| Oh look. Alchemy : Year I&II
||[Aug. 15th, 2004|05:32 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858
Hades and Kali and Sheeva, egads!
Rowan Avery was sulking.
Now, admittedly, this was hardly the most predictable pursuit for Hogwarts' acknowledged headmaster. This position normally implied a great deal of liaising with various spicy groups, good administrative skills, an infalible temper as well as a bit of paperwork. None of these tasks openly hinted to any personal displeasure.
But Rowan Avery knew better.
And so Rowan Avery sulked.
Everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong. First, Deveraux had had the audacity to make arrangements that he be woken up at an hour that allowed him all the time in the world to prepare for class. Which, of course, meant he would be traumatised for the rest of the day, as he had missed on his ten hours of daily sleep.
Secondly, in spite of actually crawling to class , he had been deprived even the small satisfaction of being first in class and smile ominuously to the incoming students. Oh no. Instead, he'd been greeted by the sweet and merry giggles of bloody witches, of all things, who'd already occupied the first rows.
And, to add insult to injury, the class'd reached its number of students before the rightful time, and he had not even been offered the chance to think up detention for any who delayed.
Everything was horrid. And the class carried fault.
He gave them a long, measuring look, taking his time as always. The same half-sardonic smile danced on his lips, as he nodded to some, looked over others. They were by no means an aesthetically displeasing bunch, these ones. Not even the witches. In truth, some of them were of distinct, almost salvageable possibilities.
But then he recalled that they were witches and perverted adolescents with naught but copulation in mind (in spite of those seemingly shy smiles and frail courtsies) and so he dismissed all mental praises.
He spent the better part of five minutes in such a way, as if blissfully unaware of the way most students in the classroom were fidgeting in their seats, or giving him frightful looks, or some daring as much (he'd have to see to having said "heroic gesture" repayed with a few well-aimed hexes) as to whisper among themselves.
Well, he was in no haste. After all, what was he supposed to do with them? Teach them Alchemy? Hah. A soft laugh. Never that. They lacked the finesse, the appreciation for this craft. They couldn't handle it.
But finally, he could no longer delay and, with an audible sigh, came to his feet.
"Salvete, pueri," he said with the required ceremony. He wondered briefly whether the irony of it all reached him, how this salute had been ever so en vogue last Hogwarts had seen any of witches.
"I don't suppose any of you are acquainted with either myself, your peers, or the present object of your study. It therefore occured to me that you may have a chance to introduce yourselves." His wand snapped up, delicate rowan wood - oh, indeed, how surprising- glinting its magic. He used it to point towards a tray on the desk, containing small cups with four assorted contents. The colors were not excesively bright, not unappealling: scarlet, jade, blue, silver.
"Over tea," he finished. "Here. Slide forward, have a cup, say something about yourself, drink, soldier on."
He gave another soft laugh, and then retook his seat, the amused little sparkle never dying from his eyes.
Oh dear. He was getting quite old - his memory was surely failing him. After all, he hadn't mentioned the poisons, now had he?