Post by Cassandra Robinson on Dec 1, 2010 0:46:14 GMT -5
ooc: celebrating Cassandra's birthday! Everyone is welcome to join! In fact, please do, the more the merrier; have some cake!
The day dawned, a sulking grey color stretching smoothly and endlessly from horizon to horizon. It was cold today, the kind of cold that seemed to settle into one's skin as thickly as a blanket--a blanket made from particularly malevolent cloud, that is. It was cold enough for toes to curl even under layers of quilts, for noses poking out sheets to feel stiffly chilled, cold enough that students sleeping in certain unfortunate dorms would find it simply unfeasible to find the will to move from bed.
After a brief moment of weakness at the initial iciness pervading the majority of the Eastern Tower, where the Ravenclaw housing was, Cassandra arrived at the feasting hall at precisely the same time as every other day, though she did have to descend the tower stairs a bit more quickly than her typical even pace. Today was not her birthday, after all—that supposedly special day had passed days ago without incident (thank goodness her family hadn't tried something stupid, like sending her some pet mice through the mail, which had been thoroughly enjoyed by the delivery owl), and there was no reason to slack or deviate from the usual schedule simply because of weather. The Ravenclaw sat briskly in a chair of her table, fully intending to have some toast while she picked through the pages of the gunked-up transfigurations book she had recently procured from the library, when a rather large owl plummeted down before her, clattering the dishes and silverware down the length of the table. Cassandra's mouth tightened, and immediately a furrow appeared between her eyebrows.
"Don't tell me..." she muttered, freeing the poor owl from its abnormally heavy and lumpy delivery, gently but unyieldingly pushing it from directly in front of her. She didn't like animals much. Frowning at the multiple scrawls of to Cassandra, happy birthday, from Mom and Dad, toevil big sister, and multiple other scribblings, crossouts, and blotting, the girl in question tentatively poked at the barely wrapped item and was temporarily relieved that the item did not poke back. She tentatively peeled back the wrapping with as few fingers and points of contact as possible, resisting the urge to simply use her wand. Three years ago...the enchanted pet mice's bones in the owl pellets—it had been a particularly smart rogue delivery owl that year—had danced creepily to life at the proximity to her wand, forming fantastically bizarre creatures that bit and snapped.
Luckily her family had more sense this year. Inside the paper was a white cardboard box, mashed on one side and oozing what could be jam, and inside was a lopsided four layered cake that seemed to be cobbled together from as many ingredients as physically possible: fruit slices, frosting, sprinkles, pecans, whipped cream, chocolate curls, candied fruits, and more. Judging from the large chunk hastily and messily dug out a discrete corner of the massive dessert, Cassandra deduced that even the cake mix was likely a dubious combination of vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and poundcake batter.
Well. It was good someone in her family had thought enough of her safety to eat a bite or two out of her supposed birthday present. Perhaps it wasn't poisonous?
She picked up a spoon from the table, delicately dug past the almost plastic outside layer of what was probably frosting, momentarily considered the blend of yellow, brown, and pink cake as well as what could have been honeyed cherry, then gagged down what tasted like a block of sugar.
Downing almost an entire glass of water, Cassandra laid the spoon down, still trying to rid her mouth of the taste. "Free cake," she intoned loudly, aggressively eyeing any passerby and daring them not to come consume part of her present. As she did this, the girl also pulled out a quill, ink, and a small square of decorated parchment, and, after writing a tacit note of thanks to her family ("Your cake was received. I had a piece that contained three different kinds of batter, as well as some kind of candied fruit. Thank you for your efforts."), quickly and awkwardly attached it to the large owl eating the remnants of some other person's breakfast. "Back home, please."
The day dawned, a sulking grey color stretching smoothly and endlessly from horizon to horizon. It was cold today, the kind of cold that seemed to settle into one's skin as thickly as a blanket--a blanket made from particularly malevolent cloud, that is. It was cold enough for toes to curl even under layers of quilts, for noses poking out sheets to feel stiffly chilled, cold enough that students sleeping in certain unfortunate dorms would find it simply unfeasible to find the will to move from bed.
After a brief moment of weakness at the initial iciness pervading the majority of the Eastern Tower, where the Ravenclaw housing was, Cassandra arrived at the feasting hall at precisely the same time as every other day, though she did have to descend the tower stairs a bit more quickly than her typical even pace. Today was not her birthday, after all—that supposedly special day had passed days ago without incident (thank goodness her family hadn't tried something stupid, like sending her some pet mice through the mail, which had been thoroughly enjoyed by the delivery owl), and there was no reason to slack or deviate from the usual schedule simply because of weather. The Ravenclaw sat briskly in a chair of her table, fully intending to have some toast while she picked through the pages of the gunked-up transfigurations book she had recently procured from the library, when a rather large owl plummeted down before her, clattering the dishes and silverware down the length of the table. Cassandra's mouth tightened, and immediately a furrow appeared between her eyebrows.
"Don't tell me..." she muttered, freeing the poor owl from its abnormally heavy and lumpy delivery, gently but unyieldingly pushing it from directly in front of her. She didn't like animals much. Frowning at the multiple scrawls of to Cassandra, happy birthday, from Mom and Dad, to
Luckily her family had more sense this year. Inside the paper was a white cardboard box, mashed on one side and oozing what could be jam, and inside was a lopsided four layered cake that seemed to be cobbled together from as many ingredients as physically possible: fruit slices, frosting, sprinkles, pecans, whipped cream, chocolate curls, candied fruits, and more. Judging from the large chunk hastily and messily dug out a discrete corner of the massive dessert, Cassandra deduced that even the cake mix was likely a dubious combination of vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, and poundcake batter.
Well. It was good someone in her family had thought enough of her safety to eat a bite or two out of her supposed birthday present. Perhaps it wasn't poisonous?
She picked up a spoon from the table, delicately dug past the almost plastic outside layer of what was probably frosting, momentarily considered the blend of yellow, brown, and pink cake as well as what could have been honeyed cherry, then gagged down what tasted like a block of sugar.
Downing almost an entire glass of water, Cassandra laid the spoon down, still trying to rid her mouth of the taste. "Free cake," she intoned loudly, aggressively eyeing any passerby and daring them not to come consume part of her present. As she did this, the girl also pulled out a quill, ink, and a small square of decorated parchment, and, after writing a tacit note of thanks to her family ("Your cake was received. I had a piece that contained three different kinds of batter, as well as some kind of candied fruit. Thank you for your efforts."), quickly and awkwardly attached it to the large owl eating the remnants of some other person's breakfast. "Back home, please."