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daisy-inthesun.livejournal.com

Daisy had been wandering the castle since her tour with Professor Snape last week. It hadn't dawned on her that she had not seen dear Gatsby or Nick in almost two weeks and suddenly wondered where they were. It was a rather large school and it was easy to not see someone often. But even Gatsby would leave her to her own devices? It was very unlike the lovesick man.

Glancing out the window of her dorm room, she grabbed a large blanket off her bed as well as a few books and parchment, deciding that she would study out on the lawn. It was such a lovely day, and it would remind her of her wonderful sun-bed at her old home, in her old life.

Once outside, Daisy spreads her blanket to study and instead nods off only to be woken by someone nudging her awake.

mid-west-egg.livejournal.com

Nick Carraway didn't know many people at Hogwarts. He had always been a fairly self-contained fellow, and quite happy to read and dine and study on his own. He also had a friend, of sorts, already at Hogwarts: Mr. Jay Gatsby.

That friendship wasn't much use when the problem currently troubling him involved Gatsby directly.

He didn't really need a sympathetic ear, to be honest. It would be more human and respectable to need one, but he didn't. What he wanted was a sounding board, and even a diary from Flourish and Blotts couldn't speak back to him when he asked questions of the empty air. And he did have one new friend, of sorts, even if he didn't know what to make of her most of the time, and even if she did occasionally remind him of Jordan Baker.

Therefore, it was to Claire Tourneur he turned when the drama of his pre-Hogwarts life finally caught up with him.

Dear Claire,

I feel I've neglected you lately, and I'm sorry for that. Would you care to meet me in the Hufflepuff common room for a drink? I'll be in the corner that still looks like what I might call a common room, not the "food libraries" part. I could use some company.

Yours truly,
Nick Carraway

daisy-inthesun.livejournal.com

( that's the best thing a girl can be in this world. )

mid-west-egg.livejournal.com

Nick Carraway is a Hufflepuff. However, sooner or later all Hogwarts students find their way to the Ravenclaw bar. He has a gin and tonic, and he's placed a doily carefully under the glass so as not to mar the finish of the piano. He plays piano the way someone might lay bricks: methodically, without verve, though taking pleasure in a job done properly.

It's a rainy afternoon, and the drops against the windowpanes of Ravenclaw Tower syncopate the tunes he plays, adding a frisson of feeling.

Gatsby is up to something. He knows this. He doesn't want to know what the something is, because he doesn't think he can bear seeing Gatsby fatally disappointed once again when the latest scheme fails to flower its hoped-for result. He doesn't want to be around Gatsby when the man's inner barometer rises too high, the pressure too much, and confidences must be made. So Nick is steering clear. He's playing piano and letting his mind wander.

Current Mood: moody
Current Location: Ravenclaw common room

bread-clown.livejournal.com

( A world class clown! )

kotatsu-tono.livejournal.com

Tamaki had missed his birthday! Finding himself in a strange castle covered in butter had confused his time perception, a little; he hadn't even realised it was April.

However, he'd found his way to the local village and bought himself several boxes of chocolate, most of which he'd eaten in a fit of dramatic self-pity. No one had contacted him! Not Kyouya, or his precious Haruhi, or the twins or Honey or Mori. He'd waited in vain for the Ootori private police to storm the castle and bring him back to Ouran, where he'd be greeted by hundreds of squealing fangirls desperate to see his beautiful face once more.

(The disturbing thing is that he has genuine reason to believe this would happen.)

But dramatic fits of self-pity are wasted when there's no one to watch them, and he doesn't have Honey-sempai's ability to consume vast amounts of sugar. So he leaves the last box on a table in the Great Hall, for whoever would like some.

((OOC: This is a chocolate plot! If your character takes a chocolate, they will experience some bizarre magical side-effect that you decide. They may find themselves gender-swapped, turned into children, able to communicate only in song, bright purple, or some outlandish combination of all the above. The sky's your limit!))

seeing-roses.livejournal.com

You'll never be properly prepared to take a bullet, but Lester Burnham was especially surprised. It came at the right moment, however. Lester lay in the kitchen, the blood flowing from his head like a cracked vat of water, spilling onto the tiles. But he was happy. He was smiling and he was happy.

Then his eyes closed. In the stretch of time before this, he saw so many beautiful things; his grandmother's gentle, paper hands moving along his cheeks as a child and the way the sky looked as he looked up from the camp fire at scout camp. The world was so beautiful now, as it never was before. Especially to Lester. But still, he closed his eyes and felt his time end.

Or so he thought. Lester opened his eyes and immediately knew there was a change in him. Moving his hand up to the back of his head, he felt no blood. No gaping hole playing nest to a bullet. Nothing. Lester laughed and looked out into the sorting room and noted the paper before him. With his smile infectiously filling up his face, he answered the questionnaire before him.

( Allow me to elucidate. )

A bribe? I have a bag of pot in my back pocket, a kick-ass car from the 70's that I've wanted my entire life that I would prefer not to get rid of and a suburban wife who is fucking her colleague. I'll give you two of the three.

And for the record? writing with a quill is FAR more difficult than it looks. My suggestions? Get Ballpoint pen, you know, for next time.

"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ____LB________
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ____LB_______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. ______LB_____.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ______LB_______"

monde-finis.livejournal.com

The early hours of the morning found Claire Tourneur sitting cross-legged in a hallway, having an intimate conversation with a pretty girl in a portrait. The girl would point out other portraits across the hall, and tell Claire all about their comings and goings. Claire found it fascinating.

After leaving Slytherin, she hadn't wanted to return to Hufflepuff. In some room or another she'd found a couch to stretch out on, and dozed for a few short hours. Now that the sun was rising and people were stirring, she'd headed back in the direction of her dorm, eager to meet her neighbors.

She was just outside the door when she'd stopped to chat with a portrait close to the floor. So there she was, wearing a man's sweater and smoking a stolen cigarette, talking to an oil painting. Claire looked exhausted, and her blond curls hung around her face. But she brightened when the door opened, and a familiar face stepped out.

"Nick!" She waved enthusiastically. "Comment vas-tu?"

Current Mood: tired

monde-finis.livejournal.com

In the summer of 1999, very little surprised Claire Tourneur. She simply wouldn't let shock take away valuable time that could be spent partying away the fact that her life was going to end. Everyone's lives, actually. The nuclear satellite hung precariously over the earth, losing a battle with gravity that would end life on the planet when it finally succumbed. That was the theory, at least. Nobody was quite sure what would happen, but there was no point in taking chances. Faced with her own mortality, Claire had decided that if she couldn't beat the satellite to the punch, she was going to live the rest of her life in an unending fog.

The party she had just left was a one in a long string of interchangeable gatherings. She had woken up on a couch she couldn't remember falling asleep on. She'd picked up a champagne flute that certainly wasn't hers, grabbed shoes that possibly could be hers, and had stepped outside to leave in her stolen car. That was when the world had ended.

How else could she be in a cold castle, and not out in the drive? She was frozen, shocked into feeling her first strong emotion in months: fear. The fear didn't last long, though. The pills she had consumed the night before formed a protective chemical barrier against those bothersome feelings, and her pharmaceutical defenders were quick to come to her aide. So that was the end, she thought. I suppose that a warning would have been too much to ask for. French was her native tongue, but she was fluent in English and German, if the situation called for it.

If this was the end of the world, though, she had expected a bit more fanfare in the next life, or at least a bit more crowding. As it was, she was the only person in the room. There was one other object of note: a small wooden table with a sheath of papers and a pen. Or not a pen, really. Claire appreciated that. She would not enjoyed the afterlife very much if the celestial powers did not have a sense of flair. The paper had writing in English, so she answered in turn.

( I took the money/I spiked your drink/You miss too much these days if you stop to think )

mid-west-egg.livejournal.com

(( Aided, abetted, and egged on by Gatsby-mun, of course. ))

Later, Nick would suppose it might all have been inevitable. Some senseless and improbable fate had ordained that he, Nick Carraway of Chicago, should alone serve as clear-eyed witness and chronicler to the culmination of Jay Gatsby's fabulous life. Why not Gatsby's afterlife as well? he'd think, and shake his head.

Later, too, he'd think how unremarkable and ordinary his own initial reaction to Hogwarts must have been. Probably almost everyone sucked into the Sorting Room thought himself or herself to be dreaming. In Nick's case, the supposition was doubly apt, since the last thing he remembered was nodding off to sleep. He had finally bid farewell to the East. Sick of its confusion and hothouse excess, he had packed up what belongings of his own had taken up space in that eighty-dollar-a-month West Egg bungalow next door to Gatsby's mansion, and he had shipped them home ahead of himself. He had boarded a train and he was going home. He knew, now, where home was; where home had always been.

The train's noise and regular shuddering drew him into sleep, as trains will do. His frayed jaded subconscious mind threw up before him nothing new, only a succession of things he had seen before: people splashing in fountains, champagne spurting in a wasteful trajectory across the glittering moonlit lawn. When he awoke, he was no longer in his train seat, nestled into the comfortable hollow left by hundreds of travelers before him. He was in an armchair, in a high-ceilinged room of stone. His immediate association was not with castles of any kind, but with some old buildings at Yale.

Funny odd dreamlike questions were lobbed at him like shuttlecocks. Groggy and amiable, Nick batted them back.

( I'm inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. )

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

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Entries tagged with nick carraway

Open, but would like to see some Great Gatsby characters? :)

owl to Claire Tourneur

Mrs. Daisy Buchanan, courtesy of The Great Gatsby

open RP: Nick is pensive.

Pierrot Bolneze from Yakitate!! Japan

Open RP: Chocolate plot!

Lester Burnham, American Beauty

Conversations in a castle ((Closed RP))

Claire Tourneur: Until the End of the World

application for Nick Carraway (The Great Gatsby)

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March 2022

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