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Post by Jonas Predgrad on Dec 10, 2007 23:59:53 GMT -5
OPEN Jonas was seated at the end of the corridor, staring at the book in his hands with a cigarrett hanging from his mouth. He was the head of Gryphon dorm, as such it was his job to watch the halls, at least for the first part of the night. Although he was supposed to sit in a different place every night, so that people wouldn't know where to expect him, he sat in his usual spot with his usual grimace. He wasn't fond of sitting around and doing nothing when he could be out doing something, terrorizing someone, or even getting something to eat. It was past curfew, so no one was out, and he was more then a little annoyed with the general public. He'd been feeling, off, the past few days, this and that making everything seem infinitely more aggravating then it should have been. He was head of dorm, he could do what he wanted, so why had he been told by so many lately what he should do? No he wasn't sick. No he didn't need sleep. No he didn't need someone with which to sleep. No, he wasn't PMSing. He had made sure that boy wound up in hospital. No, he wasn't just angry with the world. So why did he want to hit every thing he could hear moving around him? The statues and armors that tended to shift at night while he was watching the dorms made him want to throw his book at them and no matter how he tried to ignore them they still distracted him. He pitied the poor first year student that had wondered out of the dorm looking for the bathrooms that were only just down the hall. It was no secret Jonas often blew up on students that left the dorm, even accidentally, and this boy had done nothing wrong. Punishments here were harsh however, and many chose Jonas over a visit to the headmaster. Something in his gut had decided the defenseless little pre-teen was his best target. The boy had ended up crying by the time Jonas had yelled at him, flipped him upside down, and sent him skidding back to the doorway only to scramble back inside. Of course, he wasn't proud of himself, but he couldn't stand people tonight, not any of them. He closed his book as one of the gargoyles nearby shifted and he sent the paperback sailing in it's direction. There was a satisfying thud as the book collided with the creature, only to be tossed back at his feet with a hiss. The thing wasn't happy but neither was he. Why should he give it any kind of preferential treatment? He lifted the book and slipped his hand in his pocket as he heard someone approaching, turning the wand tip toward the person. |
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Post by Sofiya Mihailova on Dec 12, 2007 4:01:50 GMT -5
Sofiya despised the concept of student sentries.
The sellouts--the poster children for superiority complexes. Blah!
Her head turned as a boy—a great deal younger than she—came flying through the portal door, tears staining his round, childish face. He probably shouldn’t have been crying. Turning around, her blue-eyed gaze found the eyes of several other young men seated in the Common Quarters. While shooting each other condescending, little knowing glances from the corner of their eyes, they smiled politely—civilly, and simply shrugged.
But even Sofiya knew that nothing was ever handled nonchalantly in Durmstrang. Yes, that little boy definitely shouldn’t have cried. Life was going to become much more unbearable for him.
“Excuse me,” Closing her textbook, she leaned forward. Raising her hand in a slight, hey-look-at-me-when-I’m–talking-to-you sort of wave, she caught the attention of one of the sblack personing underclassmen.
Turning towards her, he blinked in an incredulous, comically bewildered manner, and indicated towards himself with an uncertain hand. “Me?”
Damn—she had forgotten about hierarchy.
“No, the chair you’re sitting in. Of course I’m talking to you, you prat.” She snapped, her tone adopting a clipped and icy demeanor. Image, image, image—it was a bad idea, forgetting herself like that.
Having heard the courteous tone vanish, the boy visibly relaxed. The blip in the age-old system had been smooth over and stability and rule once again had been restored.
“Yes?”
“What time is it?”
“A little past ten—I think.”
“Excellent.”
Rising from her seated position, she threw her books upon one of the deserted tables and tucked her hands into the pockets of her horribly boring and uniformed slacks. Walking towards the closed portal, she turned. Glancing up the winding stairs that led to the boy’s dormitories, she swore that she could see a hopeful, little face peeking from around the corner. Winking, she turned and kicked open the portal. Whistling some tuneless melody, she ambled out into the open air of the empty halls.
Sofiya despised the concept of student sentries.
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Post by Jonas Predgrad on Dec 12, 2007 17:38:29 GMT -5
He turned to find a girl from the quidditch team, what was her name?, whisting and wondering toward him. He was still angry, yes that poor, very stupid kid was not enough for him to decide he was done being aggrivated with the world just yet. But this was a girl, and of course, a team mate even if he didn't remember exactly who she was. Even when he got angry he had standards, lax though they were. But there she was whistling like she was just out for a strole, like this was any other time of day and he wasn't glaring at her, hoping a little her hair would catch fire just for being so smug.
His wand dropped but he glared at her as she blatently left the commonroom and started toward him. "Ty, back to the common room. No students out past curfew." He didn't yell, but made sure she could hear him. After all, Jonas rarely had to yell to get anything across to anyone.
He began flipping back through the pages of his book again, looking for the spot he had left off. In two and a half years of being swindled into doing this night after night no one had ever refused him. Except maybe for that one boy, who he'd quickly knocked into the next semester, btu that was another story. He had been particularly angry that night, he'd managed to lose a game of one-on-one quidditch with Anjelika and he was never in good sorts when he lost to Anjelika. Come to think of it, had he lost anything to her recently that would have him this angry? No, they hadn't played sports in ages... When he'd found his page again he turned to see if she was in the commonroom yet, fully expecting ehr to be walking away.
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Post by Sofiya Mihailova on Dec 12, 2007 18:06:32 GMT -5
The whistling stopped as her the soles of her shoes connected with surface of the corridor floors. Ending her little nothing-tune on a high and wavering note, the melody was seemingly cut off—suspended. Forgetting the tune as quickly as she had created it, the sounds died in the air, dissipating into nothing.
“Back to the common room—no students out past curfew.”
Straight and to the point, his passive words cut through the silence.
The voice was slightly familiar—and while she had initially decided to completely blow the machoistic pig off—the familiarity made her head turn. She knew him—sort of. More intelligent than amiable, most Gryphons didn’t go out of their way to meet their housemates or form friendships. She was no exception.
A sudden spark of realization illuminated her fuzzy displacement. It was Predgrad—captain of her Quidditch team. What was his first name---it sounded something like Jonni or Jonas—but she wasn’t sure. Hell, for all she knew, it could’ve been Frank.
Jonas Predgrad was a decent Quidditch player and an excellent captain. In the air and on the field, her respect was apparent, and the younger girl knew her place. Off a broom, however, things were viewed in an entirely different spectrum.
“I resent that, you know,” she replied. “No screaming or yelling—no curses or threats.”
She had not given him a refusal—she had not told him where he could take his curfew, or where he could stick it. But she hadn’t done as he had commanded, either.
Blue eyes narrowed, she rotated her shoulders and turned her body a full one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. Chin jutting out stubbornly, she crossed her arms across her chest.
“For someone who likes to crush the psyche of those younger than himself—you’re sounding pretty passive. Why is that? Is it because I am a girl---or because I can throw a ball through a hoop? Either way, I think its a weak excuse.”
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Post by Jonas Predgrad on Dec 12, 2007 19:31:04 GMT -5
He just stared as she stood there. Was she deaf or dumb? It had better be one or the other because if not, well he was sure he could get a girl to cry too. He never yeled or threatened at teh first warning, after all, everyone got one chance to turn themselves around and get out of his sight. She wasn't moving. He set the book down on the seat-like protrusian from the wall and took a steadying breath. He didn't like screaming at people, it usually led to someone telling him he needed to rethink the way he handeled the students. "Everyone has one warning, I'll give you a second because you're on the team." He looked straight at her. "Now get back to the common room."
Rather then doing it however she turned and began mumbling about his excuses. He glared at her, his eyes staring dangerously back at her as she complained about not being attacked. That's it then, she was just stupid. He was out of his seat and standing next to her in an instant, moving just as quickly as he always did. He grabbed her upper arm and quite litterally lifted her up until her foot on that side was just reaching the floor.
Tonight was not the night to do this, but if she wanted to try and pull rank or some other stupd idea that was fine. He was a boy, he was older, he had blood on his side, and he was the head of dorm. If she wanted to try and act superior then fine, she'd pay for it. Of course, he wasn't about to hurt her, too badly, after all she wasn't a half bad chaser. "Then I'll give you a choice, you walk in the common room on your own or you're put back in it." He squeezed her arm a little harder then was needed. Around here until you actually slapped a girl no one batted an eyelash, of course that was the way it had been for centuries, and he wasn't about to break tradition.
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Post by Sofiya Mihailova on Dec 14, 2007 23:53:52 GMT -5
She watched him rise from the ground and collect himself. As he took his steadying and preemptive breath, she swore she could’ve heard the counting in his head. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven—and so on, and so forth. Reaching one meant a drop in temper or a dropping of bombs—either way, she wasn’t much impressed.
Withdrawal and isolation breeds two kinds of people. Born from the wastelands of nothingness and thrust into a crowd of an assortment of bodies, one sees a development of the weak, timid, and easily dominated---as well as the building of the brave and sociopathic. Sofiya wasn’t quite sure where she stood; after all, she was afraid of many things. Loud storms, dark water, small spaces—you name it. And yet, when the young man suddenly surged forward, grabbing her by her arm and lifting her ‘til her toes grazed the surface of the floor, she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Physical violence was so…passé.
Her grandfather had been a genius when it came to magically knitting up open wounds and setting broken bones. Years of climbing trees and falling off of broom had taught her the simplicity and pointlessness of pain. Perhaps if she was a muggle woman, this scowling young man with his ominous height and vice-like grip might’ve been frightening—but she was a witch who knew that the hurt of sticks, stones, and broken bones could be alleviated in a matter of seconds.
Staring down at his hand for a moment, and then up into his face, she smiled sweetly. Eyes unclouded and unbothered, she spoke.
“Going to break m’arm, Captain?”
The tone in which the question was offered was half-interested and light—almost as if she were asking him if he thought it was going to rain that night. Raising her free and right arm, she did not move for her wand, or to strike him. Instead, she simply offered him it, as if he were going to place handcuffs around her tiny, pale wrists.
“If you are—would you mind breaking the right one? I throw with the left, and we’ve got a match Tuesday.”
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Post by Jonas Predgrad on Dec 20, 2007 21:22:37 GMT -5
He absolutely glared at her. "No I'm not." He said shortly, the girl was honestly infuriating. He was only ever not agrivated by her when tehy were practicing, as that was when she had no choice but to listen to him. "If I did decide to break your arm then I wouldn't care which one it was." He started toward the commonroom, still holding her up at that awkward angle so that she had to follow him. She was going to run laps next practice. There was an order to things around here, males were always on top, so to speak. She was ignoring that order, as well as the fact that he was her head of dorm. She should have been listening instead of being... well, stupid.
He really didn't know why he was so angry tonight but she certainly wasn't helping the mood any. He ignored her as he lead her toward the commonroom door. Maybe that boy had been right and he needed to find himself a girl. Then again, 1) he had to find a girl that didn't hate him or fear him, and 2) he ahd to find a girl in durmstrang he didn't consider just a friend. Oh well, he shot a glance at the girl as they went. For the life of him he couldn't remember her name.
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Post by Sofiya Mihailova on Dec 21, 2007 16:33:45 GMT -5
“Well, if you’re not,” she replied—her tone sweet as honey yet laced with the subtle razorblades of aggravation. “Would you terribly mind letting go? I have places to be.” She didn’t know why she had spoken up—that hadn’t been her initial intention. By all means, she wanted him to drag her through the portal door and attempt to make an example of her. That was a hotheaded megalomaniac’s favorite pastime—and she was banking on that. A little boy sitting standing at the top of the stairs needed to see that pompous powerhouses were in the end, just great big prats. Placing all of her slight weight upon her heels and dragging them across the floor, she attempted to slow his determined pace. She really didn’t know why she was stopping him. Had she intercepted some crazy brainwaves and sensed his on-coming athletic punishments? Had she been stricken with a case of merciful guilt? Was she just growing bored with this stupid little game? She didn’t have the answer to any of those questions—she just knew she was done. Biting the inside lining of her cheek as the inevitable strain was placed up her awkwardly-held arm, she fished around in the pockets of her robes with her free hand. Ignoring the odd glance he was giving her, she shoved a small and tattered scrap of parchment into his face. Penned in the boldest of blue ink, and shimmering with the slightest hint of magic, it was obvious to see that the letter had not been forged. It read I hereby give Sofiya Mihailova full to
access of the Astronomy Tower every night for the remainder of
this week. She is finishing her thesis on correlation of the moons
and rings of Saturn—both which have been quite visible of late.
--Viacheslav Vasiliev
Astronomy Professor Her high and mighty captain had never once asked her for a pass—so she had never once offered it to him. There was no smug smile dancing upon her lips—no victorious light glinting in her eyes. She didn’t need those things to signify what she had done. Instead, she simply gave an expectant look—one that shifted from his clutching hand to his face, as if to say “time to let go now, big boy.” |
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