|
Post by Conan Breandan on Nov 25, 2010 2:23:46 GMT -5
Conan narrowed his eyes at the three boys, his expression sour. They stood ranged in front of him, as if waiting for something to happen. He worked his fists, not feeling anything but contempt for the students of magic. Weak, they were. Like children.
“Well, you’re a little late to the party boys.” He said in his lilting Irish accent, setting himself.
--
Bloodied and scraped, Conan strode along the streets of Hogsmeade. His expression was dark, but his clear unhappiness wasn’t for the bruises and scrapes. No, he’d whupped those snotty Slytherins into a pulp, despite being outnumbered and shorter. It was the magic. He scowled, on the lookout for a person to help, despite his distaste for magic, it was magic he needed now.
The gypsy put a hand to his throat, scowling as he tried to speak. Dirty little rotters, using magic. It would be best if he found Maebh or one of her caravan, but he didn’t seem to be having much luck. His scowl turned into a sudden wolfish grin.
Broken wands wouldn’t benefit those bleedin’ gits much.
[Set in late November]
|
|
|
Post by Conan Breandan on Dec 3, 2010 0:19:48 GMT -5
"Hey, man; lookin' rough. You okay?"
Conan looked ‘round sharply at the voice, his face souring when he saw it was--inevitably--a wizard. One couldn’t walk about in Hogsmeade and honestly expect to avoid the magic-users, after all. But after his fistfight with the three Slytherins… they’d proclaimed that like it was something to be proud of. It didn’t make any difference to him, didn’t mean a god-blessed thing. They still cheated, using spells and hexes instead of using honest fists like he had always done.
“Of course I’m ok, you idiot.” he snapped, or tried to. In an instant he was reminded--again, of why he needed a magic-user. He glared up at the much taller man, his feet set and his body language hostile. Of course, he couldn’t expect this person to help, once they knew you didn’t have magic you became second class. He turned irritably away, he would just have to find Maebh.
Unless. He reached into the inner pocket of his cloak and felt the smooth thin wand that resided there. It wasn’t a real wand, it was a plain willow stick that he used as a prop in his performances. Perhaps he could convince the bugger to help him without revealing his status.
He turned around, retracing the few steps necessary. “Hey.” he reached up and tapped the person on the shoulder, wary of the cat. She lay over the man’s shoulders like a scarf.
[[Just to be absolutely clear, Conan was hit by an incoherency hex and can't talk]]
|
|
|
Post by Conan Breandan on Dec 3, 2010 2:46:16 GMT -5
‘‘Yeah?’’
Conan’s face twisted with a smirk, he idly twirled the wand between the fingers of his right hand as he reflected on how best to go about this. He had studied magic very extensively in an attempt to make his muggle imitations as foolproof as possible. It really wasn’t hard to fool the masses, or to bring them in, hanging on every smooth word. But he didn’t have his voice, and he had to get one very large, childish wizard to understand what he needed.
‘‘... Yes?’’
He thought of ways to get through to the boy in front of him, his brow creasing in a frown, though his mouth moved little. And then it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Why do anything the difficult way? He conjured a scrap of paper, pulling a pen from one of the many inner pockets of the cloak.
‘Help. Voice Hexed.’
|
|