[identity profile] charlesmacaulay.livejournal.com
Sansa,

I don't believe we've met, and I wish I could be writing under happier circumstances. It's about a mutual friend: Susan Sto Helit. She's unwell, to say the least. I was thinking it might do her some good to see you. Do you have some time free?

Charles Macaulay
Ravenclaw
[identity profile] callmewednesday.livejournal.com
Mr. Wednesday had been deemed a Ravenclaw. This was only right and proper. Huginn and Muninn ought to be around here someplace.

He found the Ravenclaw bar satisfactory. The adjoining laboratory gave him an occasional case of the willies, however. It wasn't that he minded the sight of people performing dissections while he drank. Wednesday wasn't what you'd call squeamish. No, it was the panoply of modern technological paraphernalia that went along with the whole operation.

So he'd moseyed on down to Slytherin house to have a drink somewhere a little more old-fashioned. The Little Green Apple didn't seem to care what house you were in, and the only password you needed was a thirst for something -- drink, drugs, experience, curiosity. Didn't really matter what. That was fine by Wednesday too.

No booth for him. He sat at the bar, enjoying with systematic relish a series of shots of Jack Daniel's (yes, there was an apostrophe, and those who'd forgotten the memory of Jasper Newton Daniel were just ungrateful bastards, that was what; though forgetfulness was a plague over the West, and Wednesday wasn't in the least surprised). He enjoyed having a body again. He enjoyed being able to drink anything at all. Time was, he might even have relished a glass of evil, vile fucking mead, if that'd mean he could taste it and hold the liquor in something like a stomach.

If he had private business that would have been the time for a booth. Not now. Right now, Mr. Wednesday sat at the bar because he was approachable. He liked a good palaver.
[identity profile] c-macaulay.livejournal.com
Rather a lot of people had come to the Winters' wedding. (Let's pretend, shall we, that Camilla actually sent out thank-you notes to those people who brought gifts? She surely would not have neglected it, lest Nana roll over in her grave; she should not be blamed for the laxity of her mun.) Believe it or not, most of them had been invited because Camilla liked them, or else because she felt obliged to them for one reason or another. As such, most of them qualified to be remembered at holiday time.

The following people were sent poinsettias with accompanying tasteful nonsectarian holiday cards:

Ned and Catelyn Stark
Simkin
John Preston
Jezz Jaelre
Dale Smither (because she was married to Charles, however briefly)
Jadzia Dax (because she’s Henry’s … friend? Fellow researcher? Camilla still isn’t sure.)
Chance Silvey (cf. Dax)
Stephen Maturin
Merlin
Deety Long
Bella Swan
Ron Weasley
Blair Waldorf
Dean Winchester
Stephanie Brown (whose poinsettia was accompanied by soap.)



Then there were people who merited a gift of some greater significance:


Charles Macaulay )
Francis Abernathy )
Richard Papen )
Selvetarm )
Shaun and Liz )
S.A.R.A.H. )
Susan Sto Helit )
Willow Rosenberg )
John Ryder )
Silas )
Yoda )
[identity profile] callmewednesday.livejournal.com
(( note, 11/21: I've been feeling under the weather, and thus slow with the tags, but I will get back to everyone's tags! Feel free to toss people at Wednesday. Today is, after all, his day.))

Folds of air shimmered as though an invisible curtain had billowed. Somehow, ineffably, they parted; and a well-dressed man of somewhat indeterminate age stepped into the Sorting Room, a blast of chill surrounding him but quickly dissipating.

He wasn't young, but he didn't look old-old. Certainly he didn't look anywhere near his actual age, and that was a thing he wasn't likely to expound upon, not right off the bat. His hair was fair, the ruddy blonde you see in some Scandinavians, now gone mostly to gray; his eyes, too, were gray, a gray that might put one in mind of flint, or of ice. He wore a pale suit of a clearly expensive make and cut, and he wore it with the ease that suggested this was not just an interview suit. On the other hand, he didn't seem averse to being interviewed, as the Hat declaimed the questions and he allowed the Dictaquill to write down his answers.

Mostly, he seemed amused.

"You'll want to know what to call me. I've had many names. You here can call me Wednesday. Mister Wednesday, if you want to be polite, and I find courtesy often advisable among new acquaintances."

He's a god, he's a man, he's a ghost, he's a guru / You're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan / Designed and directed by his red right hand )

(( the strictly OOC disclaimer:
"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Wednesday.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Wednesday.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Wednesday. ))
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Wednesday."
[identity profile] c-macaulay.livejournal.com
Don't regret our ties / This endless flow / You take these fears / When you say they go / Your touch honey-smooth / Your shining calm / So what if blood's spilt / You're my light you're my balm )


(( OOC: There are two parts to this. One is the wedding bit itself, which will be played out by the principals in its own thread, which Camilla's account has already posted below.

The other is the reception/dinner afterward, and for that, feel free to start your own threads here. As S.A.R.A.H. decided, there isn't any assigned seating. Instead, there will be lots of round tables at which people can choose to seat themselves, eight chairs per table -- think of the more disorganized sort of awards banquet and you'll probably have a good idea. The house elves will bring people whatever kind of meal they prefer, with special instructions to bring Yoda a plate of nice twigs. Rather than one large cake there are tiered single-serving cakes in a variety of flavors, again at S.A.R.A.H.'s brilliant suggestion. [GJ, have we told you lately that we love you?]

Finally, characters who have not been invited can crash the reception. Just think of some reasonable explanation for why they've heard there's a wedding going on -- unless they're Homestar, who just sort of turns up places. ))
[identity profile] c-macaulay.livejournal.com
Having been unknowingly infected with a self-replicating spell by the mischievous Simkin, Camilla went about her day quite as she always would. Since she'd heard inexplicable music in Simkin's presence it didn't seem to her strange that she should continue to hear it now. And because she happened to be in a fairly pleasant mood at the moment, the music she heard was not disconcerting. At the moment it was some nondescript and upbeat jazz, actually.

Being a fairly sociable person, she'd say hello to people she ran across in the halls. She had no way of knowing that her presence would also transmit the spell to them -- that was the self-replicating bit -- and that their own personal soundtrack would consequently follow them, mirroring their moods as hers was doing for her.

(( OOC: This one is Simkin-mun's idea! He says it's "a self-replicating meme, that attaches to people as they interact with one another, and plays music depending on their mood. ... if they've got a song stuck in their head, it'll play that. But if they're feeling predatory, it might play the Jaws theme, for instance."

If you feel like uploading songs, that's cool, but you don't have to. You can just describe them, as I've done, being lazy as I am.

Once a person is infected, they can then infect other characters. Eventually the spell will fade away and so will its effects. Have fun! ))
[identity profile] ugly-old-hat.livejournal.com
The Sorting Hat had a new lease on life, thanks to the return of its abducted bride. In Virginia's absence, the Hat had fretted alone in the Hat House, leaving only grudgingly for the Sortings it must perform, and using the rest of its time for contemplation so emo as to be worthy of the most bespandexed Gryffindor. Had it a navel, it would have contemplated that.

After playing on repeat 20 times a compilation of wizarding musicians' covers of Morrissey's greatest hits, the Hat reached a conclusion.

It was meant to be alone. Everyone, everywhere, was meant to be alone. Marriage was a charade for little minds.

Of course the mass marriages had produced not a single duck waffle. How could such a tender and precious thing as a duck waffle be produced from the sterile and meaningless institution of marriage? The farce must end. Now.

The Hat had been waiting until Virginia came back safely to make any changes in school routine. Now that she was back, the time had come.

Movers came to take back all the tents and hot tubs -- they'd only been rentals. The rec center and boat ride remained, but El Mundo del Sombrero was no more. Its tenants were summarily evicted, herded back to their dorm room by the house elf phalanxes that had herded them to the village in the first place. It happened like this:

Three a.m. Knocks and scuffles and loud thumps audible from outside every tent, as the earth released the hot tubs under power of levitation spells. Lots of elves in strange uniforms directed the hot tubs elsewhere, back to the warehouse-of-holding where Rent-A-Village stored its goods. More elves stormed into the tents without warning and roused the sleepy residents, presenting them with the following eviction notice:


Congratulations! Your marriage is null and void! Consider yourself evicted. Your belongings are being moved to your former dorm rooms by house-elves and you are hereby commanded to report to the castle! Isn't that great?

There will be a welcome-back party tonight in the Great Hall! Be there!


Now things could get back to normal, with plenty of healthy debauchery and lack of attachment! A Welcome Back party was in order, for Virginia and for all the students!

Valentine took the return of his belongings (mostly consisting of his stolen, transfigured, and jury-rigged drug lab equipment) back to their proper places in Slytherin to be a sign that a celebration was coming. And what was a celebration without treats? He had no doubt that people were going to be going wild over the dissolution of their marriages, from the amount of complaining that he had overheard in his stay at El Mundo del Sombrero. He had to admit that he was hardly free from guilt in that regard.

And so, in a stunning display of philanthropy, he decided to be generous. One trip to the Hufflepuff food library and an hour and a half of charms, hexes, and injecting questionable substances into food later, he had a veritable feast prepared and ready to be delivered with an anonymous note of congratulations for the Hat. Hot Pockets of all flavors (including cactus-leaves, Bertie Botts' Every-Flavored Beans, and other such unusual fillings), punch with something vaguely fruit-like dissolving in it, jelly donuts... and all guaranteed to give the unwitting reveler who tried them a little surprise.

Excited, the Hat knew that this congratulatory note from a secret admirer confirmed the Hat's own glorious and benevolent wisdom. Everyone must surely appreciate everything the Hat did for them. The note was like a straw poll, showing the Hat's approval ratings were way up, not that approval mattered at all since the Hat didn't give a shit whether anyone was happy.

Stoned off of his ass and hallucinating colors that didn't exist, Valentine settled back to watch the mayhem. Life was grand.

((It's up to the player to chose whether they've gotten something drugged or charmed, and what result is visited upon them, just like a regular chocolate plot.))
[identity profile] johnryder.livejournal.com
((Spoilers for the original version of The Hitcher but not the remake, because the remake made me cringe. If you haven't seen this movie, you have to--it's cheesy, it's freaky, and there is no way I can possibly do any written justice to the sheer creepiness that is John Ryder))

You wanna know what happens to an eyeball when it gets punctured? Do you got any idea how much blood jets out of a guy's neck when his throat's been slit? )

"I have read the [livejournal.com profile] hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ____JR________
I have read the [livejournal.com profile] hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. _____JR______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. ____JR_______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ____JR_________"

Profile

hh_mirror: (Default)
HH_mirror

March 2022

S M T W T F S
  12345
67 89101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
2728293031  

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jun. 8th, 2025 07:49 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios