I'm calm... sort of... on Hospital Wing

TJ O'Reilly

October 04, 2005 7:04 AM

Bringing in the drunk (Tag: Ty and Earl) by TJ O'Reilly

The state of absolute incoherency of the Boyd reminded TJ of his uncle when he had come to the house in a drunk stupor. The Boyd wasn't drunk, but she wasn't all present either. The fact that she hadn't wanted his help in charms had made his stomach drop with anxiety, before quickly controlling himself.

It had been nothing against him that caused that reaction when she obviously needed help. It was her own pride. If there was one thing he could understand it was pride, and the unwillingness to look weak in front of others.

Eyeing the younger boy, a Crocalus, and beyond that not bothering to go through his mental categories of names, TJ glared. It was impolite to grab somebody's arm without consent. It was downright rude to brush by TJ without acknowledging his existence, both because of his older status, and because of his pureblood lineage.

Moving slowly, and steadily, avoiding all major hallways so as to avert embarrasing the Boyd with the mudblood and halfblood alumni in attendance he tuned out whatever, if anything, the younger boy was saying.

It took a great deal of effort to keep his gaze focused straight at the wall, but politeness forced him to comply. TJ could feel the girl's unsteady walking habits, and although had it been anyone of lower rank TJ would have disdainfully dismissed them, he kept his emotions under control and courteous.

The hallways came to an end at a door. Two people could probably fit through it comfortably- they were walking three across. Looking intently at the other boy, TJ rolled his eyes with derision. The other boy probably wasn't bright enough to think of that. Dropping the hand, ignoring the sweat that had built up, he bowed politely, before leading the way into the Infirmary and holding the door.

He could only hope, that the younger boy could manage the last few steps without accident- and that was a feeble hope. \r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

0 TJ O'Reilly Bringing in the drunk (Tag: Ty and Earl) 0 TJ O'Reilly 1 5

Earl Valentine

October 09, 2005 4:41 PM

Also bringing in the drunk... by Earl Valentine

Earl noticed something distant and cold in the other boy. It irritated him, and if he hadn't been carrying Ty, he would have picked a fight.

But he was carrying a very incoherent second year and when TJ let go and all of Ty's weight fell to him, it took all his strength to drag her across the threshold of the infirmary.

He finally managed to pull her through the doorway and uncerimoniously plopped her onto the nearest bed.

"Is there a healer in the house?" he called out into the empty wing.

0 Earl Valentine Also bringing in the drunk... 67 Earl Valentine 0 5

Philemon Papp

October 11, 2005 2:20 PM

There's a storm a'brewin'! by Philemon Papp

Philemon woke to darkness. He stirred in his makeshift bed- one of his decrepit chairs badly transfigured into a chaise lounge- and his socked feet landed on the cold floor. The lights warmed in reaction to his movement, and slowly his office returned to its usual eye-sensitive illumination. After stretching his arms and going through a neck roll or two, he padded on over to his desk, squinting eyes searching for a frequently misplaced mantle clock.

Granted that his rest the night before had been notably restless, he hadn't thought he would actually sleep the whole day away. It was, after all, the day of the alumni luncheon and tour. The Headmistress had mentioned in an off handed way that the tour might include a quick stop by the Hospital Wing, and Philemon had spent his early morning going over every square inch with a well-practised scourgify. The walls and floors literally glistened in sterilized glory; the supply cabinets, in open view to the public's ocular perusal, were heavily glamoured to appear fully stocked (he had yet to fully replenish the many potions, salves, and various other accouterments used up in the aftermath of the dust storm); the cots had been doused in a generous polishing charm that left the metal rails lustrous.

The job had not stopped with the cleaning of the Hospital Wing; Philemon had undergone himself a sprucing up. He had donned his best mediwizardry robes (made of a rich, pearly white angora), starched his collar wrap, and even trimmed his hair. He'd been tempted to pass a glamour over the streaks of white that traced through his hair on either side of his brow, but in the end decided against it. He knew he looked young- he was young!- but the premature whitening added a touch of dependability to his stature. Wizards and witches alike still tended to cater to the idea that grey or white hair was a sign of wisdom; premature hair of said colors implied inherent wisdom and Philemon was loathe to discourage thoughts of otherwise.

Roughly half way through mid-morning, the night's unrest caught up with him. Not one for peppering his system with caffeine boosts or passing over an evigilo (he'd given into the latter in order to cram for his finals his first year at the Vicenza Institute, and his body had paid dearly for it- he had passed out from exhaustion the morning of the exams and did not wake until four days later), Philemon decided to give in and catch a quick power nap. Intending to sleep only a half hour at most, it was very surprising then, when he woke up and found that his entire office was illuminated by what appeared the last rays of a quickly fading sunset.

He fingers finally found the misplaced clock beneath a stack of unanswered letters from home. His hazel eyes blinked twice at the clock's face, not understanding what the hour and minute hands seem to be saying. His gaze slowly fell away from the clock and lifted to the wide windows that looked down on the gardens; the sun seemed to have been swallowed whole by a billowing black mass of frighteningly unnatural looking clouds. Philemon set the clock down absently and edged up to the windows, an ominous feeling of déjà vu coming over him.

A single shot of static energy bolted from the middle of the dark mass of clouds. He stepped back reflexively, and then took a more deliberate step in retreat as the air reverberated with the unmistakable sound of thunder. The two happened within seconds of each other, and he uneasily stocked away the knowledge that the storm was most certainly overhead. Directly overhead.

In time with the sound of the thunder came the chiming of his wards: He had guests. A quick step through the doorway that separated his office from the main wing showed the guests to in reality be patients, one of which was being half dragged by a student Philemon recognized. Valentine dropped the girl rather roughly onto one the cots. The rich stain of blood stood out painfully on the white sheets, and he crossed the room in four long strides, Valentine's words greeting him half way across.

“Is there a healer in the house?”

In a manner completely brusque and seemingly atypical of his usual friendliness, Philemon brushed aside both Valentine and the stiffly ridged other student with little more than a curt nod. “What happened?” he asked while running a wand diagnostic from the girl's forehead on. He checked the girl's eyes; the pupils appeared both unfocused and dilated.

His wand hand rose to take care of the large gash on her forehead, and as the spell left his lips, the storm beyond the windows released a crash of its own.

One half second later, a burst of pressure shot through the room, his ears left ringing as the wave of collapsed air resorted itself. From behind it came the rain.

The rain came hesitantly at first, as if unsure of its purpose, and then, having found the way smooth and unencumbered, it attacked. The drops landed heavy against the windows, causing the glass to tremble and then visibly shake. The rain left heavy stains of dirt against the glass that worsened further any visibility he might have. The rate between lightning flashing and its thunder sounding narrowed into mere seconds, and the windows shook all the more violently.

Worriedly, Philemon considered adding a shielding charm to the panes, but the sound of glass breaking behind him diverted his attention. The floor directly under the supply cabinets was littered with tiny shards of glass- what remained of the many thin phials kept for holding certain potions. Already the spilled potions were combining and strange haze was rising, the whole of it smelling like charcoal and sour milk. He shouted a half-choked “Evanesco!” but half of the spill remained resolutely on the floor.

His ears popped again and two more vials shattered. Hurriedly, he picked up the girl from the cot, shouting on for the boys to follow. His wand sent a spurt of poorly strengthened shielding back toward the deluge that struck at the windows. Another flash of lightning sent him cringing away from the cabinets and the windows. The thick, dust filled rain once more battered at the windows, and Philemon saw in open mouthed shock a jagged line shoot up through the middle window. His grip tightened on the girl, and he just managed not slamming into the wall as he tripped over a cot.

“Move it!” he yelled over the din that drove against the windows. Lightning illuminated the crack for a moment, and in that second the charms fully burst. “Protego!” he shouted, and in that half beat of time the thunder gave a mighty roar and with it the window shattered completely. Its two neighbors followed suite immediately, and the full fury of the storm was now openly ravaging the Hospital Wing.

Philemon dimly registered the breaking of his glamour on the cabinets; the charm controlling the lights went next. Now coated entirely in the gray haze of the storm, buffeted by the rain that stung as it hit his cheeks and blinded his eyes, his ears still popping from the changes in air pressure, and the full weight of a semi-inert body in his one armed grip, he tried to make his way to the door. The dim light showed nothing of the two boys. The foul stench of the spilled potions crept up his nostrils and coughing heavily, he grabbed at the exit's handle just as another bolt of lightning filled the entire room with a second's worth of visibility. The second of vision imparted a picture of complete and utter destruction.

It also showed the presence of a group of people in the suddenly open doorway, Philemon vaguely recognized as the visiting alumni. “Now would not be the best time,” he managed to rasp breathlessly before launching himself out of the destroyed infirmary and into the middle of the small crowd. He pushed the girl into the first available set of arms, and then, with little sense to his thought processes, struck back through the doorway and back into the storm.

0 Philemon Papp There's a storm a'brewin'! 0 Philemon Papp 0 5

Simon Tellerman

October 12, 2005 1:07 PM

Meanwhile, outside... by Simon Tellerman

Simon crossed the grounds between the wagon herd and the school, glancing over his shoulder every so often to be sure that the wagon he had selected was still following him like a good magically-animated minion. It was. The left front axle was a little bent though, so that wheel wobbled every so often. The canvas was also unfastened in the back right, and it flapped a bit in the wind.

Simon frowned and glanced around in sudden concern. Wind. There hadn't been any wind that morning. In fact, there usually wasn't much wind. Certainly not enough to make the canvas blow around like that. Not since the duststorm. But no. This was only a little bit of wind. Nothing like before. That wasn't going to happen again.

Coming to a stop a few dozen feet from the back door, he arranged his display so that the alumni could get a good look at the wagon without getting so close they could see scratches in the wood or small runs in the canvas. Then he walked around the back, secured the loose flap, and came around to the front left axle again.

A few seconds of trying to fix it manually showed him the futility of that endevour, so he searched around in his robe pockets trying to locate his wand. When or why, exactly, he had tucked it inside his sock, he had no idea at all, but he eventually located it and turned it on the broken axle.

Another gust of wind rattled the wagon and lifted his hair. This one was colder, and chilly feeling of dread filled him as the sun passed behind a cloud. He looked up and didn't like the way the sky was getting dark so fast. He considered running inside to tell the Headmistress that she might want to get the guests away from any windows because it seriously looked like it was about to get really thundery and wet out here soon. And Sonora wasn't supposed to get thundery and wet.

But no, they were going to be here any time now and it would look just as bad if he ran inside and they had to change course. The show must go on.

He climbed up onto driver's bench of the wagon, transfigured his clothing into something Old Western, then found a stick to transfigure into a cowboy hat. He settled that on his head, and turned to pose for when the door opened. Almost as a dramatic cue, thunder crashed nearby just then. Well, the Headmistress surely knew now that the weather was being weird.

That was when he heard the first plopping noise come from beside him. Looking down, he saw a splatter of wet mud a few inches away from him on the driver's bench. The first big raindrop must have found a bit of dirt he'd missed on his first inspection of the wagon. Another search and he located his wand tucked in the band of his cowboy hat. He magicked away the bit of mud.

Another few seconds later and he felt something hit his head. He took off the hat, expecting to find bird doo (not that Sonora had a great many birds, but there were some) or another drop of rain, but the splatter was brown, not white or clear. Not having had a chance to misplace his wand again already, Simon magicked away that bit of mud, too.

Putting the hat back on his head, he looked up, wondering where all the mud was dripping from. If the elves had - oh, crap.

The sky opened up. But it wasn't rain. It was mud. Seemingly between one second and the next, Simon went from sitting pretty on a covered wagon waiting for showtime to covered head to toe in mud, freezing cold, and almost entirely unable to see the school at all.

He was already drenched and dirtied to the bone, but he rolled backwards into the relative safety of the wagon's taut canvas. Mud was blowing inside through the front and back and Simon quickly did his best to close the canvas on both ends. It wasn't a lot of cover - he could easily hear the mud falling hard and loud and thick onto the wagon - but it was better than being out in it.

He picked up one of the cushions the students sat on during their ride to the school and transfigured it into a towel. After drying and cleaning himself off as best he could, he stuffed it into the small opening at the back that was still letting some mud into the wagon's interior. The leak at the front was similarly plugged with a second cushion.

Semi-dried and only moderately mudstreaked now, he took yet a third cushion and made it into a blanket. This he wrapped around himself to ward off the chill. The fourth and last cushion Simon used for its intended purpose: making the hard wood seats a little more comfortable to sit on. Until the wind flipped the wagon over, the weight of the mud ripped through the canvas, or the storm stopped, there wasn't anything else Simon could do but wait.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

1 Simon Tellerman Meanwhile, outside... 14 Simon Tellerman 0 5

Lucinda Marnett

October 12, 2005 1:19 PM

And again in the tour group... by Lucinda Marnett

Back in the treasure room, Lucinda was lost in her thoughts, her eyes entirely glazed over as she examined the chalice sitting under its shield of glass. She was beginning to regret not canceling the alumni banquet and tour when she had the opportunity. But then, it would have seemed so sudden, and more talk would certainly arise from a cancellation of a yearly Sonora function. It would signal that something was wrong. Dilemmas such as this caused her to wonder sometimes why she accepted the position of headmistress in the first place.

Her thoughts were broken suddenly by the sound of footsteps from above. The main set of stairs leading to the upper floors were directly over the treasure room, causing it to often reverberate the sound of the student herd charging down the steps during the busiest times of the day. Though, she thought to herself, class was in session now and this wasn't one of those times. Lucinda immediately perked up and looked around the room. It seemed darker now too, unnaturally dark for only being one in the afternoon. A sense of panic suddenly rushed over her and for a few seconds she could feel her heart come to a near stop. Was it really that late? Had she kept the alumni waiting in the treasure room until evening? Yet no one had pointed this out to her. Though she knew her handle on time wasn't the best these days.

Greatly baffled as to how she could have let this drag on so long when she was so intent on it being over, Lucinda strode hurriedly towards the large picture window looking over the gardens. Towards the left, she could see Simon working diligently on one of their covered wagons. The headmistress sighed in relief, he couldn't have possibly been out there that long repairing the wagon. But then, something else caught her eye that was even more evident among the garden scene on the other side of the window. Lucinda gasped at the sight of the dark clouds looming overhead. Too many clouds over Sonora was never a good sign, particularly when they were dark, mean looking ones, building up at incredible speed...

She had to get the tour out of here.

"Everyone," she called out to the room, "we will be moving on now. But first, our famous flying wagons." She hesitated on mentioning this as it would certainly draw attention to the darkness, but so would skipping the wagon portion of the tour. Regina Pierce was sharp for her age and Lucinda had no doubt in her mind that she would notice the change in direction. "Oh look," she said with a nervous laugh while leaning into the window, "Simon's wearing one of those...muggle western hats." The sky answered with the resounding crash of thunder.

Startled, Lucinda jumped away from the window, her tired, worn eyes suddenly coming to life in a way they hadn't in years. She felt almost paralyzed as a storm unfolded before her, the wind picking up causing the trees and bushes to lean from the force, the clouds continuing to rumble as though providing a drum roll for what was about to come, and then...something splattered the clean glass of her window. She glanced at it oddly for a moment as a few more dirty masses of what she assumed was water raced down the window pane. No more than half a second later, an entire onslaught of dirty rain drenched the window, covering the gardens from sight better than any drape could. The last thing she could see through the storm was Simon, attempting to take shelter in the school's covered wagon.

Realizing her guests were still around, Lucinda turned suddenly and shouted "Moving on! Follow me!" over the heavy beating sound of rain outside. Pushing past a few of the alumni, she walked directly towards the door and out into the hall, ignoring anyone that might have tried to approach her. She wasn't even aware of anyone following her, though she assumed at least some would.

The hallway was even darker and more difficult to navigate than the treasure room. Lucinda noted this as she rushed ahead, intent on moving the tour back into the foyer, a safer location with less large windows. However, she hadn't quite reached the end of the hall when another rupture of lightning filled the space with light and the medic, carrying what looked like a student, burst from the door of the hospital wing covered in the same substance that was currently assaulting the mansion.

"Merlin, wait a moment," she called after Philemon as he returned to the hospital wing as quickly as he had appeared. She could just catch a glimpse of the extreme mayhem that was ensuing inside the infirmary as the door closed behind the school's medic. The stench of potions, the humidity of the air, and the ever strengthening sound of the storm as it continued inside the room adjacent to them was enough to cause Lucinda to become dizzy with a mixture of panic and extreme discomfort. The headmistress leaned against the wall for support, turning to look at the tour group with the brief hope that no one had noticed. But even she couldn't ignore this.

0 Lucinda Marnett And again in the tour group... 1 Lucinda Marnett 0 5

Brett Lavine

October 13, 2005 7:43 PM

And what a storm this is... by Brett Lavine

Brett had been walking along complacently with the group as they continued the tour of the school, memories of a time not-so long past flooding his mind. Specific rooms and corridors reminded him of the various adventures and pranks he and Gary Noire had pulled in their days at Sonora, while the place itself just had the sentimental pull of a younger, more care-free time. The group of alumni was just passing the Hospital Wing section of the manor, a place the younger Brett was well acquainted with, being the Aladren Quidditch Captain for a good time during his Sonoran years, when all of a sudden, the dreary clouds which he had vaguely noticed in the trophy room made a second appearance in extreme force.

In a split second, the corridor was filled with a tremendous cacophony of sound coming from the Hospital Wing, immediately snapping Brett from his reverie. Though thoroughly awoken from the slight stupor that had taken him over, it still took a moment to process the emergence of a younger looking man in fine medi-wizard robes, and the seemingly unconscious girl that was then promptly shoved into Brett's arms without so much as a word from the medi-wizard. Just as fast, the man disappeared again into the wing, leaving Brett shocked.

He looked down at the girl in his arms, assessing her for any signs of consciousness. Finding none, Brett then looked around at the rest of the congregated assortment of alumni and teachers, not exactly sure what to do. He saw Professor Marnett -No, Headmistress Marnett, he corrected himself- slump against a wall for support. Clearly, things on this little tour were not going at all as planned for the school, especially not for the girl laying in his arms or the Headmistress. Again, Brett looked down, scanning the girl's face... she couldn't have been older than his own sister Lizzie's age.

Still unsure of what to do, he adjusted his hold on the student, looking about slightly for anyone in the crowd who would know what to do about it. He silently began hoping to Merlin that the medi-wizard would come back out of the clearly destroyed infirmary, or that the Head would do something soon. The thought then occurred to him- Maybe this is someone's daughter, or family member... Or maybe there's a healer among us... So, gathering up his voice, Brett addressed the surrounding group.

"Um," he faltered for the first time in many years, "Is anyone a healer? She seems very unwell."

0 Brett Lavine And what a storm this is... 0 Brett Lavine 0 5

Zoe Brown

October 14, 2005 7:59 PM

Operation Desert Storm comences! by Zoe Brown

The alumni group walked slowly from the treasure room towards the flying wagons. The group stayed there for only a few moments before the Headmistress ushered them along.

This caused a tantrum from Chloe, who wanted to ride in one, but one look at the rumbling grey sky caused most of the alumni to agree to stay inside.

The group was heading towards the Hospital wing when shouting was heard ahead. Zoe, Selene and the girls were towards the back of the crowd, but they heard the breaking glass and pounding winds and rains as clear as if they were in the room.

People around them began to panic, including Carly and Chloe. Selene immediately bent down to hug her daughters tightly and whisper calming worss into their ears, but Zoe stood completely still and looking as though this were completely ordinary. The only thing that gave her agitation away was her slender fingers twirling a stray lock of mousy brown hair over and over again.

She continued watching the chaos with stoic eyes until a shout caugt her attention.

"Is anyone a healer? She seems very unwell."

She jumped from her trance and began to steadily push her way through the crowd of neurotic alumni till she reached voice she had heard.

It was the young man her sister had flirted with. It was a fleeting thought, but there nonetheless. Zoe breathed heavily for a moment before speaking. She had to yell to be heard above the din.

"I'm not exactly a healer, but I am a trained mediwitch. What's happened?"

Zoe looked at the unconscience girl in his arms and scrutinized her with keen brown eyes, which finaly settled on a large gash on her head.

"Oh dear," she said. "Here, put her on the floor, but hold her head. Let's hope she's not seriously injured."

0 Zoe Brown Operation Desert Storm comences! 0 Zoe Brown 0 5

Regina Pierce

October 18, 2005 8:47 AM

Still in the treasure room by Regina Pierce

Regina was drawn from her reminiscing as Marnett spoke up and indicated the window while introducing the wagons. Having been under the impression she'd be getting a closer look than through a window, Regina frowned. Still, she manuevered her wheelchair between the alumni where she could and barked for them to get out of her way when she couldn't, until she had a good view of Simon setting a cowboy hat on his head and posing slightly off-center from his audience. She'd have to talk to him about that. The

Then a loud crack of thunder filled the room and dark drops began hitting the window pane just before the downpour really started. "Simon!" she exclaimed even as her great-nephew dove for cover inside the wagon. She didn't remember drawing her wand, but it was in her hand. There wasn't anything she could do with it, however. There was a large - and fairly strongly enchanted unless she missed her guess - piece of thick glass between her and the boy. And as much as she hated to admit to her infirmity, the wheelchair was not something that did well in such weather.

She ignored Lucinda's call to follow. Simon was her blood and she would keep watch on him from here. If something happened to him or his wagon, she had no idea what she'd do, but she'd at least know he was in need of help.

0 Regina Pierce Still in the treasure room 0 Regina Pierce 0 5

Diggory Spindler

October 18, 2005 10:28 AM

This is unacceptable by Diggory Spindler

Of course there had been the whole dithering about the propriety of a man entering the exclusively female domain of the ladies restroom, but whilst Diggory did possess impeccable manners to match his quiet ways, he also knew when propriety should be set aside. Ignoring his mother-in-law's faint protests, he pushed the door open, ushered her inside and followed, letting the door shut itself behind him. The loud clang as it settled back into place made him Emilia jump in a skittish, totally out of character manner, and Diggory felt a twinge of regret for not closing it himself.

But it wasn't of great consequence. Diggory reached into a pocket and pulled forth a handkerchief, then proceeded to turn on a tap and wet it under the flow of water. He handed it over when she protested, so she could cool and wash her face herself while he moved to lean against a wall and silently watched her.

"What is it?" It was said sharply, selfconsciously. "I'm not a sideshow, Diggory. And I..." the volume of her voice dropped until it was barely a breath then strengthened "I must have imagined it, although Merlin alone knows why. Alain attended Salem, not Sonora. Why would I have seen him here? And so young?"

She was trying to convince herself, and running her thoughts around in circles. Diggory shook his head slowly.

"No, I didn't know Cecilia's father, but I saw the boy too. There was a likeness." He sent a calculating look Emilia's way. "It is passing strange though, that a boy - an unknown boy, for I've not seen him before, nor heard tell of him - could have such a look with your family so diminished."

The Sandersons had once been a fair sized family, but by the time of the last few generations they had dwindled. Alain had possessed only one sibling, a brother who died childless while still a youth, and when Alain himself died, that left behind his widow and daughter; the only true Sanderson's left as far as he knew were his wife, and his two sons. Of course, Geoffrey and young Xavier were Spindlers first, Sandersons second.

This boy was an anomoly.

***

Emilia was still shaky when enough time had passed that Diggory expected that they would be missed on the tour. Diggory didn't think it expedient that she join them, so after checking to see where they were - Headmistress Marnett still appeared to be in the treasure room by the sounds of things - he walked Emilia back into the Cascade Hall, settled her into a seat and spotting a prairie elf sent it scuttling off to fetch a cup of tea for his mother-in-law.

He slipped out, past the stairs - someone was moving down, but he didn't pay them much attention, catching the movement in the corner of his eye and dismissing it as soon as the colour of the school robes registered - and into the room just in time for for the wagons.

"Oh look, Simon's wearing one of those...muggle western hats."

The unexpected crash of thunder made Diggory jump, and clutch at the wall. Our side, through the window, he could see that the sky had been swollowed by threatening - no, no longer threatening - by dark clouds of a sort he had never seen once before in his entire life. Heavy brown rain thudded against the window, covering it up and blocking the view of the outside world effectively in a matter of what seemed mere minutes. The headmistress was shouting that the tour would move on, but Diggory hung back for a moment, approaching the glass and placing his face right against it in an effort to see through. What had happened to the enchantment that was supposed to control the weather? A flash lit up the mud, and almost instantaniously it was followed with another roll of thunder which shook the window violently. Diggory took a step back, frowned, then turned on his heel to follow the others.

Cecilia, he noted appeared to be having some fun at the expense of her old schoolfriend. He was already moving their way when things reached a crescendo. What appeared to be a man emerged from a door, dropped what definitely looked to be a student into the arms of one of those Lavine boys, and then returned to what seemed like a raging world gone mad. Diggory stopped briefly besides Cecilia.

"Your mother is in the hall. Go and make sure things are alright in there, take cover under the tables if there's a need." For once she didn't seem to have anything. White faced, she hurried off, and Diggory continued forward. A glance at the student - was that a Boyd? - and he reached the spot where the headmistress was barely standing with the aid of the wall.

"Merlin's beard!" he swore. "What the hell is going on? That's Tyranthia Boyd over there with Lavine! You think this will get you money? If this is what my son can expect next year he'll be attending school elsewhere."

It was testiment to how shaken he was that he spoke thus. This was turning into a very strange visit, Diggory hadn't had so much to say - or used such language to express himself - in a very long time.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

39 Diggory Spindler This is unacceptable 0 Diggory Spindler 0 5

Brett Lavine

October 18, 2005 6:28 PM

...and clearly unexpected! by Brett Lavine

His dark brown eyes searched the crowd for someone who knew something about medi-wizardry or healing, knowing that he knew next to nothing about the subject. However, when the woman who seemed to be a part of the trio that the Selene woman belonged to approached him, he was hesitant at first. With another quick glance down at the girl that had been unceremoniously dumped into his arms, Brett suddenly recognized her features as that of a Boyd. He had never really had close associations with the family, but from his father's (and then his aunt's) constant drilling, he could recognize the general appearance of a family.

Why didn't I realize that before? he silently cursed, knowing that if he didn't act properly with her, it would be a black stain to his social reputation. Trauma, surprise, outstanding circumstances, he began making a mental list of all the possible things that could have altered his first and incomplete judgement of the girl.

"Here, put her on the floor..." the woman instructed him, but now wary of making a mistake, he waited a moment, pulling his wand from the pockets of his formal robes with a semi-free hand. He had to balance all of the relatively small girl's weight onto his chest momentarily, but as soon as he'd pulled his hand out, he allowed her to regain her position.

"Wait one second," he said with his usual commanding voice, as he cleared the alumni from just enough space in the corridor and conjured up a stretcher. "There, I'm sure this is a much more suitable place for Miss Boyd."

Brett gently lowered her onto the suspended stretcher, being extremely careful to take care of her head, which seemed to be the biggest place of trouble at this point. He looked around him to see if any of the Boyds were present at the alumni meeting. He doubted it, seeing as most of them went to Salem in Massachusetts, and not Sonora as his family had for years. Well, that was fine, but he was still hesitant to just allow this woman to attend a member of an extremely influential family in the United States without even knowing her, her qualifications, or her standing in society.

"Ms...?" he asked, keeping his voice tone polite and smooth, as if he was giving a speech. "If you please, first aid would be preferable. I'm sure the school's Medi-wizard will be available soon, as I know Miss Boyd's parents have granted him ability to care for her, and I cannot say as much for you. No offense intended of course, I've simply no knowledge of your experience, nor what Mr. and Mrs. Boyd have arranged with Sonora concerning medical matters."

Brett really didn't mean to brush her off or to be rude, but he was a politician who had been trained in the law, and he knew the wizard liability laws. He also knew social law, and unlike the written law of the country, social law was twice as harsh, and completely unforgiving. Allowing just anyone to take care of Miss Boyd would be an extreme faux pas, and he did not want that pinned on him, especially since he was running for Senate in the next election.

0 Brett Lavine ...and clearly unexpected! 0 Brett Lavine 0 5

Zoe Brown

October 18, 2005 8:55 PM

Me being offended is the least of the problems here by Zoe Brown

The corners of Zoe's thin lips turned upward when the young man conjured a stretcher. No matter how controlled she felt things were, there were always ways to improve.

However, the small smile vanished instantly and was replaced by a deeply etched frown when he told her -- in not so many words -- to back off.

Did he not think her competent? She stared coldly into the man's eyes, frowned even deeper, and then, with a voice so calm and controlled that it even shocked herself, she answered curtly.

"If you feel it to be necessary to wait for further help, then so be it. But if this child ends up permanently hurt, then it will be on your head." Zoe rose, nodded sharply, and turned around in a flurry of robes.

She practically knocked people much older than herself out of her way and reached her sister and friend, looking slightly pale and tiwrling a stray strand of hair, but otherwise calm and collected.

"What happened?" Layla asked. Zoe sighed and spoke so softly that her audience had to lean in to hear over the din in the hallway.

"A girl was hit in the head by something and they wouldn't let me heal her," Zoe stated as though she were telling them the weather.

"What? Why not?" Selene yelled as she tried to reign in her daughter from trying to see the girl.

"Most likely because she was a Boyd. I recognized her features."

"But you're amazing! Just because you're only known in the Mediteranian doesn't mean you not still a great mediwitch in America."

"I don't think it matters to them. I just hope that little girl doesn't have permasnent damage after this."

0 Zoe Brown Me being offended is the least of the problems here 0 Zoe Brown 0 5

Lucinda Marnett

October 19, 2005 11:46 AM

Okay, children, calm down by Lucinda Marnett

Lucinda had forgotten how jarring the sound of thunder could be. She had not, after all, heard it in a good many years, and each time the storm roared and the lights flashed, she could feel her already weak knees give way underneath her. If she was this much of a wreck, who knew how her prairie elves or even Tony was handling the sudden war against the mansion.

The wall of the corridor shook under her grasp again as the battle outside continued. Unsteady, Lucinda clumsily stepped forward from the wall only just able to catch her balance. Everything in the room was surrounded by a fuzzy outline. Her guests' features were indistinct and she had to blink several times to identify each one. Though strangely, she felt much more clear-headed than normal, as though the rucous outside had jump-started the faint amount of awareness she had left.

She heard a boy request a medic for what appeared to be an ill child in his arms...probably the student she had heard moments before come down the stairs. Another alumnus volunteered to be of service, much to the headmistress' great relief. Lucinda squinted and was surprised to instantly recognize the girl as an Aladren from a class some years ago. Yes, it wasn't as terrible as she envisioned, despite the embaressment of a tour gone awry.

The sound of a voice chiming in from behind her with a Merlin's Beard! quickly changed her mind. Lucinda dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache to go along with her fatigued vision and dizziness. Calm...she would remain calm. Money and the acceptance of new students now had to be the last thing on her mind. She was embaressed, yes, and didn't like how things had turned out, but there was no longer a point to playing hostess. She wasn't the best with situations like this and really wished at this moment that Manfred was around, though unfortunately, he had a class of students. Oh Merlin, the students...the hospital wing was ruined, but Lucinda didn't know if any other damaged had occurred around the school. As her panic increased at the thought of this, she heard the young man that had previously held the injured student practically brush off the volunteer medi-witch. The headmistress looked up, unusually upset by this point, and watched Zoe walk away.

She turned to Brett, recalling his name from the guest list which she reviewed earlier today.
"Brett...Michael...Lavine," Headmistress Marnett said stiltingly again surprised at her own recall. Either the potion fumes were getting to her, or the extreme amount of stress she was experiencing at this very moment was helping her memory along.

"Zoe, is it?" she called while motioning for the young woman. "Come here, dear, and help this child. I give you permission to do whatever you can." Though Merlin forbid she should make a mistake, and the school fall into even greater turmoil. It was foolish to do nothing, however, when the school's medic may very well be passed out in what's left of his hospital wing.

"And you," Lucinda said as she carefully took a difficult step forward, her head feeling rather light-headed. "Brett, please be a dear and go to the charms classroom. It hasn't been that long since you were my student, so you remember where it is, don't you?" Her voice was every bit the teacher now, though she was never the stern or formidable in her speech. She was pleasant, yet condescending, always treating her students at any age as though they were her children. "Tell Professor Bulla we're alright and that the hospital wing isn't functioning, so please," she leaned in and glanced behind her towards Diggory before whispering, "do not bring any injured students this way." Standing straight again, or trying to as her tall, thin form didn't seem to know what straight was right now, she added, "And tell him to inform the rest of the staff and move the students out of the way of any windows, if he hasn't already." Manfred was the competent one. He would have the situation taken care of soon enough and no doubt save her from impending doom in the process.

Lucinda pulled out her wand, lighting it so she could observe the small crowd of former students better. The storm continued on, thundering furiously once again.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

0 Lucinda Marnett Okay, children, calm down 1 Lucinda Marnett 0 5

Brett Lavine

October 20, 2005 8:57 PM

I'm calm... sort of... by Brett Lavine

Brett watched as the volunteer medi-witch stalked off with mixed emotion. He wished he hadn't sent her away in such a manner, but really, he hadn't known what sort of arrangement the Boyds had with the school. All of those thoughts, however, were interrupted as the Headmistress seemed to regain her composition and began giving out orders.

"Brett...Michael...Lavine," the Head addressed him, then proceeded to call back the young woman who had volunteered. Not only did she remember his first and last name, his somewhat forgetful old professor made a valiant attempt at his middle name. Even though she missed "Matthew" by a bit, it was close- at least she remembered it started with an M. This memory development came as a surprise to Brett, seeing as the older woman had a tendency to forget things like names. However, when she called back the medi-witch, Brett gave an apologizing look to the young woman.

"I'm so sorry to have sent you off just a moment ago," he said in a low voice to the other alumnus, Zoe. "Please make sure you take good care of Miss Boyd."

"Brett, please be a dear and go to the charms classroom...And tell him to inform the rest of the staff and move the students out of the way of any windows, if he hasn't already."

Brett nodded immediately, accepting the small mission he'd been sent on, while the sensation of being a student again took over. It was a time-turn back to times when he was a 7th year, and Professor Marnett was his Charms professor. It really hadn't been that long since they had graduated, and although he was now taller than his professor, the student-teacher relationship seemed to have stuck over his period of absence from the school.

With a quick "Of course, Headmistress, right away", Brett turned heel, making quick, experienced strides to his old Charms classroom, to where the Deputy Head Professor Bulla was supposed to gain control of things. Merlin, did this situation need some control.

(OOC: I'll just start up a post on the Charms board... :D )

0 Brett Lavine I'm calm... sort of... 0 Brett Lavine 0 5

Zoe Brown

October 21, 2005 8:28 PM

I'm calmer than calm by Zoe Brown

Zoe stood between her sister and her old friend silently twirling her hair around her fingers. She was jolted out of the rhythmic twirling by her former Charms teacher calling her name.

Not only was it odd that she was being treated as a student for the first time in years, but that the now-Hedmistress acually remembered her name. It had been so long and Marnett was never known for her memory.

Zoe almost ran to the front of the crowd. The Boyd girl was laying serenely on the floating stretcher that Brett had conjured. Without a sound, she brandished her wand, and after lightingthe tip, proceeded to shine it in each of the unconscience girl's eyes before reaching down to check for a pulse.

Satisfied that the girl was still alive, Zoe performed a simple clotting charm and leaned back for a moment.

"She's going to be fine," Zoe stated to no one in particular. "But we should get her somewhere warm, dry and not covered in glass, people, or spilled potion."

After a moment, Zoe glanced around wondering if anyone had even heard her over the commotion.

0 Zoe Brown I'm calmer than calm 0 Zoe Brown 0 5

Alasdair Carey

October 23, 2005 10:01 PM

Calm is...not my specialty. by Alasdair Carey

It was with great difficulty that Alasdair pushed down what he considered to be righteous fury and watched as someone Marnett called Simon brought one of the wagons to the window for observation. A glance at the sky seemed to provide the reasoning behind why the wagon came to them instead of the other way around. Dark clouds filled the space above the school, and the Headmistress had only just pointed out Simon's hat when a deafening roll of thunder sounded. Odd...the weather at Sonora was supposed to be strictly controlled. Perhaps it was what Lorena called heat thunder and lightning. She claimed that the North Georgia hills she came from sometimes had thunder and lightning without rain in the hot, dry summers they often experienced, and she rarely became confused when talking about her family's ancestral haunts. He normally ignored her incessant chatter on the rare occasions it came, but the idea of a natural storm without rain had seemed so ridiculous to him that he'd remembered it.

It took a matter of moments to prove that if heat lightning did exist, this wasn't an example of it. Mud was raining down on the school. Mud. An ordinary storm here would have been cause for concern, but a mud storm? Not even Lorena had ever come up with anything like that. He was more than willing to admit, at least to himself, that weather conditions in areas other than the Lowcountry had ever been a subject he took an interest in, but nothing even vaguely like this had happened in his own seven years at Sonora and he had never heard of it happening in anyone else's time. Somehow, he seriously doubted that his old professor or any of her underlings had cooked this up as part of the entertainment, especially given the rumors of some other storm that had reached the East Coast one way or another. The speed with which Marnett hurried them all away confirmed it in his mind.

It's nothing, he told himself firmly, feeling annoyed that he had to do so. Sonora would always have the ability to surprise. All magical schools did, to the best of his knowledge. If something had been seriously wrong, the alumni would never have been brought back, unless Marnett really had lost her mind. Some rumors in the pureblood circles, including those that reluctantly allowed his mother admission, said she had, but even if she had gone cracked, Lucinda Marnett was a pureblood. She would not get the money she wanted if she gave the sentimental idiots with children at the school the impression that their darlings weren't safe. He did not count himself as part of that category. 'Darling' was not a term he would use to describe either of his relations attending Sonora, and it would snow in July before he called himself sentimental.

They had reached the hosptial wing before his conviction that the storm was nothing to be concerned about was shattered violently. A mediwizard came out of the ward half-carrying and half-dragging a girl, who he shoved at what someone Alasdair thought was one of the Lavines before ducking back into his realm. In the spaces of time the door was open, Alasdair was able to see that the entire hospital had been destroyed, and there was no mistaking the odor of potion fumes that lingered after the doors were closed. The girl showed no signs of consciousness as Lavine falteringly asked if any of the other alumni was a Healer. If he was the one running for Senate, he would have to improve his stage manner. The thought came and went almost before it had time to register.

While Lavine dismissed the mediwitch who volunteered, another man addressed himself directly to Marnett, demanding an explination, threatening to withhold money and send his son elsewhere in the coming year, and revealing that the girl was one of the Boyds. It took Alasdair a moment to come up with a surname for him - he thought it was Spindler - and he didn't bother attempting to find a first name. The lighting seemed to be malfunctioning right along with whatever it was that controlled the weather, making seeing well difficult, and a surname was all he really needed. He was inclined to agree with the man; it would be on basis of tradition alone that Morgaine was enrolled after this, and the idea of forming a new tradition did not seem altogether inappropriate when the day's events were taken into consideration.

Marnett either didn't hear Spindler or elected not to, as she interceded with Lavine and the mediwitch, giving the woman permission to do what she could while Lavine went to inform Bulla of their situation. If he had heard the announcement of classes correctly, Gwenhwyfar would be in that class, and Anne. They were both blood traitors, but that didn't change the fact that, at least for the moment, they were family. He meant to keep his cursing strictly internal, but a few oaths escaped his attempt at self-control. Most of them were directed at himself, and the majority of the rest were for his sister Mary Elizabeth. It was ill luck to curse the dead, but he disregarded it for once. Not breaking a promise to the same dead woman would balance things out.

When the headmistress drew and lit her wand, he quickly imitated the first action. He didn't attempt Lumos. At present, he'd probably succeed in blowing something - or someone - to high heaven. A Boyd was injured in the floor, perhaps in this godforsaken storm, the lights were out, the hospital was ruined, and his girl and Mary Elizabeth's were both in danger. Family loyalty had been one of the first concepts he was ever taught as a child, and he had learned the hard way that it was never a good idea to go against it. He still had every intention of disowning Gwenhwyfar, it was all but a certainty that Anne would be rejected sooner or later, but that was in the future. This was right now. Of course, the fact that his own neck could be in danger played its part, too. It took an effort of will to keep from actually pointing his wand at the old woman, but he managed it. Getting arrested was not on his agenda for the day, but then, none of this had been.

"If my daughter or my niece come out of this with so much as a bruise, Headmistress," he said flatly, the emotionlessness arising from the struggle against the original anger and something he refused to name that another would have called something near panic, "then I can reassure you that this establishment will regret it profoundly." And if that wasn't enough for even a Virginia Carey, it was the closest thing to it Alasdair would ever manage. He wouldn't have bothered, but the way she had addressed Lavine suggested that Marnett still saw them all as her students. The Alasdair Carey she would remember, if she recalled him at all, would have been decidedly less diplomatic.

0 Alasdair Carey Calm is...not my specialty. 0 Alasdair Carey 0 5

Julia Santoro

October 24, 2005 2:24 AM

I've trained for things...not like this. by Julia Santoro

Julia had followed the crowd through the school without much enthusiasm. She had had a ball at the Luncheon mainly because she had been able to see her little siblings and came to realize how much they had grown mentally as well as physically while she had been away at training. Plus, she had been able to see her former roommate and her former crush. So, at least that part of the whole thing had been worth it.

The room with all the items had been an interesting room, to say the least, but Julia had never been interested in old things. That had been Hannah's forte. She loved antiques and had devoted her life to them before she had become a wife and mother. To Julia, it was simply 'pretty junk'. However, when the Headmistress called their attention to the guy outside, Julia's lips curved upward as she watched him from up above. That was until the loud boom hit.

Instincts kicked in along with years of training. She was in the process of retrieving her wand when she realized it was the beginning of a storm and nothing more. She lowered her hand from her pocket and followed the group from the room. It was only a matter of minutes before chaos broke out once more, but Julia remained calm this time and watched from the sidelines as everyone reacted.

Apparantly there was another major storm strewing about. The idea that such chaos was because of a simple storm, amused Julia. She knew storms could be dangerous, but this school was built with magic as it's protector. A few broken windows and large gusts of whatever wasn't going to bring it down.

However, her Auror duties struck a cord in her and she felt as though she should be doing something. Tearing herself away from the wall she had been casually leaning against, Julia made her way through the crowd. This time she really did pull her wand from her robes. "Headmistress, I'm quite willing to help out if you need an extra hand."

0 Julia Santoro I've trained for things...not like this. 0 Julia Santoro 0 5

Lucinda Marnett

October 26, 2005 2:26 PM

A collective answering of all posts by Lucinda Marnett

There were more people in this hallway than Lucinda had originally expected. Lucinda squinted down the path her lit wand created and, with her finger pointing at each alumnus in turn, she began to count out loud. She wasn't entirely sure what she would achieve by counting heads. How many alumni were in the group at the beginning of the tour was unclear, and it was difficult to distinguish the counted heads from the uncounted ones due to her limited light source and still somewhat foggy vision. Her totals, in fact, did seem remarkably high. But, if this method did anything, she hoped it would help her appear competent until Manfred came to the rescue.

Only once did she pause, her finger hovering in one place as she forced herself to decide if it was better to ignore Carey's comment or not. It seemed to follow the other fellow's unnerving comment quite well, causing her to wonder if she would soon have an uprising on her hands if left unanswered. "Alasdair, you have nothing to worry about." She counted a few more heads, not venturing to look Alasdair in the eye, before adding, "Your daughter is just as tenacious and resilient as you were at her age, if not more so." Truthfully, she knew nothing of the new variety of Carey that now attended her school. The odds were in her favor, however, that any daughter of Alasdair would have those qualities in some form or manner. She was a Carey, after all.

As Lucinda came to a point where she was almost positive that everyone within her sight was accounted for, she realized there were a couple notable faces missing. For one, Emilia Sanderson was not present. That irksome virago who seemed to be on a mission to make Lucinda's life miserable would surely have made her presence known by now. It brought a smile to the headmistress' face to think she might have wandered outside before the storm, though with her luck as it was (and the storm was certainly evidence of this), Emilia was only biding her time before she could bring the news of this unfortunate event to the Western Assembly.

Then there was Regina Pierce. She was positively missing from the tour group. It wasn't difficult to spot her wheelchair or her individual demeanor, and the thought that she could have become caught up in the stampede of alumni leaving the room was nearly as frightening a thought as the Western Assembly's response after this storm.

This thought was delayed for a moment by a girl with her wand drawn offering help of some kind. Lucinda focused in on the girl's face, recognizing the Santoro features but not one-hundred percent sure of her name. Her moment of clarity, just as her panicked state, appeared to be wearing off.

"Yes, dear. You wouldn't happen to know where Regina Pierce is, would you?" Her voice still held the attitude of a teacher, a quality of her character that never seemed to vanish entirely. Lucinda continued, after glancing at the injured Boyd child still on the floor, "She was the elderly woman sitting in a wheel chair that wanted to see the wagons."

0 Lucinda Marnett A collective answering of all posts 1 Lucinda Marnett 0 5

Charles Raines

October 30, 2005 9:58 PM

I doubt anyone thought it was. by Charles Raines

Alasdair had lost his mind, and that was all there was to it. Charles had wondered often enough if the older man wasn't a few knuts short of a galleon, but the...situation... in the Hall had confirmed it. Alasdair had either gone off the deep end or finally decided to toss aside his ever-tenuous connection to convention, and as the latter was incomprehensible to someone like Charles, that left the former. Not that it surprised him, after Rosamund. She had more than warranted her childhood nickname of Firecracker, from what he remembered of her, and Charles had never regretted anything less than losing her as a sister-in-law when he ceased to have a brother. He had actually liked Ben better, and that was saying a great deal.

Still, Alasdair's sanity or lack thereof only mattered to Charles if his safety or his family's was threatened by it. Raines' couldn't afford to toss any alliance out the window over something so trivial, never mind a good one. After sending a somewhat frightened but rapidly recovering Catherine along, Charles had fallen into his old habit of keeping his head down, mouth shut, and following where Alasdair lead, even when they mentioned India. Even after the...unpleasantness...of thirty years ago, India was still a Raines, but Charles hadn't seen her in years. No one had, to the best of his knowledge. If anyone knew her location, it would be Alasdair, but Charles could think of no way short of the Imperius Curse to make the other man tell it, a depth he was not willing to fall to. The legality of the issue didn't trouble him; he often thought he no longer had a conscience when it came to breaking the law. Charles' concern lay where it almost always did: with his neck. There was little doubt in his mind that any attempt at the Imperius on Alasdair would be both futile and suicidal.

He was as close to furious with himself as it was in his power to be when it dawned on him that the reason the thunder and rain that started up in the museum didn't cause him to panic was because it didn't seem to bother Alasdair. His father was probably spinning in his grave. Miles Raines had not been born into the upper class, a fact his speech would always reflect no matter how much polish his manners acquired, but he had never been anyone's tagalong. Not even Ben had fallen to that level, though that wasn't saying much. It was for failing to kiss their mother's foot that Ben had been disowned, when the full facts of the matter were examined. He was supposed to be head of the Illinois Raines', but his every action was controlled by the whims of a sociopath, his mother, and his gardener. The only person who didn't order him around was Lila, and she often seemed to forget that they lived in the same house.

His pragmatical side came to the rescue. None of that mattered. Survival was what mattered. He wasn't the party in power, but he was alive and had enough social standing, one way and another, to successfully cover up the messes made by his wife and siblings. It was being back at Sonora that made him so completely willing to go along with whatever Alasdair said or did; he had been a fairly stupid kid, on reflection. The world of Sonora had little or nothing to do with the real world outside. Outside was where he lived, now.

Not even his powers of self-persuasion were sufficient to make him take Alasdair's word on it when they reached the war zone that had once been the hospital wing, however. Not that Alasdair seemed overly keen on saying much to reassure anyone that matters were under control. Aside from the fact that Alasdair was more likely to hex people than reassure them in moments of stress, matters clearly were not under control. He recognized the girl pushed into some younger fellow's arms by the medic, vaguely. One of the Boyds. The tour seemed to be unravelling very quickly.

Charles felt oddly calm, and somehow detached.He wasn't surprised by the Spindler man's ranting. He wasn't surprised by the Lavine fellow's hesitation. He wasn't overly surprised when Professor Marnett started counting, as if that would help matters. What did surprise him was Alasdair pulling his wand and then addressing Marnett with what Charles would call a threat. Not the style Charles recalled, but unmistakable, at least to him. Marnett handled it well enough, he supposed, though he would hardly call Alasdair or Gwenhwyfar resilient. Political correctness was a surprising moment of sanity in the midst of madness. When Marnett turned her attention to a youngish woman who had offered her help, Charles glared at Alasdair.

"Are you out of your mind?" he asked, voicing the question he had been thinking for years. "This is her turf, idiot. And what in the hell are you talking about, your niece?" He had never thought to hear any of that come out of his mouth, but it had. Yes, it was a very good thing that he had written his will last year, especially after the 'idiot' bit. Alasdair often called him an idiot, but he had never dared return the sentiment. The last part could be equally dangerous. Surely Alasdair wasn't talking about that niece. For one thing, she was one of a selection of topics even Alasdair should have the sense to avoid, tied up in the unpleasantness. For another, she was old enough to have children at the school.

0 Charles Raines I doubt anyone thought it was. 0 Charles Raines 0 5

Alasdair Carey

November 01, 2005 9:39 PM

Shut up, Charley. by Alasdair Carey

Alasdair was immediately suspicious of Marnett's answer. She sounded sane, counting or no counting. She even managed to make her response a proper, if vague, one. What exactly stubborness and an ability to recover from losses had to do with coming out of a storm unscathed was unclear to him, but it had been a correct response, if one that played with the facts as he percieved them. The closest thing to resiliency he thought of his daughter as having was her ability to close herself away in a dreamworld where she could come up with elaborate schemes to end up on top, schemes that would never be brought to fruition, and convince herself that she was higher on the ladder than she actually was. Less bouncing back than giving into denial, in his book.

Still, it wasn't the time to think on it. Nodding reluctantly, he loosened his grip on his wand and hoped no one would notice that he still had it out. He doubted it would be much good against the wrath of Mother Nature if the storm somehow reached the corridors - Alasdair wasn't willing to dismiss any possibilities - but it had been years since he wanted or needed anything else to defend himself with. Only dead men had nothing to worry about, but Marnett was the one among them best qualified to say whether or not matters were serious enough for worry about the students. This was her place, after all, and she had sounded sane. Pressing for a more solid reassurance might make people think his inquiry had been based on affection instead of family loyalty, an appearence not even the often soft-hearted Mary Elizabeth would have suggested giving.

No sooner had Marnett turned aside than the least likely person in the world began tossing insults right and left: Charles Raines, who should have been nearly as paniked as Gwenhwyfar at the unnatural weather and who should never have said any of that, paniked or not. Charles liked things orderly and quiet and in their correct places. It was stepping out of his correct place to call Alasdair an idiot to his face and in the midst of a potential disaster, and there was nothing ordered or quiet about the situation. Alasdair had raised actually raised his wand with the full intention of using it when the question registered and with it Charles' motives.

"Surely not even you would think I'd refer to her as my niece," he said, managing to place a wealth of scorn in the words through clenched teeth. "It's a touch difficult, Raines, to be related to people who don't exist. My sister Mary Wright has a daughter here, and with Mary Elizabeth dead, the girl's my responsibility." Too late, the paradox of what he had just said occurred to him. It was all but a certainty that Charles would point out that Mary had been disowned, making her child no relative of his, just a ward of his mother's taken on out of the supposed goodness of Eileen's heart. Paradox was not so enjoyable when he was the one being made to look a fool.

He had learned the hard way that a few words could have a much more devastating impact than any number of blows from another Raines, back when he was only Edwardius Carey's unwanted second son from an unwanted second marriage. If he could unseat Charles with a reminder of both the lesson and the teacher, then his error would hopefully be overlooked. Alasdair glanced around suspiciously, checking for eavesdroppers. He doubted many would want to get embroiled in this, especially since he still had his wand in his hand, but a certain degree of caution was always a necessity. Few would take his meaning, and fewer would take it correctly. Some might even think they had heard a confession.

"Your confusion has reminded me of something I want you to pass along, though, Charley," he said, as close to pleasantly as he could manage. "Give India my regards, the next time you see her. This latest trip seems to have lasted much longer than the others, and I doubt I'll be someone she calls on if she returns." If Charles had a scrap of pride left, that might easily provoke him into further stupidity, but Alasdair set about the business of ignoring the other man. India was far more likely to call on him than her brother, if she returned, and Alasdair doubted anything Charles would say about it would be worth hearing or more important that working out how events should or could be shaped after this.

0 Alasdair Carey Shut up, Charley. 0 Alasdair Carey 0 5

Manfred Bulla

November 02, 2005 9:04 AM

Finally getting here by Manfred Bulla

As the last student left the room, Manfred followed them out the door, setting a cracking pace for young Mr Lavine to follow to the Hospital Wing. He made it there in what had to be record time - especially considering he didn't run a single step - just in time to catch the last of Lucinda's query to someone he just didn't have the time to look at or recognise.

"Lost her already?" he asked mildly, surveying what was visible of the damage. "Was this before or after the, eh, 'storm' hit?" There was an awful lot of mud. And, well, there was Miss Boyd, looking slightly the worse for wear. At least there was one less thing to worry about... except - Manfred looked around. Where were the two boys? O'Reilly and Valentine. Their parents were here- oh no.

He took a deep breath and reinforced his stern face of authority.

"Headmistress," he started, taking over without even needing to think about it, "I need someone to look in on the Teppenpaw for me, I wasn't able to secure the commons before coming here. Who else is-" Cecilia Sande- Spinder. Her mother too. "Diggory, do you know where your wife and her mother are, anyone? And who saw Regina last? Could I have a couple of volunteers to go look for her?" And even as he asked the last question he went straight into teacher mode, and pointed to two of the Alumni. "Check the last place you were. And if someone could go and make sure the Hall is secure, we'll move you all into there until this mess can be sorted out."

He made 'hurry along' movements with his hands and eyed the battered door to the infirmary warily. Philemon wasn't in thr crowd, and there were two boys possibly missing as well. With the room in the state it was...

Readying his wand, and greatful for the practice the duststorm had afforded him, Manfred once again cast the bubble protection charm on himself, and pushed his way into the malestrom which the infirmary had become.

39 Manfred Bulla Finally getting here 2 Manfred Bulla 0 5

Earl Valentine

November 02, 2005 10:41 PM

It's about time! by Earl Valentine

The windows shattered. There was mud and glass everywhere. There was pain. That was the last thing he remembered. Now Earl was lying on the floor of the Hospital Wing, covered in thick mud and bits of glass that edged deeper into his already bleeding skin every time he tried to move, which wasn't that much considering he was stuck underneath a collasped bedframe.

This wasn't good. He had no idea how long he had been knocked out, but when he woke, there were many many voices in the corridor and everything was still a mess. TJ was nowhere to be seen and Ty had obviously been moved somewhere else. During his consciencness, Earl thought he heard his aunt's voice once, but it could have been a fluke.

He waited there, under the bedframe for what seemed like an eternity to Earl, but it was only minutes in reality. He cocked his head slightly at the sound of footsteps crunching shattered glass and immediately began to fall into unconciousness at the intense pain. He managed to muster a pathetic groan before succumbing completely to the lull of darkness and silence.

0 Earl Valentine It's about time! 67 Earl Valentine 0 5

Philemon Papp

November 07, 2005 2:48 AM

Fools rush in apparently. by Philemon Papp

Philemon regretted his decision almost immediately. Granted, he was in a position of authority and therefore responsibility. He was also a member of the mediwizardry profession and thereby obligated both professionally and ethically to the preservation and promotion of life and well being. That background, however, did little to dispell the obvious foolhardiness in rushing back into a darkened room that swarmed with loosened magic, toxic fumes, and was being flooded by a decidedly unnatural attack of mud, wind, and rain.

There was also the continued lightning that threatened to strick at the numerous metal cots that were now strewn about the room as well. Philemon did his absolute best to ignore that fact as he stood stock still in the middle of the room and tried rather ineffectively to get his bearings.

The windows were to his immediate north- that is, the shattered remains of them as the lightning so kindly thought to bring to view every thirty seconds or so. To his west were the battered wooden shelves of his supply cabinets; their former contents now littered the floor and were serving to make it increasingly difficult to breath without coughing. His wand usage seemed inordinately ineffective for whatever reason, and so he adopted a purely instinctual and muggle means to preserve his breathing: sleeve clutched to mouth. To the south was the doorway and exit which occasionally flapped open with sudden bursts of the lighted hallway and its cluttered crowd. To his east laid the object of his attention- that is, the objects.

Two students were somewhere in that small space of disorder and chaos. Philemon hoped rather fervently that both were conscious and able to move. A howling wind tore through the room, and with it, he moved as well. His foot caught at one of the cots and dangerously he inhaled deeply. Coughing insued, and in natural motion, he kneeled down to find cleaner air. In between attempting to clear his lungs and trying to find his now dropped wand, Philemon managed to stumble upon something completely unexpected: an exceptionally sticky clomp of hair. His hand followed the matt of hair to a curve that was shaped exactly as a neck would be.

Mind caught up to hand, and Philemon quite quickly realized that he had found one of his missing students. With a strangely strong feeling of deja vu, he carefully picked the boy up, mindful of keeping both the neck and head cradled, and worked his way- now wandless- back to the doorway. This time, he remained with the unconscious student, only just managing to stumble out a brief explaination of his own.

"Possible concussion. Earl Valentine. Bad fumes. One more student. Can't find wand." And with that, Philemon promptely passed out himself, his mind only barely cognizant of having destroyed his best robes during the past hour's escapades.

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Professor Dione

November 09, 2005 12:11 AM

Does that make me a fool too? by Professor Dione

Dione sat by the balcony windows in the astronomy tower, contently reading Shakespeare's The Tempest. Soft light poured through the panes, giving her the perfect amount of light. Supposedly, the school was having a tour of the school for alumni. Not favoring such social events, she opted to avoid it entirely by hiding in her solar system sanctuary with a good read. After a while, about when she reached Act Two, the wind outside whipped at the windows, forcing them open. After a few attempts at closing them, she took the ribbon she used to tie her hair to tie the windows shut. This worked for a little while. Until the storm came.

The dim light that filtered through was quickly blotted out by the black clouds moving in. The wind was no longer a whistle outside her window, but a fierce howl. Shortly after, soft tapping echoed off the glass panes, which started to crescendo into a downpour. She tried to ignore it, but the howling and the shaking windows forced her attention away from the book and towards what was going on outside, and not a moment too soon. As Dione stood up and turned to look out, the ribbon finally gave way and the windows flew open. She had just enough time to shield her face with one arm and try to deflect the incoming window with the other. Good news: she was able to stop the window, and there was no permanent damage. Bad news: the arm she used to stop said window not only stopped it, but went through it. As she contemplated how she would remove her arm, she finally noticed what the rain actually was: Mud…? This revelation intrigued her, but there were more important things to worry about. Gingerly pulling her arm out, she examined the wounds. Yes, medical assistance would be needed for these gashes; blood was already dripping down her sleeve and onto the floor. That and it wouldn't be wise to stay in the tower with the storm at full strength. She picked up the ribbon that had fallen to the floor, tightly wrapped her bleeding arm with the tattered remnants of her sleeve, and tied it off with the hair ribbon. With that, she closed and locked the door to her room and walked towards the hospital wing.

Though not too pleased with the crowd surrounding the wrecked infirmary, it didn't come as a big surprise. The storm was sure to cause injuries like hers, and a gaggle of worried, bickering gawkers would surely follow in its wake. Some would be useful, some would stand in one spot, confused as to where to go and what to do. Then there would be others who would just accuse, argue, or point a finger at someone else; these were the most worthless of the bunch. Her attention turned to the injured child being treated by a volunteer. Though she was indeed worried about the state of the girl, something was wrong there. Where was the school's mediwizard and why wasn't he treating her? She decided to find out for herself. Dione walked past the swarm of people to get to the infirmary, pausing for a moment as she smelled the potion fumes. After casting a quick bubble-head charm, she ventured forth into the remains of the hospital wing to try and find the mediwizard or anyone else that might have been in there.

0 Professor Dione Does that make me a fool too? 0 Professor Dione 0 5

Manfred

November 09, 2005 3:37 AM

OOC by Manfred

Ok. Nice to see you back, Dione. One thing though, if you're going to join in this thread it might be a good thing if you made a point of checking out other related threads such as the one in Charms. You'll find that it's actually unlikely that you'd have gone to the Hospital Wing as you've actually been assigned duties in your new official capacity, and, knowing the Craven twins, that you'd have heard that no one is to be sent/go to the Hospital Wing regardless of injury.

39 Manfred OOC 0 Manfred 0 5