Post by Benjamin Penrose on Jun 25, 2015 14:50:14 GMT -5
i'll be coming over
while our blood's still young
Tap.. tap.. tap..
Others peered around the common room in search of the simple rhythm that impeded their original silence. It took a matter of seconds to lay eyes on the culprit - Benjamin Penrose. An index finger lightly beat down upon a table. Any annoyed glares he received would never be even remotely noticed by the occupied Slytherin. Dark brown eyes were focused on the parchment laid out orderly on the smooth surface of the able before him, a scowl permanently etched on his face. He didn't bother glancing at the books strewn around him, assuming he'd feel sick looking at the tomes again like he had a few hours before. What was this cruel fate he faced? Schoolwork was being constantly thrown in his face lately. Bags had formed under his eyes, earning him an overall worn-out feel. It didn't take more than three pressing assignments for the sixteen year old to crumble under the stress. He could easily do with a shot of espresso. Or double. Possibly triple. He'd managed to complete the majority of his tasks, tick them off his list. All except for one.
Perhaps the boy had long lost rationale from his lack of adequate slumber as he peered menacingly down at the assignment that had yet to be started. If he glowered long enough, something had to happen. Mentally kicking himself for such logic, he let out a small groan, reaching up to gently rub both of his pulsating temples. Rolling in too much self-pity over the looming chore to care about the questionable glances thrown his way.
Potions. It gave him a major headache just thinking about the subject. Him and that class never mixed well. It was a rather explosive mix. Not only did he struggle with the overall concept of Potions, Benjamin and the Professor were on ghastly terms. The boy wasn't one to normally disrespect the teachers of Hogwarts, but he'd been known to merrily take more than a few jabs at the Potions Professor. It was due to his last spat at the teacher that rewarded him with the lengthy essay on the properties of Knotgrass and its uses in making potions. Sure, wouldn't seem like a challenging endeavor to most, but the complication with Benjamin was he never paid an ounce of attention in his lessons. Always telling himself that he'd never produce a potion after wrapping up the entirety of his lessons, so what was the point in heeding anything uttered within those walls?
Jutting out his lower lip, he placed an elbow on the table using the palm of his hand to rest his chin upon. It was tempting to take a catnap, but he fought against the craving. Opting to battle his fatigue head on. As much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, this needed to get done. Pronto. The Slytherin common room was always an area in the castle that lulled him into a serene state. The surprisingly comforting green lighting, the crackling fire. It was a place he could easily kick his feet up and relax in. However, he was slowly realizing it wasn't the most optimal place to work intensively on anything. He never got much done when he chose to do things in the midst of the common room other than laze about, avoiding his academic responsibilities. Wracking his brain, he inspected a few of the Slytherin in the room.
Say, I wonder if anyone would do this for me for five galleons? Chortling at the remark, he bit his lower lip to contain anymore airy fits of laughter that threatened to make its way out. He was becoming increasingly loopy in his weary sate of mind. The boy took to sending more threatening looks at his unmarked parchment.
Others peered around the common room in search of the simple rhythm that impeded their original silence. It took a matter of seconds to lay eyes on the culprit - Benjamin Penrose. An index finger lightly beat down upon a table. Any annoyed glares he received would never be even remotely noticed by the occupied Slytherin. Dark brown eyes were focused on the parchment laid out orderly on the smooth surface of the able before him, a scowl permanently etched on his face. He didn't bother glancing at the books strewn around him, assuming he'd feel sick looking at the tomes again like he had a few hours before. What was this cruel fate he faced? Schoolwork was being constantly thrown in his face lately. Bags had formed under his eyes, earning him an overall worn-out feel. It didn't take more than three pressing assignments for the sixteen year old to crumble under the stress. He could easily do with a shot of espresso. Or double. Possibly triple. He'd managed to complete the majority of his tasks, tick them off his list. All except for one.
Perhaps the boy had long lost rationale from his lack of adequate slumber as he peered menacingly down at the assignment that had yet to be started. If he glowered long enough, something had to happen. Mentally kicking himself for such logic, he let out a small groan, reaching up to gently rub both of his pulsating temples. Rolling in too much self-pity over the looming chore to care about the questionable glances thrown his way.
Potions. It gave him a major headache just thinking about the subject. Him and that class never mixed well. It was a rather explosive mix. Not only did he struggle with the overall concept of Potions, Benjamin and the Professor were on ghastly terms. The boy wasn't one to normally disrespect the teachers of Hogwarts, but he'd been known to merrily take more than a few jabs at the Potions Professor. It was due to his last spat at the teacher that rewarded him with the lengthy essay on the properties of Knotgrass and its uses in making potions. Sure, wouldn't seem like a challenging endeavor to most, but the complication with Benjamin was he never paid an ounce of attention in his lessons. Always telling himself that he'd never produce a potion after wrapping up the entirety of his lessons, so what was the point in heeding anything uttered within those walls?
Jutting out his lower lip, he placed an elbow on the table using the palm of his hand to rest his chin upon. It was tempting to take a catnap, but he fought against the craving. Opting to battle his fatigue head on. As much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, this needed to get done. Pronto. The Slytherin common room was always an area in the castle that lulled him into a serene state. The surprisingly comforting green lighting, the crackling fire. It was a place he could easily kick his feet up and relax in. However, he was slowly realizing it wasn't the most optimal place to work intensively on anything. He never got much done when he chose to do things in the midst of the common room other than laze about, avoiding his academic responsibilities. Wracking his brain, he inspected a few of the Slytherin in the room.
Say, I wonder if anyone would do this for me for five galleons? Chortling at the remark, he bit his lower lip to contain anymore airy fits of laughter that threatened to make its way out. He was becoming increasingly loopy in his weary sate of mind. The boy took to sending more threatening looks at his unmarked parchment.
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