Sorin Andrejz Radoslav (pl_sorin) wrote in plagued_rpg, @ 2009-12-03 23:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !plot, 1998 december, sorin radoslav |
Who: Sorin Radoslav and anyone at dinner with/near him (no one has to reply, but I'm putting this here for anyone who wants their character to react in person or over the journals)
Where: Great Hall
When: Thursday evening, dinner time
What: Sorin springs a vision on the world.
Sorin's fork was halfway to his mouth, half of a small roasted potato speared on the prongs when the headache struck. He'd thought he was safe; that the visions had gone for a while. Ever since he'd started spending most of his time with Anthony, at least. But Anthony was still in the Hospital Wing and Sorin was left to eat his dinner with his housemates. Which really would've been all right, had Astoria been there. Or Julian. But Astoria was missing again and Julian, he assumed, was in Pomfrey's quarantine. He hoped. He felt terrible for the other boy, but there was little he could do beyond worry that Anthony would get the virus and be taken from him again. But now, there was a vicious pounding behind his eyes and the room was swimming.
He didn't even have time to make a run for it. It was going to happen, right there in the Great Hall, and there would be no denying what was going on. At least not to some. His hands were shaking, but the rest of his body went rigid and suddenly he wasn't in the Great Hall anymore. He was standing in darkness and there was the smell of death, stealing the air from his lungs and he was talking, his voice flat and lifeless. Everyone sitting within a ten-foot radius would hear it and by the time he was finished, half the Great Hall would be staring. Sorin was terrified. He didn't want anyone else to know, but he was trapped! Trapped by the vision that was leaving him against his will and maybe people would think he was just that weird kid from Slytherin, as most already did.
"Beware the walking dead.
Faces of friends. Faces of family. People known, dead, empty.
Beware the walking dead.
Screaming. They come at night. See them cross the grounds. Faces.
Beware the walking dead.
There's death everywhere. The smell, the taste. Everything is rotting.
See that smile. No trace of pity.
Beware the walking dead...," he intoned, his voice growing louder at the end.
Would they think him weird now, or would weird have evolved to something much more frightening and undesirable?
As soon as it was over, he slumped forward in his seat under the stares of his schoolmates, mortified. His energy was sapped, but he couldn't stay there any longer. He stumbled as he extracted himself from the bench and fled the Great Hall, intending to hide. Possibly for the rest of the school year. And he knew just where to go.