Headmistress Kijewski-Jareau

March 23, 2012 11:59 PM
The summer had brought about her quick nuptials with Jeffrey and the complete adoption to one another’s children. They were officially a family. Kiva regretted having waited so long to have a relationship with him, but she would never regret the quick engagement and wedding. It had been all so perfect. Of course, the wedding had been small. They had invited the other mothers of their play group, the one in which they had first met in, and a couple people from their places of work. Kiva had invited some of her zoologist friends as well as John Fawcett (Kiva felt they had a sort of kinship being that he began at Sonora as her sub and then took over all of her responsibilities when she left entirely) and Amelia, who was her Deputy and helped her through all the school events. It was small and simple and Kiva would have been just as happy with no wedding at all, but she was glad to have celebrated with everyone. Of course, now it was back to work.

When the first years were brought in, Kiva stood up and charmed herself to be heard over the crowd. She waited a few minutes for the returning students to settle down before she finally greeted the students. “First and foremost, I want to welcome all of our newest students to Sonora Academy and all of our returning students a welcome back. I do hope your summers were full of fun adventures, but I am happy to find that you have all returned to the school intact.” Kiva was only joking with them really. She knew that students both loved and hated returning to school. They loved it because they were able to see their friends again. They hated it because it meant that they had to do work again. She couldn’t really blame them.

“For those who do not know me, I am Headmistress Kijewski-Jareau, but feel free to call me Professor K. Our first priority for the moment is to have the first years sorted.” Kiva turned her hazel eyes to the newest group of students. “In order for this to be done, I need for each of you to step up one at a time to Coach Pierce and take a sip from the potion she will offer to you.” Kiva explained, nodded to Amelia to indicate who Coach Pierce was. “The potion is harmless. Once you have sipped it, your skin will turn into the color of the house you will be spending the next seven years in. Please note that this change is only temporary.” She didn’t want them being too scared to taste the potion. She could remember her taste and having been terrified she would have stayed that color. “Yellow is for Teppenpaws, blue is for Aladren, red is for Crotalus, and brown is for Pecari. Please, if you could form a line and begin…” She gestured for the first student to step up.

Once the sorting had ended, Kiva regained the students’ attention. “I first have a few announcements to make. First and foremost, I would like to introduce our new staff members. Professor Callaghan is our Substitute Professor, Professor Reddington is our new Muggle Studies Professor, and Professor O’Rourke, who is our new Astronomy Professor. Please show them how wonderful our school is and give them a warm welcome.” Kiva clapped after introducing each of them. She hasn’t seemed to rid Sonora of the curse of the constant stream of professors. Already the two members she gained last year have left for various reasons.

“I would like to have Rachel Bauer and Raines Bradley to please come up here and accept your new Head Boy and Head Girl badges.” Kiva called out and when both students approached, she grinned and handed each their appropriate badges. “Congratulations to you both.” She whispered to them before having them return to their seats. “I would also like to have Eliza Bennett, Kate Bauer, James Owen, and Sara Raines please come up here for a moment.” Kiva waited for the four to be standing at her side before continuing. “Everyone, I would like you to meet your newest Prefects. Congratulations to you four, please take your new badges.” Kiva gestured for the four to return to their seats. “This year’s Midsummer Event will be the School Concert. As the year continues, you will receive more information on the event and any suggestions you would like to make, please feel free to tell me or any other staff member.

“In honor of tradition, please refer to your music sheets as we begin the School Song.” Sheets of music appeared in front of the students. “Let’s begin.”

Every day we strive
Learning to survive
Life’s hardships and to solve its mystery.
Learning to defend
Our honour and our friends,
Flying high to meet our destiny
We will stand and face those who want to harm us.
We won’t let the world transfigure, jinx or charm us
I won’t fight alone, as long as you are with me.
Sonora be my home, my tutor and my spirit
Vasita quoque floeat; Even the desert blooms.


Once the song ended, the food appeared before them. A feast of great magnum. “Please enjoy the rest of your evening. When it is time to head back to your Houses, your Head of House will call for your attention and bring you to your destinations. That is all.” Kiva concluded and then took her seat at the staff table.

OOC: Welcome First years! Please do not post on any other board until your Head of House posts his/her welcoming speech. Have fun at the feast and remember the site rules. Happy posting everyone!
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0 Headmistress Kijewski-Jareau Welcome Students! Opening Feast. 0 Headmistress Kijewski-Jareau 1 5


Angel Shield

March 25, 2012 3:21 PM
The young albino found a seat at the Teppenpaw table. Even after the carriage ride, and entering Cascade Hall he still couldn’t shake the worry that this was all some sort of dream that would vanish in an instant. All though the summer Lady Cynthia held Sonora over his head, her scathing comments on his pitiful performance, his abysmal barely passing grades, and his compete inability to function as a normal human being had rained down on him from the moment he’d handed over his grades. Angel had simply bowed his head and agreed whenever the silence had stretched long enough to require a response.

Nothing the bitter woman had to say to him indicated that he would be permitted to return. So when she grudgingly bought him his school supplies a week before the new term was to start, Angel wasn’t sure what to think. Now he was just waiting for her to re-appear and demand he return home, that it had all been some sort of cruel joke. But, as the minutes passed, the first years were sorted, and the song was sung, he started to believe that maybe he would be allowed to say.

A summer back in that house had renewed his habit of not looking at people, so he kept his ruby gaze on his plate as he reached for the spoon to scoop a small dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate. Another student, just outside his field of vision, reached for the same spoon and their hands bumped. Angel quickly pulled his hand back and waited, still not glancing up to see who he’d accidentally touched.
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Solomon Asa Davies

March 27, 2012 8:05 PM
Solomon’s voice was sweet and distant, absent from the moment, a slow steady drawl as if his voice was sleeping through the song. “... flying high to meet our destiny...” He paused over those words, running through the syllables in his mind even as his tongue curled over the following lyrics. ‘Destiny’ It was an interesting concept, one which had no place in the bayou. Destinies only existed where there was a possibility of a future, and futures only existed when there was a passing of time, but time didn’t exist in the bayou. Soft rain and sweet summer breezes draping the hot New Orleans sun. Solomon dozing on the bank, his robe open, his dark skin darkening, his dreads abused by the tugging of a playful little brother and restless cousins. No time, no future, no destiny. Only family, laughter, sleep, hot Louisiana sun and Solomon.

Sonora Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry was an unexplained phenomenon that ruptured Solomon’s life for a period of many months every year now since he was eleven. School, work, people who did not look like him or talk like him, or think the way he thought. A bewildering “reality” (he questioned whether or not it could possibly be real) of odd shapes, colors, and sizes. A place where Destiny could exist, and opportunity. Adventure, a subject that previously existed only in the scratch of his quill against sheepskin parchment. ‘What is my Destiny?’ He was thirteen years old now, marked by the increased height, the length of his dreads grown longer, reaching his shoulders, his bright blue eyes aged with at least thirteen years of wisdom, thick black glasses he didn’t actually need settled comfortably on his face. He couldn’t see what he was to be, if he were to be anything other than what he was now. ‘And what am I now?

“...I won’t fight alone, as long as you are with me...” The words rose from his lips, transfigured into song, harmony of one voice amidst the foreign melody of the surrounding student body. Solomon felt no urge to fight anybody, had never wanted to, any inclinations of hatred and anger consumed by his characters. And besides those friends and heroes on the page, Solomon stood alone. ‘I am alone.’ The thought struck him oddly, without a definite feeling attached to the truth. He felt a little more awakened, sitting as the song ended, sinking slowly and easily into his seat. His fellow Teppenpaws settled down around him, and Solomon’s blue eyes ran them over, taking in the details slowly, carefully, observing in a way he’d unintentionally avoided before. He paid attention to chins, who had prominent jutting out of their face chins, and whose chins slumped from beneath their neck, jiggling and loose. He looked for eye color, lines in their foreheads, how thin or thick were their lips. His eyes began to wander, his mind slipping back into a peaceful fatigued song. He couldn’t focus on the irrelevant details of his present surroundings.

The smell of meat; salty, fresh and sweet. Sweet mashed potatoes, regular mashed potatoes, string beans and black beans, yellow rice and white, strips of sweet sauce covered chicken. Solomon reached his hand out, reaching for the spoon buried in the closest tub of mashed potatoes. “Pah-don meh.” He accidentally bumped hands with pale skin, moonlight shimmering off the surface. Solomon looked up, peering through the thick glasses at his housemate, a year younger than him. Angel Shield, the demon who’d stalked him all the way from the Bayou but who had since left him alone. “Ah, hullo.” A faint smile touched his thick lips in polite greeting, his eyes warming in interest at the familiar features. His mind paused its private melody, awakening from its sleep. There was nothing irrelavant in Angel’s unique features. “Anotha year.” Solomon scooped the mashed potatoes onto his plate, and then began reaching for other desirable food spread along the table. “Did yuh spend yoah somma at home?” Fiery pits guarded by rotting corpses whose stench alone warded off the bravest of souls. The heat got so intense, the oxygen depleting, smoke rising in the air to be quenched only by the sudden rain of hail and ice temporarily cooling off the hellish summer day. “Or did yuh go travelin’?” There had been strange shadows around the bayou, a sudden sound, a twig snapping that had caused Solomon to turn in his sleep, mumble and frown into the sweet smelling grass. He wondered now if that was Angel watching him all along.
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Angel

March 28, 2012 9:59 AM
The southern flare, much thicker than his own light Georgian drawl pulled Angel’s ruby gaze reluctantly up from his barren plate to focus on the dark boy. “Hello,” he repeated dutifully, the soft word little more than an undertone to the general babble of the sea of students that surrounded them. Angel studied Sol, his red gaze trailed boldly over dark lines that had been the subject of numerous discarded sketches last term. Most caught the boy at rest, dozing in the sun, in class, in this very hall, but a few, no more than two or three managed to catch the rare instances of abrupt alertness that most often accompanied a flurry of inspired writing.

Those were some of the most difficult to discard, but they like every other were crumpled and tossed away once the sketch was finished, exposing a new blank sheet for the albino’s attention. A small scoop of mashed potatoes was added to his empty plate, followed reluctantly by an equally small portion of plain poached chicken. A glass of water rounded out the bland meal as Angel focused on the thick words that seemed to drip with hot summer, the low drone of bees, and the lingering scent of the bayou.

“Stayed.” Angel replied as he took a small bite of the potatoes and waited to see if the food would be accepted. He didn’t add the word home, though it lingered on his tongue, that small house in Washington, still wet, but a different kind of wet, humid, but not as hot, not the old mansion full of dark places and the laughter of a mad woman. No, the small overly tidy house with his sharp tongued guardian wasn’t home. “You?” He asked, even the few years spent away from Georgia hadn’t lessened the light accent, the young albino simply didn’t speak enough to loose it.
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Solomon

April 01, 2012 3:35 PM
He ignored Angel’s question directed at him, leaning forward in his seat, blue eyes intent upon the red. “Yuh stayed?” He repeated, low voice lowering even further, a subtle breeze of sound. “At home?” A light shatter of silverware against the plate, the sound softened by the mashed potatoes beneath. Solomon’s dark fingers dropped from the fork and knife to his lap, drifting beneath the table toward his pockets were loose sheets of parchment paper were waiting to be unraveled and tattooed with words and stories. “Whut wus it like? Whom did yuh tawk tuh?” A whole summer in hell. The experience of home must still have been fresh in Angel’s mind. Solomon wanted to know all about it now, while the tales were still quick to roll off the demon boy’s tongue. He pulled a quill slowly from his other pocket, placing a revealed ink bottle on the table beside his plate.

“Can yuh tell meh whut it all looks like?” His smile was soft, polite, but something ferocious and hungry for knowledge, for stories, brightened his blue eyes with a rare intensity. “The fires... the creatures... Him.” He wondered where in the hierarchy Angel Shield rested. Was he as young as he looked, or was he centuries older than Solomon? Was Angel the son of the King of Demons, or was he merely a common servant, for surely nothing Solomon had ever done warranted a high ranking demon to follow him. ‘And why was he sent after me?’ He hadn’t asked himself that question before, content last year to doze, only a little aware of the focused red gaze and the sounds of pencil against paper as Angel sketched.

The worst thing Solomon had ever done was run away. Six years old and furious about something he couldn’t even remember what now. Stuffing sickles and knuts into his socks and tying them with rubber bands. An old trunk taken from the attic, stuffed Every Flavor Beans, quills, parchment paper, and books. He hadn’t gotten very far when they found him, clinging desperately to the trunk of a tree, shivering in his sleep, the bayou cold in the nighttime and all he had had were niffler patterned pajamas. He dimly remembered his trunk spilling open, beans rolling down the small hill into the swamp. Was he being punished for that transgression, or... ‘Something must have happened to me there. Something I’ve forgotten long ago.’ A story wove itself into his mind. He allowed a small portion of his attention to remain on anything Angel might have said, the rest was focussed on the paper, and the quill dripping a small dots of ink.

The Origins of Roberto Del Cavalier
Solomon A. Davies

Like a dream, the memory came back to him, and with it new details sprang to mind, shadows he’d dismissed as fantasy all those years ago. Red eyes glowing in the darkness, a soft voice, accented and foreign, drifting toward Roberto, winding around trees, curling around roots until it found him. “Leave me alone!” Roberto had called out, crawling backwards through the forest, thorned branches ripping at his cloak. “Stay back!” Still the creature stalked him, its unnatural elegance suggesting foreign origins. The stench of brimstone filled the air. Roberto felt the ground shake beneath his adolescent form. “Stay back! Stay back!” His voice lost its force. “Please... please... leave me alone.” Brimstone rose in the air, stifling his nostrils. Roberto choked.


Solomon felt his breathing constrict in excitement. Where was Roberto being dragged to? The answers layed in Angel’s responses, eagerly awaited details that would fuel the novel further along.
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Angel

April 02, 2012 7:13 AM
Angel had taken a miniscule bite of mashed potatoes when weight of Sol’s regard brought his red gaze back up to be caught by the startlingly intense eyes, shades lighter than they ought to be. Soft demands rolled off the other boy’s tongue thick with the flavor of the South. The pale boy wasn’t sure exactly what Sol was after so it was difficult to give him what he wanted. Hesitant words fell awkwardly from his lips.

“I am from where many big tree, much big than here. Not many sun, dark is good not burning. Is colder than swamps was.” Endless hours of one on one tutoring with Dulce had greatly improved his ability to do assignments, but one area that was still in need of work was his ability to speak coherently. With parchment and quill he could spend hours on a single sentence until it made sense, but speaking was different. He couldn’t see the words or change them after they’d been released, they couldn’t be called back. Still, even his speech was slowly becoming more than just a handful of disjointed words tossed out in the hope that who ever heard them could piece together some understanding of what he was attempting to say.

He made a soft sound of frustration, knowing that words were inadequate to describe what Sol wished to know. When Sol brought out parchment and began his quickly drawn words, Angel gave a soft hum of agreement. That would serve far better than any words he could offer, reaching down Angel plucked the sketchbook off the ground where it had been leaning against his leg and as Sol wrote Angel drew what words couldn’t convey.

A dark forest bloomed under his fingertips, the picture was curiously abstract for one of Angel’s very literal drawings. One of his shortcomings was attempting to draw cluttered scenery that had many similar shades. Just as a tiger became confused at the sight of a herd of zebra, their many stripes breaking up the shapes of individual animals so that the tiger was left with a single mass of prey, or the fawn failed to see the stalking tiger in spite of it’s brilliant orange due to its stripes, the same was true of Angel. The color blindness caused the albino to rely on the shapes of objects to differentiate them instead of the color. Still it was recognizable as a forest, and the shine of animal eyes could be seen studding the dense foliage.

Tucked away deep between two massive trees a small cottage rested. While Lady Cynthia would deny it, her true skill rested in the art of Herbology. But she’d always felt that was too common a skill to bother with. Her home reflected this suppressed skill, melting effortlessly into the darkened woods far from the prying eyes of muggles. It was difficult to see where nature ended and the structure began. When the sketch was finished, Angel let Sol look at it before tearing it free and crumpling it indifferently. The wad of paper fell to the table and his pencil began on the next sketch.

A massive grizzly stalked lifelike across the page, its gaping maw open revealing inch long fangs with ropes of saliva dripping from them. Angel often ventured out of the house when the Lady went to work and left him alone. Once he was sketching a small stream where a young buck was drinking when the bear appeared. The massive creature had charged out of the woods straight at the rock Angel had been sitting on. He hardly noticed the danger he’d been in, instead tearing free a new page and drawing out the shapes of the strange creature before it left. Even when the bear had reared up on its hind legs and roared, Angel hadn’t flinched, too caught up in the drawing. His lack of fear, and of running had confused the beast which eventually wandered off back into the depths of the forest leaving the young albino uneaten.

That had been one of the few times Lady Cynthia struck him, she’d seen the half finished sketch and slapped him hard across the face. The Lady knew damn well that Angel only drew what he saw and if he was drawing a raging bear that was because he’d been in the presents of one. When the sketch was finished he again showed it to Sol before pulling it free to be crumbled like the last.
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Solomon

April 10, 2012 2:02 PM
Solomon stared. Angel’s voice was broken. Sentence, grammar, and the soft Georgian inflections sounded raw as if unused for so long. He concentrated on each word wedging its way through the demon’s lips. “Yuh like thuh cold.” Solomon repeated, tilting his head in curiousity. “An’ thuh darkness.” It sounded as if Angel was describing a forest. A dark cold forest. ‘But that isn’t what hell is.’ He imagined a bayou but the water was fire, the trees were molten lava shaped into rock, the ground sloping up into a volcano in hibernation, home to the demons and the King himself. Why would Angel lie about his home when he knew that Solomon already knew? ‘Maybe... maybe... he escaped!’ The story began to rewrite itself within his mind. He bent his head, blue eyes focused on the parchment as Angel turned to his own scraps of paper, and began to rewrite.

Demon on the Run
by Solomon A. Davies

In all outward appearance, the boy-shaped demon seemed to fit the environment he’d been bred in. His eyes burned with the same flames he slept in, surrounded by the screams of tortured souls and the sleepy moans of fellow brother and sister children of the night. His skin was as pale as the moon, waxy and stretched tight against bone with no blood, no heart beating to pump color into his skin. He looked every inch the monster he was meant to be. Roberto ran from him, our noble hero, seeing no further than the eyes, the skin, and that broken southern flare, almost inhuman and shaking him to the core.

But the demon, a fallen angel, had feelings. He had desires and wishes. He longed to escape the fiery world he’d been brought up in. He longed for a world that was cold, nothing but winter’s soft powdery snow and ice drifting down the nearly completely frozen lake. He longed to see the flush of spring, with trees that reached a baby blue sky instead of rocks straining toward smog. He wished to see the children of God, animals and insects and humans. And one day, he did. He ran away.


On cue, Angel handed over what he saw during his desperate liberation. Solomon let his quill fall down, dark fingers flexing, the joints a little sore, before grabbing it with an absent nod of thanks to his demon companion. ‘Trees. It’s a forest.’ His fingers traced over the glint of eyes glowing between the foliage. He couldn’t tell if they were meant to be those of an animal or Angel himself. ‘A cottage. Is that where he lives?’ It seemed innocent, picturesque, out of a children’s tale. He handed it back and watched as Angel crumpled the parchment, destroying evidence of his home. Angel resumed sketching and Solomon leaned forward, quietly, reaching for the paper and pulling it back to his side, slipping it in his robe’s pocket while Angel continued to draw.

“Ah don’ understand.” He murmured, blinking at the sudden image of a bear flashing at him, held in Angel’s hands. “Is this... what is this?” It looked life like, its rage real. “Yuh are amazing at this.” Solomon breathed, blue eyes flickering from the bear to Angel’s red eyes and back. “Ah have words, but ah’d trade ‘em fuh drawings.”
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Angel

April 11, 2012 1:09 PM
Ah don’ understand. Is this...what is this?” The dark boy asked when Angel showed him the bear. Angel tilted his head slightly as he studied his dining companion. Had he not wanted to know of creatures? That was the most impressive of the ones he’d seen in the forest, and had seemed to fit what Solomon wished to see.

There were others, one that might have been just as impressive but it was more subtle than the bear, a half seen shape leaping gracefully into a tree, the soft curl of a tail flicking out of sight, eyes glittering intently out of thick underbrush. Its pale fur often caught Angel’s eye as he walked, but he never saw enough of the beast to bring it to life on the page.

“Beast…” his crimson gaze returned to the drawing, finding it inadequate to show the true grandeur of the bear. “Beast of forest…much big” Words alone, even drawings could hardly convey the hugeness of the bear, the dinner plate sized paws tipped with three inch curved claws, the stink of the creature’s breath as its roar seemed to fill the world with its fury. Turning the picture back to himself the pencil again flew effortlessly over the page, a rock, and slowly he himself appeared on the page seated on the rock in front of the bear, so much smaller than the massive beast. The sketch of himself was far less than his normal drawings, his small angular face featureless. Angel didn’t care to study himself in the mirror so he couldn’t add all the careful detail his sketches usually held. Again he presented the drawing to Solomon, showing the great difference between his size and the size of the bear. “Much big.” He said again.

Angel gave a slight shrug at the compliment. “Ah have words, but ah’d trade ‘em fuh drawings.” Every broken word, each bitter fight to try and form a coherent sentence and the endless battle to write a single paragraph flashed though his mind as he pulled the sketch free of the pad and held it for a moment before moving to crumple it like the last. “Would trade…for words.” He finally said as he gave the savage beast on the page one last critical look.
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