#durmstrang starter

[didg-it-blog]

Florals for Winter >> Open

Didg's room was now covered in flowers. Which, in all honesty, made absolutely no sense. After all, he was no fan of botany or herbology or anything of the sort. If Didg was going to fill his room with anything, it would be food and fluffy blankets. Preferably fleece or rabbit fur and pancakes.

The blankets would not be made out of pancakes.

He stood about, confused and uncertain, trying to decide who would do something like this. He wasn't sick. And Milo probably knew his preferences by now. And Didg certainly didn't broadcast his discomfort at the idea of how few people seemed to care about the murders.

But who was he to judge? Humans cared much less about the world than merfolk did, and most merfolk cared less about the world than Didg did.

Footsteps down the corridor tore his thoughts away from the new decorations, and he turned to poke his head out the door, hoping they'd have something of an idea about who or what had snuck in and done this. And, preferrably, why.

[didg-it-blog]

Murky Down Under >> Didg & Milo

Today marked almost three week since the rave. No doubt his disappearance had been noticed by now, if not by someone important, surely by his roommmate at least. And surely they'd have searched the Grotto by now, too. But the people on land were far from his biggest priority right now. To be sure, his biggest priority was to catch this damned fish that had the fins to be faster and slimier than he was. All he wanted was a good lunch -- was a single herring too much to ask for?

He pulsed blue as quickly as his heart raced, lighting up the murk of the Grotto and, briefly, illuminating his surroundings. Not that it mattered. Didg knew the area by heart now, and he could swim it blind. His focus was solely on the fish, and when it darted up, so, too, did Didg, until he burst through the surface, snatching the writhing fish from the air and falling back into the water with an unceremonious smek. The second-long breach was the only sign of where he was, and it echoed off the walls, above the surface of the water, and away from where Didg could hear it. He had his lunch. That was all that mattered now.

[didg-it-blog]

Dead in the Water, Cont. >> Open

It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

Help.

Someone was dead. Someone was dead, and they were just a kid, and they were dead. Didg held the towel around himself as tightly as he could, racing to where the music was, racing to find someone, racing to figure out how to speak. It didn't matter that he was almost nude, didn't matter that his knees were bruised, didn't matter that he could hardly breathe. It didn't matter. It didn't matter. It didn't matter.

A boy was dead.

Someone moved behind him, and Didg whirled around, reaching to grab on to their arm as quickly as he possibly could. Help, he wanted to beg. Help.

[milo-ryan-blog]

"So... I may have accidentally blown up the lavatory."

[tomasjahn-blog-blog-blog]

[Ten minutes late to class and not particularly sorry for it, Tomas quietly shuffles into the back of the classroom and takes a seat at the nearest empty chair.] Don't mind me taking this, do you? I'd apologize for the disruption but I can see today's material has you captive like a horse in molasses. Which is not at all.

[corvinbaines]

 The grounds are looking particularly beautiful today. Shame about all the muggleborns spoiling the view.

[corvinbaines]

Pain in the Neck || Open

 Corvin leant against the wall outside outside the Potions classroom, his eyes closed against the dull throbbing in his head. Merlin that'd been a horrific lesson. He didn't have much interest in antidotes in any case, and Professor Xing's strict teaching style coupled with her insistence that he actually understand the lesson had resulted in nothing more than a splitting headache and a cramp in his neck from being hunched over a cauldron for almost two hours.

 All he wanted to do right this moment was take a nice long, hot shower; drink himself into a stupor and then pass out on a bed for twelve hours or so - maybe his own, but preferably someone else's.

 He rolled his head from side to side, moaning audibly as his muscles pulled and his bones cracked and scraped against each other. Fuck that felt so awful, and yet so good at the same time. He dropped his bag to the floor with a loud thud and reached both hands up behind his head, twining his fingers at the back of his neck.

 This was going to hurt, he was sure, but it'd be so worth it.

 Steeling himself, he counted to three in his head and then arched his back and stretched his arms, intense pain rippling through his body as every muscle and tendon shrieked in protest. And then the pain was gone, replaced by a warm, tingling numbness that made Corvin's toes curl in his boots and an even louder, even more contented groan escaped his lips as he relaxed his body, panting heavily.

 After a moment, Corvin became aware that he had an audience. Although his eyes were closed, he could hear the other person breathing a not inconsiderable distance away.

 "If you're here to start trouble," he said, "then you can just fuck off right now. I'm far too busy."

[timoshenk]

"Does anyone know to whom I speak with about our luggages? Only one of my trunks was delivered. I've none of the supplies I need for the year beyond my nizhneye bel'ye and robes. Already a good start to the new year."