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Post by Weston Alexander Devereux on Nov 4, 2012 12:26:42 GMT 10
 West leaned back against one of the poles out on the quidditch pitch, a bottle of firewhiskey open beside him. It was really late at night, with there being only a couple more hours before sunrise. He had always liked nighttime best. There was just a stillness at night that the daytime didn’t have, and he loved that. He also enjoyed the animals that came out at night. He liked the chirping sounds of the crickets, and the splashing of the frogs as they hopped from one end of the pond the next. He loved hearing the owls talk to one another, and watching the animals he didn’t get to see during the day interact with each other. West leaned back on the pole and looking out into the darkness, took a swig of his drink, and let his mind wonder.
When he was younger after his father, and siblings, went to bed, he would sneak out of his house, and go sit by the pond at the edge of his house. He came back time and time just to be alone. It had been a rarity in his house. He did after all live in a house with seven 7 other people, running in an out, not to mention all of his father’s business associates coming in and out. He pulled a cigarette out of his back pocket, and began to smoke it. He didn’t smoke often, only when he was super stressed, or when he was cold, and yeah he was pretty fucking cold. He could go home, but he didn’t want to. Not yet at least. So he sat there, on someone else’s car, and stared out into the darkness. Something was going to happen, he wasn’t sure what just yet, but he couldn’t go yet.
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Post by Charlotte Wright on Nov 4, 2012 14:30:18 GMT 10
She couldn't sleep. At all. Ever. She was too stressed out about practices and getting a good team together and she just couldn't sleep or eat or... anything. She felt like she was going to throw up, all the time. So she headed down to the pitch, intending to fly. To clear her head and feel better. Chuck wasn't one necessarily to worry about anything, but this had to be her year. They hadn't won a cup in so long and she knew she could do it. This would be Gryffindor's year.
When she got to the pitch she found someone else was already there, and based on the smoke rising she knew who it probably was. Not many quidditch players poisoned their bodies by smoking. Bundling her jacket closer, she walked towards him. "Couldn't sleep either?"
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Post by Weston Alexander Devereux on Nov 6, 2012 10:37:28 GMT 10
Weston shifted a little on the quidditch pole, trying to find a comfortable spot. He had been up since five that morning, like he was every morning for his run around the town. He closed his eyes for a bit, not falling asleep, but simply relaxing. He looked over at the bottle of firewhiskey by his side and remembered the first time he had had some.
He was in the process of pushing off the pole to head back towards the school when he heard something not too far from where he was. Normally a noise wouldn’t have been that strange considering he was at the quidditch pitch, and deer or a bird could have made the noise, but there was something different about this one. It was human, and not in the “it seemed human,” kind of certain, he was fairly certain that this was a human. He had thought he was alone. He had expected to be alone; it was after all well after midnight. His natural instinct was to go the opposite direction, but he was curious as to what, or who had made the noise, but he had also seen plenty of horror films to know that you don’t go investigating things alone. The noise sounded like footsteps, but one could never be too sure.
As the sound made its way towards him, West instantly recognized her. “Morning Starshine,” He slurred leaning back against the pole again, the firewhiskey finally kicking in on his system. “You could say that.” He let his eyes wander over his brunette friend for a few seconds, before picking up his bottle and taking a sip, having temporarily forgotten it. Sliding down to the ground, he patted the ground beside, “Sit, it’s been a while since we’ve chilled together.” It hadn’t really been that long since they had seen each other, only about a week. But… well… he was a tad bit over dramatic.
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Post by Charlotte Wright on Nov 6, 2012 10:51:33 GMT 10
When the drunken beater blatantly checked her out, Chuck laughed, sliding down the pole to sit beside him, reaching for his bottle. She didn't like firewhiskey; she made bad choices when she was drunk. But he wouldn't lead her too far astray. "It hasn't been that long, did you miss me that much? Days feel like years?" She joked, wrapping her lips around the bottle and drinking some before handing it back, making a face. "I don't know how or why you drink that stuff."
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Post by Weston Alexander Devereux on Nov 7, 2012 4:12:15 GMT 10
West chuckled with her even though he wasn’t exactly sure what they were laughing over. Honestly he didn’t really care either; he was drunk to the point that just about everything was funny. “It’s been foorrreeevvveeerrr,"
[/color] he slurred, “I was beginning to think you died.”[/color] He watched as she took a sip of his drink, and couldn’t help but laugh at the face she made. “I’ve had years and years of practice,” he said remembering the first time he had had some. A few years ago, he had been 14 maybe, and he and this girl, what her name was he couldn’t remember, not that it mattered anymore, had stolen a bottle from his father and snuck down to the pond down by his house. God how it had burned… the drink… when it went down, however it had certainly made the night interesting, “besides I said join me, not have some.”[/color] [/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/blockquote][/center] |
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Post by Charlotte Wright on Nov 7, 2012 21:21:53 GMT 10
Her eyebrows raised, and she watched him for a second. "Join usually implies sharing" She pointed out. "And since you were so worried, I'd think that you would greet me with a more enthusiastic attitude," She pointed out, nudging him. "Be happier to see me, alright?"
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