welcome to chimera!

[Decimus Mulciber]

Putting up with the idiocy of some people was, really, more taxing than some might assume. The simple task of navigating his way from the towers to the dungeons should not have been an exhausting task, but with the traffic of the halls it had been. Hovering on the inside of the entrance to the Slytherin commons he surveyed the room, his gaze even and rather void of any emotion as he did so. It came as no surprise that the common room was not occupied by anyone exceptionally interesting, especially given that the exceptionally interesting was limited to a rather small number of his fellow students.

Rather than subjecting himself to the present company he passed through the common room, headed towards the dormitories, without a second glance at its occupants. Inside the door of his dormitory the silence was a welcome change, as was the solitude. His patience had been worn thin after a long day of classes and, simply put, he was not in the mood for having to deal with any less than desirable company. Taking advantage of the quiet of the dormitory he busied himself by sorting through the possessions of his which had started to spread across the room – collecting the odd stray book or lonesome sock and returning them to his trunk.

The small table beside his bed, which had begun to gather quite an impressive pile of textbooks and coursework, eventually demanded his attention and (somewhat reluctantly) he slid onto the side of his bed and began sorting through the pile. Wholly its contents were of little interest to him, though the looming deadlines on some of the assignments probably should have suggested otherwise. However he was saved from the prospect of filling his time with an Arithmancy essay by the creak of the dormitory door, which stole his attention from the messily penned question.

[Foras Rosier]

If there was one person in the world who could agree with Mulciber's sentiment with all of his heart and mind, it was Foras Rosier. Having the distinctly unimpressive (irritating) job of herding the children who had lost their way back to the dormitory, he marvelled silently at the fact that so many of them apparently found it difficult to remember a route that was taken at least twice daily, despite the fact that it had already been three weeks. Then came the usual faffing with the password; apparently it was just as difficult to remember one simple phrase as it was to remember one oft-travelled route. Privately despairing of the youth of today, he nonetheless allowed them all entry without a word other than to be polite, accepting the sheepish thanks with an inclination of his head. The entitled ones received much the same treatment; the Rosier name, at least, was good enough to stunt most arrogance before it left the mouth.

Feeling thoroughly drained by both his lessons for that day and his usual prefect duties, he too bypassed the common room without so much as a glance at its inhabitants. He didn't particularly enjoy the company of his fellow students in any case - homework was much easier to do in one's dormitory or the library, and he had no need of socialising. Pushing open the door and fully intending to spend his evening working on whatever had accumulated on his own (immaculately clean) table, he found himself instead meeting eyes with Mulciber.

His expression, though it went nowhere even close a regular emotion, eased off from the compulsive stiffness it maintained in regular company.
"Decimus," he enunciated, a note of relief in his otherwise flat tone. Letting the door close behind him, he took a few steps towards his own bed - the one next to Mulciber's - and perched there, smoothing out his clothes. "Good day?"

[Decimus Mulciber]

Foras’ presence was infinitely more welcome than that of their other dormmates, and he found himself slackening in the others company. Having managed to arrange the desk into two reasonably neat stacks, one of his textbooks and one of his coursework, he returned the items still in his hands to their appropriate places.

“Reasonably,” his response to Foras’ question was accompanied with a small nod, his own flat tone mirroring that of his friends, “You wouldn’t believe we are almost a month into the term,” the comment was not followed up by any explanation, nor was it needed to be. He didn’t doubt that in his role as a prefect his friend must have encountered all manner of exasperating behaviour.

At this point he had loosened his tie slightly, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows and his robe left draped over the end of his bed, but regardless there was still a distinctly kempt look to his attire – his shirt was still tucked in and the material was not as disastrously creased as it could have been.

“Yours?” The enquiry from Decimus who was rarely, if ever, bothered with formalities and polite small-talk, was one of genuine interest - something which he displayed with very few people.

[Foras Rosier]

Nodding himself, though he made absolutely no effort to loosen his own tie or to make himself even remotely more at home, Rosier found himself agreeing (as he so often did) with his friend's statement.
"Certainly the first years seem not to have noticed," he remarked, drily, not bothering to offer up a proper explanation; he was sure Decimus could work it out for himself.

Standing again, in order to pull off his outer robes and hang them neatly in the wardrobe section that was his own, he only now began to de-formalise, loosening and removing his tie and his shoes. Returning to his bed a moment later, after packing them fastidiously away, he retrieved an essay from his bag and began to flick idly through it, finding a quill in order to make corrections as necessary.

"Acceptably," he responded, his stock response when nothing had gone too wrong with a day. "I spent a small amount of time with a painter; he was as to be expected." The slight raise of his eyebrows indicated that 'expected' meant 'messy and disorganised', but it wasn't said with any particular cruelty behind it.

[Decimus Mulciber]

"Ah, that's hardly a shock," he did not outwardly display any surprise to the idea of Foras meeting with a painter, and though his curiosity was somewhat peaked it was not excessively so. Having leant across to the small table again he retrieved the required textbook, opening it to a place he had previously marked. "Are you commissioning him?" He had begun idly reading over the marked passage, boredly copying down notes where it was appropriate, with very little interest vested in doing so.

[Foras Rosier]

Nodding as he carefully edited an error in his essay, tapping the wrong words with his wand to silently vanish them before he supplied the correct ones, he paused in order to raise his eyes a moment later.
"Naturally," he answered, a note of thoughtfulness permeating his usually expressionless tone. "He's particularly good, even for a teenager." Foras had always fallen into calling the rest of the school 'teenagers' or 'children'; it never seemed to occur to him that he should be included in those categories. "Mother's been pestering me about coming home and sitting for a portrait, and the less time I can spend out of school, the better." It was perhaps more than he might usually have contributed to the conversation, but he didn't feel it was over-justification. Honestly.

[Decimus Mulciber]

"Ah, that's very convenient," he commented, and there was not an accusatory or judgemental tone to his voice - in fact there was very little tone at all. He did not doubt that it would be a hassle to be drawn away from the castle in order to sit for a portrait, and while the idea of having to sit for one at all did not appeal to him at all he understood all too well the need to keep ones parents satisfied. It was hardly the type of affair that would be worth making a fuss out of. Quite used to Foras referring to their peers as 'teenagers' he did not blink an eye at the term, and instead continued inquiring into the matter conversationally. Having never been interested in the personal pursuits of his peers, generally speaking, he would not have known who had any burgeoning artistic talents.

"Who is the artist?"

[Foras Rosier]

"It is, rather," he agreed, though there was no need to. Feeling inexplicably guilty for bringing it up, as though there was something shameful or clandestine about his arrangement with the Ravenclaw artist, he remained characteristically silent between that interaction and the next. Feeling curiously fidgety and devoting a large portion of his energy to suppressing that, he continued to edit his essay with a waning amount of focus; no matter. He'd have time enough to continue corrections tomorrow. Choosing instead to dry the ink and roll the parchment into a scroll, fixing it in place with a simple black ribbon, he instead picked up a text book, thinking he might possibly have more luck with studying than editing.

When Decimus spoke again, he had almost forgotten their line of conversation. Glancing up and debating the merits of telling the truth versus pretending it was unimportant, he decided on the former. After all - he had nothing to hide. "John Homme," he returned, pronouncing his name in the French fashion rather than the English; he was of French descent, after all.

[Decimus Mulciber]

Decimus had no reason to consider the notion that hid questions, casual as they were, may have caused his friend any level of discomfort. Even had Foras displayed any fidgeting or otherwise curious reactions he would have been hard put to put any explanation to them. As it were even had he been looking for any curious change in the other male’s behaviour he would have been hard put to find it.

The name John Homme was of no significance to him. Typically he was aware of those who warranted a watchful eye or otherwise placed themselves in his path. Had the circumstance arisen previously that he had needed to know who John was the name would have meant more to him; Foras was one of the select few whose judgement he trusted unconditionally, and he felt no need to ask on the painter any further. Responding with a small inclination of his head, enough to make it clear that he had heard Foras, he continued transcribing notes from textbook to parchment, expending little in the way of effort.