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| The Devil Inside; Miles | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 1 2007, 10:18 AM (405 Views) | |
| Nostradamus Eucharistia | Jun 1 2007, 10:18 AM Post #1 |
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Potions
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How anyone had tracked Nostradamus down with an owl was beyond his belief. He had always been able to avoid any sort of post since it was nearly impossible to track this boy down. Never actually staying in one residence for the night--he had been suprised when a Hogwarts owl had nearly bombarded him with summons. Even more, when a black owl had nearly floored him on the street with another letter. This was a good five days ago. His father had alot of aquaintances in London, and Nostradamus had moved from house to house to spend the night on each couch, never over staying his welcome. It wasn't the most comfortable of existances, but it would make due until he officially moved into the dungeons of Hogwarts (which he wasn't really looking foward too...the place probably still stank of Snape). The handwriting had thrown the young professor off--in fact, for a few minutes as he tried to decifer it, he had thought it was a gag letter of some sort. He glanced toward the bottom of the letter and saw the familiar yet scrawled name: Miles. My, that boy had some serious hand-writing issues. It was like that of a...serial killer. Remembering the boys music he had wrote back at Hogwarts...even then it was kind of hard to read. Okay. So he had decifered the words: "The Grapes Puh" and the date and the fact that the letter was from Miles. But what he didn't know was where "The Grapes Pub" was--and when he found out, he was kind of disturbed. He had to ask his father where the place was--and, like any ethnocentric anthropologist, he was like, "IDON'TWANTYOUGOINGTHEREYOU'LLGETKILLEDINTHATPARTOFTOWN" That was exactly what his father sounded like over the phone, too. Now sitting inside the pub, Nostradamus kind of scoffed to himself. It wasn't--well--THAT bad. Not any worse than the Hogs Head. At least this place was...decently clean. Still, he did admit that he had toned down his choice of wardrobe colors so he wouldn't stand out too much. A black t-shirt worked its purpose, and a simple pair of jeans. Nostradamus didn't like looking...like...well, too much of a muggle, but this would have to do. He tied his long blonde hair behind his head into a ponytail, yet long strands fell loose. He was already getting looks from some...rather shady fellows and kind of shot a nervous smile to himself. They kind of had that...lust look in their eyes. Like Nostradamus would ever sleep with THEM. So what if he looked...okay, kind of femenine? It didn't mean he went sleeping around with everyone he met. Pfft. Lightly touching the bandages around his neck, he wondered what Miles looked like now. Or what he was doing. Regina had grown into a beautiful woman, and Gia was famous with nice breasts. It was so hard to imagine someone...well, grown up until he met with them again. Time had been nice to most of the people--and yet, whenever he thought of his childhood friends, he still had that innocent romanticized image of them in his head... He heard the door creaking open, and his blue eyes glanced over in that direction. Then again...Nostradamus' appearance had changed dramatically since he was a student as well. He hoped that he would at least be able to recognize Miles. |
Body of a sinner, mind of a genius, soul of a saint.
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| Miles Noctivagus | Jun 24 2007, 02:25 PM Post #2 |
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Mercenary/ Madman
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Wasn’t this just the strangest and stupidest thing he had ever, in his twenty-six years of life done? Miles couldn’t even imagine why he should contact Nostradamus now. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come. The fact that he had written the letter proved he still kind of knew where he had come from, however, this was completely absurd. He didn’t care about Note. (Ah, a failing, calling the man Note and not Nostradamus! This had to indicate attachment!) All Miles cared about was nothing—that was it. His hand pushed on the heavy wooden door, and the phantomlike man slipped in—his white skin glowing against the dark wood. Miles was looking, as usual, worse for wear. He was oblivious to this fact; however it was something very plain. His posture was impeccable, as well as his speech, a tribute to his past. A tribute to twenty years ago when he had started his life in this wretched path, this was what his mannerisms reflected; someone well bred and nicely groomed. Miles looked both scruffy and regal, like the king of murderers, he held himself not like a beast the way many in his career path did, but like a duke, like royalty. His clothing consisted mainly of black, causing his skin to look almost glow in the dark. His eyes had the light of his past in them, which was strange, his brain rarely attached to his heart anymore. His hair was scruffy, and not tastefully so, and he seemed to have the stubble of a few days on his chin. He should have cleaned up, really, honestly, but he just couldn’t bring himself to the level where he cared enough. He only shaved when he grew annoyed with his facial hair, and only trimmed his onyx mane when it was in his face. If he didn’t hold himself like a king he would be presumed homeless. But what he had to tell Note (Blast! He was calling him Note again!) Seemed of the utmost importance, even if he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t every day you heard the name of your old school friend, especially in an insane asylum. Though Miles hadn’t been in one for a few months tracking down Note had been difficult, he was only finally able to locate him when he took up a position as a professor at Hogwarts. Miles had been hauled into a muggle asylum in Northern London; he had only been there a few days before he magically convinced the doctors there that he was fine. He even managed to steal some sedatives for the painful spells of memory. However, while he was being ‘treated’ he came across a blisteringly mad woman, her name was Mary Iscariot. Something about this woman’s madness interested him, and he really began to listen to her. She was clearly a muggle and yet… she was entering magical trances and delivering prophecies. And these were real ones! Not some loony old tramp babbling, these, Miles was sure, were visions of the future. She would predict things like muggle disasters and murders as well as issues in the wizarding world. Miles would check the muggle newspaper and the Daily Prophet (which he snuck in first thing in the morning and burned before the attendants got there), and she would be right. This muggle woman was easily predicting the future—then she started to talk about Nostradamus Eucharista. This was why Miles needed to see his old friend, even if it was a danger to himself. |
| I just didn't want to be a loser anymore... | |
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| Nostradamus Eucharistia | Jun 25 2007, 03:25 PM Post #3 |
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Potions
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Unlike most of his friends, Nostradamus almost immediately recognized Miles Noctivagus the moment he entered the door. Miles looked almost exactly as he had the last time he saw him--perhaps taller, more ghostly, and more sickly? Wait. No. Not exactly. A pang of sorrow hit his heart--time didn't seem to have worked miracles on his old school friend. The young professor pushed backwards in his chair with a refined elegance that had grew with age, and stood up gracefully. The entering of Miles through the door brought back many memories--one specifically, when Nostradamus had taken a three month sabbatical from Hogwarts because of a broken heart, and Miles had been the first one to greet him. Miles had been promoted to...Head Boy? Prefect? Something like that, and had been standing near the entrance. Miles had...well, welcomed him home. And he remembered tackling Miles to the ground in this sort of glee. Even though Nostradamus was an adult now, he had half a mind to make a scene and tackle him to the ground. Smiling nervously to himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to do that -here- of all places. He had been so happy to see Miles when he had returned to Hogwarts the first time, and he was ecstatic to hear from him now. He stepped over the scruffy looking man and smiled softly, his smile radiating warmth and everything that was good in the world. He stood out way too much in a place like this. "Miles? It's been much too long!" His long slender hands reached out for the others in a movement of goodwill and friendship. "How have you been?" It was pretty much taking all he had not to tackle his old friend to the floor in a hugging gesture. He wasn't even guessing--he knew this man had to be Miles. Something told him though, this feeling tugged the chords of his heartstrings, that this wouldn't be like the first time he had returned to London, like when he was a child. Still, he dragged the other man to the table he had formally been sitting at like a child waiting in line at Disneyland. |
Body of a sinner, mind of a genius, soul of a saint.
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| Miles Noctivagus | Jul 9 2007, 10:47 PM Post #4 |
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Mercenary/ Madman
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Miles was surprised to say the least. His life had become one of extreme gloom and sorrow, and here was Note. He was looking nothing like he should. Dark hair, white, he was pale comparatively to his former self, and simply did not look like he used to. In fact, Note had no idea how close he came to being killed when he first approached Miles and was not recognized by the murderer. Fortunately Miles caught himself by remembering he had some important news to share. At least, he hoped it was important; it was entirely possible that the woman was lucky with her first seventy, or so predictions, Miles had to admit, it had amused him to know the headlines a day or a week prior to the events. He had never known a wizard able to predict events with the accuracy and the regularity of Ms. Iscariot, it dumbfounded him. Note dragged the still cautious and dangerous man to a table with all of the excitement of the tackle-hug Miles had received after Note’s little sabbatical in the sixth year. A time that seemed as though it had happened in a dream he had had a long time ago—a time when all of this madness that swirled in his mind had been so much more difficult for him to handle. Now it was nothing, so he killed people, for no reason, what of it? This apathy was what made him wretched. They had thought in their so-called brilliance that to dull the guilt was to prevent the destruction. They had been so terribly wrong. Miles was addicted to their painkillers and they couldn’t see the results that would come of their own nearsightedness. Words that were neither hateful nor patronizing came into his ears. It was a tone that he had not heard in a very long time. It made a chill grab hold of his spine and rattle it. Something inside of him wanted out, it was shaking the bars, and Miles knew if it was allowed out tears would flow. So he trapped the emotion behind frigid blue eyes. This was going to make everything so much more difficult. There was to be no more then the passing of some information he had heard about some magic robes, and some strange misfortunes. It seemed important, and it rattled the woman so much she was put in solitary confinement afterwards. Shrieking about how her son had killed her husband, then back to the robes again, as though all magic experience was tied into her brain as one large situation. Her screams had been unearthly. Miles had been stirred enough to contact Note. He had never been one for small talk, and usually his words would come out lame and insincere, but he could hardly start the conversation with: ‘Oh yea, this crazy muggle was shrieking about your doom, some crazy robes, and her son, what’s new with you?’ He decided to play the old answer reflect game. Trying to find his old infamous smirk so he could paste it on his face the madman said “Not too much is out of the ordinary with me, and yourself?” |
| I just didn't want to be a loser anymore... | |
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| Nostradamus Eucharistia | Aug 18 2007, 05:27 PM Post #5 |
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Potions
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“Not too much is out of the ordinary with me, and yourself?” Nostradamus had no idea that his childhood best friend Miles was now some deranged murderer. It was far from the truth, at least to the young professor. In some ways, the blonde had grown, but in others, he had seriously stunted his growth. Naive optimism. He held onto those ideals with a death grip. He supposed he also had an excuse to believe in whatever he wanted to, since he pretty much lived in solitude for all of those years. He saw the infamous smirk of his old friend, and smiled. Perhaps. Perhaps there was nothing wrong at all? Maybe it was just a bad day for the other man. Still. Something was tugging on his heart strings that something wasn't quite...well, right. He couldn't exactly, well, put his finger on it. His naive optimism was well, a bit cracked. "It's been so exciting," Nostadamus said with a more refined glee. "I just got back into London from Romania a few weeks ago...and my, well, I haven't had enough time to settle down!" he said, tilting his head, looking thoughtful. Should he have gone on about what he had been doing the past ten years? Why no one could find him? Because, in reality, Nostradamus was a coward that only really came back when he had forgotten his sins? When the Ministry had given him a new chance at a new life? It was something he desperately longed for. And damnit, he wasn't going to mess it up. "Getting papers around, shopping for potions supplies," he said, in a rushed voice. "It's all so entralling. Never thought I'd come back to London though," he said with a bit of a sigh. "Alot of good memories here," he laughed. Alot of bad ones, too. His hand lightly grazed his bandaged neck. It was his sin that he had performed, and he would never be able to take it back. If he could...he would have. No amount of good deeds would pay back for the sins he could have paid for. "So what are you doing now, Miles? An auror, right?" he said, and beamed. He had always looked up to the boy as a student, and was waiting to listen to the amazing things that he had been doing. "It's just been so long," he said, and pulled off his glasses to clean them with the bottom of his shirt. "I missed you. Merlin, wow. I missed everyone." |
Body of a sinner, mind of a genius, soul of a saint.
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| Miles Noctivagus | Nov 7 2007, 11:35 PM Post #6 |
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Mercenary/ Madman
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Miles looked at Note with a largely perplexed expression on his face. Was he an auror? Where the hell did this kid pick up his info? Taken slightly aback, Miles hadn’t really had a normal conversation with someone for so long now that he was having some trouble coming up with even a semi logical for what he had been doing the past few years. He could scarcely say ‘Oh yes, I’ve been brutally murdering innocents the past few years, and you?’ Note clearly had no idea who Miles was. Not that the former Gryffindor really had any idea either. He couldn’t even believe how easily Note’s disarming naivety has brought about the old Miles, the one from his years at Hogwarts, the one who played the bass and even laughed sometimes. The murderer tried to return himself to his frigid mindset, but he simply couldn’t, he was too busy reminiscing in nostalgia, and the life that he had led, and where he could be now, if he hadn’t made that first bad decision before he was even old enough to know that it was a bad decision. It was possible with a slightly different past he could be sitting here with Note without only a macabre prediction. But time was short, and Miles could hardly logically justify being in a public place for a long time. Besides, there were still a number of names on the list whose corpses he owed Kali; he was obliged to kill these people as soon as possible if not sooner. In fact, why he had decided to stop long enough to tell Note a woman had seen his future was quite beyond him, and he imagined that he would be trying to justify it for a very long time. Regardless, what could he do but tell someone who had often been his only friend. What Mary Iscariot had said simply astounded him, and if he had still been in possession of a soul it might have gone cold at her words. Miles had instead decided to play the messenger. He tried to give the illusion of comfort despite the fact that he felt nothing sitting here but the chill that came from a form of isolation. His fingers were curled gently around the edge of the table that they sat at, and hollow blue eyes fixed Note with a guarded stare. He didn’t want to say too much, not that he really could. Was he really going to let the former Hufflepuff know about all of his illicit activities? Summing up his Gryffindor courage easily, he prepared to speak to Note. “I’m not really doing much right now. The auror academy wouldn’t even look at my application due, mostly to my history. Despite my potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts marks, and the highest recommendation from the Head Master, McGonigall and the Dark Arts teacher.” Despite his resigned shrug the memory of this smarted with him, and he tried not to think about it too much. “Besides, I don’t have very much time. I have to ask you if you know a woman named Mary Iscariot.” |
| I just didn't want to be a loser anymore... | |
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| Nostradamus Eucharistia | Nov 26 2007, 03:52 PM Post #7 |
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Potions
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Nostradamus smiled freely and easily in front of Miles Noctivagus. Deep down, he knew there was something very off though, but he didn't want to admit it. Unlike his name, Nostradamus wasn't a prophesizer, but he was strongly empathetic. And just something...well, it didn't sit well with him. He wanted to ask Miles what had been going on, if there was something bothering him, but he didn't pry. The former Gryffindor was only two years older than him, but there was something...something...he had aged. There was a look of concern on his face that slowly settled itself there. He had never been a good liar. Okay. Well, there had been a couple of times where he used his charm to fool the older boy--but it had only been for good intentions! "You're not an auror?" Nostradamus asked, without flinching. "Then...you're teaching somewhere, right? Right?" he asked playfully. "Defense against the Dark Arts or something. At Durmstrang! Or that...other school...that really...girly one..." he said with a wave of his hand. "Beu...beu something..." he said. He didn't care too much for that school. Then again, Nostradamus didn't particularly care too much for the female gender. It was just something strangely ironic about what he had been saying. But he didn't want to believe. He didn't want to. "But if you're not doing anything...really..." he said with a pause. He beamed. "I'm sure that will come to an end! There are opportunities everywhere!" As soon as he beamed he looked rather nostalgic. "The smallest thing can make a change...." he whispered. He was lucky the Ministry had forgiven him, that he had gotten a job at Hogwarts. It didn't mean that he wasn't panged with guilt though..."And everything gets better. Even when you think you've hit rock bottom..." He perked up. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get so emotional!" He smiled innocently. The way Miles was looking at him bothered him, shook him to the core. The boy had always been rather gaurded...but still.... “Besides, I don’t have very much time. I have to ask you if you know a woman named Mary Iscariot.” "Iscariot?" Nostradamus asked, and blinked. He tapped the side of his cheek. "I don't think I know a woman by that name...but it's not a very common name, is it?" he said, even though he was talking to himself. "Does she happen to be related to that Quidditch person back when we were students?" Or the current Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor? |
Body of a sinner, mind of a genius, soul of a saint.
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