GUNNER DRAGUAR • sometime in 2021
It strikes him all at once, an excruciating pain that tears through the flesh and bone of his skull in a long line, and it is all Gunner can do to get out of there, get away, get gone and make sure that whatever it is inflicting him doesn’t get spotted at some sort of liability or weakness for a career path he feels almost foolish to take. Cade had always been the tougher one, more than ready to go to bat against someone bigger for the right reasons. Cade had always been the stronger one, no matter what his quidditch career might have suggested. Cade had always been the one to watch out for the rest of them even though Gunner had tried his hardest; and Cade was gone, but if Cade was gone, why did Gunner feel like he wasn't?
It strikes him all at once, an excruciating pain that tears through the flesh and bone of his skull in a long line, and it is all Gunner can do to get out of there, get away, get gone and make sure that whatever it is inflicting him doesn’t get spotted at some sort of liability or weakness for a career path he feels almost foolish to take. Cade had always been the tougher one, more than ready to go to bat against someone bigger for the right reasons. Cade had always been the stronger one, no matter what his quidditch career might have suggested. Cade had always been the one to watch out for the rest of them even though Gunner had tried his hardest; and Cade was gone, but if Cade was gone, why did Gunner feel like he wasn't?
GUNNER DRAGUAR • december 12, 2022
He knew his brother had killed the mercenary, trying to make sure that there weren’t loose ends left flapping in the breeze only to try and entangle them into trouble once more, but the envelope that had appeared on his desk with the delivery of the post had been concerning. He waited to tear it open with an all too loud rip into the air, flipping open the folded parchment only to stare at the foreboding message within.
It seemed to sink deep into his chest, the worry. It pricked at his skin and carved into his chest, and all he could think to do was worry - about Cade, about Tabitha, about what remained of his family that hadn’t been scattered to all points of the world; and Cade, he knew, would have something to say about it, would have told Gunner he should’ve known better, but there was no stopping that now - not when there was another Draguar in villainous sights.
He knew his brother had killed the mercenary, trying to make sure that there weren’t loose ends left flapping in the breeze only to try and entangle them into trouble once more, but the envelope that had appeared on his desk with the delivery of the post had been concerning. He waited to tear it open with an all too loud rip into the air, flipping open the folded parchment only to stare at the foreboding message within.
It seemed to sink deep into his chest, the worry. It pricked at his skin and carved into his chest, and all he could think to do was worry - about Cade, about Tabitha, about what remained of his family that hadn’t been scattered to all points of the world; and Cade, he knew, would have something to say about it, would have told Gunner he should’ve known better, but there was no stopping that now - not when there was another Draguar in villainous sights.
GUNNER DRAGUAR • spring of 2017
It takes him a moment to get through the ringing sensation in his ears, head swirling as he tried to piece together what had happened, what spell had been thrown, where it had hit, who had been hit; and it takes him even longer to recognize the stench of burning flesh, bleary eyes watching soot and ash fall through the air for a moment before turning to recognize the singed fabric of his sleeve, the blistered spots of skin, the deep char of flesh turned white from exposure from such intense heat, but once he does, it is all he can do to keep from screaming.
It takes him a moment to get through the ringing sensation in his ears, head swirling as he tried to piece together what had happened, what spell had been thrown, where it had hit, who had been hit; and it takes him even longer to recognize the stench of burning flesh, bleary eyes watching soot and ash fall through the air for a moment before turning to recognize the singed fabric of his sleeve, the blistered spots of skin, the deep char of flesh turned white from exposure from such intense heat, but once he does, it is all he can do to keep from screaming.
GUNNER DRAGUAR • december 6, 2022
It is hard not to just argue with Cade and he isn’t surprised when the conversation - if it can be called that - dissolves into what anyone would call sibling rivalry, an assortment of ‘are not’ and ‘are to’s thrown back and forth between the magical panes of Cade’s detention cell; and all Gunner wants to do is reach through the cell, grip his brother by the black and white, dingy, jumpsuit he has been put in, to shake him for all his worth with vain hopes that whatever it was that had made his brother into this would simply be jostled loose.
It is hard not to just argue with Cade and he isn’t surprised when the conversation - if it can be called that - dissolves into what anyone would call sibling rivalry, an assortment of ‘are not’ and ‘are to’s thrown back and forth between the magical panes of Cade’s detention cell; and all Gunner wants to do is reach through the cell, grip his brother by the black and white, dingy, jumpsuit he has been put in, to shake him for all his worth with vain hopes that whatever it was that had made his brother into this would simply be jostled loose.
GUNNER DRAGUAR • sometime in 1998
He's not sure what to think of the candy on the Hogwarts Express, a green thumb wizard stuck in an unknown world with his brother and a child, only eleven, on a train with a handful of wizarding money in his pocket, nearly burning a hole. It would behoove him to keep it, to make sure that they had enough for anything else that might’ve come up of more importance, but Gunner doesn’t think about it so much when he orders a few chocolate frogs and all too soon, as he opens the first, that they’re quicker than what he had thought.
He's not sure what to think of the candy on the Hogwarts Express, a green thumb wizard stuck in an unknown world with his brother and a child, only eleven, on a train with a handful of wizarding money in his pocket, nearly burning a hole. It would behoove him to keep it, to make sure that they had enough for anything else that might’ve come up of more importance, but Gunner doesn’t think about it so much when he orders a few chocolate frogs and all too soon, as he opens the first, that they’re quicker than what he had thought.
GUNNER DRAGUAR • sometime in 2003
There's something inherently awkward about sitting on a broom. It doesn't matter how good he as at flying, doesn't matter how quick he is to pick it up, how skilled he actually is, how readily his balance makes up for the fact Gunner isn't exactly sitting on the most sturdy of equipment when all he can think of is how strange the concept of witches riding around on cleaning equipment is actually real. It is a learning curve to see it at something more than a tool used to get dust off the floor and Gunner is almost sure a quarter of the laughter endured by his siblings is for the same reason.
But joining the team serves him well where high marks failed him, perhaps no material to become a house prefect or anything particularly academic, but perfectly fitting among the point scoring formations of the team's chasers and determined bludgers, looking to knock him right off his broom; and it allows Gunner to find his own reputation among a growing list of Draguar siblings to grace Hogwarts' grounds - something that only sets itself in stone when he wakes up under the care of the school nurse, held up in medical wing during his last year with a decision to make: To play or not to play?
There's something inherently awkward about sitting on a broom. It doesn't matter how good he as at flying, doesn't matter how quick he is to pick it up, how skilled he actually is, how readily his balance makes up for the fact Gunner isn't exactly sitting on the most sturdy of equipment when all he can think of is how strange the concept of witches riding around on cleaning equipment is actually real. It is a learning curve to see it at something more than a tool used to get dust off the floor and Gunner is almost sure a quarter of the laughter endured by his siblings is for the same reason.
But joining the team serves him well where high marks failed him, perhaps no material to become a house prefect or anything particularly academic, but perfectly fitting among the point scoring formations of the team's chasers and determined bludgers, looking to knock him right off his broom; and it allows Gunner to find his own reputation among a growing list of Draguar siblings to grace Hogwarts' grounds - something that only sets itself in stone when he wakes up under the care of the school nurse, held up in medical wing during his last year with a decision to make: To play or not to play?
GUNNER DRAGUAR • spring of 2017
They hadn't always been at such odds. At one point, for many years even, they had been through thick and thin together, high school sweethearts although schooling at Hogwarts had been decided different than what every muggle thought about such a social title. Passing notes in class, holding hands in hallways, finding little moments of relative privacy in a school with far too many people around far too many corners and that didn't even come close to the portraits that moved their way through the school grounds frame-by-frame or the ghosts that could spring up at a moment's notice not from behind, but through solid mass - once upon a time, that had been normal, and now, he had tried to avoid it - avoid her - until injury and a few too many beds full in St. Mungo's said he couldn't.
It comes up again as it typically does, concerned glances peppered among attempts to look anywhere, any place, except for her eyes while his skin patches up, wraps itself around exposed bone, and mends itself together again in the light glow of not wand-based magic, but something else - a secret he is one of the few privy to. "This job will kill you one day, you know?"
They hadn't always been at such odds. At one point, for many years even, they had been through thick and thin together, high school sweethearts although schooling at Hogwarts had been decided different than what every muggle thought about such a social title. Passing notes in class, holding hands in hallways, finding little moments of relative privacy in a school with far too many people around far too many corners and that didn't even come close to the portraits that moved their way through the school grounds frame-by-frame or the ghosts that could spring up at a moment's notice not from behind, but through solid mass - once upon a time, that had been normal, and now, he had tried to avoid it - avoid her - until injury and a few too many beds full in St. Mungo's said he couldn't.
It comes up again as it typically does, concerned glances peppered among attempts to look anywhere, any place, except for her eyes while his skin patches up, wraps itself around exposed bone, and mends itself together again in the light glow of not wand-based magic, but something else - a secret he is one of the few privy to. "This job will kill you one day, you know?"