You may not be qualified for this.
Posted 25 April 2012 - 08:49 PM
This was it. The end of days. She had so much to do in life and yet it would all come to naught. You see, Drusilla had just been informed that she was an infectious plague upon humanity. An oozing secretion of the worst the world had to offer and other assorted insults her tiny brain couldn't be bothered to remember. The only thing she knew was that her end was nigh.
With a dramatic sniff, she flung herself on a hospital bed and then rearranged herself to be more artfully draped across the spread. Then she decided that wasn't very comfortable, and a person should at least get to be comfortable when they were dying, so she sat up and adjusted her pillow before looking around. Just then she made an important discovery - it was a slow day in the hospital wing, there was no one else but her.
Maybe her infectious plague had already killed everyone before she got there. Damn and BLAST. How could anyone help HER if they were already dead? D: Clearly Hedwig's horrid prophecy was coming true. There was only one upside to this that Drusilla could see: Pillows.
Hopping off of her self-assigned bed, Drusilla scampered and skittered around the wing, quickly picking up all the pillows she could find and then arranging them into a nest of comfort on her own bed. When she was good and settled then she began moaning in her obnoxious nasally voice, which would annoy anyone. Secret: sometimes her voice was annoying even to Drusilla.
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh. Unggghghhhh. Ooooooooooooh. Maaaaaaan. Koo-koo-ka-choo." "Hmm, no. aaaaaaarg. wooaaaaaah." Drusilla quickly forgot what she was moaning about and became distracted amusing herself with different sounds that she could make. Which obviously led to spit-bubble blowing, "<motorboat noises>".
"I'm dying! <motorboat noises again>." "Someone save me! Glug Glug Glug. Ah-OOOOOOOOOOOOh-GA."
Out Of Character Form:
Patient Name: Drusilla Greengrass
Current Year: First
Blood Type (if applicable): um, Witch? /Pure? This is a racist form. I approve.
Species (Human, Veela (part or full), etc: Human; apparently debateable though.
Damage Location (Entire body or certain parts, please specify) (BE SPECIFIC): That's a little hard to explain, Someone else told me about my blight, and they gestured to all of me. D:
Damage type (Spells cast, Potion/poison, Fall, etc.) (BE SPECIFIC): Plague
Summarize (what exactly were you doing when you got your injury?): Minding my own business. QQ
Other (Is there anything we should watch out for?): This is not a real injury, Drusilla is confused.
It is all Hedwig Lane-Foley's fault.
Posted 26 April 2012 - 06:03 AM
Now, in her new job as a Hospital Wing assistant, Petra had decided she would maintain the same standard of excellency. So she was in the middle of methodically organizing the potions that she had access to, and greedily eying the restricted ones (to SORT them), when she heard a strange sort of moaning, groaning, and... gurgling coming from the main room.
Petra's first thought was not someone is choking to death. Rather, she thought: SOMEONE IS DISTURBING MY PEACE WITH HORRID SOUNDS.
She hurried into room, eyes bugging out when she saw that the girl had appropriated all the pillows. The pillows that she had straightened, fluffed, and smoothed perfectly not an hour ago. She couldn't really dwell on this development for long, though, because the Slytherin seemed quite convinced that she was dying.
And it would totally be bad for Petra's résumé to have a patient die on her watch.
“What happened?!” Petra asked urgently, hurrying over to the deranged girl's bedside. "I'm Petronilla. Don't worry, you're not going to die." Not that she had any clue. The girl could very well be dying, for all Petra knew of these bizarre symptoms. But she knew from observing the adult staff that she was meant to be calm and reassuring in a situation like this.
Posted 26 April 2012 - 01:05 PM
"I have a plague, and a blight, and oooze." She ticked off her fingers obediently and sniffled pathetically before reaching out to grab the conveniently at hand robes of Petronilla and wiping her face all over them. "There's no hope for me. That stupid Gryffindor said so." She all but wailed.
"I have so much life left to live." Her now water-filled eyes glanced up from the Ravenclaw's robes to latch on to her eyes. Such pretty blue eyes, they were almost grey! How cool was that? Drusilla had always wanted something other than her own poo-brown ones. "Make it go awaaaaaay."
Drusilla pulled a pillow up from her bed that was littered with the fluffy things and hugged it tightly. She would have hugged the girl, because she was quite seriously concerned for her own welfare, but in her previous experience- people did want Drusilla to hug them. She probably really did have some kind of people-repellant disease. Her mother certainly thought so.
Posted 29 April 2012 - 04:34 PM
Boggie had found his spot under one empty bed during the night. The wing seamed afully dead, so when a loud noise echoed the room and a girl took his bed, he couldn't help but grin a scary toothy grin in the dark. However he didn't have time to connect or pounce just yet because of the other human that joined in.
So Boggie lurked, waiting for the right moment to work his magic.
OOC: Miss. Greengrass, You've been chosen to be attacked by a Boggart! You can simply accept or decline by sending me a PM with your worst nightmare or by posting here! Miss Quirke, you can choose to help the poor ickle or flee. Happy horrors. <33
Posted 01 May 2012 - 02:26 AM
This plan seemed like an even better idea when the girl reached out and wiped plague boogers all over Petra's pristine robes.
Petra gave a little shriek and jumped farther back, out of the girl's reach entirely. She whipped out her wand to cast a cleaning spell over her robes, only daring to breathe again once they were spotless. She couldn't believe she had just come so close to catching the plague. She could have died. She could still die, if the symptoms were slow to manifest themselves. THAT WAS IT. SHE WASN'T DEALING WITH THIS DISGUSTING, DISEASED CHILD.
She was about to sprint for Aurora when something the girl said next caught her attention—that a Gryffindor had been the one to diagnose her, apparently. Petra relaxed slightly and took a tentative step forward. “Gryffindors are all imbeciles,” she explained kindly. “You really shouldn't believe anything they say.”
Ah, enforcing house stereotypes upon young, impressionable minds.
“You're going to be fine, I promise,” Petra said. She gave the Slytherin a slightly phony smile, because she wasn't positive yet that she was telling the truth. (But she was inclined to believe it, because now both their lives depended on Drusilla's illness being imagined). “What's your name?”
She was still a bit twitchy about getting germs from the girl, so she put on a pair of gloves before drawing out a magical thermometer to check the girl's temperature. She sort of wanted to put on a surgical mask, too, but she didn't want to add to the patient's paranoia if it really was a Gryffindor-invented illness, as she suspected.
Posted 10 May 2012 - 05:09 PM
Nevertheless he was starving, he could feel his mood dropping as he went through the first stages of withdrawal. Fear was his drug, his food and his energy. He couldn't wait around any longer because his life was clearly in danger and so edging back into the shadows boogie climbed up the back of the headboard and hid covered by the pillows.
His mind focused on the younger girls and it was as if invisible sort of tentacles sprouted from his brain to hers and within milliseconds he was in her mind. Searching through her thoughts, which itself proved to be rewarding with her worrying already (she seemed to be an overdramatic hypochondriac.) So he fed off the worry she already felt until he found her dark terror, and Boggie clung to it. Her worst fear was deep water
His body quickly evaporated into a smoke-like substance and scatted half itself into a painting near the girl and half just a few feet ahead of her bed. The once calm scenery of the Black Lake turned dark and windy, the water creating high waves that crashed against the back of the painting. Drops of water slowly leaking through (or at least the Bggart made an impressive illusion of water) the painting. The dripping water met with the rest of him as he quickly transformed into a deep whirlpool, slowly growing in depth, sinking below into the floor as he crept closer.
He wanted to see how close he could get to the bed before the girl fled or he was banished.
Edited by Boogie, 10 May 2012 - 07:17 PM.
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