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Post by dominic on Jun 29, 2013 14:46:58 GMT -6
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The third day into the semester, and things were going… swimmingly. Well, they were going okay. As well as any first week could go with the crowds of first-years packed together like giant cockroach clusters, crowding the halls and dining tables. Luckily, Dom managed to escape the worst parts, thanks to a well-planned schedule and simple determination to avoid hearing the question “Sorry, but could you help me?” He thought himself considerably lucky, though, seeing as most of the Slytherin first-years at least had the decency to try to do things for themselves, unlike the Hufflepuffs, who he could swear enjoyed going out of their way to talk to people.
On this particular evening, Dominic Wood sat in an armchair. It was his favorite chair, covered in dark green, velvet paisley fabric, with silver adornments: buttons and cords. The feet of the chair were silver, or made to look silver, and were carved into clawed feet, which would ever so often reach out and snatch a passing mouse from the floor. Across from him was another, similar chair, which the seventh-year deemed not quite as comfortable as the one he had chosen. But he was glad that it was empty. A second-year had approached it earlier, but after a raised eyebrow from Dom, the girl had second thoughts and huffily stomped back to a cramped couch with her friends.
He was earning particular attention this evening, as he was sitting in the corner smoking. Yes, yes, it was a horrible habit. Yes, it would take years off his life. He had heard it all before. But there was nothing quite like it. He rolled his own cigarettes, using a special blend of pipe tobacco, which ranged from cherry to cloves to whatever he wanted on that particular day. Tonight was a hazelnut blend, that burned slightly pink and exhaled into thick curls of smoke. Of course, he couldn’t resist the occasional experimentation with magic on his guilty pleasure. It had landed him in the hospital wing a few times, but for it, he had a notebook of different recipes that could produce perfect rings or multicoloured smoke and the like.
He had gotten a few nasty stares when he struck the match against the stone wall beside him, bringing the small flame to the cleanly-rolled tip of the cigarette. As he inhaled softly, the soft ‘pop’ and instant relief told him it was lit as he shook the match out in a smooth gesture. A first-year stared at him with wide eyes, which Dom mockingly returned, watching the boy flounder over whether to find a prefect or keep his mouth shut.
Onlookers didn’t know what Dom knew, unless they were particularly observant and watched the smoke disappear once it reached a certain height. Two feet above Dom’s head was an invisible.. thing. He wasn’t quite sure what to call it. A muggle might call it a cyclone, or a vacuum, or a black hole. Essentially, there was a ventilation system above Dom’s head that dissolved the smoke as it rose, therefore eliminating any issues for bystanders and not giving them any reason to bitch and moan. He hated complainers.
The cigarette rested between his index and middle fingers on his right hand. As he carelessly flicked the tip with his thumb, the still-glowing ashy embers floated upwards like little stars into the funnel above him. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he tilted his head up, watching the slowly whirling atmosphere of ash and smoke, inhaling deeply on the end, feeling the calmness gently pulsing through his body before emitting the smoke through his lips in a sigh of contentment.
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Post by fiona on Jul 1, 2013 17:24:18 GMT -6
[style=width:400px; height:225px; background-image:url(http://a3.4ormat.com/vfs/61398/thumbs/3609038/400x0.jpg);] TAG; linnah/dom WORDS; 929 OUTFIT; here
Over the summer, Miss Riddle had grown up and matured quite dramatically. Beforehand she had already been quite mature for her age, but she had come to realize how pointless hating others was. So much wasted energy on those who didn’t really matter in the first place. She was still an angry person with a strong distaste for others, but just by looking at her you could tell she had changed. She no longer had the permanent scowl on her face, as if she had smelt something utterly repulsive. Now she had an apathetic look to her, which was much better. As a seventh year, she received questions on the daily about the location of certain classrooms, or how to get to the infirmary, or how did the ceiling in the Great Hall work. It was exhausting, and frankly quite irritating to Fiona. Most of the time she’d respond with something witty, like “Learn to read you insignificant twat,” or “Ask someone else you insignificant twat.” Usually it ended with “insignificant twat”. If you hadn’t noticed, she wasn’t much of a people person.
Classes had gone well that day, like they always did. She didn’t mind school like a little prat. She knew that her education was important, and took great pride in studying and her intelligent altogether. Fiona had gone over to the Slytherin girl’s dormitories to change out of her school uniform. Those blasted robes were unbelievably itchy and rash inducing. She felt comfortable in her sweater and skirt, however the robes were just too damn itchy to ignore. On this particular evening, she had chosen one of her favorites; a simple black dress, and a dark green cardigan to go over. Now fully dressed, the young lady made her way towards the ill-lit common room. With her quill and ink in one hand, and her journal in the other, Fiona made a few strides with her lanky legs and sat in a matching high back chair. Dominic sat across from her, and she gave him a friendly smile and brief head nod. She had known him since she had started at Hogwarts, they were after all, the same age and in the same house. They had quite a few things in common, but he was just as mysterious as she. Maybe that came with being a Slytherin, who knew.
Hidden in her bra, laid a thin metal case. The design was interesting, with a humming bird on it. Its skeleton was visible, and in the background there were swirls of dark green and black. The tin was used for holding cigarettes. Yes, Miss Riddle was a smoker. Nasty habit, but she didn’t care. She was going to die eventually anyway, right? Death was inevitable, and there was no way to escape it. She learned that from her father. Fiona was particular about the cigarettes she smoked, and more so the tobacco. Turkish blends tended to be her favorite, though sometimes she enjoyed clove cigarettes after a night of sloppy drinking. She loved to drink. Made her forget about her past, about everything. Sometimes she just needed to escape from it all.
One thing Fiona enjoyed, that she had in common with Dom, was that they both smoked. He didn’t judge her like most students did for her nasty habit. Even in the wizarding world people judged you for silly things, which she didn’t quite understand. It was supposed to be different here, this place was supposed to be a part of her escape. Instead, it only fueled her hate for people further.
Fiona crossed one leg over the other and placed her journal in her lap, though first she placed her quill and ink set on the floor. Her head dropped down, but her eyes still peered up to watch the smoke disappear from above his head. She mused to herself, going through the all of the spells she knew off the top of her head. It had to have been some sort of teleportation or something to do with wind. Whatever it was, she was intrigued. Being a legilimens allowed Fiona to dig into the depths of other people’s minds. It was something she was proud to know how to do. Her abilities were only competent, but she studied every day. The dark haired vixen wanted to be like her father in that aspect, only because he was so talented. She didn’t necessarily want to be evil like him. Confusion was a word that easily described how she felt about the entire situation. And she had no one to talk to about it, which was the worst part.
Silently, Fiona drew in a large breath and closed her eyes. Only focusing on Dom, she made an attempt to search his brain. Nearly instantaneously she was blocked out, access denied. Shocked, and in awe, Fiona realized what had happen. He was skilled in occulumency. Blood slowly pushed to the surface of her taut cheeks in embarrassment. Surely he knew exactly what had just happened. She had no idea what to do. Should there be an exchange of words? No, that would only escalate the awkwardness that had already started to appear. Though she had to say something, anything would suffice.
“May I borrow a light from you?” Her voice was falsely confident as she reached into the confines of her bra, grasping the tepid tin and pulling it out. Popping it open with the push of a tab, she selected a stick and moved it towards her mouth. “And might I ask, how you’re doing that?”
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