[identity profile] fiercefluffy.livejournal.com
A handful of years had passed -- not many years, but eventful ones, to be sure. Antony vanquished, Atia at bay, the beginnings of a beautiful career in politics well-cemented, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus could sleep more soundly at night -- not very soundly, but more soundly.

Fortune favored him.

The last thing he needed (much less expected) was to find himself standing, togate and resplendent, within the popcorn room of a once-familiar castle.

His toga was sodden with animal grease, the kind favored by the barbarians of Germania. It could not even be a good olive oil, no, it must be butter. Pfah.

The best word for this situation was one of Pullo's favored exclamations, one Octavian seldom cared to use.

"Gerrae."
[identity profile] kingbandit.livejournal.com
Jing is a thief. He lives to steal secrets and the representations of grief or pain from their owners. Hogwarts is rife with such secrets, but there is the matter of deciding just what to steal and when and whether he'd truly get away with it.

Then, there is the open challenge he has out to another thief, but the time isn't right yet. So many things happen that keep that particular prize from achieving the value it should have before it's reclaimed.

He's seen the compy lab and wondered about it. Does it hold secrets to steal? The best way to find out is to try. And Jing is one to be rather direct, issuing warnings of his intent. The lab is perfect for this as well.

A brief introductory session, interrupted by a tapestry behind him and the house elf showing him the system bursting into flames, and Jing understands much more than he was shown. In the manner of mischief common to boys and thieves, he makes a post under the name "ODorobou," since he is not one to hide just who and what he is.

Everyone has secrets, things they hide--or think they do--that they don't want anyone else to know. The problem with those secrets is the harder you try to hide them, the more valuable and more vulnerable they become. Unburden yourself. Reveal your secrets and be free of them.


Another fire behind him makes him decide to wait elsewhere, but he'll check back periodically to see just what secrets he collects.

This may be one of the easier heists he's pulled, if it works.
[identity profile] grandmasteryoda.livejournal.com
Despite the general coloration, lack of height, and large batlike ears, only the very densest sort of person would mistake Yoda for one of Hogwarts' many house elves. For one thing, he wore clothes, the brown and grey Jedi robes that he had favored for hundreds of years before his death. For another, house elves tended to not use the gimer stick that served him as both cane and occasional snack.

And there was the intangible presence around him as he went about his decidedly non-house elf activites. Where the house elves were all busy bundles of nervous energy, Yoda was calm and still, with the ever-present Force acting always as his touchstone and guide. Such as now, as he sat in the library like a small mossy rock with bat ears, hardly moving save for his breathing, the occasional chewing motion as he gnawed his cane, and using his free tri-clawed hand to turn the page of the large tome almost as large as he was. The leather cover read Hogwarts, a History. He had spent the past year traveling this world, learning about history both magical and non-magical, and it seemed fitting to him that this particular excursion should end with the history of the establishment that currently served him as home.

He turned another page, ears twitching as he began a chapter on foreign wizarding influences on the school's architecture.
[identity profile] charlesofdensen.livejournal.com
[[Backdated to the early morning after this.]]

After so many years working for Dethklok, it takes a lot to stress Ofdensen out enough that he just needs a smoke.

Ironically enough, the last time he did so was during Skwisgaar's attempted firing of Toki. What is it with the Scandinavians that stressed him out?

Anyway.

When he had an opportunity to sneak away for an hour or so, Ofdensen left the hospital wing, first to stop at Ravenclaw to bum a cigarette from Matt, then to the Astronomy Tower.

There he sat against the wall, smoking the bummed cigarette to calm down a bit.
[identity profile] elfkameo.livejournal.com
Kameo didn't feel well. Something just...wasn't right. This place confused her. Magic was afoot, but it didn't resemble the magic back at the Enchanted Kingdom. And for some reason or another, she had to take a quiz.

ExpandSaid quiz. )

((FAIL 4-COMBO.))

I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. __K
I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. __K
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. __K
One day, marmalade will rule the world. __K
[identity profile] runaway-stark.livejournal.com
She was safe, she was warm, and the whole situation was very much like being asleep. And then with an abrupt pop!, Arya Stark was salty and buttery and very much wide awake.

She was disoriented for several seconds, trying to mesh two distinct memories of where she had just been. The first set was of Braavos, and the House of Black and White, and going to sleep after drinking a cup of bitter milk. The other was of this place, this castle... Hogwarts, she thought, and faces flashed in her mind, at once familiar and alien. Memories of most of her family here, though they were more impressions than images. And memories of some time before, coming back into the school to check in with her temporary guardian Kal, only to find his name on the plaque. It had been the last in a chain of... something... and she had stopped fighting and gone to sleep.

"Welcome back," said a man's voice from somewhere above her. She wiped greasy butter out of her eyes and looked up, seeing a large, burly man in a garishly-colored button-up shirt left open over a white undershirt, a pair of short trousers cut right around the knee, and a pair of worn-looking leather sandals in a style that she'd never seen, not even in Braavos where travelers from all over came. "Nice little pigsticker you've got there, eh, girl?"

Arya looked around her and found a sword--her sword, Needle--next to her and covered in as much butter as she was. She grabbed for it and started to try and wipe it off on the leg of her own cut-off trousers, but it did absolutely no good. The man chuckled. "Here," he said, reaching into a bag that he carried slung over one shoulder and pulling out another brightly-colored shirt. "Good girl," he said approvingly. "You've a good sense of priorities. You know how to properly care for a sword."

"Of course I do," she said irritably, more at the situation than at the man. The shirt was getting soaked with grease, but Needle looked slightly better than before. "I'm going to be a water dancer."

"Is that so?" the man said with the genial blandness of someone who didn't know what she was talking about. "Good for you, then. Name's Titus Pullo."

Arya looked at him warily, considered that she was holding a sword and he wasn't, and remembered vaguely that she was safe at Hogwarts. "Arya Stark."

((Both Arya and Pullo are available in here. Come on in and say hi!))
[identity profile] centauri-londo.livejournal.com

((Londo has spoken to Delenn's mun and gotten the OK))

He stepped through the doorway and tugged at his coat, straightening the heavily embroidered sleeves. Ambassador Londo Mollari of the Great Centauri Republic surveyed his new surroundings. The walls and floor were wrought stone, but it did not have the same light and airy feel one would find in Centauri architecture. Was he back on Narn?

“Great Maker, I hope not,” he muttered to himself. “I could use a drink. Vir!” he bellowed.

Londo took a step forward and was startled to see a quill appear in front of him, just hovering over a piece of parchment.

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

ExpandRead on! )


 

open RP

May. 20th, 2009 07:49 pm
[identity profile] fiercefluffy.livejournal.com
Octavian had decided to attempt a better understanding of Judeo-Christian theology, idiocy though he knew it to be. His conversation with Michael had convinced him he ought to know his enemy.

He had also decided this study would best be done outside the library, away from the archangel's eye.

This would explain why an eighteen-year-old boy -- unremarkable in dress; he wore the Hogwarts uniform, rather than the toga praetexta, more often than not these days -- would be sitting on the lawn, on what appeared to be a picnic blanket, drinking (diluted) wine and reading the Bible.

He'd opted for the Vulgate Bible, this being the easiest for him linguistically. Beside him lay a concordance and some random volumes of tangential interest: Tertullian; Augustine; a secondary study of Aquinas that he'd left wholly untouched to this point. And FitzGerald's English translation of the Rubaiyat, because Octavian liked poetry far more than any of this Christ rubbish, and he deserved some recreation.

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread -- and Thou ...


Just a quiet afternoon for Octavian, his Bible, and whoever might show up to cadge some wine or some bread off him.
[identity profile] cap-cook.livejournal.com
In the middle of the Hogwarts Sorting Room stood a young man in sweatpants, a large t-shirt, and a heavy, hooded sweatshirt. His name was Jesse Pinkman. Jesse's arms hung at his sides, fidgeting with his sweatshirt as he glanced around awkwardly.

Nearby, there was a table with what appeared to be application forms.

"The hell is this?" he muttered to himself. To his astonishment, the words he'd just spoken formed at the top of the page. Eyes widening, he glanced around the room rapidly. Then he folded his arms and held the paper up for examination.

"Uhh..." The paper quickly added this comment.

Eyebrow raised in lingering skepticism and alarm, Jesse nonetheless decided to forge ahead.


ExpandYo. )

"I have read the [livejournal.com profile] hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ___JBP_____
I have read the [livejournal.com profile] hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ____JBP_____.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. ____JBP_____.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ____JBP_____."
[identity profile] is-falling-down.livejournal.com
Hey, ahhhh... Okay. Okay, whoa, ahhhh, this is... this isn't the jungle, is it?

The man is ragged, bleeding here and there, and it's been a while since he's seen anything like a bath. He looks around with a twitching, restless intensity and lights a cigarette. Unsteady hands. He manages, though, and looks around. He's smiling, genuinely glad to see people, glad to see anything that has life in it, even if he isn't at ease.

Questions? He likes questions He likes to talk. Wants to talk, maybe even needs to talk. It's been so damned long.

And all the while he seems to be searching for something or someone who simply won't appear. And maybe that's better... But here or absent, he can't shake the feeling that the eyes are watching. And the jungle is gone... Wasn't he just there? Running through the jungle, ducking past trees, tripping over those fucking roots, scrambling up, and leaving just fucking leaving that horror behind?

Well, yeah. He's left that, he's left the jungle, but this... Hey, at least there are people here! He grins; it can't be all bad.


ExpandMan, ask whatever you want! )


"I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Just, um... Just call me a Photojournalist, all right?.
I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. The Photojournalist.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Your friendly neighborhood Photojournalist.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Man, I take pictures of pretty much everything."



((OOC: Ummmm yes, here's-him? Apologies in advance for any inconsistencies in voice or time-of-response... This may have been a poor choice on my part? But he wanted to play, and I apparently wanted to give him a try. So hopefully it won't be a problem? Erm, yes, just apped for Roma, so if it IS a problem having both, please do tell. Do intend to continue with both at least in terms of responding to sorting, and they may venture into other-RP things if brain is feeling adventurous or whatever. But yes. If having both = bad, shall go all OKAY and... banish, or soemthing, I don't know. OTHERWISE, I'm just going to shut up, now. And if you have any interest in a general introduction from this guy, he's got one up in his journal. Yerp. Danke, et all.
[identity profile] cosmicteddy.livejournal.com
((Since Michael does need to meet some people... Here he is!))

Since Hogwarts was the type of school that saw teaching as more or less optional, while some of its students were of the studying kind, the library was a frequently frequented place. Michael wished he had the time to assist each and every student personally, but his... other line of work sadly prevented him from doing so. But now, at least, it seemed like the cosmos could manage without his involvement, so he could do something restful and human. He could stack some books, and maybe help some people find what they were looking for.  

His gaze went to the empty chair in the corner, where Matilda had used to sit. The little girl had become popcorn not long ago, and Michael noticed her absence more than expected. It was strange that such a small child, who hadn't really done much other than reading for hour on end, could leave such a hole. He knew, though, that whatever she had gone back to, she was going to be happy, and that was comfort enough. Michael was not the type of person to dwell on the negative; eternity was too long for that.  

So he was padding around the library in his perpetually wrinked suit, searching for people to help or perhaps treat to a cup of tea. And a pastry. Michael did love his pastries.
[identity profile] elegantsamurai.livejournal.com
((aka, the room of requirement))

Confucius said, "Never give a sword to a man who can't dance." War is an art that requires a light step and a knowledge of the body that goes beyond instinct. A man needs to be able to move in a way that requires no thought but flows like water from one movement to the next.

Yukimura is in the dojo, practicing dance with fans instead of a sword. He is dressed in a Christmas gift.

It is merely something to pass the time, though.
[identity profile] nerdsexgoddess.livejournal.com
Sometimes, believe it or not, Amaranth did other things besides seek out and eventually have sex. Today, for example, she was sitting in the Great Hall, knitting. (She'd taken a few books about knitting out of the library, and had found it a relaxing hobby. At the moment, she was making a scarf. Which she would not wear, not even to try it on. Because that would mean wearing clothes, and that would be wrong. Or at least that's what she was telling herself.

She had brought along much more yarn than she would ever possibly need for this scarf, and she'd laid out several sets of knitting needles, in hopes that someone else would discover that they had a crafty side and come join her.

((Open RP. Come talk to Amaranth, or knit something, or both!))
[identity profile] fiercefluffy.livejournal.com
A house elf brings a carved ivory figurine of an ox to Maia's room, along with an accompanying note:

I refuse to wish anyone a merry Christmas. The notion of this holiday I find appalling as the religion that spawned it. It disgraces the commemoration of the Larentalia, a serious occasion.

However, this is for you, in observance of the general gift-giving tradition that has arisen around that contemptible cult of a raving desert lunatic.

With fondest regards,
Octavian.


*** added after the above and its subsequent thread ***

A very careful and polite owl is sent to the Archangel Michael.

To Michael, librarian of Hogwarts and archangel, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus sends greetings.

There is a question which you are best equipped to answer. Assume that there is an evil spirit which needs protection from other evil spirits. The normal charms and amulets for such a use would harm any evil spirit, so that an evil spirit could not employ one without harming itself. Assume too that there is no moral dilemma in the equipping of said evil spirit with protection.

In such a case, what charm would be useful, in your knowledge as cosmic librarian and defender against evil?

Be well.
[identity profile] hellminxmel.livejournal.com
Octavian,

I thought you might appreciate some brews for when you don't want to leave your room to mope.

--Maia.


[Attached are three bottles of SkullSplitter beer, Scottish-brewed and thus deadly strong.]
[identity profile] elegantsamurai.livejournal.com
It had been some time. There was another lord and Yukimura had a social engagement with him. It had been postponed for some time now. Really, what better time than the present? And, such an enjoyable duty, drinking with an equal, a pleasure he has not had in some time.

Yukimura selects a simple, yet elegant kimono to wear and then sends a note by house elf to the absent lord.

Octavian,

We had arranged to drink together. Is now a good time for you?

Yukimura


He then begins dressing as it does take time to properly put on a kimono.
[identity profile] fiercefluffy.livejournal.com
Octavian and Maia were not avoiding one another. They simply weren't seeking one another out. Octavian didn't know Maia's reasons and preferred not to hazard a guess. (Waiting for flowers and gifts? Wishing she could obliterate a moment of undemonlike weakness? Something between those two extremes?) For Octavian's part, he did not relish the prospect of figuring out whatever had happened between them. He would have gone on as usual and pretended nothing happened, except that he knew Maia would probably kill him for that. There was also a threat on record from Melanie Beeby, to the tune of 'you hurt her and I'll kill you', but from a literal angel that threat didn't quite have the same resonance.

The threat from Melanie had been occasioned in a conversation which did warrant action from Octavian, however. He'd found out something promising, and he'd made a promise, too. If you can induce Brice to talk to her, I might be able to suggest she talk to him.

He was sure Melanie was making good on her end of the deal, or would when Brice reappeared from wherever he was. (Hypothetical friend, ha.) Now he needed to do something about his end of it.

Easiest and cleanest way to accomplish this: an owl. Also less likely to devolve into awkwardness or other things.


Maia:

Hell hath frozen over. I talked to Melanie Beeby. I'll have you know I only did so for your sake, so I expect accolades and possibly biscuits.

An idea has eventuated. If I were to make a suggestion, how likely would you be to entertain it on its proper merits?

- Octavian

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