Post by Oscar Flynn G7 on Nov 24, 2008 18:42:48 GMT
Oscar was not really a drinker, compared to some boys he knew in the muggle world. He enjoyed beer occasionally even despite his young age- it was a pleasant taste and he found it to be a nice social drink, especially amongst his muggle friends, few though they were. For some reason, as he set out to jog his usual morning run, he found himself thinking about why people drank themselves into mindless holes each night. He found drinking copious amounts of alcohol completely unnecessary in daily life. You did not need alcohol to have a good time, he knew. Oscar would hate to one day put himself where all alcoholics go; that bottomless pit, where the only way up was by having another drink, even if you knew it would just knock you back down after the initial need had been filled. Oscar was lucky with his parents. Neither Heather nor Isaac drank much. Indeed, Oscar had never seen a drop of alcohol pass between his father’s lips for as long as he had known him. For this, Oscar was very grateful. He knew of fellow students who had relationships with their parents that were dictated by how many drinks the mother or father had guzzled that day. What amazed Oscar was at the end of the day these kids despised their parents’ addictions- yet did nothing. Even Oscar knew that an alcoholic was essentially someone with an illness. And an illness that was impossible to cure alone. An alcoholic would need help, love and most of all support; the knowledge that the people they love the most are right there with them. Had Isaac or Heather ever suffered from a similar addiction to alcohol, Oscar would not be one to stand back and let the horror continue- he would act, as he always did.
Despite knowing all this to be true, and despite his young age, there had been a few occasions recently where Oscar had actually sipped alcohol and taken comfort in the simple way in which he could forget things just by drinking. Whenever Oscar was in a bad mood he found it difficult to find some form of escapism to help him. He knew others who painted, drew, sang, wrote, danced… but Oscar didn’t really do any of these things. He smoked, but he didn’t see it as escapism, just something for himself. And perhaps with recent events that would be one thing he might have to cut out of his life. Above it all, Oscar liked to run for his escapism. He loved to pound out any paranoia or worry with each step, to jog every negative thought away. His body was fit and athletic and he enjoyed putting it to the test with running, especially as the hobby was so diverse from his normal sport of Quidditch. It also reminded him of long ago when he played muggle football and enjoyed it more than anything else. So he ran because it pleased him. Especially this morning. He ran early. His elbows tucked tight against his ribs. His chest pumping with each breath. His hair wet, a mixture of the rain from ten minutes ago and his own sweat. His nose inhaled as his mouth exhaled. His feet moved to their own beat.
The trees around him were almost a blur, and he even more so to them. Oscar wore running trainers, jogging bottoms and a white vest top. He had been running for almost double his normal time and had lost track of the hour. He had left his dorm at six to run- it had even been a little dark still, a result of the short winter days. Now the sky was just one colour; a heavy, bold grey. There were no more rain clouds, the shower from ten minutes ago already indistinguishable from the glistening dew on the grass beneath his fast feet. He was running at a steady, consistant pace and had been for a long time. It was time to stop. As he neared the castle he slowed, reaching the edge of a cluster of trees. The Gryffindor didn’t feel like going back in just yet. Didn’t feel like going to eat in the Great Hall or prepare for his lessons, just a few hours away.
So he remained outside. It took just a minute to jog up to the castle walls as a cool-down, his hands behind his head so as to allow his muscles time to stretch out again. Once at the wall he leant against it, a little breathless. It had been a great run and he was pleased with how his body was developing from both his morning exercise and Quidditch. Oscar moved slightly to his left, where a deep hole in the stone walls greeted him. From the hole he swiftly pulled out his black running bag. Whenever Oscar ran he put a bag in the hole due to his intense dislike of running with anything bar his clothes and shoes (and of course his wand). The hole was easy for Oscar to access and was the perfect size for his bag. It contained nothing valuable; a bottle of water, his lighter and a pack of half-empty cigarettes. That was pretty much all and he couldn’t imagine someone wanting to take his bag for those contents, so didn't hide the bag in a less obvious place. However that morning when he lifted the bag from it's position and opened it to get his drink of water, he realised that two items were missing. He had actually taken his lighter and cigarette pack out before his run- perhaps he had dropped them? With determined eyes he glanced over the grass area around him, but with no luck. Someone must of picked them up. After a moment Oscar spun to face the wall once more. Before long his dark eyes found a tendril of smoke wafting from a cigarette- indeed, one of his. His eyes tracked across the filter and the slender fingers that held the cigarette, down a long wrist and moving up until he was looking directly at Olivia Dawson. "Ah. What a pleasant... surprise?" He smiled weakly and drank from his water bottle. Oscar was not in the mood to be nice with a Slytherin who had stolen his cigarettes. Stepping forward he put forward his hand, waiting for the girl to return his cigarettes and lighter impatiently.
Despite knowing all this to be true, and despite his young age, there had been a few occasions recently where Oscar had actually sipped alcohol and taken comfort in the simple way in which he could forget things just by drinking. Whenever Oscar was in a bad mood he found it difficult to find some form of escapism to help him. He knew others who painted, drew, sang, wrote, danced… but Oscar didn’t really do any of these things. He smoked, but he didn’t see it as escapism, just something for himself. And perhaps with recent events that would be one thing he might have to cut out of his life. Above it all, Oscar liked to run for his escapism. He loved to pound out any paranoia or worry with each step, to jog every negative thought away. His body was fit and athletic and he enjoyed putting it to the test with running, especially as the hobby was so diverse from his normal sport of Quidditch. It also reminded him of long ago when he played muggle football and enjoyed it more than anything else. So he ran because it pleased him. Especially this morning. He ran early. His elbows tucked tight against his ribs. His chest pumping with each breath. His hair wet, a mixture of the rain from ten minutes ago and his own sweat. His nose inhaled as his mouth exhaled. His feet moved to their own beat.
The trees around him were almost a blur, and he even more so to them. Oscar wore running trainers, jogging bottoms and a white vest top. He had been running for almost double his normal time and had lost track of the hour. He had left his dorm at six to run- it had even been a little dark still, a result of the short winter days. Now the sky was just one colour; a heavy, bold grey. There were no more rain clouds, the shower from ten minutes ago already indistinguishable from the glistening dew on the grass beneath his fast feet. He was running at a steady, consistant pace and had been for a long time. It was time to stop. As he neared the castle he slowed, reaching the edge of a cluster of trees. The Gryffindor didn’t feel like going back in just yet. Didn’t feel like going to eat in the Great Hall or prepare for his lessons, just a few hours away.
So he remained outside. It took just a minute to jog up to the castle walls as a cool-down, his hands behind his head so as to allow his muscles time to stretch out again. Once at the wall he leant against it, a little breathless. It had been a great run and he was pleased with how his body was developing from both his morning exercise and Quidditch. Oscar moved slightly to his left, where a deep hole in the stone walls greeted him. From the hole he swiftly pulled out his black running bag. Whenever Oscar ran he put a bag in the hole due to his intense dislike of running with anything bar his clothes and shoes (and of course his wand). The hole was easy for Oscar to access and was the perfect size for his bag. It contained nothing valuable; a bottle of water, his lighter and a pack of half-empty cigarettes. That was pretty much all and he couldn’t imagine someone wanting to take his bag for those contents, so didn't hide the bag in a less obvious place. However that morning when he lifted the bag from it's position and opened it to get his drink of water, he realised that two items were missing. He had actually taken his lighter and cigarette pack out before his run- perhaps he had dropped them? With determined eyes he glanced over the grass area around him, but with no luck. Someone must of picked them up. After a moment Oscar spun to face the wall once more. Before long his dark eyes found a tendril of smoke wafting from a cigarette- indeed, one of his. His eyes tracked across the filter and the slender fingers that held the cigarette, down a long wrist and moving up until he was looking directly at Olivia Dawson. "Ah. What a pleasant... surprise?" He smiled weakly and drank from his water bottle. Oscar was not in the mood to be nice with a Slytherin who had stolen his cigarettes. Stepping forward he put forward his hand, waiting for the girl to return his cigarettes and lighter impatiently.
