Post by ohHEY_teej. on Aug 12, 2013 10:03:34 GMT -6
If there was one thing to be pointed out about Adonis Chaille, it was his bizarrely good looks. Bizarrely? Why yes, bizarrely. If it wasn't his outrageous height of a respectable 6'2", it was the bewitching blues that he so often stared people down with. Besides the piercing blues, his hair was also of a unique white color, almost matching that of the finest unicorn hair available for hair replacement all amongst the wizarding world. Stereotypical of Slytherin house he was also pale, but armed with an athletic build of toned muscle to offset the harshness that was his bright skin. Girls chased him like wild Veela, but it was truly the boys that this one adored. Never so addicted, had one been to the feeling of male-on-male action.
And yet, there is so much still to be told.
The boy, of French descent, had developed into quite the character among the halls of Hogwarts and there were no signs of that changing anytime soon. His accent had decreased in its thickness over the passing years, but still evident was the French in times of great duress. Duress was not common for Adonis, but flirting was. If there was a male of appropriate age in all of Hogwarts that had never been pursued, sooner or later Mr. Chaille would find them and work his magic. Literally. Besides his maximum efforts of complete slutitude and acting promiscuously, there was actually a side of Adonis that his peers adored. No, if the frenchman didn't completely dislike you, then you would often find that he was one of the more friendly of Slytherin house. Not often one to slip into the habits of deceit, Adonis was there to guide many a student down the appropriate path.
Of course, that didn't stop people from developing mistrust towards the mysterious gentleman.
Those were the ones he had the real fun with.
______________________________________________________
A healthy ten years since the war, things were as close to being back to normal as they were ever going to get. Those of Slytherin still disliked or felt superior to everyone else with the exception of a few, and students of Gryffindor still held the best grudges of any house. Seen studying around every corner were those of Rowena Ravenclaw's' house, within a close proximity to the happy-go-lucky followers of Helga Hufflepuff. Students still hexed one another, fights between houses were at their normal levels of violence, and Quidditch was all the rage between players and spectator alike. Things were as expected, and nothing more.
And yet maybe they weren't.
Things are happening.
Bad, cruel, animalistic things.
Come inside and take a look for yourself.
It had became all too common of Adonis to be late to his classes in what was his last year within these halls. It wasn't so much that he was lazy, or that he was disinterested in the academics presented, rather it was more about a structure of importance. First was sleep, followed by a morning swim, followed by breakfast, and then he attended class. Sure he got in trouble, sure Slytherin lost points when he broke the rules... And? The points would just be gained back when Adonis and Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup anyhow. People knew who Adonis Chaille was, and they either loved him or they hated him. Adored him or despised him. He lost no sleep over the actions and thoughts of others, because in the grand scheme of things... None of that mattered. He was above it all, forever and always.
"Vat is zat smell?"
Adonis had been walking aimlessly down the hall, no real rush to reach Potions, when the smell of all smells hit him like a pile of dragon dung. The smell was so much in fact, that the 6'2" frenchmen doubled over and collapsed to the floor like tumbling bricks. That was not the end to his troubles, however. As he lay on the floor gasping for air, hoping for something less tainted, Adonis began to feel more and more queasy. He began to crawl across the floor, the strength seemingly gone from his body as he tried and tried again to push himself from the marble. It was as if the floor was sticky, clinging to him and refusing to let him regain his composure. Sticky, gooey, and restricting.
Wait.
The cloudy vision was gone. The smell was still there, but less restricting and the air slightly more pure. And the floor? Sticky, gooey... Restricting? That was still there. Adonis pushed harder to lift himself from the floor, but again there was no success. Through some error or disastrous coincidence, he had fallen into what appeared to be a batch of thick dragon's blood. Blood prank? Nice. Except it was no prank. And this was not dragon's blood. Inches from Adonis was the body of a young girl, a fifth year at the most, blood pouring from her chest and down her Ravenclaw robes. Another wound could be seen on her neck, with more blood pouring out and across the floor. Sheer terror ran throughout Adonis and down through his limbs, a loud scream that could rival a banshees' ringing out from his weakened lungs. All kinds of violence, hexes, fights could be seen almost daily in the walls of Hogwarts. But never this. Never a murder.
"It has began..."
"La mort est ici."
Adonis whispered the french words cruelly, forcing his body into an upright position. His clothes were ruined from the blood that seeped across and through them, but nothing was more tainted nor ruined than his mind. His emotions. Adonis touched a hand to his face, covering his right eye and breathing slowly, closing his striking blues to channel his thoughts at a calmer pace. This was a nightmare. Just a sick, twisted, outside of reality nightmare. This couldn't be real.
Or could it?
And yet, there is so much still to be told.
The boy, of French descent, had developed into quite the character among the halls of Hogwarts and there were no signs of that changing anytime soon. His accent had decreased in its thickness over the passing years, but still evident was the French in times of great duress. Duress was not common for Adonis, but flirting was. If there was a male of appropriate age in all of Hogwarts that had never been pursued, sooner or later Mr. Chaille would find them and work his magic. Literally. Besides his maximum efforts of complete slutitude and acting promiscuously, there was actually a side of Adonis that his peers adored. No, if the frenchman didn't completely dislike you, then you would often find that he was one of the more friendly of Slytherin house. Not often one to slip into the habits of deceit, Adonis was there to guide many a student down the appropriate path.
Of course, that didn't stop people from developing mistrust towards the mysterious gentleman.
Those were the ones he had the real fun with.
______________________________________________________
A healthy ten years since the war, things were as close to being back to normal as they were ever going to get. Those of Slytherin still disliked or felt superior to everyone else with the exception of a few, and students of Gryffindor still held the best grudges of any house. Seen studying around every corner were those of Rowena Ravenclaw's' house, within a close proximity to the happy-go-lucky followers of Helga Hufflepuff. Students still hexed one another, fights between houses were at their normal levels of violence, and Quidditch was all the rage between players and spectator alike. Things were as expected, and nothing more.
And yet maybe they weren't.
Things are happening.
Bad, cruel, animalistic things.
Come inside and take a look for yourself.
It had became all too common of Adonis to be late to his classes in what was his last year within these halls. It wasn't so much that he was lazy, or that he was disinterested in the academics presented, rather it was more about a structure of importance. First was sleep, followed by a morning swim, followed by breakfast, and then he attended class. Sure he got in trouble, sure Slytherin lost points when he broke the rules... And? The points would just be gained back when Adonis and Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup anyhow. People knew who Adonis Chaille was, and they either loved him or they hated him. Adored him or despised him. He lost no sleep over the actions and thoughts of others, because in the grand scheme of things... None of that mattered. He was above it all, forever and always.
"Vat is zat smell?"
Adonis had been walking aimlessly down the hall, no real rush to reach Potions, when the smell of all smells hit him like a pile of dragon dung. The smell was so much in fact, that the 6'2" frenchmen doubled over and collapsed to the floor like tumbling bricks. That was not the end to his troubles, however. As he lay on the floor gasping for air, hoping for something less tainted, Adonis began to feel more and more queasy. He began to crawl across the floor, the strength seemingly gone from his body as he tried and tried again to push himself from the marble. It was as if the floor was sticky, clinging to him and refusing to let him regain his composure. Sticky, gooey, and restricting.
Wait.
The cloudy vision was gone. The smell was still there, but less restricting and the air slightly more pure. And the floor? Sticky, gooey... Restricting? That was still there. Adonis pushed harder to lift himself from the floor, but again there was no success. Through some error or disastrous coincidence, he had fallen into what appeared to be a batch of thick dragon's blood. Blood prank? Nice. Except it was no prank. And this was not dragon's blood. Inches from Adonis was the body of a young girl, a fifth year at the most, blood pouring from her chest and down her Ravenclaw robes. Another wound could be seen on her neck, with more blood pouring out and across the floor. Sheer terror ran throughout Adonis and down through his limbs, a loud scream that could rival a banshees' ringing out from his weakened lungs. All kinds of violence, hexes, fights could be seen almost daily in the walls of Hogwarts. But never this. Never a murder.
"It has began..."
"La mort est ici."
Adonis whispered the french words cruelly, forcing his body into an upright position. His clothes were ruined from the blood that seeped across and through them, but nothing was more tainted nor ruined than his mind. His emotions. Adonis touched a hand to his face, covering his right eye and breathing slowly, closing his striking blues to channel his thoughts at a calmer pace. This was a nightmare. Just a sick, twisted, outside of reality nightmare. This couldn't be real.
Or could it?