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Apr. 2nd, 2008
::Open RP on the Grounds::
Apr. 2nd, 2008 08:32 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
i-am-an-hero.livejournal.comOutside was intimidating. The sky was too big and formless, the wind seemed to come from all directions at once, and the ground was lumpy and uneven under his feet.
But L thought he could be brave. L wanted him to be brave. And A has his wand, after all, and a growing arsenal of hexes to go with it (even if he hasn't actually tested most of them yet).
And so he's exploring the outside of the castle now. The sun is out this time, and it's already warmer than it was when L took him wand-shopping.
And there is new green grass, smelling so fresh and clean, and there are tiny flowers dotting the grass. The daisies A knows, and the foxglove, but botany was not something he studied much and he can't identify any of the others.
But oh, all those tiny shivering alive things in all the terrifying rush of air!
It's a sort of peace he can barely recognize.
But L thought he could be brave. L wanted him to be brave. And A has his wand, after all, and a growing arsenal of hexes to go with it (even if he hasn't actually tested most of them yet).
And so he's exploring the outside of the castle now. The sun is out this time, and it's already warmer than it was when L took him wand-shopping.
And there is new green grass, smelling so fresh and clean, and there are tiny flowers dotting the grass. The daisies A knows, and the foxglove, but botany was not something he studied much and he can't identify any of the others.
But oh, all those tiny shivering alive things in all the terrifying rush of air!
It's a sort of peace he can barely recognize.
doctor-hook.livejournal.com(( OOC: While Riget/The Kingdom was filmed in 1994, and its sequel in 1997, I should warn anyway that there will be spoilers here. Riget II was only issued on DVD in North America this year. ))
Another day, another morning conference. Morning conference had gotten a lot less irritating since Hook had come to his little understanding with Helmer. (Stig Helmer, head of neurosurgery, was not quite the bane of Hook's existence. Hook might be the bane of Helmer's existence, however. He was probably running neck and neck with Dr. Moesgaard for that honor.)
Only then Helmer had taken that little trip to Haiti. It had been a very, very brief trip, and the man had returned ... weirdly smug. Hook didn't like the look of it.
Provoke him. Then you'll see if he's bluffing. Thus counseled Mogge, dumbass intern extraordinaire — Mogge, whose chief virtue lay in the great good fortune of having been born the son of Dr. Einar Moesgaard.
Mogge, this is either very very clever or very very stupid, Hook had replied. Then he had gone off to morning conference and proceeded to provoke Helmer. It was something Hook did well.
He had yet to draw the connection between the funny taste of Helmer's coffee and the later events of the day. All he knew was that he'd begun to feel rather unwell. Morning conference ended and everyone went about their work. One moment Hook was trying to resuscitate old Mrs. Drusse, the next he was in need of resuscitation himself.
And now, it seemed, he was no longer in The Kingdom.
He was lying prone on a cold stone floor. His colleagues were nowhere to be seen or heard. He remembered the sensation of someone closing his eyelids for him, as one does for the dead. He had been unable to move. Now, though, he opened his eyes.
He sat up, stretched his long legs, laced his fingers together and stretched his arms too, cracked his knuckles. He looked around.
As he rose from the floor and dusted off his scrubs and coat — white, all of it; every doctor at the Kingdom wore white, eyestrain be damned — Jørgen Krogshøj began to laugh. It was not a hysterical sound. It was a low rasping chuckle, something like the bottom of a boat scraping against stones, and it was rich with genuine amusement.
( one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ... )
(( "I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Krogshøj.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Krogshøj.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Krogshøj.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Krogshøj" ))
((( A few OOC notes )
Another day, another morning conference. Morning conference had gotten a lot less irritating since Hook had come to his little understanding with Helmer. (Stig Helmer, head of neurosurgery, was not quite the bane of Hook's existence. Hook might be the bane of Helmer's existence, however. He was probably running neck and neck with Dr. Moesgaard for that honor.)
Only then Helmer had taken that little trip to Haiti. It had been a very, very brief trip, and the man had returned ... weirdly smug. Hook didn't like the look of it.
Provoke him. Then you'll see if he's bluffing. Thus counseled Mogge, dumbass intern extraordinaire — Mogge, whose chief virtue lay in the great good fortune of having been born the son of Dr. Einar Moesgaard.
Mogge, this is either very very clever or very very stupid, Hook had replied. Then he had gone off to morning conference and proceeded to provoke Helmer. It was something Hook did well.
He had yet to draw the connection between the funny taste of Helmer's coffee and the later events of the day. All he knew was that he'd begun to feel rather unwell. Morning conference ended and everyone went about their work. One moment Hook was trying to resuscitate old Mrs. Drusse, the next he was in need of resuscitation himself.
And now, it seemed, he was no longer in The Kingdom.
He was lying prone on a cold stone floor. His colleagues were nowhere to be seen or heard. He remembered the sensation of someone closing his eyelids for him, as one does for the dead. He had been unable to move. Now, though, he opened his eyes.
He sat up, stretched his long legs, laced his fingers together and stretched his arms too, cracked his knuckles. He looked around.
As he rose from the floor and dusted off his scrubs and coat — white, all of it; every doctor at the Kingdom wore white, eyestrain be damned — Jørgen Krogshøj began to laugh. It was not a hysterical sound. It was a low rasping chuckle, something like the bottom of a boat scraping against stones, and it was rich with genuine amusement.
( one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ... )(( "I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Krogshøj.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Krogshøj.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Krogshøj.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Krogshøj" ))
((
( A few OOC notes )Severus Snape POPs! Open RP.
Apr. 2nd, 2008 06:41 pmmethleigh.livejournal.comThe Unpopcorning of Severus Snape
approved by the mods, etc.
He was coiled small, his knees pressed to his forehead, his forearms pressed close to the outsides of his calves. It must be so. How else could he be so compact, so dense? It was dark. It was silent, and the only difference was an occasional disorienting tumbling when some small earthquake rolled him over and over down a very rocky hill. He didn't understand why he couldn't put out a hand or foot to stop himself on these occasions. And sometimes he detected from the force of gravity that he was upside-down and he wondered why the blood did not rush to his head.
It was always as if he had just curled up, but time must have passed because he noted events - the variations of sudden rolling, the occasional temperature changes. Could it be a petrification spell? But that would not have rendered him blind, or deaf. What was it? Sometimes he tried to puzzle it out, to count occasions of movement, but he lost track, conciousness, concentration. That was not like him at all, and he wondered at himself. It must be a curse, but there was no pain.
( cut for length )
approved by the mods, etc.
He was coiled small, his knees pressed to his forehead, his forearms pressed close to the outsides of his calves. It must be so. How else could he be so compact, so dense? It was dark. It was silent, and the only difference was an occasional disorienting tumbling when some small earthquake rolled him over and over down a very rocky hill. He didn't understand why he couldn't put out a hand or foot to stop himself on these occasions. And sometimes he detected from the force of gravity that he was upside-down and he wondered why the blood did not rush to his head.
It was always as if he had just curled up, but time must have passed because he noted events - the variations of sudden rolling, the occasional temperature changes. Could it be a petrification spell? But that would not have rendered him blind, or deaf. What was it? Sometimes he tried to puzzle it out, to count occasions of movement, but he lost track, conciousness, concentration. That was not like him at all, and he wondered at himself. It must be a curse, but there was no pain.
( cut for length )
we-shall-see.livejournal.comWhat would you do if you were an intelligence agent who had suddenly been sent into the not-too-distant future, and been told that your country was going to get into some pretty hairy political situations?
That's right, newspapers are a good place to start.
Gust is in the Great Hall, with several of said papers, doing the usual juggling act that is flipping pages, smoking a cigarette, and drinking coffee. Oh, sorry, 'americano,' at Mello's suggestion. The spy looks nothing other than distinctly bored, when in fact, he's reading very closely. You learn not to appear too interested, you know?
That's right, newspapers are a good place to start.
Gust is in the Great Hall, with several of said papers, doing the usual juggling act that is flipping pages, smoking a cigarette, and drinking coffee. Oh, sorry, 'americano,' at Mello's suggestion. The spy looks nothing other than distinctly bored, when in fact, he's reading very closely. You learn not to appear too interested, you know?
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