Post by robinvalentine on Nov 1, 2007 23:47:58 GMT
Legs pumped hard as the girl ran down the corridor. Though out of breath, a sly smirk was planted onto her face. Wand tight in grip, her yellow eyes looked behind herself. Was the coast clear? Probably not. Would she be suspected? Most likely. Turning her head back around, she noticed she nearly rammed into a wall. Skidding to a halt, Robin leaned against the wall, putting her hands on her knees. She took in as much air as she could. She may need to be on the run again, just in case a prefect were to round the corner and begin pointing fingers at her.
Nearly every crime committed in these walls was done by Robin. She was the master of pranks. The Queen of crime. It gave her a thrill. The only consequence. Detention. Nearly every Saturday was spent there. While everyone was enjoying the night, she would sit in a room with a teacher, impatiently tapping her quill on parchment.
But her favorite part, was the running. Just running away from it made her feel stronger. Running came naturally to her. It helped her on those moon-lit nights. But running from her crimes gave her a thrill, more then committing the crimes did. It made the situation feel like she was breaking away from one of those Muggle prisons her father watched on the television.
Now, as Robin leaned against the wall, she waited. Listening for any footsteps. Anything at all. Even talking would make her jump off in a run. Thin pale fingers drummed against her knees. She had caught her breath by now, and was waiting. Waiting for an excuse to run. Waiting for a walking detention to come around the near corner. Waiting, for anything really.
Nearly every crime committed in these walls was done by Robin. She was the master of pranks. The Queen of crime. It gave her a thrill. The only consequence. Detention. Nearly every Saturday was spent there. While everyone was enjoying the night, she would sit in a room with a teacher, impatiently tapping her quill on parchment.
But her favorite part, was the running. Just running away from it made her feel stronger. Running came naturally to her. It helped her on those moon-lit nights. But running from her crimes gave her a thrill, more then committing the crimes did. It made the situation feel like she was breaking away from one of those Muggle prisons her father watched on the television.
Now, as Robin leaned against the wall, she waited. Listening for any footsteps. Anything at all. Even talking would make her jump off in a run. Thin pale fingers drummed against her knees. She had caught her breath by now, and was waiting. Waiting for an excuse to run. Waiting for a walking detention to come around the near corner. Waiting, for anything really.
