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Celesia · 01-23-2009, 07:39 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Aomidori

It was the time of night when he caught the ribbons of moonlight. He felt like a sovereign with the red carpet at (what might have been) his feet. Velvet curtains hung at his side; the artist’s choice of contrast with his blue coat. Yes, his blue coat, every fold meticulously prepared that morning. Every strand of dark hair arranged just so. Tristan Howell Ernest de Ath (the First) stood in the painting of perfection, his language spoken with eloquence.

“My dear lady,” he said with a smirch of gloat, “I know I am very much handsome, but there is no need to stare, really.” Tristan Howell Ernest de Ath (the First) peered at Matilda with his large hazel eyes as the other turned an interesting shade of red.

“I am doing no such thing,” the first year declared indignantly, “merely observing.” Then her eyebrows furrowed, lips jutting out in what might have been a pout.

The painting returned the look, rather bemused. “Observing what, may I ask?”

“How much this is worth,” Matilda said.

“If you must know, I am worth more than your life. Now shoo. Go away.” The painting sniffed and every stroke was painted in distress. The girl scrambled off without another word. Tristan Howell Ernest de Ath (the First) felt the silver ribbons slipping, the way a person would feel time tick onwards. The moonlight shifted slowly to another painting along the wall. There goes his reign, “Discourteous first years,” he mumbled.

As a Slytherin really Emil shouldn't have been on the first floor except for the fact that it was almost 20 degrees warmer than the dungeons he had come from. As he examined the walls covered from head to toe (though he could not see the head of the wall from where he stood, but he assumed that it was the case) in vibrant paintings which moved and spoke, much like the daily profet he would look at with his mother.
Walking down the hall Emil noticed someone gazing at one of the pictures; he walked up and began to examine it as well, hoping to find out what was so interesting in hopes for an excuse for his not remaiming in the common room below.
"Tristan Howell Ernest De Ath." He spoke the name slowly so as to not get it wrong. "Why is there a painting of you here? I've never heard of ya." Emil smiled while he spoke his curious words.

01-23-2009, 07:39 PM	#4 (permalink)
Celesia Horklump Join Date: Jan 2009 Posts: 37 Hogwarts RPG Name: Emil Gareth De Ath First Year	Quote: Originally Posted by Aomidori It was the time of night when he caught the ribbons of moonlight. He felt like a sovereign with the red carpet at (what might have been) his feet. Velvet curtains hung at his side; the artist’s choice of contrast with his blue coat. Yes, his blue coat, every fold meticulously prepared that morning. Every strand of dark hair arranged just so. Tristan Howell Ernest de Ath (the First) stood in the painting of perfection, his language spoken with eloquence. “My dear lady,” he said with a smirch of gloat, “I know I am very much handsome, but there is no need to stare, really.” Tristan Howell Ernest de Ath (the First) peered at Matilda with his large hazel eyes as the other turned an interesting shade of red. “I am doing no such thing,” the first year declared indignantly, “merely observing.” Then her eyebrows furrowed, lips jutting out in what might have been a pout. The painting returned the look, rather bemused. “Observing what, may I ask?” “How much this is worth,” Matilda said. “If you must know, I am worth more than your life. Now shoo. Go away.” The painting sniffed and every stroke was painted in distress. The girl scrambled off without another word. Tristan Howell Ernest de Ath (the First) felt the silver ribbons slipping, the way a person would feel time tick onwards. The moonlight shifted slowly to another painting along the wall. There goes his reign, “Discourteous first years,” he mumbled. As a Slytherin really Emil shouldn't have been on the first floor except for the fact that it was almost 20 degrees warmer than the dungeons he had come from. As he examined the walls covered from head to toe (though he could not see the head of the wall from where he stood, but he assumed that it was the case) in vibrant paintings which moved and spoke, much like the daily profet he would look at with his mother. Walking down the hall Emil noticed someone gazing at one of the pictures; he walked up and began to examine it as well, hoping to find out what was so interesting in hopes for an excuse for his not remaiming in the common room below. "Tristan Howell Ernest De Ath." He spoke the name slowly so as to not get it wrong. "Why is there a painting of you here? I've never heard of ya." Emil smiled while he spoke his curious words. Last edited by Celesia; 01-26-2009 at 09:52 PM.