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Defense Against the Dark Arts: Between Classes
by Professer Auron Abelard (hititwithasword)
at January 11th, 2006 (01:37 pm)

Professor Abelard pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose - the damned things never seem to stay on, when he wants them to. He's currently looking over the class lists for the year, and starting to work on a syllabus.

He's new at teaching, fresh to the school, but he does understand at least one thing - there's a need to be available for students. So, on his door, in elegant penmanship, are the words below.

'Professor Auron Abelard is in - please feel free to ask questions.'

Quillian Roth [userpic]
by Quillian Roth (aspirantanimagi)
at January 10th, 2006 (01:28 am)

Quill is, once again, down by the lake with a bottle. Two bottles, technically, but one of them is for the giant squid. Apparently giant squids have a taste for firewhiskey. Who knew? He sprawls at the base of his tree, starting down that lovely road to shitfacedness.

Donnatella Paakkonen [userpic]
by Donnatella Paakkonen (bumblebeereason)
at January 7th, 2006 (12:11 pm)

As predicted, rumours of her indiscretion with Quill Roth are all over the school within the day. Donna is taking refuge from it in the library, already bored of it. They'll make a great game of pretending to be in love with each other, but just answering 'Is it true? Is it true?' all day is tiring her out.

Quillian Roth [userpic]
by Quillian Roth (aspirantanimagi)
at January 5th, 2006 (01:41 pm)

The twinge of pain zipping across his head should have warned him not to open his eyes. It really should have. Poor, foolish Hufflepuff that he is, however, he decides to do it anyway. The light from the oh-so-conveniently-placed lamp pierces his eyes with red-hot needles, and he whimpers pitifully.

Quillian Roth [userpic]
by Quillian Roth (aspirantanimagi)
at January 2nd, 2006 (08:00 pm)
current mood: depressed

Quill slumps back in his chair in the Hufflepuff common room, staring at a high point on the wall. He is not a happy Hufflepuff. The few others in the room are giving him a wide berth, his obvious ill mood serving to give him at least some of his desired solitude. But they're still there, moving around in the background, and he gives up trying to find peace. Grinding his teeth, he pushes himself out of the chair and heads out, grabbing his bag with the bottle of firewhiskey in it on the way. The others stay out of his way, letting him leave without a word, but several worried glances follow him through the portrait hole.

It's a bit nippy outside, but there's still at least a couple hours' light. He heads down towards the lake, preferring the company of the giant squid to that of human-types at the moment. He always did like to wallow, and by Merlin he's going to. He settles himself against a handy tree, the huge gnarly roots hiding him from view by the main path, and proceeds to drink himself stupid.

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