Post by Trevor Williams on Nov 19, 2014 21:10:31 GMT -8
If he heard another snide remark from a portrait, he was going to burst! Stupid things had a way of pointing out every little thing you forgot to do, didn't do correctly, or missed, and Trevor, being Trevor hated being told what to do, only reason being Headmaster eight years ago had been so bearable --he had been in charge. But no, now the traitors had control of the school, so he'd had to come in and pose as a lowly squib janitor. The weakling as Headmistress and the traitor Winslow as Deputy Headmaster. They were setting themselves up for failure having a woman in charge. Why did they think McGonagall had died? She was a woman, and weak at that. He didn't understand how Winslow could stand submitting to a woman and hated him all the more for that. How could he call himself a man and submit to a damn woman?! Men were to show dominance, not women. Men were to be in charge, not women. Men were to be leaders, not women. Women who were in places of power were going outside of the natural order, were kidding themselves. Even if only the build of bodies and their way of thinking were to show that. Men were naturally stronger, natural fighters, more easily ignored emotions (unless they were bloody effiminate men...ick, Trevor thought, but that was a whole other issue entirely), were natural leaders. It seemed natural to Trevor, then, that he thought men should be in charge.
Nevertheless, Trevor knew had to push personal thoughts and rationale on a matter aside and listen if Jamie told him what to do, had to jump when Jamie said 'jump,' run if she said to do so, eat when she said, sleep when she said...and if it weren't for the bloody mission, Trevor wouldn't put up with it. She'd have his wand in her face and see a bright green jet coming at her before she could do anything about it, if it weren't necessary for the ruddy mission. Who'd placed that dumb Derrin in charge? Just because he came up with the idea first...stupid technicality. But, he had to play nice. They were working for the same goal. However, Trevor hated playing nice, so it would be war before long between the two, he thought. But, he'd pretend to be ok with this for as long as it could prove to be to his advantage.
He paused, wiping his pale, white brow, some of his locks of long brown hair back from where they'd tumbled and stuck over his forehead, gripping the mop in two hands and resting his chin on the top of the pole.
Nevertheless, Trevor knew had to push personal thoughts and rationale on a matter aside and listen if Jamie told him what to do, had to jump when Jamie said 'jump,' run if she said to do so, eat when she said, sleep when she said...and if it weren't for the bloody mission, Trevor wouldn't put up with it. She'd have his wand in her face and see a bright green jet coming at her before she could do anything about it, if it weren't necessary for the ruddy mission. Who'd placed that dumb Derrin in charge? Just because he came up with the idea first...stupid technicality. But, he had to play nice. They were working for the same goal. However, Trevor hated playing nice, so it would be war before long between the two, he thought. But, he'd pretend to be ok with this for as long as it could prove to be to his advantage.
He paused, wiping his pale, white brow, some of his locks of long brown hair back from where they'd tumbled and stuck over his forehead, gripping the mop in two hands and resting his chin on the top of the pole.
"Don't quit now," hissed an old hag of a witch with an almost comically large wart on the end of her nose, and perhaps Trevor would have noticed that if she hadn't been yelling curses at him the last few minutes and telling him precisely what he kept doing wrong.
Brown eyes rolled toward her to look, a glare on his features. After a muttered line of curse words, he finally spoke to her. "Listen here, minger, you've done nothing but throw poxy insults all evening long, and if I have to hear more of your bloody shite, you will be nothing but a hundred pieces of paper torn in one before you can do so much as scream for help. So, shut your bloomin' mouth! You haven't been here mopping these manky floors all evening, so shut the hell up!"
"Ah, stop yer squawkin'! You signed up for the ruddy job!" the witch answered back.
"Don't remind me," Trevor answered in a tone of one very much annoyed.
"Well, I'll remind you again and again and again," the witch replied, keen eyes looking down her nose at him and then to the floor. " Missed a spot," she jeered, finger pointing to a place he'd missed, and he picked up the mop, hitting the portrait with it, causing it to fall off the wall, the witch letting out high-pitched screaming and insults, making Trevor jump up and down on it once before placing his left foot firm on the edge, the right digging in to break the glass and then the toe of his right foot pressing hard against the other edge to tear it, quickly before the witch could get out, rendering her in half, one last high-pitched scream of terror emitting her vocals, so Trevor snapped out his wand, pointing it at the witch and muttering, "Petrificus Totalus."
Satisfied now that the witch was silenced, he quickly stowed his wand away, looking around. Hopefully no manky kids were around to spot him having done that...or worse, a Professor. He'd forgotten all about his cover during those few moments of fed-up rage. He ran a hand through his brown locks of hair, letting out a sigh and grabbing the ruddy mop off the floor, bending down to grab the portrait, not sure what to do with it now exactly.