(Untitled)

[hargreaves_b]

Week Name/Date/Time: 'Yuletide Joy' / Tuesday, 13th December 2005 / 7:00 PM
Location: Corridors Outside Great Hall
Open To: Anyone (Hargy needs to get A DATE out more.)
Currently Involving: Dear Girly Hargreaves

Hargreaves let out a bored sigh, shrugging his shoulders and peering absently into the corridors. He held a Quidditch magazine under one arm

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[ghostozma]

Yes, well.
This was certainly not Ozma’s week. Or life. No wait-death.

Little Miss Ghostypants moooooooaned down the corridors, flailing her arms about, but anyone could see it was not up to par with her usual standards of terror and torture. She was just so dejected! First Laurie had to be so absobloodylutely humane to her, then she botched it up by TOUCHING him (or rather, not touching him, which was so, so, so much worse), and then that little Jeannie girl whom she was certain to be her little sister reincarnated had frelling left the castle for Africa or Neverland or some such rot!

Where was the justice in the world, really?!

To top it all off, it was Yule Ball season.
No, not Christmas season… Yule Ball.

All the little Fleshy Ones were bustling about being romantic with one another (even falsely so) in order to get in the spirit of dancing (which was actually just a disguise for getting sloshed and feeling each other up, she had come to realize over the past… 124 years).

Could she be any more bitter? I think not

[hargreaves_b]

Hargreaves heard a depressing moaning noise coming from the corridor. With an aggravated sigh, he looked about, his narrow face twisted up in an expression of 'What in the BLAZES is THAT?' He half expected it to be some Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, and his heart jumped at the prospect of perhaps throwing a trip jinx their way.

Though something actually floated up to him! He raised his eyes, seeing a ghost? Was it a ghost? He'd never seen this one before. Was this. . .Ozma? He'd definetely heard of her before, and it usually wasn't all that positive. He couldn't recall, though. His mind had been on other matters lately.

Did she call him Fleshy Fleshy? He was expecting to be SCARED. In fact, Hargreaves gave the girliest little snort of laughter and grinned at her. "Is this how lovely little spectres as yourself introduce themselves? Do you really wish to frighten us right off the bat?"

[ghostozma]

Lovely? Little?
That was certainly uncalled for-she was neither of those things!

Ozma felt some of her energy returning as the urge to protest and defend her honour arose within her transparent ribs. She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned, opened her mouth again, and then tipped backward in an aggravated flip, a sighing growl escaping from her lips.

The ghost righted herself again with her hands on her hips, glaring at the effeminate thing with lips pursed. “Hmph!” she said succinctly, pushing her pale, wispy face in front of his, as if that ought to explain everything. But, well, when she realised it probably did not do anything of the explaining sort, she swirled around him and cried, “GRAARGH!!”

Definitely more eloquent the second time.

“I’ll have you know I am the most frightening, wicked, nasty spirit in this castle, and you would do well to run from my sight before I see you in your NIGHTMARES.” And she shook her arms at him this time with decidedly more effort, although there was no roaring or pulling of terrifying

[hargreaves_b]

She certainly didn't look menacing or ghoulish. In fact, he actually reminded her quite a bit of the lot of his annoying girl schoolmates. Of course, this was from not knowing her. . .it. . .whatever a ghost WAS.

Hargreaves tilted back a bit as she got all up in his face, slightly amused by this show the ghost was putting on. As she flew about him yelling, he turned pink and looked around him, wondering if other students would see this. He put on his most charming smirk (hey, she was a person at one time, right?) and dodged her waving arms.

He smiled sweetly, trying to hide his discomfort at her. . .boldness. Or loudness. Or whatever it was. "You are?" he said in that condescending manner that came off as sweet as sugar. "Well, you hardly look frightening or wicked. I think of ghosts as bitter old hags, surely nothing like you are." So he was putting the old Beckett charm on a ghost? Hey, sometimes you had to. "Why go about scaring people?"