Post by Pandy on Dec 19, 2007 20:51:24 GMT -5
It was rather early in the morning. Somewhere around 5:00, maybe even 6 o'clock. Who knew? There wasn't an alarm clock to blink the time repeatidly in blinding neon green. No, not in this dim room. No alarm clock was in sight. No alarm clock to give a good morning annoyance. No alarm clock to bash when the beeping would continue without end. Forget the fact there wasn't an alarm clock in the room. There wasn't any kind of clock in the whole entire room. NOT one. Not even a regular ticking clock. How odd you might say. But it wasn't really that odd. If someone told you whose room it was then it all made sense why there wasn't a single clock in the square area.
The dim room had belonged to that of Rabastan Alexander Lestrange. For Rabastan, time was an unecessisary thing to know. So he refused to hear a wrist watch. Well, he was a Lestrange. The thought that time bent for the Lestrange name to make them happy, was an idea passed down. And Rabastan really had no problem accepting that idea with open arms. But, aside from the fact that Rabastan believed time was a useless thing to keep, he also had a wierd little...pet peve. That, go figure, dealt with clocks. He HATED the ticking and the tocking of any regular clock. And he DISPISED the annoying beeping that came from an alarm clock. AND then there was the chiming of an old grandfather clock. How annoying that was to him. It was all enough to send him off the edge. Even if technically speaking he had been off the edge of sanity for a while now. Yes, Rabastan was odd like that.
Rabastan Lestrange seemed to have a lot of little quirks like that. Anything could bother him. He was like a ticking time bomb. If you did the wrong move he'd explode right there in your face. And next thing you know you'll be meeting Jesus at those pearly white gates.
See, among one of Rabastan's many pet peves, or annoyances was rearranging his things. Or CHANGE in general. Yes, it might be a fear on some level. But, it might have been a obsessive compulsive nature. Which, was a bit more logical. Still, the point is Rabastan HATED change. HATED it. He would snap if someone had taken something of his without his knoweledge. Hell, he'd go psycho if someone had replaced something on his desk. Rabastan liked to have a sense of knowing. Knowing where everything is. Knowing EXACTLY the spot an item stayed at. And if something had moved...it would throw what Rabastan had known out the window. There really wasn't a middle ground here. So, like his room...many things of Rabastan's remained the same. And he liked it that way.
So, at five in the morning most people would either hit their alarm clocks and wake up. Or in most cases, people still remain asleep. But not our depressive little Rabastan. Oh no, he was always awake. He had a serious case of insomnia. He couldn't sleep at all. At most, Rabastan could only have an hour of sleep, maybe three if he were lucky that night. The lack of sleep seemed to only worsen his moods and his already short fuse.
Rabastan, with his everyday lack of sleep, sat on his bed with his sheets thrown lazily over his criss crossed legs. He was 100 percent awake. And at the same time he was 100 percent bored out of his life. Here, he sat having no choice but to look blankly around his dark and dreary room. He eyed his bookshelf. But as per usual, the books held no interest to him. They were books he had either read before, or it was his school textbooks. The one thing Rabastan Lestrange DID have in common with an everyday teenage is that he could never be bored enough to read his textbooks before he was in school. That required to much brain effort till he needed them to write a last minute essay. You know what I mean. Bullshit the last second. We've all done it before. And so had Rabastan. Year after year.
He sat there tapping his short almost non existant nails on his knee. Biting down on his bottom lip Rabastan quietly pondered to himself what he was to do on one of the few days he had left before he was back on that train to his school. Grumbling under his breath and out of ideas Rabastan had come to the conclusion of getting out of bed and go from there with his unplanned no holds barred day. After all, Rabastan really wasn't the type of kid who liked to be patient. He was more of that twitchy type that would have to be on the move. At all times.
Rabastan bent over his bed carefully patting down each edge of his sheets. Smoothing over ever wrinkle and crease that his eye had spotted. Yes, like everything else this younger Lestrange brother did, he had to make it perfect. He rearranged his pillows to form a little period. Stepping back Rabastan eyed his results through slits before nodding in satisfaction. Crossing his arms Rabastan made his way the giant closet he had. Because as we all know, every Lestrange HAD to have a large HUGE wadrobe.
After having decided his outfit for the day he emerged dressed and made his way out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Yes, because the Lestrange household had lots of stairs. Because they could afford it.
With a heavy sigh Rabastan found himself eyeing the apple he had grabbed for breakfast. He slammed his body down on the living room couch and blankly stared into space. Every so often the absolute silence was broken by the sound of Rabastan biting down on the apple...at which point the chewing commensed. And it would go silent once more.
The dim room had belonged to that of Rabastan Alexander Lestrange. For Rabastan, time was an unecessisary thing to know. So he refused to hear a wrist watch. Well, he was a Lestrange. The thought that time bent for the Lestrange name to make them happy, was an idea passed down. And Rabastan really had no problem accepting that idea with open arms. But, aside from the fact that Rabastan believed time was a useless thing to keep, he also had a wierd little...pet peve. That, go figure, dealt with clocks. He HATED the ticking and the tocking of any regular clock. And he DISPISED the annoying beeping that came from an alarm clock. AND then there was the chiming of an old grandfather clock. How annoying that was to him. It was all enough to send him off the edge. Even if technically speaking he had been off the edge of sanity for a while now. Yes, Rabastan was odd like that.
Rabastan Lestrange seemed to have a lot of little quirks like that. Anything could bother him. He was like a ticking time bomb. If you did the wrong move he'd explode right there in your face. And next thing you know you'll be meeting Jesus at those pearly white gates.
See, among one of Rabastan's many pet peves, or annoyances was rearranging his things. Or CHANGE in general. Yes, it might be a fear on some level. But, it might have been a obsessive compulsive nature. Which, was a bit more logical. Still, the point is Rabastan HATED change. HATED it. He would snap if someone had taken something of his without his knoweledge. Hell, he'd go psycho if someone had replaced something on his desk. Rabastan liked to have a sense of knowing. Knowing where everything is. Knowing EXACTLY the spot an item stayed at. And if something had moved...it would throw what Rabastan had known out the window. There really wasn't a middle ground here. So, like his room...many things of Rabastan's remained the same. And he liked it that way.
So, at five in the morning most people would either hit their alarm clocks and wake up. Or in most cases, people still remain asleep. But not our depressive little Rabastan. Oh no, he was always awake. He had a serious case of insomnia. He couldn't sleep at all. At most, Rabastan could only have an hour of sleep, maybe three if he were lucky that night. The lack of sleep seemed to only worsen his moods and his already short fuse.
Rabastan, with his everyday lack of sleep, sat on his bed with his sheets thrown lazily over his criss crossed legs. He was 100 percent awake. And at the same time he was 100 percent bored out of his life. Here, he sat having no choice but to look blankly around his dark and dreary room. He eyed his bookshelf. But as per usual, the books held no interest to him. They were books he had either read before, or it was his school textbooks. The one thing Rabastan Lestrange DID have in common with an everyday teenage is that he could never be bored enough to read his textbooks before he was in school. That required to much brain effort till he needed them to write a last minute essay. You know what I mean. Bullshit the last second. We've all done it before. And so had Rabastan. Year after year.
He sat there tapping his short almost non existant nails on his knee. Biting down on his bottom lip Rabastan quietly pondered to himself what he was to do on one of the few days he had left before he was back on that train to his school. Grumbling under his breath and out of ideas Rabastan had come to the conclusion of getting out of bed and go from there with his unplanned no holds barred day. After all, Rabastan really wasn't the type of kid who liked to be patient. He was more of that twitchy type that would have to be on the move. At all times.
Rabastan bent over his bed carefully patting down each edge of his sheets. Smoothing over ever wrinkle and crease that his eye had spotted. Yes, like everything else this younger Lestrange brother did, he had to make it perfect. He rearranged his pillows to form a little period. Stepping back Rabastan eyed his results through slits before nodding in satisfaction. Crossing his arms Rabastan made his way the giant closet he had. Because as we all know, every Lestrange HAD to have a large HUGE wadrobe.
After having decided his outfit for the day he emerged dressed and made his way out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen. Yes, because the Lestrange household had lots of stairs. Because they could afford it.
With a heavy sigh Rabastan found himself eyeing the apple he had grabbed for breakfast. He slammed his body down on the living room couch and blankly stared into space. Every so often the absolute silence was broken by the sound of Rabastan biting down on the apple...at which point the chewing commensed. And it would go silent once more.
