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 Posted: Fri Apr 13, 2012 1:00 am
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Posted: Fri Apr 13, 2012 8:30 pm
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Posted: Fri Apr 13, 2012 8:34 pm
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Posted: Fri Apr 13, 2012 8:46 pm
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Gearvin shot his sons a look. "If I do recall, you two are supposed to be on a shopping trip. I suggest you meet back up with your mother." Not even giving his sons a chance to speak, he turned back toward the teen -Shin, was it?- and looked him over. "Young man, are you all right? My son said that you seemed to be sick, so I suggest you take it easy. You're lucky that I am generous, though. I brought you something to eat if you would like."
Looking over at the boy, he put on his least threatening face. "Do you know him?" Shaking his head, he realized that was possibly the stupidest question he could think of. "Of course you would. May I make a suggestion, and move to a more... private setting? Perhaps it would keep gawkers away." |
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Posted: Fri Apr 13, 2012 8:47 pm
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Posted: Fri Apr 20, 2012 6:42 pm
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Posted: Sun Apr 22, 2012 4:45 am
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Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2012 4:52 pm
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Eyes of a raven
and ears of a hound
to hear the snakes in the grass.
╚══════════════╝
The silvers of the sky were quickly tarnishing into rusting purples and reds; oranges of the most vile color that made the viciously green eyes of Sillia Rosier squint in disgust. Where everyone seemed to find some swelling awe and delight form the sunset and sunrise, the witch leaning against the brick wall always found anxiety and a gnawing it of action. The sunset signaled the end of a day; the end of hiding and dancing and prancing for the shadows. The night was where she could be a shadow herself - the darkness was what made hr swell not the awe.
And as the witch leaned against the harsh brick texture of the wall, lime irises piercingly fixed on the large clock that hung just over the odd repair shop, she awaited the arrival and surprise of William Dante Nott the Third. In truth, the woman found it strange she had missed the boy; he was so brilliantly interesting in a crowd of so many mediocrities. And he was a Nott; she always had a taste for them. Pale lips curling in dark snicker as the second hand ticked further, she noted the lateness of the boy. Remington must be getting sentimental, she decided. The man was a puzzle in himself - one in which the pieces continued to change their shape before she could finish the picture. He was never dull. But he was getting slow.
With final thought passing her mind at memory of how she had altered the destination of the Portkey found on Remington Nott's boat, a sudden harsh blast of air, street dust and magic hit against her pristine skin at the appearance of William Nott. Her smiled rose further in dark height.
"Very nice to see you once more, William."
   
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Essy ze Ninja Vice Captain
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Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2012 6:00 pm
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Slip out the back before they know you were there
and at the worst you'll see nobody cares, you don't want to be around when it all goes down...
William Dante Nott the Third
Fourth Year, Slytherin
Eggs, grits, and sausage; the contents of his breakfast began to rile in a thunderous memory the instantaneous moment that his fingers had outstretched for the wide silver wrist watch that hadn’t ticked in years, or so it seemed. He had always known his route for escape, whether in the Nott castle, or not, and he knew exactly where he would be taken, too. Unleashing a monstrous, guttural growl as he tumbled forth from the spiraling darkness, doubling over to catch his breath and ease his thought of mind. The notion of spinning still fresh in his subconscious even as he had straightened himself accordingly, a curious eye held in prospect of his Transfigurations Professor.
Furrowing wrinkles built around his nose and eyes, glancing left, and right, and immediately discerning the difference between the cobblestoned alleyways branching off to and fro, and the gleaming neon lights, and candles burning bright in window stores. The sun nudged its head from behind the cloud, long enough, for Tay to realize he was not where he should be.
There should have been hay built up around his feet, walls enclosed around him from every side, a beast of massive proportions with a loyal heart. But as it were, there was not, and he could only be curious. ”Professor Rosier,” he breathed with an awe of shock and surprise. Blinking eyes transfixed, mirroring the white raven in his mind and the shock of having not realized this sooner. Of course, all summer, he had hoped she would find him, and all summer, he was drowning beneath the guilt of his father.
His next coming year at Hogwarts would be trying, to say the least, to adhere to the direction that his father had insisted upon him—to befriend those untrustworthy of him, to gain those that might be loyal unto him. After all, who would follow a man into battle, if that man had no friends to amass? No army to be loved by, and fought for. Ever since his twin cousins had decided against staying with the Nott family, William became frantic, and wild eyed. Family meant everything to him, to lose his family, would mean to fail in his duties, and lose his honor. It meant everything to him. And though William the Second hadn’t shed a tear for Logan and Lucas, his heart had wept, and never stopped. Late at night, Tay could hear the shuffle of doors, opening and closes. The twin’s bedrooms, he noticed from the word of mouth of his house elf. His father would stand there, just stand. The room barren and empty since the twins had left and, suddenly empty of life and spirit.
Still, an eighty degree turn in vehemence would likely lead to a disturbance of trouble within the close knit ring of friends that were his enemies; though not by choice, but by chance. Veering a glance over his shoulder, Tay had half expected to see his uncle tumbling behind him, but he knew he wouldn’t. He was familiar with the animosity between his uncle, and most of all his father’s allies. There was no doubt in his mind, though, that his uncle would never be bested. ”Why did you bring me here?” He sought to understand. Over the summer, a scarce few inches marked a small growth in height, mustering from just under the five foot, to several inches past, though it hardly seemed to make a difference. He was lean, and thin, sinewy with long of limb and sleight of hand—like a pup growing into his height, before his weight. Still, those ever persistent glittering eyes of gold searched for answers.
╔══════════════╗
Location: Diagon Alley Streets
Injuries:
Mood: Confusion
╚══════════════╝
..even heroes know when to be scared.
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Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2012 6:38 pm
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Eyes of a raven
and ears of a hound
to hear the snakes in the grass.
╚══════════════╝
The few changes in the young wizard did not fall on blind eyes as the witch took a stretch of silence in between the boy's two voiced thoughts to observe him. Acid eyes running up and down the thread of him, noting and observing every detail as if appreciating art. Seeing every change and difference (and consistency) as a clue to a schemed puzzle and a sentence to a story. The boy's higher standing even more so. She smirked and finally met his eyes once more - acid shining gold - as he let lose his questions and the unsaid need for answers.
Momentarily - the the heart beat length of silence that passed before her lips opened in answer - she fondly compared the boy to his father. To his uncle, because it was clear they were more closely tied than the strong, exceptional boy was to the over emotional and all-mighty William Nott. It was Remington Nott that shone in that gold rather than the Head Nott. The man's fingerprints were widespread from the broadest measures such as the cautious and dark forms of thinking and execution to the piercing eyes that always saw through cobwebs to the shaded desired truth. Rosier smiled even further before her breath escaped slowly opening lips to speak, "Because traveling in pairs tends to be safer."
Hands that had knitted thin fingers together in a dark, complex croquet now untwined and reveled themselves from the hiding place behind the small of her back. Textured imprints present on the heel of her palms revealing they had been pressed against the brick along with her back, but what was in her hands held far more interest. A small Russian Doll - barely fitting the size of Rosier's one hand - was painted with dull and peeling paint. Shadowed flickers of colors that were once vibrant and joy-inducing in some obscene child - a history of a darkened childhood that could have belonged to anyone now grown, now no longer a child. The face of the doll completely removed. The paint and details that were so clearly hand-created were not erased through time and nature like other pieces of the thing were. It had been scratched off and ripped at. Anger and an odd desperation traced in the barely visible fingernail-wounds on the soft wood.
"One more round, then, William?" she asked with frozen sweetness peppering her tone as slim fingers positioned the thing to stand on its flat base in her left palm as the other hand popped the top half to reveal a small doll within - different, better preserved colors with a face just as absent. "One, two," the final number of the countdown mouthed as her fingers touched the top of the doll's head and Tay's - however hesitant even in their curiosity - made contact at the same time. Both bodies instantly pulled into a chasm in space and ripped in darkness and violent shakes before their feet touched ground again. In a much more sinister place.
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Sabb was running all around like he tended to do, eyes bright and happy. He had been with his brother, before the elder male had took him home. However their mother had started to yell, causing him to just slip out again, deciding to do what he always did and come back later. He saw a crowd of people and...his BROTHER! He ran over, eyes holding the bright innocence of a 6 year old. "Shin?" 
