De-hiatusing post and open RP!
Aug. 20th, 2009 12:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
toujours-sirius.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hh_mirrorIt may or may not have been coincidental, but at almost the exact same time, eight figures walked through the front door of Hogwarts and into the Entrance Hall. Well, seven walked. The eighth blibbled.
The godfather, the reluctant hero, and the marshmallow
The figure of Sirius Black cast a tall, lean shadow across the Entrance Hall. One of the shadow's hands rested on the shadow shoulder of a somewhat shorter subject, whose gangly shape was topped with what appeared to be a bird's nest, or perhaps just a head of extremely messy hair. The other hand of the taller shadow rested on a much less defined form. Two short, golf-club-shaped legs could be clearly discerned, but above that, it was unclear where torso gave way to head; the only clue was the outline of a bowler hat on top of the entire structure, and it was firmly on the bowler hat that the hand of Sirius Black's shadow rested. Even more bizarre was the fact that the alignment of the shadow feet of this strange creature gave the distinct impression that it was hovering a couple of feet off the floor as it moved forward with the other two members of the trio.
"Well, Harry," Sirius said with a deep, contented sigh as they entered the castle, "here we are. Home sweet home." With a small smile whose modesty was betrayed by the sheer joy in the glasses-framed green eyes above it, Harry Potter nodded silently, his senses engaged in taking in the familiar sights and smells of the only place he had ever truly seen as his home.
Now Sirius looked down and addressed the strange figure on his other side. "Homsar.... I'm so sorry our quest to find your father did not go as we had hoped." He shook his head sadly. "There are simply too many chipwiches out there in the world, and it would have been impossible for us to locate them all and find out which one is your dad. Millions is a very common surname for ice-cream-filled cookie sandwiches, after all."
Harry reached around behind Sirius and clumsily patted Homsar on what he hoped was one shoulder (and especially not the bowler hat, Merlin, not the bowler hat, for that was Sirius's exclusive territory, and Harry had no desire whatsoever to intrude in his godfather's bizarre sexual relationship with the good professor). He knew what it was like to be fatherless, and so he greatly sympathized.
"DaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAA! The results are in, I am NOT the bother! KASHOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Homsar half-shrieked, half-sighed, and his bowler hat drooped down the back of his head. Harry quickly jerked his hand away.
"But don't give up, all right?" continued Sirius. "Lily is still out there, scouring the world, and if anyone can find your father and reunite the two of you, it's her." Or perhaps Maury Povich, but unfortunately Sirius, Harry, and Homsar were unacquainted with the DNA paternity magic that Mr Povich wielded.
"Yeah, Homsar, don't worry, Mum will find him," Harry added. "Meanwhile, we need you here to teach us Arithmancy and, er...maintain order in Ravenclaw." Something like that, at least. He made sure not to bring up the topic of starting the Jeffersons, lest Homsar sink deeper into his funk.
As they got further into the castle, the trio parted ways, Harry and Sirius proceeding to the Slytherin dungeons and Homsar blibbling his way towards Ravenclaw Tower.
The rhinoceros
The next figure to walk through the door did so with something of a spring in his step, which was not at all an easy feat to accomplish when one's feet were soolnds, and, more importantly, when said soolnds belonged to a creature who had once buried himself in a hole in the ground in the hopes of experiencing what it felt like to be dead...and that was to say nothing of the fact that said creature owned every single album by Morrissey on cassette tape, eight-track, CD, and in iTunes. Despite the melancholy of his gaming partner, Strong Sad was actually in a very chipper mood. He was just returning from a whole series of conventions -- three sci/fi fantasy ones and eight forums on safety, to be exact. It had been a good summer. He had even engaged in a little bit of cosplay at the Forum for Fire Prevention in the Workplace and Beyond, dressing as a fire hydrant. Even having been urinated on by several dogs on the way to the forum had not gotten him down.
He whistled a happy tune as he walked toward Gryffindor Tower, punctuating the song with small bits of sung phrases. The lyrics "I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever write a song about Sibbie" could be distinctly heard by anyone within earshot.
He turned and ascended a staircase. After several seconds, however, there was a loud crash as one of his soolnds plunged straight through that nasty old trick stair. The whistling and singing immediately stopped, and the only sound that was emitted from the staircase was an echoey "I'm dooooooooooooomed."
The jokester
Luckily, those who enjoyed hearing a good round of whistling were not to be disappointed, for Fred Weasley came strolling through the door in Strong Sad's wake, and he was in quite a pleasant mood indeed! His trip to southeast Asia to pick up some, shall we say, dodgy magical items had been an outright success, and he could think of little else than holing up in his room and putting them to good use. And by good use, he meant starting up his Flatulent Fireworks product line, among other things. He strode up toward Gryffindor Tower, one hand casually clutching a very large package under his robes.
The swan
As Fred's whistling drifted off in the direction of Gryffindor, a much different noise punctuated the silence that began to fill in the Entrance Hall.
"Hell-OOOOOOOOOO-OH! Anybody home? Heeeeeeeeeeeere...SWANNIE!" A squat woman of indiscernible ethnic origin waddled through the doors. She wore a plaid housedress, and her hair was cut in a blunt bob, with even blunter bangs. Only her own echo greeted her, and she stopped in her tracks and looked around with suspicious, beady eyes. "Yuhhhhh, OK, but why is all the rum gone?" Her voice was heavily accented. "Swannie, I hooooo-ooooooome!"
Still nothing.
With a loud sigh, Miss Swan opened the large purse she had clutched to her and pulled out an orange cornsnake. "OK, you go finding somebody who look like a man and bring him back to Swan so we can get this party started," she commanded the snake, and it slithered off, probably ecstatic at the long-awaited opportunity to escape its nutjob mistress, who was now undoing the top button of her housedress in the hopes of attracting a booty call. Now that she had gone back to Kuvaria and been there and done all that with those wily Kuravian men (all of whom completely looked like men!), it was time to tap some magical ass.
The boss and the receptionist
Hogwarts and Scranton were two completely different worlds, almost like the office and the warehouse. But both places, castle and paper company in an industrial office park, felt like home to Pam Beesly, and while she wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing, that's how it was. Which, perhaps, was why she wasn't all that surprised to bump into Michael Scott as she entered the castle.
"Michael! I thought you -- oof!" A man in a suit and tie, with just a bit too much gel in his hair -- the aforementioned Michael Scott -- had launched himself at her and wrapped himself around her in a colossal bear hug. After several airless seconds and a quick head jerk to prevent the inevitable kiss attempt, Pam managed to pry Michael off of herself, but there was nothing she could do to stop the barrage of cheesy greetings, some of which were sung, that issued forth from his mouth.
"PAMELA YES MA'AM-ELA SAM I AM-ELA! WAIT-er! I'd like an order of Pam-strami on rye, please! PAM...duh duh duh, duh duh duh, LET THE BOYS BE BOYS! If you like it, then you should've put a Pam on it, oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh!" By this point, Michael had pulled back from her enough to start slapping his own ass and shaking one hand around in an attempt at the Single Ladies dance, allowing Pam to take several steps back.
"It's good to see you, too, Michael," she managed to interject with a bit of a smile -- and it was a genuine smile, because as crazy as the man was, she had missed him. Not enough to watch him do what might be the world's worst imitation of Beyoncé, however, and so she extended a hand to grip him just above the elbow. "But just...yeah, don't dance anymore. At least, not right now, okay?"
That was a tall order for Michael, who was ecstatic not just to see Pam, but also to be returning to Hogwarts and Dunder-Mifflin Hogsmeade, but he complied with a joyful sort of "Yayyyyysh" before coming to a complete stop. But he couldn't stay still for long, jerking back into motion with a loud hand clap. "Vill-kom-en back-en, Fraulein Pam! Ve haf missed you around dese parts!" His accent started going a bit Arnold Schwarzenegger.
God. Already Pam was starting to wonder whether she should have stayed in Scranton for another week or two. It had been so nice and peaceful and wonderful visiting her parents. They never did crazy dances or semi-sexually-harassed her on a regular basis. "You weren't here either, Michael."
"Jaaaaaa," Michael replied deeply, his twitching smile betraying any attempt at Germanic seriousness he was hoping to impart. "Jaaaaaasssssh." He clapped again. "Because I~~~ was out. And by out, I mean OUT. GAY PRIDE, BABY! I was doing a circuit of all the pride festivals around the world, getting my rainbow on, because I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm gay as beer!" More ass slapping, albeit of a different sort, ensued.
Ah yes, the gay thing. Michael was still convinced he was gay, and for all Pam knew, he was still engaged to that awful purple television monstrosity. "That's...great, Michael. I'm sure you really represented out there. Well, I'm really jetlagged, so I should probably, you know, head back to my dorm. But...I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
She quickly darted off in the direction of Hufflepuff as Michael ass-slapped his way toward Slytherin, or perhaps Sparklypoo. A sort of wheezing sound, as well as a gut-churning scent, came from a small pet carrier he held in his non-ass-slapping hand.
((Time to officially end my unofficial hiatus! Please feel free to throw your characters at any or all of these guys, gals, and marshamallowy-type creatures! Emmie Silvey is still on hiatus, but I will bring her back in a separate post sometime in the nearish future. :) ))
The godfather, the reluctant hero, and the marshmallow
The figure of Sirius Black cast a tall, lean shadow across the Entrance Hall. One of the shadow's hands rested on the shadow shoulder of a somewhat shorter subject, whose gangly shape was topped with what appeared to be a bird's nest, or perhaps just a head of extremely messy hair. The other hand of the taller shadow rested on a much less defined form. Two short, golf-club-shaped legs could be clearly discerned, but above that, it was unclear where torso gave way to head; the only clue was the outline of a bowler hat on top of the entire structure, and it was firmly on the bowler hat that the hand of Sirius Black's shadow rested. Even more bizarre was the fact that the alignment of the shadow feet of this strange creature gave the distinct impression that it was hovering a couple of feet off the floor as it moved forward with the other two members of the trio.
"Well, Harry," Sirius said with a deep, contented sigh as they entered the castle, "here we are. Home sweet home." With a small smile whose modesty was betrayed by the sheer joy in the glasses-framed green eyes above it, Harry Potter nodded silently, his senses engaged in taking in the familiar sights and smells of the only place he had ever truly seen as his home.
Now Sirius looked down and addressed the strange figure on his other side. "Homsar.... I'm so sorry our quest to find your father did not go as we had hoped." He shook his head sadly. "There are simply too many chipwiches out there in the world, and it would have been impossible for us to locate them all and find out which one is your dad. Millions is a very common surname for ice-cream-filled cookie sandwiches, after all."
Harry reached around behind Sirius and clumsily patted Homsar on what he hoped was one shoulder (and especially not the bowler hat, Merlin, not the bowler hat, for that was Sirius's exclusive territory, and Harry had no desire whatsoever to intrude in his godfather's bizarre sexual relationship with the good professor). He knew what it was like to be fatherless, and so he greatly sympathized.
"DaaaAAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAA! The results are in, I am NOT the bother! KASHOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Homsar half-shrieked, half-sighed, and his bowler hat drooped down the back of his head. Harry quickly jerked his hand away.
"But don't give up, all right?" continued Sirius. "Lily is still out there, scouring the world, and if anyone can find your father and reunite the two of you, it's her." Or perhaps Maury Povich, but unfortunately Sirius, Harry, and Homsar were unacquainted with the DNA paternity magic that Mr Povich wielded.
"Yeah, Homsar, don't worry, Mum will find him," Harry added. "Meanwhile, we need you here to teach us Arithmancy and, er...maintain order in Ravenclaw." Something like that, at least. He made sure not to bring up the topic of starting the Jeffersons, lest Homsar sink deeper into his funk.
As they got further into the castle, the trio parted ways, Harry and Sirius proceeding to the Slytherin dungeons and Homsar blibbling his way towards Ravenclaw Tower.
The rhinoceros
The next figure to walk through the door did so with something of a spring in his step, which was not at all an easy feat to accomplish when one's feet were soolnds, and, more importantly, when said soolnds belonged to a creature who had once buried himself in a hole in the ground in the hopes of experiencing what it felt like to be dead...and that was to say nothing of the fact that said creature owned every single album by Morrissey on cassette tape, eight-track, CD, and in iTunes. Despite the melancholy of his gaming partner, Strong Sad was actually in a very chipper mood. He was just returning from a whole series of conventions -- three sci/fi fantasy ones and eight forums on safety, to be exact. It had been a good summer. He had even engaged in a little bit of cosplay at the Forum for Fire Prevention in the Workplace and Beyond, dressing as a fire hydrant. Even having been urinated on by several dogs on the way to the forum had not gotten him down.
He whistled a happy tune as he walked toward Gryffindor Tower, punctuating the song with small bits of sung phrases. The lyrics "I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever write a song about Sibbie" could be distinctly heard by anyone within earshot.
He turned and ascended a staircase. After several seconds, however, there was a loud crash as one of his soolnds plunged straight through that nasty old trick stair. The whistling and singing immediately stopped, and the only sound that was emitted from the staircase was an echoey "I'm dooooooooooooomed."
The jokester
Luckily, those who enjoyed hearing a good round of whistling were not to be disappointed, for Fred Weasley came strolling through the door in Strong Sad's wake, and he was in quite a pleasant mood indeed! His trip to southeast Asia to pick up some, shall we say, dodgy magical items had been an outright success, and he could think of little else than holing up in his room and putting them to good use. And by good use, he meant starting up his Flatulent Fireworks product line, among other things. He strode up toward Gryffindor Tower, one hand casually clutching a very large package under his robes.
The swan
As Fred's whistling drifted off in the direction of Gryffindor, a much different noise punctuated the silence that began to fill in the Entrance Hall.
"Hell-OOOOOOOOOO-OH! Anybody home? Heeeeeeeeeeeere...SWANNIE!" A squat woman of indiscernible ethnic origin waddled through the doors. She wore a plaid housedress, and her hair was cut in a blunt bob, with even blunter bangs. Only her own echo greeted her, and she stopped in her tracks and looked around with suspicious, beady eyes. "Yuhhhhh, OK, but why is all the rum gone?" Her voice was heavily accented. "Swannie, I hooooo-ooooooome!"
Still nothing.
With a loud sigh, Miss Swan opened the large purse she had clutched to her and pulled out an orange cornsnake. "OK, you go finding somebody who look like a man and bring him back to Swan so we can get this party started," she commanded the snake, and it slithered off, probably ecstatic at the long-awaited opportunity to escape its nutjob mistress, who was now undoing the top button of her housedress in the hopes of attracting a booty call. Now that she had gone back to Kuvaria and been there and done all that with those wily Kuravian men (all of whom completely looked like men!), it was time to tap some magical ass.
The boss and the receptionist
Hogwarts and Scranton were two completely different worlds, almost like the office and the warehouse. But both places, castle and paper company in an industrial office park, felt like home to Pam Beesly, and while she wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing, that's how it was. Which, perhaps, was why she wasn't all that surprised to bump into Michael Scott as she entered the castle.
"Michael! I thought you -- oof!" A man in a suit and tie, with just a bit too much gel in his hair -- the aforementioned Michael Scott -- had launched himself at her and wrapped himself around her in a colossal bear hug. After several airless seconds and a quick head jerk to prevent the inevitable kiss attempt, Pam managed to pry Michael off of herself, but there was nothing she could do to stop the barrage of cheesy greetings, some of which were sung, that issued forth from his mouth.
"PAMELA YES MA'AM-ELA SAM I AM-ELA! WAIT-er! I'd like an order of Pam-strami on rye, please! PAM...duh duh duh, duh duh duh, LET THE BOYS BE BOYS! If you like it, then you should've put a Pam on it, oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh!" By this point, Michael had pulled back from her enough to start slapping his own ass and shaking one hand around in an attempt at the Single Ladies dance, allowing Pam to take several steps back.
"It's good to see you, too, Michael," she managed to interject with a bit of a smile -- and it was a genuine smile, because as crazy as the man was, she had missed him. Not enough to watch him do what might be the world's worst imitation of Beyoncé, however, and so she extended a hand to grip him just above the elbow. "But just...yeah, don't dance anymore. At least, not right now, okay?"
That was a tall order for Michael, who was ecstatic not just to see Pam, but also to be returning to Hogwarts and Dunder-Mifflin Hogsmeade, but he complied with a joyful sort of "Yayyyyysh" before coming to a complete stop. But he couldn't stay still for long, jerking back into motion with a loud hand clap. "Vill-kom-en back-en, Fraulein Pam! Ve haf missed you around dese parts!" His accent started going a bit Arnold Schwarzenegger.
God. Already Pam was starting to wonder whether she should have stayed in Scranton for another week or two. It had been so nice and peaceful and wonderful visiting her parents. They never did crazy dances or semi-sexually-harassed her on a regular basis. "You weren't here either, Michael."
"Jaaaaaa," Michael replied deeply, his twitching smile betraying any attempt at Germanic seriousness he was hoping to impart. "Jaaaaaasssssh." He clapped again. "Because I~~~ was out. And by out, I mean OUT. GAY PRIDE, BABY! I was doing a circuit of all the pride festivals around the world, getting my rainbow on, because I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm gay as beer!" More ass slapping, albeit of a different sort, ensued.
Ah yes, the gay thing. Michael was still convinced he was gay, and for all Pam knew, he was still engaged to that awful purple television monstrosity. "That's...great, Michael. I'm sure you really represented out there. Well, I'm really jetlagged, so I should probably, you know, head back to my dorm. But...I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
She quickly darted off in the direction of Hufflepuff as Michael ass-slapped his way toward Slytherin, or perhaps Sparklypoo. A sort of wheezing sound, as well as a gut-churning scent, came from a small pet carrier he held in his non-ass-slapping hand.
((Time to officially end my unofficial hiatus! Please feel free to throw your characters at any or all of these guys, gals, and marshamallowy-type creatures! Emmie Silvey is still on hiatus, but I will bring her back in a separate post sometime in the nearish future. :) ))
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-31 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-31 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-02 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-02 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-02 01:24 am (UTC)"You haven't duelled before, have you? With magic, I mean." Harry couldn't imagine attempting to bluff in a duel. Well, he could, but the scenario would end very quickly with himself getting his arse handed to him.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-02 01:30 am (UTC)Never mind that he actually DIDN'T convince Dwight, Dwight just couldn't prove that Turlough did it.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-02 06:21 pm (UTC)It now seemed so odd to Harry that he had managed to live for eleven years without one!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-03 05:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-16 06:44 pm (UTC)Harry nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. Magic might not even work on other planets anyway." He thought about owling the Astronomy professor, whoever that was now, to find out, but decided it would matter only if someone had found a way to propel Voldemort into space. Which would probably be a much easier task with Voldemort in his current popcornized state. Hmmmm. He wondered if Sirius would have any thoughts or ideas on the matter.
"Right. Well, I'd best be going now." He glanced down the corridor, figuring Sirius was probably waiting up for him somewhere along the way. "But it was nice talking to you, and thanks for...you know, offering to help clear up the whole thing with the bloke who looks like me."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-16 06:53 pm (UTC)[[ditto what Turlough said.]]