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Post by Greta Catchlove on Sept 23, 2007 20:59:23 GMT -5
The Quidditch pitch. It was possibly the most relaxing place on the grounds... when there wasn't a game going on, anyway. Games were definitely an interesting part of Hogwarts. They were loud, if nothing else. Louder than most professional games, actually, but few people would know that from experience. Greta did.
She sighed to herself, tucking a few rebellious strands of hair behind her ear, mentally glaring at the rather tight bun that was positioned on the top of her head. Her hair never ceased to amaze her. It was more stubborn than she was, which was quite a feat. Whatever style she attempted to work the tousled curls into, it always somehow managed to escape it. She more often than not looked like she had had a spiral perm gone wrong. But, that's just how her hair was... something that she cursed her mother for several times a day.
Currently, the Hufflepuff dork was leaning back in the stands, the only one in the entire field. It was rare that you got as alone as she was in Hogwarts, and she had discovered that the Quidditch Pitch was often the only place where you could find solitude. Normally, Greta would have preferred to be around people. Her sister, her dorm mates, anyone. She hated feeling lonely. But, it was different here. It was like she was alone, but she wasn't.
Of course, this wouldn't make sense to anyone but Greta... but she was okay with that. She didn't like explaining herself to people, anyway.
She hugged her knees to her chest, a rather pointy chin rested on them as she stared out at the empty field. It was sort of sad that she was so in love with a sport that she couldn't play. She could fly, sure, but she didn't have an athletic bone in her body. She had tried, several times, to master the sport... but had always come up short. She usually dropped the quaffle when it was thrown to her, if she caught it, and she always let the goals in. She wasn't agile enough to be a seeker and, well, you don't want to see Greta with a bat.
But, somehow, the girl wasn't really worried about that. It seemed like, to her, the sport was only fun when you were watching it. It wouldn't have been so enjoyable for her if she were the one doing it. The excitement and anticipation wouldn't have been the same if she was actually out there. Or, that's what she told herself. It was easier to make excuses than be disappointed. She learned that early in life. [/center][/sub] |
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Post by Gideon Prewett on Sept 23, 2007 22:06:38 GMT -5
Gideon liked girls. So, naturally, when a chance to be surrounded by a lot of girls came up, he took it. How was he supposed to know his own beloved brother would betray him? How was he supposed to know that Fabian’s “invisibility cream” was little more than curdled milk colored with burnt slugs?
Speaking of slugs, he thought bitterly as he hiccupped and one of the slimy, spineless creatures slithered down the front of his sopping and soapy robes. Really, had he been in their place, he wouldn’t have reacted nearly so harshly. He would have been surprised, even flattered that anyone took such a great interest in him as to stoop to sneaking into the loo. He might even have allowed himself to join himself in the bath.
Gideon rubbed the bruise on his forehead, a product of wet tiles and a lack of grace under pressure. Thinking like this hurt his head. Girls hurt his head. Come to think of it, bruises hurt his head, too. He wanted his books back, and the safety of the common room, only he was certain that even the females in his own house wouldn’t be very welcoming at the moment.
Instead, he wrapped his damp cloak tighter about himself and sulked out onto the Quidditch pitch. It was windy, and anything but sanitary, but he had had enough of soap and bubble baths for the rest of his life--or at least until bedtime. Slowly, he made his way up to the top of one of the stands, dragging his wounded pride, neither noticing nor caring the colors on its banner. He wasn’t feeling very house spirit-y at the moment.
With a slight frown, which only served to push out his lower lip further, making him look even poutier than usual, and damp hair plastered to his flushed forehead, Gideon sank onto a bench. It creaked and groaned with his weight. He cast a moody glare at it. So now the Quidditch benches were against him, too? First the bathroom tiles, then the benches, what next? He was beginning to fear his own comforter would be after him before--
Gideon looked up and let out a slight yelp. “Ididn’tmeanto!I’msorry!Pleasedon’thurtme!” he squeaked all in one breath, cowering away from the small and generally un-intimidating female seated in the opposite corner of the stands. Had she been there? Did she know? Females were freaky like that. He wouldn’t doubt it if the whole school knew, and now they were sending secret agents out to hunt him down. “I’m only human! Curiosity is my downfall, okay?! It’s not my fault! Leave me alone! I won’t do it again! Please don’t hurt me!” He peeked at her between two trembling fingers, noting with interest that she was, as he had noticed earlier, a girl.
Gideon liked Girls.
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Post by Greta Catchlove on Sept 24, 2007 0:41:19 GMT -5
Greta's eyes were anywhere but the seats around her, roving the sky and grounds and looking for something even slightly interesting. And, then, suddenly she was roused by the creaking and groaning of the bench. Her eyes instantly flickered to the person causing the offending sound, a Ravenclaw. She had seen him before, of course, and certainly she had heard of him. Gideon Prewett. How lovely.
Her blue eyes were narrowed and rather cold as she surveyed him, though her thoughts were definitely not as harsh. She hadn't expected him to notice her, and he didn't. Not at first, anyway. And when he did, his frightened reaction was something that Greta couldn't help but laugh at. He was acting like he had done something horribly wrong... While invading the Fifth Year's space and rousing her from her thoughts should have been a crime (and Greta would have had too much fun punishing the poor boy), it wasn't.
"It's just a bench, I don't own it," she informed him with a quirk of her eyebrow. She resisted the urge to stand and walk over to him, figuring that he'd probably wet himself if she did. She smirked, but just barely, at the thought. It was rather odd for her, holding her own in a situation like this. Usually she was nervous and silent. Though, she wasn't talking much... But, still. She would have liked to maintain that she had kept her cool when around a deranged-looking Gideon Prewett.
Or maybe not. But, the point was, who would really know?
Greta sighed to herself, pulling her sweater tighter around her in a sad effort to remain warm. It was a rather plain day for the girl, who usually dressed in bright and cheery dresses, for she was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a simple tan sweater. It was difficult to find colors that were neutral but not another houses' colors. She rather liked navy, but refused to wear it whenever there was a Quidditch game between the two houses anytime soon. She liked to think that four months was quite sooner than later, and had locked up all of her navy items until the game was over. Hufflepuff would win, of course. She hoped.
It was no secret that the Hufflepuff team had been lacking the past few years, the old Captain graduating and a rather incompetent one replacing him. Sure, they had been big shoes to fill, but even Greta could have coached the team better than that. For some reason, though, the head of house hadn't agreed with her. She remembered her saying something about knowing what she was doing and not allowing her to gain popularity simply because she found the team not to come up to par. Whatever that meant.
She sighed to herself, absentmindedly playing with the hem of her jeans, wondering if Gideon was depressed. Maybe he'd jump off the stands. She glanced at the boy out of the corner of her eye, her gaze hopeful. Of course, then she'd manage to do something and make evidence that she had pushed him off and would end up in Azkaban... Maybe he shouldn't jump off.
She couldn't suppress a scowl at the lack of entertainment that this would bring her, but didn't say anything else. She instead shifted her thoughts to other, less-disappointing thins... Like how large the supposed centaur clan was in the Forbidden Forrest.
ooc;
Got out of bed and convinced my mother to let me post.
>.<
Sorry it's awful.
I might edit it in the morning.
I edited it a bit.
Meh. [/center][/sub] |
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Post by Gideon Prewett on Sept 24, 2007 21:25:19 GMT -5
ooc;; don'teatme.
i had a lot to do today and didn't get time to post.
but i'll have a really spiffy post for you tomorrow.
pwomise.
in the mean time, you should post in giddy's relationships.
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Post by James Potter on Sept 25, 2007 13:44:24 GMT -5
ooc;
I did.
But yeah.
I forgive you, as long as you post today.
; D [/center][/sub] |
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Post by Gideon Prewett on Sept 26, 2007 23:36:25 GMT -5
If Gideon heard her, it was only through the delightful buzz that always seemed to fill his ears around females. It didn't even seem to matter whether they were attractive or not--though this one certainly was, despite an unfortunate surplus of clothing--the sway of a feminine hip, the curve of a female breast, or the simple sound of a womanly voice always seemed to send his senses--and most of his logic--into a coma. He smiled at her in a way he clearly thought was handsome and charming but in reality was only a bit dopey.
Gideon no longer felt the need to explain away the soapy water down the front of his robes or justify to anyone the circumstances that had allowed him to enter the girl's bathroom when he was (clearly, he thought) not a girl. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything. The bump on his head was a mild throbbing he confused with the throbbing in his heart, and, despite his reputation he felt an honest surge of emotion towards this unfamiliar (and did he mention female?) individual. He always did. It wouldn't last long, just time enough for him to make an idiot of himself and for her to either embarass him repeatedly or fall madly in love with him. Then he would loose interest, or become distracted by the swish of another skirt. (Secretly, school uniforms were an attempt by dark wizards to distract him from becoming an auror.) He always did.
Not, of course, that Gideon was aware of any of this. In Gideon's little world, the birds were singing, the sun was shining, and a flock of doves had just taken flight in a heart-shaped formation. Would that our world was his. Instead of a harsh northern wind he felt the warm tendrils of summer seeping through the winter of the past (dateless) week. He seemed, in his own mind, to drift over the space that divided the two of them, unmindful of the several false-steps he took. Gideon was in a world of blue eyes and pink lips and flushed cheeks and there was little anyone could do to bring him back down.
"Excuse me," he said softly, as though they were engaged in an intimate conversation in a crowded room instead of introducing themselves in an empty Quidditch stand. He seated himself a respectable distance away, but with each passing second he subtly (he thought) inched closer to her, until her warm, soft knee was brushing against his damp trousers. "I'm sorry. I suffer from amnesia. Do I come here often?"
His smile was slight, hesitant, and lop-sided. His blue eyes gleamed slightly, as though he was waiting for her to decide it was funny before he could find it funny himself. His hands fumbled slightly in his lap, half wanting to reach for hers and half knowing that, this being their first encounter, she probably wouldn't let him. She didn't look like the type that was always running off to weep in private places and hoping someone would come and comfort her. He was glad. He thought.
ooc;;
Ahhh. My MS Word is down and it's like three hours past when I was supposed to be asleep. I know it's bad. Please don't hate me. D:
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Post by Greta Catchlove on Sept 27, 2007 13:41:51 GMT -5
Greta couldn't conceal the laughter that spilled from her lips, her hands lifting to covering her mouth as if that would somehow muffle the noise. It didn't. She eyed Gideon with a rather reproachful expression, pulling her knee away from his and glancing at the wet circle on the knee of her jeans. Nice.
Her eyebrow raised despite her obvious enjoyment of the joke of sorts, her head shaking only slightly. "No, Prewett, I don't believe that you do," she informed him rather curtly, a hand lifting up as she realized that most of her hair had fallen out of the bun. How did that happen? She pulled the rest out, tying it in a low ponytail that was tilted sideways behind her ear. So maybe it didn't look great, but it would hold. For a few minutes. She sighed to herself, tucking the bits of hair that had already escaped behind her ear, not feeling up to making a huge fuss over it. Her hair was more stubborn than she was, she had learned, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She fixed her eyes on Gideon once again, her eyes now taking in his soapy robes. She nearly snorted, but managed to refrain from doing so long enough to speak. "Did you attempt to drown yourself in a bubble bath?" she asked him with a serious expression. It would be really interesting, for her, if he had. Then she could tell everyone about how she had talked to Gideon Prewett right after he attempted suicide and... well, maybe it wasn't all that interesting. But she'd know that she was there. And that's what was important, right?
She wasn't convinced, somehow.
The girl wondered why it was that someone who was so obviously trying too hard could make her not be able to think clearly. It didn't make sense. Usually, it was the effortlessly cool type that caught her eye and sent her heart aflutter. But, here she was, trying to hide the fact that she was scarcely coherent. Apparently enough to appear like she didn't care, though, and that was definitely a good thing. Besides, all the guy had going for him was looks, right? So what was there to worry about?
That didn't really help, either.
ooc;
It's okay.
You can use the spell check on here, if that's what you're worried about. [/center][/sub] |
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Post by Gideon Prewett on Sept 27, 2007 21:38:21 GMT -5
THERE'S A SPELL CHECK HERE??!
radddd.
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Post by James Potter on Sept 27, 2007 21:40:36 GMT -5
ooc;
>.<
Yeah.
You have to click 'reply', though, and then it's right beside 'post' and 'preview' and whatnot. [/center][/sub] |
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zi
New Member
Posts: 12
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Post by zi on Oct 31, 2008 4:13:15 GMT -5
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