Title: from chasing all the ants and worms
Benjamin Belby - February 6, 2012 05:43 AM (GMT)
An underachiever by nature (er, "by choice", rather), Benjy had expected to be quite the disappointment when he found himself up for presidency of Slugs and Bugs Club. It hadn't been something he'd really campaigned for, but neither was it something he had hesitated to accept; etymology, among other things, was a deep interest of his. In fact, what had seemed a lot like work when he'd watched their previous president do it only seemed like good fun now, and even mucking about on the edge of the forest couldn't convince him otherwise. It was dimming already because of the setting sun and though it was still soggy from a snow, things seemed to have thawed rather nicely. He hadn't even need of gloves when he went out, despite having to dig around in the mud, and was knelt and getting exceptionally dirty before he'd even given his trousers a second thought.
The strange - or, perhaps worse infantile - hobby didn't register as such with Benjy, absorbed as he was in extricating an earthworm without any injury. Gentle, patient movements won it over in the end though and, as he placed it among the others in the cigar box his father had given him (which was now filled halfway with dirt), he didn't realize just how much like his brother he looked. Dirt smeared along his cheekbone and a bright sort of look in his eye despite the vaguity of his expression (he was very absorbed in this, after all), he looked more like him than ever; even in behavior, sat dangerously close to the forest, was like his sibling.
The creaking of the wind through ancient branches went almost completely ignored, and it was only after a particularly strong gust that he even glanced up. The eeriness only just beginning to register, despite it being almost full daylight, he found himself listening hard for the sounds of anyone nearby. Even the people who he'd passed at the Lake were far enough away as to be inaudible, apparently, and he felt rather unsettled when he finally dragged his things back together and looked around properly. More than he was psyched out by the relative silence, he was certain that he'd heard the approach of someone. "Hey?" he called as soberly as possible, spectacles pushed back up in a gesture that got even more dirt on him - this bridge of his nose this time.
Grant Summers - February 13, 2012 08:07 AM (GMT)
Grant skirted around the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was only natural he was afraid of the area. It had a vast and wide reputation, perhaps larger than the span it covered physically, telling tales of the evils that lurked within. Being sprung from the loins of muggles, he could only assume the horrors that awaited him in the forest were many times greater than that of his darkest thoughts. After examining contents of books he might have been wiser not to, he was certain there was an evil even greater than the guns and tanks crafted in factories for the war – weapons that shot down rows of men at a time. There was something even greater, even more sinister, and he would not be surprised if it lurked amongst the tall trees of the dense foliage that made up the forest.
It still remained to be a place of great interest for him, especially when he found there was nothing better to do with his time. It went that he walked along the edge of the trees, perhaps stepping into the very outskirts where the space between trunks were still far and wide. The soles of his trainers protected his feet from the terrain, but he dragged them along at points, kicking leaves and pebbles ahead of him listlessly. As he continued along, he thought Grant could swear he saw something amongst the dense greenery, something lying the earth … a body? Panic hit him immediately and he suddenly started to contemplate the morbid possibility that a student had been dense enough to enter the forest of which so many horrific and terror-inspiring tales were told. If they were to do so, who could say what would happen to them? They could have fallen prey to some creature considered imaginary in different society.
As he approached it carefully, not sure if he was to expect this figure to be victim or predator, Grant wielded his wand cautiously. The sound of another boy’s voice put him at ease, perhaps wrongfully, but immediately. His wand remained clutched loosely in his hand, falling to his side. “Hello,” he sighed out, his relief audible. “You’re alright, are you?” he questioned, trying to sound as kind as possible despite hesitance to accept the situation. Taking a few more steps forward, Grant could actually see the boy’s front now and he was obviously a fellow student and even more so alive, not that he could identify him any. “You looked a little dead from back there,” there was an amount of worry in his voice, still. Eyeing the boy, he had glasses that looked a little dismantled and was a little sooty. Perhaps he'd fallen and Grant had just born witness to the latter part of this. "You should probably come out of here, though. It's forbidden," he added solemnly.
Benjamin Belby - February 13, 2012 08:31 AM (GMT)
Hearing Grant before he spotted him, he was quite clearly (and quite embarrassingly) startled by the sound of his voice. Jumping in a rather exaggerated manner and ending up clutching his cigar box to a narrow chest, he let out a puff of air that lingered momentarily before him before dissipating into the chill November breeze. After the other continued though, despite his embarrassment, he really couldn't find it in himself to resist a grin. "No, not dead," he assured rather needlessly, wading a bit through some weeds and stepping nimbly over a large rock. "Not even a little."
The other's advice, though slightly redundant, sounded good to Benjy. Having given himself the willies by listening to the sounds of the Gryffindor approaching, he was fairly certain that his time in the forest was finished anyway; it wasn't like anyone was there to egg him on, after all, nor was there any immediately obvious fun to be had. Curiosity struck him as he approached close enough to place the face but not the name, and he tried not to press himself into remembering, lest he end up with it on the tip of his tongue. "What are you doing out here then?" he asked, box under his arm and glasses still fairly crooked.
Grant Summers - February 14, 2012 06:59 AM (GMT)
Grant grimaced, glad he’d been mistaken. “Brilliant,” he breathed out. He shoved his hands in his pockets, hiding the fact they’d been sweating and were now quite clammy. “I was just walking ‘round the edge, not actually in the place,” he explained, looking up at the trees. He couldn’t see the very tops in some cases. That was exceedingly daunting. Looking back up at the boy he’d found, he went on, “But I saw you and thought you were … in trouble or summat, so I went to check it out.” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘dead’. It sounded far too morbid for the situation now that he was upright and rosy enough.
Lollygagging a moment, rocking back and forth little, he was lost as to what to do now. “What are you doing here?” he asked curiously, box duly noted. It was strange he’d lug that around with him. “And huddled over the ground too … “ Perhaps he’d been examining the plants that lay there. Perhaps they had magical properties as well! That though excited Grant. Of course, mayhap he’d been performing acts of dark magic befit for the surroundings. He gazed at the box warily, unsure of whether to trust that there were not contents of dark nature contained within. The glasses that were askew on the other boy's face made him seem innocent of malicious intent, but one could never know.