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Victoria Newbury

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 The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)

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PostSubject: The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)   Mon Mar 06, 2017 5:10 pm

Martin was a writer, and he'd been doing it for so long that it had become second nature to him. When something was interesting he wrote about it, when he was feeling awkward he wrote about it too. Today he was working on the world he could only see in his head, a fictional story about a cursebreaker who got into crazy situations while working. He tried to make it humorous and lighthearted to balance out the danger scenes, even a few strange dates thrown in. His character's name was Tobias Jones, and he called him Toby for short. It was kind of odd writing in some ways, how a character starts off kind of like you, but then develops their own attitude and personality the more you write them. That was what he was thinking about as he was writing in a notebook when he heard somebody come in.

Putting a marker in place and setting his quill, and ink aside, he set his notebook carefully down and poured sand on it before blowing it off and collecting it to dry the ink. Only once that was done did he turn to see who the newcomer was. "Hello, sorry was in the middle of something. I'm Martin." he said with a smile.
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PostSubject: Re: The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)   Tue Mar 07, 2017 6:14 am

"Yea, same place same time," he called over his shoulder as he left the common room, backpack strangely light. He walked around a bit to ensure nobody was trying to follow him (he'd caught someone before; they wanted to find out where he got his stash from) before heading to a secret passage he discovered a while ago. As always, waiting there was a case of butterbeer, and after one more glance around, he slipped them all into his bag, casting a quick disillusion charm in case anyone decided to check his bag.

It wasn't the best version of the spell, but it was good enough. After all, not many people knew he was the distributor of illegal butterbeer; a few knew he drank it, but only his close friends got any from him.

Casually, he made his way up to the fourth floor. In about fifteen minutes, his friends would come up with some snacks and they would have a mini-party. There was no special occasion, just the desire for some fun, but that was reason enough for Corbin.

Heading to their usual room, he opened the door to find someone already there, and he let out a tiny sigh of annoyance. Now he'd have to either figure out a way to get rid of they boy or use their alternate location. He was just about to go and check said location when the boy turned around and spoke a greeting. Raising an eyebrow and shifting the strap from one shoulder to the other, Corbin leant against the doorframe. "I'm Corbin," he said simply, wondering where this was going.
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PostSubject: Re: The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)   Fri Mar 10, 2017 6:56 am

Analyzing the situation, the Ravenclaw immediately noted the shifting like his being here had ruined his plans. "Were you going to meet up with some people here or something?" he asked, hazarding a guess at why he would be in an oft unused classroom. There were lots of those, because Hogwarts used to either have more students or just more classes taught in the past.

To be honest, social situations like parties held little appeal for Martin. Sure, he went sometimes, but they weren't really his thing. Usually the only ones he went to were the Quidditch team celebrations if they won, because he knew them really well and they were the closest thing to friends he had at Hogwarts. Part of him nearly packed up and left, but he was comfortable and had been in the middle of a chapter that he would prefer to finish while the ideas were flowing strong so decided not to get up quite yet.
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PostSubject: Re: The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)   Fri Mar 10, 2017 7:41 am

Carefully, and surreptitiously, Corbin watched the boy, looking for any body language that would give anything away. Eyes flickering to the table, he took in the notebook and bottle of ink on the table nearby, wondering what the male had been up to. Essays? No, those were done on parchment, not notebooks. That meant... Merlin's pants, he thought, just managing to resist a roll of his eyes. He writes for fun? Who does that?

Outwardly, he said nothing, gave nothing away, his expression as neutral as always. Instead, he swept his gaze around the rest of the room and then back to the boy in front of him, whom he was certain was younger, and barely caught the words that were said.

He kept his eyebrow raised, regarding the boy with disinterest. "I might have been, I might not have been," he replied, shrugging. "It's not really any of your concern." This was said calmly, without any sense of hostility; Corbin was, as always, simply stating facts. If the male before him took it the wrong way that wasn't his fault.
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PostSubject: Re: The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)   Tue Mar 21, 2017 4:26 pm

Martin waited while Corbin took in the room, and decided to put his things away after a few moments. It wasn't that he was ashamed of them, but he didn't like people reading what he wrote. If he offered or chose to share what was in it that was one thing, but if somebody were to ever steal it and read without his consent he knew it was the one thing that would make him want to hurt someone. His stories, journals, an occasional poem...all of it was private and personal. One day he wanted to publish books, but he doubted they would be any of the stories he was working on now. He enjoyed the writing but he was well aware that his stories weren't up to snuff when it comes to being published.

When Corbin responded with the non-answer he just shrugged. "Doesn't really matter to me. I was just wondering if you would prefer I leave so you could have the space to yourself. The nice thing about legs is that they can take you away from a place if you aren't wanted, don't you know?" Martin asked him, not trying to be melodramatic but rather trying to lighten the mood with his odd sense of humor people rarely got.
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PostSubject: Re: The Stories We Tell (open but only one please)   Wed Mar 22, 2017 7:33 am

Internally, Corbin raised an eyebrow at the answer he got. If it didn't matter, why ask? That was something that Corbin never understood; to him, insincerity was the worst kind of insult. Say what you mean and mean what you say; that was always what he learnt growing up, and while he was sure his mother meant it differently, it was a principle he lived by -- he said nothing he didn't mean.

So, when someone asked questions, he gave an honest answer; and, when he asked a question, he genuinely wanted to know the answer -- except when he was toying with someone, but that was different because they both knew that what was being said wasn't sincere.

But he wasn't looking for a fight, just a good time with his friends -- a party before the main party next week, because he simply couldn't wait for his fix of alcohol -- and he merely shrugged. There was a hint of the male before him having made a joke, but frankly, Corbin found ants more amusing. He did want the space, but not in that way; the male might come back at any time to spy or see what Corbin was up to, and that was never good.

So, instead, knowing he still had time for some fun, faked a look of offense and said, "What about those without legs?"
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