OOC - hiatus notice

[manriki-chan.livejournal.com]

I know that the timing is pretty awkward in terms of some already-existing RPs, but I think I'm going to need to take a bit of an internet-holiday. After tonight it's unlikely I'll be about on IRC or AIM (or, indeed, in HH) for about a week at least. Maybe longer, I'm not sure. Judging from my previous attempts at hiatus... ;)

I'll be checking my emails at work though, if anybody needs to contact me - I'm starless_waters_far_astray [at] hotmail [dot] com.

Thanks guys, and see you all soon!

<3

Owl to Wilson

[canes-can-kill.livejournal.com]

( Mick Jagger delivers to Wilson, the note charmed to play a modified version of 'Bootylicious' when opened - the new version being 'Cuddylicious' )

open RP: a room of one's own

[lemondrop-party.livejournal.com]

Albus had paid a social call on the Headmistress. A social call it was, purely; he saw no sense in sharing with her the kinds of misgivings he had voiced to Minerva. Besides, Furbish was a language lent to the frivolous. Over fruit punch, Kahnooloo babbled about her liking for parties and dancing, and Albus, smiling, allowed as how Hogwarts these days seemed a place given to revelry.

In the course of their chatter, Albus posed a casual question to the Furby, who was much in a mood to grant favors. Naturally he would not have needed to ask her for anything in his own school. He could have acquired almost anything under this roof without a by-your-leave. However, he wished a certain aura of reputability about his doings, at least some of them. So it was with official sanction that a small private room on the third floor, very near the Trophy Room, underwent minor remodeling.

A small dull brass plaque on the door read:

A. DUMBLEDORE
PROFESSOR EMERITUS

et ego vobis dico petite et dabitur vobis
quaerite et invenietis pulsate et aperietur vobis.

Newly engraved, yet it was dull, by design; and by design, when a person passed whose attention Albus had no reason to avoid, nonetheless the engravings would seem to catch the candlelight, drawing the eye.

( 'What will you be teaching me, sir?' 'Oh, a little of this, a little of that,' said Dumbledore airily. (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince) )

Bah freaking humbug (An Unpopcorning Event)

[fullofjelly.livejournal.com]

He hated popcorn. Unless it was chocolate covered. Or caramel. Or being thrown at the screen of a Kirsten Dunst movie. But, generally, he hated it. Stuck in your teeth, got kernels caught in your beard - messy stuff. And too salty. Not enough of a sweet kick to make it worthwhile.

So it was with great disgust and an eyeroll at the fucking irony that Santa found himself 'unpopping' as it were.

"Fuck you too, Orville."

Doing his best to sweep the crumbs off his jacket - laying fingers aside of his nose aside, Santa used a dry cleaner like everyone else; soot was a bitch on velvet - he stomped out of the room and headed down the hallway. He knew where he was - he was fucking Santa, he always knew where he was - but Hogwarts School of Emoness and Drunken Parties was not exactly where he'd been expecting to end up. Just fucking great.

Well, at least it wasn't the North Pole. This time of year, the elves were all cranky and Mrs. Claus was off with her 'yoga instructor'; it was more than a little boring. Plus, ESPN reception sucked.

He had no idea how he managed to end up a freaking piece of popcorn, of all the Jack Frost forsaken things, but something was telling him that Hufflepuff was important somehow. Whatever. He needed a drink, first.

((And he has arrived! Feel free to pediconference with him - man is on a mission. Also, I apologize for any childhood breaking he will do. Have fun!))

Application of Prince Hamlet of Denmark, 'Hamlet'

[toomuchinthesun.livejournal.com]

A blond man with blood- stained Elizabethan- era clothes stumbled into the Sorting room, a rapier trailing from one hand. He was deathly pale- as he should be, he thinks a bit dazedly. He was dead. He had felt the breath rattle in his chest, the poison creep through his body and slowly choke him, and Horatio cradling him like a child. ‘The rest is silence,’ he thought, though it becomes clear that it… is not? Where was he?

Hamlet, formerly Prince of Denmark- no, he is still Prince of Denmark, he thinks, the title does not end when life does, the words do not end with the breath used to say them- looked around the room. It is not Elsinore.

“A goodly prison this,” Hamlet said aloud, not to anyone in particular. “The stones are not yet blood soaked. I do begin to doubt myself. Hath my actions sent me to the same dull Purgatory wherein my father’s ghost doth suffer daily torments? But I should think-” Hamlet turned around restlessly, indecisively. “No… ‘tis but a dream, methinks. Thus am I yet living? Oh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space were it not that I have bad dreams- by the heavens, I hath said this before. Death has robbed me of my wits and imprisoned me within my mind, within this new sphere, within this dull limbo. Methinks this punishment far worse than banishment. Hath I become that which I feigned? Am I merely mad or is there some nobler purpose for my presence? I do fear the former. ” He shook his head tiredly and glanced over at the application. Hamlet picked it up, carelessly dropping his empoisoned rapier onto the ground. “And what is this?”

( I have of late- but wherefore I know not- lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world; the paragon of animals; and yet to me what is this quintessence of dust? )