Post by TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TEAGAN TE on May 1, 2008 18:34:48 GMT -5
Teagan Monolayre yanked her dragon hide gloves tightly over her long fingers, flexing them impassively once inside. Her stone cold hard inhuman eyes looked over her arrangement of ingredients carefully, calculating with utmost intensity. Emotion portrayed itself quite obviously as far as she was concerned, but her make-no-friends-and-cause-no-enemies scheme was apparently so successful that no one realized what her swiveling iris colors represented--it was as if her fake demeanor of seriousness was actually true most of the time.
Ironically, she was in a very serious and agitated mood this round. The inner edges of her irises twittered with red, but violet nearly colored the entire rest of the irises, give or take a few specks of red.
She flexed her pale fingers in her gloves. Her lush lips tightly pressed themselves together, nearing a frown. Her mouth was silent. She had no duties to attend to since battering up that poor slytherin boy, and no one pestered her about anything in the mean time. Since she fit that poor slytherin pervert's memory to suit her goals, she had not actually spoken at all. It was not a very long amount of time, really, and she was fairly quiet most of the time; she even buried herself in her room more and did not escape her entirely too peaceful boredom to break some rules and walk around at night on her own or even fly her quidditch broom illegally through the corridors (while invisible, of course). She was officially seventeen years old, she officially never had a boyfriend (or girlfriend, in that sense), she officially had no friends, and she officially thought her head was going to explode. Everything except the last bit was according to her plans.
Of course, not caring about anyone was all that mattered.
As for anyone caring about her, well... She tried to end that notion as quickly as she could. The cat animagus was only her latest victim, and he was probably the one she dealt her fiercest blow to.
Teagan inhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts away. That was why she was here in the dungeon; brewing potions cleared her mind and, she hoped, her conscience, as tiny and as precious as it found one's memories to be...
She was in a spare room in the cold, dank area of the school. The doors and windows were locked, and she could not spy any stray students hiding in the little potions area. The ravenclaw came here often to mix elixirs--random elixirs, time-wasting elixirs, elixirs that excused her from human contact for a time...
Her straight hair was held back by a hair band; she always put it when she planned on stewing something that needed so much attention, and her potion mates might have actually noticed. Maybe. She blatantly ignored the array of uneven bangs tickling her face.
Teagan flexed her fingers once more and swallowed.
The potion she planned on playing with this morning involved twenty-one ingredients and about three hours worth of time... It was a real pain-in-the-ass kind of potion called the Brew of Life. All it did was heal injuries, though, and it was not as fast as simpler more modern injury-specific potions or as convenient as simple healing charms. In other words, the effort was hardly worth the result. For Teagan, it virtually would have no effect even if she were injured.
The potion was complicated and long, and it even explicitly mentioned having no other people around during its creation. It was just what she needed.
Her sanguine orbs turned to the cauldron.
Nearly three painful hours later, the head girl gazed at her mixture, panting slightly with her lips apart. Her eyes grew tired and weary.
She almost thought this task she put herself to was a little extreme--What was this, her way expressing how pissed she was about needing to fuck up that boy's precious memories?
She shook her head, twitched her ears, and watched the time.
Thirty-one seconds later, she began the final step of this draining and cantankerous prehistoric mixture. Her feet were pretty sore by now, but this would only take a few more minutes, right?
Her hand quickly snapped over to the ripe agrimony fruits--blackberry brambles were more popular since this potion was first invented--and she delicately dropped them near the surface of the thick, sickly green sop that was her unfinished potion. According to the instructions, these were supposed to turn the thick liquid pale pink and thin it.
She watched the four ripe fruits quickly be wrapped by tiny blue flames and melt slowly into the mixture. She held her breath.
It was very, very important that most of the air around the concoction was steady--it was also not recommended that any charms, such as the Bubblehead Charm, be used on it due to its temporary instability.
And thus, this was what her moodiness led to...
Ironically, she was in a very serious and agitated mood this round. The inner edges of her irises twittered with red, but violet nearly colored the entire rest of the irises, give or take a few specks of red.
She flexed her pale fingers in her gloves. Her lush lips tightly pressed themselves together, nearing a frown. Her mouth was silent. She had no duties to attend to since battering up that poor slytherin boy, and no one pestered her about anything in the mean time. Since she fit that poor slytherin pervert's memory to suit her goals, she had not actually spoken at all. It was not a very long amount of time, really, and she was fairly quiet most of the time; she even buried herself in her room more and did not escape her entirely too peaceful boredom to break some rules and walk around at night on her own or even fly her quidditch broom illegally through the corridors (while invisible, of course). She was officially seventeen years old, she officially never had a boyfriend (or girlfriend, in that sense), she officially had no friends, and she officially thought her head was going to explode. Everything except the last bit was according to her plans.
Of course, not caring about anyone was all that mattered.
As for anyone caring about her, well... She tried to end that notion as quickly as she could. The cat animagus was only her latest victim, and he was probably the one she dealt her fiercest blow to.
Teagan inhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts away. That was why she was here in the dungeon; brewing potions cleared her mind and, she hoped, her conscience, as tiny and as precious as it found one's memories to be...
She was in a spare room in the cold, dank area of the school. The doors and windows were locked, and she could not spy any stray students hiding in the little potions area. The ravenclaw came here often to mix elixirs--random elixirs, time-wasting elixirs, elixirs that excused her from human contact for a time...
Her straight hair was held back by a hair band; she always put it when she planned on stewing something that needed so much attention, and her potion mates might have actually noticed. Maybe. She blatantly ignored the array of uneven bangs tickling her face.
Teagan flexed her fingers once more and swallowed.
The potion she planned on playing with this morning involved twenty-one ingredients and about three hours worth of time... It was a real pain-in-the-ass kind of potion called the Brew of Life. All it did was heal injuries, though, and it was not as fast as simpler more modern injury-specific potions or as convenient as simple healing charms. In other words, the effort was hardly worth the result. For Teagan, it virtually would have no effect even if she were injured.
The potion was complicated and long, and it even explicitly mentioned having no other people around during its creation. It was just what she needed.
Her sanguine orbs turned to the cauldron.
Nearly three painful hours later, the head girl gazed at her mixture, panting slightly with her lips apart. Her eyes grew tired and weary.
She almost thought this task she put herself to was a little extreme--What was this, her way expressing how pissed she was about needing to fuck up that boy's precious memories?
She shook her head, twitched her ears, and watched the time.
Thirty-one seconds later, she began the final step of this draining and cantankerous prehistoric mixture. Her feet were pretty sore by now, but this would only take a few more minutes, right?
Her hand quickly snapped over to the ripe agrimony fruits--blackberry brambles were more popular since this potion was first invented--and she delicately dropped them near the surface of the thick, sickly green sop that was her unfinished potion. According to the instructions, these were supposed to turn the thick liquid pale pink and thin it.
She watched the four ripe fruits quickly be wrapped by tiny blue flames and melt slowly into the mixture. She held her breath.
It was very, very important that most of the air around the concoction was steady--it was also not recommended that any charms, such as the Bubblehead Charm, be used on it due to its temporary instability.
And thus, this was what her moodiness led to...