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Post by james on Jan 27, 2012 4:58:27 GMT 1
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;]hi » FIRE IT UP. Time of day, or night rather, dictated James be in bed suffocating under a mountain of blankets. Well, curfew demanded it. Time was more a small speed bump he was willing to overlook. A speed bump in his otherwise flawless quest for mischief. If that. One that he had no qualms tossing aside like this week’s Charms homework. There were bigger and better things to do. Fun things. Brilliant things even. Of course James wasn’t going to be in his bed, snugged up tight like a normal person. Yes, sleep was lovely, but it was also boring. And James didn’t do boring. James did fast paced, racing through life one adrenaline rushed second at a time. So there was definitely no sleeping tonight. Plus, he figured it best to keep himself scarce of Gryffindor Tower for a while. His last shenanigan with the canary creams hadn’t gone over so well. Some people just didn’t appreciate fun when it was handed to them on a silver platter. It wasn’t like it was his problem they didn’t have a sense of humour.
Prowling corridors like a pro, silent as a mouse and aided only by the flickering light from the last of the lit torches came as second nature these days. It was like breathing. As such, it was only a matter of time before he reached the first floor. Now, there was nothing particularly special about the first floor of Hogwarts. A couple of portraits hung on the stone walls, their residents sleeping soundly. A few classrooms. Nothing interesting to see here, move along. But James had plans. Big plans judging off the prankstuffs in his pockets. Which, really, was never a good thing for anyone except maybe him. Usually.
He paused, back pressed against the freezing stone wall. No reason to get ahead of himself and blow this thing to pieces before he’d even got it started. Yes, he had an invisibility cloak he'd nicked from his dad to use, but where was the element of danger when you were invisible? Besides, floating voices from nowhere got kind of dull after the first few times. Peeking around the corner, he cast a furtive glance up and down the quiet corridor. All clear. Not a single body (alive or otherwise) loitering in the shadows. Perfect. He broke cover, heading straight for the one classroom every student hated, twisting so his back was against the door. Target acquired; History of Magic classroom aka the first level of hell. He slipped his wand out of his right sleeve, pointing it at the door and muttering alohomora into the darkness. There was a soft click and James smiled smugly to himself, brown eyes blazing, slinking into the room and pushing the door firmly shut behind him.
Down to business. He emptied his pockets and a sea of little black buttons clattered to the floor. James picked one up turning it over as it instantly replicated into a second, then a third, singing an obnoxious little tune in its tinny voice. Satisfied, he tossed it back down with the rest, careful not to touch another. Next, he placed some cloth bags full of sticky glitter into each ceiling corner of the room, ready to rain down the moment he waved his wand some time tomorrow. Finally, he strolled through the rows of desks, enchanting each so it’d snap into motion upon contact with parchment.
Stepping back, hands resting behind his head in the centre of the room James admired his work. Yep, this was really something else. Rigged to perfection. A bloody masterpiece, he reckoned, nodding to himself. Merlin, if this didn’t disturb liven up the class, – and maybe half the floor - James would eat his shoe. Hogwarts was due for a little bit of excitement anyway. James was just keeping up his end of the bargain by providing it.
Sliding out of the classroom again, door closed and relocked, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, wandering aimlessly. Now he couldn’t care less if he was caught. He’d done what he’d come to do. Everything else achieved tonight would be a bonus. And if he did get caught, well, no big deal. At least there’d be someone to talk to. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d run into Ella or Darla.
seven eighteen, darla, not exactly what we discussed, but james had a mind of his own : /
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Post by DARLA ADRIENNE SELWYN on Jan 27, 2012 17:25:56 GMT 1
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if i leave my heart with you tonight promise me that you're gonna treat it right. | It was another night just like any other. There was nothing special or particular about this night which would make it comparable to any other. But at the stroke of midnight from the clock tower outside, Darla found that it was time to wake up from her nap and begin her prefect duties. It was comforting to know that in her getting ready, she would wake her other dormitory mates as most of them were still in the common room. With a sigh she opened her trunk to find clothes. It still smelled of burned wood and ash; the smell made her ready to cry instantaneously. That was his retaliation to her. After she set what was knowingly one of his most prized possessions on fire, he in turn set everything else of hers on fire. The witch a small sniffle to escape from her before finding her constant dwellings and depression redundant.
Darla left her common room behind, releasing a great yawn as she entered the dark dungeons. The torches were completely out and the hall was a never ending sea of darkness. But Darla knew the castle like the back of her hand and she continued to travel in the darkness until she reached the door to escape. The prefect was a bit sluggish in her movements, but it was mostly to do with her lack of motivation to patrol so late. See Darla rarely had a shift this late, especially alone. Typically she worked it out with Nick, him taking the later rounds and her, the earlier ones. Occasionally they’d work straight through together but that was no longer the case. There she went again, thinking about him. A sigh escaped her lips and again she continued.
Her first stop was the kitchens. Students incessantly snuck in to grab food or prank the house elves. With the wave of her wand and a muttering of a spell, the door clicked and opened, allowing her to come enter. A smell of disgust entered the girls senses and upon contact, her face scrunched up. It was a repulsing odor and it appeared as though the house elves neglected to dispose of the night’s waste. In passing the source, Darla was ready to gag from the revolting smell, but she held her distaste in. An idea came to her, and a coy smile spread across her face, even affecting her body language. Now the brunette chose to be crafty, even a bit sneaky. She knew what she wanted, and it was right in here…somewhere.
The Slytherin began to search, looking for her edible prize. She searched in the kitchen pantries, cupboard, and cabinets until finding her heart’s temporary desire; a large chocolate chip cookie. The prefect snatched it up and exited the kitchens, not only leaving that post, but with reward in tow. It wasn’t the most ethical of decisions she’d made as a prefect, but never did the girl truly abuse her power. Never |
[/i] Rarely did Darla go gallivanting throughout the grounds, no care for her actions whatsoever. Contrary to popular belief, very few prefects truly abused their power. Still, what she did was….technically wrong—and with that in mind, she only enjoyed her cookie that much more. It was when she traveled from the ground floor to the first floor that she saw a figure, wandering aimlessly, no care for curfew whatsoever. The Slytherin rolled her eyes, not wanting to truly work tonight. She had other things in mind, most of it having to do with Nick, incessantly repeating the events, trying to find a substantial purpose and ground as to what went wrong and why he left her so suddenly. She picked up her pace however, not only to see who the mysterious figure was as she strutted throughout the castle, but to catch him. It was when she made out the hair and body language—mind you, confident body language—that she knew exactly who the culprit was. Darla cleared her throat and continued to walk closer to the seventh year, a sly smile on her face. ”Well well well, James Potter…” she started, waiting for him to turn to her. ”Potter, this is the fourth time this month I’ve caught you out of bed. Y’know one day, I might actually give you a detention…” she teased, giving him a smile. James was a good guy, he truly was. He just chose not to fit in the proper school boy role, always eager for the opportunity to cause mischief. He was the ex boyfriend of a good friend of hers, but still, her relationship had nothing to do with them. And for the past few years, they grew close enough to call one another friends. Unlike Eric however, she was going to push him, wanting to know what he was doing. When Eric was out of bed, it was never to cause problems. Most of the time he was hiding something or had an arrangement to meet someone, but James—he had a reputation for explosions, pranks, and an occasional broken bone. ”Please tell me now, what sort of surprise am I in for tomorrow?” she asked, beginning the banter they were known for. [/size] [/div][/center] [/COLOR] AT CAUTION 2.0. DON'T STEAL. IT'S DOUCHEY.[/COLOR][/div][/center][/td][/tr] [/table] [/center] |
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Post by james on Jan 28, 2012 15:40:03 GMT 1
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image:url(http://i141.photobucket.com/albums/r71/maggiesrpstuff/BACKGROUNDS/fk5qwnjpg.png); width: 457px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30; -moz-border-radius: 35 35 35 35; -webkit-border-radius: 35 35 35 35;]hi » FIRE IT UP. It was eerily quiet, the only sound his footsteps reverberating off the stone walls punctuated with the occasional snore from a painting. James mightn’t have been bothered by it if it didn’t remind him of how alone he was. With no one to talk to, no further plans beyond trekking back up the remaining six floors of Hogwarts, his mind was allowed to wander places he’d rather it didn’t. Namely the girl who was starring in his very own production of the high school breakup. It seemed no matter what he did, Kenzie was floating just below the surface of his thoughts. She'd broken up with him, severed all ties and yet she followed him around like a restless ghost. James scowled at himself, annoyed. Get a grip, Potter! He couldn't even blame her for her continued presence either; Hogwarts was her school too, Gryffindor her house. Just because he was cut up about it all didn't mean James could kick her out, even if he wanted to. Which he didn't. Not really. Hell, he actually liked knowing she was around, regularly hoped to catch her face in a crowd as much as he hated every minute spent in her company or dwelling like a bloody fifteen year old girl in a trashy romance novel.
He shook his head, attempting to clear it. Focus on the prank. The epic one he'd just prepared for tomorrow. His head dropped towards his chest as he suppressed a snigger. Come Muggle Studies, the first floor and everyone it it was going to go off!. You could bet James would be the first one out in the corridor, eyes scrunched tight as he doubled up, howling with laughter. He could picture it now in full technicolour; millions of singing buttons erupting out of the History of Magic classroom and spilling into a shiny lake that expanded at every touch, followed quickly by students absolutely drenched in sticky red and gold glitter (because James had far too much house pride). The best part, though, was something they'd all discover much, much later. Glitter was harmless, right? Sure. But this stuff was special; it stained. Oh, those caught in the crossfire (and he'd made certain half of them were Ravenclaws, since this was the time to make statements) would be decked out in Gryffindor's best for days! Yeah, James might’ve napped in class, passed notes like it was his job, but he learned in the end. Even did a little bit of independent study on the side. He was intelligent and if he had anything to show for it besides his grades, it was his pranks. Pure genius.
A voice cut through his musings, one he’d come to know quite well in the last couple of years. One of a friend, despite obstacles like quidditch rivalries and houses. A voice belonging to none other then - “Miss Selwyn,” he countered, slowly turning around, one eyebrow raised. His lips quirked, matching the Slytherin’s own smile. “Looks like this is really starting to become a habit for us; midnight encounters by flickering firelight.” He gestured expansively at the torches on the walls casting intricate contrasts of light and shadows over their faces. Darla was quite beautiful on her own, that was undeniable, but James would be blind not to see what the lighting did to her features. Stunning, really. Perhaps if he weren’t still, well... Maybe in some alternate reality things between them could have been different. As it was, he’d just stick to their usual. “Bed? Pfft, bed’s boring,” he scoffed at her next words, turning a wicked eye on her. “This, however, is much more interesting...” he said slyly, looking her directly in the eyes. James paused, allowing his words to sink in as he sidled a little closer.
On the outside, he was grinning charmingly at her, but on the inside he was sighing in relief. Maybe this angsting thing was just a phase after all? Brought on from a rise in contact after a steady period of absolutely none? Perhaps all he needed was to turn up the charm, flirt a little bit more and he’d be right as rain. Soon enough it'd be Kenzie? Kenzie who? Yeah, it sounded a little naive to James too.
Suddenly, he found himself wondering if Darla was feeling the same way. He'd heard about her and Nick - the messy breakup - and instantly felt his skin grow cold. He'd let his own selfish experiment take centre stage. And for what? Some misguided notion that it was all in his head? That he was over it? How could he have been so insensitive? Unconsciously, he backed up a step, running a hand through his hair. He'd make it up to Darla if it was the last thing he did. If James had learned anything from breakups it was distractions were sometimes the only thing going for you next to a whole lotta time. While he couldn't necessarily help with the latter, the former was well within his power; James Potter was nigh on being synonymous with distraction these days. And if Darla didn't need it after all, well, James sure did.
With an imperceptible nod to himself, James gave her his best kicked puppy look. It was pretty impressive, so he’d been told on numerous occasions. Darla, however, was of a different breed and he loved her for it; she’d see through the ploy right down to the teasing in an instant. “Aww, come on Darla! We both know you can’t put this face in detention. Could you? Throw this face,” here he frowned ever so slightly, “into the clutches of the caretaker? Could you really be so cruel?” He shook his head, clutching a hand to his chest and turning slightly away from her, ever the dramatic. “Does our friendship mean so little to you?” He'd closed his eyes for a moment, so he cracked one open, trying to read her expression and suppressing another oncoming teasing smile.
“Surprise -?” He feigned shock, brown eyes wide, his eyebrows disappearing towards his hairline. “Why is it always ‘what did you do this time’?” He sighed heavily, shaking his head as if all the problems in the world rested on his, admittedly, strong shoulders. “Never, ‘hey James, nice to see you, how are you?’ Seriously, can’t a bloke just take a midnight stroll without being accused of something?” Turning to Darla, he looked at her with a straight face. Except for his eyes. His brown eyes betrayed him completely, sparkling in mirth.
The urge to smirk back at her was a difficult one to repress, but he carried on dutifully as per usual. “One time you’re caught throwing a dungbomb down the dungeons and suddenly you’re master mischief maker extraordinaire. I swear, Darla, you’ll give me a complex and soon enough I’ll be standing up for everything that goes down in this castle. Don’t you think I’ve had enough detentions for the student population already?” His tone was undeniably sarcastic, but at this point it all proved too much. His lips twitched and he took a quick breath in and out his nose to get himself back under control. It was no use - he was already smirking.
"Seriously, though, a prankster never pranks and tells." There was nothing quite too serious about his next words, however, James plowed on right ahead anyway. This was far too therapeutic; banter with a friend, something normal. And yes, midnight banter was totally normal for him. He didn't care that he'd perhaps gone a bit over the top, or that he looked like an idiot. Nine times out of ten, he was an idiot anyway. Just ask anyone. But tonight, he figured he had a legitimate reason; prevent thoughts of certain pair of exes from surfacing. What was looking daft in the face of that? "Don't make me break the code; I'll be kicked out of the club and then where will I be? Chatting up Moaning Myrtle and trotting after the caretaker for the rest of my days." James groaned for effect and made a face as if he'd eaten something awful. "Augh, hit me with an obliviate if that ever happens, will you Darla? Make it a doozy. I'd rather lose my mind than remember any of that." Shuddering, he moved closer, sliding an arm around her shoulders and tucking her safely against his side."No, you'll just have to wait like everyone else," he finished, moving, if possible, even closer. After a pause, he leaned in, his cheek brushing up against her hair. "Fair warning though - just for you, darling - you might want to keep clear of this floor during fourth period." He whispered, winking at her conspiratorially.
With that, he straightened up again, resuming his, often infuriatingly, relaxed posture and walking them further up the corridor and away from any other pesky prefects. Darla may have been one of the good ones, but he couldn't say the same for every other prefect out there. He'd hate to think Darla would get in trouble on his behalf. "You know, you're a horrible prefect, Selwyn, he remarked, his trademark bluntness finally getting a spin. "I'm surprised you haven't lost the badge yet, letting me off the hook all the time." Which he was thankful for, to be sure, but still, he was curious. "Do you guys have like a quota per week? Whoever catches the most criminals, collects up the most wanted, you know, gets put into a draw for a prize?" It often seemed that way, what with all those fifth year prefects constantly slapping him with detentions and lost house points. He laughed to himself. "Bet you'd never win, eh?" he said, teasingly, nudging her in the ribs with his elbow gently.
lots; james got dramatic, darla, augh, sorry, flow is not my friend
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Post by DARLA ADRIENNE SELWYN on Jan 30, 2012 2:41:06 GMT 1
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if i leave my heart with you tonight promise me that you're gonna treat it right. | A coy smile crept across the Slytherin’s face as her namesake passed through his lips. Truly, their encounters had become routine, and it was almost something the girl looked forward to—almost. James made for a great rival. They played hard on the pitch, and jabs about the other’s most recent game were expected and almost welcomed. Still though, their weekly encounters and long thought-provoking conversations game Darla more insight to James Potter than to her other ‘average friends’ and the reciprocal. ”Potter, I think you’re beginning to plan our meetings. Why else would you choose such flattering light for yourself?” she countered, her smile turning into its sweeter demeanor.
The witch parted her lips slightly, raising a brow at him as though she were questioning his intentions tonight. In all reality, she always found James to be quite the flirt and with the two of them together, charming the other away with no end in sight, who knew where their conversation would take them. James was also Nick’s resident drinking buddy. Who knew, something could be said tonight and repeated in drunken banter days later. The serpent-housemate saw this as an opportunity, and chose to seize it with open arms, as unethical as it may seem. Jealousy—the perfect response.
Her eyes distracted her as she fell back into reality, watching James’ body language. He turned into a young schoolboy, nervous to turn himself in. Darla watched the wheels turning in his head and the Gryffindor began to think on his feet. Again his body changed; his shoulders grew to slouch more and his face—why it was one of the most impressive ‘puppy-dog-pouts’ if she’d ever seen one—and with the first years, she’d seen plenty. ”Quite the talent you have there…truly” she admitted, though sarcasm dripped from every word. But as he continued his antics, she softened her authoritative mask and even began to laugh. He was quite animated, there was no denying. She watched him crack an eye open as he stood perpendicular to her. Shooting him a teasing smile, she shook her head still disapproving of the way he could sneak away from her. It had plenty to do with charm, maybe even his smile, but somehow James knew just what to do, and how big of a production to make out of himself to relieve any trouble that was to be set upon him.
Darla watched in interest as the boy continued to sell himself to her, though now she was armed and ready, even eager to give remark. ”No, a bloke can’t take a midnight stroll because a bloke can’t be out of bed. However, you are Mr. James Potter” her infliction appeared as though she were finished with her sentence. She waited until a calm came over his face before continuing ”…which means that if you’re not eating, sleeping, or hitting bludgers in my direction, than you’re up to something” she smiled, teasingly of course to let him know that as right as she knew herself to be, she’d never be the one to put James into anymore trouble. He already got constant lectures from the professors on his life decisions, he didn’t need one from her. ”Don’t blame me.. blame the student population” she mimicked with a smirk. His true reveal came however when he’d finally realized that his own smile deceived him. ”Besides, who would want to break from routine?” she added, alluding to both his delinquent prankster acts and their reoccurring meetings.
Her eyes furrowed as he told her that well, he wouldn’t tell her. She was admittedly disappointed in herself. She’d gotten to guessing his plans quite frequently now. She’d guess the location or some critical detail and in arrangement of her not turning him in, he’d clue her in as to where to avoid or sometimes even what not to wear on specific days; it was a friendly heads-up, you could say. The Slytherin gave a small giggle as he continued his rampage, now speaking of Moaning Myrtle and the caretaker. ”Oh with pleasure” she teased, at the thought of wiping James’ memory. Even for a day, just one day, Darla began to wonder just what she could do to memory-less James. Probably bring him to muggle London and let him loose, spectating from afar. Then his arm came up and around her as though he were to bring her on a friendly stroll. ”Fourth period…right” she repeated, smiling in thanks. The pair continued walking, James leading the way and Darla—allowing him. She inhaled, refraining from speaking for a moment and an extraordinarily pleasant smell wafted infront of her. She perked up a bit, inhaling once again, leading her to her source. ”Do people often tell you that you smell nice?” she asked, as comical as it was. How frequently could that question really come up. Regardless, this would be just another opportunity for James to tell her about himself, and she was eager to listen.
The jabs began, and Darla was more than prepared to retort. He chose to go about with her prefect status. She scoffed for a moment, surprised he’d even go into that uncharted territory. The Slytherin stopped moving for a moment, a coy smile on her lips, ”Potter! You’re absolutely right!” she began, placing herself back under his arm. ”You deserve a better prefect than myself! Here I’ll take you to one of the fifth year Ravenclaw prefects. They go by the book, exactly how I’m sure you’d like them!” she toyed, acting as though she were looking for one. ”You haven’t heard about the professors have you?” she began, riddling off her nonsense as though it were truth, waiting for James to believe her for moment only to break truth to him. ”We’re not allowed for a quota, but they have one. Every teacher against the other, the one who gives the most detentions gets the day off.” she added, coming up with everything on the spot, her infliction reminiscent of a gossip. ”Just think, how many days off has Professor Binns gotten from you?” she teased, her smile revealing her.
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