Jun. 22nd, 2010
A Gift ((Methos/Brienne closed rp))
Jun. 22nd, 2010 08:22 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
“And you’re sure that it’s the right size?”
Garak shot him an irritated look. “Of course it is. I’m not exactly an amateur at this sort of thing. And come to think of it, neither are you,” he said pointedly. Before Methos could get in a snarky reply, the Cardassian produced a small heavy box. “It’s done. It wasn’t easy, or cheap. Matters of fashion or more covert pursuits are more to my liking these days.”
A small drawstring bag full of coins thunked on the table between them, “That should more than cover your time, expense and noted sacrifice.”
He opened the box and admired the wrought silver framing the ruby. "Lovely."( Owl to Brienne )
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
((Unpopping Lucius after the proper procedures. =) He doesn't remember his previous time at HH Hogwarts, and will be a very canon characterization. Closed because Lucius is in no state for socializing with strangers.))
It was past midnight, and a butter-sodden man was sitting hunched outside the popcorn room, eyes open, but unmoving and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He could see them just fine in the dim moonlight streaming through a window, but the solidity of his environs failed to register. The quiet hall seemed a strange mirage within the interminable prison of his own skull, in which he'd been effectively trapped for what seemed countless years.
No human mind could resist the influence of the Azkaban dementors, and Lucius Malfoy had now spent nearly a year in the confines of the hellish place. He'd lost track of time within a week of his incarceration, and the first month may as well have been a lifetime. There were not so many dementors at Azkaban as there once were, but there were more than enough of them remaining to have their dreaded effect. He couldn't even try to think encouraging thoughts, for the dementor's influence twisted everything, allowing only the worst possibilities to seethe to the forefront of the nightmare chaos.
( Read more... )
It was past midnight, and a butter-sodden man was sitting hunched outside the popcorn room, eyes open, but unmoving and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He could see them just fine in the dim moonlight streaming through a window, but the solidity of his environs failed to register. The quiet hall seemed a strange mirage within the interminable prison of his own skull, in which he'd been effectively trapped for what seemed countless years.
No human mind could resist the influence of the Azkaban dementors, and Lucius Malfoy had now spent nearly a year in the confines of the hellish place. He'd lost track of time within a week of his incarceration, and the first month may as well have been a lifetime. There were not so many dementors at Azkaban as there once were, but there were more than enough of them remaining to have their dreaded effect. He couldn't even try to think encouraging thoughts, for the dementor's influence twisted everything, allowing only the worst possibilities to seethe to the forefront of the nightmare chaos.
[Open RP, Library] Research first
Jun. 22nd, 2010 11:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
Drosselmeyer had gotten free from the Sorting Room and, with the discovery of the house elves, he had set up his room in Ravenclaw according to his exacting desires. His next stop, quite naturally, was to visit the library.
After all, where else would an avid author go? Especially one who needed to research the sorts of literature popular in this place, in order to craft a pleasing puppet show for the Hat. And who was hoping to replace his lost puppets with assistants that would apparently have to be created by this story's magic rather than his own. And, the old man reasoned, the best way to learn more about the story he'd fallen into would be to study the stories people told within it; some of them were bound to reflect the larger scheme.
So Drosselmeyer was shuffling up and down every aisle, skimming the titles and, at random intervals, pulling books off the shelves to flip through the pages before replacing them, and mumbling to himself all the while. Perhaps mumbling a bit too loudly for being in a library.
After all, where else would an avid author go? Especially one who needed to research the sorts of literature popular in this place, in order to craft a pleasing puppet show for the Hat. And who was hoping to replace his lost puppets with assistants that would apparently have to be created by this story's magic rather than his own. And, the old man reasoned, the best way to learn more about the story he'd fallen into would be to study the stories people told within it; some of them were bound to reflect the larger scheme.
So Drosselmeyer was shuffling up and down every aisle, skimming the titles and, at random intervals, pulling books off the shelves to flip through the pages before replacing them, and mumbling to himself all the while. Perhaps mumbling a bit too loudly for being in a library.