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Post by Deleted on Jan 15, 2015 19:13:13 GMT
Deep within the confines of his office, Max mulled over the next year that was quickly approaching. Apprentices would leave the internships and return home for the summer, leaving him with an open agenda. To be fair, writing was what was keeping him on the straight path. He hadn't had a sip of alcohol since the start of the new year and hadn't planned in partaking in any activities that may get him in trouble throughout the summer months. Ocean blue eyes peered over the stack of column entries and novel scripts that sloppily sat on the corner of Max's oak desk. An almost inaudible sigh escaped perfect lips as the young writer let his feet drop to the floor from the edge of the desk. This caused his body to propel itself forward in a violent manner. Hands were quickly put forward, gripping the wood tightly. Max pushed himself up off his chair and made his way around the solid object. Turning to gaze once more at the stack, Max brought a hand up to his face, curling his long fingers into a loose fist. The last thing he wanted to do right now was go through these papers. It was a beautiful day and he didn't feel like spending it's entirety between four stone walls. Max huffed and turned on his heel, making his way to the grand oak doors that separated him from the blue birds' song.
The skies were exceptionally blue that afternoon, wispy cream colored clouds dancing above. Max breathed in the sweet honey air, a smile creeping along his features as he did so. Max's eyes roamed around the grounds, noticing that he was not the only one out there. He noticed a few students cutting their classes, a few of their elders chasing after them for doing so. He remembered the days when he was in school. He would rather not, but watching the youth of today reminded him all too well of how he used to be. Max's lips separated, emitting a small chuckle. He threw his ink covered hands into the pockets of his trousers as he stumbled across the squishy grass. He wasn't too far from the tavern in Hogsmeade Village. That is where his feet decided to take him and he seemed to be quite pleased with that. Thinking about his little excursion more and more, Max's sweet tooth grew larger and larger. It was very rare for him to crave sweets, but today he craved them like a pregnant woman craved pickles.
There was plenty to do in Hogsmeade for a person of his age and stature. Max's first instinct, however, was to find a seat in the local pub. His intentions on this trip were good but quickly turned evil as he pushed himself forward. Moving swiftly across the cobbles, Max's feet directed him to the pub. He opened the door and his nose met an unpleasant aroma. The stench would be easily looked over, but the ten sets of eyes that watched him as he made his way to the bad could not. Max did not recognize any of the wizards that stared at him as though he were some estranged animal they had never seen before. He shook off the uncomfortable feeling as he took a seat at the end of the bar, away from the two that were huddled together in the middle. Soon, the commotion started up again and everyone went back to their business.
When the barkeep asked what he was to have, Max replied with a simple, "Firewhiskey." The keep nodded and flicked his wand, creating a beautiful spectacle of his customer's request. The pint flew across the wooden surface, stopping right in front of Max. The young male threw a few sickles onto the bar and watched as it made it's way into a clear jar behind the keep. He nodded his thanks and took his first sip of alcohol since the summer previous.
A grimace graced Max's features as the warm liquid raced down his throat. The burn was greeted like an old friend. The taste, however could have been a little more pleasant. He shook it off. Just as he was to take a second gulp, the door to the pub swung open once more. This time he found himself looking on as the strange body walked through the door.
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Post by HUGO ARTHUR WEASLEY on Jan 16, 2015 3:24:30 GMT
@maxwell
It didn't take a genius to know that Weasley wasn't a huge fan of his job. It wasn't a career he would have chosen for himself, but if one took into account his OWL scores (not to mention the three NEWTs he took) it was easy to understand why he became a Nurse. Considering it was one of his very few options other than to join in the Wheezes business. Which, frankly, was not an option for Hugo. He wanted to avoid his family name, not join in the ginger revolution.
So, Hugo went to a job he couldn't care for, worked with students that couldn't seem to stay out of trouble, and ran into familiar faces left and right. And that wasn’t even scraping the situation that was his membership within the Order. Hugo scoffed to himself as he started down at the potion ingredients on his desk. Right. Membership. All because of his hair and freckles and because his dad kept getting swept up with his Uncle. Next thing he knew, his mum would be following the trio.
Hugo ran a hand through his near non existent hair as he continued his long stare at the various ingredients. He was supposed to be making something, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what. Obviously it couldn’t have been that important or else he would have done it already. Which left that he had probably been on the way to be making a fresh batch of blood-replenishing potion or maybe a calming draught. Hugo sighed to himself before standing up and reaching to grab his cloak. It couldn’t be helped now so he might as well take the time off. A brief glance around the infirmary to confirm there was no one who needed him before he stepped out to begin his journey to Hogsmead.
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The door clanked softly as Hugo entered the dank and dark pub, the noise breaking only briefly at his arrival. No familiar faces were present in the lingering crowd and only the familiar scent of stale alcohol and dirt greeted him. Yes, this was indeed the perfect place to be just another wizard in the crowd. No one would know him and maybe he’d even get a pinch of conversation. He chuckled at the thought as he made the way to the bar, an eyebrow raised curiously to a nameless wizard that had been watching him enter.
Perhaps not completely anonymous then.
Hugo tapped on the counter gently before he spoke up. ”Blishen’s firewhiskey for me, thanks.” With that he pulled out a few sickles and a handful of knuts and tossed them onto the counter in his payment, saying nothing as his drink slid towards him. The young wizard picked it up before taking a small, burning sip that warmed him as it went down. Only then did he look over to the wizard that had watched him walk in. ”The names Hugo, and yours?”
|| WORD COUNT: 499 || NOTES: Biscuits. || TAGS: Maxwell || || template designed by NEMO of adoxography || |
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Post by Deleted on Jan 16, 2015 17:14:46 GMT
The man watched the child carefully. Well, in all honesty, that's what this wizard looked like. He seemed as though he was barely old enough to drink. With a face so young, without lines of stress and old age, Max thought it was strange to see a wizard like that in here. He thought this place was only for those whose lives had taken over and riddled them with a disease called problems. Max's eyes kept on the fellow as he approached the bar, tapped and ordered himself a whiskey as well. Max averted his blue eyes and looked at his drink a moment. The amber colored liquid seemed to tease him. The wizard gripped the glass with his index finger and thumb, and brought the liquid to his lips. He let it settle in his mouth, before transferring the burning sensation from his mouth to his throat, and down to his gut.
The young wizard did the same, only he spoke after taking his sip. Hugo. Max thought a moment. Red hair, freckles... He was a Weasley. Or so Max thought. The Weasley's were well known in the wizarding community. They were as well known as the Potter family. Max could only smile, turn to the bartender and ask for another one. The keep obliged and brought over the bottle for Max to help himself. Max gratefully took the bottle of whiskey and placed a few coins on the table before pouring himself a glass. He turned to the young wizard once more and thought it would be polite to introduce himself back.
"Ah, a Weasley I am assuming. Well, pleasure to meet you Hugo. The name is Max O'Connell. Writer and complete failure." He laughed a little and lifted his glass as if to cheers the young man. Max's thick Scottish accent hung in the air like the stench they sat in. "My apologies young blood, that was rather rude. My manners tend to fly out the window when I've 'ad a few." He finished his glass off and poured himself another, lifting the bottle, asking if the young man would like a refill.
"Now what brings you to this filthy place?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.
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Post by HUGO ARTHUR WEASLEY on Jan 16, 2015 21:43:11 GMT
@maxwell
The familiar and warming sensation from the pit of Hugo's stomach didn't last long before the horrid taste of the firewhiskey burned his tongue. Right. He had forgotten he hated Blishen's. But considering the choice of either Hog's Head where he might remain anonymous -or as anonymous as anyone with red hair could be- or getting a decent glass of Ogden's at the Three Broomsticks he would take the harsh taste of Blishen's. His fingers plucked absently at the sides of his glass, not really gripping but not yet letting go of the glass.
He hid his grimace as the blue eyes patron spoke his name. Of course he couldn't be unknown. Just another bloke with red hair and freckles. His head cocked to the side and listened to the thick Scottish accent, a small quirked smile pulling at his lips despite his feelings of his name being so easily known. "About right, Hugo Weasley at your service. Max O'Connel? I'm afraid I don't recall the name though." He paused as his own, definitively British voice faded out as if just realizing how that could sound. "A writer you said? Might I have heard of your work?"
His fingers will still plucking at the glass when his fellow patron motioned with the bottle. He nodded briefly and shifted the glass so Max could pour more easily, not wanting to appear rude. Nor would he pass up a drink. "Same as what brings the rest of us I'd reckon. Just a desire to tell the outside world to sod off. How about you, Max? Running from troubles?" || WORD COUNT: 272 || NOTES: Sorry it's short. || TAGS: Maxwell || || template designed by NEMO of adoxography || |
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Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2015 16:22:14 GMT
Max looked down at his glass once more. His fingers hugged the clear object loosely. As Hugo asked him if he had potentially known of his work, a quirky grin crossed his features. His eyes became distant and dark as he looked up to speak to the young boy.
"Well, if you've ever read the Prophet lad, you've 'eard of my work." He nodded promptly before taking a last sip of alcohol. He watched as Hugo nodded at his gesture to fill his glass. Max tilted the bottle on its side and watched carefully as the amber liquid quickly dispensed into his glass. Max then turned the bottle to his own and filled it about half way. He placed the bottle upright onto the table and gabbed his glass. He raised it upward to cheers the boy sitting with him. In another drink or so, Max wouldn't be able to tell the difference between boy and man. They would be equals then. It was the one thing that he enjoyed most about alcohol. Everyone could be friends, or they could be enemies. At this point, Max knew that he could be friends with the likes of a Wesley.
Weasley. Now that was a name he had heard quite often, ran into many, but had never seen their faces turn with such displeasure before. He shook his head as words emptied from Hugo's mouth and into Max's thought pattern. Running. He wished. "I would say, I'm takin' a nice jog away from my troubles. The life of a writer isn't what it's cracked up to be lad. You can 'ave as many women as you could ever want, but that doesn't mean you're 'appy, or in love. You can 'ave all the money in the world, but never be able to fill that void. And that void," he paused to take another sip of his whiskey, "that void is what I'm joggin' away from." He finished, turning to his younger patron and smiled. He raised a brow at the boy and looked back to the bar, avoiding eye contact.
"Now, really. What could someone so young, like yourself, be running away from mate?"
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Post by HUGO ARTHUR WEASLEY on Jan 20, 2015 0:12:24 GMT
@maxwell
Hugo was no stranger to that dark look in the man's eyes beside him. He'd seen it enough in his dad's eyes before he'd been killed off and he'd seen it near everyday in some of the older Order members. So he didn't bring it up, just let the knowledge settle in him with the familiar burn of firewhiskey.
His eyes followed the stream of amber liquid as it flowed into his glass, fingers twitching against the worn wood as he held back the urge to grasp the glass again. "A Prophet writer? Can't say I understand your work, then. I couldn't do it even with the pay- which I'd take is rather awful." Once Max was busy with his own glass, slim fingers plucked his own back with enough force to disturb the liquid inside. He raised it only halfway up in order to return the cheers up didn't drink, only setting it back down to return to plucking at it. The boy didn’t really have a reason to let himself get tossed and he knew if he drank so fast he’d end up that way. He’d never been very good at holding his liquor. Which was a bit of a loss considering how much of his free time on weekends were spent in pubs and bars.
Hugo turned his head from where he’d been staring into the liquid as though it could offer him a way to escape the wizarding world without feeling horribly guilty. He nodded his head slightly as he listened to the rather smart -though incredibly soppy- words the older man was spouting. It wasn’t really anything Hugo hadn’t heard before, though not necessarily to do with the writing field. He knew all about that things and warm bodies wouldn’t make a man happy. He’d known that since he was sixteen and his mum was crying on his shoulder and he’d suddenly become the man of the house. She’d never really enjoyed a book since that day and he knew that she kept a picture of his dad under her pillow and in the locket around her neck.
”Age isn’t always in years, mate.” Hugo shrugged before taking a drink of his firewhiskey. If his drinking mate could be a bit soppy, Hugo thought he might as well aim for a bit of a melodramatic speech of his own. ”’Sides that lovely fact. My names Weasley, isn’t it? That should be enough to explain why I’m running from this wonderful world we like in.” His voice turned bitter at the end and he stopped himself from saying more by taking a mouthful of the burning liquid. As he swallowed the last down he set the glass on the table and nodded towards his companion. ”Mind helpin’ a fellow out and pouring me another spot?” If he got tossed, well, there was always a sobering up potion waiting for him back at home.
|| WORD COUNT: 495 || NOTES: Kinda short.... || TAGS: Maxwell || || template designed by NEMO of adoxography || |
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