Post by Timothy Dale on Dec 1, 2010 6:32:10 GMT -5
(( Note: This is entirely canon. For the sake of all that is holy and awesome, do not post as a Hugglepuff character; the poor House has been plagued with losing the House Cup (sometimes in the negatives) far too long, and this thread will likely end in spilled blood on the players' part - and spilled topazes in the hourglasses. ))
T. Dale, renowned brawler and a legend in some circles, was known for being able to make a scene - the best scene possible. An orange belt in at least three martial arts, his fighting skills were globally acknowledged as being among the deadliest and most elusive. He was a crouching tiger; a snake in the brush. And, when needed, he had a lethal temper to match.
On this chilly December morning, that temper decided to make itself known. The young third-year had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and was doing little to hide the fact; already, three poor Ravenclaw Firsties had had a taste of his wrath - a taste of the breakfast they were sharing in the Feasting Hall, which now covered the floor. As they scrambled for cover, ducking behind benches and tables, the maddened Hufflepuff stormed off, muttering about uptight bookworms and their moronic ways.
Timothy halted outside the arch, surveying the scene before him: grass gave way to the chilly winter breeze, and a tree or two in the distance swayed in unison. Too serene. He did not like serene; he was not a world-renowned brawler for drooling over serenity. It was annoying.
He was annoyed.
He began pacing across the top steps of the school's entrance, grumbling about trees and how stupid they were, and how their trunks were barely thicker than Ravenclaws' skulls. If only there were someone for him to lash out at; the plush turkey he slept with did not survive his onslaught. It was fortunate that a simple mending charm would be enough to patch Mr. Gobbles up, but that would happen later. For now, he was annoyed.
Really annoyed.
If only some poor dumb fool would walk through those doors...
T. Dale, renowned brawler and a legend in some circles, was known for being able to make a scene - the best scene possible. An orange belt in at least three martial arts, his fighting skills were globally acknowledged as being among the deadliest and most elusive. He was a crouching tiger; a snake in the brush. And, when needed, he had a lethal temper to match.
On this chilly December morning, that temper decided to make itself known. The young third-year had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and was doing little to hide the fact; already, three poor Ravenclaw Firsties had had a taste of his wrath - a taste of the breakfast they were sharing in the Feasting Hall, which now covered the floor. As they scrambled for cover, ducking behind benches and tables, the maddened Hufflepuff stormed off, muttering about uptight bookworms and their moronic ways.
Timothy halted outside the arch, surveying the scene before him: grass gave way to the chilly winter breeze, and a tree or two in the distance swayed in unison. Too serene. He did not like serene; he was not a world-renowned brawler for drooling over serenity. It was annoying.
He was annoyed.
He began pacing across the top steps of the school's entrance, grumbling about trees and how stupid they were, and how their trunks were barely thicker than Ravenclaws' skulls. If only there were someone for him to lash out at; the plush turkey he slept with did not survive his onslaught. It was fortunate that a simple mending charm would be enough to patch Mr. Gobbles up, but that would happen later. For now, he was annoyed.
Really annoyed.
If only some poor dumb fool would walk through those doors...