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Felixir · 02-08-2016, 06:02 PM

SPOILER!!: mean old flamsteed

Twenty-four hours. Like this. Like this?

Airey Flamsteed had not outright said that, but it seemed to be what he was getting at. There was a good chance Daxton misunderstood, though, as he tended to misunderstand people when they were not completely straightforward. Nevertheless, hearing 'twenty-four hours' gave him a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, like there was a tight fist of panic squeezing at his insides. He attempted to take a deep, steadying breath, which ultimately failed as he felt compelled to take another gulp of air straight after, and then another, and another.

The anger came next, following panic as it always did, anger directed at himself for showing any kind of weakness. Daxton clenched his fists, or rather tried to; when his left hand failed to do what it was supposed to, the anxiety increased ten-fold.

Well, he certainly did not want to spend the next twenty-four hours like this. In fact, there were plenty of arguments as to why he could not, either. Communication, for a start. Maybe Daxton did not value communication very highly, but not having the option was far, far worse. Ironically enough, there was no way of communicating that at all, even if he wanted to.

So, instead of leaving, he simply stepped back into the office, crossed to the sofa, and sat down, not looking at Airey Flamsteed. He would sit here, in protest, until the spell was lifted, either by the professor or when the time ran out. He would sit right here, trying not to freak out, trying not to let the panic show, trying to make it look more like an act of belligerence than of fear. He would sit here, not looking at his hand, not looking at Airey Flamsteed, not looking at anything, and do nothing else. Much safer than leaving the office with his defences partly down and no means of communicating with anyone.

It occurred to Daxton, a nagging thought at the back of his mind, that he would absolutely need to teach himself how to write with his right hand, too. Not now, though. Now he just sat, breathing hard in a mixture of anger and panic, trying his utmost not to let the latter show, clenching his right hand into a tight fist. The still-concealed book pressed against his back, pinned between the sofa and his body, and he mentally cursed it with all the rage he could muster.

Perhaps, if Airey Flamsteed attempted to engage him in discussion, or offer a rebuke, the lack of rebuttal might show him just what a stupid idea this was. Just how stupid he was. Stupid professor with his stupid office and this stupid stupid stupid enchantment.

02-08-2016, 06:02 PM	#29 (permalink)
Felixir Forum Manager Book Club Mod Alley Proprietor Banshee Join Date: Dec 2008 Location: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Posts: 50,157 Hogwarts RPG Name: Charlie Upstead Gryffindor Fifth Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Aurelio Kaiser Slytherin Third Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Alexei Petrov Slytherin First Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Yves Flamel Slytherin Sixth Year Hogwarts RPG Name: Achilles Zacharias Ravenclaw Third Year Diagon Alley Proprietor: Ezekiel Ransom-Kruus Ollivanders x12 x12	Lovely™ \| Captain Hurted \| Ariana's Bane \| Resident Antagonist \| Unparalleled Delight SPOILER!!: mean old flamsteed Quote: Originally Posted by sweetpinkpixie A satisfied smirk graced the professor's features, one that was gone as soon as the Ravenclaw turned around, when he saw the change in the young man's posture. However temporary the lesson was, there was something being delivered right now. Airey knew full well that Mr. Prince would only recognize this as an isolated incident exclusive, perhaps, to the Astronomy Tower, and not applicable to the outside world. But that did not prevent the man from holding on to a tiny bit of optimism that he was taking at least a tiny something from this. "That's an excellent choice," he nodded, pointing abstractly to where the book was concealed. "I hope you find it worth the next 24 hours." Which was the astronomer's way of indicating the time frame that Mr. Prince would be stuck like that. The man was able to read the subtle panic hidden behind the young man's blue eyes, but there were no heart strings to be pulled on this astronut. "Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices," he added, tapping his nose knowingly while remaining by his desk. Twenty-four hours. Like this. Like this? Airey Flamsteed had not outright said that, but it seemed to be what he was getting at. There was a good chance Daxton misunderstood, though, as he tended to misunderstand people when they were not completely straightforward. Nevertheless, hearing 'twenty-four hours' gave him a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, like there was a tight fist of panic squeezing at his insides. He attempted to take a deep, steadying breath, which ultimately failed as he felt compelled to take another gulp of air straight after, and then another, and another. The anger came next, following panic as it always did, anger directed at himself for showing any kind of weakness. Daxton clenched his fists, or rather tried to; when his left hand failed to do what it was supposed to, the anxiety increased ten-fold. Well, he certainly did not want to spend the next twenty-four hours like this. In fact, there were plenty of arguments as to why he could not, either. Communication, for a start. Maybe Daxton did not value communication very highly, but not having the option was far, far worse. Ironically enough, there was no way of communicating that at all, even if he wanted to. So, instead of leaving, he simply stepped back into the office, crossed to the sofa, and sat down, not looking at Airey Flamsteed. He would sit here, in protest, until the spell was lifted, either by the professor or when the time ran out. He would sit right here, trying not to freak out, trying not to let the panic show, trying to make it look more like an act of belligerence than of fear. He would sit here, not looking at his hand, not looking at Airey Flamsteed, not looking at anything, and do nothing else. Much safer than leaving the office with his defences partly down and no means of communicating with anyone. It occurred to Daxton, a nagging thought at the back of his mind, that he would absolutely need to teach himself how to write with his right hand, too. Not now, though. Now he just sat, breathing hard in a mixture of anger and panic, trying his utmost not to let the latter show, clenching his right hand into a tight fist. The still-concealed book pressed against his back, pinned between the sofa and his body, and he mentally cursed it with all the rage he could muster. Perhaps, if Airey Flamsteed attempted to engage him in discussion, or offer a rebuke, the lack of rebuttal might show him just what a stupid idea this was. Just how stupid he was. Stupid professor with his stupid office and this stupid stupid stupid enchantment. __________________ Days of Potter 2023:___________________________ Which Bertie Botts Flavour Are You? You are Chocolate!