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 (I hate to break it to you), Avery <3
Bartolomeu Dalca
 Posted: May 27 2017, 02:03 AM
Quote
"We are timeless"
Stormcloud
Offline
16 Posts
Rep: 1 pts
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Group
Ghost
Age
524
Height
5'5"
Status
Pureblood
Year
Haunting
House
Slytherin
clash
dead
Awards: 3



The human race was built on habit, amongst other things of course. One single element could not possibly take credit for everything just as a single star cannot claim to be the entire night sky. Such things were all heresy. In his experience people could be fickle when it came to their habits, the way things should have been done in their mind. Bart had plenty of experience with people, and even more experience with just how ingrained these habits could become. Almost as if such things played a key role in the entirety of such a person’s character. Of course Bart was not immune to such things just because he had long ago stopped breathing, if anything these things had only intensified over the years following the Romanian’s death. It wouldn’t have been a lie if someone called the last remaining Dalca possessive, territorial even. The ghost just had a few things that were strictly off limits to anyone but himself, it was easy enough to remember was it not? It didn’t really matter if such a thing was currently - or even recently- in use, no if it was his it was his and no one should ever dare disrupt the sanctity of that rule. In the world of Barolomeu Dalca there were no finders keepers, there was simply his and… well not his.

When one walked the lines between life and death, there would always be a war. Even if it was a bit of a petty one at that. It would seem that while people could be incredibly attached to their habits and routines, they had also been historically recorded as being quite dim. It seemed as if people no longer learned from their ancestors, and that pertinent information that was essential to survival was no longer given freely to the younger generations. Important information such as which seat at the Slytherin table belonged to Bartolomeu Dalca, and therefore was off limits. It was simply rude to steal someone else’s spot, and that had been Bart’s spot for over five-hundred years. It was the perfect spot, it was special because it was his and only his. Of course Bart had his reasons for fancying such a specific spot, it was both not at the end of the table and yet not so close to the center that one got lost in the noise and the crowd. It was exactly thirteen seats from the end of the Slytherin table, closest to and facing the entrance so that he could always have a view of who was coming and going at anytime if it pleased him to observe such things. It was surrounded by just enough seats so that both his friends and fans could join the snake, and yet close enough to the edge so that it was limited seating.

The violation of the imaginary treaty between Bartolomeu Dalca and the student body of Hogwarts went initially unnoticed, as Bart was a bit preoccupied with some very important ghost things.With each wave of clouds that would ripple across the enchanted ceiling, the translucent form of the boy would drift along with the windless wind and playfully intertwine himself within the clouds. It was peaceful, as if the world was simply passing by below like scenery scrolling by before his eyes. Something was out of place and it interrupted his playful drifting, thoughts of distant memories suddenly sent scattering into the enchanted clouds, gone in an instant. Gone the moment eyes laid on the boy that was in his spot. Of course such a thing could not be allowed to continue, not on his watch or ever. So Bart did what he did best, he made a scene. He did not waste time to think any of it through, no instead rushing down and crouching on top of the table directly in front of the boy. “That is my seat and it is very rude to sit in someone else’s spot.” Bart first tried to reason with the boy, giving the poor baffled boy approximately four whole seconds to remove himself from what Bart saw as his. “That has been my spot for over five-hundred years,” with each word the decibel rose, the eyebrows on the boy before him rising considerably at the distraught ghost, “and it is not about to change because of you!” Bart put a lot of emphasis on the last word, who did this kid think he was? Hands rose in a not so polite shooing motion, much like one might use when a pest gets too close. And that was exactly what he saw this boy as, a pest. Nothing more, nothing less and of course he needed to vacate the area immediately. Or else.

@Avery Brigham
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Avery Brigham
 Posted: Jun 8 2017, 11:27 PM
Quote
"A dead man's soul is a heavy thing"
Stells
Offline
8 Posts
Rep: 1 pts
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Group
Ghost
Age
420 year so far~
Height
5'7
Status
Muggleborn
Year
18 Forever
House
Gryffindor Alumn
clash
Haunting since 1615
Awards: 3



Change was always inevitable, and after over four hundred years of existence, Avery had become all too aware of such a fact. He may have appeared to be stuck in time, forever looking like the eighteen year old boy he once had been with his Elizabethan attire which most definitely looked better than whatever kids wore these day, but he definitely knew things around him were not what they had been when he was alive. One would think so many centuries of existence would teach him to adapt, but old habits died hard, and when it came to someone who was already lingering in the empty space of existence between life and death...well, habits got just a bit harder to kill than for those still breathing. His existence held no time, and much alike those floors over which a thousand students had walked, he silently watched them come and go, one by one. Years would pass, and which every year some would leave the castle and some would step in it for the first time, it was always an existing thing to see, even for someone like him, for few things truly resulted to be eventful in his ‘life’ anymore.

So, yes, change was inevitable, even for a ghost. They may have been stubborn, held on to outdated beliefs as if they were the most truthful thing in the world, but not even them could avoid changing when a power as unstoppable as eternal time was involved. They existed forever, and forever was far too long. All of them had habits, hobbies, things they liked to do and things they did not, yet even Avery had to admit he was not the ghost he once was. His opinions on things changed, his feelings about things changed, and in the end, so did everything about himself - except his looks of course, as it was hard to change those when one was disembodied, incorporeal, semitransparent and dead. He had adapted to the times, even if it was in small and almost unnoticeable ways, as most would have surely had a hard time understanding him if he spoke like the early XVII century posh knobhead he was.

He had made a habit out of observing the living -as interacting with them seemed far too stressful for Avery to even attempt it in most cases- and from observing them he often grew to understand them; what they liked, what motivated them, and all those gleefully fickle things about teenagers like them. It was enchanting, and even though crowded places were usually avoided, even him could enjoy those calm breakfast mornings at the Great Hall. Or he could, until Bartolomeu decided breakfast should be calm no more. The ghost had been watching from a spot high above the tables, near the ceiling and close to the door, caught up in observing the way a young student seemed to be picking seeds out of...whatever the darker coloured bread was called. Like seriously, couldn’t he just eat the regular one? Such questions crossed Avery’s mind...until he was distracted by the sight of one infamous ghost who had supposedly been a star Quidditch player over half a millenia ago. And who was also his best friend who he had overly complicated feelings for. Oh what joy.

His eyes literally rolled, floating down from his nice seat and approaching the end of the Slytherin table where his friend was yelling at one scared looking kid. “Bartolomeu” he spoke, and his tone was soft, calm, and almost lost in all the chatter of the Great Hall. Ghosts may not have been able to interact with many things in the world, but they could interact with each other, and so it was easy for him to hold on to the former snake’s sleeve. “Let it be. How about we go to the pitch and you tell that one Quidditch story that you love? You know, the one with the...ugh, what was it again?” It was a lie, cleverly devised to catch his friend’s attention, because Avery may not have been one fond of speaking to most, but he knew Bartolomeu Dalca better than anyone in the world and stopping him from having those usual outburst at students sometimes felt like his duty…or his job.

@Bartolomeu Dalca
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Bartolomeu Dalca
 Posted: Jul 16 2017, 06:34 PM
Quote
"We are timeless"
Stormcloud
Offline
16 Posts
Rep: 1 pts
[ + | - ]
Group
Ghost
Age
524
Height
5'5"
Status
Pureblood
Year
Haunting
House
Slytherin
clash
dead
Awards: 3



People could be so… what was the word he was looking for? Oh, predictable, so incredible predictable. Of course maybe that was just because the ghost had spent over half a millennia observing them and their ways, and the way times had changed when it came to being decent. It wasn't a recent thing, long ago such things had slowly become more and more acceptable by society. The downfall of us all, he thought with a scowl. Girls would walk around showing far more than just their ankles and it was an outrage, at least to Bart is was. It was not just the girls either, the boys had climbed aboard the boat to indecency as well. With their tight pants that at times seemed to be in terrible need of some sewing, and their windblown hair that had never known a comb. Who did they think they were? Windblown hair was only for quidditch players, not those who simply decided it looked cool. The world simply was not the way it was meant to be, and Bart was more than happy to make a point of mentioning such things to students and professors. Bartolomeu Dalca had never been the quiet type, and yet it seemed there was one particularly quiet boy that captivated him even as the centuries passed by.

Life after death was like not living at all in some ways, there were many things that the Romanian could not touch. Even with the urge of cuff the boy who had dared to sit in his spot, time had taught Bart that such things did very little to the living. Except maybe make them flinch, which in itself could be satisfying. There was still a heavy anger that sunk into his translucent features, maybe a little see through but still obvious and especially so when that angry face was only a few inches from one's own. The unfortunate student was still there, frozen in terror with a donut still half bitten into… and it was infuriating. “I bet your mother sh-” his words fell off with a hand raised at the boy, touch had a certain way of doing that. It was an odd sensation that almost always came when a certain boy was around, someone who could completely derail Bart from his outbursts. As the ghost shifted, soft blue eyes first looking to the hand that was pulling at his sleeve before raising to see Avery beside him. In that moment the anger from his face softened and floated away, just as the unfortunate boy seized the moment to run away. Bart glanced at the retreating offender, oddly noticing that the donut was still lodged in his mouth as the intruder exited the Great Hall. It seemed his duty here was done, the seat of Bartolomeu Dalca was once again safe from the rears of would be intruders.

And yet such things seemed not so important in the presence of his best friend, his gaze only lingering long enough to ensure the boy had in fact left without the intent of returning. “Do you mean the one when the Beater hit himself with his own bat and fell off his broom? Or the one when a bunch of doxys had infested the stands and the game had to be delayed while the situation was being dealt with?” of course there were many quidditch related stories that he loved, it was hard to pick just one. It was even harder to choose which one to tell when it was Avery, there was just so much to choose from. “Or the time I caught the snitch in the middle of a storm,” he paused for a moment In thought, “actually I don't actually remember catching the snitch, but I did chase it through a storm.” excitement bounced from word to word, looking expectantly to Avery to make a decision. Thoughts of the boy who had done the unspeakable had already vanished from his mind, quickly replaced by both the adoration for his beloved sport and Avery himself. It had always been complicated, at least in his own mind such things were complicated and hard to figure out. Of course that was only when he found himself alone, wandering the castle in search of Avery. It was not so complicated when he was present, it felt as if nothing else mattered and Bart was okay with that.

@Avery Brigham
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