For the record, Olixander did not make a habit of getting blasted. Nor did the usually relaxed bachelor have a habit of publicly displaying his less than sober side except for in the most intimate or appropriate of settings. Tonight, neither of these facts held true as firstly, this was the second time in a week he’d been in this state and secondly, he was sitting out on a very public bench in Padmore Park ogling his shoes. Whatever it was that had come over him tonight to bring him to this rather humiliating present situation, the former Slytherin could not have said. He remembered only drinking copiously with friends that evening somewhere in Wellingtonshire and then… nothing. Until now of course. My his shoes looked scuffed. He’d have to toss them at the house elf when he got home for some buffing.

With a sigh, Olixander ran a hand through his dark wavy hair and turned his face up towards the moon. It was waning now, on this side of the full, and he was sure his magical prowess was slowly returning to full strength. He didn’t feel particularly capable right now, but he was sure come morning the moon’s effect would be less so. Still, the constellations seemed obscure tonight and the dark haired boy squinted up in that direction.

Olixander was in a mood. It wasn’t a pleasant mood, but he supposed it wasn’t a bad mood either. It was.. melancholic, at best. Spurred as all emotions were to heightened elevations when alcohol was involved, he felt himself drowning in it even so. Ever since the start of the year, another new beginning in and endless foray, the eldest Blackwood found himself thinking a lot about his situation in life. His family, his friends, his other acquaintances… They were all close to the brunette in their own ways and yet not one of them knew that he liked to study the ancient romans and greeks. Not one of them could pick out that he had an affinity for myths or history. Not a single person knew much of the real Olixander Blackwood beyond the masque that, frankly, he’d worn so long it had molded into his visage and started to melt into his actual personality. Could he himself even tell the difference anymore? Did it even matter? Scrubbing a hand over his face, Olixander blinked at the shadows along the path.

He supposed he should make his way home at some point instead of philosophizing to himself on a park bench while drunk. The Blackwood house in Wellingtonshire wasn’t nearly as far as it felt, and yet Olixander tipped to the side and rested himself along the length of the bench instead of standing. He would just loiter here for a moment longer. It was so peaceful and quiet; he ought to take advantage of the solitude before someone came along and hustled him home. (Or worse, caught him laying on a park bench to begin with! The horror!)

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