RP: Water Games Gone Fowl
Date: 21 August 2005
Characters: Orla Quirke, Michael Corner
Location: Otter River
Status: Public
Summary: Orla is finding it very difficult to relax.
Completion: Complete
Orla didn’t consider herself a coffee or tea addict by any stretch. No, she was just British, through and through, so tea was a natural inclination when worrying over something, or when counseling someone. Coffee had become a staple during the weeks she hadn’t been sleeping; though darn it if George Weasley hadn’t been right, the Calming Draught did the trick. She’d taken it for two weeks, before testing her ability to sleep naturally. It seemed that her body would only shut down if she was completely calmed down. So that had been a bit of a failure. That had been two nights ago. She’d returned to the routine of a small spoonful before bed, with lots of water (she didn’t want anything resembling a hangover, even from potions), and 48 hours later, she was so keyed up at herself, she couldn’t sit still.
So she had cleaned. Top to bottom. She had even gone through the spare room, getting the residual clutter and debris from where the roof had been a problem, before Roger Davies and his team had fixed it. She had gotten both cats into the bathroom, where she had applied a flea powder (they were discreet, but not discreet enough with their scratching). She had taken everything out of her cupboards and set it to wash. She had made several lists of the work she wanted done on the inside, starting with taking down the wallpaper in her dining room (There was nothing remotely attractive about roosters, in her opinion), painting all the rooms of her house, and cutting her front sitting room/office in half, so she had more of a work niche and private space between her area of business and her research. The upstairs was more confusion though. She wanted to break up the rooms differently, as right now there was a master to the left of the stairway, with a bath off it, the central bath straight ahead, and a guest room in the rear left. She didn’t really care for having only two rooms. What if she actually had company? Sure, it was unlikely, but she had to plan for it. In any case, she wanted to break the two bedrooms into three, or at least into two bedrooms and a storage room.
She contemplated owling Harry, but he’d been scarce lately, so she didn’t want to come across as pushy, even though he’d gotten her thinking about it. Once she had made those lists for renovation, what she’d need to get the job done, she assessed some of her finances. She’d gone to the new bank in town and deposited most of what she’d stockpiled from her alimony, but that had been easy as she’d not needed much to live on. Her broom was her biggest expenditure to date. And that had gotten dusty since her first attempt at flying high, which had turned into a peeping tom experience.
She stood in her front room, looking out the window. It was plenty warm, and she was feeling sweaty in her t-shirt and cutoffs. On impulse, she grabbed her broom, taking out the cleaning kit, and settled on the stairs for a few minutes, bringing the luster back to high polish. Wand and broom firmly in hand, she exited her house, determined to get a real honest to goodness flight under her belt. Or at least cool off somewhat. She made her way to the riverbank. Her innate logic kept insisting that if she fell over water she would have a softer landing, though she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted that. Instead, she mounted up, and began a slow back and forth from one bank to another, gradually gaining height. She was a bit tense, trying not to jerk one way or another, much less overcompensate for the occasional gusts of wind.
She was starting to enjoy herself when a duck, who had been calmly paddling along on the water, decided to take off for bluer waters. Unfortunately, the bird was using wind currents that had taken him straight into Orla’s path, and she shrieked as her balance, difficult to maintain on the ground, tilted sideways and she dropped straight into the middle of the river. The logical part of her cringed, hearing the more emotional side of her screech that no it wasn’t softer to land on water, it bloody well took the air out of her and now they were going to drown. She gasped, trying to take in some air, but ended up swallowing a bunch of water. She coughed, flailing her arms as her sneakers, unable to find solid ground beneath her, weighed her down and she went under. She thought dimly that next time she saw George Weasley, she was going to suggest that he make a strong enough water repellent for shoes so they’d practically walk on water.
Characters: Orla Quirke, Michael Corner
Location: Otter River
Status: Public
Summary: Orla is finding it very difficult to relax.
Completion: Complete
Orla didn’t consider herself a coffee or tea addict by any stretch. No, she was just British, through and through, so tea was a natural inclination when worrying over something, or when counseling someone. Coffee had become a staple during the weeks she hadn’t been sleeping; though darn it if George Weasley hadn’t been right, the Calming Draught did the trick. She’d taken it for two weeks, before testing her ability to sleep naturally. It seemed that her body would only shut down if she was completely calmed down. So that had been a bit of a failure. That had been two nights ago. She’d returned to the routine of a small spoonful before bed, with lots of water (she didn’t want anything resembling a hangover, even from potions), and 48 hours later, she was so keyed up at herself, she couldn’t sit still.
So she had cleaned. Top to bottom. She had even gone through the spare room, getting the residual clutter and debris from where the roof had been a problem, before Roger Davies and his team had fixed it. She had gotten both cats into the bathroom, where she had applied a flea powder (they were discreet, but not discreet enough with their scratching). She had taken everything out of her cupboards and set it to wash. She had made several lists of the work she wanted done on the inside, starting with taking down the wallpaper in her dining room (There was nothing remotely attractive about roosters, in her opinion), painting all the rooms of her house, and cutting her front sitting room/office in half, so she had more of a work niche and private space between her area of business and her research. The upstairs was more confusion though. She wanted to break up the rooms differently, as right now there was a master to the left of the stairway, with a bath off it, the central bath straight ahead, and a guest room in the rear left. She didn’t really care for having only two rooms. What if she actually had company? Sure, it was unlikely, but she had to plan for it. In any case, she wanted to break the two bedrooms into three, or at least into two bedrooms and a storage room.
She contemplated owling Harry, but he’d been scarce lately, so she didn’t want to come across as pushy, even though he’d gotten her thinking about it. Once she had made those lists for renovation, what she’d need to get the job done, she assessed some of her finances. She’d gone to the new bank in town and deposited most of what she’d stockpiled from her alimony, but that had been easy as she’d not needed much to live on. Her broom was her biggest expenditure to date. And that had gotten dusty since her first attempt at flying high, which had turned into a peeping tom experience.
She stood in her front room, looking out the window. It was plenty warm, and she was feeling sweaty in her t-shirt and cutoffs. On impulse, she grabbed her broom, taking out the cleaning kit, and settled on the stairs for a few minutes, bringing the luster back to high polish. Wand and broom firmly in hand, she exited her house, determined to get a real honest to goodness flight under her belt. Or at least cool off somewhat. She made her way to the riverbank. Her innate logic kept insisting that if she fell over water she would have a softer landing, though she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted that. Instead, she mounted up, and began a slow back and forth from one bank to another, gradually gaining height. She was a bit tense, trying not to jerk one way or another, much less overcompensate for the occasional gusts of wind.
She was starting to enjoy herself when a duck, who had been calmly paddling along on the water, decided to take off for bluer waters. Unfortunately, the bird was using wind currents that had taken him straight into Orla’s path, and she shrieked as her balance, difficult to maintain on the ground, tilted sideways and she dropped straight into the middle of the river. The logical part of her cringed, hearing the more emotional side of her screech that no it wasn’t softer to land on water, it bloody well took the air out of her and now they were going to drown. She gasped, trying to take in some air, but ended up swallowing a bunch of water. She coughed, flailing her arms as her sneakers, unable to find solid ground beneath her, weighed her down and she went under. She thought dimly that next time she saw George Weasley, she was going to suggest that he make a strong enough water repellent for shoes so they’d practically walk on water.