|
|
Post by EBENEZER FREDERICK FLYNN on Jun 5, 2012 0:31:55 GMT -5
Frederick honestly had no idea why he was here. It wasn't like he was particularly fond of dances- while in school he'd gone to maybe one, as a fourth year, regretted the entire evening and spent every one since holed up in the dorms with the younger students and few older ones who couldn't be bothered or, as himself, were just awkward. The man supposed he was doing his duty as a member of the staff by chaperoning, but it wasn't like most students listened to him most days anyway; there was virtually no point to his attempts at being an authoritative figure.
Thusly, Fred slipped out of the hall in what he hoped was an unnoticeable fashion. He'd spent a few moments contemplating the crisp night air before meandering into the network of gardens. The brunette decided to go for a walk under the pretense of catching unruly students doing unsightly things out amongst the foliage, but speculated privately that he'd probably avoid them and go about his merry way even if he did happen upon such a thing. He was kinda crap at this whole teacher thing- lessons, sure, fine. He could rant for an hour about translations and how to exactly and precisely flick your quill so that you were etching a rune right. Telling angry teenagers what to do? Not his thing; he was too non-confrontational.
Happening upon a small alcove amidst the winding shrubbery, Frederick took the opportunity to slip inside and flop unceremoniously onto one of the three benches, which were strategically placed in a sort of triangular formation, facing one another. He was careful not to wrinkle his tux- black, plain, completely lint-free and with creases you could slice a finger on- as he adjusted into a comfortable position. The professor stretched his lanky legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles as he leaned backward against the bench, head tilting to look up at the sky before emitting a bored sigh.
He couldn't wait for this night to end. [/blockquote] [/size] |
|
|
|
Post by lottie on Jun 5, 2012 3:02:31 GMT -5
Maybe going solo to the gala wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. After seeing a bunch of her friends with their dates, Lottie found that she lacked a certain body to accompany her while getting booted on down the line because she had nothing more interesting to tell than the last time she'd seen them. What her friends wanted to really know about was whether there was significant other in her life, a man or woman who she could settle down with. The key to that whole conversation at every turn was settle, like she could do that? There was way too much in the world to go around after to want to settle down and share a life with someone who wanted to be boring. Yeah, she'd never found relationships to really be exciting, unless the guy was into extremes, which surprisingly she didn't come across very often.
Still, she scolded herself for her thoughts that she should have taken the hint from her parents and let them set her up for this, it was an adventure, right? Plus, she was working for the Prophet that evening, her camera often in her hands as she shot photographs of the dresses the girls were wearing, capturing moments of “important” people's lives. It was a load of bull in her opinion, but it was paying her bills at the moment and she needed the job, honestly. Plus, her camera could be her alibi, why would she bring a date while she was working? But then there brought the question, why was she working rather than dancing with a date she could've brought. No one was ever satisfied and it was quite disturbing sometimes.
Wandering to the gardens, figuring that she could lose herself in the beauty outdoors, and avoid those with too many questions, Lottie walked around, smiling at people she passed, making sure to take photographs of those she figured the Prophet would be happy to have their film wasted on. Really it was a shame they wanted these smiling faces when there was always so much more going on, kind of like the couple arguing in the distance, the young man who'd just slipped off with two women who both looked old enough to be his mother, or the girl who was crying softly. At least, it sounded like she was crying. But no, none of that was good enough for the Daily Prophet, they wanted happy, glittery pictures. Bull.
Continuing to stroll down the path, she was slightly surprised, but insanely glad, to see a lone figure sitting where there was room enough for at least nine. Surprised, because it seemed like she was the lost one in the crowd without a date, and this man had no one at his side and was probably taking a break from the girlfriend/fiance/wife. And glad because she could possibly stop taking pictures for a few minutes... maybe.
“Photograph for the Daily Prophet?” she asked, holding her camera out and offering him the chance to be noticed. While she didn't recognize him, it didn't mean he wasn't someone important, especially with how smartly he was dressed. words: 539 tags: Fred notes: I think it's a brilliant start |
|
|
|
Post by EBENEZER FREDERICK FLYNN on Jun 5, 2012 21:36:28 GMT -5
Frederick had heard Charlotte clicking down the path from about a mile away, and he stopped breathing for a moment to further gauge her distance. Realizing the woman was nearly upon him, he contemplated pretending to be productive- however, the professor had never been particularly invested in his own lying skills, and didn’t really think whatever he tried to pull would be up to snuff. When you don’t talk to people often, you don’t actually need to be very good at lying to them.
Instead, serious efforts were made on Fred's part to play at being a statue, with the hopes that his hiding place would be passed by if no movements drew attention to him. He held his breath once more as he heard her pause outside the doorway, waiting for the woman to make a move. No luck. Light blue eyes flickered up as the blonde emerged from the hedged doorway, entering his little nook. There was a part of him that had hoped it may be Fallon; their relationship was nothing if not entirely platonic, but she remained as the only woman he really spoke to much since his divorce. The professor appraised the intruder for a moment as she looked to him and held up the camera,
“Photograph for the Daily Prophet?”
Straightening his posture to something slightly less informal, Frederick leaned forward and rested his right elbow on his knee, chin nestling in his palm as his other arm lay across his lap. From this position he was looking up at Charlotte, an uncommon view for him- He was six-foot-two, after all. An apologetic smile swept its way across his face as he responded, “I’d rather not. There are multitudes of far more interesting and ostentatious individuals here this evening than myself, I’m afraid. You’d not be doing your job properly to waste film on me.” His voice was deep, though tinged by an implacable accent- he was slightly embarrassed of this latter fact. It came from years of translation and speaking in foreign tongues, and though the lilt in his voice was still the basic Welsh he’d had since childhood, there were often entire pieces of his speech that switched to the wrong sort of emphasis for speaking English, making him seem foreign himself. Even within his own domain Fred felt out-of-place. [/color][/blockquote] words;;381
tags;;Charlotte, Open?
notes;; I’m still trying to get into the feel of Fred as a character, I swear upon longer posts in the future! [/size][/right] |
|
