Ricardo

20 year old halfblood Alchemist, known to have Extremist sympathies. Affinity for disastrous messes and has an unfortunate tendency of not knowing when to let sleeping things lay.

[misterrichards]

just got driven back to skittles in the backseat of a police car. no handcuffs! don't hate the law so much anymore. also out of the tree, yay!

[misterrichards]

I've been spending some time with James Potter lately. I find his company both invigorating and relaxing at the same time. Contradictory, but I sometimes feel the same when I'm around you. Don't mock me; it's a nice feeling.

[misterrichards]

My violin is in my room and there are giant book cases blocking the door... on the bright side, I found my copy of Suit Yourself.

Madam migrated, she's been unusually active. You haven't done anything to upset her have you?

[livesandliesofwizards-deactivat]

Some wizards and witches say, “I was not meant to take that path,” or “I’ve chosen the higher road,” or “I’ll fly straight and true or not at all,” or other such active metaphors which transform everyday choices into a kind of journey, into a zipping hither and yon, into a tale of highways and skyways.

But very, very committed potioneers think of themselves as concoctions, bubbling away over the flame, likely to change course dramatically if the wrong ingredient should be chosen. “I’ve put nothing but shriveled mandrake root into today,” they’ll say among themselves, or, “I won’t be a volatile mixture to pour into a diamond cauldron,” or “Powdered unicorn hoof’s my base, I’m afraid, but I’ll add a spark of dragon’s breath. That’s what’s needed.”

And if you should say, “Yes, I understand! We choose what we are, how we behave, and what sort of mixture we are to be. Our choices make us,” they might nod and add, “Or cause us to run over and burn away at others, or to congeal and become nothing useful at all, or to explode.”

For it seems slaving away over cauldrons all day colors how they see their choices. And who knows? Perhaps this in turn colors what choices they make. How curious.

[melissarosier]

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality | Melissa Rosier & Damien Richards & Grayson Wood (if he appears)

[melissarosier]

It had nearly been an hour since Melissa had arrived at the door she was currently leaning against. Within that time she had stood and faced the door with all intentions of knocking. Then the anxiety would set in and she would turn back into a sobbing mess. It was all quite pathetic. The houses of Black, Rosier, and Greengrass were sure to be rolling in their graves at the sight of her. She was aware of her pitiful behavior and it just added to the disaster that she was. And it was all over a boy, a boy that was messed up just like her. Melissa sighed, she is more messed up than he is and he is a wonderful boy. He caused her to be weak and she hated herself for allowing it. She didn’t even have enough conviction to knock on a door, she shook her head in disbelief.

The voice startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone to appear, though she was sitting in a public hallway in front of someone else’s door. Her eyes darted between both his arms when he reached to place the key in the lock. The first intention was to grab her wand, but this was his house and she still had her manners. Instead she wiped the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her hands and stood. “I-I don’t know why I am.” She answered more honestly than she had ever spoken to any stranger. Her hands were wet, she wiped them on her pants. The man in front of her was familiar, he had been in her year at Hogwarts. A Ravenclaw if she remembered correctly, but who knows at this point, but she could not put a name to his face.

“I wanted to ask a question. But the entire idea is bollocks and I don’t know why I came. I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. Everything I touch turns to shit.” The water works were back on and she was rambling nonsense to a stranger. This truly was one of her lowest moments in life. Both hands shot up to her face, she wanted to claw her eyes out for continuing to disobey her wishes. Defeated, they fell to her side and she gazed back at him. “I apologize… I’m not always like this.” They were the only sensible words she could formulate. She half expected him to call the wizarding authorities, or worse, St. Mungos. The alcohol from the past few days must have become a new perfume for her now and she was sure he could smell it. She hadn’t had much that day, but it was there. 

[misterrichards]

Damien stared curiously down at her, the pity and bafflement concealed, and barely resisted the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose out of exasperation. He took half a step back when she stood, to restore a little of both of their personal space and to escape the heavy stench of alcohol and body odour that surrounded her. After a cursory glance of her  state, he avoided looking anywhere but her face and her eyes; he wouldn't be responsible for adding more issues to those pre-existing. It had taken longer than he would ever admit for him to place where and why she was familiar - Hogwarts, same year, different houses. He hastily begun to attempt placing a name to her face and when he was capable of identifying her the feeling of pity only intensified but as did the confusion. Why the ever loving fuck was Melissa Rosier on his and Grayson's doorstep? What in the hell? Why was she professing all of this to him? Why should he care whether or not her life was a disaster zone? He didn't, but the tears begun anew and he felt any irritation crumble away. It would not be an appropriate response. 

He sighed, heavily, before twisting the key and opening the door, leaving it to swing wide behind her. "Then I'll request you refrain from touching." He could not compose a further reply, merely waiting to see whether or not she would accept the invitation in or remain outside before carefully manoeuvring himself around her. 

[melissarosier]

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality | Melissa Rosier & Damien Richards & Grayson Wood (if he appears)

Melissa stared at the piece of parchment in her hand, tapping it against her leg while she contemplated what to do. It had been several days since Scorpius had discovered her feelings for him. The first few days she spent in an alcohol induced trance. She managed to scrawl an owl to her boss to let them know she was ill and would need the week to recover. Her work was mobile so she could do it at home and not fall behind. The truth is that she was not in any mindset to leave her house. She was a disaster. There had even been two attempts made to contact Scorpius with no avail. He was ignoring her and it just made the whole situation worse. Her eyes went back to the parchment.

The address on the parchment was that of Grayson Wood, Scorpius’ self-proclaimed best friend. In any normal state of mind she would not have even considered going to someone she barely knew for help, let alone a known liberal and blood traitor. Scorpius could get away with hanging out with him because his parents were much more lenient and he was the only Malfoy heir. But, she was far from being so lucky and a normal state of mind. Her only hope was that Wood could provide some insight to the situation, or at the very least, pass her plea onto her cousin so that she could rectify herself. She had already come to terms with the fact that they would not be married, surely he could see that she couldn’t help the way she felt for him. Not reciprocating her feelings was hard enough, but to end their friendship completely was a misfortune she could not handle.

She hadn’t bothered to make herself look presentable. The house pants and oversized sweater had not left her body for two days. Not wearing make-up or doing her hair was the least of the problems with her appearance. This was a spontaneous decision that would never happen if she gave it proper thought. She slipped on her shoes and clutched the parchment in one hand and her bag in the other when she disaperated outside of their building. Her eyes scanned the building before she entered. Once she found the number of flat she had scrawled on the paper, she froze. She looked down at herself and wrapped her arms around her torso. The realization of where she was and what she was doing began to hit her. What was she going to say to him if he answered the door? Would he even remember who she was? This was a bad idea. She was stuck. On one hand she could leave and scrap the entire idea, but on the other she had no one else to turn to. Scorpius was her only friend. Tears streamed down her face without her noticing. They had become too familiar in the past week. She slid down blocking the door, completely lost. 

[misterrichards]

It had been Sir's insistence that Damien accompany him to the grocery that had finally dragged him from his current project. Which, to be completely honest with himself, was...bleak. He contributed the (lack of) progress due to his compromise whilst simultaneously dealing with eradicating Madam from Grayson's bedroom. Spoiler Alert: that went as well as his alchemy. He declared a strategic retreat to re-assess the situation and employ new tactics. His decision to flee the room had not been due to cowardice nor had it been influenced by what he had seen. No, not at all. In the interim, he had (hastily) blockaded the room by re-arranging the adjoining living room. And if, in the new arrangement, that lead to the blockade to be two of the largest, and fullest, bookshelves, was not do to his reluctance to encounter her again; it was merely to prevent Grayson or Sir from entering the room.

Due to the shops being largely muggle, Sir had to remain hidden but Sir being Sir saw it as an opportunity to do as little as possible and it was only after severe cajoling on Damien's behalf that the elf  transported the damned goods back to the flat. Then it was the promise of getting Caprice to send something to him (Merlin knows how could Sir even stomach anything cooked by his mother) that the elf submitted to store the items. He suspected that several products were improperly stored and already resigned himself to having to double-check the cupboards. Last time, the milk had been left to rot behind the potatoes. That had been disgusting and he doubted that the smell would have been possible to rid of had magic not been employed. 

The elf then buggered off for the rest of the day. Typical.

As he neared the door (a garish turquoise, today) he took in the figure of something huddled against it. Excellent, just what he needed. Was it another one of Grayson's charming fans or, perhaps, another damned tabloid? They were still going on about 'the mysterious Ricardo'. He groaned, briefly gave thought to circling around and entering the building via it's fire-escape, before dismissing the idea as ridiculous - he refused to lower himself to resorting to anything that required him tuck-tail and run. He was close enough now to identify that no, in fact, the huddle was not a reporter. The theory of being one of Grayson's avid fans was not disproved by the vague recognition. 

"Fuck's sake, hadn't Grayson dragged plenty of you home?" He spoke more to himself than the pathetic form, stepping around her enough to key the lock, but since she had placed herself directly in front of the door, could do very little else without risking stepping on her. "I would appreciate having entrance to my own flat, thanks." Perhaps his remarks were insensitive, he realised once he properly looked at her, but he didn't quite care enough. "And," He was going to regret asking, given her tears and the general mess of her current state. "Why are you?"

[misterrichards]

Shut up, my fans are beautiful

There is nothing endearing about them. At all.

[misterrichards]

Angus said you were in Witch Weekly again so I checked and you were XD they said they tried to interview you!

Ah, so that woman had been a reporter for that drivel. I had assumed she was another one of your arduous fans.

[misterrichards]

'I'm his Ricardo.' Now is that a direct quote or is there another loon stalking me using the same name, hm? BTW YOU'RE FIRED TOO! You didn't tell me Witch Weekly was doing an interview!

I do not know what you are going on about. 

[misterrichards]

'Repeat performance'? Do you mean to tell me that you already went to work naked? And you didn't invite me? D:

No. You're being deliberately obtuse.

[misterrichards]

How do you politely tell someone that you want them naked on top of you?

This isn't it. 

I am not going to help you proposition myself, Grayson, that's counter-intuitive.

[misterrichards]

Your pants... they bother me. Take them off.

This is precisely the same issue with my gloves, isn’t it? Note how I still wear both items. 

[misterrichards]

I want a cuddle. Do you want to cuddle? I think you should come take a nap. Naked. I think we should cuddle naked. Good plan.

Fortunately I have a job. That job requires clothing to be worn beneath protective gear least there is a repeat performance of incidents which required a visitation to St. Mungo's. Go cuddle your Malfoy, perhaps he'll appreciate a little affection.

[misterrichards]

No, seriously, come here. I've been in jail, I need consolation!

Not until you’ve been sterilised and your clothing disinfected.

[misterrichards]

Yes, I'm fine. I'll be home soon, I've already made bail. Times two. If you're feeling generous you can still get Topher out.

Tha-

I'-

For fuck's sake, I was wo

Good.  Try not to get lost on your way home.

And no, he managed to get himself andyou arrested, he can cope with the repercussions.

[misterrichards]

The minister decided he didn't like people sitting down. I mean, it wasn't even like we were IN his office! We sang him a song.

Of course. Why wouldn't you serenade the minister?

Are you all right?

[misterrichards]

I've been arrested and this place smells like Death. Please come get me before I catch something.

Arrested?

And you accomplished that...how?