innocent_insanity (
innocent_insanity) wrote in
sortinghat_logs2012-11-04 10:17 pm
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Entry tags:
Red Pill
Who: Kurloz and Rhys
Tone: Edgy, just a tad creepy knowing these two
Rating: PG-15+ most likely due to subject matter
When: After the Shadow event
Where: Dungeons
What: Rhys made Kurloz an offer. Kurloz took some time to make a choice.
Kurloz wasn't too sure it was such a good idea for him to go through with this, but there he stood outside one Professor Rhys Rhydderch's office, staring at the door before lifting a hand to knock slowly. He desperately wished he'd worn his full-makeup today - if only for it to serve as something to hide his nerves behind. As it was, he stood there in his uniform that he was beginning to notice was getting a bit small (he made a mental note to Owl his mum about it later), satchel slung over a shoulder, his trusted quill and notebook ready for communication.
Tone: Edgy, just a tad creepy knowing these two
Rating: PG-15+ most likely due to subject matter
When: After the Shadow event
Where: Dungeons
What: Rhys made Kurloz an offer. Kurloz took some time to make a choice.
Kurloz wasn't too sure it was such a good idea for him to go through with this, but there he stood outside one Professor Rhys Rhydderch's office, staring at the door before lifting a hand to knock slowly. He desperately wished he'd worn his full-makeup today - if only for it to serve as something to hide his nerves behind. As it was, he stood there in his uniform that he was beginning to notice was getting a bit small (he made a mental note to Owl his mum about it later), satchel slung over a shoulder, his trusted quill and notebook ready for communication.
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However, two unusual pieces of art hung on the walls, one to the left, and one to the right. They were the professor's own work, not that any student had ever asked. On the left, a painting of a stone building atop a hill. To the right, a man who appeared to be praying.
The professor himself sat at the desk, his black robes open to reveal the deep purple tunic he wore underneath. Quill in hand, he wrote something in the margins of the paper he was examining, then looked up, smiling slowly. He had wondered if Kurloz would show up, and it pleased him that the boy had done it. He'd seen promise in this one at first, even more now that he'd done his own examination into the boy's recent past.
"Mr. Makara. Come in, m'bach. Have a seat." He gestured with his wand at a chair put up in one corner, and it spun across the floor to settle in front of his desk.
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"It's similar to the school journal paper," he explained. "But what you write will only appear in this book. Now. What can I do for you?"
He suspected that the boy wasn't there because he needed some help with a particularly confounding assignment, but he wanted to see what Kurloz would write. How would he explain his interest, what he thought the professor had been offering to teach him? It was thin ice Rhys was treading, and he had to be sure the boy was the fertile ground he seemed to be, before he said too much about what he might offer. But he had a good feeling about this one, and the older man had learned to trust his instincts.
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He took a moment to stare at the paper, wondering how he should word his question, if it was even safe to consider it. He found himself glancing up at the paintings again... and struck a thought. A flicker of suspicion appeared in his eyes as he stared at the praying man and he found himself soon staring at Rhys' face, eyes wide and scrutinizing, as if intent on taking apart every last detail both superficial and profound. He was only vaguely aware of what he was looking for, even as he absently catalogued the different parts of Rhys' skull and the muscles beneath his skin.
He finally looked back down to the paper and dipped the quill in ink, neatly writing out:
who made those paintings, sir?
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"I wasn't aware you were here for art instruction," Rhys said, with a hint of a smirk around his lips and an arched eyebrow, a subtle challenge. "I did. A habit I picked up in my youth."
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Remembering he had his sketchbook in his bag, he resisted the urge to chew on the quill tip before writing his next move in this strange game of chess they were playing.
didn't originally intend to come around and be getting a gab on about art but...
would you look at some of this here brother's sketches and give your wicked undiluted rude thoughts, sir?
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He handed the book over easily enough, knowing that the seemingly blank pages wouldn't be a challenge to the professor. He'd only put the charm on it to stop other students from accidentally seeing the kinds of things he drew, and figured Rhys would know enough disenchantment spells to make the pages give up their secrets.
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As the drawings revealed themselves, the professor went silent. He studied each page carefully, saying nothing at first as he took in the drawings. Sometimes he smiled faintly, but other than that, his expression didn't change. Truthfully, they reminded him startlingly of his own work as a student, so many years ago. The themes were obvious, over the top and without a certain subtlety, but the boy was young. What they were not was crude, or drawn for shock value. It was clear from the level of detail that these were images that Kurloz either felt he had to get out, to exorcise, or they were something he enjoyed. Perhaps both. The technical talent was strong, but the professor knew that wasn't really what the Slytherin was asking about. This was the child's own test, for him.
He flipped back to the picture of the skeletons dancing. It was his favorite, by far, and he slid it back over the desk to Kurloz. "You're talented. But this one is the most pure. You're getting lost in the details with some of these other ones, trying to include too much at once. This tells the most cohesive story, and there's a joy here that's quite impressive. It's not something many people would understand, the imagery is too macabre, but I quite like it. Death as a celebration, a dance, certain expectations perverted and tossed aside. Yes, I like it very much. It captures a certain truth about the world, about the things under the skin."
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After a moment Kurloz wrote:
think you might be right and proper willing to teach a brother more about this truthful stuff?
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"To smell the blood that runs in the veins of the world, the see the bones that dance beneath the skin - these experiences do not come easily or naturally. You've seen before," he tapped at his own lips to indicate Kurloz's bitten-off tongue, "The kind of price that must be paid for that vision. You're on the path, but to go further requires that you allow yourself to think in ways that will be uncomfortable, even terrifying at times. What I will show you can't be unseen, what I would teach is knowledge that can't be revoked. Do you truly want this understanding? Or are you only prepared to dabble in darkness, and not take the next step?"
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He didn't say no right away though.
He took a moment to think, to consider the weight of what he was asking for, and so far there was only one thing stopping him from taking that step. The lingering echo of a scream still ringing in his ears.
will i have to hurt anyone?
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"I'm not offering to train you as some sort of proto-Death Eater. This isn't about their brand of petty thuggery, or the selfish pursuit of power. What do you think, boy?"
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okay.
Simple, short, but it seemed appropriate to be blunt given the little dance they'd been having around each other. If Rhys was genuinely interested in teaching him and he wouldn't have to deliberately cause pain in others to advance in his 'lessons' he wanted to learn, Merlin help him but he wanted this, and it shone in his eyes.
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"Good lad. Now tell me, what is it you expect me to teach you?"
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At the question though, the smile slipped from his face as he ducked his head, embarrassed that he actually had no idea how to answer. Strangely, he didn't want to disappoint the professor with a stupid response like 'dunno' but he literally couldn't think of anything.
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He snarled and flicked his hand, the quill landing on its side, shoulders shaking as he focused on breathing. Staring down at the face of his nightmares, he shakily reached for the quill and wrote:
i need to control this.
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He looked up at Kurloz again, and his face assumed its more normal mien, the 'professor' expression. "You understand, I can't teach you to get rid of it. But you don't really want it gone, do you? Simply not ... running rampant. There are times when a lack of control - a little chaos - is a useful thing. But at the time of your choosing, hm?"
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sometimes but not always. nightmares i always remember.
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i hear my voice gabbing on and my mouth doesn't stop moving, just keeps talking like there's no tomorrow. only it's not talking good stuff, just lots of scary as
mothestuff that i don't want spewing out of there, so i try to make it stop. thing is it just keeps on going, even if i cover my mouth with a hand, it just keeps on moving, so then i sew thatfucthing right up.but it doesn't stop, just tears right through the thread and jabbers on and it starts on the damn curses and jinxes and i hear people screaming and
The quill stopped and Kurloz took a deep breath, shaking his head.
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i hear the screaming all over the place and then there's blood on my hands and somehow this here brother has his knowing on that this isn't his. i
i bite out my tongue to make it stop and even after it's in my hand the voice doesn't shut up. it just keeps right on going, killing and hurting more people than i can put in figures. my tongue just keeps right on growing back and no matter how many times i rip it out it won't stop.
then i usually wake up and need to take a calming draught or some
shithing.Explanation done, he dropped his hand and quill to the side of the paper, staring at Rhys' face.
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He tilted his head to one side, and decided he would relate something of his own, to show Kurloz that he did understand. It was a risk, but it felt like the right thing to do now, the correct way to help bind this fascinating boy closer to him. "When I was a young man, perhaps a few years older than you, but not much, I had a recurring dream about my sister, whom I loved, and still do, very much. I dreamed that I took her down to the river that we used to play at as children, and I led her into the water, and then I drowned her - held her under the water as she struggled and cried and begged me to let her go. I could hear her, though she was under the water, in the way of dreams, and each time she pleaded, she took in more into her lungs, until she died, and then I carried her back to the big cauldron my mother used to mix the potions for the goats in the back barn, and I boiled the skin from her bones. Then I took the bones and put them in my trunk, and locked the trunk and swallowed the key."
"That dream terrified me. I would never want to hurt my sister, and yet I murdered her, quite serenely, night after night. But I could not simply dismiss it as a nightmare, something that would never happen. This dream was more powerful than the ordinary ones of being chased or falling, because there was a part of it that appealed to me, as well. My subconscious was telling me I had the desire to keep the people I loved close, as close as was humanly possible, and that went beyond the boundaries of life. Do you understand?"
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He had to ask though:
did you ever have a dream like that about any other person what was all close and stuff to you?
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are they always nightmares? when you're up and getting the dreams flowing about the folks you care about i mean.
if you don't mind me asking, sir.
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shistuff again.Tapping the quill against the paper, he thought a moment longer before continuing:
its the stuff what keeps me thinking on it during the day and feeling more freaked out than usual. not all dreams with that bad stuff happening scares me, and some of the stuff that scares me doesn't seem all that bad when you stop and think about it.
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instincts. my brain just ups and sounds the alarms that what's going on isn't good and i don't know how it picks and chooses that stuff at all.
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Rhys took out his wand then. "I will teach you the charm for automatic writing today, which should make it easier for dream recording in the middle of the night. Do you have any questions about this assignment?"
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how many inches are you up and expecting from me, sir?
Shaking his head, he dropped the attitude and got out his wand, watching Rhys curiously and expectantly.
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The big man demonstrated the motion, first, a sort of swooping curl, much like an embellished cursive loop, in writing. Then, "The incantation is Perscribo mentis. Make sure you have a quill and ink handy, or the charm either won't work, or will use whatever is nearby, including a classmate's supplies."
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He finally cast the spell and beamed when his quill dipped itself in the ink before standing poised on the paper. It began to write as he thought out:
now that is motherfucking awesome
uh
guess a brother needs to be more careful about what he thinks when up and casting that spell huh? :o(
He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed at the slip-up.
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He examined the clown face with interest, though he hid it. There was another boy who used the same little faces, wasn't there? Ah, yes, the other Makara. Hm, the two boys did look a little alike, too, though they acted very differently. Perhaps they were related somehow? That seemed the most likely, considering.
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yes sir.
should a brother get his move on and leave you in some right and proper quiet peace now?
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thank you so fucking much! this here brother will take good motherfucking care of it!
It shouldn't have made him that happy but... there was something nice about knowing he could contact this strange professor to whom he had an equally strange connection to when necessary.
He took the page and slipped it between two books in his bag to keep it from getting crumpled, then tossed his book in followed by the ink bottle and quill.
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This had the potential to be a great deal of fun.
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No one could blame him for that little bounce in his step, really.