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« Last post by Kate Baker on Today at 12:50:11 AM »
next morning
For once, the light of the morning wasn’t a harsh messenger—it filtered in through the translucent curtains fluttering minutely over her sliding glass doors with a different kind of energy. Something akin to trepidation, maybe, or fantasy, or both, appeared in her mind when she opened her eyes.
Kate blinked three times and then made a quarter turn in the bed, noticing immediately that he was next to her, breathing deeply, sound asleep. His arm was coiled loosely around her and his palm was facing up toward the ceiling, fingers curled halfway and relaxed. She felt overwhelmed with emotions that hadn’t paid a real visit in years, and realized as she settled into consciousness that the night before hadn’t been a dream. If the subsequent relief washing over her made her a bad person, she’d accept those charges.
She turned again to lie on her stomach and peeled the blanket back away from them, noting that in their exhaustion they’d barely moved a muscle during the night. The corners of her mouth twitched. Kate was tempted to watch him sleep for as long as she could, but another motivation overpowered this one. She held her breath hostage and used one palm, pressed into the mattress, to hoist herself parallel over his sleeping form, settling down on top of it.
He wasn’t very disturbed by her careful rearrangement—the only sign of stirring she noticed was a brief little frown that flickered and smoothed again after a moment. Kate exhaled, finally, perhaps feeling too pleased with herself for this small success, and pushed some hair away from his forehead, using his shoulder with her other hand for balance.
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Harlan moved in to break the invisible wall between them, and Bérénice hadn’t realised just how much she’d missed him until he was pulling away again. She forced another smile, a quick tilt of her head as if to clear it—the feel of his warm cheek against hers, rough against smooth—and clasped her hands together, her right hand squeezing the fingers of her left tightly.
He seemed to process her presence in London without her needing to explain, and her lips parted to respond to the inevitable how are you, but they were interrupted. Nice smiled, warmer, the light reaching her eyes this time, at the tiny outheld hand. She reached up to take it, shaking gently. “Hello—” Harlan caught her eye and Bérénice fell into his gaze easily, reluctantly glancing back up at Tamsin after a long moment.
“An old friend,” she let go, conscious of the increased closeness but unwilling to step back. “My name is Bérénice, but you can call me Nice, if you want to,” she replied in a jovial tone, the kind she adopted for paediatric patients.
The French witch let her attention drift back down to Harlan’s face – as she did so, memory clicked into place: Audrey’s baby – not so much a baby anymore. The relief was visible, her features brightening. “Your niece?” she asked with a dip of her chin. “Babysitting?”
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« Last post by Kate Baker on Today at 12:19:54 AM »
It wasn’t hard for Kate to understand why others had no conception of their relationship or why it had taken off the way it had, but as she sat there and watched him turn himself inside out just to get up to the counter and pay for their food, she was reminded. There were a small handful of people on earth who remembered this Charlie, and if she had to guess further, even fewer who had seen him in other private ways she could recall at any moment’s notice. The minutiae of love were the easiest to feel, and the hardest to forget.
Her eyes darted to note the sausage roll he’d purchased for himself when he sat back down and she pressed her lips together to smother a smile. He’d always known she was a bit weird with food. They were picky in their own different ways. She’d never minded indulging those quirks, and she knew that most times, he’d rather have suffered through something to get her to eat—maybe that was part of the reason she always felt so compelled to cook for him(whatever he wanted), or to learn how to make his favorite dishes. She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him martyr himself every time where food was concerned.
Kate picked the bagel up gingerly first, taking a bite that nearly fell right back out of her mouth when he asked her if she still went there. What did he think, that she was keeping it for vacation rental purposes alone? If that were the case, she could have sold it and bought something with far less painful, sentimental value. She chewed slowly as she pondered.
“Yeah, I still go,” She answered thickly, and took another (smaller) nibble. “Usually, you know… when I want to go and see mom and dad. Or when I’ve got a client down there, or when dad needs help with an event, you know.” Her shoulders rolled into a noncommittal shrug. Nothing about this discussion was casual, but she felt like acting like it was would make it less impenetrable. “Sometimes I feel split in two.”
4
Harlan could feel Bérénice's eyes on him before he could make sense of the unexpected contact. His skin was hot in the places that he imagined that she had looked him over– maybe it was a trick of the light– cold when her attention had shifted. He studied his niece from the vantage point under her chin as if to see it through Nice's perspective.
Tamsin, of course, hadn't caught the quiet moment between the two otherwise perfect strangers. It struck Harlan in the haze of his own thoughts that no one (not just his three year old niece) would notice, aside from them. He offered a nod. Somehow they had found themselves within paces of each other, as if drawn by a magnet.
"Hi," Harlan repeated, going in for an obligatory hug, two cheek kiss. "Wow," He took a step back, clearly collecting his thoughts. "What—" Harlan began. "Oh, of course," He lifted his chin over his shoulder to Mungo's, putting the puzzle pieces together before he had the chance to ask what she was doing there, that early. "How are—" He was cut off by a tiny voice from over his head.
"Hullo, I'm Tamsin!" The little girl stuck her hand between them in greeting, inclining Harlan to further bridge the physical space. He grinned up at her, catching Bérénice's eye belatedly and holding it for a moment too long. "Harlan, who's this?" Kids, man.
5
Harlan had never been one for verbal therapy. There were other ways to navigate feelings, he thought, and most were inherently physical.
But this, it felt different.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest and then pushed harder against it. It fought with the place where he could catch his breath. He was distracted by the familiar scrunch of Honey's nose, so much so that he nearly missed what she had replied: that she wished it had been, the right time.
Well that certainly threw a fucking spanner in the works.
His head tilted, but only for a moment before Honey spoke again. Harlan straightened up and his eyes bore forward, seemingly in deep thought. "Sorry, did you just..." Eventually he spoke, catching her eye only at the pause of the question. He broke into a grin. He could count on one hand the amount of times he'd heard that phrase from her mouth: he was right.
"What was that you said?" He teased, turning to face her more squarely again, his leg pressed more firmly against hers without the hesitation he practiced moments before. "That I was...?" It was clear he just wanted her to say it again. Without thought the backs of his fingers touched her side. "...what was that again?" He watched expectantly.
6
Harlan leaned back against the brick bar front, crossed a leg over the other and faced Lottie more squarely. His eyes narrowed softly at her accusation— how boring indeed.
A grin met where Harlan pulled his pint to his mouth and images of Summer flickered through his mind; California coast, and sand, and a woman who had no fucking clue who he was. The anonymity of it all was what he needed, he figured. It allowed him to train without distraction of the real world. Somewhere where no one knew what Quidditch was, or who Harlan Bellamy was.
"You don't really think... "Harlan paused to place the glass down on the tilted wooden table. He steadied it as he leaned closer to her. "...that of all people, I would tell Charlotte Bright where I escaped to on Summer?" His brow quirked, genuinely curious but also amused. "With that mouth? Whew," He teased, a smile creeping back over his features without his consent.
The grin shifted when she mentioned a new partner— quintessential Charlotte, always trying to get one step ahead. "Oh, and he's real?" He mocked something like shock. "Go on then, who is he? Got a penchant for masochism....?" The second part he said more quietly into his his glass, though loud enough. Charlotte's second question was lost on him.
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« Last post by Dylan on Yesterday at 09:01:30 AM »
It was the first day of another new term at Durmstrang yet Jannick Pritzlaff had none of the nerves of a new teacher. At nearly 100 years old, Jannick was the oldest professor at the institute by far. He had been teaching, albeit tutoring individual pupils rather than in a room full of them, for nearly half a century. He knew his subject as well or better than anyone alive. He had no reason to be nervous. On top of that, he was here as much for the school’s benefit as anything else. Necromancy was not something that could be taught by just anyone. For it to be done right, it needed to be someone who understood the delicate balance of art and science in necromantic magics. He was the most logical choice the institute could have made. They needed an expert, so they had come to him; enough said.
Gathering his instruments, Jannick made his way down the flight of stairs from his office to his classroom. Laying everything out meticulously, Jannick gave a lazy flick of his wand at the board and his welcome began inscribing itself. As it did so, Jannick took a polishing cloth from his bag and ensured that each instrument, his various knives, his scales, the vials and other containers each shone with a brilliance due to items of such quality and craftsmanship. He had worked with the finest metallurgists across the continent to assemble his collection and he wanted that to be evident from the very first moment the students saw each piece. They needed to understand how important it was to take care of one’s tools of the trade.
As he finished polishing the last crystalline vial, Jannick heard the students begin filling in. Gently replacing the vial in its place, Jannick strode round the table and took a seat looking out at the students as they found their seats. A quick survey of the group gave him little hope that any would truly embrace the subtly required to excel in his subject. There would be those who could passably do what was necessary for the course, sure, but he had little hope any of them would follow in his steps and dedicate their lives to the art.
As the last student filed in, Jannick rose and rapped the table with his knuckle loudly. “Quiet!” his voice cut through any remaining chatter like the knives he was so comfortable with. “When you pass through that door, each of you should consider that you are leaving behind the world of life and death. You are entering a space between, a space that has no time for your idle chatter. Necromancy is both art and science. A careful combination of technical skill, careful preparation, and meticulous attention to detail. Doubtless, few of you will have the patience or natural skill required to begin the path towards mastering this craft; but perhaps there is one or two who may. I am professor Pritzlaff. You may call me such. I have been a practitioner of the necromantic arts longer than many of your parents or even grandparents have been living. Should you chose to apply yourself, with a bit of luck you may learn a thing or two during our time together; but before we can get to that point, I first need to see what you know.”
With another lazy wave of his wand, Jannik’s prepared quiz materialized before each of the students. He was aware this was their first day; he didn’t care. The quiz would be simple enough for any with a brain, and for those without, it was better that he identify them on his first day rather than waste his time trying to squeeze water from a rock. Returning to his seat, Jannick turned over an hourglass. “When the last of the sand has dropped, your time will be over. Begin!”
OOC: Each quiz is made up of five questions from this list. Choose any five and answer them as best as your character would know. Some questions may not have “real” answers or answers given in canon so extra points for more creative answers. Post your answers as part of your reply. When sufficient time has been given for replies, we will continue with the lesson. Good luck 😊
1. Name four of the primary arteries in the human body.
2. Name four of the primary veins in the human body.
3. What quantity of blood is sufficient for the animation of a human skeleton?
4. Provide 7 of the 12 uses for dragon’s blood.
5. What type of knife should be used in the harvesting of blood from magical creatures or individuals?
6. List possible side effects of using non-magical blood as a part of a necromantic ritual.
7. Order the following sigils appropriately for a standard summoning spell: “air” “breath” “ground” “blood” “bone”
8. Under what lunar conditions should the creation of inferi be conducted?
9. What are two natural conditions that can negatively impact the summoning of undead?
10. How much time may pass before harvested blood is considered to have lost its freshness? approved~ please make a sheet
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« Last post by Michael on May 11, 2024, 10:30:35 PM »
It was the first day of another new term at Durmstrang yet Jannick Pritzlaff had none of the nerves of a new teacher. At nearly 100 years old, Jannick was the oldest professor at the institute by far. He had been teaching, albeit tutoring individual pupils rather than in a room full of them, for nearly half a century. He knew his subject as well or better than anyone alive. He had no reason to be nervous. On top of that, he was here as much for the school’s benefit as anything else. Necromancy was not something that could be taught by just anyone. For it to be done right, it needed to be someone who understood the delicate balance of art and science in necromantic magics. He was the most logical choice the institute could have made. They needed an expert, so they had come to him; enough said. Gathering his instruments, Jannick made his way down the flight of stairs from his office to his classroom. Laying everything out meticulously, Jannick gave a lazy flick of his wand at the board and his welcome began inscribing itself. As it did so, Jannick took a polishing cloth from his bag and ensured that each instrument, his various knives, his scales, the vials and other containers each shone with a brilliance due to items of such quality and craftsmanship. He had worked with the finest metallurgists across the continent to assemble his collection and he wanted that to be evident from the very first moment the students saw each piece. They needed to understand how important it was to take care of one’s tools of the trade. As he finished polishing the last crystalline vial, Jannick heard the students begin filling in. Gently replacing the vial in its place, Jannick strode round the table and took a seat looking out at the students as they found their seats. A quick survey of the group gave him little hope that any would truly embrace the subtly required to excel in his subject. There would be those who could passably do what was necessary for the course, sure, but he had little hope any of them would follow in his steps and dedicate their lives to the art. As the last student filed in, Jannick rose and rapped the table with his knuckle loudly. “Quiet!” his voice cut through any remaining chatter like the knives he was so comfortable with. “When you pass through that door, each of you should consider that you are leaving behind the world of life and death. You are entering a space between, a space that has no time for your idle chatter. Necromancy is both art and science. A careful combination of technical skill, careful preparation, and meticulous attention to detail. Doubtless, few of you will have the patience or natural skill required to begin the path towards mastering this craft; but perhaps there is one or two who may. I am professor Pritzlaff. You may call me such. I have been a practitioner of the necromantic arts longer than many of your parents or even grandparents have been living. Should you chose to apply yourself, with a bit of luck you may learn a thing or two during our time together; but before we can get to that point, I first need to see what you know.” With another lazy wave of his wand, Jannik’s prepared quiz materialized before each of the students. He was aware this was their first day; he didn’t care. The quiz would be simple enough for any with a brain, and for those without, it was better that he identify them on his first day rather than waste his time trying to squeeze water from a rock. Returning to his seat, Jannick turned over an hourglass. “When the last of the sand has dropped, your time will be over. Begin!” OOC: Each quiz is made up of five questions from this list. Choose any five and answer them as best as your character would know. Some questions may not have “real” answers or answers given in canon so extra points for more creative answers. Post your answers as part of your reply. When sufficient time has been given for replies, we will continue with the lesson. Good luck 😊1. Name four of the primary arteries in the human body.
2. Name four of the primary veins in the human body.
3. What quantity of blood is sufficient for the animation of a human skeleton?
4. Provide 7 of the 12 uses for dragon’s blood.
5. What type of knife should be used in the harvesting of blood from magical creatures or individuals?
6. List possible side effects of using non-magical blood as a part of a necromantic ritual.
7. Order the following sigils appropriately for a standard summoning spell: “air” “breath” “ground” “blood” “bone”
8. Under what lunar conditions should the creation of inferi be conducted?
9. What are two natural conditions that can negatively impact the summoning of undead?
10. How much time may pass before harvested blood is considered to have lost its freshness?
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« Last post by Ezra Cohen on May 11, 2024, 11:48:20 AM »
May I offer @Ezra Cohen during this trying time? >>
10
Dzmitry frowned a little. “I said when you’re ready, of course, but you can’t avoid it forever–especially if you worry that you’re still dating, you know? What if, and I doubt it, but what if he thinks the same thing?” He wondered. “I’m just saying, communicate.” He sighed. “When you’re ready, of course, but nothing will improve until then.” He paid the tab and let the other get himself up and situated.
He offered an arm to Mihkkal on the way out of the pub and down the street, though he didn’t really expect the other to take it. “Anything else going on in your life?” He wondered. “Special? Nice? Better than this crap?” He asked, hoping something would be going well for them. He, himself, had been hiding in a friend’s dorm to avoid Stepan for a few days already.
He wanted to talk more about his crap, but he knew Mihkkal needed to talk about his own stuff right now, so he was all ears. He glanced at him, feeling a little sad for Mihkkal, and himself.
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