Headmaster Brockert
August 08, 2015 12:49 PM
Returning Feast by Headmaster Brockert
Another year, another returning feast. In theory, these were things Mortimer liked. Returning to school, to an academic environment, to a job that made him feel significantly more poweful than he would have been otherwise- even though he was a Brockert, which inherently meant power, he was sure never to become Patriarch, more than just Uncle Clifford would have to die for that to happen and say whatever else you wanted to about Mortimer, he did not really wish for his distant relatives' death on a regular basis-and feasting, because well, Sonora had good food.It was still monotonous. Maybe not quite as much as as the endless parties of the holiday season with their inane babble and sickening cheer but still. It was the same thing every year and even as creature of habit, Mortimer tended to get bored.
He stood to give his usual speech. Well, okay, one could hardly call it such, it was more of a greeting . Even though it wasn't at all in his nature to greet people.
"Welcome back. I hope you all had a good midterm." Okay, pretending to care was getting easier to convey. Idly, Mortimer wondered if Owen actually believed him. The second year should really know him better by now but then again, that kid was so trusting. He was certain that once his granddaughter Topaz got here, she'd see right through it. The four year old was one smart kid, likely too clever for her own good.
"Before we eat, I would just like to remind you all that any vandalism done to the school will be severely punished." He was none too pleased about what had been done to the school last term though Mortimer really couldn't come down on them for gossiping and spreading rumors and speculating about the graffiti. That was like punishing them for breathing. Let Selina deal with all those touchy-feely notions about respecting each other and whatnot. He was enough of a realist to know that wasn't going to happen, especially with teenagers.
He sat back down and the feast began.
Subthreads: Don't make me talk. by John Spencer with Lena Westley
Fighting an army of Evil. Care to join? by Ava Fletcher
Avoiding Atlas [tag: anyone from any House but Atlas] by Liliana Bannister with Duncan Brockert
No, I don't have an addiction. No, I'm not in denial. by Barnaby Pye with John Umland
The end is near. by Virginia Bellrose with Makenzie Newell, Ginny Bellrose
But what have I returned to? by Wu Peizhi
The path less traveled by. [You're replying to Arne] by Laila Kennedy & Arne Reinhardt
Avoidance is the best therapy. by Caelia Lucan with Kelsey Atwater
By avoidance you can get nothing done. by Emrys Lucan with Emery Kijewski-Jareau, Emery
Eating as much as possible! by Gia Donovan
Rather glad to be back by Louis Valois
Everything has changed. by Joella Curtis
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Headmaster Brockert
Returning Feast
6
Headmaster Brockert
1
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Barnaby Pye
August 10, 2015 4:39 PM
No, I don't have an addiction. No, I'm not in denial. by Barnaby Pye
Though Barnbay was used to being able to spend winter break shuffling around and not really doing much other than hanging around Tarquin when he and his father came over so that their fathers could discuss private matters in the secretive office, he was disappointed to find that he was not being allowed to see Tarquin at all that break. In fact, Barnaby had spent pretty much the entire winter break sitting at home alone. The one time he had seen anyone other than the house elf was when Alfie dropped by a few days before Christmas to give Barnaby his Christmas present. The prolonged absence from Tarquin had Barnaby realizing just how much he missed his older brother—even if Alfie subscribed to an overly indulgent lifestyle. However, one night Father had brought home a package of teas which Tarquin had given his father to give to Barnaby. The small gesture from the only person Barnaby could truly call a friend was touching and Barnaby had ordered their house elf to make him a cup immediately.Jitters Barnaby hadn’t even known he’d had disappeared the moment his lips touched the cup and once he was done he proceeded to make nearly the rest of the package. After getting approval from his Father, he wrote Tarquin a letter, asking for more tea. Being forced to be holed up inside the Pye estate with nothing much to do other than invade his father’s personal business was not something he really put into the letter since he knew his father would likely be reading the letter before hand delivering it to Tarquin’s just to be sure there was no secret message passing going on. Barnaby returned to Sonora with a full cannister of the tea and special instructions on how to make it to perfection which pleased Barnaby very much because in the past when Tarquin had always brought the tea over to share it generally tasted better than the times Barnaby had tried to make it on his own.
Since starting the tea, Barnaby hadn’t really wanted to eat or drink much else. That was one of the thing Tarquin had warned him against, saying that the tea sometimes made people lose their appetite but that it was vital to keep oneself sustained. Barnaby had dismissed these claims as ridiculous and even though Tarquin’s warnings were coming true, Barnaby was so obsessed with the idea of not letting his friend win, not letting his friend be right, he refused to admit that was the case. So, after Headmaster Brockert’s speech at the beginning of the feast (which Barnaby normally loved for it’s short and succinctness but now lamented that it wasn’t longer, leaving less time to eat), he put a few items on his plate, taking a few bites every now and then when he thought he could stomach it, and pushing the rest around so if Alfie happened to look his way it would look like he had been eating.
Speaking of his brother, Barnaby turned his head towards the professors’ table, eying his elder half-brother suspiciously. Alfie had been extra weird the last time he had come to visit Barnaby at the house. He had talked in hushed whispers, telling Barnaby to keep his head out of anything suspicious and to contact him immediately if he suspected that anything that the Ministry or the Auror Department might dislike was going on in the house. But it had been ages since Barnaby had felt real loyalty towards either his father or Alfie even though in his early years Alfie had basically raised him when he was home, and so Barnaby kept a lid on the potions and spells that Father had been researching and pretended as though he and Tarquin hadn’t found anything of substance when they went poking around the house even though Alfie had said as much that he knew Barnaby and his “creepy little friend” knew things that would interest both Alfie and the Auror Department.
“You’re not part of the department anymore,” Barnaby had said, choosing to get Alfie where he knew it would hurt the most. “I don’t know why you’re still pretending.” But despite the big words, he was still worried. Alfie wasn’t one to throw out accusations, that was what had made him such a good Auror. He kept a cool head, was able to take things into consideration before acting. It was a Pye trait, one that Father had made both his children be well-aware of, something that was and had always been a highly regarded trait in the family. Barnaby poured himself a cup of tea, mourning how the bitter taste lacked a certain oomph Tarquin’s held, and pondered over what all this meant for the Pyes.
He was so into his own head that he didn’t hear as someone near him said something, and suddenly Barnaby’s plans for having a quick, quiet dinner and then retiring to his dorm room where he could retreat into his books and brew himself some of Tarquin’s tea without much question from his dorm mates. That was one good thing about Jack and Jax. Besides the ridiculously matchy-matchy sounding names, they respected privacy. Barnaby got on well enough with Jack that they held a mutual respect for one another, and even though Barnaby had pried into Jax’s life on multiple occasions, the other boy seemed only to make himself more scarce.
Sometimes Barnaby wondered what would happen if he just mentioned the shape-shifting wolf in the room. Would the three of them get over it and move towards the mutual sort of half-friendship that he and Jack shared, would they suddenly become best mates, or would there be a divide, making it so that the room was suddenly unbearable to be in? Barnaby didn’t know which option he was the most afraid of, to be quite frank, and just questioning these things freaked him out. He needed to get Tarquin’s tea in him stat and settle down with a good book. This sort of thinking on an empty stomach just served to give him a headache.
10
Barnaby Pye
No, I don't have an addiction. No, I'm not in denial.
298
Barnaby Pye
0
5
John Umland
August 20, 2015 4:57 PM
We have that in common. Go us. by John Umland
Things had been so close to normal over the holidays that sometimes, John had almost believed there was nothing wrong. They had all decorated the house together on Christmas Eve and attended midnight services afterward, visited Grandma and Grandpa on Boxing Day, eaten an apricot butter cake at teatime on New Year’s Day, prepared a lavish array of breakfast foods for a late supper on Twelfth Night, and similarly studiously observed any number of smaller traditions, some so small that he doubted he would ever notice they were traditions unless they were somehow left out someday. It had all been just as it always had been, so much so that he had almost been able to forget about what had happened at school over the past few months.Almost.
The last thing that had happened, though, had been impossible to completely put out of his mind over the holidays. Every time he almost forgot the look on Julian’s face when he caught up with her in the Transfiguration classroom after it was vandalized, something happened to make him remember it. Sometimes it was the big things – when Miss Lynch presumed to come to his house, the two times when Julian had just not been around and had evaded the question when he asked where she’d been – but just as often, the unwelcome thoughts just came out of nowhere.
Julian had read what was written in Transfiguration, been upset, and lied to him about it. She kept talking to those people, these relatives from out of nowhere who only liked her now that she had their stupid cousin’s money, only she was apparently too dim to realize that was the only reason they were even being civil. Worse, though, was how Julian was also being civil to them, as though she wanted them to like her. That was definitely the worst, not to mention the most confusing, part, because why would she want those people to like her? Why had she been so defensive and almost scared, as though she had something to hide, something she was guilty of, when he found her? What was wrong with her?
Then he remembered the first things that had gone through his brain that day and wasn’t sure if he should suspect her at all or not. Let ye who are without sin cast the first stone. Honor thy father and mother. For him, ‘father’ was an easy one, there was God and there was Dad, no third parties who even knew he existed as far as he knew, but ‘mother….’
He didn't want any woman other than Mom to be his mother in any sense of the term, but the fact remained that one particular other woman was half-responsible for his existence. To some people, that meant she was still his mother in one sense even if the speaker had the sense to acknowledge Mom was also his mother now, and he could not honestly claim that he did now or had ever honored the Other Mom under any serious definition of the term. He had gotten angry with his brother Paul for even telling their mutual source of genes that John played Quidditch and was in a House for smart people, because he just wanted to ignore her existence. He couldn't really acknowledge it without some anger, much less acknowledge it and then honor her.
I don’t owe her anything. Except for not dropping me down a well when I was a baby, I suppose. Do I really owe her a prize for behavior I’d expect from most any mammal?
Not much better thoughts than the ones that somehow led to Julian wanting Miss Lynch and the Crowleys to like her because she thought they were better than their family. There were times, recently, when John could almost understand why someone might want to be stupid and not think about anything deeper than shoes.
He glared at Brockert during his brief speech for bringing it all up again, then turned gratefully to the table. It was a long way from Montana to Arizona, plus he’d had to take another two trips, one by van and one by Floo, to get from Alberta to Montana before that, and now he’d had to think about all this. He wanted a drink right now the way he wanted air when swimming underwater. Unfortunately, however, one of the second years had gotten to the teapot first. “Pass that to me when you’re done with it?” he asked Pye, hoping the other boy would do this before attending to milk or sugar or whatever he did to his if he wasn’t the sort who drank it straight.
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John Umland
We have that in common. Go us.
285
John Umland
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5
