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trans_92011-10-05 04:37 am
head-heldhigh.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-10-05 04:37 am
Entry tags:
Hearth and Home [Open]
The world had ended. Worlds, plural, had ended, and there was a war on, a war to save all of existence. It was a war Harry'd been recruited for, apparently, just when he'd finished fighting the last one.
It was quite a bit to take in, and Harry Potter wasn't exactly taking it well. It certainly helped that some of the people he knew were awake and had been saved by the talking ship, but he would have felt much better if all the people he cared about were, so he was sure they'd even been saved.
Still, in the end, there was another war to fight. Another one. He was "Chosen" twice over. How could someone have such rotten luck? How could he lose parents, be raised by people like the Dursleys, be a marked man, spend all that time fighting, and then lose his whole world? A world was not the sort of thing you lost, in general. It wasn't as if you could go out for the day, have a hole in your pocket and have the world fall out. A world was an awfully large thing to lose.
The only thing that had offset the despair shock he was currently going through was the fact that Harry Potter had found a magic room on the ship. First day there, no map and he'd found it--how was that for luck? It was clearly some sort of Room of Requirement--all you had to do was walk outside, think very hard about what you wanted on the inside, and there it was, just like that. Unlike the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, it got around the limitations on magic that existed back home for Harry and even did food.
This remarkable room could even duplicate other places perfectly. This was how Harry found himself in the Gryffindor Common Room, eating chocolate frogs, and playing wizard's chess against the board itself. The opposing pieces were floundering without a player to call the shots, and because of it, it wasn't really fun at all.
Then again, he wasn't sure if he was even allowed to have fun.
Ever again.
After all, Harry though, shouldn't he be grieving? For all the people lost? It was difficult, though, to wrap his head around the numbers, around a loss of that magnitude, and part of him didn't even want to try. As a result, he spent his day holed away in the past, pretending Ron and Hermione would come bounding in through the entrance to the Common Room any minute, and trying his best to quell that tiny voice in the back of his head that told him that what he was doing wasn't healthy at all.
Chess, anyone?
It was quite a bit to take in, and Harry Potter wasn't exactly taking it well. It certainly helped that some of the people he knew were awake and had been saved by the talking ship, but he would have felt much better if all the people he cared about were, so he was sure they'd even been saved.
Still, in the end, there was another war to fight. Another one. He was "Chosen" twice over. How could someone have such rotten luck? How could he lose parents, be raised by people like the Dursleys, be a marked man, spend all that time fighting, and then lose his whole world? A world was not the sort of thing you lost, in general. It wasn't as if you could go out for the day, have a hole in your pocket and have the world fall out. A world was an awfully large thing to lose.
The only thing that had offset the despair shock he was currently going through was the fact that Harry Potter had found a magic room on the ship. First day there, no map and he'd found it--how was that for luck? It was clearly some sort of Room of Requirement--all you had to do was walk outside, think very hard about what you wanted on the inside, and there it was, just like that. Unlike the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, it got around the limitations on magic that existed back home for Harry and even did food.
This remarkable room could even duplicate other places perfectly. This was how Harry found himself in the Gryffindor Common Room, eating chocolate frogs, and playing wizard's chess against the board itself. The opposing pieces were floundering without a player to call the shots, and because of it, it wasn't really fun at all.
Then again, he wasn't sure if he was even allowed to have fun.
Ever again.
After all, Harry though, shouldn't he be grieving? For all the people lost? It was difficult, though, to wrap his head around the numbers, around a loss of that magnitude, and part of him didn't even want to try. As a result, he spent his day holed away in the past, pretending Ron and Hermione would come bounding in through the entrance to the Common Room any minute, and trying his best to quell that tiny voice in the back of his head that told him that what he was doing wasn't healthy at all.
Chess, anyone?
no subject
no subject
He was new. Nima spent enough time at the Drunken Dragon to know who was new and who was not.
"I'm a barmaid at the ship's only inn. I know most of the old crew's faces," she says, by way of explanation, as she moves across the room and sits down.
The way she crosses the space between the open door and the seat across from Harry is curious, in that she floats at least half the way, and arrives accompanied by a strong breeze.
"What's this game called, by the way? And what's your name?"
no subject
Harry wasn't that quick to call people friends.
"This is called chess. And I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
He held out his hand over the board.
no subject
Friendly acquaintances turn into friends. Nima has already decided she's going to be this boy's friend, but she should probably wait for him to come to that conclusion before announcing that she's made hers.
She looked at the hand blankly for a moment, then remembered that the custom here was to grip and shake it. She took Harry's hand firmly and shook it exactly twice, a very precise, controlled movement. Most of her movements were precise, while still being somehow relaxed.
She put her closed fists together and bowed over them. "Harry Potter. I am Sister Nima, of the Eastern Air Temple, and given the circumstances, I'm pleased to meet you. So! How do we play?"
no subject
"Sister" Nima. Sounded very nunnish, and there was that whole being from a temple thing.
no subject
She refuses to speak of them in the past tense, as her presence practically guarantees more of them are still, somewhere, alive.
"And you're a, what?"
The room doesn't give her any clues.