Slytherin Table

[MJ Spooks]

Damien Edgeworth
Slytherin // Second Year // Slytherin Table // Wearing
CURRENTLY WITH // Dominic
CURRENTLY FEELING // Amused, tired
CURRENTLY THINKING // 'I wonder what that was about... ah, I should have found a a way to write to Dominic...'
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Damien turned and offered Dominic a tired smile, one that only barely felt forced. It was nice to know his friend was still speaking to him, although he didn't sound too happy. He tilted his head down, and shook it slightly. "I, ah, I can't talk about it now... But later, alright? When we're in the dorm, maybe? Privately?" The proud Slytherin would finally have to divulge everything that had happened last term, and was finally well enough to do so. He wasn't too keen on admitting to what a source of shame his parents regarded him as, but still, Dom deserved to know why he hadn't written him back... Actually, Damien hadn't even gotten his letters. The boy's hands balled into a fist, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. His bloody parents... they'd kept him isolated all bloody summer! He bit back a growl and took a couple breaths... he was calming himself down when he heard shouting, and looked up abruptly. His eyes widened as he realized that Adalaide had received... a Howler? From her mother? That was... odd. His eyes sparked with the lightest bit of amusement, but he was rather confused. Her mother was the muggle in her family, she couldn't create a Howler... and in any case, he seemed to recall that she was something of a proper woman, not one to cause scenes. That might have changed, but... it was still rather strange. And he couldn't believe that her mother was yelling at her about Michelle. A lowly Hufflepuff, and a halfblood at that, should be proud to be friends with someone from his noble house, and of noble blood! By all accounts, Michelle being friends with the girl was practically an act of charity! So who did this woman think she was, yelling about a Slytherin being a bad influence? The idea was ridiculous. His eyes narrowed. Something about this... wasn't quite right.

═════════════════════════════════

(( OOC: ))
...

 

[kcbeach28]

Ɉɑɗϵɳ Ӎ. Ϩɑɭɭɨɳɠ
✧✧✧✧✧✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧✧
Jade finished his meal and gently placed his fork in the correct position in his right hand side out of habit. Taking another look around he noticed the red letter land at another table and tried not to pay attention to the thunderous voice that now was ringing off the walls. That was when he noticed the look of pure rage on Marina's face. It was interesting to see clearly she wanted revenge for something but he had no clue what. Trying to see what she was looking at was rather difficult since most of the students were trying to see where the howler was going off. Taking a mental note of this situation he would have to remember to put a bit more pressure on his proposal to her.
✧✧✧✧✧✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧✧
♫Slytherin First Year♫
Ϻѻѻɗ ☪ Intrigued
ȘϮɑϮʊș ♪ Single
Ͼʀʊʂɧɨɳɠ ♪ Gracie

 

[Somnis]

𝔜𝔬𝔲 tʀɩɛ∂ tσ ʟσϲк мɛ 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫.
xxxxI ╒συη∂ tɦɛ kɛʏ. 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔢.
Just untie 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰// that break & 𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔢.

►► Her steely eyes remained riveted on those of the stranger for seconds, stretching into hours, stretching into infinity until his gaze was so committed to memory that she could have drawn an exact likeness, down to the last eyelast, the final fleck of gold in his eyes. For several seconds, he stared back, until her she arched one sculpted brow and he blinked, as if caught off-guard. Her attention was fully captivated as the scarlet envelope soared through the air and exploded among the heads clad in gold and black. Her head turned by infinitesimal degrees, just enough to be within perfect earshot of the screaming letter, though her eyes never left his. Even as she sat, silent, seemingly staring into space, it was clear to those with a keen enough eye that she was documenting every breath, every word spoken, every pattern of speech.
And that was when she made her first error in judgement. She rather enjoyed the game they were playing, but she lost sight of a cold, true fact: everyone should be kept under a wary eye. He observed her, and waited until the opportune moment, during which she'd glanced over to the Hufflepuff table to identify the Howler's recipient, before rising from his seat and sliding into an empty seat adjacent to Nora. His movements were quick and deliberate and aggressive. Like a predator. Like a snake, she thought bemusedly to herself, the corners of her lips lifting slightly. Not a smile. Not really even a smirk. But the boldest hint of emotion that she'd given thus far.
And suddenly, those alluring, glittering gold eyes were a mere arm's length away, undoubtedly focused on her face. As if to challenge her even further, he was also speaking, introducing himself. His lips formed words that seemed to shimmer in the air like dry lightning, relishing the titles on the tip of his tongue, though he did not voice them. She stared at him without shame, allowing her eyes to flick from head to toe as she wordlessly sized him up, her face stoic as always. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she was going to ignore him, look right though him as if transparent and rebuff his presence.
"Nora Jean Remington, of the Coventry Remingtons," she spoke finally, and the words hung like silk in the air. Such a stuffy greeting, one that had clearly been rehearsed and recited on a regular basis. Her torso turned toward him to allow him to capture her full attention, leaning her elbows on the edge of the table and interlacing her fingers. On the ring finger of her right hand, she wore a ring that appeared centuries old. A star-cut emerald bore the Remington family coat of arms cut into the surface of the gem. Engraved on the silver band, though invisible to the stranger beside her, William, he'd called himself, was the family motto, though the Latin was so faded that it was illegible. Such a ring was Nora's birthright, and she was sure to wear it with aristocratic prominence. At the mention of their families, however, she merely shrugged and took a long sip of her drink before speaking again.
"We may have met at a social gathering, or whatever. My parents find that sort of social calamity to be entertaining, and have often forced me to suffer through it with them. My family knows many people, especially those of high social status. It would not surprise me if you knew my family." Her voice was cool as she spoke the simple words, clearly displaying her distaste for topics of that caliber. Her lips formed a small, teasing smirk as she arched an eyebrow over her iridescent silver eyes. "Now, you have asked me a question, making it only polite for you to answer one yourself, wouldn't you agree?" Her tone was polite and casual, though she continued on as if she had never actually expected an answer from him. "You say we must have met before, that you're certain we have met." Her eyes glittered with a teasing, playful light, though the rest of her face smoothed over once more into a stoic mask. "What, pray tell, brought you to that conclusion?" The question was spoken with a sickeningly sweet innocence spread over it like treacle, and she gazed at him with a glint of malice in her eye through a thick fringe of dark lashes. Surely enough, her words were a trap, a way for her to find out how long he'd been observing her, what he'd discovered, and if there was any reason for her to have to make sure he didn't remember what he'd witnessed about her.
A movement over the stranger's shoulder caught her attention for a fraction of a second, though she was careful to not let it register on her face. Every nerve under her skin was suddenly alive and hyper-sensitive, the back of her neck pricking to alert her that there was someone besides she who was observing. The girl was another rather pretty blonde, though the look she was giving the pair had Nora wondering for a fleeting second if she had staked some kind of claim to the young man capturing Nora's attention. Not that she even really cared. If anything, she moved closer, leaning forward an crossing her legs under the table. Her body language clearly displayed that he had commanded most of her attention, but there was a tiny, lingering part of her that was keeping a close eye on the girl. She was careful to use only body language to indicate her curiosity, as her face remained blank and emotionless.

𝔑σʀą 𝔍ɛąη ℜɛмɩηɢʈση
ʀɛα∂ мʏ ℓɩƿs:
• Sℓʏтнɛrιn • Ғιrsт ʏɛαr • ƿʋrɛʙℓσσ∂

 

[Devlyn Maycry]

With a thousand lies
And a good disguise
Hit ‘em right between the eyes

MICHELLE CATLIN

Wearing

|||Slytherin|||Pureblood|||Second Year|||

Michelle's face remained totally passive as her name was screamed across the hall. Without looking she reached up and caught the small note that had fluttered into her view. She didn't even have to read it to know that Ada's mother could not send a howler. But reading it she made note to meet her friend outside the kitchen later on. First she had to talk to Tay though. Maybe she could convince him to help and bring him with introduce him to Ada.

She wasn't stupid. Her stony eyes had caught the small nod between Dominic and his cousin which meant that Damien was involved to. Fire flared in her as she controlled her anger on the outside. She couldn't have them knowing what she was thinking not yet.

With those thoughts she turned her gaze to observe Tay and the new first year, just in time to catch the girl's name. She tilted her head, Remington was an old name. Interesting. A small almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips. Of course Tay would be one to find all the ancient families.

OOC:...

Love interest: No One

When you walk away
Nothing more to say
See the lightning in your eyes
See ‘em running for their lives

 

[kiska166]

☠ Amanda Davis ☠
Third Year: Slytherin Chaser




Amanda filled her plate with a variety of different food. Finally, the feast began! Her eyes fell onto a sleek man who walked into the Great Hall the moment the lighting flickered and a slight draft flew in and brushed against the humans' skin. She watched him as she ate until she heard a yell come from the Hufflepuff table. Her eyes flicked over to the girl sitting in front of a howler. Poor kid, she thought, realizing her sister hadn't even sent her one yet. That was weird considering every summer since her first year, the girl had done something to make Kaitlyn very angry with her just before leaving for Hogwarts. At the sound of a fellow Slytherin's name come from that red letter, Amanda's eyes fell onto Michelle. Suddenly, a small parchment floated towards the second year and landed on the table in front of her.



You Touch Me..
I break you.
wearing

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

𝕯ominic 𝕸ontague
𝔖𝔩𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯i𝔫 𝔓𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡
Second Year, 𝔅eater

Dominic could never resist these urges; the ones that painted emotions on his features like an artist would a blank canvas, artfully crafted with muddled lines of wrinkles and curious colors of expressions and wry narrowing eyes as he studied his friend, one of the only he would ever consider a true friend. Truth be told, Dominic had gotten perturbed… paranoid… weeks later it manifested with wrath until his mother had finally sat him down, and explained that it would be in his best interest to let his friend rest at home, as his parents would have wanted.

Dom had insisted that his mother visit the Edgeworth estate, slither her way in, just to see if Damien was even still alive—after all, that last week of school, he couldn’t have been so sure. His ramblings, his short term memory loss, and then that, wretch glazed look that fogged over his eyes each time he went silent, as if his mind was crashing against the porcelain veneer of his corneas, trying to break through, but never could.

He doubted this his mother had ever taken the time to try, what he didn’t know, was that Mrs. Montague had been politely excused from the Edgeworth manor, and kindly asked to not return, at least, not without warning, or an appointment. It was because of that reason alone, that his mother had dropped everything, quit St. Mungo’s and took the first position she could find as an assistant healer in the infirmary. ”I tried to get my mum to stop by, to see if your parents would allow you a weekend at my fathers estate…

“She probably forgot too..” He shrugged, his mother had cared for him dearly, he knew, but she was much more concerned in the affairs of his future than his present. Choosing entirely to focus on what his electives would be for his third year, for what sorts of dynamic brooms would be best for his quidditch games, for what history books and charms books would better benefit him in his weakest classes…

”He—“ Dominic was cut off, by a shrill shriek hiss and cry erupting down further along the Hufflepuff table. He blinked, the voice familiar to only him and one other in the entire school. He refrained every urge to glance to his cousin, and instead, trained himself upon Damien. Studying him, all summer long, he had wanted to revel with his friend in his plans for breaking up the two dynamic duo whom obviously had nothing better to do than to pester the poor boy. He wasn’t blind as he was stupid, he saw the looks, he heard the snickers, the underlying breath under their voices.

What he didn’t know, however, was how Damien would react to such childish play. ”Jeez—what do you think tha’ was all about?” He gestured with the slight nod of his head towards Adalaide and her friends.

╔═══════════════════╗
Height: 5’7” ☣ Weight: 142lbs ☣ Age: 12
Slytherin Table
with Damien
╚═══════════════════╝

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

Slip out the back before they know you were there

and at the worst you'll see nobody cares,

you don't want to be around when it all goes down...

William Dante Nott the Third

Sixth Year, Slytherin Prefect

Fixated, like poison running through veins, those caustic eyes wrought of gold never wavered, never flickered, and never broke. Even as he felt the tantalizing p***k of skin writhing under her moonlit beam gaze as she studied him, up and down, he never tore his eyes from hers. He could never allow that glimmer of weakness, that trickle of a mistake that could lead to something far too corrupt and poisonous to even flick a forked tongue at. A predatorial spiral of depth loomed there, hidden under the sun and sky that twinkled in his eyes, gold and glittering, fools gold for the taking. The silence, it swam, surreal and cool, like lapping waters gliding up their flesh with calming, soothing bliss. Until it was broken, by flippant words and caustic intentions underlying there, where the devils danced and played.

He smiled coyly at her words, yes, he knew her, he knew of her, very well. In fact, there wasn’t an ancient noble house in this school he hadn’t had ties with. She leaned in close, a casual prowl and almost a purr on her lips as she reveled in the majesty of her blood, nobility, her birthright.

His flickering gaze meandered to follow hers, if only for the moment, catching glimpse of the ring that breathed so much history, and kept so much locked and hidden within its rippling might of magic and metal. His own lips slowly grew, the corners of each winding into an upturned smile, a smirk of jests that every king played once the drums of war raged, and trumpets of victory hounded.

She spoke again, and this time, he grinned. ”I remember you now…

“I remember you clearly….. You… you gave me that look nearly six years ago. Heh, I remember it well…

“You were the daring little girl that pushed me into the grass when I plucked a tulip, just for you.”

(Hope you don’t mind me creating backstroy! I think it’s soooo interesting that way! xD)

╔══════════════╗
Location: Slytherin Table with Nora
Mood: Curious
╚══════════════╝

..even heroes know when to be scared.

 

[Somnis]

𝔜𝔬𝔲 tʀɩɛ∂ tσ ʟσϲк мɛ 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫.
xxxxI ╒συη∂ tɦɛ kɛʏ. 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔢.
Just untie 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰// that break & 𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔢.

►► Throughout their entire exchange, his eyes had remained fixated on her, unwavering, unblinking; it was almost as if he were determined not to show weakness, as if his brain were hardwired to never display such a thing. His gaze never left hers, and she was suddenly very aware that they were performing an ancient dance of predator and prey, and that she was in no position to be considered a predator. However, she merely shrugged off this thought and returned her gaze to his face, where she studied his features keenly, with the calculating gaze of a master artist. Her eyes traced the smooth span of his forehead, the strength of his jaw, and the stubble that dusted the sculpted planes of his face. But it was his eyes that she always returned her gaze to. There was something undeniable about eyes like that. Deep, cool, glittering depths were like molten gold as they held her own of luminescent silver. But she knew that there was more than what she saw on the surface. Experience had taught her that many of these old families had ulterior motives, some even trying to start an allegiance, a collection of sorts, of members of various ancient families. And the Remington family certainly was an ancient one.
They had resided in Coventry since before Nora could remember, living at the estate that was passed to the oldest boy, as was the old custom. Her father had been the firstborn son of her grandparents, thus making it his birthright to inherit the estate when the time came. Nora had everything she could have ever wanted. Clothes made from imported satins and silks, books on every subject matter imaginable, toys of all kinds, jewelry, anything. Nora hated it. She had no patience for material things. She'd wanted friends. But every single one of the brats her parents had pushed her towards were all children of nobility, purebloods, ideal prospects for Nora's betrothal. But that had been in her childhood, and Nora had made it very clear that she did not intend to have an arranged marriage. And then it suddenly dawned on her. Many of the people sitting at this table, herself and her companion included, were exactly that kind of person. Seeking out only the oldest, most ancient families to create their ties with. Seeking alliances and protection for when the time came. Human nature was an enigma.
A smile graced the young man's lips as he looked at her, the first sign of emotion betrayed since she first felt his eyes on her, and every cell in her brain screamed for her to uncover what silent thoughts were unfolding in his head. She missed nothing as she observed him, noting carefully how he took note of ring that commanded attention. His lips lifted slightly in the smallest of smiles, and she knew that look well. A smirk. A poker face of sorts. A sure sign that he knew something she did not. And, much to her surprise, he voiced his thoughts.
So they had met before, and ended on a rather impolite note. Nora remembered it with crystalline, pristine accuracy. She'd been quite little, folded into a crisp dress and made to act like the nobility that she was. It was utterly boring. Nora detested social gatherings, as if her reaction to the feast hadn't already conveyed that. She'd sat in a chair off to one side in the gardens behind the estate, irritated with her father for not allowing her to remove her shoes and run amongst the flowers, as she often did in the privacy of the ground. He had approached her as she'd stood and meandered off to one side, determined to disobey her father in an act of tiny rebellion. The act alone would likely have earned her a whipping, had she carried through with it. But she hadn't gotten the chance. She stood at the edge of the garden path, ready to remove her shoes and fly through the flowers that were her only escape from the stuffy, aristocratic world her parents were trying to force down her throat. And then, oh so timidly, he had approached, wordlessly handing her a tulip that he'd plucked from one of the gardens. She still remembered it as if it had occurred mere seconds ago. The tulip was blood red, its petals perfectly formed by the hands of an artist. In retrospect, the gesture was sweet, but at the time, she'd been angry at him for ruining her chance to directly disobey her father. And boys had cooties then, anyways. So she'd, in a fit of anger, seized the flower from him and shoved him into the grass before stalking away.
"I still have that flower." Her words were a mere whisper as they left her lips, photographic memory recalling the exact book in which she'd pressed the flower. "I do believe it lies between pages eighteen and nineteen of the Tales of Beedle the Bard."

𝔑σʀą 𝔍ɛąη ℜɛмɩηɢʈση
ʀɛα∂ мʏ ℓɩƿs:
• Sℓʏтнɛrιn • Ғιrsт ʏɛαr • ƿʋrɛʙℓσσ∂


[OoC: Feel free to create whatever backstory you'd like. ^^ I don't mind in the slightest.]

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

Slip out the back before they know you were there

and at the worst you'll see nobody cares,

you don't want to be around when it all goes down...

William Dante Nott the Third

Sixth Year, Slytherin Prefect

What lingered lied beyond a translucent veil, a wisp of silver—so many eyes like these rattled his memories, but none had quite like hers. The velvet painted scene manifested in silhouetted wisps in his scarred memories, though somehow still, vivid and real as square cut diamonds, that instantaneous moment where his backside collided with more force than expected had struck him, deep. He hated the girl, sought out his father and was the first to writhe in anger, his newest set of robes had been soiled, and, as obsessive compulsive as he was, it simply would not do. But his father was caring, with a guided hand, but given his past and history, was not prompted to seek her out. There were, after all, many other prospective children to arrange marriages with, perhaps some more tame for a fiery headed boy like him.

His childhood had been a nefarious affair, from his childbirth; to which little know the truth of, down to the very gruel details. His father, William II, had rarely often succeeded in ever controlling the little spitfire viper to a tame and civil environment (nearly every one ended disastrously) but being Nott, and heir to such vast fortunes, exceptions were made. The family had had ties with the English monarchy, waging in my historical battles, both in muggle and wizard history, as far back as the Battle of Hastings, where William the Conqueror, son of Robert the Magnificent and Herleva Nott, had crowned himself king. The Nott line resurfaced, intermingling with French royalty to claim as much territory as possible. (And if any knew the history between England and France, than the most noted rivalry and hatred span between the House of Nott and Montague.) In those days, he had never shown a glimmer of magic, and most of the children his age had teased him, the few that didn’t were… trained… well enough not to.

She certainly hadn’t been the exception, or so he seemed.

The English Bullmastiff adored nearly every instance on his person, down to the inlay of his Slytherin robes to the buttons on his cuffs, vest, and button down uniform, as well, the family sigil. They cloaked the insecurities, the ones he hid well under lock and key, a darkness creeping, oozing out of every pore of him. His magic was tainted, black and corrupt; tongues could taste it in the air. It breathed in with every life of him, and even the professors, over time, had begun to maintain safe distance.

He preferred it that way. The silence, the order, the well, maintained and precarious mannerisms that drove him to a serrated madness of predictability and chaos that blended so well with violent, treacherous minds. His magic burst, as it still did to this day—the very thought of it flickered his gaze down for a millisecond, only a breaths time to subdue. Flesh was tattered and worn, burnt at the pricked scar tissue of his right hand, his wand hand. Raging magic burst beneath his fingertips, rippling with willful explosion. His demeanor shifted suddenly when her words perforated the atmosphere—the world all around had already melted away, withered to naught but ash.

It was as if everything had changed just then, whatever it was, or why, could not be explained. Her soft voice had barely slid over his flesh, spiraling down, and down, until it hit his core. This was the second time he broke eye contact, and this time, it lingered. Muddled confusion swam in the distance there where there had once been proud regality. As if the very comprehension of emotion was…. Too farfetched too ever grasp.

He raised his head, slowly craning his neck to meet hers, inch by inch, searching each eye deep and vigil. So many questions lay buried there beneath the surface. Above and beyond all, he was quite speechless. A blink of those infamous gold eyes reflected it back with simplicity. Every manner of defense and will and thought were deemed damned and done with. ”Then why did you do that?” Was it amusement now; glittering in two-faced coins of gold? ”You were the only one who…” Tay paused then, suddenly in wary and rapid realization of the absurdity of truths rushing past his lips, as if realizing now just how dangerous this really was. Flickering eyes darted in suspense, and wary, his tongue thrashing behind his teeth. ”…seemed real.”

╔══════════════╗
Location: Slytherin Table with Nora
Mood: Curious
╚══════════════╝

..even heroes know when to be scared.

 

[Somnis]

𝔜𝔬𝔲 tʀɩɛ∂ tσ ʟσϲк мɛ 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫.
xxxxI ╒συη∂ tɦɛ kɛʏ. 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔢.
Just untie 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰// that break & 𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔢.

►► Her stormy silver eyes, resembling the rainclouds that occasionally roiled in the sky as though the gods themselves were angered, widened slightly as he met her gaze, seemingly lost for several moments. The pause was long enough for her to study his face once more, her eyes tracing the defiant chin, the tiny smirk on his lips and the arch to his brow that gave him the appearance of a troublemaker. Her face smoothed back into a stoic mask as she committed his image to memory, idly thinking of colors the perfect shade to describe his irises. Realizing her thoughts, she mentally steeled herself, focusing on the conversation rather than the superficial appearance of the young man before her. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that his eyes were alluring before shoving that thought to the back of her mind.
She knew of his family well, the same way that any noble, pureblood family would know of one-another. His lineage was ancient as the Remingtons, his father the Duke of Wales with his son, the boy that sat beside Nora, the next in line for the title. She vaguely remembered being at the Nott family estate at least once in her life, though she couldn't recall the specific occasion. Their families had both been highly respected among the Wizarding world. It made sense for their families to have ties, from a logical standpoint. Her father had never known of her actions, at least that was what she assumed. She would surely have been made to apologize upon her father being informed, though she couldn't remember seeing the boy again before the moment when they met each others gaze. And what a captivating gaze he had. She was certain she'd overheard one of the staff at the Remington estate discussing the eyes of the Nott family, though the maid's words did it no justice.
She mentally shook herself from these musings, making a mental note to return to the subject later, when it was quiet and she had a chance to be alone with her thoughts. Her eyes met his, which flicked momentarily to his right hand, protruding from the sleeve of his robe. Shock. That was the first thing to register in her mind before she regained her composure. His skin was blackened and charred, she assumed it was the work of a powerful curse. Questions bubbled in her throat, though she refused to voice them. It was not her business, and she had no intention of finding out what had happened unless he were to tell her of his own free will. And then his gaze was once more on hers, though his confusion ha been replaced by amusement.
"You noticed me." The blonde responded simply, though the words held a definite note of bitterness as she quietly sipped her drink. "I was a girl born into a world where boys were valued. I was of no value to my parents upon the birth of my younger brother. The only thing I was good for was marriage. The only people who ever noticed me looked upon me as though I were a piece of meat for sale. The only people who ever noticed me did so for personal gain." She met his gaze once more, and the bitterness had been replaced by cold bemusement. "In the world we were raised in, I very well could be the only one who is real."

𝔑σʀą 𝔍ɛąη ℜɛмɩηɢʈση
ʀɛα∂ мʏ ℓɩƿs:
• Sℓʏтнɛrιn • Ғιrsт ʏɛαr • ƿʋrɛʙℓσσ∂

 

[Devlyn Maycry]

With a thousand lies
And a good disguise
Hit ‘em right between the eyes

MICHELLE CATLIN

Wearing

|||Slytherin|||Pureblood|||Second Year|||

Michelle's interest peaked in the conversation between the first year and the sixth year when Tay's mask finally broke. The two must have some history for the girl, Nora was it, to shatter his perfect disguise that quickly. Her stony eyes watched silently. There could be no doubt about it, this year was definitely going to be interesting and Michelle had found more prey quite quickly this year.

OOC:...

Love interest: No One

When you walk away
Nothing more to say
See the lightning in your eyes
See ‘em running for their lives

 

[MJ Spooks]

Damien Edgeworth
Slytherin // Second Year // Slytherin Table // Wearing
CURRENTLY WITH // Dominic
CURRENTLY FEELING // Perturbed, intrigued
CURRENTLY THINKING // 'She likely did stop by, and my bloody mother sent her away...'
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Damien listened intently to what his friend had to say, frowning at Dom's mention of his mother stopping by to check on him. His fist clenched. Dominic's mother in all likelihood had come to the Manor, only to be turned away when she mentioned Damien's name. His mother would never have allowed him to spend time away, and certainly wouldn't have told Ms. Montague what was going on with her son. The whole point of isolating him was to keep others from knowing what a wreck and embarrassment he was. Damien barely bit back a growl, and looked at Dominic. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said simply, intending to extrapolate later. It seemed he and Dominic had much to discuss.

When Dominic's eyes lit, ever so slightly, at the Howler, Damien's eyebrow arched questioningly. He might have missed it, but for Dominic very clearly trying very hard not to look away from him, perhaps to avoid looking at Adalaide. When Dominic asked what he thought of it, the arch went higher. Damien might have been out of it for a while, but he wasn't completely oblivious. But, since Dominic didn't admit to any guilt or take any credit, and managed to contain any pride, Damien decided to play along, for now. He'd have to ask him about it when they spoke later. "All I know is that there is no bloody way the thing is for real. Blythe's mother is a muggle, she couldn't have sent the bloody thing, even if she'd wanted to. And her father thinks she's a perfect angel, he bloodied my father's nose over her when we were kids. He'd never help her mother do it. So someone," he tilted his head down, giving Dom an intense look, "must've faked it somehow." He glanced along the table, to Michelle. She hadn't reacted much; that was curious. Was she containing her anger, her embarrassment? Or did she, too, know it was a fake? He supposed it was possible; his cousin had to know about the girl's mother. Then he noticed Marina, and her cold expression. She probably thought he was behind this, no doubt. So ungrateful. He'd bloody saved the girl's life after all. And she of all people should know he had more class than that. He might find the prank amusing, but he'd have never done it himself, or been involved. He was above such childishness. Though that didn't mean he was above enjoying the immature actions of his friend. In truth, he found it bloody funny.

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(( OOC: ))
...

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

So you wanna call me the devils' advocate
But you don't even know the half of it
I was raised to believe in miracles
My life is so cold

Fifth Year Seeker, Slytherin Prefect
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The feast was joyous, to those around her, at least. She sought out a glance to her boyfriend across the hall at the house of gold and black, where much speculation had dwindled down to a low burning rumble before it snuffed out. The professor’s seemed to hardly bat an eye at the howler that shrieked, she could only assume they were used to it by now. But today of all days? Shifty eyes darted up and down the table before she silently piled her plate genuinely.

Time was on standstill as she thought of her mother, whom had disappeared, and of her father, and all of those recently paid debts he had managed. She chewed her lip more than her food in truth, but it hardly breached her bright, candescent sparkle of life and freedom as she robotically moved, poised and paced and graceful.

”Okay, time to head down to the common rooms, first years, with me. I’ll start the first go around, if you’re not finished, you can come along with the other prefects, Jasmine, Jessica, or Tay.

“We’ll be going down the dungeon staircase to the Slytherin Corridor, so come along now.”

Location:

Slytherin Table to Slytherin Corridor

Desires: Perfection

Troubles: Patience

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[The Forgotten Weasley]

How did we get here? When I used to know you so well?

Marina Eugenie Aldred, Proud Halfblood, Slytherin Second Year

Wearing
Mood: Furious
Thoughts: Plotting
With: Slytherins

Of all the immature, idiotic, downright stupid..... Marina could have gone on. That loathsome little prat thought he was hilarious. Acting so innocent. And Damien! He looked amused. And she'd thought he changed. Well, old habits die hard, apparently... Lovely, now she wanted to throttle two people. She could hear their conversation perfectly well, it was amazing what years of practice could do to one's hearing ability... So, things were starting to slip out. She had suspected for a while now that Damien and Ada had known each other before Hogwarts, but now it was confirmed. So Ada's dad had punched Damien's.... That was pretty wicked, it must be father like son since half of the time she wanted to punch Damien. The other half of the time she felt guilty, and she was bloody sick of it. Maybe he would say something nasty eventually, and they could go back to silently despising each other. She could also then hex him with no trace of guilt. Think happy thoughts, she thought. Picture beating Dominic to a bloody pulp.... Yes, happy thoughts...

"Endurance is nobler than strength and has more patience than beauty."

How did we get here? Well I think I know...