Post by Rister Graas S6 on Sept 1, 2013 10:30:43 GMT -5
Rister spared half a glance at Philip from where he was seated at a table next to his bed as the now first year stomped inside. He considered the boy wordlessly for a moment, taking in the rip in the shirtsleeve and the dried blood on the side of his chin before meeting Pip’s eye. For just a few seconds they stare at each other wordlessly, before Pip grounds out that he fell. Making a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat Rister decided not to argue and simply waved towards his bed before turning his attention to the essay before him. He has just half of the ending paragraph left to write before he’s done with homework for the week so he simply focuses on that while rustling and movements caught in the corner of his eyes let him know that Pip is crawling on top of his bed and struggling to get out of his shirt.
It takes three sentences for Rister to finish the essay, before he lays his quill aside, rolls up the parchment – the gesture of casting a protective spell on it an automatic reaction rather than a knowing decision – and standing to turn towards the bed. “Fell then?” he asked conversationally as he sits on the edge of the bed and scans Pip quickly with his eyes while considering where to begin. The arm he decides silently, grasping Pip’s forearm and tugging it closer. And maybe Pip did actually fall he concedes with a faint smirk flickering over his face as he tug out a broken stick mostly hidden in the long scratch there. Well, the kid hadn’t minded tromping around the grounds back in Italy either so it really wasn’t all that surprising to learn the little berk had decided to try his luck in the Forbidden forest. And worried. Definitely worried… over his reaction? “Mmmm, lovely. Willow, you know. There is a fairly specific breed of slugs that tends to prefer willows. They are mostly harmless on their own but tend to mutate when come in contact with blood. Your arm isn’t feeling itchy, is it?” Rister questioned with an innocent look only to promptly burst into laughter as Pip startled bad enough to actually fall off the other side of the bed. Snickering with open amusement Rister turned to crawl over his bed as well and blew a raspberry at Pip while plucking two nettle leaves from his arm. But at least it got him to relax even as he was muttering oaths underneath his breath at Rister.
“It’s the Forbidden Forest. And not very well kept really to be honest so don’t go tromping in there alone. You have a whole lot to learn before you can handle it,” Rister mused helping Pip haul himself back on the bed and getting to work at cleaning the scratches and mending them patiently, “But I can show you a little bit. Next week. Wednesday. Tuesday evening,” he amended with a roll of his eyes at the look Pip gave him, “Anything I missed?” At the shake of Pip’s head Rister tucked his wand away again and reached into the drawer of his bedside table to withdraw a vial of medicine that would help mellow any lingering pain from the now mended scratches as well as work as antiseptic that he always kept his hand what with his own trips to the forbidden forest. Uncorking the vial with his thumb he passed it over to Pip and made sure the kid actually drank it before standing to wander towards his wardrobe to pull out one of his shirts – a black one with the engraved half-pearl buttons that he had never really liked anyway – and tossing it towards Pip over his shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” comes the demand from the bed and Rister has to bite back the urge to grin at the sight of the much smaller boy in his shirt, rolling up the sleeves dropping over his fingers with a frown. “Not my fault you decided rolling around with slugs was more stimulating than dinner,” Rister responded without missing a beat, merely arching an eyebrow at Pip’s glower. “Make me pancakes,” the boy decides to push forward anyway, causing Rister to huff. “Ask the house-elves,” he complains but turns out to drag out a shirt for himself anyway, pulling it on his shoulders but not bothering to button it up as by that moment Pip is already off his bed anyway and dragging him out of the dormitory and the common room by his wrist. Besides he really doesn’t mind it too much that the brat enjoys lording over a kitchen table covered with treats, retelling his adventure in the forest between sips of hot chocolate while demanding Rister make him ham and cheese pancakes. He isn’t all that different from his own little siblings after all. So beyond obligatory bantering that lacks real bite, Rister tucks the edge of a kitchen towel under the waist of his pants – still not bothering to actually button his shirt as he hasn’t burnt himself while cooking for years really – and cooks for the brat. He has always made a mean stack of pancakes anyway.
It takes three sentences for Rister to finish the essay, before he lays his quill aside, rolls up the parchment – the gesture of casting a protective spell on it an automatic reaction rather than a knowing decision – and standing to turn towards the bed. “Fell then?” he asked conversationally as he sits on the edge of the bed and scans Pip quickly with his eyes while considering where to begin. The arm he decides silently, grasping Pip’s forearm and tugging it closer. And maybe Pip did actually fall he concedes with a faint smirk flickering over his face as he tug out a broken stick mostly hidden in the long scratch there. Well, the kid hadn’t minded tromping around the grounds back in Italy either so it really wasn’t all that surprising to learn the little berk had decided to try his luck in the Forbidden forest. And worried. Definitely worried… over his reaction? “Mmmm, lovely. Willow, you know. There is a fairly specific breed of slugs that tends to prefer willows. They are mostly harmless on their own but tend to mutate when come in contact with blood. Your arm isn’t feeling itchy, is it?” Rister questioned with an innocent look only to promptly burst into laughter as Pip startled bad enough to actually fall off the other side of the bed. Snickering with open amusement Rister turned to crawl over his bed as well and blew a raspberry at Pip while plucking two nettle leaves from his arm. But at least it got him to relax even as he was muttering oaths underneath his breath at Rister.
“It’s the Forbidden Forest. And not very well kept really to be honest so don’t go tromping in there alone. You have a whole lot to learn before you can handle it,” Rister mused helping Pip haul himself back on the bed and getting to work at cleaning the scratches and mending them patiently, “But I can show you a little bit. Next week. Wednesday. Tuesday evening,” he amended with a roll of his eyes at the look Pip gave him, “Anything I missed?” At the shake of Pip’s head Rister tucked his wand away again and reached into the drawer of his bedside table to withdraw a vial of medicine that would help mellow any lingering pain from the now mended scratches as well as work as antiseptic that he always kept his hand what with his own trips to the forbidden forest. Uncorking the vial with his thumb he passed it over to Pip and made sure the kid actually drank it before standing to wander towards his wardrobe to pull out one of his shirts – a black one with the engraved half-pearl buttons that he had never really liked anyway – and tossing it towards Pip over his shoulder.
“I’m hungry,” comes the demand from the bed and Rister has to bite back the urge to grin at the sight of the much smaller boy in his shirt, rolling up the sleeves dropping over his fingers with a frown. “Not my fault you decided rolling around with slugs was more stimulating than dinner,” Rister responded without missing a beat, merely arching an eyebrow at Pip’s glower. “Make me pancakes,” the boy decides to push forward anyway, causing Rister to huff. “Ask the house-elves,” he complains but turns out to drag out a shirt for himself anyway, pulling it on his shoulders but not bothering to button it up as by that moment Pip is already off his bed anyway and dragging him out of the dormitory and the common room by his wrist. Besides he really doesn’t mind it too much that the brat enjoys lording over a kitchen table covered with treats, retelling his adventure in the forest between sips of hot chocolate while demanding Rister make him ham and cheese pancakes. He isn’t all that different from his own little siblings after all. So beyond obligatory bantering that lacks real bite, Rister tucks the edge of a kitchen towel under the waist of his pants – still not bothering to actually button his shirt as he hasn’t burnt himself while cooking for years really – and cooks for the brat. He has always made a mean stack of pancakes anyway.