A long time dead [open]

[Iain Murray]

"Be happy while you're living, for you're a long time dead." - Scottish Proverb


The soil was pretty cold, but Iain couldn't care less. This was the first bright day he'd seen since he'd arrived here in Scotland and if that wasn't enough reason to be outside he didn't know either. He had just come off the night and early morning shift and the sun had only just risen enough to make the fog disappear - part of him knew he should be tired, but he was far from tired, he didn't want to sleep, and he certainly had had enough from being cooped up inside. He didn't mind working in the hospital wing, really he didn't, but that didn't mean he had to like the smell of all sorts of potions, for example.
He just needed a little time to unwind and settle. Iain had sort of settled in at Hogwarts now. Shifts were regular and routine-ish, but at least the students never failed to be unpredictable and that was what made work fun. If fun was the correct way to describe his work - Iain certainly didn't like seeing people in pain. Being able to fix them was good, however.

Right now, Iain wasn't working. Iain was playing.
Their parents had always been encouraging when it came to music. Neither of them played an instrument (though their mother had danced when she was younger) and deeply regretted it, so they'd made sure their boys had a basic music course (learning to read sheetmusic and such) before letting them pick an instrument.
Cailean, ever the sensible of the two, had gone for the piano. It was versatile and didn't require a lot of maintainance, for one thing.
Iain, of course, had gone for something a lot more.. Iain-ish. Iain played the bagpipes. Everything about bagpipes was Iain. High maintainance (though once you got the hang of tuning and seasoning it wasn't so bad), very Scottish, and (most of all) very very loud. He was playing on his practice chanter now, though, which didn't produce 100 decibels - it was about the volume of a regular recorder, although it sounded very different (as it had a double reed, not a labium to make the air oscillate).

He hadn't played for a while, not since Amanda had moved in with Cailean, because she couldn't stand the sound of it. Iain could understand, it was rather a specific sound, after all, but that didn't mean he had to agree with her. Today was the first time he'd played since he'd come back to Scotland and he was glad to find that his embouchure wasn't as diminished as he'd feared. His fingers, however, had taken some time catching up.
After some scales and basic gracenote exercises, he'd immediately jumped to a reel (Dancing Feet), but it had been jumped and sloppy. A strathspey then (Mac an Irish), which he'd pulled off a little cleaner, but still not to his satisfaction. In the end, he'd just played Mac an Irish on a loop until he was satisfied and looked back up at the sky, fingers still moving faintly on the chanter. He could feel dewy grass on the back of his neck and somehow it filled him with melancholy.
Putting the chanter's mouthpiece on his lips again, he played a deliberately slow Bells of Dunblane.



[Bit of a random post, but I was playing myself and Iain demanded a musical post. I couldn't find the youtube material I wanted to illustrate what Iain's playing, though if people are curious I'll be happy to record it and email it. I'm not as good as Iain, though. xD
Also, if you just want to react as a student who is yelling at him for making so much noise before eight in the morning, be my guest.]

[severus snape]

Severus was normally up early, and he normally went for a calming stroll around the lake, cigarette in mouth and thoughts in mind. Today however, he had got half way around the lake when some strange noise started coming from up ahead.

Flicking the fag end into the water, he closed his eyes for a second to try and focus on the odd sound. For a minute it had sounded like a tune, but then as he drew closer, long strides eating up the distance, he realised it was just a collection of different pitched whines, almost like mermish put through a mangle.

What in god's name was it?! Surely no animal could make that noise, not even a magical one. Not unless said extremely magical animal was being tortured beyond all imagination. The sound actually cut into his consciousness, distracting him from all other things. No sound could out-noise it, no matter the volume, and he doubted very strongly whether there was any sight that he could see that would draw his attention.

As he reached the top of the incline up to the lawns, he looked around for the noise and what generated it. He half expectd to see the noise physically manifested of its own accord. THe sound, however, had gone, it seemed.

It had only paused for a moment, unfortunately. and as it started up, he wheeled round to face it and bellowed with all the force of his diaphragm.

"DEAR GOD WILL YOU DE-SIST!" He looked down and there, on the grass, was a young wizard, probably older than him, from the look of it, but evidently not as sensible as his years should suggest.

Through gritted teeth he continued. "It's eight in the bloody. morning."

[Iain Murray]

Admittedly, the soil was pretty damp and cold, seeping into his clothes now. Iain hated wet clothes, to be honest. Or he usually did anyway. Iain could change like the wind sometimes. He didn't mind so much now, not when he was relaxing and playing and planning on a nice, hot (veryvery hot) bath when he got back at Hogwarts. Shifting from the Bells of Dunblane to the Salute to the Royal Fendersmith, he paused halfway and sighed at the sky. Nah. Music just wasn't doing it today. Or maybe he should bring his proper pipes out next time.. depending on the state they were in, he hadn't seasoned the bag in ages, it was probably leaky and-
DEAR GOD WILL YOU DE-SIST!

Iain blinked and looked up. Upside down, above him, towering over him was a student. At least he guessed it was a student. Oh, of course it was a student. Uniform, age - definitely a student. Slytherin by the looks of it. Iain raised an eyebrow and sat up slowly, the chanter still in his hands. Somehow, the familiar feel of the chanter's holes beneath his fingers was reassuring. But hey - why did he need reassuring in the first place? This was just some student who thought he could boss him around. Well, Iain didn't take kindly to that sort of thing - not from adults and certainly not from teenagers.
"Oh, lighten up," he muttered, annoyed, getting up and dusting off his clothes a bit with one hand, the other still having a firm grasp on his chanter. He was wearing ordinary muggle jeans and a sweater that was (probably) Cailean's, judging by how decent and normal it looked. No bright colours at all.
"It may be eight in the morning, but you've been up a while, judging by the fact you've already smoked at least one cigarette so far. Either that or you've not changed your clothes tonight, like me." Iain (who was indeed still wearing yesterday's outfit) could smell the smoke on Severus and pulled a bit of a face. As a medic, he was supposed to discourage smoking, but admittedly he did it from time to time. It helped with stress very well, really. Better than music, sometimes. "It's not like I exactly woke you, is it?" he added, raising himself to his full height and raising his eyebrow just a little bit higher.

Then, like sunshine breaking through the clouds, he grinned suddenly. "Cigarettes, though," he mumbled to himself. "I suppose I'd stop playing if you gave my mouth something else to busy itself with?" He was really just teasing. Then again, if he got a free cigarette out of this, all the better.
And who cared that he was being grossly irresponsible and very unlike a member of staff? It was just a cigarette. And he was just a healer. He wasn't a teacher (God forbid!).

[severus snape]

The weird stick, recorder, mini clarinet from hell thing was clearly very dear to this idiot who was lying on the ground because when he stood up he was very careful not to let it hit the ground.

This definitely wasn't a student, probably some kind of interloper judging by the clothes. He was about to tell the noisy so-and-so exactly where he could go instead of here when the man spoke.

Severus's face was now posed in a quizical expression, the man admitted to not changing clothes and possibly to insomnia as well, while attempting to dob him in for smoking. If he wasn't allowed to be here how was he going to explain that he knew about it.

"Two actually. And who are you claiming to be? My personal Healer?" And severus didn't have one of those. Nor would he. Ever. THey'd try to make him quit smoking and probably keep asking about the marks on his back and notice the small inconsistencies in what he said.

"Oh no, not me, just half the castle." And scientific curiosity got the better of him. "what is that anyway? A Magical bagpipe?"

Th other wizard was also trying to square up to him. Severus ddin't back away or change body posture. He wasn't about to be intimidated by this madman. Especially not when his freakishly long legs gave him an inch or two advantage when he stopped slouching. Though the other wizard appeared in much better shape.

"I beg your pardon? First you assault my ear drums and now you wish me to give you a cigarette? You who I hardly know?" He raised an eyebrow. "My mother taught me not to listen to strangers."

[Iain Murray]

Iain could feel the young man's eyes move over him, scrutinising and analysing - and he didn't like it one bit. He crossed his arms and uncrossed them, trying not to seem too uncomfortable under the other's gaze, but inevitable failing slightly because he just didn't like being put under a microscope of sorts. It was one of the reasons why he would never, ever, ever consider going to a psychiatrist (in fact, he didn't like psychiatrists and psychologists in general, because while talking to them or being near them, he'd always wonder what they thought and how they classified him - it was unnerving).

True, he was readily confessing weak characteristics of him, something that Severus would never do. Iain was characterised by his speech, in a way, and to speak with the rather awesome Carol Shields as illustration: "His tongue learned to dance then, learned to deal with the intricacies of evasion and drama, fiction and distraction. His voice, you might say, became where he lived, the way other people live in their furniture or gestures. At the same time he developed the orator's knack for endurance, talking and talking without exhaustion, not always (it can be confessed) with substance." Iain was basically made of words, but unlike his brother, he was unable to really put them to use and say what he felt - words were just the barrier between him and the world.
He wasn't thinking of that now, though. (Iain never really consciously thought about his tendency to ramble, just accepted it as part of his persona.) "Your personal healer?" he echoed. "Not quite, but close. I do work as a healer, at Hogwarts - which I'm guessing you attend."

He sniggered as Severus still seemed to object to his music very much. It didn't bother him. Bagpipes were a very specifiv sound - you either liked or hated it. "Half the castle? This is only the chanter, the proper instrument produces over a 100 decibels, so that should help me wake up the whole castle, alright," he pretended to say to himself, as though waking up every student had indeed been his objective.
"Close," Iain answered to Severus' question. "It's a bagpipe chanter, just for practice. My proper one's at my rooms," he added, pointing a general thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the castle (sort of).

Iain wondered what year the teenager was in. One of the later ones, to be sure, if his height was anything to go by. Or perhaps he was just very tall. Nah, the young man in front of him was grown up enough to think it was good to pretend to be a grown up (if that made sense). Definitely one from the higher years, 6th or 7th maybe.
Amused, he chuckled and shrugged when the boy (because sometimes he seemed a boy and sometimes an adult) seemed scandalised at the suggestion that he give Iain a cigarette. "Or not - I shouldn't smoke anyway. Bad example," he said, more to himself, and shrugged again. "Smart mother," he commented, patting his pockets just to see if he didn't have any tobacco or whatever accidentally hiding in the crevices of his clothes - no such luck. "I'm not much of a stranger, though. I work where you live." Tucking his chanter under his arm, he extended a thin (slightly boney) hand. "Iain Murray."

[severus snape]

Severus could use his words as a knife or a shield, but he was never especially good at explaining how he felt. Possibly because he had viewed negative emotions as weak and girly when young and then had that view reinforced by the Slytherin house, where all emotions could be used against you and therefore had to be carefully controlled. And wasn't he a master at it. The only emotion he ever let out was anger, mostly because his natural proficiency in Occlusion stemmed from compartmentalising, a necessity for someone like him living in Spinner's End, and the childhood lessons that anger was an acceptable emotion. IT had lead to some outbursts but for the most part, even that now could be reined in to mere disapproval. It was as though he was slowly turning to stone and soon, pigeons would land on him and people would scrawl graffiti on him, their lost loves, their current ones, and he would weather it all, standing tall...with pigeon shit running down his arm.

This madman was a healer. Here. Which meant Severus had to be very careful around him, in case Poppy and he explained away a scar in a different way.

"Good thing you didn't bring that out then, you would have found yourself hexed into silence before I even thought to check if you were a student or not." He winced almost imperceptibly. That had sounded like a threat, to a member of staff no less, when really he had intended it as banter. Why couldn't he learn Social Skills as an OWL, or maybe he'd be as bad at that as he was Care of Magical Creatures.

Severus didn't take the hand, but held out a match box and fished the tobacco pouch out. "Severus Snape. And you'll have to roll it yourself." He put the one other he'd rolled before in between his thin lips. "Since you're a Scot I'm going to assume you won't roll it too full." He paused and glanced at the castle. "Unless you're really here to steal my cattle." IT was a small jibe, but his father had got from his father who'd probably got it straight from the 1300s that the Scots were barbarians who came over to Yorkshire and the North for the sole purpose of stealing things. And that was why Hadrian's Wall was the best invention ever. Of course, since he was speaking in his Hogwarts Accent, He doubted the other man would know why he was so informed about cattle thieves.

[Iain Murray]

Iain didn't have a strategic mind like Severus. In fact, he was the king of Impulsive Decisions and steward of Forgetting That Actions Have Consequences. Really, sometimes I marvel at the fact he is still alive, because he is perfectly capable of tripping over a rock and cracking open his skull at any given moment.
He was in a good mood today, so Iain didn't take Severus' words as a threat, and simply chuckled. "Good thing I didn't, or we'd both be in trouble now." He grinned lopsidedly and raised a surprised (but pleasantly surprised) eyebrow as the student handed him his tobacco nonetheless. "Thanks. I've only just started working here, not in the mood to be reprimanded or fired already for getting into a fight with a student - over music no less!" Although whether bagpipes produced music.. that was something debatable, of course.

He usually bought cigarettes, simply because when he felt like smoking, he didn't want to have to fumble about with restless hands. Iain was capable of rolling himself a cigarette, though, albeit it a little sloppy, and proceded to do so, chuckling about Severus' comment about his heritage. "Don't worry, I owe you one - I'll make sure to pass you one of mine next time I see you, assuming you don't mind Black Devils?"
Iain smoked a Dutch brand of cigarettes which he had flown in by owl occasionally. They had a slight hint of vanilla in the aftertaste, which he had gotten keen of, not to mention that the cigarette was completely black and he sort of felt that was a nice touch. Why pretend something was white and pure when you knew it wasn't?
Tucking his chanter under his arm, he used his wand to light Severus' smoke and then his own, inhaling gratefully.


[sorry for shortness xP]