Sortinghat RP

There’s something really, really wrong with me.

I was wondering how everyone else thinks since you guys only seem to get what I'm talking about half the time or less, and suddenly everything's... I don't know, way different than how it's been as long as I can remember. My thoughts aren’t racing. I still have all my emotions, but they're not as intense. They've always been either way up or way down, usually going back and forth faster than a kid who ate too much sugar before hopping on a tire swing.

Am I sick? It’s got me kinda worried. Ladd would know what’s wrong; he’d be able to give me some good advice.

Let me tell you a sad, sad story. It's a story filled with tragedy and the slings and arrows of cruel, cruel fate, so get some tissues ready. You'll be bawlin' your eyes out!

You see, once upon a time - a time that is now - there was a boy. Is-was?! Tenses. What am I supposed to do with tenses in a framing device like this?! I'm talking about now, but convention dictates past tense for tales of tragedy and woe like this, ones on par with the sad stories of the Ancient Greeks, where people accidentally married their mothers and the like. Which frankly I never understood. Now, I like older women - I like them a lot! - but there comes a point where you just gotta look at the situation and think, "This broad could conceivably have given birth to me." I'm just sayin' it should give you some pause so you can evaluate your life choices.

Now what was I - RIGHT, the tale of anger and frustration!!

Anyway, this boy kept seeing people moaning about getting on a certain sports team - let's call it Shmidditch for anonymity's sake. And this boy - ah - he loved Shmidditch. And he was good at it. Great, even. And while he'd normally be a shoo-in for getting on the team, a pack of cold-hearted wizards who spend all of what little time they've got on this great earth sitting around in dusty rooms and always, always, always sneering down on anything and everything that doesn't fit just so into the neat little boxes of conduct that they approve of conspired against him to prevent him from even trying out!

So the boy was sad. No, the boy was angry. No, the boy was... - the boy is a lot of things all of the time.

But what you should take away from this little fable is that the boy hates it when people don't appreciate what they have, especially when they rub their false, pretend tragedies in everyone's face. And the boy has very particular ways of dealing with the things he hates.