the inscrutable drystan b. fawcett (brythonichero) wrote in valesco,
@ 2012-02-28 21:31:00

Entry tags:

adrian mattias, anton chang, arista sykes, billie trimble, carys llewellyn, delilah spinnet, derek dobbs, drake parkin, drystan fawcett, galvin gudgeon, geoffrey brand, glenda prewett, griffith kirkham, group, hamilton nott, holly troy, iwan quigley, joey jenkins, magnolia mattias, marissa macfusty, michal conway lynch, miles lufkin, mirabelle jasper, odette boot, rose knightley, rupert brookstanton, savannah davies, seth wadcock, veronica zeller, victoria cadwallader, zoey moran

End of Season party! For the 3rd

Drystan did not usually consider himself a sore loser. He had experienced enough defeats in his career to understand that winning was sometimes as much luck as it was skill—the latter of which he had plenty, the former he was starting to doubt he had any. He would even go so far as to say this was one of the top seasons he'd ever played. Losing the Cup might not be such a hardship, in that light. But to lose to the team he considered the most unsportsmanlike in the League was just an insult to injury. To have lost to them for the third time in the season was, in his perfectly reasonable and justified opinion, grounds for murder.

But a lifetime sentence in Azkaban would leave behind a wife and three children who would likely be just fine without him, but he'd miss them. So mass murder was off the table for tonight, at the very least.

Press snapped pictures outside the admittedly-abandoned looking building of 23 High Street, and Drystan knew there were more inside. Entering the rundown lobby, by-passing the elevator with the out-of-order sign, they made their way up the long flight of stairs to the grand doors of the first floor landing and into the—holy Mer—

Of course, the invitation specified formal wear, but Drystan hadn't honestly been expecting a high-brow formal occasion from the Kestrels. It was a ballroom. There was emerald green positively everywhere. There was something that looked suspiciously like a string ensemble. A bar, where he fancied he would spend as much time as possible, was in the corner. Platters with hors d'oeuvres and glass flutes zoomed by. Having stopped moving, wearing a stupefied expression, Bess had to tug his arm to get him to continue his stride.

"Hell," he muttered, pulling a grim face at the ostentatious yet somehow tasteful décor. Lifting their linked hands, he kissed the back of hers while surveying the spectacle before him.

"Five minutes? Five minutes isn't too soon."

ooc: Quidditch players/personnel + their guests! BLACK TIE! Party is on the first floor in this cool but creepy rundown building. Have fun! :D

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incharge
2012-03-07 04:43 am UTC (link)

With one hand on the wall for balance, Axe listened to her failed attempts while he tried to calm his heartbeat. He already knew the rough size and layout of the lift, and hoped intellectually that he knew the walls would not close in on him anymore than they already had. But being jolted into the smothering space with the flare of light sent him careening into a visceral memory of every horrific closet, cupboard, room, wardrobe he'd ever been in, robbing him of any higher processes beyond reflex. When he knew he would be steady enough, Axe breathed deeply and opened his eyes. Though his heartbeat cantered like the hoofbeats of a mad horse, he was able to look around.

Whether stemming from natural ability, biological defense, or sheer will, his night vision left little to be desired. Through the haze of panic and fear, Axe had already discerned that Apparating would result in some nasty splinching, if it worked at all. Leaning his head against the wall, he studied the fain suggestion of an illuminated square on the ceiling, and the thin light of line running down the center of the front wall, presumably the divide of the two doors.

If they pried them open, there would only be wall, wouldn't three? Not helpful. Axe felt his heart squeeze at the thought of being trapped in a box trapped in a longer box of the lift shaft, and hastened his train of thought. But as his gaze drifted back to the ceiling, he wondered if that was an exit. An emergency one—Muggle lifts had them, didn't they? If they could just push the hatch or door or screen or whatever it was out, they could scramble out, and there would be air and a way out, and—his breathing quickened from the fierce and glorious hope of a chance at escape, and also of the sudden realization that they might suffocate in here.

"You—" he pointed at the suspected Catapult again, heedless of whether or not she could see it, "must get—up there." Axe gestured insistently at the ceiling. "The—la trappe—comment dit-on… the hatch."

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flower
2012-03-08 03:22 am UTC (link)

She most certainly was not going climb up the hatch! Who did he think she was? A little-- monkey that just--- did--- orders and tricks! No, thank you very much. Rose did not hide her obvious scowl, feeling brave cloaked within this shroud of darkness Axe had insisted on creating.

What!--- He--- no. No! She began to feel increasingly moody, particularly unwilling to do anything more than wait for help to arrive. She had tried, magic wasn't going to work, he obviously was as useless as a bag of dirt, so? Anyone would notice a jammed lift between the ground and first floor! This was a party for Merlin's sake, it would only be a matter of time before--- a jolt of energy shot through her spine as a realization dawned on her. They weren't between the ground and first floor, they were-- they had gone up much higher than that! There had been too many dings, how had she not noticed that before it was too late!

"We're on the wrong floor!" Rose blurted, her voice displaying a hint of agitation. "All the way at the top--- it's useless." Perhaps a bit of bitterness was present as well. How could someone be so dumb! They were--- up to high, no one would even realize--- Rose let out a groan, pulling her knees close to her chest for a place for her head to rest. They were never going to get out of here.

"Everyone is on the first floor," she muttered with a huff, pressing her forehead harder into her knees.

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