Jeremy Mordue
June 12, 2021 1:02 AM
Writing home (tag Nathaniel) by Jeremy Mordue
OOC: Vague notes about Nathaniel's current situation given by his author, which I then embellished on. Anything not accurate can be assumed to be Jeremy not really listening or having warped perspective. BIC:
Jeremy sat down at his desk, stretching out his shoulders. They ached a little from the previous day’s practice. It was a good feeling. He liked stretching himself to his limit on the pitch, pushing his body so that he was weary and achy, which both numbed him and gave him some reason to feel like the world had taken a toll on him. It had – but it was just training.
He pulled a clean sheet of parchment out. Having been home at Christmas, there weren’t many strands of unresolved conversation between him and Nathaniel. They’d never had much to say to each other, and now there was the fact their lives didn’t revolve around the same set of shared circumstances. He wasn’t entirely sure what Nathaniel’s new life entailed, nor was he convinced he wanted to. From the snippy asides Nathaniel made, and the brief answers to Jeremy’s token questions about his well-being, it was dull. It involved a lot of people who were as rich and important as they were but who held seniority over Nathaniel, so it was a little like being a first year here again in terms of pecking order, but with more meetings and filing. His brother had looked stretched and like crap during break, and they’d had minimal conversation, but none of that was unusual. Still, in spite of their relative silence, which was only replaced by bickering if it was broken at all, Jeremy found himself wanting to cross the distance when his brother wasn’t around. He couldn’t be silent at him when he wasn’t there, so he had to write.
Dear Nathaniel,
I hope your return to work has been pleasant, and that the quarterly reports haven’t killed you.
School is as pedestrian as ever. They’re making us do a ‘fun’ match at the weekend, and have scraped the barrel for a few complete novices to round out the teams. It’s going to be utterly unbearable. I can’t imagine anything worse for the standard of play than telling the whole lot of them not to take it too seriously. Besides it being amateur hour, there’s also De Matteo. Whether or not I’m on a team with him, I clearly can’t trust him as far as I can throw him (and I’m not exactly a Chaser…).
I’ll write to let you know how it goes, if I survive – be my death at De Matteo’s hands or out of sheer boredom from the level of play surrounding me.
I got solid marks on the potions essay I was doing over the holidays. I bet she would have written perky little comments if I was one of her favorites. Not that I need them, but you’d hope a teacher would be a bit less biased.
Pass on my regards to the family.
Jeremy.
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Jeremy Mordue
Writing home (tag Nathaniel)
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Nathaniel Mordue
June 17, 2021 12:08 PM
Writing to school. by Nathaniel Mordue
OOC: Standard disclaimers, Sir Angstalot angsts a bit again, and hints at various distasteful prejudices, etc. BIC:
Nathaniel frowned slightly, somewhere between concern and confusion, as he read the letter from his brother, then read it over again, looking for any subtext he might have missed the first time. Despite the tendency toward over-reading (it pleased Jeremy to call it paranoia) he had, though, it failed to offer up any more causes for concern (well, more concern than was his default position) than it had offered the first time around. He knew he was not even as sharp as he had been at Sonora, that he was growing duller again – it had been early autumn when he’d resumed finding it difficult to block out the thought of how much formless grey time lay between him and being able to do anything; by New Year’s, he’d started finding it difficult to not listen to the snide, mocking narrative, in a voice which was definitely his and definitely only existed inside his head but yet felt like an intrusive outside force, about how he wouldn’t have the skill or guts to do anything even if he had the power – but he could still manage to become anxious at the drop of a hat, and yet…he couldn’t find anything to worry about.
Could Jeremy just…want to talk to me?
It seemed like an incredible conclusion. He had been trying for over a year to improve things, and he thought he had made progress, but they still struggled to initiate conversations with each other without accidentally stepping on each other’s toes. Now that there was physical distance involved, it was even more difficult – and yet, well, Jeremy was reaching out. Being conversational. Inviting Nathaniel in.
He couldn’t trust his own mind, he knew that. It had never been top-quality even before it had cracked up, and now it wasn’t even where it had been. As he began a reply, though, he couldn’t quite convince himself to stop feeling ever so slightly happy.
Dear Jeremy,
The quarterly reports put up a terrific fight, but they have not managed to finish me off. As a reward, I’m assisting an assistant of someone, mainly looking up precedents – a bit dull sometimes, but I like it well enough. Liars are doubtless using the information to lie even more, but at least I can plead ignorance, for what that’s worth, until I can implement various reforms. Someday.
Regarding Quidditch – that does sound dire. How the occasionally competent have fallen! I agree with your amusing assessment of De Matteo’s trustworthiness – I wouldn’t trust him further than a ghost could throw him at this point. It may be cold comfort, but should you fall at his hands, I will of course avenge you – if you die by boredom, that will of course be more difficult to address, but I’ll do my best in that case too.
Regarding the professor – one would hope, but can only expect so much. Between this and the Quidditch team, I think I’ll have to add education reform to my list of future goals. Possibly having a person with a proper name in the headmaster’s seat has made us as a society complacent, but there really are a lot of issues at the old place, aren’t there. I’m amazed the Brockerts haven’t disowned the headmaster for allowing the behavior of half the staff; if I were someone of importance, I’d at least have a stern word with any relative of mine who retained a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher with as many absences as ours has had in the past year or so.
For now, though: I’m not sure I know how to be perky at all, much less to the same degree as our Potions professor with her favorites, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for doing well. Keep it up – both for your own sake, and just for spite. If you want, you can then tell her off on your last day next year and use it as a point in your argument.
Regards have been passed along and are returned from everyone. Everyone is as well as can be expected – Sylvia and Aunt Avery plan parties and sort invitations, I battle reports, Simon carries on as he wills etc etc etc. Do let us all know about the Quidditch game.
Nathaniel.
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Nathaniel Mordue
Writing to school.
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