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    1. Phloem 11 yrs ago

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GEEETTTTTTT DUNKED ON



[ 19 - they/them - ISTP - GMT+8 ]

this is phloem and i'm literally the worst
...forreal tho hmu if you wanna rp

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Would I be able to join this as Sebastian Moran, by any chance? :D
An old rustbucket of a Volkswagen Beetle puttered up to the school, the exhaust pipe spitting out less than healthy amounts of carbon monoxide. Right after the engines let out a horrible clanking noise, the vehicle shuddered to a stop, just shy of the parking space. A muffled curse escaped from its driver, and the door flew open. From the car, emerged Madison Cordell, his hair even unrulier than usual.

Standing there in his grey v-neck and jeans, Madison simply stared at the car and hoped that through sheer willpower, the engine would come back to life. It was actually kind of ridiculous. But then again, he wasn't exactly in the right state of mind. For starters, all he had for breakfast was cold, leftover chicken nuggets and a swig (okay, more than a swig) of vodka. Unfortunately, whoever perpetuated the myth of how drinking even more alcohol would cure a hangover was dead wrong. And the pounding in his brain was only aggravated by the sound of Pavlov's barking. The Rottweiler was scratching at the back of the seats, seeming like he wanted to get out of the car. Obviously, this wasn't a problem since the door was open, but he didn't seem to realise that.

"Alright, buddy." Madison sighed, crouching down and tugging slightly at Pavlov's collar. "Let's get you out."

Woof.

"C'mon, we don't have all day."

Wooof woof.

The conversation would go on this was for an additional five minutes before Madison was finally able to coax Pavlov out of the car. Slamming the door shut, he made sure to keep an eye on the dog as he got his belongings out of the trunk. Now normally, Madison would have left Pavlov with his siste while he went to work. But this year, she picked the perfect time to go on vacation. Sure, he could've left Pavlov back home, but to be honest, he was actually a little bit scared of what his violent, old harridan of a landlady would do.

With Pavlov's leash in hand, and his bag slung over his right shoulder, Madison began to make his way to the main school grounds. As a cold gust of wind hit him square in the face, he was suddenly thankful he chose to wear a plaid button-up with jeans instead of his usual v-neck. Having spent most of his life in Tampa, he really wasn't used to any type of cold weather. But, the wind did have a positive effect of waking him up a little and making him feel a little less shitty. So, that was a good thing.

Looking around, Madison spotted a few familiar faces, and some not-so familiar ones. Both teachers and students alike were milling around the area, probably since the Headmaster's speech was over. Wait, shit. Was I supposed to go for that? Madison's brow knitted for a moment, as he tried to recall whether it was compulsory for staff or not. But he just as quickly realised that there was really no point in worrying about it, and he continued on his way.

As of right now, he didn't have a set destination. Briefly contemplating heading to the cafeteria to have a proper breakfast, he swiftly quashed that idea. With his head feeling like it was about to explode, Madison didn't really fancy being in an enclosed space with a horde of raucous teenagers.

Finally settling on the activity of sitting down and doing nothing, Madison located a steel bench off to the side of the courtyard. Pavlov trotted after him dejectedly, flashing literal puppy dog eyes at his owner when he sat down. Clearly, this wasn't the Rottweiler's idea of fun. The whole situation earned a smirk and chuckle from Madison, as he moved to unclip Pavlov's leash from his collar.

Faster than lightning, Pavlov bounded off in a random direction. Madison was sure he'd have to drag him off some unlucky freshman sooner or later, but for now, he leaned back in his seat and just watched.

Ramsay's foot tapped impatiently against the tiled floors of the church. The whole "respectful silence" thing was really getting on his nerves; partly because it was taking way too long, and partly because he'd been jonesing for a smoke ever since this morning. But, with his schedule taken up by slicing up traitors and this shit, he hadn't even had time to buy himself a fresh pack. Ramsay's thoughts briefly wandered, and he found himself wondering if Tybald was taking good care of his prisoner. After all, there was still more information they could squeeze out of him.

Craning his neck to get a better view, Ramsay spotted Petyr "Pornstache" Baelish. It wasn't surprising that he was here, unlike the Starks, seeing that he was the one who managed most of Casino's profits. Despite the man's many connections, Ramsay just didn't find him all that interesting, and dismissed him as a dime a dozen.

Unfortunately, when Ramsay turned his attention back to the "grieving" widow's eulogy, it was somehow still going. Jesus fucking Christ, just how much did she have to say? It wasn't like the deceased even had the capacity to hear, let alone appreciate any of it. He let out an audible sigh, and slouched in his seat. While he could hear how her voice shook, he knew that all this was faker than a two dollar bill. In another life, Cersei would've probably made a good actress, maybe even an Oscar-winning one. But for now, that was besides the point, as a few moments later, her speech reached it's conclusion.

"Goodbye, my love." Ramsay mocked under his breath, barely managing to suppress a grisly little snicker. The elder Bolton turned with such an in-his-own-good-time deadpan that it was at first impossible to tell whether he had heard him or not. But, when Ramsay saw the disapproving, if-Domeric-were-alive look in his ice grey eyes, he knew he had. Steepling his fingers, Ramsay did his best to appear contrite, but to be honest, he didn't really give a fuck.

Just a little while more, and he'd finally be able to get out of this hellhole. Ramsay couldn't wait to give his brand new Harley a spin. It was a 1200 custom, the colour of clotted blood with a gunmetal finish and leather seats. Plus, it had an aftermarket exhaust system so loud that it rattled your bones. Of course, first, he'd have to get back home and change out of this scratchy ass suit - and maybe get himself some Skittles and cigarettes, on the way.

Ramsay contemplated taking the redheaded Stark girl out for a joyride. Although the Commissioner would no doubt have heard awful rumours about the Bastard Of Bolton; the last logical thing he'd do was let his beloved daughter associate with him. But, she did seem like the gullible type, and teenage rebellion could move mountains.

Settling in his seat, he stole a glance at Sansa Stark, a mischevious glint in his eyes as he waited for the funeral to finally be over.
Will have a post up within the hour. :D
Putting this here as a placeholder. WIP for now, but it'll probably be done within 24 hours because I'm about to conk out.

EDIT: Most of it is done, though some parts might be a little wonky. I'll fix/finish it tomorrow afternoon, but for now, goodnight guys! :D

EDIT 2: Done!

I'll try to get a post up tomorrow if no one else does. :Y
Oh, could I reserve Herbology for my character, please? I'll probably finish my sheet by the end of today. :D


^ Dr. Manhattan FTW.
Very interested. C:
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