 ∞ 17 | RP entrepreneur | defies gravity | Miss George is flawless | blanket burrito lyfe
Rooney clapped for the sister that went just before him, and waved her off as she headed to her own house table. He wondered whether she was upset to not be in Hufflepuff, or wanted ever so much to just go home. He wasn't yet sure how he felt about being here, and only hours had passed since he last cuddled the youngest of his brothers and had porridge put in his hair -- the porridge that was notably still visible if someone properly looked at his blonde locks. It wasn't nerves that bound through him, but excitement right now and the wait between his sister leaving the stool and his own name being called was the looooooongest. BUT THERE IT WAS!
"Bronwyn, Rooney"
He leaped the step, glad that his mother had tailored his robes short enough to not trip over them and took his rightful seat beckoning that the hat be put immediately onto his head.
Roo was itching to get his notebook from his back pocket and write all of the questions he had right now and all of the things he'd already observed. His brain was full of peoples names and houses and personality analysis -- his book would be full soon too. He gave a helping hand to pull the hat onto his head and furrowed his brows at the lack of immediate talking. This was supposed to be a done deal, right? Hat on head. Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Hat off head. Rooney go sit. Rooney get food. He made eye contact with a couple of people, notably Calliope and then looked up through his eyelashes at the brim of the hat. "Speak, please."
Now, thank you.
The hat had said something whilst Rooney was in his mental pleading for an answer, and he was never really going to know exactly what was said unless someone told him afterwards. He did, however, hear the call of "RAVENCLAW!" and bounced up with enough force that the hat went off his head one way and he fell down the step the other. Face. First. Oh dear.
He cursed quietly, glad that he was no longer around his mother and therefore she couldn't take away his writing materials, but also glad that his talent of swearing in a whisper meant that hopefully no one else had heard it. A bumbled apology was served to the student whose feet he had landed on, and a sleeve went to the bloodied graze on his chin before he ran in a dash to his house table to join Calliope and others. No eye contact was made. Eye contact allowed for laughs, and Rooney needed to write down exactly what had happened and why it had happened and write the answers to his questions already.
Bummer.
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