Post by .magnarock. on Jan 25, 2008 17:59:41 GMT
...the one- was it- near the painting of the pear? Did you tickle it? No. Or was that the kitchen. Curse you Cenizo and your infinite fountain of knowledge.
Sei pressed on through the corridors, the intricate twists and turns of the building that seemed as never ending as Cenizo's brain.
'How does he know so much about the castle anyway?'
He was tempted to blame it on a lack of social life but these days even Cenizo had a better social life than him.
'-and why can't I get the bloody brain-freak off my mind? garh!'
He frowned and continued walking.
'Still, better than having someone like Tobi on it- ...sh[zz].'
Cursing under his breath as the dopily grinning red-head swanned into vision, Sei continued walking, narrowly missing a trap laid by some ego-centric first years trying to following in the footsteps of older siblings that had left their legacy open to them. It seemed to be more irresistible to them than a pile of jewels to a thief. Than a freshly blooming flower to a bee. The list continued in his mind. It seemed to be working in all the wrong ways lately; he was falling behind in schoolwork, fazing out during conversation, which he was avoiding like a disease more dread than the plague. He constantly found himself looking at the rest of the world as though he wasn't part of it and he feared that soon even Kyli, wonderful, understanding, always there but always neglected Kyli would soon reach the end of her tether. He was unable to concentrate and barely managing to form cohesive English sentences at the best of times.
Could he blame it on the dementors and his stay in Azkaban unsettling him to the core? Or on being dumped by and witnessing the death of Saire in the space of the same five minutes. Was he just plain not cut out to be a wizzard; or could his rusting communicative skills be put down to the days and hours he had spent alone with himself thinking solely in Irish. That wonderful, soothing language, whose pulse lilted gently or danced madly to the mood of it's speaker.
He sighed; yet again he was fazing out and drifting off into worlds of nothingness.
Out of nowhere, the thought hit him. A face swimming through the front of his mind. Her name? What was it, what was her name? Had she said it? Or had he been doing the shy -but not really because I'm actually thinking deeply- thing.
Her name was irrelevant, it was the setting he needed to recall, and the setting was all he could recall, the images, not the names.
She had just come out of a room looking tired, worn, as though she had been working hard or studying rigorously.
The only thing was.. It had been a Saturday then. There were no classes, and if it had been a club she'd attended, then why had there been no others leaving the room.
It was an unlikely idea, but an idea all the same. And anything would be better than wandering around for much longer.
Changing direction slightly he headed for that room..
Walk past the door... three times? Or was it twice? Or maybe more. But all the time thinking of the room you want to step in to.
"Somewhere to dowse. Dowse. Dowse. My room, the room, the front room. The front room on New Years eve.
He couldn't decide on a specific thought or place, and simply let the thoughts run freely, the room could surely find some kind of compromise.
He completed the second walk past and went to open the door. It was jammed. [what actually happens if you open the door without thinking or walking past?]
'must be three times then' he thought to himself in irish and began the walking again.
One.
Two.
Three.
He went to the door, reached for the handle. Took a small breath and opened it without looking inside, when the door was open enough, he slid through the gap and shut the door.
He turned around.
Sei pressed on through the corridors, the intricate twists and turns of the building that seemed as never ending as Cenizo's brain.
'How does he know so much about the castle anyway?'
He was tempted to blame it on a lack of social life but these days even Cenizo had a better social life than him.
'-and why can't I get the bloody brain-freak off my mind? garh!'
He frowned and continued walking.
'Still, better than having someone like Tobi on it- ...sh[zz].'
Cursing under his breath as the dopily grinning red-head swanned into vision, Sei continued walking, narrowly missing a trap laid by some ego-centric first years trying to following in the footsteps of older siblings that had left their legacy open to them. It seemed to be more irresistible to them than a pile of jewels to a thief. Than a freshly blooming flower to a bee. The list continued in his mind. It seemed to be working in all the wrong ways lately; he was falling behind in schoolwork, fazing out during conversation, which he was avoiding like a disease more dread than the plague. He constantly found himself looking at the rest of the world as though he wasn't part of it and he feared that soon even Kyli, wonderful, understanding, always there but always neglected Kyli would soon reach the end of her tether. He was unable to concentrate and barely managing to form cohesive English sentences at the best of times.
Could he blame it on the dementors and his stay in Azkaban unsettling him to the core? Or on being dumped by and witnessing the death of Saire in the space of the same five minutes. Was he just plain not cut out to be a wizzard; or could his rusting communicative skills be put down to the days and hours he had spent alone with himself thinking solely in Irish. That wonderful, soothing language, whose pulse lilted gently or danced madly to the mood of it's speaker.
He sighed; yet again he was fazing out and drifting off into worlds of nothingness.
Out of nowhere, the thought hit him. A face swimming through the front of his mind. Her name? What was it, what was her name? Had she said it? Or had he been doing the shy -but not really because I'm actually thinking deeply- thing.
Her name was irrelevant, it was the setting he needed to recall, and the setting was all he could recall, the images, not the names.
She had just come out of a room looking tired, worn, as though she had been working hard or studying rigorously.
The only thing was.. It had been a Saturday then. There were no classes, and if it had been a club she'd attended, then why had there been no others leaving the room.
It was an unlikely idea, but an idea all the same. And anything would be better than wandering around for much longer.
Changing direction slightly he headed for that room..
Walk past the door... three times? Or was it twice? Or maybe more. But all the time thinking of the room you want to step in to.
"Somewhere to dowse. Dowse. Dowse. My room, the room, the front room. The front room on New Years eve.
He couldn't decide on a specific thought or place, and simply let the thoughts run freely, the room could surely find some kind of compromise.
He completed the second walk past and went to open the door. It was jammed. [what actually happens if you open the door without thinking or walking past?]
'must be three times then' he thought to himself in irish and began the walking again.
One.
Two.
Three.
He went to the door, reached for the handle. Took a small breath and opened it without looking inside, when the door was open enough, he slid through the gap and shut the door.
He turned around.