The newest batch of Hogwarts students have entered this historic school and no one knows how their future will turn out - will you be a quidditch pro or maybe a prefect? The year is now 2021, and now it's time for the next generation to make their mark. The newest batch of Hogwarts students have entered this historic school and no one knows how their future will turn out - and that is where the fun begins.
The plot will be determined by the characters of the site as of now - future plots will change as these forces weigh in on the Wizarding World, and we see where these characters take us. So join in and let your character make their mark!
Minimum word count is 200.
Post by Valentino Rosier-Rowle on Mar 12, 2018 1:07:40 GMT
No one else was in the office (who would be at ten at night?) so he didn’t stifle the ecstatic groan that projected against the glass walls, their magical tint turned on, as it usually was for meetings with Lisa. He did this regardless of whether or not he expected these meetings to result in aggressive sexual intercourse, because he never did. That, and when the pair of them got in a shouting match, he preferred to not be on display. It would appear entirely unprofessional.
It took a moment for his heartbeat to settle, veins popping out the of hands viced under her thighs, blood squeezing past the muscles in his arms that were swollen from holding her up against the wall. He bent his forehead against her clavicle, the slight dew on his forehead cool against her skin. And he thought briefly, the feeling coming to him right on time, like clockwork, what the fuck are we doing?
It had happened so many times that he’d lost count and concept. He couldn’t even remember the first time. It had all blended together into a hearty mish-mash of sweat and screaming. Productive screaming, but screaming nonetheless. Val turned from the wall and, in one motion of swing and strength, tossed her onto the leather couch neighboring the wall of accolades his assistant had put up. He thought it was narcissistic; the young man thought it was magnificent.
He exhaled tartly in a mix of slight displeasure and odd satisfaction. A moment ago he’d clawed at her sides, and already he was back to wanting to throw a large, heavy object in her direction for how stubborn she was being about the brand design. He just didn’t get what she was going for, and he couldn’t authorize a strategy change this large without having a better feeling for it. Many a mentor had told him to trust his people, because he was lucky- his people were the best- and that gut feeling shouldn’t be the sole source of a decision maker. But he just couldn’t shake the feeling that it still wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t yet perfect.
It was calm now; it was always calmer after the release of that pent up frustration, energy, and tension. It was certainly a better solution than actually throwing a large, heavy object in her direction. Typically, even if they weren’t able to come to consensus, post-coital relations were all-around more pleasant than pre. And while the air between them to him could not be described as unpleasant in the least, looking upon one of the people he respected most, it was certainly more terse than usual. He’d unlocked one of his moods, and the mood today was ‘It Is Most Likely a Bad Idea to Regularly Fuck Your Associate’.
After finding his white undershirt on the floor behind his desk, he surfaced from its collar, looking over to her with a look of churning and puzzling thought, the look he took on when considering something that stumped him, considering more the concepts than the sincere need of a solution.
Post by Lisa Deanna King on Mar 12, 2018 15:02:42 GMT
Lisa is mainly annoyed at her choice of underwear today. She wasn't expecting sex. Its never really an expectation, she supposes, but she knows some days the inevitability is more likely than others. Today it seemed unlikely - she wasn't due to see Valentino until an evening meeting they had scheduled and it was one she thought was purely a formality. He'd already seen the brief. He'd seen it for the first time months ago, and a more finalised version a fortnight ago. He'd been kept in the loop the entire time as people made even the slightest amends. It was all but signed off, she wasn't expecting a battle.
If she'd known persuasion might be needed she'd at least be wearing lace.
She's pressed up against the wall still as they catch their breath, her thighs tight around his waist by instinct, and based on experience. She always forgets how tall he is and the one time she hadn't held on.... well, she doesn't mind being thrown if she's expecting it, but landing on your ass by surprise is just undignified in every regard.
She catches a grip in his hair as he rests his head for a second, and then squeezes her hand in sync with her thighs as a silent notice of OK, done now, time to let go. He of course throw hers against the couch.
At this point Lisa is done with modesty. He was just inside her, she's past caring if she's on display. And she's not wasting time looking for her knickers either until this conversation is over. She sits crossed leg on the leather couch, only her shirt remaining over her bra. She leaves it open to keep some air flowing over her sides as she tries to conceal a wince. The marks don't actually hurt though, its just simple human instinct. Much like every other aspect of this situation.
She's staring him down as as he wanders round his office, deciding not to move as he spots his undershirt. She's pretty sure he won't open the door whilst she's undressed and they still need to talk this out. Part of her craves a cigarette, but she hasn't smoked in almost a decade since she started running more seriously, and she realised 40 a day definitely wasn't helping her stamina. She's an all-or-nothing kind of person in a lot of regards, so just cutting back never even occurred to her. She'd happily take a glass of wine right now though, or even something a little stronger.
Valentino is the most unconventional CEO she's ever worked with. Not even just because she's fucking this one either - its his attitude. Lisa boils it down to the lack of corporation industries in the wizarding world. There's no examples. They simply aren't used to it. And its not a bad thing - she's just used to CEO's not giving a damn about how things look. They usually just want to make money. She's used to battling for her perfect vision and having to settle somewhere on the middle ground, so it feels ridiculous for her to admit this, "Truly, I'm not 100% happy with it either."
She sighs, leaning her head back and looking up at the ceiling, "Its not my perfect vision. Its not our aesthetic. I know that, I do, but statistics don't lie. This version will sell. And its close enough."
Post by Valentino Rosier-Rowle on Mar 12, 2018 23:08:29 GMT
She spoke before he did; for all his fervor when it came to business, it was difficult for him to find the right words after such a contrasting activity. And not only because debating brand was different than having sex, and switching gears so quickly was jarring, but because of the piercing nature of intimacy itself. The predominant reason he was so much more palatable after a tryst was because the whirling feelings of confusion, attraction, and adrenaline made it difficult for him to remain as focused and steadfast.
Like trying to think about branding when a beautiful woman has her knees spread in front of you.
She was incredibly beautiful, physically, and he’d been painfully aware of that fact since the moment she threw open his office door and introduced herself. He’d been twenty-five years old, still painfully young, and it felt like that was a lifetime ago. The structure of her eyes, nose, and jaw were sharp and serene all at once, admirable even when angry, or otherwise. Val’s gaze trailed the silhouette of her neck as she stretched it backwards, mind still inundated with snapshots of their last hour, half of the argument he’d been trying to win and half of the incredible satisfaction of pressing her again and again against a wall.
He shook his head, finally tending to the clasp on his trousers and reaffixing his belt into its proper spot. Lips pressed together in firm, but now tempered frustration, he considered how close he was to finally conceding. “We, well…you…” he corrected himself, not wishing to steal any of the credit for the agonizing amount of work that went into a rebranding of this magnitude, “…are close. But it is not close enough.” Trust be told, the fact that she was able to communicate calmly soothed him as well. He liked the idea of saying yes, because he would much rather pour her a scotch and suggest a late dinner, but he knew that he, instinctually, couldn’t give in yet.
“We,” he started poignantly, not wishing to dismiss himself from the less savory side of the conversation, “can do better. Let’s give it another…two weeks. Keep reworking it. You’ve been going at this version for too long to just say yes now, and lose the chance at being satisfied with it. We owe it to ourselves to get it right.” A part of him knew this was partially fruitless CEO optimism, that people like Lisa and himself might never be happy with something no matter how long they worked at it. But sometimes…sometimes he would be. And he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.
He peered down at his desk, the proposals flared out on the mahogany tabletop, but his gazes did not linger there for long. Her neck extended in such a way had him continuing to evaluate her, his heartrate still attempting to reach it’s resting pace of abnormally low. Strange, how moments before he’d been inside of her, and now he was reserved about approaching. It was the unexplored in their unique relationship; emotional intimacy was easier to produce when sex wasn’t involved. There were some days where Lisa was just his friend and confidant. Those were great days, of course. And then there were some days where Lisa was his…lover. Those were different. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of those yet.
Not without hesitation, he crossed the room to sit on the coffee table opposite her. leaning onto his knees with his elbows so his eyes lined up with hers. “Two weeks?” Although he knew he was in the terribly unfair position of not having to ask her for her permission, he genuinely did want her approval. And despite knowing his position and well, he was still quite nervous that he wasn’t going to get it.
Post by Lisa Deanna King on Mar 13, 2018 0:57:37 GMT
She lolls her head to the side to watch him dress. He's quiet as he considers her admission, which is something about him she always appreciates. They may often get into arguments but they do always listen to what the other is saying, even if they don't agree. At least, they do when they're not in the heat of the moment.
Lisa had never imagined this kind of relationship when they'd first met. Truth be told, when she first stormed into the kid's office she thought she'd be dealing with another spoilt entitled heir with a position he hadn't earned.... she'd gone in guns blazing. She'd known what she wanted and she'd executed that plan perfectly. But at that point she'd only done research into the company, not its owner, and my was he a surprise.
She watches his face as he watches her. Something they allow themselves in these moments that they would not in the normal day-to-day of office life. These late nights often seem like another universe, one where everything boils down to just the two of them and their opinions, with no input from other colleagues or the bloody board of directors.
She sat up straighter as he spoke, nodding slightly even as she frowns, "The board expects a full proposal on Monday, you know. This is the deadline we've been working towards all quarter. Hell, the last two quarters.." her head is in her hands by this point, and she uses them to roughly comb her hair into a bun as she sits back up.
"Two weeks?" Its a ridiculous request given by a person who clearly doesn't know the extent of what goes into this type of thing. A CEO. Its blind optimism, but she can't pretend she's not been guilty of that herself in the past. Right, OK, he wants changes. She can give him feasible options.
He's studying his desk now, waiting out her response. She takes a calculated breath, "I won't scrap it completely. I can't do that after all the hours the team have put in," she's watching him now, as she speaks, she can't not, "But a few months ago one of the girls came up with something... it intrigued but we just didn't have the time. Maybe we can work on fleshing that into something. It won't be as tight a proposal but I'm sure we can pull a brief together. We give the board two options: one aesthetic, one profitable."
She kept watching him as he moved closer, until he was sat across from her, within touching distance. She can't help but lean in towards him as their eyes lock and she nods in agreement, "Two weeks."
But she still has another point to make even with the current truce, "I just.. you need to understand where I'm coming from with this. Its not all about how something looks, its also about what it makes a customer do subconsciously. The current proposal isn't our goal because its not as drastic a change as we truly want - its got some similarities to make it comforting to the consumer," she finds she's reaching a hand out towards his without even realising what she's doing, "A lot of people own Quivs already. We're not trying to persuade people to buy something new, we're trying to persuade them to upgrade. The same product, just better. Customers are idiots, and a lot of them find change scary. Its about the baby steps."
tagged: Valentino Rosier-Rowle words: 580 notes: four posts to this thread in under 24 hours this is what you call A Pit™
Post by Valentino Rosier-Rowle on Mar 13, 2018 1:53:16 GMT
In the first legitimate show of emotion to break the syrupy calm oozing between them, he outright scowled at the mention of the Board of Directors. A Rowle at heart, there were more than enough protections in place to assure him that he remained in full control of his company, but there were proprietary concerns to deal with, like no one trusted a company that fell solely on the shoulders of someone under the age of thirty. Like, that no matter how much he liked to think he knew everything, he did not, and advisors were necessary for structured growth and success.
They were nice people, really. He had fantastic relationships with many of them. Individually phenomenal choices. But all together, they were just a gigantic pain in the ass.
“Fuck the board,” he said, as if he was proud of himself for politely addressing a delicate topic in a professional manner. It was a comment that needed no response, if only to serve as a reminder that even if the board was expecting this, or that, or the other thing, they would have to patiently wait for Creative. Val always had them waiting on Creative, but, in his mind, Creative was the heartbeat of the entire organization. If it wasn’t right, they didn’t have a viable product. It would only be a matter of time before they no longer monopolized magical technology. Maybe then they would all start to agree with him (probably not).
“You know what to do,” he said, summarizing his feelings on her proposal in short. As long as he could pitch it, the chances of it being sent back for workshop again were much slimmer. The Board wasn’t privy to the amount of dicing and fielding he did himself, applying a terrorizing hyper-focus to whatever issue he happened upon any given day. Not all CEOs invented the product that they peddled. It was all a little too close to the heart, and Lisa was one of the few people who could take his temperament and get past initial resistance. It was certainly this ambition that could be contributed to massive growth in his company.
He offered a slight smile at her nod, almost relieved to receive her agreement.
But not a moment passed and her hand was trailing toward his, balanced somewhere close to her with his elbows propping him up, and it was hard to not watch her slim fingers delicately cover his even though he was displeased by the feeling of being educated on his own company. But he held his tongue, lifting his hands up slightly so her knuckles were lined against his index finger, leaning in to press his closed mouth against them in not a kiss, but an indication of his resilience to not interrupt her.
He held his pause to make sure she had completely finished, before moving his eyes to peer at her over her hand between both of his. “I know. Really.” He said it with sincerity. She hadn’t said a single thing that he disagreed with, even if he didn’t like having to hear it. “We’ll get there.” He felt as though he should squeeze her hand, and he even considered leaning in to kiss her, but, with an odd twitch of his neck, he lowered her hand out of his and stood up, striding toward the closet door on the other side of the room where a fresh button-up shirt and sport coat would most likely be waiting for him.
He cleared his throat as he opened the door, where, sure enough, there was a hanger with tomorrow’s suit. “Are you hungry?” he said, not uncharacteristically, but equally as out of place and strangely as every other time he’d proposed a meal well after typical dinner hours. He threw the shirt about his shoulders and began from the bottom, buttoning his way to the top, turning around to face her direction again. “I was going to stop somewhere in the city, unless you...” He trailed off, feeling just as silly for assuming that she didn’t have somewhere to be or some other retinue.
Post by Lisa Deanna King on Mar 15, 2018 1:19:33 GMT
'Fuck the board' he says, because he can. Because realistically he's un-fireable. Still, Lisa can't help but smile at the sentiment. "I'd rather not, I'll admit," she states, instead.
Two weeks. It seems like nothing. Hell, it really is nothing given that their current presentation is the culmination of nearly six month's work. Still, a concept brief isn't as in depth, and she believes in her team. Its doable for sure - and they can do it well. They will do it well.
She gets that he's precious about the company - its his baby, in every sense of the word. And whereas yes she's dealt with CEOs with their name on the side of the building, she's never dealt with one who invented the merchandise. He's allowed to be overprotective, and its good that he gets this involved. Even if it can be kind of annoying at times. He's not just the money, he's the creator, and she tries to remember that every time his instinct comes into play and he says 'no' before he thinks. At that point, she normally just takes a deep breath and counts to five.
The world feels lighter once they've reached an agreement. They have a plan now, they know what comes next, and they can both just get on with it until the next battle approaches. She'll update him as the project continues, and if she manages to co-ordinate her team correctly (which, let's face it, she will) he'll have something tangible to present. Then they just have to turn the plans into reality - whichever one is chosen (her heart says aesthetic, her head says commercial).
Its a process.
He listens as she speaks. Well, lectures. She's aware of how it comes across. The not-kiss against her hand hardly causes her pause, and even though part of her is aware its his way of distracting himself into not interrupting her, she was still enjoys that he doesn't. That he lets her speak her mind and doesn't disagree. She feels like there was a time this could have led into another argument. "Good... good. I just needed to say it out-loud," she closes her eyes as she replies, finally taking a deep breath as if she's got something off her chest at last.
The conversation is over when he gets up, and thats the point when Lisa finally starts looking around for her clothes. Tonight's tryst had gone from 0-60 in about four seconds flat, and whilst she spotted her skirt thrown somewhere near Valentino's desk earlier, she has absolutely no idea where her underwear or shoes have gone. She buttons her shirt up as she moves across the room to pick up her skirt, praying that wherever her shoes are the stiletto heels are still intact and attached. (She's still annoyed about last time - even if he did offer to buy her a new pair)
He's dressed by the time he looks at her again, and she can feel her body's agreement at the concept of food as he speaks, "I could definitely eat," she replies, "Its late so the city is basically our only option, but I'm game for anything."
At this point she feels finding her knickers right now is a lost cause, so fuck it, "Did you see where my shoes went?" she asks as she shimmies into her skirt. Commando like a freaking teenager, but hey at least she doesn't have to worry about a VPL.
Post by Valentino Rosier-Rowle on Mar 19, 2018 20:30:41 GMT
If he tried to remember the first time it happened, he would not be able to. In truth, that was a travesty, for there was typically some weight associated with the first of something, with any particular person. Most considered firsts the magical standard setter, a benchmark for which to judge all others. Many yet thought of them as a nostalgic memory, a good story to tell, a wonderful meditation if one wanted giddiness or good cheer. It wasn’t that he didn’t want or appreciate those things, Valentino was just a little too realistic to simmer in the past. Everything about his life had to do with leaps and bounds forward, groundbreaking pioneering. He couldn’t remember the details of the first time it happened, or many other times, because he couldn’t live in the past. The Great Anticipator had no room for reflection.
He felt a small spring of relief from her affirmation; he always surprised himself by how much he valued her company in lieu of their…well, whatever they were doing. So rare was the opportunity they met over something other than work. The shift from a mask of professionalism to a heated debate to outright physical intimacy left the middle space unexplored…and he’d never flourished in unexplored social situations. Even with someone he’d been inside and outside of a hundred times. Especially with someone he’d been inside and outside of a hundred times.
And there was the age difference, of course, the never-spoken-of ten extra years of life that she had over him. When he thought about the way his life had changed, how he had changed from age eighteen to now…it made him sick to think that he might look back on his twenty-eight year old self and cringe. Much how she must look at him from time to time and cringe…assumedly at least. The anxieties of Valentino Rosier-Rowle were something he kept very close to the chest, and his fully felt intimidation from her success, beauty, and age were no exemption.
Yet…they were here. Again.
Dinner.
Pulling on his navy jacket, he watched her skirt slide up her legs as he shuffled his arms, readjusting the sport coat over his shoulders. He had a horrible habit of just watching her, for no other reason than to observe the way she chose to move, speak, act. Even after years of service, he found he was never sure what he next move would be- in the minimal, of course. Would she exercise and then show up to work tomorrow? Of course. Would she show up to all of her meetings and deliver on her promises? Well, Cyrus knew that information off the top of his head, but Val knew it to be true, to the best of his knowledge.
No, it was the little things. Like seeming to be completely unconcerned about wearing anything underneath her skirt. He’d made it back to his desk, opened a drawer, and was clipping a set of cufflinks into place when he saw them, most likely ricocheted off the side of his desk and into the large potted trees to the left. He smirked, meditating on the last time he’d recovered a shoe of hers, this one in two pieces, as his barbaric attempt at removing it had only resulted in snapping the heel clean off its base.
Fully situated, he walked by her to retrieve the black heels, one resting in the pot itself, one dangling from a particularly strong branch. Dusted off, they looked just fine, and he held them out to her by their heels. “You’re in luck this time, at least.”
He pulled out his quiv, which he’d, strangely, begun to use less and less as the newer versions came out. The more they did, the less he organized for himself, the less he needed to remember, the less time he had to enjoy it. It had a stainless steel casing, custom designed to give it a little more weight in his large hand. Tapping it on with a squeeze of his fingers, he thumbed around on the screen, trying to locate the precise address of the restaurant that he had in mind. “Have you been to the place on…on…Beverly Street? I think that’s where it is.” The name was continuing to escape him.
“Sushi.” He paused, looking up from his quiv, fingers balanced. “They’ll usually find a table for…our…us. Hextra.” He cleared his throat with an awkward cough, straightening the hem of his jacket as he did. The flagrant self-importance that would have come with an outright explanation of how a restaurant would always make room for him made him feel a little uncomfortable. However, it was the truth. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy those sorts of…perks. He just didn’t want to wave them around like a banner or flag.
Post by Lisa Deanna King on Apr 17, 2018 22:48:35 GMT
She flashes him a grateful smile as he holds out her shoes, especially pleased to see that they're still in one piece. "Lets hope this luck continues, because next time you break a pair we're replacing them in Harrods," she grips his arm, using him as a post for balance whilst she puts them on, "Your treat, of course."
When Lisa stands properly again they're almost eye level, rather than her coming to just under his chin. The distance between them suddenly feels a lot closer than it did even moments before, and she takes a step back - feigning looking for her jacket as an excuse. She's not sure she's convincing, but honestly she's never sure with Val. Its.. disconcerting, somehow. This part is the weirdest to her after spending so much of her life so comfortable around a person she could practically read their mind, the unpredictability in these moments never fails to throw her off guard.
She knows he watches her. Its not even in a sexual way (although, of course, it is sometimes in a sexual way). Its like he's trying to figure her out based on whatever information she's willing to let slip... She knows she's a private person. She does. Its completely intentional on her part to keep her private life private. To keep her old life as separate from her current one as possible. She'd had her reasons initially but at this point its probably more just habit than anything else. She does sometimes wonder what her colleagues must think of her - she'd appeared suddenly and instantly thrown herself completely into the company. Unknown to anybody, seemingly out of thin air. She was clocking 60-70 hour weeks those first few months too; focussing on anything except her own thoughts.
It had truly helped at the time but now she'd set a precedent for being, to be quite honest, a bit of a bitch. She's OK with that, really. She's OK with being seemingly untouchable. She doesn't need everyone to know that she only started running to block everything out, not because she enjoyed it. She enjoys it now so that doesn't matter anyway. She doesn't need everyone to know she really loves to bake and experiment with flavours. Frankly, she's crap at it and the stuff rarely tastes any good (her cakes look great though). She doesn't need everyone to know the real reason December is always just the absolute worst month in her year. Everyone is stressed about Christmas, anyway. She'll always have that excuse.
"Sushi sounds great, actually," and now she's the one watching him as he taps away at his quiv. There's something about Val that draws her eyes to him. Sometimes she thinks he gives away even less than she does (although that could just be because he has about a decade less than her to draw on....) but sometimes she just wants to look at something pretty. There's no denying that he's attractive. Nor that she's attracted to him. They wouldn't be doing this if she wasn't (she can fake on orgasm when she has to but honestly doing it this often for so long would just be exhausting). She likes looking at him, and she's usually subtle but they're about to go for dinner at a ridiculously late hour and she's not even wearing underwear so she's allowing herself to be a bit more overt about it than she normally would.
Especially when he's suggesting sushi, "I was about to say as long as its fresh and preferably authentic, but I doubt you'd suggest anywhere that wasn't anyway." She loves sushi, and she's fussy about it but she knows he's not likely to suggest somewhere that won't be great. The waitstaff will probably be practically grovelling at them too, and she can't help but wonder if they'd bury her in sashimi so she could eat her way out if she asked nicely.