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Date Posted: 07:50:29 03/29/02 Fri
Author: Adrian Smallwood
Subject: All in good humor
In reply to: Magnolia Fairchild 's message, "A touch of life..." on 22:01:27 03/28/02 Thu

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 A mahogany wand, an aid to his tomfoolery, is haughtily withdrawn from his baggy jeans' pocket.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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Replies:

[> [> [> [> [> [> 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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