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Post by Loce Vaisey on Apr 2, 2023 20:04:02 GMT -8
Loce shrugged. “Look O’Shea, if you think you talking to her is going to upset me, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He turned and looked to Fergus. If anyone was a thorn in his side, it was Fergus. But even that was just a matter of time. “Let’s get yours unloaded Fergus, this tree is where they go.” He walked around the tree, seeing a sickly tree behind it. Hopefully the toothpicks could nurse that one back to health. Probably why this tree was chosen in the first place. He barely paid attention to Oliver going on about the game. He laughed when he mentioned her having time alone in the hospital wing. He just shook his head. Between he and Fergus, he didn’t think there was a second she was alone. But the less the mudblood knew the better. He shook his head, shooting a sidelong glance at Oliver. “ You’d think one might open a book prior to coming to a detention, especially when they are told what they will be doing ahead of time. Any first year knows the toothpicks eat woodlice. Setting a bunch loose in the tree when you let them out gives the appearance of being an abundance of food available. Eating is their favorite pastime. So, salting the tree with woodlice will make it more appealing to them. Add a few fairy eggs, all the better.” He grinned. “Any wizard worth their heritage… Oh. yes, I forgot.”
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Post by Fergus Reinhardt on Apr 2, 2023 20:47:42 GMT -8
Fergus stared into the darkness ahead of him. His mind was far from any nearby dangers. He wasn’t threatened, if anything he was comforted by the forest. It felt a place as dark as his current mind state. Fergus looked back at the sound of Loce’s voice. “Accio woodlice.” He muttered, conjuring three bags full of small, brown wood crustaceans. Fergus nodded and the bags levitated before each of them. “I expect both of you to know what to do. No foolishness.” He said sternly. Fergus wouldn’t have his name dragged through anymore mud. It wouldn’t impress Anneli nor her family.
He nodded his head as Loce suggested that Oliver walk away from the situation. O’Shea was just an annoyance in an already complicated situation. Fergus grimaced, thinking of the brief, intimidating owl he had received back from Halvar. His future father-in-law. Fergus had spent the night awake, worried about Anneli’s safety. Her father seemed particularly perturbed that she was dating another without his permission. He glanced to Loce. He wasn’t as concerned for his safety, if at all.
“I’m in agreement with where she stands,” He paused, “Of course, for now.” Fergus couldn’t reveal more than that in front of Oliver. The last thing he needed was for a Mudblood to go squawking. Anneli needed to be protected. She would be his wife one day, whether or not Fergus felt morally aligned with the idea. Anneli had looked at Loce with such…A heat grew in his palms. Anger. Confusion in his gut. Fergus shook off the emotion.
He rolled his eyes at Oliver’s barking. Fergus was entirely sure there was no true bite to Oliver. He looked like a true poor muggle boy. Nothing that would present a threat, either here or elsewhere. “Though I do agree the strategy was less than respectable,” He said quietly, his eyes dark, “I am the one who harmed Anneli. I take full responsibility for that.” Fergus frowned, a glare coming to his eyes. “Maybe next time you will think more clearly, especially when it involves Anneli. To make her flirt with a mudblood…” His voice grew venomous and deep. Fergus shot a look at Oliver, daring him to do something about it. The Headmistress would be confronted with a series of owls and a visit from the Reinhardts if she took points away for his use of the word. They believed vehemently in the freedom to speak the word. He stepped away from them both, rolling his eyes.
“Let’s get this done.” He asserted, completely tired of their squabbling. Fergus took out his wand, pointing it to the bags of woodlice. The tiny crustaceans moved to cover the elm bark and branches. He then moved the crate to sit just at the base of the tree. “Alohomora.” Fergus commanded, the lock to the crate breaking as bowtruckles barreled out. They were in a hungry frenzy, scooping up woodlice like grapes into their tiny mouths. One of them looked back to the trio and hissed wildly, a threat to leave them be. His crate was empty then. “Simple.” Fergus muttered, turning to face Oliver and Loce.
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Post by Loce Vaisey on Apr 2, 2023 21:04:04 GMT -8
Loce smirked at Fergus’s assessment of the situation with Anneli. Damn prat. Of course one who would have to be dealt with sooner or later. But for now it would be later. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, wasn’t my best applied idea. Still was a good one. If you hadn’t gone off half cocked and hit her with the bludger…” He kicked at a tree root, well away from the Elm they were going to house the toothpicks in. “I didn’t make her do anything. I suggested it, we discussed it. She chose to do it. My mistake was forgetting how dumb his lot can be. Actually thinking someone like Anneli would even glance in his direction with actual intent…” He watched the toothpicks scurry up the tree. Plucking a fairy egg out of his pocket, he tossed it towards the one that hissed at them. He nodded at Fergus and began to trudge further into the forest, following behind the next bobbing lantern.
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Oliver Seán O'Shea
Gryffindor
5th Year - Slytherin Captain/Beater - What's it ter yer?
Posts: 89
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Post by Oliver Seán O'Shea on Apr 2, 2023 21:30:20 GMT -8
Oliver crossed his arms and sized Loce up as he spoke. Again, not worth it. A spoiled Slytherin baby, who had gotten lucky one too many times. His downfall would come. But it wouldn’t be tonight. Oliver thought people like Loce would eventually take down themselves. “Excuse me for not carin' for Care av Magical Creatures,” He shrugged, laughing. “The details of bowtruckle care didn’t particularly amuse me. Foun' it quite borin', actually.” Oliver rolled his eyes, looking to the crate.
He eyed Fergus curiously as he mentioned agreeing with where Anneli stood ‘for now’. What was he playing at? Ridiculous git. Oliver found his usually jovial predisposition was quite sour around the two.
Oliver took out his wand at Fergus’ mention of ‘Mudblood’. His face turned in a steady anger, his features darkening. He strode up to Fergus, looking directly into his eye, but his wand at his side. “Say it again, you arrogant in-bred gobshite Pureblud.” Oliver spat at his feet. He glanced to Loce, “Don’t tink oi forgot. The lot of you don’t deserve the beautiful lassy. Clear jist by the words you speak.” He cast a glare to them both, backing down. Oliver folded his arms, watching as the crate was released.
He rolled his eyes as Loce admitted it wasn’t a good strategy. “Strategy or not, she granted me more than a glance. Her kiss didn’t feel like theater, you sly gammy. My cheek's still blessed with the heat...” Oliver followed the lantern, preparing to release his family of bowtruckles. His palm still sore from their bite. He shot a look to Loce. Who seemed all too confident. It annoyed Oliver.
Oliver stopped under the branches of another old elm. “Alohomora!” He said suddenly, ready for the night to end. Shite. He forgot to spread the woodlice. The bowtruckles ran from their cage, looking from the tree then back to the trio, furious. One ran toward Loce. Oliver briefly thought of letting it spike him. “Immobulus!” He shouted, their toothpick limbs freezing in their furious run toward them.
He quickly spread his bag of woodlice before returning them back to normal speed. The bowtruckles sniffed the air, looking to each other before scurrying into the elm. “Shite. Sorry.” Oliver muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
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Post by Loce Vaisey on Apr 2, 2023 22:48:48 GMT -8
Loce chuckled. Oliver was an annoyance, nothing more. Little fly in soup that would be dumped down the drain in a few. Not soon enough though. Maybe, maybe not. But it wasn’t Oliver’s decision to make. He glanced to Fergus, then back at Oliver. Fergus was enough to have to deal with. The sooner Oliver actually spoke to Anneli, the sooner he’d not have to listen to this prattle every time they were in the same vicinity. Sidestepping the angry toothpick, Loce shot Oliver a look as he “Smooth O’Shea, can’t even keep a thought in your head for five minutes? How’d you ever manage to get past first year anyway?” He moved to the base of the tree, looking to see if he’d damaged any of the toothpicks with his stupidity. “Don’t think anyone really cares for the class, but geez O’Shea, you damage these little toothpicks and we’ll all be back in detention again. Open your ears and get your head out of your ass. I don’t intend on being saddled with detention with you again because you’re too dumb to tie your shoes.” He levitated his crate and took a closer look at the group inside. “These don’t belong to an Elm, it will be a bit further, looks more like Ash bark to me.” He nodded as the last lantern lead them deeper into the forest. It was only about another five-minute walk, but with the company it seemed a lot longer. He stopped with the lantern, inspecting the tree and the area. Nodding he pulled the pouch of fairy eggs from his pocket. Tipping the eggs onto several leaves at the base of the tree. He added the woodlice to the mix. “Alohomora” He said, opening the crate and freeing the toothpicks. “Eat Up.” He watched as the bowtruckles made their way into the branches and out of sight. “Good, now that we’ve got that done… lets get out of here.” He figured they’d gotten everything resolved as much as they were going to. And at least the toothpicks were all tucked away. He turned, grabbing the empty crate and retracing his steps back towards where the Headmistress had left them. He wondered momentarily if they could lose O’Shea in here. Probably. But then they’d have to come look for him and would most likely end up in detention again. Not worth it. “Keep up O’Shea, don’t want you to get lost.” He said over his shoulder before picking up the pace.
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Oliver Seán O'Shea
Gryffindor
5th Year - Slytherin Captain/Beater - What's it ter yer?
Posts: 89
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Post by Oliver Seán O'Shea on Apr 3, 2023 17:16:28 GMT -8
Oliver scoffed audibly at Loce, a boot kicking up the dirt. He wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed with a boy or himself for allowing him under his skin. Oliver had grown tensions with many other disillusioned posh boys back home in Ireland. It had taken him more than a few matches to learn how to control his anger. The old, sweaty boxing ring in Wexford had sorted out some of those impulses. A few hard knocks to the chest had previously reset his former testosterone-driven tendency to grant low-blows. He didn’t need a kid like Loce to test his control. He glanced at Fergus. His lack of control being one of the many factors for their presence tonight. Even if he was keeping it together for this hour. “Wonder if you could tie your shoes without casting a spell in the direction of yer boots, ya posh gossoon.” His laughter was gritty.
He walked behind the two Slytherins, happy to be cast into the shadows of the forest rather than walk shoulder to shoulder with them. Oliver watched as Loce’s bowtruckles were released, thinking of a future plan that might raise above his blatant arrogance. It would come to him. For now, he would need to maintain a steady head. “Get lost from the likes av you two?” He laughed, “Roi, a real punishment.” His sarcastic as thick as the woods beyond them. Oliver decided then that being doubted by the likes of Loce Vasiey was probably a good thing. They walked, keeping their distance from each other until they met the Headmistress.
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