(Untitled)

[doctorkilljoy]

A projector was sitting on the edge of the bar in the Ravenclaw common room. It was one of the two he'd manifested in the Sorting Room. Killjoy hadn't bothered to start it up yet; he was still feeling his way around, finding all the little void areas he couldn't reach. There didn't seem to be any call to place new ones down yet, so he returned his

Comments

[whitesheep_dw]

Dominic is sitting by the bar, avoiding most alcohol, with a drink and an interested expression.

He can't help it. He's science dude.

This is really old technology, and so Dom hasn't touched it yet. He's regarding with the sort of reverence he reserves for museums, old manuscripts and very fragile experiments.

'Hm,' he says out loud, and moves around to the front to see it from all angles.

[doctorkilljoy]

"Ah, you look like a fellow who knows what's what!" Killjoy observed. Then, because it was generally more polite to be visible when one spoke, the projector wound up and displayed him in his surprisingly three dimensional glory. "This place is really most fascinating. Perhaps you could recommend a good starting class for the beginning magician? Or is it wizard? I've just come from the Sorting Room, and it's still a bit...overwhelming."

[whitesheep_dw]

Dom would have fallen off his barstool were it not entirely rude. 'How are you working?' he asks the projection, before running over the doctor's questions in his mind. 'Oh, right.'

'The classes here are a bit scattered,' he confides. 'It's wizard--but I dunno if there are going to be any classes except maybe Potions soon.' Proudly, 'I'm the teaching assistant for that. You do get used to it, only...not straight away.'

He may be remembering his first week at Hogwarts, where he found out his friend Dave was actually his BROTHER, Brice. And then the drinking that came afterwards. Eurgh. Hangover. Never again.

[doctorkilljoy]

When Killjoy thought 'potions', he thought of starstruck preteen girls breathlessly begging some ancient old hag for the secret to making an equally foolish young boy forever theirs.

"Is that the...magical equivalent of chemistry by any chance?" He hoped fervently that it was. "I was a fair hand at the old mortar and pestle back at Oxford. Of course, we were mixing medinces, then. That was back when I was still wavering between surgeon and apothecary."