 Posting from phone = biggest mistake of my lyf ∞ 17 | RP entrepreneur | defies gravity | Miss George is flawless | blanket burrito lyfe
The run that he'd broken into after retrieving himself from the floor seemed to rally on for eternities. Rooney fell into a seat away from Calliope, because he knew she would have something to say or a joke to make or generally every intention of embarrassing him more than the bloodied graze taking up the majority of his chin. The eleven year old held his sleeve to it still, main aim being that he didn't want looks from anyone who hadn't been made aware of his sorting and falling within 10 seconds. Were Ravenclaws supposed to be graceful on their feet or have amazing coordination? That was a notebook question, for sure. As was the presence of a ghost at the table. Not the existence, nor the reasoning, but more so the living on as one. If they could move through walls, did that also mean they couldn't hold a quill? So...no autographs, clearly. Upsetting.
He reached inside of his robes with the hand not occupying his chin and tried to locate his tatty notebook of his worldly questions. The one with the important pages about his real father's crime. The bad, bad thing that Rooney was insistent on not becoming. Daddy Dex was his Dad now.
No notebook was to be found.
It had been there before he was sorted. It had, it had. Had someone swiped it when he'd fallen? Had his gravity adoration exposed his book and been the reason someone else had it? Where was it?? He didn't know anyone by name yet. No one really knew him by name. And if they read it, they'd know what was probably in store for him in the future, what he thought of things that happened, and the perfectly innocent but laughable questions that he did have.
Bugger.
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