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 For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?, Devitt <3
Noel Bishop
 Posted: Feb 16 2017, 12:36 PM
Quote
"No dreams breed in breathless sleep "
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63 Posts
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Ghost
Age
426
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Year
7th
House
Ravenclaw
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Still dead
Awards: 4



The seasons were changing again. Noel often sensed the season change before he saw the leaves falling down or the first flowers blossoming, like a tug on his existence - a gentle reminder that time moved on for most people around him, apart from his fellow ghosts of course. He did not look any different, not even after more than four hundred years of haunting the hallways and corridors of Hogwarts. But no, that was not true. Haunting, for Noel Nathaniel Bishop, had always been something negative, something he connected with the pranks of a poltergeist and the constant popping up out of nothing in front of the younger students. The red-haired young man had never felt the urge to be frightening - instead, he was trying to be helpful whenever the students would let him, be it by talking to the ones that looked lonely, or by showing them the right way when they had gotten lost in the labyrinth that was the castle for new students.

But now, the seasons were indeed changing, the snow was melting and the first tiny green leaves were blossoming on the otherwise bald branches, while birds landed on them or walked over the outer windowsills in front of the windows. Noel watched them while he floated by, on his way towards one of the places he visited as frequently as the Ravenclaw Tower - the theatre. It had been the same way as it was now when he had been still alive, although they might have replaced the curtain with an identical one, and the paintings on the ceiling had received one repainting or another. None of these things mattered, as the spirit of the room was still the same - it still felt so majestic to enter the hall, with the stages and the rows of comfortable chairs, although Noel could no longer remember how the texture had felt against his fingertips. There were so many things he could no longer remember, yet he rarely admitted these things to any of his fellow ghosts, not when he was speaking to Nikolai and not when he was talking to Devitt.

It was a lie to say that time did not change him when he did feel the jarring sensation of memories slipping through from his mind like sand would slip through his fingers. These days, everything that was substantial slipped through his fingers, and he watched how all those memories of scents, textures and touches were fading from him, covering his existence like a heavy cloak. The ghost floated down the stairs, a gentle breeze tugging on his clothes and his long hair as he moved towards the stage, where someone must have scattered a file full of papers. They were lying on the ground, overlapping and spilled like someone’s thoughts at night, untouched by any students that might have been here before Noel arrived. Curiously, the ghost knelt down, a few millimetres above the ground. He could not reach out and touch the sheets, yet he had enough substance to move them around, to see what was written on them.

Plays. Those sheets of paper - some newer, some yellowed from time - were holding dialogues and the narrator’s comment, edges smooth and sometimes torn from the hands that had held them.

Beatrice: O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he
is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker
runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if
he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a
thousand pound ere a' be cured.
Messenger: I will hold friends with you, lady.
Beatrice: Do, good friend.


Noel know the play, just like he knew so many poems by the great Shakespeare by heart, and a small smile appeared on his pale lips as his equally pale eyes skimmed over the text. Only when he sensed another cool, ethereal presence.

@Devitt Leighton

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Devitt Leighton
 Posted: Feb 17 2017, 11:08 AM
Quote
"dancing in a swirl, of golden memories "
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Age
(∞) 35
Height
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Year
Ghost
House
Ravenclaw Alumnus
clash
👻
Awards: None


After what he presumed was a morning full of dodging the girl who haunted the bathrooms—such a wretched child, so self indulged and rude and filled with a deep sorrow that pained even Devitt if he remained too close for too long—he finally got away. He wasn't normally so rude to his fellow ghosts, but the child tended to plague the bathrooms with her horrid shrieks and moans, and while he supposed that was very typical of a ghost, after centuries upon centuries of enduring her himself, he'd just grown bored of it all. He felt some kind of pity for her, in a loose sense. Really, as ghosts, they both led a sorry existence. Or so he was told. Devitt wasn't entirely sure how he felt about being a ghost, but he didn't look terribly into it.

Regardless, the man needed some space from the girl. He had wandered into her bathroom on accident anyway, which, in hindsight, might have been why she'd followed him, screaming about this and that and crying all the while through it. Perhaps, later, he'd find her and apologize. The notion that he felt sorry for upsetting seemed important enough, even if it was likely she might just forget it years on.

Drifting through the walls, it wasn't long before Devitt noticed a dim light out of the corner of his eye. He paused to look at it, realizing he was in the theatre and that there was a sole, dimming light that appeared to have been left on on accident. He also noticed the lingering chill in the air, not unlike the one he often felt wherever he went. Blinking, the ghost wandered towards the stage, passing through rows and rows of velvet seats. "Noel? Have you found something?" He asked, a faint smile tugging at his face as he found Noel to be a much better presence than the girl before. He was happier, somehow—as happy as a ghost could get in its tormented existence. At the very least, he was capable of intelligent conversation, and he wasn't conditioned to haunt people like some others were. He was rather pleasant, as far as that went with the dead.

"Ohh I see," he said, his gaze turned down as he floated beside the boy. He allowed his feet to touch the ground, watching out of his peripherals as they materialized after being invisible for Merlin knew how long. He hunched over to peer at the scripts, a distant glimmer of something akin to the spark of life hidden deep within his translucent eyes. In a practiced, deep voice, Devitt recited the words he read out loud.

LEONATO: Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of
your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness takes his leave.


Chuckling, Devitt looked at Noel. "Someone's lost their lines. Or they gave up and ran away from the prospect of performing," he commented, shaking his head then as he folded his arms across his chest. "Such a pity. It's a good play."

Looking back down, Devitt pointed at the page he'd been reading, a playfulness in his eyes that almost made it seem like he was glowing a little brighter than normal. In a voice different than before, he positioned himself in front of Noel, exaggerating his motions as he read.

DON PEDRO: You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this is your daughter.
LEONATO: Her mother hath many times told me so.
BENEDICK: Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?
LEONATO: Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.


At each character change, Devitt altered his voice, giving Benedick a strong, voluminous voice, as he had always pictured the character having. For being a man of books for all of his life, Devitt did have the vocal range and practice in his expressions to put on a decent show. Perhaps if he'd practiced it more, if he'd gone down that path in life instead, he might have ended up peacefully dead and gone.

But he hadn't. And really, he didn't feel a lot of remorse for that. It was something he didn't linger on; the could haves and the would haves.

---
@Noel Bishop

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Noel Bishop
 Posted: Feb 20 2017, 01:15 PM
Quote
"No dreams breed in breathless sleep "
Tine
Offline
She/Her
63 Posts
Rep: 2 pts
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Group
Ghost
Age
426
Height
Status
Pureblood
Year
7th
House
Ravenclaw
clash
Still dead
Awards: 4



Usually, Noel preferred the busy hallways and the humming of voices around him, as it made him feel like he was still a part of this world. He was still a part of this world, as he had chosen to stay behind, too afraid to fade away. What he had not expected was the fact that everything else around him was fading away, even the contents of his own mind. The faces of his siblings were long forgotten, as well as the ones of the students that had attended Hogwarts when he had still been alive. Students came and went, and all he tried was to keep track of the new ones, to learn their names and sometimes float behind the backs of the headmistress or the Heads of Houses in order to learn their full names. It was a habit that had developed with time, an attempt to show he cared about the people he interacted with by remembering their middle name as well - yet rarely they put the same effort into conversing with a ghost.

Yet while he loved to be surrounded by warm bodies, he sometimes enjoyed the solitude as well - those nights spent in the Astronomy tower, or the nocturnal hours in the Ravenclaw tower when he was watching the stars above his head that were shining so brightly in cool winter nights. Today, he enjoyed the tranquility that always seemed to be inside the theatre, the glory of days that had passed a long time ago. And reading those lines that had been written before he had been born gave him a strange warm feeling - a feeling that was chased away by the chill he identified as another ghost joining him here. The masquerades and old plays of the theatre seemed to attract the wandering souls, and the long-haired ghost looked up, brushing once-red locks out of his face as he glanced at Devitt.

There was no need to answer, as the man - older by appearance, yet still younger in years, just like every other ghost at Hogwarts - approached already, and Noel moved the papers on the floor, watching Devitt’s face with suppressed anticipation. Rarely he met a soul that was as caught by poetry as he was himself, but eventually, Devitt Leighton was different. He lacked the lightness of youth Noel Nathaniel Bishop had noticed on the ghosts of his age - on Nikolai for example, who always seemed to be so naively fascinated by the world. It was as charming as exhausting, and he was glad that Devitt was an actual adult. The man’s voice filled the theatre, leaving Noel in awe as he watched him, smiling softly.

“I was not aware these plays were still being brought to the stages. It has been a while since someone had been genuinely interested in the theatre at all. Sometimes I do miss it…,” he replied, his eyes becoming even more veiled than they already were. Yet he was dragged out of nostalgia again as Devitt continued to read - no, act the dialogues, and Noel smiled at him as he bent over to let his gaze trace the lines again. He cleared his throat, finding the next part of the play and smiling as he started intonating the part of Don Pedro.

Don Pedro: You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this
what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an
honourable father.


@Devitt Leighton

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Devitt Leighton
 Posted: Mar 14 2017, 01:04 PM
Quote
"dancing in a swirl, of golden memories "
Cat
Offline
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33 Posts
Rep: 1 pts
[ + | - ]
Group
Ghost
Age
(∞) 35
Height
6'0"
Status
Muggleborn
Year
Ghost
House
Ravenclaw Alumnus
clash
👻
Awards: None


Devitt often made it a point to avoid prying into the lives his fellow ghosts held before they'd died. Not because he wasn't interested—Merlin no, the curiosity was certainly there. Rather, the man didn't feel he was really allowed to, unable to recount some of the key details of his own life in return. When you had no possessions of your own, you had to find something intangible to bargain with. For Devitt, memories of a life once lived were the perfect chips to trade amongst each other, even if most of the ghosts didn't seem to mind reliving their former lives as humans through the shadows of their words without asking for anything in return.

With Noel, though, the man tried to be mindful. He was far, far older in terms of their ghostly existence, having died several centuries earlier than Devitt had even been considered a thought, let alone born. Part of him wanted often to leave the boy to his thoughts, respecting him in many ways while wanting to save himself the knowledge of what it was like to recount memories of being alive after eons had passed. He suspected it was like having the name of something sit annoyingly at the tip of a tongue; descriptions holding nothing truly emotional or even tangible as all memory of human senses faded into hollow words. But it was nice, still, to be around the other ghost. He had a gentleness to him that Devitt enjoyed, and an undying appreciation for literature---poetry, especially---that he could relate to, though to a lesser intimacy. Noel and the art of prose seemed like the truest form of love; the fanciful words of emotion and deep thought woven into the phantom threads that made up the ghost before him. Noel was a floating embodiment of the written word, mesmerizing to look it, but untouchable by man.

His words echoed through the theatre, giving sound to the voice of the hall that had suffered a silence for God knew how long. With a smile, Devitt allowed Noel's lines to linger for a moment, enjoying the small taste of a show as an audience member rather than a fellow actor. Up close and personal --- that was how the former eagle thought most who enjoyed plays would have craved to experience a play.

Without skipping a beat, the ghost rose a pointed finger up, the glazed look of wonderment from before melted into a firm expression as he moved through the next line, spreading his arms wide and turning his gaze towards Noel and some unseen Beatrice, then bringing his arms in to motion flippantly at the empty space.

BENEDICK If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not
have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is.


---
@Noel Bishop

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Noel Bishop
 Posted: Apr 17 2017, 05:19 AM
Quote
"No dreams breed in breathless sleep "
Tine
Offline
She/Her
63 Posts
Rep: 2 pts
[ + | - ]
Group
Ghost
Age
426
Height
Status
Pureblood
Year
7th
House
Ravenclaw
clash
Still dead
Awards: 4



One of the oddest occurrences in Noel Nathaniel Bishop’s life as a ghost was to see a student die and join their existence between the worlds - neither quite dead nor alive. He had known Nikolai as a student - had seen him walking around. And all of the sudden, the boy had been made of the same texture as Noel himself, and how odd it had been to adjust to such a thing. Yet more than four-hundred years in this castle had taught him to deal with a lot of weird things, and he no longer questioned how the times were changing and how the seasons took turns without a care for those who could no longer differentiate between heat and cold. It was considered rude to ask how one had died - and Noel had never asked. He did not need to look for the gossip, as the gossip found him with ease. When one could walk through walls and doors, one also had easier access to the latest news, and Noel was unfortunately - and to his shame - not immune to the gossip, although he did keep reprimanding his fellow ghosts for spreading it.

So many things were changing, yet poetry remained - it was carried through the castle and through the world by tongues and sheets of paper, books as old as Noel himself still being read with the greatest of passions, and stories never getting forgotten because someone would always pass them on like a whisper in the dark, a promised muttered to a lover’s ear. Whenever he had the chance to do so, he lingered in his old home - the Ravenclaw tower - and he sometimes suggested a book or two from the many shelves up there, hoping that those students would find the same joy and comfort in between the lines of a book he had found so many times. It was saddening how he could no longer lift a book, yet he found himself gazing over the shoulder of a student or a professor reading, absorbing the words and memorising them for eternity.

The sad part was that he knew so many poems, yet had forgotten both the faces and names of most of his siblings, as time was a cruel queen in her own realms. His pale gaze wandered towards the other ghost, once more being reminded of how odd it was to talk with someone who looked so much older and was so much younger. Time was indeed a fickle thing, just like coincidence - and today, at least the latter had been playing into their hands by making them come together over the scattered pages of a Shakespeare play. Almost naturally, they adjusted to their roles of reading the lines, and while the ghost’s heart might not be beating any more, it did fill with joy when faced with the glory of literature.

There was a dialogue of Beatrice and Benedick following, and Noel skipped across the line before he moved with sudden persistence, the sudden gesture making the papers move as well as he looked straight at Devitt. “Did you use to participate in plays like this? You do have quite the presence for it - even in the state we are caught in.” He raised a brow, folding longer fingers in front of his antique-looking clothes, tilting his head just a little as once red locks fell over his shoulders again.

@Devitt Leighton

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