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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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.