses against the ornately detailed mahogony doors and ingresses the immense hall. Dazzled by the whimsical surroundings and studious appearing pupils, she is taken aback, pausing to gape at the scenery laid before her.


Slender vixen stands out, startlingly unique from each and every apprentice present. Dark auburn locks resemble black in the dim entrance. Hair is sheared at a midway point between broad shoulders and chin. Is parted in sloppy manner, though is kept immaculately tangle free. Dark purple streaks run through tresses, looking as if professionally done. Features are slender, yet well proportioned. Pallete is tanned to perfection, violet eyes radiate with splendor from the dark frame of lashes. Lips are flushed, though they are concealed by a uniform layer of, obviously, purple lipstick. A splash of freckles line cheekbones, though they are rare. Black tank top made of spandex like material conceals torso, though not for long. Halts a little below ribcage, revealing lightly muscled stomach. Is large chested for her age, though obviously does not care to flaunt it. Hanging upon hips are a pair of loose cargo pants, though they infringe upon the title of 'hip hugger', for they sink hazardously low. Shoes are not evident. Is rather pretty, not dashingly, but not hideous. Mostly turns off others by her standoff personality and her rather bold terms of exterior presentation.


Feels eyes turn upon her, though not many. Good way to start out...a tiny, insignifigant speck. Perfect. Raises her chin up and steps to an empty table. Unhooks chique messanger bag and adjusts the straps of tank. Slips out a book from her back, a weathered old copy, looking as if picked off the streets...or maybe from some unsuspecting peer on the way over. Slender digits, decorated with...consonant purple decal, brush back a few stray fibers of hair. Opens the book and turns a leathery page softly. Sits with perfect posture, legs lightly tilted and together. Blows softly, strands slowly slipping from their previous resting place behind lobe. Reaches back into pack, pulling out a set of head phones. The initials JS decorate the exterior. Pulls a permanent pen from pocket and scratches them out. Proudly replaces the pair with another, 'MF'. Slips the instrument back into pocket and activiates the diskman. Slips on the phones and slips off into a stupor..lost in her own little world.



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[> [> Comedic relief -- Adrian Smallwood, 13:52:05 03/28/02 Thu

As silence ensues after the revered matriarch of the school pauses to gather the sorting annotations, an impish specimen stands outside the door with a spry grin playing across his suave, tanned face. This would be a intangibly valuable entrance to recite to his memory. He knew the consequence of his mischievous antic would be daunting, but it didn't matter at the particular time. He hadn't felt like getting out of his comfortable bed yet, and therefore, he didn't. He lives by his own accord. However, at this time, it was now or never. The virile figure smoothly eases one of the large doors open that lead into the classically furnished Gatherplace, honey brown oculus sweeping over the crowds and lingering over the finer females. The jaunty male has a swaggering but not overly dramatically so gait, filled with abundant self assurance and nonchalant confidence. The socially ept, delectable swain seats himself directly in front of the dominatrix of the school, tilting his chin up arrogantly to her in a gesture of greeting. A slow, simpering grin, trademark of his gambol, appears upon his full, peach shaded lips. Clearly a peeve for any respected adult, he regards her by her first name, a definite "no-no" that he's gotten away with time and time again. "'sup, Lissane?" His ridiculously relaxed, slouching posture, and goofy, irresistible smile earns him a few giggles that he relishes in. This position and grinning lips have proven to his advantage in scenarios such as this since his first year at this academy, and the Headmistress has always had a bit of a tough time not returning his playfully risky facial expressions and smiles. He quirks a finely tuned, russet brow follows suit by making a few cleverly unconventional comical countenances.

An aging, crusty and cynicial individual, known as Owen Caudwell, sitting solemnly at the staff table, grimaces noticably at his kin's absurd capers. He held himself personally responsible for the larkish boy's disregard for discipline. Truth be told, it is partially his fault for his grandson's ill conformity to rules and regulations. Speaking of, the charismatic maverick is now steadily contemplating his legal guardian with unpredictable words forming on the tip of his tongue. "What, gramps?" The elder gives an admonishing look to the uncontrollable boy, opting not to make a scene in front of the new students. He is highly miffed that the teen has the audacity to give the impression of the school being so unstern and unorganized by his reckless shenanigans. The prankster adolescent brings a hand behind his umber haired head and seems to be fidgeting with one of his stylishly short, dark brown spikes. Much to the delight of his housemates who snicker into the hands, it can be revealed by standing behind the devilish youth that he's promptly flicked off his grandfather. The amusement of those of the house Riskangt raises some suspicion but it is ultimately dismissed. The bronze skinned gamin, healthily colored in that specified way from days beneath the sun's merciful warmth, has set out to and has made the exact first impression he wanted.


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[> [> [> Incinerate -- Kern Adouv, 14:18:53 03/28/02 Thu

Slender femme shook slightly as labrums were pressed in a thin line to keep a soft laugh from forming. Dark gaze twinkled for a moment before in the mere blink of an eye the laughing shimmer had disappeared. Appendages were crossed over belly as she leaned back in her chair, hoping to calm to tightness in her muscles from concealing the mirth.


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[> [> [> [> Life is stupid... -- Magnolia Fairchild, 19:25:19 03/28/02 Thu

Detecting a ripple of bemusement throughout the small crowd, violet optics tilt up from her piece of literature. Watches the happenings with expressionless features. Palette slowly swaggers back and forth in disapproval. Obviously the youth didn't fully appreciate the honor it was to attend the acadamy like she did. Exasperated exhalation is evident as crystalline plums gyrate within sockets. Makes a point of turning up the volume on headphones drastically. Was never one to change things with her words, but with actions. As a number of pupils turn to glare at her suggestively, she motions to the cause of this elevation, Adrian. Allows them to deal with the problem themselves. Slender digits brush back a few stray locks before she returns to her literary stupor.


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[> [> [> [> sometimes it feels like i'm dreaming when i'm really awake.. -- ginny weasley, 19:42:41 03/28/02 Thu

Hazel eyes devoid of emotion scrutinize the gathered congregation in a contemplating hush, no 'illustration' flitting across her ashen facade. A placid sigh makes it way through burgundy tinged lips as she turns to consider her own classmates, not able to encourage her lips to alter into a smile no matter how hard she tries. They just wouldn't unmold themselves from the gloomy frown that they seemed to be casted into. Such unhappiness and morose judgment of the youth is a bizarre change from her once happy-go-lucky outlook and it almost upsets her. As she has so many times before in Hogwarts, the girl's attention drifts away from any formalities and into the past. The past, when everybody was packed with blameless glee, so untroubled about the future. What came in the future was the death of one of their own, the massacre of so many people that it made the adolescent girl's belly rock to one side and then the other, generating queasiness. But most of all, it originated her hurt. Pain so immense that she wasn't sure what it felt like not to feel the steady throbbing and listen to the eternal howls of her devastated heart. Her emotions, already so disordered because of the altering in her treasonous body, even more so guide her to determine that she possesses no reason, no place in life. It was like she was blissful one moment and ready to detonate the next…that is, until the unrestrained grief. Mentally, she has begun to name this time of mourning and sadness as 'the dark days', days when she could see no luminosity even when she stared unswervingly at the sun, days when she felt that she had achieved little or nothing when day descended into the night. When the mumbling of the students expanded and an animated other entered the ritual belatedly, she forces herself to abandon her 'asylum' of anguish, her eyes, once not really seeing what she gazed upon, now perch upon the outline of a dark brown tressed male that brings back callous recollections of Fred and George in the past. Tears sting pitilessly at the back of her eyeballs and she lowers her eyes as though she feels a current of panic, but it is actually to prevent others from perceiving the suddenly aching impression all around her. Self-discipline rapidly takes over, chasing away the pain temporarily so she may get an improved look at the masculine and how the rest of humanity responds. At any other circumstance, the female would have unquestionably laughed in shameless delight and approached him if only to learn his name, but everything is different when the sun declines to sparkle.


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[> [> [> ^Take A Thief^ -- Griffon Todd, 21:23:16 03/28/02 Thu

^Pale verdigris iris track the entrance of Adrian, a small smile forming on lips as the show is performed. As the performance concludes, his gaze turns to the despondent Hogwarts bunch, obviously the worse for wear^

Looks like something the cat dragged in.

^As the now dark green orbs flit from gaunt face to gaunt face, slender frame tips the chair in which the youth resides back, boots casually reasting on the table. Never a believer in rules, it was obvious that he conformed to no one's ideals. Long chestnut hair was pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck and a griffen's claw dangled from his right earlobe, a play upon the young man's name. An oak wand was twirled lazily around in elongated digits as his gaze was once again shifted to the troublemaker, though no worse, perhaps, than himself^

"Mutare pink"

^With slow, but sure certainty, the hair of the comedian begins to turn a neon pink, courtesy of the thief. A small smirk finds it's way to the reclining male's face and almost electric jade eyes stare unfaltering into those of Adrian Smallwood^


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[> [> [> [> A touch of life... -- Magnolia Fairchild, 22:01:27 03/28/02 Thu

As the newcomer ingresses, vixen slips one of the headphones from lobe. He had a look to him...not like the first. Manifestation flickers through conciousness. This could get interesting... Watches the wand flicker through the air. A flash of envy sends a flair of emerald through orbs before it vanishes quickly. Just be glad you're here... Violet oculi follow the motions of each. Sees the rose hues slowly work their way into the tresses of the previous comedic and a flicker of mirth flashes through femme. A coy smirk slowly tugs at the edge of plum painted lips. It quickly disappears as she concentrates at the incantation. Swiftly bends, reaching into pack. Pulls out a notebook and plain ballpoint pen. Flips to a page and scrawls phonetically in flower handwriting the incantation spoken. Has no wand or books or experience to learn from, so might as well take notes. Flips the page, finding the masculine, Griffon, quite a character. Pen moves in graceful strokes up and down the lined page. Product is a rough sketch in ink of the masculine. Is quite good, though one wouldn't guess. A passerby attempts to view the image and the notebook is swiftly slammed shut, concealing the contents from the prying eyes. Acid glare is shot at the peer and shoves the book into bag. Sighs, reapplying ear phones, and engulfing herself in the book.


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[> [> [> [> [> All in good humor -- Adrian Smallwood, 07:50:29 03/29/02 Fri

The corybantic youth's amber optics roam over those whose eyes he feels upon him in a leisurely way, delighting in the attention he receives. He had eternally been of rather needy type, perhaps since he had been deprived of the simple affection that a functional family unit offers boundlessly. He craved the spotlight and even the embaressment that sometimes came along with it, because he always managed to twist any humiliation around with good natured humor. His sepia eyes flit elusively over his peers, catching an auburn tressed gamine's gaze (Ginny) from overseas and contemplating her silently for a few moments and noting her pulchritude. All of the gaunt students from their mother country seemed cadavarous and almost deflating to view. The impish stripling's copper oculars soon abandon the British congregation with mild reluctance, and instead flicker towards the darkly clad female (Magnolia) with disappointment that she chose not to realize that most of his shenanigans are a facade to protect him from pain. He deduces that one who judges another so quickly upon the airs they perform needs not his recognition, therefore he disregards the biased premadona. His trivial peer befalls a slender, rationally unstable character, who usually resides in the shadows: Kern. Pleased to no end that he has nearly summoned a voicement of amusement from her, he offers a gamboling grin to her in a rare act of philanthropy on his part.

He espies his longtime accomplice in criminal activities, Griffin, as his quizzical peer roams. Familiar with every incantation that involved mischief, he was indignantly aware of the metamorphosis his carefully styled coiffure is enduring. Highly miffed but not willing it to educe in front of the entire school assembly, his silky, suave nature eased into play in unhurried languor. If he will have pink hair, so will his companion. A mahogany wand, an aid to his tomfoolery, is haughtily withdrawn from his baggy jeans' pocket. Reflecting the wiry confidant's intricate twirlings, as if with a baton, around his fingers, the lissom, resilient male of allecting demeanor and semblance leans backward and pronounces the same spell the thief did behind him. The same gradual turning from his natural hair color to pink transpires, and during the process, the now brightly apexed boy spectates with blatant amusal playing on his attractive, rugged appealing visage. "I'm prettier in pink than you, Griffin." He chimes this statement in a chipper way, a satisfied smirk spreading over his allecting, tanned face. "Now we're even."


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[> [> [> [> [> [> Slivered Mirth -- Kern Adouv, 08:08:01 03/29/02 Fri

Lips were bit to further halt any audible sign of mirth. Digits tapped the opposing arm in an attempt to look bored. At the transformation from the forest hues to neon pink, slight appendage was raised to cover mouth. Bitten lips curled slightly but were smoothered easily as hand dropped back to lay over her torso. Dark eyes roamed from the mascul', Adrian, to the opposer, Griffon. Gaze reverted itself as to help with the fight of containing amusement, falling upon the form of Owen Caudwell. Amusement would only be fed by the annoyance evident on the old man's face, and so line of vision was dropped to that of somewhere between floor and table across from her.


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[> [> [> [> [> [> Crushed... -- Magnolia Fairchild, 08:14:21 03/29/02 Fri

Catches the acid look of the opposing comedic. Knows all too well the glance he shares, has seen it once too often. Though a pang of pity shoots through figure, she feels a childish need to fire back. Retorts smoothly and calmly, nonchalant. Lilac lips move rythmically as the liquid voice seeps from the cavity. Is so softspoken that the surrounding pupils seem to lean in to hear the words the ooze from female.

'Ouch, that hurt. I'm so not going to the prom with you...'

Delighted with the snickers that follow from those who heard her, she slips her headphones back on. Her work here is done. Knows inevitably a retort is coming, but in order to do so, he would have to become her savior from her inexorable stupor..and thus make a scene. This should be rich.



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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> Postponed Thoughts.. -- Cho Chang, 10:11:38 03/29/02 Fri

Olive skin-toned features transform from determined to hardened and emotionless. Her angry thoughts of these pathetic so-called young "men" and "women", that were acting as immature as possible, postponing and curling up into mere wisps in the back of her mind.. Silky, black strands plummeting past her feminine-shaped shoulders as asian youth's hard gaze slithers to the headmistress.

Because of her school robe, it is quite hard to tell what she looks like underneath, but by the looks of her face, she was most likely slender, not thin, but curved in all the right places and normally shaped. Slender digits pushing a few stray strands away from her asian-descended, dark eyes.


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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> back to reality... -- sean terris, 11:23:19 03/29/02 Fri

Eyes of contemplating personality whisk around the Gatherplace in an engrossed routine, glee palpable upon facial appearance of the indisputably gorgeous he at the scene of Adrian and Griffin’s pink hair…ah, don’t they look beautiful? Not aiming to disguise the hilarity of this circumstance he tolerates a chuckle to escape, his dark tones luminous with pleasure at the duo’s tricks. Of course, the dismal make up of the Hogwarts ‘clan’ is once more observed, frown now marring the expression of the masculine. How dreadfully miserable they appeared, and some seemed disgruntled with the troublemakers’ ways of diversion. Continuously changing countenance now takes on that of a mystified conclusion, inquiring the somnolent looking voyagers with his eyes for several moments before once more returning his eyes to that of his recognizable companions, skull leaning a fragment to one side. Redundant shrug is provided and he returns to scrutinizing Adrian and Griffin, his eyes alert for revenge from any side.


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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Completely incomplete -- Harry Potter, 11:34:55 03/29/02 Fri

Something's missing. Someone, rather. The devestation it causes when all the comforting lies one tells themself all fall apart in a display of epic misfortune, the sheer overwhelming inward anguish of loss, has corroded the angsty male's logic to the point of irrationality. The lies hurt more than the truth. The lethargic loner's deaden emerald orbs have failed to retain their brilliant luster upon this ethereal eve of unspeakable pain. A churning feeling in the pits of his disheveledstomach tell of an unpleasant night to follow this wretched ceremony, one with sickness and with tasteless tears. Nothing had taste anymore to him. Someone did have taste. One he craved. Needed, even. But they were gone. Life didn't have a purpose without the one that he had stared at, enamored like a toddler with a rare and precious trinket. Life didn't mean anything without the cherished constant. It just did not matter anymore. Without her, half of him was irreplacably missing. The dovetail that formed the Boy Who Lived was feckless without its other half. Language failed to describe his ineffable sense of despondent ruin. He begins just barely tremoring, abruptly feeling oddly cold when the room is of such a moderate temperature. He distinctly resembled a dog struck too many times.

A mere ghost of what he once was, the disconcerted vagabond wanders aimlessly behind Ron, not seeming to notice anything around him; seeing, but not comprehending. He gawks about with peridot flecked, jade eyes, appearing as lost and confused as he must have the ill fated, sable vested night of his parents' preventable demise. Unconsciously stumbling at sporadic intervals as he treads along, he eventually tumbles, lacking gracile movement, into the crimson crowned confidant in front of him. The velocity in which he collides into the red head is far from enough to result in a catastrophic domino effect or fall - perchance a stagger, but not a fall. However, if only as an excuse, it's enough for the tousel, onyx tressed, wiry and fatigued figure to collapse and land in an animalistic position on his hands and knees. A countenance of veritable, nonplussed bewilderment expresses itself upon his troubled visage. The dark lime colored, orphic and unspeakably empty eyes of the devoid boy seep close and everything, from his aspect, suddenly seems to be in slow motion. He is vacant. There is nothing left. He shudders in abject distress and indignation, slowly clambering to his feet. A thin layer of frigid perspiration very lightly and practically unnoticably lathers his cadaverously blanched skin, and he emits a barely audible whimper as he continues to walk without purpose behind Ron. He felt eerily clamy and reliant on someone who wasn't there. The woe that had betided him bruised him and made him ache like no other pain he'd ever felt before.


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[> [> [> ^A Little Laughter Goes A Long Way^ -- Griffon Todd, 16:21:20 03/29/02 Fri

^For an answer to his fellow prankster, a crooked grin appears upon the male's finely chiseled features. Neon green eyes clash horribly with the pink ponytail and he knows it, but doesn't particularly care. Almost lazily, the thief aims his wand once more and lazily drawls the incantation. The spell however, affects not Adrian, but the Headmistress^

^Having caught the glance his partner in crime had given to the comely redhead from Hogwarts, a smirk now appeared upon his face. He had a feeling that these English kids were a bit prude, or at least more uptight about things such as what Adrian had planned for the redhead. It would probably be good for the kid to have to work at it for once - the jokester always got everything (or rather, everyone) too easily with that face of his^

^Scanning again the English, the youth notes now what he hadn't before. The drawn, tired faces, the stumbles here and there, and worst of all, the eyes devoid of emotion. A crimson haired male and a boy with glasses caught his attention. When the dark haired boy went to his knees, something akin to empathy flared in the streetrat and the smirk fled from his lips. Searching his memory, he found a spell that might bolster physical strength, though not emotional of the green eyed male^

"Donavis"


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[> [> [> [> it's the distance that keeps me safe.. -- ginny weasley, 01:34:24 03/30/02 Sat

Eyes instantly flee from the notice of the male dubbed Adrian, mental harassment taking place for tolerating her concentration to lurk on another for so long…yet he and the other had transported such recollections of an earlier period she was endeavoring to memorize. Contemptuous wobble of her skull is provided and her depths of despair once more inspect her familiars, stealing back into the gathering of Hogwartians to evade any additional detection, but Harry’s descent is revealed and a spasm of abrupt culpability is experienced in her heart, but for what explanation is unidentified even to her. Self-will is severely employed to keep her from hastening to his support, conscious that he would scarcely be grateful for such an annoyance. Arms intersect over elevated chest in an effort to defend herself from fiends that survive solely in her mentality, her interest once more exercised upon the floorboards as though disgrace assaults her existing mental condition.


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