Post by ring_junkie on Jun 3, 2006 14:42:37 GMT -5
Dressed in his usual brown, pin-striped suit with a pale blue shirt, and a dark brown tie, Professor John Banner sat on one of the low walls in the courtyard, enjoying a banana he had taken from the Great Hall at lunch. Thickly-rimmed, rectangular glasses were perched on his nose, as he needed them to read the book held in the hand the banana wasn’t, and his hair – as always – was scruffy and a little untidy, especially at the front. Taking another bite, he chewed contentedly, then swallowed, turning the page, and glanced up occasionally as someone passed, or he heard an intriguing noise. He could have passed for a Ravenclaw – the stereotypical glasses-wearing, book-reading type – but he wasn’t. He could have been put into any of the four Hogwarts houses and been perfectly at home, save for Slytherin: he wasn’t particularly ambitious, and he was muggle-born, so would have therefore found it hard being put in that house. He was witty, and clever, and he worked hard – when he felt like it – and he was also brave, and unafraid to stand up for what he believed in, but it was his strong loyalty that had persuaded the Sorting Hat to put him where he belonged – in Hufflepuff. John was one of the louder Hufflepuffs, one of those who were more inclined to stick up for themselves. And as a teacher, he certainly would.
Finishing the banana, he took careful aim and threw the skin at the bin on the opposite side of the courtyard, but it overshot and hit the wall instead with a satisfying sort of smack, splayed out. He watched as it slowly began to peel off under its own weight and slide to the ground, then got to his feet, crossed the courtyard, picked up the banana-skin and dropped in the bin. He had never quite been one for sports; when he had been of school age, his somewhat thin, weedy frame had been a subject to tease him about – that and the glasses he wore to read. But he didn’t care, and he liked his glasses; he thought they had a rather retro, seventies look about them, and though that age had come and gone – twice, in fact, in fashion – he, quite frankly, didn’t give a toss. People could say what they wanted; he was being himself, and that was what mattered. As for sports – they were bad for you, anyone could see that; the amount of injuries people received whilst doing them… he was quite happy to sit back and relax. The only bit of sport he could do was run – and run he had away from that werewolf a few years ago. But it, of course, had caught him eventually. If it hadn’t been for his wand, he would either be dead, or a werewolf, neither of which were quite desirable.
John removed his glasses, tucking them into the top pocket of his suit jacket, and closed his book, noting the page. He could finish reading it later. Without looking where he was going, he turned sharply on his heel and started to head back into the castle, but before he knew what was happening, he had bumped straight into someone and stumbled in the black converse trainers he wore with his suit (just to make it that little bit less formal), almost falling over. Throwing out an arm, he grabbed the nearest thing to steady himself, which happened to be the bin, and then he really did fall over. The bin tipped over, bouncing with a loud clang, and spilt its contents all over him, including the banana skin he had just thrown away, then rolled a few metres away. “Sorry… I’m so sorry,” he apologised, Scottish accent thick, as he looked up at whoever he had bumped into from his position on the ground. “I didnae see ye there.” Reaching up, he removed the banana skin from its place, where it was draped over his head, with as much dignity as he had managed to conserve with what had just happened. He got to his feet, brushing more rubbish off his shoulders and the front of his jacket, and looked up at the person, after carefully peeling some chewing-gum off his sleeve so that it didn’t get stuck in the fabric. “Y’alright?” he asked, giving a sheepish grin and running a hand through his hair, making it stick up more. “I wasnae lookin’ where I was goin’…”
Finishing the banana, he took careful aim and threw the skin at the bin on the opposite side of the courtyard, but it overshot and hit the wall instead with a satisfying sort of smack, splayed out. He watched as it slowly began to peel off under its own weight and slide to the ground, then got to his feet, crossed the courtyard, picked up the banana-skin and dropped in the bin. He had never quite been one for sports; when he had been of school age, his somewhat thin, weedy frame had been a subject to tease him about – that and the glasses he wore to read. But he didn’t care, and he liked his glasses; he thought they had a rather retro, seventies look about them, and though that age had come and gone – twice, in fact, in fashion – he, quite frankly, didn’t give a toss. People could say what they wanted; he was being himself, and that was what mattered. As for sports – they were bad for you, anyone could see that; the amount of injuries people received whilst doing them… he was quite happy to sit back and relax. The only bit of sport he could do was run – and run he had away from that werewolf a few years ago. But it, of course, had caught him eventually. If it hadn’t been for his wand, he would either be dead, or a werewolf, neither of which were quite desirable.
John removed his glasses, tucking them into the top pocket of his suit jacket, and closed his book, noting the page. He could finish reading it later. Without looking where he was going, he turned sharply on his heel and started to head back into the castle, but before he knew what was happening, he had bumped straight into someone and stumbled in the black converse trainers he wore with his suit (just to make it that little bit less formal), almost falling over. Throwing out an arm, he grabbed the nearest thing to steady himself, which happened to be the bin, and then he really did fall over. The bin tipped over, bouncing with a loud clang, and spilt its contents all over him, including the banana skin he had just thrown away, then rolled a few metres away. “Sorry… I’m so sorry,” he apologised, Scottish accent thick, as he looked up at whoever he had bumped into from his position on the ground. “I didnae see ye there.” Reaching up, he removed the banana skin from its place, where it was draped over his head, with as much dignity as he had managed to conserve with what had just happened. He got to his feet, brushing more rubbish off his shoulders and the front of his jacket, and looked up at the person, after carefully peeling some chewing-gum off his sleeve so that it didn’t get stuck in the fabric. “Y’alright?” he asked, giving a sheepish grin and running a hand through his hair, making it stick up more. “I wasnae lookin’ where I was goin’…”