13 Feb 2020, 17:52
Hosts of the Air
Exhaustive trips around the castle hallways and towers had given Flash a good idea of the layout of Hogwarts. By winter, he felt he had the grounds mostly memorized, and he had worked out a route he could walk to maximize his exposure to the highest traffic areas the school had to offer. This way he was able to see the fights, the flirting, and hear the things he wasn’t supposed to hear. He was satisfied with it, only making a few changes here and there at times as to not be too predictable.
The one thing he had trouble finding were places where he could be alone. While students and staff did tend to gather in certain places, nowhere in particular was completely vacant at all times. Taking a walk around the grounds gave him a semblance of solitude, but when he wanted to be completely alone, the best place was the top of the Owlery. During winter, when it was at its coldest and most inhospitable, it remained routinely unoccupied by any soul besides the owls themselves. While inside the tower reeked of feces and dead mice, the very top had a platform outside where one could look out and see the grounds. It was almost as if it were made just for him.
Bundled up with heavy layers, Flash looked out lazily as light, barely visible snow floated to the earth. He was putting off studying until the evening, and instead was just looking for some peace and quiet. Flash had been running off to escape the noise ever since he was able to run, but not all noise was grating. He liked the quiet sound of fluttering wings, and the occasional hoot or chirp. From up that high, the wind also made a distinctive sound, unlike what one would hear on the ground. Also, when the mood took him, he liked to sing.
Flash started by humming a song that was in his head, but given that he had no reason to hold back, he continued it by singing it loudly. It was a lilting, uplifting song with long drawn-out notes. Flash especially liked the chorus, which had a key change in the middle. It was things like that which always stuck in his head, making him want to sing it time and time again. He loved when things challenged his expectations.
The owls started making a commotion below him, but he figured it was due to the fervor of his song, and paid it no mind.
@Rafael D'Spacito
The one thing he had trouble finding were places where he could be alone. While students and staff did tend to gather in certain places, nowhere in particular was completely vacant at all times. Taking a walk around the grounds gave him a semblance of solitude, but when he wanted to be completely alone, the best place was the top of the Owlery. During winter, when it was at its coldest and most inhospitable, it remained routinely unoccupied by any soul besides the owls themselves. While inside the tower reeked of feces and dead mice, the very top had a platform outside where one could look out and see the grounds. It was almost as if it were made just for him.
Bundled up with heavy layers, Flash looked out lazily as light, barely visible snow floated to the earth. He was putting off studying until the evening, and instead was just looking for some peace and quiet. Flash had been running off to escape the noise ever since he was able to run, but not all noise was grating. He liked the quiet sound of fluttering wings, and the occasional hoot or chirp. From up that high, the wind also made a distinctive sound, unlike what one would hear on the ground. Also, when the mood took him, he liked to sing.
Flash started by humming a song that was in his head, but given that he had no reason to hold back, he continued it by singing it loudly. It was a lilting, uplifting song with long drawn-out notes. Flash especially liked the chorus, which had a key change in the middle. It was things like that which always stuck in his head, making him want to sing it time and time again. He loved when things challenged his expectations.
The owls started making a commotion below him, but he figured it was due to the fervor of his song, and paid it no mind.
@Rafael D'Spacito
Last edited by Flash Holmwood on 16 May 2020, 01:29, edited 3 times in total.
For we dreamed a lot//And we schemed a lot//And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart
Sta: 9 ★Eva: 5 ★Str: 7 ★Wis: 15 ★AP: 3 ★Acc: 15
13 Feb 2020, 21:27
Hosts of the Air
@Flash Holmwood
[font=Segoe Print]It was a particularly chilly day at Hogwarts as of currently, the snow falling gently onto the grounds in a tranquil sort of way, blanketing the landscape in comforting white. Well, perhaps some could consider the snow comforting. For Rafael D’Spacito, the snow was something to be cautious of, the element a dangerous and alien substance that both deterred the boy and spurred his curiosity all at once. He would like to say he hated the slush, but after a certain snowball fight between himself and a particular frenemy of his, he had grown slightly fond of it, if not reserved towards its contact. He supposed the substance fell into the category of the unknown, the only thing the boy had ever truly feared. What you couldn’t understand was certainly a worrisome matter, after all, as ignorance is what got people hurt.
Which is most likely why the boy tended to steer clear of the substance as much as he could manage. There were better ways to spend the day than sit around in the ‘devil’s cocaine’, messing around like a ruddy child. Snow was what made people sick and ruined perfectly good landscapes. It also seemed to linger around in a hideous sort of way, an eyesore to anyone who dared look out the window. One could instead use their time staying warm, working on their homework, exploring the expanses of the school, meeting up with one’s mates, – there was plenty of options other than messing around in snow. It was a waste of time, and any association with it [in Raf’s mind] was inexcusable.
Perhaps the only excuse for going outside in such terrible weather would be Quidditch Practice. It was the only productive use of one’s time out in the freezing cold, after all, as there were great rewards for successful Quidditch Playing. And, typically, the boy would have been found practicing on the Quidditch Pitch at this time, honing his skills and freshening up his reflexes for the coming game. The Quidditch Captain had quite the reputation to hold up these days, after all, and it would have been ruddy terrible to lose a game for his team due to ruddy flying. But, not particularly on this day. No, today, he had more important things to take care of.
In specific, letters. There were two of them, both addressed to members of his family. The first, addressed to his uncle Diego, was full of very meaningful information regarding a recent fight he’d had with his significant other. The second, addressed to his pseudo-uncle Shane [the family’s resident musician], had a great deal of song discussion within its pages, a rather big letter in comparison to the smaller letters he typically sent. And, usually, he would have picked another day to send them out, as there were many things to take care of on such a day. However, as the messages contained time-sensitive information, he found that procrastination simply were not an option.
So, up the steps of the owlery the boy treaded, swatting away snowflakes as if they were disgusting flies. [The snow was revolting on this day, sticking to absolutely everything and making the boy cold and shivery.] He hadn’t realized how chilly it had been upon coming out – only donning a sweatshirt and jeans, he himself in a fit of chills, his arms wrapped around his midsection and his head bowed in the hopes of gaining some body heat. His nose was red, his countenance sickly, as it had been for the past week – among his ghastly state, a big, nasty bruise shone on his right eye, the result of a recent fight. The boy didn’t look at his best today, as circumstance had certainly gotten the best of him as of late. But that was fine, because he certainly wasn’t in a bad mood.
As he progressed up the steps, a sound rang out above the air – and a pleasant sound at that. It took the boy a moment to realize what he was hearing. Wait, is that singing? Yes, his presumptions were correct – someone clearly had no reservations towards performing, especially in a public place. It put a small grin on the Gryffindor’s face, and he continued to climb up, in hopes of investigating the source of the smooth voice.
Having climbed the last of the steps, the boy peeked in through the Owlery door, quickly catching the culprit – a brunet boy, a fellow first year, by the looks of it. The Gryffindor stayed for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the boy’s voice. It was smooth, a rather young sound to it, from the vantage he stood. Quite enjoyable, if he did say so himself. He would have stayed longer, too, if it hadn’t been for the snow – with growing discomfort, he realized that his hands were shaking, only adding to his sickly state. Deciding to make his presence known, the boy pushed the door to the Owlery open, his fingers stiff and blue.
At first, it looked as if the boy hadn’t noticed him yet. It felt a bit rude, to just stand around and let the boy continue on as if he weren’t there. So, clearing his throat, he decided to address his settings. “Well, that’s quite a voice you got,” he joked aloud, an eyebrow raised in amusement and arms crossed. “No, really. You’re practically Broadway level, mate.” He was joking, of course, though there was a bit of truth to his words. His countenance and body language suggested a friendly air to his words, as if he were just gently prodding – he grinned, cocking his head to the side and rubbing his hands together. “Pretty bold of you – don’t think I could manage singing in front of strangers.”
[He could at least sympathize with the boy. He, too, had a talent for music, one that very few people knew about. Part of him felt embarrassed, as his old friends had laugh at the thought of a boy singing. Though, people at Hogwarts generally seemed accepting of his tastes. That left him a bit more open to sharing his voice… only a bit. For the most part, he kept his singing voice a secret, only shared with those he called close.] [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]It was a particularly chilly day at Hogwarts as of currently, the snow falling gently onto the grounds in a tranquil sort of way, blanketing the landscape in comforting white. Well, perhaps some could consider the snow comforting. For Rafael D’Spacito, the snow was something to be cautious of, the element a dangerous and alien substance that both deterred the boy and spurred his curiosity all at once. He would like to say he hated the slush, but after a certain snowball fight between himself and a particular frenemy of his, he had grown slightly fond of it, if not reserved towards its contact. He supposed the substance fell into the category of the unknown, the only thing the boy had ever truly feared. What you couldn’t understand was certainly a worrisome matter, after all, as ignorance is what got people hurt.
Which is most likely why the boy tended to steer clear of the substance as much as he could manage. There were better ways to spend the day than sit around in the ‘devil’s cocaine’, messing around like a ruddy child. Snow was what made people sick and ruined perfectly good landscapes. It also seemed to linger around in a hideous sort of way, an eyesore to anyone who dared look out the window. One could instead use their time staying warm, working on their homework, exploring the expanses of the school, meeting up with one’s mates, – there was plenty of options other than messing around in snow. It was a waste of time, and any association with it [in Raf’s mind] was inexcusable.
Perhaps the only excuse for going outside in such terrible weather would be Quidditch Practice. It was the only productive use of one’s time out in the freezing cold, after all, as there were great rewards for successful Quidditch Playing. And, typically, the boy would have been found practicing on the Quidditch Pitch at this time, honing his skills and freshening up his reflexes for the coming game. The Quidditch Captain had quite the reputation to hold up these days, after all, and it would have been ruddy terrible to lose a game for his team due to ruddy flying. But, not particularly on this day. No, today, he had more important things to take care of.
In specific, letters. There were two of them, both addressed to members of his family. The first, addressed to his uncle Diego, was full of very meaningful information regarding a recent fight he’d had with his significant other. The second, addressed to his pseudo-uncle Shane [the family’s resident musician], had a great deal of song discussion within its pages, a rather big letter in comparison to the smaller letters he typically sent. And, usually, he would have picked another day to send them out, as there were many things to take care of on such a day. However, as the messages contained time-sensitive information, he found that procrastination simply were not an option.
So, up the steps of the owlery the boy treaded, swatting away snowflakes as if they were disgusting flies. [The snow was revolting on this day, sticking to absolutely everything and making the boy cold and shivery.] He hadn’t realized how chilly it had been upon coming out – only donning a sweatshirt and jeans, he himself in a fit of chills, his arms wrapped around his midsection and his head bowed in the hopes of gaining some body heat. His nose was red, his countenance sickly, as it had been for the past week – among his ghastly state, a big, nasty bruise shone on his right eye, the result of a recent fight. The boy didn’t look at his best today, as circumstance had certainly gotten the best of him as of late. But that was fine, because he certainly wasn’t in a bad mood.
As he progressed up the steps, a sound rang out above the air – and a pleasant sound at that. It took the boy a moment to realize what he was hearing. Wait, is that singing? Yes, his presumptions were correct – someone clearly had no reservations towards performing, especially in a public place. It put a small grin on the Gryffindor’s face, and he continued to climb up, in hopes of investigating the source of the smooth voice.
Having climbed the last of the steps, the boy peeked in through the Owlery door, quickly catching the culprit – a brunet boy, a fellow first year, by the looks of it. The Gryffindor stayed for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the boy’s voice. It was smooth, a rather young sound to it, from the vantage he stood. Quite enjoyable, if he did say so himself. He would have stayed longer, too, if it hadn’t been for the snow – with growing discomfort, he realized that his hands were shaking, only adding to his sickly state. Deciding to make his presence known, the boy pushed the door to the Owlery open, his fingers stiff and blue.
At first, it looked as if the boy hadn’t noticed him yet. It felt a bit rude, to just stand around and let the boy continue on as if he weren’t there. So, clearing his throat, he decided to address his settings. “Well, that’s quite a voice you got,” he joked aloud, an eyebrow raised in amusement and arms crossed. “No, really. You’re practically Broadway level, mate.” He was joking, of course, though there was a bit of truth to his words. His countenance and body language suggested a friendly air to his words, as if he were just gently prodding – he grinned, cocking his head to the side and rubbing his hands together. “Pretty bold of you – don’t think I could manage singing in front of strangers.”
[He could at least sympathize with the boy. He, too, had a talent for music, one that very few people knew about. Part of him felt embarrassed, as his old friends had laugh at the thought of a boy singing. Though, people at Hogwarts generally seemed accepting of his tastes. That left him a bit more open to sharing his voice… only a bit. For the most part, he kept his singing voice a secret, only shared with those he called close.] [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
14 Feb 2020, 05:40
Hosts of the Air
Flash stopped abruptly, whirling around and almost losing his balance before grabbing the railing. Quite a few of the owls nearby that had tolerated the singing took flight in a flurry of distressed cooing. Flash had a lot to process that gave him panic, nearly making him jump out of his skin when he heard the voice. It was a boy, around his age, and athletic. He looked incredibly familiar, but he couldn’t recall how or why he knew him. It only added to his distress.
”Who are--?” Flash flushed, though it couldn’t have been noticed through his already rosy, cold face. ”S-so you-- heard--”
Flash was at a loss. Singing was always a joy, but it was something personal. He felt suddenly exposed, though he had no reason to become upset. It was this student’s right to enter the owlery as he pleased, so it was Flash’s misplaced confidence that lead to the moment he found himself in. No one had ever commented on his singing before. No one had ever heard his singing before, at least not in full force like that. It came from within, from an attachment he had to the flow of the melody, not from logic and calculation, like how he was expected to behave.
Even though the stranger was complimentary, it was impossible to tell if he was being genuine. If Flash knew the boy better, he may have been able to trust that he wasn't mocking him. But he didn’t know him, and he could very well want to tell everyone in the school about the screeching melody he heard in the owlery, and what idiot was singing it. Even more, he didn’t know if he should try to obtain his secrecy on the matter, or play it off like it was something normal. With so little information, he was adrift at sea, stuck looking at him dumbfoundedly.
”Bold, you say. Ha ha...” The edges of Flash’s mouth twitched as though attempting a smile. ”You’re the first to hear it, and probably the last.”
Flash’s gut felt sick to imagine the thoughts that must have been running through the other student’s head.
@Rafael D'Spacito
”Who are--?” Flash flushed, though it couldn’t have been noticed through his already rosy, cold face. ”S-so you-- heard--”
Flash was at a loss. Singing was always a joy, but it was something personal. He felt suddenly exposed, though he had no reason to become upset. It was this student’s right to enter the owlery as he pleased, so it was Flash’s misplaced confidence that lead to the moment he found himself in. No one had ever commented on his singing before. No one had ever heard his singing before, at least not in full force like that. It came from within, from an attachment he had to the flow of the melody, not from logic and calculation, like how he was expected to behave.
Even though the stranger was complimentary, it was impossible to tell if he was being genuine. If Flash knew the boy better, he may have been able to trust that he wasn't mocking him. But he didn’t know him, and he could very well want to tell everyone in the school about the screeching melody he heard in the owlery, and what idiot was singing it. Even more, he didn’t know if he should try to obtain his secrecy on the matter, or play it off like it was something normal. With so little information, he was adrift at sea, stuck looking at him dumbfoundedly.
”Bold, you say. Ha ha...” The edges of Flash’s mouth twitched as though attempting a smile. ”You’re the first to hear it, and probably the last.”
Flash’s gut felt sick to imagine the thoughts that must have been running through the other student’s head.
@Rafael D'Spacito
For we dreamed a lot//And we schemed a lot//And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart
Sta: 9 ★Eva: 5 ★Str: 7 ★Wis: 15 ★AP: 3 ★Acc: 15
27 Feb 2020, 19:50
Hosts of the Air
@Flash Holmwood
[font=Segoe Print]It seemed as if Raf’s etiquette tactic had utterly failed – he’d startled the poor kid. And now he felt ruddy terrible.
Well, perhaps ‘terrible’ wasn’t the best description for the way the Gryffindor was feeling at the moment – a better word to describe his feelings would be ‘guilty’. Who did he think he was, intruding on a guy’s moment? He should have long since realized that, if the guy was singing alone in the owlery, chances were, he wanted to be left the hell alone. He could certainly sympathize – those would be the thoughts going through his own head, after all. A disappointed scowl shone on his face at the thought, and he allowed himself to feel a quick dose of remorse, his head bowing slightly as he chewed his lip. Privacy, mate, he scolded himself. Take a bloody hint.
Though, the regret would be short-lived, as the feeling was soon replaced with a different feeling. His own, burning curiosity was now filling his chest, a strong impulse spurring him on, a dangerous feeling if he’d ever felt one. [He would know – he’d felt a few.] “Yeah,“ he exhaled, a small wince on his features and a tint of color to his cheeks as he advanced forward tentatively. There was a slightly apologetic look about him, showing in the way he held his posture, his apathetic eyes searching the other boy’s for any sense of tension. “Excuse my intrusion – didn’t mean to give you a fright, or anything.” He let out a small, halted smile at that, his hands waving his letters in the air, an indication that he had not come to intrude. “I’m, uhm, Rafael,” he added. “My mates call me ‘Bird, though. As… weird as that sounds.”
[His mind instantly flew back to his first real meeting with Jo, back during the beginning of the year. During their interactions, he’d tripped over – surprise, surprise – a Slytherin’s outstretched leg. As a result, Jo had jeered at the poor Gryffindor, telling him how he’d flailed as if he were a ‘bird’. Though, instead of allowing the nickname to be a negative influence on his year, he’d instead accepted the title, turning it into a badge rather than a curse. The new name, Thunderbird, was an allurement towards the way the air whistled when he flew on his broom. A proud title he chose to wear.]
[It was, in the least, a long story.]
Though, instead of humoring his fellow first year with a pointlessly long-winded explanation that was sort of irrelevant at the moment, he opted to keep his mouth shut. The boy looked as if he were trying to smile – it was slightly unsettling, in the way that it didn’t seem sincere. ”You’re the first to hear it,” he told the Gryffindor, “and probably the last.”
Raf’s face, once possessing a smile, now seemed to fall a little bit, the frown coming back to his features in an instant. He would be a liar if he said the other boy’s words didn’t disappoint him in the least – though, his reasons for distress would be a bit hard to explain. Perhaps it was the fact that the guy felt he had to hide his talents. Or, maybe it was the idea of the boy's voice disappearing from the lives of his peers. The mere thought of wasted talent left a hole in the stomach of the young boy, a sort of frustration that shook him to the very core. No, that certainly wouldn’t do. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Deciding to go ahead and get his letters out of the way, he trotted over to some of the nearby birds, putting his hand out to pet a particular tawny owl. A school owl, one he was rather familiar with. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a feinted air of impartiality to his voice as he tied the letter to the foot of the bird, his eyes searching the owl’s shiny, pristine feathers. “Now, that’s a right shame. People should be hearing that voice of yours. You think I’m lying to you?” He laughed haltedly, the noise seemingly artificial as he finished tying his letter to the owl's foot. “Off you go, now,” he whispered to the bird. “Fly safe.”
Watching as the bird flew away, he moved on to another, less familiar owl, deftly tying his last letter to the bird’s foot. “Where’d you learn to sing like that, eh?” he added absently, not looking up from his work as he projected his voice towards the boy behind him. “Surely a voice like that would require lessons. Does your guy have a name? Still teaching?” [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]It seemed as if Raf’s etiquette tactic had utterly failed – he’d startled the poor kid. And now he felt ruddy terrible.
Well, perhaps ‘terrible’ wasn’t the best description for the way the Gryffindor was feeling at the moment – a better word to describe his feelings would be ‘guilty’. Who did he think he was, intruding on a guy’s moment? He should have long since realized that, if the guy was singing alone in the owlery, chances were, he wanted to be left the hell alone. He could certainly sympathize – those would be the thoughts going through his own head, after all. A disappointed scowl shone on his face at the thought, and he allowed himself to feel a quick dose of remorse, his head bowing slightly as he chewed his lip. Privacy, mate, he scolded himself. Take a bloody hint.
Though, the regret would be short-lived, as the feeling was soon replaced with a different feeling. His own, burning curiosity was now filling his chest, a strong impulse spurring him on, a dangerous feeling if he’d ever felt one. [He would know – he’d felt a few.] “Yeah,“ he exhaled, a small wince on his features and a tint of color to his cheeks as he advanced forward tentatively. There was a slightly apologetic look about him, showing in the way he held his posture, his apathetic eyes searching the other boy’s for any sense of tension. “Excuse my intrusion – didn’t mean to give you a fright, or anything.” He let out a small, halted smile at that, his hands waving his letters in the air, an indication that he had not come to intrude. “I’m, uhm, Rafael,” he added. “My mates call me ‘Bird, though. As… weird as that sounds.”
[His mind instantly flew back to his first real meeting with Jo, back during the beginning of the year. During their interactions, he’d tripped over – surprise, surprise – a Slytherin’s outstretched leg. As a result, Jo had jeered at the poor Gryffindor, telling him how he’d flailed as if he were a ‘bird’. Though, instead of allowing the nickname to be a negative influence on his year, he’d instead accepted the title, turning it into a badge rather than a curse. The new name, Thunderbird, was an allurement towards the way the air whistled when he flew on his broom. A proud title he chose to wear.]
[It was, in the least, a long story.]
Though, instead of humoring his fellow first year with a pointlessly long-winded explanation that was sort of irrelevant at the moment, he opted to keep his mouth shut. The boy looked as if he were trying to smile – it was slightly unsettling, in the way that it didn’t seem sincere. ”You’re the first to hear it,” he told the Gryffindor, “and probably the last.”
Raf’s face, once possessing a smile, now seemed to fall a little bit, the frown coming back to his features in an instant. He would be a liar if he said the other boy’s words didn’t disappoint him in the least – though, his reasons for distress would be a bit hard to explain. Perhaps it was the fact that the guy felt he had to hide his talents. Or, maybe it was the idea of the boy's voice disappearing from the lives of his peers. The mere thought of wasted talent left a hole in the stomach of the young boy, a sort of frustration that shook him to the very core. No, that certainly wouldn’t do. Not if he had anything to say about it.
Deciding to go ahead and get his letters out of the way, he trotted over to some of the nearby birds, putting his hand out to pet a particular tawny owl. A school owl, one he was rather familiar with. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, a feinted air of impartiality to his voice as he tied the letter to the foot of the bird, his eyes searching the owl’s shiny, pristine feathers. “Now, that’s a right shame. People should be hearing that voice of yours. You think I’m lying to you?” He laughed haltedly, the noise seemingly artificial as he finished tying his letter to the owl's foot. “Off you go, now,” he whispered to the bird. “Fly safe.”
Watching as the bird flew away, he moved on to another, less familiar owl, deftly tying his last letter to the bird’s foot. “Where’d you learn to sing like that, eh?” he added absently, not looking up from his work as he projected his voice towards the boy behind him. “Surely a voice like that would require lessons. Does your guy have a name? Still teaching?” [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
28 Feb 2020, 04:21
Hosts of the Air
Flash watched the boy carefully, looking for hints that his words were malicious, or whether he might burst into laughter at the hilarity of implying that his singing was good. Instead, he seemed cautious, even gentle. Where had that empathy come from, as a complete stranger?
Rafael introduced himself, even telling Flash his nickname. It seemed a particularly intimate thing to share, but Flash had to remind himself that not everyone was so particular about what they were called. It was a cute nickname anyway-- Bird. It might have been the fact that they were surrounded by birds on all sides, or the fact that he was covered head to toe in a bulky swatch of warm attire, but it really seemed to fit.
He went about the task he had set out to do, talking as he went. He was kind, smiling despite shivering from the cold. He was trying to put Flash at ease, and it worked. The flattery, however, was hard to accept at face value. Admittedly, Flash didn’t know what he sounded like. He only ever sang to birds, and they had never given him any constructive criticism. He had, long in the past, sang in front of his family, but it was in tandem with his destructive attention-seeking behavior. When he was punished for acting out, he was also punished for singing. If he tried to sing to occupy himself when he was being isolated, he was given a warning. If he did it again, a paddle.
”My name is Flash… Holmwood. It’s a pleasure.” Flash smiled, the kind that spoke of acceptance. Even if he didn’t know if he could believe it, he would accept the compliment anyway. It felt nice.
Rafael continued, making conversation. He seemed interested to know more, so Flash had to decide on the spot how much he was willing to share. Even if he seemed like he wanted to know more about Flash, the greater likelihood was that he was only being polite. It was better that Flash reveal as little as possible, so that he didn’t appear too eager to be liked. Over-sharing was a common complaint of bad conversations, if the books Flash read were right.
”I’m flattered that you think I’m trained, but it’s just something that developed on its own, without me.” He worried his answer was a bit too whimsical, but it felt true in its description. Even when he stopped singing around his family, he still kept singing. It was enjoyable. He couldn’t explain why it was, the songs were just always there, when everything around him was silent. He just brought them out into the air, instead of just in his head.
If he was really any ‘good’, it was probably a matter of having good hearing, among other lucky coincidences. It was an unfair fact of nature that some people were simply tone deaf and couldn’t even tell the difference. If he were to believe Rafael wasn’t lying, then he would have confirmation that he wasn’t one of those people. That was, so long as Rafael wasn’t tone deaf either.
”Are you a singer?” Flash was curious, what was Rafael’s expertise on the subject of good singing? His empathy, had it come from somewhere particularly close?
@Rafael D'Spacito
Rafael introduced himself, even telling Flash his nickname. It seemed a particularly intimate thing to share, but Flash had to remind himself that not everyone was so particular about what they were called. It was a cute nickname anyway-- Bird. It might have been the fact that they were surrounded by birds on all sides, or the fact that he was covered head to toe in a bulky swatch of warm attire, but it really seemed to fit.
He went about the task he had set out to do, talking as he went. He was kind, smiling despite shivering from the cold. He was trying to put Flash at ease, and it worked. The flattery, however, was hard to accept at face value. Admittedly, Flash didn’t know what he sounded like. He only ever sang to birds, and they had never given him any constructive criticism. He had, long in the past, sang in front of his family, but it was in tandem with his destructive attention-seeking behavior. When he was punished for acting out, he was also punished for singing. If he tried to sing to occupy himself when he was being isolated, he was given a warning. If he did it again, a paddle.
”My name is Flash… Holmwood. It’s a pleasure.” Flash smiled, the kind that spoke of acceptance. Even if he didn’t know if he could believe it, he would accept the compliment anyway. It felt nice.
Rafael continued, making conversation. He seemed interested to know more, so Flash had to decide on the spot how much he was willing to share. Even if he seemed like he wanted to know more about Flash, the greater likelihood was that he was only being polite. It was better that Flash reveal as little as possible, so that he didn’t appear too eager to be liked. Over-sharing was a common complaint of bad conversations, if the books Flash read were right.
”I’m flattered that you think I’m trained, but it’s just something that developed on its own, without me.” He worried his answer was a bit too whimsical, but it felt true in its description. Even when he stopped singing around his family, he still kept singing. It was enjoyable. He couldn’t explain why it was, the songs were just always there, when everything around him was silent. He just brought them out into the air, instead of just in his head.
If he was really any ‘good’, it was probably a matter of having good hearing, among other lucky coincidences. It was an unfair fact of nature that some people were simply tone deaf and couldn’t even tell the difference. If he were to believe Rafael wasn’t lying, then he would have confirmation that he wasn’t one of those people. That was, so long as Rafael wasn’t tone deaf either.
”Are you a singer?” Flash was curious, what was Rafael’s expertise on the subject of good singing? His empathy, had it come from somewhere particularly close?
@Rafael D'Spacito
For we dreamed a lot//And we schemed a lot//And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart
Sta: 9 ★Eva: 5 ★Str: 7 ★Wis: 15 ★AP: 3 ★Acc: 15
3 Mar 2020, 18:13
Hosts of the Air
@Flash Holmwood
[font=Segoe Print]”My name is Flash… Holmwood. It’s a pleasure.”
It certainly was – though, unbeknownst to Flash, the pleasure in question was all Rafael’s. The boy portrayed a kindly nature, at least superficially, a company that the young Gryffindor rather enjoyed. A kind soul, surely – at least, he would assume so, giving the boy the benefit of the doubt. An unusual act for the thunderbird, surely, and for a moment, he entertained himself with the idea of why exactly this was the case. Perhaps it had something to do with the guy's voice – he felt that, in a way, he could connect with that interest, a connection rarely made among members of the school. The very thought reminded him of someone else, a Ravenclaw rather close to his heart – the thought brought him brief pain, as it had been quite a while since he’d seen Gem Stuart wandering the halls of Hogwarts. “Likewise,” he stated absently, his smile somehow never waning as he finished fastening his last letter to the foot of the bird. “Off you go,” he told the new bird, dismissing into the air, watching as it soared off with wistful eyes.
[As strange and uncharacteristic as it was for him, the boy had always worried for the birds. Their job was harrowing, their journeys long – yet, no one seemed to spare a second thought regarding their livelihoods. They certainly weren’t carriers. Rather, the birds were animals, wonderful little creatures that inhabited the earth and made it a more beautiful place. God forbid someone disregard their existence. No, Rafael would always worry for the birds, as he too had flown before.]
His ears remaining ever-sharp, he listened attentively to Flash’s words, taking in everything the boy had to say – it came as right shock, upon hearing that the mysterious boy had never taken a vocal lesson before. A bit of a far-fetched idea, he decided, as the best singers knew all the techniques to properly groom their voices. As Flash had obviously been taught…. right? “On your own? You’re surely kidding me.” His grin only grew brighter, as did his eyes, as he turned around from the railing, regarding Flash with a pleasantly curious look. “No,” he continued, “You must have had some sort of instruction. Talent like that is rare, and seldom natural.” It wasn’t a compliment, only an honest observation, one that anyone listening could have easily made. The boy certainly had an ounce of talent, after all – that much was evident to anyone with ears.
“Are you a singer?”
The question struck the young Gryffindor as a brick to the head would – the boy was struck with a brief sort of shock, his eyes widening and his mouth gaping for a quick moment. A gentle shade of red came to rest on his cheeks, a subtle, almost unnoticeable blush of embarrassment at the surprise question. “Why ever would you ask that?” he asked, almost tentatively, looking down at his hands and wiping some of the snow from his fingers onto the jacket he so gracefully wore. Was it really that obvious? A guess? Was he really as opaque as he thought, or –
Were his secrets bare before the mysterious boy gracing his presence?
The thought disturbed him quite a bit, and he decided to push it away for the moment, instead focusing his attention on his blue fingers. It seemed as if he hadn’t gotten all the snow off – he frustratedly shoved his hands in his pockets, curled into fists with the hopes of regaining some heat. With that, his thought process started up once more. There was no stepping around the question, he supposed. Ignoring it would prove rather hypocritical, as the other boy had already shared his own voice. And anything less than a straight answer would be contradictory to his own being, as he feared no man, nor his opinion. Besides, it would be a right shame for that voice to stay hidden within the recesses of the boy’s throat – no, such a gift would have to be shared. Even if it meant sharing his secrets with a stranger.
Perhaps it was his contribution to society.
Continuing, ever tentatively, he looked up at the boy in front of him, a small smile crossing his features. “Not that it’s an advertised fact, or anything,” he started carefully, biting his bottom lip as if it were to prevent his words from exiting, “…yes, I am.” A wry look came across his features then, a sort of bitter likeness – though, it was obvious that the bitterness wasn’t at all focused at Flash. No, it was more focused on his circumstances, the way the universe had pushed him across the edge of his own comfort once again.
[It seemed to do that a lot, it did.] [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]”My name is Flash… Holmwood. It’s a pleasure.”
It certainly was – though, unbeknownst to Flash, the pleasure in question was all Rafael’s. The boy portrayed a kindly nature, at least superficially, a company that the young Gryffindor rather enjoyed. A kind soul, surely – at least, he would assume so, giving the boy the benefit of the doubt. An unusual act for the thunderbird, surely, and for a moment, he entertained himself with the idea of why exactly this was the case. Perhaps it had something to do with the guy's voice – he felt that, in a way, he could connect with that interest, a connection rarely made among members of the school. The very thought reminded him of someone else, a Ravenclaw rather close to his heart – the thought brought him brief pain, as it had been quite a while since he’d seen Gem Stuart wandering the halls of Hogwarts. “Likewise,” he stated absently, his smile somehow never waning as he finished fastening his last letter to the foot of the bird. “Off you go,” he told the new bird, dismissing into the air, watching as it soared off with wistful eyes.
[As strange and uncharacteristic as it was for him, the boy had always worried for the birds. Their job was harrowing, their journeys long – yet, no one seemed to spare a second thought regarding their livelihoods. They certainly weren’t carriers. Rather, the birds were animals, wonderful little creatures that inhabited the earth and made it a more beautiful place. God forbid someone disregard their existence. No, Rafael would always worry for the birds, as he too had flown before.]
His ears remaining ever-sharp, he listened attentively to Flash’s words, taking in everything the boy had to say – it came as right shock, upon hearing that the mysterious boy had never taken a vocal lesson before. A bit of a far-fetched idea, he decided, as the best singers knew all the techniques to properly groom their voices. As Flash had obviously been taught…. right? “On your own? You’re surely kidding me.” His grin only grew brighter, as did his eyes, as he turned around from the railing, regarding Flash with a pleasantly curious look. “No,” he continued, “You must have had some sort of instruction. Talent like that is rare, and seldom natural.” It wasn’t a compliment, only an honest observation, one that anyone listening could have easily made. The boy certainly had an ounce of talent, after all – that much was evident to anyone with ears.
“Are you a singer?”
The question struck the young Gryffindor as a brick to the head would – the boy was struck with a brief sort of shock, his eyes widening and his mouth gaping for a quick moment. A gentle shade of red came to rest on his cheeks, a subtle, almost unnoticeable blush of embarrassment at the surprise question. “Why ever would you ask that?” he asked, almost tentatively, looking down at his hands and wiping some of the snow from his fingers onto the jacket he so gracefully wore. Was it really that obvious? A guess? Was he really as opaque as he thought, or –
Were his secrets bare before the mysterious boy gracing his presence?
The thought disturbed him quite a bit, and he decided to push it away for the moment, instead focusing his attention on his blue fingers. It seemed as if he hadn’t gotten all the snow off – he frustratedly shoved his hands in his pockets, curled into fists with the hopes of regaining some heat. With that, his thought process started up once more. There was no stepping around the question, he supposed. Ignoring it would prove rather hypocritical, as the other boy had already shared his own voice. And anything less than a straight answer would be contradictory to his own being, as he feared no man, nor his opinion. Besides, it would be a right shame for that voice to stay hidden within the recesses of the boy’s throat – no, such a gift would have to be shared. Even if it meant sharing his secrets with a stranger.
Perhaps it was his contribution to society.
Continuing, ever tentatively, he looked up at the boy in front of him, a small smile crossing his features. “Not that it’s an advertised fact, or anything,” he started carefully, biting his bottom lip as if it were to prevent his words from exiting, “…yes, I am.” A wry look came across his features then, a sort of bitter likeness – though, it was obvious that the bitterness wasn’t at all focused at Flash. No, it was more focused on his circumstances, the way the universe had pushed him across the edge of his own comfort once again.
[It seemed to do that a lot, it did.] [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
6 Mar 2020, 15:04
Hosts of the Air
When Rafael answered him, he shuffled around nervously, making it clear through his words as well that he was similarly uninterested in shouting it from the rooftops. At first it almost seemed like he would try to change the subject, but instead he came out with it and said that he was a singer after all. It seemed even for a Gryffindor with confidence enough to comment on someone else's' singing felt that it was something personal.
He was also getting visibly colder. The Owlery wasn’t exactly hospitable. His face was reddening and he stuffed his hands into his pockets for warmth. The way he carried himself belied a distaste for the cold, it was almost as if he was ignoring his own discomfort to stay and talk. Flash was being impolite, in that case.
”Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. You just talked about it like you had a lot of experience.” Flash explained, noticing the uneasiness his candid observations once again brought along with them. ”If it means anything, I’m thankful you’ve gone out of your way to be so nice about it. I fear I’m making you freeze in here just so you’ll make me feel less self-conscious.”
Flash knew he had to let this poor boy back into the castle where things were heated. He had no such luck in the Slytherin rooms, which were always cold, dark, and dank. He had never seen it, but he imagined the Gryffindors had a nice big fire going, in a bright room full of laughter and discussion. It was the kind of place a nice boy like Rafael belonged. Flash’s aim in most conversations was to learn everything he could, to see what use any given person might have to him, but given his own vulnerability in the situation, and the gentleness he got response, he felt particularly generous.
Flash approached Rafael to be closer, they had mostly spoken a good distance apart as he sent off his letter. Being closer, he looked up at him, so used to being taller than most of his classmates, to see his face more clearly. He wasn’t only cold, he was also flustered. It seemed in the end both of them had been embarrassed to say the truth. A voice was intrinsically private, in that it was always yours to do with as you wished. Even if one was completely silenced, their voice would still be inside them. It was a lot to share.
”I would like to hear you sing one day too. You can think of it like you owe me.” Flash smiled up at him, a real smile. ”But before then, let’s go back inside before your wings ice over.”
@Rafael D'Spacito
He was also getting visibly colder. The Owlery wasn’t exactly hospitable. His face was reddening and he stuffed his hands into his pockets for warmth. The way he carried himself belied a distaste for the cold, it was almost as if he was ignoring his own discomfort to stay and talk. Flash was being impolite, in that case.
”Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. You just talked about it like you had a lot of experience.” Flash explained, noticing the uneasiness his candid observations once again brought along with them. ”If it means anything, I’m thankful you’ve gone out of your way to be so nice about it. I fear I’m making you freeze in here just so you’ll make me feel less self-conscious.”
Flash knew he had to let this poor boy back into the castle where things were heated. He had no such luck in the Slytherin rooms, which were always cold, dark, and dank. He had never seen it, but he imagined the Gryffindors had a nice big fire going, in a bright room full of laughter and discussion. It was the kind of place a nice boy like Rafael belonged. Flash’s aim in most conversations was to learn everything he could, to see what use any given person might have to him, but given his own vulnerability in the situation, and the gentleness he got response, he felt particularly generous.
Flash approached Rafael to be closer, they had mostly spoken a good distance apart as he sent off his letter. Being closer, he looked up at him, so used to being taller than most of his classmates, to see his face more clearly. He wasn’t only cold, he was also flustered. It seemed in the end both of them had been embarrassed to say the truth. A voice was intrinsically private, in that it was always yours to do with as you wished. Even if one was completely silenced, their voice would still be inside them. It was a lot to share.
”I would like to hear you sing one day too. You can think of it like you owe me.” Flash smiled up at him, a real smile. ”But before then, let’s go back inside before your wings ice over.”
@Rafael D'Spacito
For we dreamed a lot//And we schemed a lot//And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart
Sta: 9 ★Eva: 5 ★Str: 7 ★Wis: 15 ★AP: 3 ★Acc: 15
17 Mar 2020, 05:03
Hosts of the Air
@Flash Holmwood
[font=Segoe Print]”Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. You just talked about it like you had a lot of experience.”
There was something in the voice of the mysterious boy, a strange sort of undertone, that Rafael simply could not place. Calming, it was, a gentle wave of comfort, washing away any of the boy’s doubts or reservations towards his peer. Rafael had always liked to pride himself on being rather brilliant at reading people – however, he couldn’t help but feel a bit stumped as he looked upon the shorter boy, his kindly nature showing through his warm eyes like bright, glowing beacons. What was going on in that head of his? Did he mean what he was saying? Or was he just shooting the bull? Did it even matter?
[Why did Rafael even care?]
The other boy’s words brushed past the Gryffindor’s ears once more, gentle, easy. ”If it means anything, I’m thankful you’ve gone out of your way to be so nice about it. I fear I’m making you freeze in here just so you’ll make me feel less self-conscious.” And, there he went again. To be completely honest, it had been quite a while since Rafael could feel any life among his stiff, numb fingers. The only warmth felt at the moment, strangely enough, was the pleasant, fuzzy feeling in his chest, courtesy of Flash’s kind words. It had been quite a while since the Gryffindor had run into someone who truly cared – he hoped, in the least, that Flash’s intentions were genuine. It seemed as if the other boy’s smile had slipped past his walls, if only for a moment, leaving behind a residue of something warm, soft, uplifting… there was no word to explain the feeling, and yet, with every passing moment, it became increasingly apparent that such a feeling should have a word to match its lively nature. [Note: He’d have to come up with something at a later date.]
“You’re a real saint,” he exhaled, the words slipping past his lips before he could ever hope to contain them. “Really, and I’m not just saying that. I suppose,” his mouth hung open for a moment, as if he were carefully considering his words. He’d never really liked apologies, as they’d always felt like a compromise of his values. His uncle had always taught him to hold his chin high, never kneel for anyone. Somehow, the memory of such an order didn’t feel as strong in the head of the young Gryffindor at such a moment, his mind instead filling with an immense sort of guilt. “I’m the one at fault,” he finished his thought. “I should have never prodded your for answers. For that, you have my apology.” Such words became rather easy to say, he realized, the longer time had passed. Yes – it seemed as if his own ego had sorely deserted him for the time being, It felt strange, as if he had been stripped of all walls and limitations, and well – he couldn’t say he liked it. Yet. However, it felt drastically different, being free of the burdens of opinions. It was a light feeling he scarcely ever felt, one that had long since deserted him upon his arrival at Hogwarts. How was it that his peer had willed it away?
”I would like to hear you sing one day too. You can think of it like you owe me.”
Any question in the Gryffindor’s mind was shortly pushed to the side at such a notion, a smile coming to rest on his features. “I’d be happy to,” he responded, words he’d never in a million years expected to leave his mouth. “But, only in the case that I get to hear your own singing again. If, of course,” he paused, his eyebrow raising, “it wouldn’t be imposing upon yourself. Your voice is rather lovely – I honestly couldn’t imagine not being able to hear such clear tones once more.” A wide smile made its way upon his features then, his eyes positively shining as he considered the boy in front of him, his brown hair, his bright blue eyes, green cloak –
At the sight of the boy’s robes, Rafael paused, his smile faltering slightly – his eyes quickly lost their cordiality, his upturned lips frozen in place, somehow weaker than they had been only moments ago. That was a Slytherin cloak, it was, as there was no mistaking it. Unless Flash was only another Pierre, hiding amongst the folds of another house’s robes, the boy was a Slytherin. A traitor. There hadn’t been one good Slytherin the boy had met thus far – he’d even thought Prim was an exception, but then she had gotten herself expelled. No Slytherin was innocent… surely not…
But there had been something different about Flash. Yes. He didn’t seem evil in the least – on the contrary, there was something easy, kindly, positively peaceful about the boy, a sort of tranquility scarcely falsified. It was so hard to believe that Flash would ever do anything bad, let alone be evil. But, then again, it could have all been an act, a mere ploy. It wouldn’t be the first time a Slytherin had fooled him, anyways. They were crafty little bastards, the lot, always scheming, always conniving. God, Slytherins were the absolute worst. The boy hated them with all his being, loathed them with a fiery sort of vengeance. All the snakes deserved to burn –
In the midst of his inward turmoil, Rafa had almost missed Flash’s next words. “….then, let’s go back inside before your wings ice over…”
Oh yes, he was quite cold. In fact, his fingers were throbbing, no feeling in them whatsoever, save for the pulsing of his own blood. A stark reminder that, yes, it was cold outside, and no, the boy was not a polar bear. Only an utterly confused bird, freezing his feathers off as his head descended into madness. His brown eyes, which had wandered towards one of the walls of the owlery in the midst of his pondering, quickly returned to Flash in that moment, surveying the boy carefully. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the boy’s intentions were, whether they were true – or whether he was scheming, as the entirety of his kind did.
Well, there was only one was to discover the truth.
The Gryffindor’s grin promptly returned in that moment, his eyes renewed with the brightness they once held. “I hope that means you’re coming, then,” he joked, referring to the implication the boy – the Slytherin – had previously made. “It’s a long way to warmth,” he added, his features coming to rest in a barely-concealable smile. “Would be a real shame to have to walk alone.”
With that, he patted the boy on the shoulder, and stepped behind him. His fingers, cold and blue, grasped the door of the owlery, scraping against the doorway in a sorry attempt to get the door open until, as last, his digits grasped the wood panels of the opening. Breathing a quick, shaky sigh of relief, he nudged the door open more, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he nodded out the door. “Are you coming, then?” [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]”Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. You just talked about it like you had a lot of experience.”
There was something in the voice of the mysterious boy, a strange sort of undertone, that Rafael simply could not place. Calming, it was, a gentle wave of comfort, washing away any of the boy’s doubts or reservations towards his peer. Rafael had always liked to pride himself on being rather brilliant at reading people – however, he couldn’t help but feel a bit stumped as he looked upon the shorter boy, his kindly nature showing through his warm eyes like bright, glowing beacons. What was going on in that head of his? Did he mean what he was saying? Or was he just shooting the bull? Did it even matter?
[Why did Rafael even care?]
The other boy’s words brushed past the Gryffindor’s ears once more, gentle, easy. ”If it means anything, I’m thankful you’ve gone out of your way to be so nice about it. I fear I’m making you freeze in here just so you’ll make me feel less self-conscious.” And, there he went again. To be completely honest, it had been quite a while since Rafael could feel any life among his stiff, numb fingers. The only warmth felt at the moment, strangely enough, was the pleasant, fuzzy feeling in his chest, courtesy of Flash’s kind words. It had been quite a while since the Gryffindor had run into someone who truly cared – he hoped, in the least, that Flash’s intentions were genuine. It seemed as if the other boy’s smile had slipped past his walls, if only for a moment, leaving behind a residue of something warm, soft, uplifting… there was no word to explain the feeling, and yet, with every passing moment, it became increasingly apparent that such a feeling should have a word to match its lively nature. [Note: He’d have to come up with something at a later date.]
“You’re a real saint,” he exhaled, the words slipping past his lips before he could ever hope to contain them. “Really, and I’m not just saying that. I suppose,” his mouth hung open for a moment, as if he were carefully considering his words. He’d never really liked apologies, as they’d always felt like a compromise of his values. His uncle had always taught him to hold his chin high, never kneel for anyone. Somehow, the memory of such an order didn’t feel as strong in the head of the young Gryffindor at such a moment, his mind instead filling with an immense sort of guilt. “I’m the one at fault,” he finished his thought. “I should have never prodded your for answers. For that, you have my apology.” Such words became rather easy to say, he realized, the longer time had passed. Yes – it seemed as if his own ego had sorely deserted him for the time being, It felt strange, as if he had been stripped of all walls and limitations, and well – he couldn’t say he liked it. Yet. However, it felt drastically different, being free of the burdens of opinions. It was a light feeling he scarcely ever felt, one that had long since deserted him upon his arrival at Hogwarts. How was it that his peer had willed it away?
”I would like to hear you sing one day too. You can think of it like you owe me.”
Any question in the Gryffindor’s mind was shortly pushed to the side at such a notion, a smile coming to rest on his features. “I’d be happy to,” he responded, words he’d never in a million years expected to leave his mouth. “But, only in the case that I get to hear your own singing again. If, of course,” he paused, his eyebrow raising, “it wouldn’t be imposing upon yourself. Your voice is rather lovely – I honestly couldn’t imagine not being able to hear such clear tones once more.” A wide smile made its way upon his features then, his eyes positively shining as he considered the boy in front of him, his brown hair, his bright blue eyes, green cloak –
At the sight of the boy’s robes, Rafael paused, his smile faltering slightly – his eyes quickly lost their cordiality, his upturned lips frozen in place, somehow weaker than they had been only moments ago. That was a Slytherin cloak, it was, as there was no mistaking it. Unless Flash was only another Pierre, hiding amongst the folds of another house’s robes, the boy was a Slytherin. A traitor. There hadn’t been one good Slytherin the boy had met thus far – he’d even thought Prim was an exception, but then she had gotten herself expelled. No Slytherin was innocent… surely not…
But there had been something different about Flash. Yes. He didn’t seem evil in the least – on the contrary, there was something easy, kindly, positively peaceful about the boy, a sort of tranquility scarcely falsified. It was so hard to believe that Flash would ever do anything bad, let alone be evil. But, then again, it could have all been an act, a mere ploy. It wouldn’t be the first time a Slytherin had fooled him, anyways. They were crafty little bastards, the lot, always scheming, always conniving. God, Slytherins were the absolute worst. The boy hated them with all his being, loathed them with a fiery sort of vengeance. All the snakes deserved to burn –
In the midst of his inward turmoil, Rafa had almost missed Flash’s next words. “….then, let’s go back inside before your wings ice over…”
Oh yes, he was quite cold. In fact, his fingers were throbbing, no feeling in them whatsoever, save for the pulsing of his own blood. A stark reminder that, yes, it was cold outside, and no, the boy was not a polar bear. Only an utterly confused bird, freezing his feathers off as his head descended into madness. His brown eyes, which had wandered towards one of the walls of the owlery in the midst of his pondering, quickly returned to Flash in that moment, surveying the boy carefully. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the boy’s intentions were, whether they were true – or whether he was scheming, as the entirety of his kind did.
Well, there was only one was to discover the truth.
The Gryffindor’s grin promptly returned in that moment, his eyes renewed with the brightness they once held. “I hope that means you’re coming, then,” he joked, referring to the implication the boy – the Slytherin – had previously made. “It’s a long way to warmth,” he added, his features coming to rest in a barely-concealable smile. “Would be a real shame to have to walk alone.”
With that, he patted the boy on the shoulder, and stepped behind him. His fingers, cold and blue, grasped the door of the owlery, scraping against the doorway in a sorry attempt to get the door open until, as last, his digits grasped the wood panels of the opening. Breathing a quick, shaky sigh of relief, he nudged the door open more, stuffing his hands in his pocket as he nodded out the door. “Are you coming, then?” [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
18 Mar 2020, 14:15
Hosts of the Air
Now that Flash had confirmed that Rafael was actually a singer, his compliments about his singing hit differently. While at first Flash had been too worried and nervous to accept them outright, the fact that Rafael seemed insistent on getting it across had only a few places that it could stem from: either he was trying to compensate for how bad he felt in interrupting Flash’s private moment, or he felt the need to instill Flash with a sense of confidence in his voice. Whichever way he had meant it, the lasting effect was that Flash now curiously wondered what his singing voice sounded like to others.
He was a perfectionist at heart, he didn’t like doing things half-heartedly, and since singing was something he did without thinking, he assumed it was bad. His sister and mother were certainly not fans. With imitating bird calls, he actually practiced meeting the correct pitches and tones to match the song he was trying to emulate. Perhaps he had not approached singing any differently, whether he realized it or not.
The way Rafael talked about it, he sounded like he looked forward to hearing him again. It was a strange feeling that sat awkwardly beside Flash’s own feelings. He wondered if, knowing someone was right there listening, anything at all would be able to escape his mouth. He felt nervous just to imagine it.
”You’re too kind…” Was all Flash could think to say in response to the endless praise.
He watched Rafael struggle with the door, trying to keep his hands warm to very little success. He wished he could do something to help, but he could hardly take Rafael’s hands in his to warm them with his own body heat. Not only was Flash not inclined towards physical touch, but most young boys rejected it outright, unless it was through fighting. He wished he could, however. Flash didn’t mind the cold too terribly, he had a lot of small things he did in order to maintain his overall body temperature, and had always been the type to endure through any minor discomfort. Unlike the Gryffindor, who seemed to take to the winter cold like fish took to dry land.
Rafael’s face seemed to go through a few phases, partly Flash could detect the inherent unhappiness with his freezing extremities, but there was also more. A hint of anger, confusion, or disgust. He couldn’t quite figure out what had suddenly gone through Rafael’s mind, but he seemed to be considering some new information, or a forgotten realization, before he spoke again. He was inviting Flash to continue to join him, beyond their short exchange in the owlery.
It was far from an objectionable offer. He enjoyed Rafael’s company so far. Even Flash’s original fear and doubt had mostly been laid to rest. If he had acted any more suspicious or aggressive, he might have been tempted to find some kind of competing vulnerability that he could hold over Rafael in order to keep the power between them balanced, but the fact that Rafael seemed just as reticent to admit he was a singer as Flash had, he felt like letting this one go. After all, Rafael seemed to have no intention of using Flash’s secret against him.
”Certainly.” Flash’s original reply was brief, as he moved to walk side-by-side with the frozen songbird, wishing he could offer his cloak or something, but the two of them were still practically strangers. Perhaps Flash could remedy that. ”Are you the type of person who willingly accepts help, or are you the type who stubbornly refuses it? Because I can help with the cold.”
It was a simple offer, given with only a slight bias towards encouraging him to accept.
@Rafael D'Spacito
He was a perfectionist at heart, he didn’t like doing things half-heartedly, and since singing was something he did without thinking, he assumed it was bad. His sister and mother were certainly not fans. With imitating bird calls, he actually practiced meeting the correct pitches and tones to match the song he was trying to emulate. Perhaps he had not approached singing any differently, whether he realized it or not.
The way Rafael talked about it, he sounded like he looked forward to hearing him again. It was a strange feeling that sat awkwardly beside Flash’s own feelings. He wondered if, knowing someone was right there listening, anything at all would be able to escape his mouth. He felt nervous just to imagine it.
”You’re too kind…” Was all Flash could think to say in response to the endless praise.
He watched Rafael struggle with the door, trying to keep his hands warm to very little success. He wished he could do something to help, but he could hardly take Rafael’s hands in his to warm them with his own body heat. Not only was Flash not inclined towards physical touch, but most young boys rejected it outright, unless it was through fighting. He wished he could, however. Flash didn’t mind the cold too terribly, he had a lot of small things he did in order to maintain his overall body temperature, and had always been the type to endure through any minor discomfort. Unlike the Gryffindor, who seemed to take to the winter cold like fish took to dry land.
Rafael’s face seemed to go through a few phases, partly Flash could detect the inherent unhappiness with his freezing extremities, but there was also more. A hint of anger, confusion, or disgust. He couldn’t quite figure out what had suddenly gone through Rafael’s mind, but he seemed to be considering some new information, or a forgotten realization, before he spoke again. He was inviting Flash to continue to join him, beyond their short exchange in the owlery.
It was far from an objectionable offer. He enjoyed Rafael’s company so far. Even Flash’s original fear and doubt had mostly been laid to rest. If he had acted any more suspicious or aggressive, he might have been tempted to find some kind of competing vulnerability that he could hold over Rafael in order to keep the power between them balanced, but the fact that Rafael seemed just as reticent to admit he was a singer as Flash had, he felt like letting this one go. After all, Rafael seemed to have no intention of using Flash’s secret against him.
”Certainly.” Flash’s original reply was brief, as he moved to walk side-by-side with the frozen songbird, wishing he could offer his cloak or something, but the two of them were still practically strangers. Perhaps Flash could remedy that. ”Are you the type of person who willingly accepts help, or are you the type who stubbornly refuses it? Because I can help with the cold.”
It was a simple offer, given with only a slight bias towards encouraging him to accept.
@Rafael D'Spacito
For we dreamed a lot//And we schemed a lot//And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart
Sta: 9 ★Eva: 5 ★Str: 7 ★Wis: 15 ★AP: 3 ★Acc: 15
20 Mar 2020, 19:31
Hosts of the Air
@Flash Holmwood
[font=Segoe Print]”Certainly.”
Flash’s response put the Gryffindor boy immediately at ease. The Slytherin’s presence was just so comforting, as strange a concept as it seemed, what with his easy mannerisms, kind words, soft gaze. A real gentle soul, if Rafael had ever seen one – however, the thunderbird couldn’t help but feel a bit hesitant towards the Slytherin in question. After all, the snake's very house contrasted with every single action he’d made thus far. By God, Rafael should have learned that houses didn’t speak for individuals. He just couldn’t help himself – he’d been burned before. Perhaps part of him felt as if letting a Slytherin have his way, meant giving up a portion of his own safety. He was far too suspicious, that was for damn sure.
However, he couldn’t help the small, gentle smile that sneaked onto his features at the indication of being joined. He’d barely noticed Flash’s relocation – the Slytherin had moved closer, enough so that their elbows could have touch given the slightest extension. Maybe it was the boy’s imagination [it definitely was], but Rafael could practically feel the body heat wafting off of Flash in thick, hot waves. He looked so, incredibly warm. What if he were to just… get a little closer…
“Are you the type of person who willingly accepts help, or are you the type who stubbornly refuses it?” Flash suddenly asked, breaking the Gryffindor out of his trance. “Because I can help with the cold.”
Now that Rafael was thinking again, he couldn’t help but consider the offer with an air of scrutiny. It was a kind offer, yes – but did he really want to accept help from a Slytherin? Being amiable towards a snake was one thing, yes, but actually accepting the assistance of one was an entirely different matter. Granted, it didn’t seem as if Flash had dishonest intentions, but then again, that’s how all Slytherin’s wormed their way into power. Through innocence.
The boy considered Flash for a moment more, his eyes flickering with a look of reluctance for a moment, the ends of his lips drooping in the slightest. What if Flash’s intentions were true? What was he to do?
He would have to go by faith, he supposed.
“What did you have in mind, then?” An easy smile slipped over the boys features once more, an easy sort of. He unconsciously wrapped his hands around midsection, his numb fingers tucking behind his elbows, trying to find some sort of relief to the pins and needles assaulting his digits. To no avail – it seemed as if the outside of his jacket was colder than his own pockets, giving him no comfort. He wiped his nose, slightly red, before turning to Flash once more. The boy was looking cuddly again, dammit. “You know what? Screw it, I’ll take you up on anything,” he muttered, his breath a bit halting as he shivered, a cold chill running through his being like a wave. “Though, if you don’t mind me asking… could we hurry along? It’s getting rather chilly.” [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]”Certainly.”
Flash’s response put the Gryffindor boy immediately at ease. The Slytherin’s presence was just so comforting, as strange a concept as it seemed, what with his easy mannerisms, kind words, soft gaze. A real gentle soul, if Rafael had ever seen one – however, the thunderbird couldn’t help but feel a bit hesitant towards the Slytherin in question. After all, the snake's very house contrasted with every single action he’d made thus far. By God, Rafael should have learned that houses didn’t speak for individuals. He just couldn’t help himself – he’d been burned before. Perhaps part of him felt as if letting a Slytherin have his way, meant giving up a portion of his own safety. He was far too suspicious, that was for damn sure.
However, he couldn’t help the small, gentle smile that sneaked onto his features at the indication of being joined. He’d barely noticed Flash’s relocation – the Slytherin had moved closer, enough so that their elbows could have touch given the slightest extension. Maybe it was the boy’s imagination [it definitely was], but Rafael could practically feel the body heat wafting off of Flash in thick, hot waves. He looked so, incredibly warm. What if he were to just… get a little closer…
“Are you the type of person who willingly accepts help, or are you the type who stubbornly refuses it?” Flash suddenly asked, breaking the Gryffindor out of his trance. “Because I can help with the cold.”
Now that Rafael was thinking again, he couldn’t help but consider the offer with an air of scrutiny. It was a kind offer, yes – but did he really want to accept help from a Slytherin? Being amiable towards a snake was one thing, yes, but actually accepting the assistance of one was an entirely different matter. Granted, it didn’t seem as if Flash had dishonest intentions, but then again, that’s how all Slytherin’s wormed their way into power. Through innocence.
The boy considered Flash for a moment more, his eyes flickering with a look of reluctance for a moment, the ends of his lips drooping in the slightest. What if Flash’s intentions were true? What was he to do?
He would have to go by faith, he supposed.
“What did you have in mind, then?” An easy smile slipped over the boys features once more, an easy sort of. He unconsciously wrapped his hands around midsection, his numb fingers tucking behind his elbows, trying to find some sort of relief to the pins and needles assaulting his digits. To no avail – it seemed as if the outside of his jacket was colder than his own pockets, giving him no comfort. He wiped his nose, slightly red, before turning to Flash once more. The boy was looking cuddly again, dammit. “You know what? Screw it, I’ll take you up on anything,” he muttered, his breath a bit halting as he shivered, a cold chill running through his being like a wave. “Though, if you don’t mind me asking… could we hurry along? It’s getting rather chilly.” [/font]
Reducio
 | That smile, tho~ |
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.