Post by fourtwenty on Dec 20, 2012 10:44:12 GMT -8
Detention - a proud antic. A curious, and counterproductive leitmotif that bestowes an unnecessary glow of ego, onto the authorities of the Hogwarts castle. It seemed the young wizard Hayden Finnigan, was prone to the so-called punishment, that was known as, detention. Finn didn't mind, nonetheless. He never did even an ounce of work in the incarceration. Instead, he found it a relaxing area to light up a spliff, and ponder his occurences in the academic area, and why he - alone - always found himself expected to clean the endless hall of trophies. Of course it wasn't endless, it was a room. A room of trophies. Trophies, that not even the portraits in the staircases themselves, took interest in. Profitless awards. But when Finn took a drag of his marijuana, and looked around -- the work seemed as if it could very well take days -- minimal. Who knows, it could've been a very intelligent inquisition. But Finn learned not to trust instinct when under the influence, as it never seemed to work to his advantage. Finn blew smoke into the air, and slightly smirked as his mind drifted slowly across the carefully magically molded ceiling. What did Finn do, to land himself here, this time? Nothing out of the ordinary. The professor started lesson, just like any other day. Finn got bored, and lit up a cigarrette. The professor asked Finn to put the cigarette away, or else he would have to go see his Head Of House. Finn had never liked to be threatened, especially by somebody in authority. It made Finn feel as though, he was looked down upon. As a result, Finn punched the professor in the face, gave him a wedgie, and stole his shoes -- before walking out of the classroom, happily finishing the cigarrette, he so "generously" lit up quietly, so as not to disturb class.
The encounter was not a suprise to anyone. Or, at least shouldn't have been. Finn was a rebel by blood. He was born a delinquent, and brought up to question the fist of power. He was a Finnigan. No -- he was THE Finnigan. He was Finn. Finn chuckled to himself, as his thoughts always transformed themselves into deep inquiries during his smoke breaks. Finn was deep. He thought a lot. Though he did not seem like it, or took his thoughts into consideration. Pushing off of his seat, Finn slipped his spliff out of his mouth, blew smoke, and slipped his wand from his pocket. With a swish of the wrist, the towels on one side of the room, began polishing the trophies, on the other. Another chuckled was released from it's prison, as Finn inserted the spliff back between his lips. Inhaling deeply.
