WHO Godric Gryffindor & OPEN to anyone who wants to meet him, but no one he talks to regularly Polaris Malfoy. WHERE & WHEN Outskirts of town, en route to the waterfront, late Thursday afternoon. WHAT Buildin' boats. Or rafts, technically. RATING Likely very low. NOTES I'm being specific about who the thread is open to because I'm trying to break Godric out of -- it isn't a shell, but he's got a incredible, massive aversion to the future, and tends to stick to his crowd, even if he chats on journals. I don't think having lots of future friends will necessarily solve this problem, but it might help a little bit with the right person trying to befriend him.
Not since he had been a boy of just under twelve years had Godric wanted so badly to leave his place of residence and carry on with his life. He could admire the dedication and genius of the Weasley twins who kept the village going, and their reason for creating it in the first place, but what purpose did he have here? Taking orders from an 18-year-old who thought he needed money in this place was absolutely degrading, borderline insulting, and he hated his job. He hated all the babble and chatter about how fantastic the future was, as if his own time period was somehow less, as if they were expected to marvel at the whole of it. Never had he asked to come here.
This village made him bitter and angry. It made him unlike himself. Things that normally would have been brushed off without a second thought he stewed upon now. He was doing things, important and exhilarating things back home -- here? He handed people glasses of alcoholic drinks and then did that a few more times. If he had had some dull life back in his time, perhaps he might be able to appreciate this sudden serenity, but he could not. He did not like the feeling of irrelevance which plagued him here, and though he could find some comfort in those from his own time, he missed the familiarity of his year. Each country was different, yes, but he could still find his way around, and he knew what things were. He didn't care about phellytones or --- whatever else people went on about.
At once Godric realized he had sped his way down to the water like a giant angry thundercloud which was being held back from setting loose its power. From what he could tell, his only point of relevance in the village so far had been upon the day he died. Pity he could not remember it, and a greater shame that he had died so quickly into the attack. Maybe he had gotten careless. He could understand why he would be so desirous to leave that an older version of himself might have stopped caring how he got free, so long as the release happened. Looking down the coastline to his right, he saw scrapes of driftwood that could be put together into a raft... maybe if he sailed far enough, he might find the way out. He certainly did not want to stay here and become idle.
Having decided, Godric pushed himself off the boulder he had leaned against, strode over, and began setting to work. The village had its boundaries and those surely included the sea, but he could not yet give up hope that there might still be something more out there. Godric heard someone approaching, but did not turn to acknowledge them. He was busy.