The Secret Popcorn (Open RP and unpopping)
((OOC: Richard Papen has changed hands, and now has a new LJ! :D Feel free to have your char see him wandering.))
Popcorn was not a very dignified thing to be. Sure, no worse for the wear did Richard emerge from his buttery shell, but his best suit jacket was now covered in oil and he smelled like some strange combination of scotch, snack food, and smoke. For a moment he simply looked around him, wide brown eyes taking in the surroundings.
He knew this place. Like a bubble surfacing from the wasteland of a forgotten dream, the name presented itself to Richard's mind.
Hogwarts.
Scotland.
Ravenclaw.
A school of some kind. The details were still fuzzy, like some night spent drinking until you woke up, cotton mouthed and head pounding, in an unfamiliar room sometime the next day. But he knew that much. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, trying to comfort his pounding heart and wildly racing brain - Hogwarts, Scotland, Ravenclaw. Three words that meant some kind of attachment to this place.
Well, it wasn't California. A mark in its favor. And it was a school. He'd always felt more comfortable around the halls of academic learning. So, all in all, not a bad place to wind up.
If only he could remember why he'd come here.
A small, wrinkled creature, with skin like a dishrag unwrung and left out to dry, appeared before him. Richard started slightly, but, scratching absently at the back of his neck, ventured to speak.
"Hello?"
A tentative word that trembled harshly in the air, dropping from vocal chords unused for too long. But the house-elf - the proper name for it bloomed into Richard's mind like ink in water - simply bowed and asked if it could be of service.
"Couldn't trouble you for a new jacket?" Richard smiled tremulously, fingers already itching for a cigarette. God, he was getting as bad as Francis. That name made him sigh, just a quiet heaving of air, a faint melancholy that was shaken off quickly, with the ease of long practice. Before he could even grasp at the package of menthols in his inner pocket, the house-elf snapped his fingers and disappeared. Leaving Richard, much to his relief, completely cleaned off. Thank God for small favors.
Unlit cigarette between two fingers, Richard wandered out into the hallway. After glancing back and forth a few times, he then started out in no particular direction at all. Rambling, quite aimlessly, avidly searching out things that might jog his memory further.
Popcorn was not a very dignified thing to be. Sure, no worse for the wear did Richard emerge from his buttery shell, but his best suit jacket was now covered in oil and he smelled like some strange combination of scotch, snack food, and smoke. For a moment he simply looked around him, wide brown eyes taking in the surroundings.
He knew this place. Like a bubble surfacing from the wasteland of a forgotten dream, the name presented itself to Richard's mind.
Hogwarts.
Scotland.
Ravenclaw.
A school of some kind. The details were still fuzzy, like some night spent drinking until you woke up, cotton mouthed and head pounding, in an unfamiliar room sometime the next day. But he knew that much. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, trying to comfort his pounding heart and wildly racing brain - Hogwarts, Scotland, Ravenclaw. Three words that meant some kind of attachment to this place.
Well, it wasn't California. A mark in its favor. And it was a school. He'd always felt more comfortable around the halls of academic learning. So, all in all, not a bad place to wind up.
If only he could remember why he'd come here.
A small, wrinkled creature, with skin like a dishrag unwrung and left out to dry, appeared before him. Richard started slightly, but, scratching absently at the back of his neck, ventured to speak.
"Hello?"
A tentative word that trembled harshly in the air, dropping from vocal chords unused for too long. But the house-elf - the proper name for it bloomed into Richard's mind like ink in water - simply bowed and asked if it could be of service.
"Couldn't trouble you for a new jacket?" Richard smiled tremulously, fingers already itching for a cigarette. God, he was getting as bad as Francis. That name made him sigh, just a quiet heaving of air, a faint melancholy that was shaken off quickly, with the ease of long practice. Before he could even grasp at the package of menthols in his inner pocket, the house-elf snapped his fingers and disappeared. Leaving Richard, much to his relief, completely cleaned off. Thank God for small favors.
Unlit cigarette between two fingers, Richard wandered out into the hallway. After glancing back and forth a few times, he then started out in no particular direction at all. Rambling, quite aimlessly, avidly searching out things that might jog his memory further.