Year/Job
Unspeakable
Head, Department of Mysteries
You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness. |
rouch
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Post by Atticus Galanis on Feb 17, 2024 8:52:18 GMT -8
Saturday Morning | Campsite on Mount Rainier Atticus could feel the chill inside his tent. The atmospheric charm he used the night before had been intentionally mild. If he was too warm while he slept, that would make the cold even more pronounced while they explored in the elements. They spent most of the day before hiking to the general location Elsie had marked on the map and she seemed sure they were close to the crevasse where they needed to start their investigation. He tried to stop short enough so she wouldn't be forced to pitch her tent on the spot of her nightmare. The sun had already set by the time they made camp and he wasn't sure how well he'd managed to protect her. In the end, he knew his efforts were likely a mere courtesy. Just being on the mountain was the trauma. The location on that mountain was simply a different degree of trauma. Zipping up his parka, the cold was pushed back from his chest and he felt the warmth of the gear. Atticus stepped out of the tent, took in the view. The weather was cooperating. The sky was clear, and although that meant the air would be colder, it also limit the chances of being stuck in a snowstorm. Under other circumstances, he would have slowed the pace down to experience the sights and sounds. They had a task to accomplished and limited time to do it. Not only was he trying to take advantage of the weekend, the longer the potential threat was left to hide on the mountain, the more chances there were someone else's life would be destroyed. Stoking the fire with his wand, he started a kettle and a percolator. The coffee was for him, but he remembered Elsie's reaction to the coffee at the ministry and wanted to offer her tea or hot cocoa if she had a difference preference. Glancing back at her tent, he wasn't sure if she was up already. He'd give her the luxury of time to prepare for the day. It might be the only luxury he had to offer her. Tags: Elsie Greer
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Year/Job
Professor of Care of Magical Creatures
when I think too much about it, I can't breathe. |
Sol
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Post by Elsie Greer on Feb 17, 2024 10:45:25 GMT -8
The preparation for their journey felt solid. Elsie was convinced her grief was behind her-- two years was surely enough time to move on from the tragic and sudden death of a loved one. Surely. She trusted in herself-- she held many traits that would allow her to complete a journey of this size with speed, efficiency and skill. No emotional burden would keep her chained down to anything or anyone. But when they'd finally gotten to the United States, it was like a wave of memories from the ten years she'd spent in North America came crashing down on her. Of course, she concealed it as best as she could. Atticus need not know the difficulty she faced as they traversed dangerous territories. Complicating anything with emotions was the detriment to most academic professionals like herself. Researchers did not taint their findings with opinions. It was only fact. And the facts were simply; a dangerous creature could potentially threaten the lives of others and Atticus and Elsie needed to put a stop to it before it even happened.
The initial trek seemed find. Elsie held back any tightness in her chest, or the way her head spun when they first entered the park. Everything was so familiar. Even the snow, which was freshly fallen, seemed to hold the memory of Dev's footsteps in the white expanse. She kept a brave face, staying warm, staying alert, and doing her best to ensure both she and Atticus were going to be safe that weekend. Any longer, her students would worry and her job at Hogwarts could've been potentially at risk.
The wind was brutal, whipping the nylon material of her tent back and forth. Thankfully, the layers of clothing she'd slept in kept her warm. When she and Dev were on the mountain, they simply put up with the elements, hugging tight when the biting cold wouldn't let up and waking up in each others arms. Elsie had no one to protect her from the cold this time, letting it seep into her tent as the night passed. She worked quickly to dress herself, layering more clothes to insulate her body and steady her mind. Hands were covered by thick gloves, fiery red tresses disappeared behind a hat, and soon enough, Elsie was emerging from her tent to reconvene with Atticus. Standing outside his tent, she shifted in the thick snow, worried about the conditions on the mountain. She wasn't even sure they were suitable for even witches and wizards to deal with. "Atticus? Good morning? Are you awake?"
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Year/Job
Unspeakable
Head, Department of Mysteries
You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness. |
rouch
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Post by Atticus Galanis on Feb 21, 2024 16:57:24 GMT -8
The water was boiling. Atticus nodded his head in approval and set an empty skillet on his small burner. When he heard the footfall, he leaned back to peer outside his open tent flap. He knew it was Elsie before she spoke. If it had been anyone or anything else, their enchantments would have alerted him. "Good morning," he called out from his small kitchen area. "Come in. Have a seat." He looked around the interior of his extended tent, moved quickly to pull his fleece off the back of a chair, and threw it on his cot.
He knew some people liked to camp properly with muggle equipment. Atticus wasn't interested in such things. Especially not when he was working and needed his wits about him. A good night's sleep and a full stomach would be needed to make sure he was ready for anything that came their way. He motioned to the now empty chair and flashed her a smile. "I got the sense you didn't prefer coffee. I have tea and hot chocolate. And I was about to make some eggs and toast," he offered, setting a small tray down with cups and drink options in the center of the table, he sent the steaming kettle over to fill the cups. "Help yourself." The one thing he learned quickly about being a single dad was that a good meal could make most things better. Not all the way better, but less terrible. He hoped that would hold true with friends who had a tough challenge a head of them.
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