Post by Admin on Jun 13, 2009 9:58:28 GMT
The heavy solemnity of the atmosphere was compressing on top of his head and summoning a very large pain. In between introductions there was this very dreary silence that nobody seemed fit enough to challenge; not even Matias, who he considered to be one of the top contenders. Avery felt remnants of his spirit leaking out of every pore: then came to avalanche of gloom. The emptiness caused a shudder of intolerance: especially to that Drayonna woman, who seemed formidable to cross. Perhaps, for the soul purpose of being looked upon by numerous pairs of eyes, he should give a justified answer.
He was one of the last people to respond.
“Avery Mansiel,” he announced cockily, jabbing a thumb to his chest, “Strengths include illusionary manipulation, disguise and good ol’ fashioned Arithmancy; meaning I’ve got a good databank on whoever we’re dealing with, just by tracking them.”
His voice was intrusively loud and a lot deeper than before. After his profile had been banked and the next person spoke up, Avery’s eyes darted to Daisy. <i>Little flower, eh?</i> quite a contradiction there.
“Weaknesses however…” he murmured, channelling his gaze through half-sunken eyes; trying to target a softer yet striking appeal. While everyone was preoccupied with introductions, Avery drifted over to her: “Are you volunteering to be tested?” he asked mischievously, to the back of her shoulder.
Why did that burke have to be our leader?” hissed a hufflepuff girl to her friend, narrowing her eyes at his distractedness. They were all uncomprehending as to why Avery Mansiel; notorious skirt-chaser; had been elected by the Headmaster himself as one of the most promising students. There was no denying Avery’s incapability to take anything seriously; his laid-back attitude wasn’t very invigorating for the Hufflepuff squad. At least the Slytherin and Gryffindor counterparts had taken some sort of lead. The same girl made a very impatient ‘tsk’ noise. “Now what is he doing?”
He was staring at the Slytherin girl. His face was all beaming and enthusiastic though, as if he was about to make a dash for the green-and-silver pom-poms and make an appreciative chant for her. 5-6-7-8! Who do we app-re-chi-ate?!
Quite suddenly his eyes returned to normal; that being vigilant and focused. He realised that, somewhere amongst the orders, Matias Avramidis was making a fair few points. Avery finally dislodged himself from the wall; flicked the cancer onto the ground and walked to where the other leaders were. He clapped Matias on the shoulder in acknowledgement, giving him a little wink. They had a fair few classes together. Avery had tried his best to be gracious to him but he wasn’t sure whether Matias shared the same enthusiasm for befriending him, somehow.
“Fair points, my brother,” he murmured; his voice a little oily but unearthing with soft sarcasm, “I agree with you. If we’re doin’ all this here; where’re the Ministry?”
He envisioned them rehearsing for a stage musical, where the ‘Warlock Tango’ was their most promising hit.
“Haah~” he sighed, scraping back his blond hair with one hand and wringing Matias around the neck sportingly with the other, “This is just pure guesswork but there’s going to have to be more than one of them; some kind of organisation. There’s no way it would be a single individual, otherwise gramps wouldn’t have gathered so many of us. Think about it,” He proclaimed, putting one finger up, “Number one: if it was one guy, they would have sent out an elitist from the Ministry." Two fingers up. "Number two: if it was one guy, we’d be more like sacrifices, ‘cause this would be oo~nnee~ tough cookie. The Headmaster hasn't gone that sinister in his old age.”
Avery shrugged his arm.
“So this organisation- or whatever- is targeting the vulnerable first. Probably ‘cause it’ll put pressure on the kiddy-winks’ parents; y’know; ‘save the children’ and all that,” Avery concluded rather lamely; still with his arm around Matias.
The room was getting heavily concentrated with dubious riff-raff; though amongst these wand-twirling idiots there were a few meaty people. Avery had retrieved a carton from his jacket pocket (a rather fine-cut piece of art it was; blue velvet with a large collar and a slender fitted allure) and ran his thumb repetitively along the sharp edges of the box; spinning it at every new corner. He wasn’t directing his lavish crew, oh no: they seemed to be having enough fun as it is. Instead he took this opportunity to draw out some of the bachelorettes from the crowd, though he was quite unfortunate to first land on Livian Cardenas. This hefty son-of-a- really ticked him off. Avery’s eyes darted from the carton to Livian in rapid irritation, and finally he cracked through the seal of the carton to draw out a cancer.
So he stood against the wall, puffing away. One leg was propped back against the wall and his blond head lulled sideways (the stick-thing he was carrying earlier he was now using as a sort of cane).
Finally something had caught his attention. His blue eyes slunk from the ground upwards, to where this vivacious dictator was ordering her crowd to ‘listen up’. Now if she wasn’t the prettiest little devotchka he’d ever set eyes on: he didn’t know who was. Long, blonde hair; tight jeans; yes. Avery smirked lop-sidedly- it was the Slytherin Cherie he’d ‘met’ earlier; if you’d call it a meeting. More like a sequence of very bizarre events, amounting to a lot of people boxed into the room of requirement on a Sunday evening.
The day he’d received an extra piece of parchment entitling him as a Hufflepuff prefect, Avery Mansiel reckoned he’d surpassed all of life’s cold calling and surprises. That is to say; everything else was a joke. When the Headmaster had summoned him that afternoon, Avery dislodged any possibility of him being one of the four most trusted students of the school and that some wretched darkness was about to pulverise all their guts; lest something was done about it. The elderly wooden desk creaked as he leant backwards onto it; this sort of casual preening was more due to the fact that he shared this room with some spicy-looking devotchkas in skirts. He pretended to be listening. Peril yadda yadda- yeah- doom blah blah- oh, you’re the saviours of the bleetin’ school, by the by. The thumbtack that he’d never ceased to fiddle with until this point, ceased to be fiddled with. It dropped to the floor dramatically. Er- yeah- what?
He hadn’t taken the cantankerous, barmy old Headmaster too seriously. As yet, Avery was assigned to gathering Hufflepuff students in order to fight; this was proving a little difficult if truth to be told. Perhaps you could put it down to old Hufflepuff-ism but not a soul took him seriously ; finally, some mutinous droogs came for the ride light-heartedly, so they all gathered inside the Room of Requirement as agreed.
“Well, this’ll be a laugh,” sighed Avery, staring in perplexity at the ‘FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT’ banners draped around the room to support the occasion. He’d always fancied himself a leader, really. He swayed back and forth, whistling. A long, sheathed something was held tightly to his shoulders: he also fancied himself one of those martial arteest types (wait ‘til the ladies get a load of this).
He was one of the last people to respond.
“Avery Mansiel,” he announced cockily, jabbing a thumb to his chest, “Strengths include illusionary manipulation, disguise and good ol’ fashioned Arithmancy; meaning I’ve got a good databank on whoever we’re dealing with, just by tracking them.”
His voice was intrusively loud and a lot deeper than before. After his profile had been banked and the next person spoke up, Avery’s eyes darted to Daisy. <i>Little flower, eh?</i> quite a contradiction there.
“Weaknesses however…” he murmured, channelling his gaze through half-sunken eyes; trying to target a softer yet striking appeal. While everyone was preoccupied with introductions, Avery drifted over to her: “Are you volunteering to be tested?” he asked mischievously, to the back of her shoulder.
Why did that burke have to be our leader?” hissed a hufflepuff girl to her friend, narrowing her eyes at his distractedness. They were all uncomprehending as to why Avery Mansiel; notorious skirt-chaser; had been elected by the Headmaster himself as one of the most promising students. There was no denying Avery’s incapability to take anything seriously; his laid-back attitude wasn’t very invigorating for the Hufflepuff squad. At least the Slytherin and Gryffindor counterparts had taken some sort of lead. The same girl made a very impatient ‘tsk’ noise. “Now what is he doing?”
He was staring at the Slytherin girl. His face was all beaming and enthusiastic though, as if he was about to make a dash for the green-and-silver pom-poms and make an appreciative chant for her. 5-6-7-8! Who do we app-re-chi-ate?!
Quite suddenly his eyes returned to normal; that being vigilant and focused. He realised that, somewhere amongst the orders, Matias Avramidis was making a fair few points. Avery finally dislodged himself from the wall; flicked the cancer onto the ground and walked to where the other leaders were. He clapped Matias on the shoulder in acknowledgement, giving him a little wink. They had a fair few classes together. Avery had tried his best to be gracious to him but he wasn’t sure whether Matias shared the same enthusiasm for befriending him, somehow.
“Fair points, my brother,” he murmured; his voice a little oily but unearthing with soft sarcasm, “I agree with you. If we’re doin’ all this here; where’re the Ministry?”
He envisioned them rehearsing for a stage musical, where the ‘Warlock Tango’ was their most promising hit.
“Haah~” he sighed, scraping back his blond hair with one hand and wringing Matias around the neck sportingly with the other, “This is just pure guesswork but there’s going to have to be more than one of them; some kind of organisation. There’s no way it would be a single individual, otherwise gramps wouldn’t have gathered so many of us. Think about it,” He proclaimed, putting one finger up, “Number one: if it was one guy, they would have sent out an elitist from the Ministry." Two fingers up. "Number two: if it was one guy, we’d be more like sacrifices, ‘cause this would be oo~nnee~ tough cookie. The Headmaster hasn't gone that sinister in his old age.”
Avery shrugged his arm.
“So this organisation- or whatever- is targeting the vulnerable first. Probably ‘cause it’ll put pressure on the kiddy-winks’ parents; y’know; ‘save the children’ and all that,” Avery concluded rather lamely; still with his arm around Matias.
The room was getting heavily concentrated with dubious riff-raff; though amongst these wand-twirling idiots there were a few meaty people. Avery had retrieved a carton from his jacket pocket (a rather fine-cut piece of art it was; blue velvet with a large collar and a slender fitted allure) and ran his thumb repetitively along the sharp edges of the box; spinning it at every new corner. He wasn’t directing his lavish crew, oh no: they seemed to be having enough fun as it is. Instead he took this opportunity to draw out some of the bachelorettes from the crowd, though he was quite unfortunate to first land on Livian Cardenas. This hefty son-of-a- really ticked him off. Avery’s eyes darted from the carton to Livian in rapid irritation, and finally he cracked through the seal of the carton to draw out a cancer.
So he stood against the wall, puffing away. One leg was propped back against the wall and his blond head lulled sideways (the stick-thing he was carrying earlier he was now using as a sort of cane).
Finally something had caught his attention. His blue eyes slunk from the ground upwards, to where this vivacious dictator was ordering her crowd to ‘listen up’. Now if she wasn’t the prettiest little devotchka he’d ever set eyes on: he didn’t know who was. Long, blonde hair; tight jeans; yes. Avery smirked lop-sidedly- it was the Slytherin Cherie he’d ‘met’ earlier; if you’d call it a meeting. More like a sequence of very bizarre events, amounting to a lot of people boxed into the room of requirement on a Sunday evening.
The day he’d received an extra piece of parchment entitling him as a Hufflepuff prefect, Avery Mansiel reckoned he’d surpassed all of life’s cold calling and surprises. That is to say; everything else was a joke. When the Headmaster had summoned him that afternoon, Avery dislodged any possibility of him being one of the four most trusted students of the school and that some wretched darkness was about to pulverise all their guts; lest something was done about it. The elderly wooden desk creaked as he leant backwards onto it; this sort of casual preening was more due to the fact that he shared this room with some spicy-looking devotchkas in skirts. He pretended to be listening. Peril yadda yadda- yeah- doom blah blah- oh, you’re the saviours of the bleetin’ school, by the by. The thumbtack that he’d never ceased to fiddle with until this point, ceased to be fiddled with. It dropped to the floor dramatically. Er- yeah- what?
He hadn’t taken the cantankerous, barmy old Headmaster too seriously. As yet, Avery was assigned to gathering Hufflepuff students in order to fight; this was proving a little difficult if truth to be told. Perhaps you could put it down to old Hufflepuff-ism but not a soul took him seriously ; finally, some mutinous droogs came for the ride light-heartedly, so they all gathered inside the Room of Requirement as agreed.
“Well, this’ll be a laugh,” sighed Avery, staring in perplexity at the ‘FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT’ banners draped around the room to support the occasion. He’d always fancied himself a leader, really. He swayed back and forth, whistling. A long, sheathed something was held tightly to his shoulders: he also fancied himself one of those martial arteest types (wait ‘til the ladies get a load of this).