Catching up: Nov 07 - July 08.
Many prompts beneath the cut. Phew!
November 2007 Prompt.
#3: Picture prompt - Les catacombs unofficielle, Paris.
Rating: PG
Word count: 577.
During the search for a cure for Tom being stuck inside his head, Blaise went to Paris to seek out the Dark Wizards and Witches. One of them told him that the possibility for reuniting Tom's soul and body could be found by asking the oracle deep inside the catacombs of Paris.
Blaise had hoped it was true - he did want to get Tom out of his head and back into his own body, after all, but there was also the sense of excitement he'd always had at the prospect of going somewhere unforbidden. And the catacombs were off limits to Parisians and tourists, patrolled by special members of les gendarmeries, and the people who loved the underground city, les cataphiles, constantly engaged in a game of cat and mouse.
Blaise hunted around and finally found a man willing to take him into the catacombs and guide him through to the room that was alleged to be where the oracle was. The young man admitted he had heard the stories of the oracle but had never consulted it himself. He did not see the need to, he said, as he'd smoked the strong French cigarettes, Gitanes that Blaise was developing a taste for. The catacombs themselves were more important than an oracle.
Money changed hands, and at midnight, Blaise and his guide climbed into a manhole in a deserted side street and down, down, down into the city under the city. There was total darkness in the subterranean world and Blaise cast a Lumos, ignoring Tom's warnings in his head about showing off magic in front of Muggles. His guide didn't seem to be particularly surprised by such a display and led Blaise on a winding route through the many rooms and passageways of the catacombs to the room where the oracle lived.
The floor was rough and the walls were covered with graffiti in several different languages. The light of the Lumos cast no shadow and so Blaise was able to appreciate just how intricate some of the art on the walls actually was. Finally, his guide stopped at a shallow flight of stairs and pointed. "Down there," he said, lighting a cigarette. "I'll wait for you."
Blaise had nodded and descended the stairs, then entered through an arched opening into a room that had no graffiti upon the walls and contained only a small spring hewn out of solid rock. He took a deep breath and performed the ritual he had been instructed in to gain the attention of the oracle. After a moment, from the water that came from the spring, there was a voice.
"Blaise Zabini, you seek an end to being two in one."
"Yeah." Blaise nodded. "Is it possible?"
"Possible, oui. Easy, non. Now, pas de tout."
"What do you mean, 'now, not at all'?"
"Everything has a time, petit," the oracle said quietly. "And it is not the time yet for the Dark Lord to come forth."
Blaise sighed. "When will be the time?"
"You will know," said the oracle. "And so will he. Soon, though. Soon."
Further questioning could not elicit any more response. With Tom muttering grumpily in his mind, Blaise extinguished his Lumos in the room and left, returning to his guide.
"Did you find what you were after?" the young man asked.
"Sort of," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Sort of."
"Sort of is better than not at all," was the philosophical reply.
"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "It is."
*****
December 2007 Prompt.
#2: Ache. (From February 2007.)
Rating: PG
Word count: 195.
A life of living a strange combination of street urchin, wealthy kept lover, school boy and Russian peasant have left Blaise with numerous scars, aches and pains. It's particularly bad in winter, when rain sheets over the roof of the Riddle House and patters against the windowpanes. The cold seems to seep through the walls and he shivers as he sits close to the fire.
The shivering does not come from cold, after all, Blaise is from Russia and well able to survive the extremities of temperature. The shivering comes from pain brought by the cold, muscles tight in pain, joints aching. Winter is harder as he grows older, and he feels every moment of his age in every single one of his joints.
When the aches are at their worst, it's all he can do to hold a quill so that he can write or keep a book open so that he can read. He gets frustrated and angry at these times, casts spells in his frustration and pain.
There is nothing anyone can do, and Blaise endures it as best he can, suffering not in silence beautiful, but coping as best he can.
******
March 2008 Prompt.
#3: Picture prompt - The Monks, Russia.
Rating: G.
Word count: 182.
"Echo! Echo! Echo!"
Blaise giggles as his multiple shouts echo back to him across the mountains. Tom sighs and then he laughs.
"You're such a brat, Love."
"Yep." Blaise is cheerful in his agreement. "And you love it."
"Indeed I do."
"Now you try it." Blaise looks at his lover. "Shout something."
Tom looks alarmed. "But what if people hear?"
"That is the whole point," Blaise says calmly. "Make noise."
"Um…well…okay." Tom takes a deep breath, wondering what on earth he should shout. Being put on the spot has made him nervous. "Hello!"
The mountains dutifully echo back his greeting.
Blaise elbows his lover. "See? That wasn't so bad, now was it?"
"No, I suppose not." Tom beams.
"Cool. Now, next time, shout out something rude."
Tom gazes at Blaise with wide eyes. "There are people over there!" he points towards a group of tourists.
Blaise starts laughing. "Oh, Tom," he says, and then he yells, "SILLY BOY!"
Tom groans and hides his head in his hands. "Blaise!"
"You're blushing. Go, me!" Blaise grins. "C'mon, let's go and get something to eat."
*****
April 2008 Prompt.
#2: Letter to my muse.
Rating: R.
Word count: 173
Dear Blaise,
I know you like to swear, smoke, drink and generally be a boy, but sometimes, your need to go on (and on and on) about bodily functions isn't really necessary, okay? The world does not need to know about how you like to scratch your balls when you get up in the morning, or how loud (and smelly) your farts are, or whether or not you can fit a Coke can into your mouth. The world has lived without this knowledge before and will continue to live without it in the future.
Also, pulling the puppy eyes on me isn't going to work, as I write you and therefore control when you do pull the puppy eyes and therefore I am immune to them. Even though your avatar is awfully cute and I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers, his puppy eyes are not focused on me and so therefore have no effect either. Just learn to live with this and we'll all get along fine.
Yours,
Star.
******
July 2008 Prompt.
#5: Picture prompt - summer trees.
Rating: PG
Word count: 200.
"Wait a sec, let me climb a tree and see where we are."
They're hiking in the foothills of the Sayan Mountains and Blaise climbs a large tree bedecked in its summer colours, preparing for the vegetative party of autumn to get his bearings. While he's up there, the urge for mischief overtakes him and he picks some acorns and proceeds to drop them on Tom's head.
"Ow! What was that for?" Tom looks at him, rubbing his head, as Blaise slithers down the tree, grinning.
"Making sure you're paying attention. Oh hey, you've got acorns on you, however did that happen?"
"I don't know," Tom teases back, "some crazy man dropped them on me from a tree."
"Better watch out for those crazy men," Blaise says sagely, "especially in Russia. One could come along at any moment and push you into the river!"
Tom can't help but look alarmed as he checks to make sure they are nowhere near any kind of body of water.
Blaise laughs helplessly. "We'll get in the water later, after we've finished hiking," he says. "'cos we'll be well hot by then."
Relieved, Tom grins back at him. "Okay, that sounds good, Love."
"Okay."
November 2007 Prompt.
#3: Picture prompt - Les catacombs unofficielle, Paris.
Rating: PG
Word count: 577.
During the search for a cure for Tom being stuck inside his head, Blaise went to Paris to seek out the Dark Wizards and Witches. One of them told him that the possibility for reuniting Tom's soul and body could be found by asking the oracle deep inside the catacombs of Paris.
Blaise had hoped it was true - he did want to get Tom out of his head and back into his own body, after all, but there was also the sense of excitement he'd always had at the prospect of going somewhere unforbidden. And the catacombs were off limits to Parisians and tourists, patrolled by special members of les gendarmeries, and the people who loved the underground city, les cataphiles, constantly engaged in a game of cat and mouse.
Blaise hunted around and finally found a man willing to take him into the catacombs and guide him through to the room that was alleged to be where the oracle was. The young man admitted he had heard the stories of the oracle but had never consulted it himself. He did not see the need to, he said, as he'd smoked the strong French cigarettes, Gitanes that Blaise was developing a taste for. The catacombs themselves were more important than an oracle.
Money changed hands, and at midnight, Blaise and his guide climbed into a manhole in a deserted side street and down, down, down into the city under the city. There was total darkness in the subterranean world and Blaise cast a Lumos, ignoring Tom's warnings in his head about showing off magic in front of Muggles. His guide didn't seem to be particularly surprised by such a display and led Blaise on a winding route through the many rooms and passageways of the catacombs to the room where the oracle lived.
The floor was rough and the walls were covered with graffiti in several different languages. The light of the Lumos cast no shadow and so Blaise was able to appreciate just how intricate some of the art on the walls actually was. Finally, his guide stopped at a shallow flight of stairs and pointed. "Down there," he said, lighting a cigarette. "I'll wait for you."
Blaise had nodded and descended the stairs, then entered through an arched opening into a room that had no graffiti upon the walls and contained only a small spring hewn out of solid rock. He took a deep breath and performed the ritual he had been instructed in to gain the attention of the oracle. After a moment, from the water that came from the spring, there was a voice.
"Blaise Zabini, you seek an end to being two in one."
"Yeah." Blaise nodded. "Is it possible?"
"Possible, oui. Easy, non. Now, pas de tout."
"What do you mean, 'now, not at all'?"
"Everything has a time, petit," the oracle said quietly. "And it is not the time yet for the Dark Lord to come forth."
Blaise sighed. "When will be the time?"
"You will know," said the oracle. "And so will he. Soon, though. Soon."
Further questioning could not elicit any more response. With Tom muttering grumpily in his mind, Blaise extinguished his Lumos in the room and left, returning to his guide.
"Did you find what you were after?" the young man asked.
"Sort of," Blaise said thoughtfully. "Sort of."
"Sort of is better than not at all," was the philosophical reply.
"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "It is."
*****
December 2007 Prompt.
#2: Ache. (From February 2007.)
Rating: PG
Word count: 195.
A life of living a strange combination of street urchin, wealthy kept lover, school boy and Russian peasant have left Blaise with numerous scars, aches and pains. It's particularly bad in winter, when rain sheets over the roof of the Riddle House and patters against the windowpanes. The cold seems to seep through the walls and he shivers as he sits close to the fire.
The shivering does not come from cold, after all, Blaise is from Russia and well able to survive the extremities of temperature. The shivering comes from pain brought by the cold, muscles tight in pain, joints aching. Winter is harder as he grows older, and he feels every moment of his age in every single one of his joints.
When the aches are at their worst, it's all he can do to hold a quill so that he can write or keep a book open so that he can read. He gets frustrated and angry at these times, casts spells in his frustration and pain.
There is nothing anyone can do, and Blaise endures it as best he can, suffering not in silence beautiful, but coping as best he can.
******
March 2008 Prompt.
#3: Picture prompt - The Monks, Russia.
Rating: G.
Word count: 182.
"Echo! Echo! Echo!"
Blaise giggles as his multiple shouts echo back to him across the mountains. Tom sighs and then he laughs.
"You're such a brat, Love."
"Yep." Blaise is cheerful in his agreement. "And you love it."
"Indeed I do."
"Now you try it." Blaise looks at his lover. "Shout something."
Tom looks alarmed. "But what if people hear?"
"That is the whole point," Blaise says calmly. "Make noise."
"Um…well…okay." Tom takes a deep breath, wondering what on earth he should shout. Being put on the spot has made him nervous. "Hello!"
The mountains dutifully echo back his greeting.
Blaise elbows his lover. "See? That wasn't so bad, now was it?"
"No, I suppose not." Tom beams.
"Cool. Now, next time, shout out something rude."
Tom gazes at Blaise with wide eyes. "There are people over there!" he points towards a group of tourists.
Blaise starts laughing. "Oh, Tom," he says, and then he yells, "SILLY BOY!"
Tom groans and hides his head in his hands. "Blaise!"
"You're blushing. Go, me!" Blaise grins. "C'mon, let's go and get something to eat."
*****
April 2008 Prompt.
#2: Letter to my muse.
Rating: R.
Word count: 173
Dear Blaise,
I know you like to swear, smoke, drink and generally be a boy, but sometimes, your need to go on (and on and on) about bodily functions isn't really necessary, okay? The world does not need to know about how you like to scratch your balls when you get up in the morning, or how loud (and smelly) your farts are, or whether or not you can fit a Coke can into your mouth. The world has lived without this knowledge before and will continue to live without it in the future.
Also, pulling the puppy eyes on me isn't going to work, as I write you and therefore control when you do pull the puppy eyes and therefore I am immune to them. Even though your avatar is awfully cute and I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers, his puppy eyes are not focused on me and so therefore have no effect either. Just learn to live with this and we'll all get along fine.
Yours,
Star.
******
July 2008 Prompt.
#5: Picture prompt - summer trees.
Rating: PG
Word count: 200.
"Wait a sec, let me climb a tree and see where we are."
They're hiking in the foothills of the Sayan Mountains and Blaise climbs a large tree bedecked in its summer colours, preparing for the vegetative party of autumn to get his bearings. While he's up there, the urge for mischief overtakes him and he picks some acorns and proceeds to drop them on Tom's head.
"Ow! What was that for?" Tom looks at him, rubbing his head, as Blaise slithers down the tree, grinning.
"Making sure you're paying attention. Oh hey, you've got acorns on you, however did that happen?"
"I don't know," Tom teases back, "some crazy man dropped them on me from a tree."
"Better watch out for those crazy men," Blaise says sagely, "especially in Russia. One could come along at any moment and push you into the river!"
Tom can't help but look alarmed as he checks to make sure they are nowhere near any kind of body of water.
Blaise laughs helplessly. "We'll get in the water later, after we've finished hiking," he says. "'cos we'll be well hot by then."
Relieved, Tom grins back at him. "Okay, that sounds good, Love."
"Okay."