Kelpies, Sirens & Maritime Maladies

Sleeping was an endeavor better suited for one far less, well, wound up, as he was. Professor Furnell was not known for his bright eyed and bushy tailed demeanor, however, so it was just as well. His face had grown so accustomed to bruise-colored, owly shadows that these had likely become physical features as imbued to him as genetics themselves.

Scratching his neck, afflicted with the faintest trace of hives (curable only with Morris's knotgrass and mugwort potion - he'd have to request a new brew after dismissal today) the instructor made his way into the classroom. From the brief flight of stairs (bane of his mornings) he'd limp impatiently, tapping his walking stick with each lopsided step before propping himself up on his desk. Urgently, he sipped the hot contents of his mug, making a face of strain as one might when downing heavy liquor.

"No one here, old chap, right well. Assume it is merely ... A dress rehearsal. One that nobody has shown up to." He rolled one shoulder to crack before pausing, whitening. "Not even your own mother."

Now, it was not a matter of tardy students, but of the professor being quite early. One brief consultation of the time confirmed one or more of his typical "morning rituals" had not been fulfilled, because here he was, thirty minutes early. This spurred a fresh batch of red, rising skin under his collar and he practiced his usual breathing techniques.

Oh, hell. What might have he forgotten? He performed his morning stocking exercise (if he took one pair from the color coordinated sock drawer, it was protocol that he rearrange all of them), and locked the door behind him five times for good measure. His hygienic rituals, including showering, dressing, and breakfast were set to take him exactly 74 minutes each morning. And here he had arrived with 30 minutes to spare, rather than his typical 23. An entire 7 minutes were not accounted for!

"... Bullocks."

Quill slipped in with much restraint, her hands pawing nervously at her robes to dry them. She pulled a strand of hair back behind her right ear, and carefully places her rooksack beside her chair. Quillan is a tall and willowy girl of fourteen whose shoulders never seem straight and square as her posture dictated. Her uniform is crisp and clean, as if she had been up early this morning steaming her garments. Indeed, nervous little Quillan Maellauer spent many fractions of time correcting the little imperfections she saw in the mirror. She has much to prove at this school and would try her very best to start out on the right foot.

She breathed in slowly and quietly, her luminous green eyes trailing after the strange older man who was speaking to himself with such a deeply furrowed brow. She pulled a tiny silver pocket watch from her vest beneath the parted robe that held on by a delicate chain and looked at the time. Yes, she was right. She was early. So, she thought, what was this man's issue? She snapped the pocket watch shut too quickly, the silence shattered into millions of infinitesimal pieces and fell invisible to the floor. Her wide green orbs jumped to search his face for movement, as if she barged into the most horrible of rituals and she would not be sacrificed to the gods of wizarding schools!

Ellie rushed in, looking around and stilling at seeing no one here save a professor and a student. She nodded, taking a deep breath and walking calmly to her seat.

She pulled out her books, sitting a seat over from a girl with the reddest hair she'd ever seen, and bad posture. She hummed to herself, looking at the girl. She looked..shy, unwilling to speak. Ellie could help. She seemed to never shut up.

"Glad to see I'm not the only early one," she said, smiling and playing off the fact that she got her time mixed up. No one had to know that.

Quillan turned to the sound of the female voice, her eyes round with fright. She sputtered quickly, her mouth cracking into a nervous smile. Always introduce yourself, Quillan. She throws out a hand, letting it race to a stop before Ellie with a shutter.

"Quillan Maellauer, Gryffindor." Her smile was soft, her rose colored lips reflecting in the apples of her cheeks. Red hair like a fire fell over one shoulder and lay over her chest in a curtain. There was much doubt in her tall and almost gangly body, but she straightened her feet, planting them the same width of her shoulders and trying her best to put on a good impression for the girl before her.

Ellie smiled brightly, her blue eyes shining. "Hi, Quillan! That's a pretty name. I'm Ellie Abernethy, Ravenclaw," she said, nodding to her robes and shaking her hand firmly. Her dark brown curls tumbled around her shoulders, and her skin glowed fair under the lights.

She smiled a little softer, turning back to unpack her satchel. "You should smile more," she commented, then chuckled. "And don't be so nervous. I don't bite." She smiled, moving over. "Mind if I sit with you?"

Quillan giggled, her face breaking into a wide and unabashed smile. Her face let up as she turned to gesture to the seat beside her. Quillan's own space of desk was neat, but not overly orderly. Her pen and parchment were plain and without embellishment as were her midnight blue rucksack folded at the foot of her chair. She quickly sat in her own seat, pulling a piece of hair from in front of her face to behind one ear.

"It's my first day here," She whispers, giggling quietly as if telling a secret. "I don't mean to be so awkward."

She drums a little beat on the table, her fingers leaving prints from where they touched the cold table. "I had hoped to meet many people here today. I'm so anxious to meet everyone!"

She smiled. The girl was actually really adorable. "Well, Miss Quillan, you have a new friend," she said brightly, moving over a seat and moving her books and folders. Hers, on the other hand, were brightly coloured, with doodles on the covers. She blushed a little at how neat Quill's were. "I doodle on my stuff," she said shyly, unpacking her pens.

"So what's the rest of your schedule like?"

Quill jumps with a start and reaches into a pocket on her perfectly pressed vest for a slip of folded paper. Her hands find the edges and quickly try to pull them out. The paper sticks, caught on an inner fold of fabric lining the pocket. She blushed, ripping it out quickly, completely embarrassed.

Unfolding it, she clears her throat and begins reading the small script.

"I have Potions, followed by Transfiguration. Tomorrow it's Herbology and Charms. I'm taking extra long classes of each, in order to play catch up." She grins again, folding the paper back. "What about you?"

"Oh, we have Charms and Transfiguration together," she said happily, handing over her schedule. "And I have Herbology next, then Potions and Charms tomorrow." She smiled. "Charms is my favorite class. I love spellcasting," she grinned, flicking her wand and making Quill's pen float over to her side.

She watches the pen float and smiles happily. Her hand goes to the wand at her side slowly. She smiles again thinking about the custom holster for one of her most prized possessions, her mother's wand. She hand left her side empty as it came, with only the crackle of power to flit from her fingertips unseen by eyes.

"I'm not much of a charm-er." She giggled, rolling her own eyes at her horrible pun. She looked around to the room filled with various artifacts and sighed. "Actually, I'd say I'm most comfortable here."

Her posture, her attitude was more calm now that her mind was on something other than herself. Her eyes were a misty green with wonder, looking to the various sights around her.

"My caretakers were once Aurors. They couldn't help but pass on their knowledge."