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Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858

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Oh look. Alchemy : Year I&II [Aug. 15th, 2004|05:32 pm]
Hogwarts RPG ~ 1858


[mood |amusedamused]

Ye Gods!
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?

[User Picture]From: jediah_pierce
2004-08-16 02:23 pm (UTC)

Ain't the *girls* that lack finesse and appreciation

It was no virtue of Jed's own that saw him to the alchemy classroom on time. Oh, no, some older Ravenclaw girls had been helpful and pointed him in the right direction. Interferin' wimmin. How was he supposed to show they were better than Californians if they didn't let him get to class late?

He slouched down in his seat in the back row and scowled at his empty desk that lacked any sort of school paraphenalia. No inkwell, no quill, no parchment, no books. Even his timetable was tucked away in one of his pockets. The empty desktop offended him - it was too neat and clean. He took off his cowboy hat and placed it deliberately off-center so it wasn't symmetrical or anything.

Feeling a little more secure in his wrongness now, he glanced toward the front of the classroom in time to see the Professor stand up. A sure sign that class was about to begin. He slouched lower, trying to look like he didn't want be noticed here in the back. Teachers hated that. He'd gotten a ruler slapped over his knuckles enough times for it.

As the professor began to speak, Jed's eyes widened slightly. The guy wasn't even speaking English! Even if he had wanted to learn something he wouldn't be able to! Before he could work himself up more over the non-English, the feller switched back to the only language Jed really knew. (He knew some Spanish and Chinese, too, but he didn't count those as most of his vocabulary was on the more vulgar side.)

He eyed the tea that the professor indicated distrustfully. Tea was a stuffy person's drink. Miners don't drink tea unless they're married and the wife thinks they're sick. Was always the wimmin that bought the tea from Pa's stores. And he was quite sure it weren't ever red, green, blue, or grey. Tea, he was pretty sure, was brown.

Still, drinking tea probably had a wrong way to do it, and he was confident enough in his ability to find it, that he picked up his hat, slapped it on his head, then moved toward the front of the room without waiting for his turn. Taking a cup of the grey tea (green and blue liquids belonged nowhere on God's Earth and red was just freaky). Still the shimmery grey made him think there might be silver flecks in it, or maybe grey silt, or both, so he gave it an uncertain sniff. Didn't smell like dirt or metal. Smelt rather like . . . the tea Polly's ma made him drink when he got the coughs last winter.

Having taken a cup, the next instruction had been to introduce himself, then drink. Jed, being Jed, took the drink first. He downed it like he'd seen thirsty miners down their first tankard of mead after a long day in the mines. Ya taste it less that way, and he already knew he hated the taste of tea. Making a face, he slammed down the empty tea cup with the same air of a man slamming down his empty shot glass after successfully swallowing a particularly potent brew.

"I'm Jed," he stated, not really sure where he should be directing his comments, so he looked back and forth between his classmates and the teacher. "I'm from California. Pa ain't a miner, but he's gettin' rich from the gold rush just the same." Though, to look at the second hand robes he wore, that was difficult to prove by Jed's appearance. The fact that he was at Hogwarts at all, however, did go quite a ways in showing the Pierces were significantly better off than they had been a decade earlier. He looked up at the teacher as if asking if that was enough, but he didn't wait for a response before looking defiantly at one of his Slytherin classmates and adding with no trace of shame, "Pa ain't never been married, neither."

With that he marched back to his seat, put his hat back down on his desk, and slumped into his seat with no regard toward proper posture.
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From: t_deveraux
2004-08-17 06:29 pm (UTC)
This he had to see.

Avery teaching (well, if one could call what Avery did teaching) witches of all things. Tiberius could imagine Little Miss Muffet having tea with the damned spider, for it would be the same principle. Or perhaps, Merlin forbid, Artair having an intelligent conversation? Avery surviving the class without a headache was about as likely!

Having purposely seen to scheduling their classes at non-conflicting times, Tiberius slid in the room silently as Avery greeted them. He nearly had to bite his lip at the irony, but he wasn't about to break the blessed terror he had over the poor students. While a good deal of his seeming displeasure was misplaced, Avery seemed to draw nothing but from his pupils. How delightful to watch.

As 'tea' commenced, he, along with the brave souls taking up their professor's offer, moved forward and stepped along side Avery, a grin skipping across his face with far more delight than the other man might possibly stomach, and said, after hearing Jed's introduction, "Do enjoy yourself." Then with his grin deepening, he gave the slightest of nods before spinning on his heel and leaving Avery to the skirted wolves!
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[User Picture]From: rowan_avery
2004-08-17 11:25 pm (UTC)

Decidedly so, Boy. *sniff*

In hearing such a marvelous account, Rowan Aver did the sole thing any respectable individual could have heroically brought himself to do. He blinked. And he blinked. And he blinked a while longer.

In fact, it was only when Deveraux so sleekly made his exit that the headmaster finally decided it was high time he at least feigned an attempt to a reply. But what in blazes could he say? Avery himself had been spawned and bred in the pool of politicians - and here, this ickle boy was flaunting his misgivings! Well. At least bastards had a penchant for being amusing.

"How...rich," he managed, still holding him in an appraising look. "However, there are some clear misconceptions, as well as an abuse which I fear I cannot bring myself to condone. Pa ain't never been married? Egad, boy, what has the English language done to you? Whored with your inexistent - or so I trust- brother?" And privately, he knew, he sure as Hades hoped there wasn't another like him running loose in the castle. "Lied? Cheated? Stolen you of anythings? Please, do inform me what grave sin Milady English has made herself responsible." As it is a feat we would all undoubtedly one day hope to accomplish... "Have all the books you've come to be acquainted with done nothing to sustain the birth of any literary sense in you?"

Oh Merlin. What if the boy (Boy!) had been raised in the company of trolls? Well, that would be that, now wouldn't it? The Pierce thing was clearly demented, and it was going to be such a mess, wasn't it? Gods, he needed a cuppa, he needed a drink - DEVERAUX, you devoted underling, a drink for your pained Master! He somehow restrained from further comments.

"Write down "Visions, illusions and Magic of the Mind on a piece of parchment," he instructed softly. "Should anything come to pass in the following five minute" - though he highly doubted, as it would mean the powder would be reacting to devour a heavily visionary or mental magical environment, and he himself dreaded the Pierce- Boy!- might well be a squib in perfect guise- "well, if anything does occur, just...give a whelp of pain?"

He dismissed Boy with an offhand wave. And then silently made a small mental note to address the house elves immediately and tell them to cancel displaying the good silver at dinner. For the following seven years or so. Possibly more. After all, Avery could only humour his own optimism so much before having to acknowledge the fact that "Jediah Pierce" might well lose an year only to spite him and linger further on.

OOC: poison is actually a purely misused term. The powder's main ability is to feed on the magic of its respective field, somewhat weakening the subject (at least in this diluted, small form). Therefore, if you want your character to be slightly predisposed towards a certain field (Mental Magic - the root of Obliviate, the Sight, Imperio, Occlumency, that sort of dazzling thing) feel free to have it react. If not, well, maybe it simply wasn't his cup of tea...
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[User Picture]From: jediah_pierce
2004-08-18 07:43 am (UTC)
Jed fumbled for his quill, ink, and a parchement. He didn't want to copy down what the professor had said, but he wasn't quite stupid enough to directly disobey a direct order from the headmaster himself. So the old, crinkled, but blank parchement was spread out on his desk. His inkwell was uncapped, and his quill dipped inside. With some difficulty, he slowly sounded out and scribed down the words dictated to him. The letters were somewhat large and uneven due to lack of practice.

Vishuns Ilooshuns and Majik ov the Mined

This accomplished, Jed pushed aside the writing implements, and tried to figure out how to respond to the professor's words. Who was Milady English and why would she have lied, cheated, or stolen from him? "Uh, I ain't never met Miss English," he answered with some obvious confusion, "an' neither did the brother I ain't got." If the man knew he didn't have a brother, why would he think the imaginary sibling would have gone and picked up one of those painted women at the saloons? Was Miss English one of them? Didn't seem likely since the headmaster had called her 'milady'.

"An' I don't got no akwaintincies," he stumbled over the large and unfamiliar word, "with books." He wasn't really sure what it meant, but he could guess that it had something to do with voluntarily reading books, which was definitely something he didn't do.

He wondered what the man meant by 'something coming to pass'. He rubbed his head. All this thinkin' and writin' was giving him a headache.
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