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Quentin Kane

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Quentin Kane last won the day on April 23

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About Quentin Kane

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  1. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Tuesday the 11th of May 1837 - in the afternoon - History of Magic Someone once told Quentin that to fix the future, you had to look at the past and learn from the mistakes there. It had enticed him, such a thought. Would it be possible to lead a perfect life if you considered everything you or other people had done in the past? If you could put all those experiences together and find the perfect way to lead your life? And if so, if it was truly that easy, why didn't other people do this? Quentin was a rebel, yes, and perhaps leading a perfect life didn't seem to match with his way of thinking so far, but there was a difference between making an informed decision and making a mistake. He could do the wrong thing, but he would want to do it on purpose, knowing all the consequences, all the rules and the responses and what would follow next. He didn't want to blunder through life, only accidentally getting somewhere. He wanted to make informed decisions. But you couldn't know everything, and that was more frustrating than not knowing anything at all. Grade: Acceptable / Acceptabel
  2. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    Goed, oké, het ging wel, dus haalde Quentin opgelucht adem. Ja, ze moesten het in principe hier nog over hebben, maar ze huilde nu niet meer en dat was al een hele opluchting zelf. Behalve dat ze direct vroeg of hij boos was. "Nee, nee," zei hij, terwijl hij met een zwaai van toverstok twee stoelen naar hen toe liet vliegen, voor hen allebei. "Ik ben niet boos, maar..." Hij fronste even naar zichzelf en zakte in een stoel. "Wat was je nou eigenlijk van plan om te doen, Elaine?" Hij gebaarde naar de stoel tegenover haar. Goed, ik hoop dat Elaine er een beetje zin in heeft dat haar toekomstige affaire haar een preek gaat geven. Lily, geef haar eens wat daddy issues.
  3. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Tuesday the 11th of May 1837 - in the morning - Healing As a child, Quentin was told he would make a good healer. Quentin was told a lot of things, some lies, some truths, some things he cared about and a lot of things he didn't. He had picked up healing in his third year, but had never been quite impressed. It was... well, it was challenging, sure, and it was interesting, too, but the more he got involved in healing, the more excited his parents became, the less he started to think this was what he wanted to do. He didn't know, true, he didn't care either, true, and maybe he was just being rebellious for the sake of being rebellious. But it was his life, his choice, and so despite the good grade he would get, he would walk away and never look back. And maybe regret it, and maybe wish he had picked something else, but he wasn't going to turn back. Grade: Outstanding / Uitmuntend
  4. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Wednesday the 10th of May 1837 - In the afternoon - Transfiguration Quentin had always thought he didn't care much for looks. He didn't stare at himself in the mirror, wasn't particularly fond of his curls or his long legs or spidery arms or blue eyes, his looks were just something he was born with and they didn't really say anything about him, so he had neglected to care. But now that his own self-image was shattered, he felt an edge he had never felt before. Like a part of him was missing, now that he didn't look like himself anymore. It felt like his body had been his gravity, something to connect him to this earth, but now it was lost and gone and Quentin didn't know who he was, for a second. He had always thought that he had no idea who he was, but perhaps he had a stronger sense of self than he realized. Wasn't it strange that sometimes only when it was taken away, you realized what you cared for? Grade: Exceeds Expectations / Boven verwachting
  5. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    Ze wist niet wat ze kwam doen, tuurlijk, klonk heel logisch, dus Quentin had zijn mond al opengetrokken om een sarcastische opmerking te maken, waarschijnlijk heel eloquent 'hmmm tuurlijk', maar ongemakkelijk sloeg hij zijn mond weer dicht toen Elaine ineens begon te huilen. Dat deed ze erg dramatisch, van die dikke tranen die over haar gezicht rolden en het trillen van haar lippen en oké, jeetje, dat was ook weer niet de bedoeling geweest. Al had hij niet eens wat gedaan en kon het dus per definitie niet zijn schuld zijn. "Hey, niet huilen," zei Quentin en hij zette ongemakkelijk een stap naar voren, aarzelde even en begon toen maar zachtjes op haar schouder te kloppen. Neem het hem niet kwalijk dat hij niet zo goed weet hoe hij iemand moet troosten, oké? "Het komt allemaal wel goed." Hij zocht even door zijn zakken tot hij een zakdoek vond. Een klein beetje gebruikt, dus met een zwaai van zijn toverstok maakte hij hem snel schoon, en stak hem toen naar Elaine uit. "Gaat het weer?" smeekte hij een beetje.
  6. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Friday the 5th of May 1837 - in the afternoon - Potions His own talents always perplexed Quentin. Sometimes he forgot that he was someone made of depths and heights, not an endlessly stable and flat surface. He had a personality, an imprinted soul, things that he was good at. That took little effort, that he could do without problems, that he just glided in. Those talents were what structured his life, what everyone kept telling him he ought to do, what they constantly pointed him at, again and again. Don't get him wrong, he didn't want to be bad at everything, but... he hadn't exactly decided to be good at potions. To understand how the ingredients would come together, what exact temperature the water should have, where he had to speed up or slow down. And he liked it too, that frustrated him even more. Now he would never know if he was good at this because he liked it, or that he liked it because he was good at it, or that it was just a path the world had laid out for him, and he would never have any choice but to go down and accept that his life wouldn't be something that he had any say over, but would be thrown upon him by some mystical force. Couldn't he at least have been offered a choice? Grade: Outstanding / Uitmuntend
  7. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    Eerlijk gezegd was het vooral toeval dat Quentin nu in de deuropening naar Elaine zat te staren. Hij had wel ergens het idee gehad dat Elaine alles te makkelijk liet vallen, maar hij had dat nog niet in zijn hoofd laten volgen door de suggestie dat ze misschien iets anders van plan was om te doen, wat dan weer zou ontwikkelen in een plan om haar tegen te houden. Nee, Quentin was gewoon vooral bezig geweest met zijn eigen ideeën voor de toverdrank en had dus niet direct aan Elaine gedacht. Nou ja, ook weer wel, maar niet op die manier. Maar nu stond ze bij zijn toverdrank (oké, hun toverdrank), met een hele schuldige blik op haar gezicht. "En wat denk je dat je aan het doen bent?" probeerde Quentin op zijn Strenge Vader Toon™ te zeggen, maar Quentin had geen strenge vader en dus ook nooit echt een goed voorbeeld gehad en zijn moeder begon altijd direct te huilen, dus aan haar voorbeeld had hij ook niet veel. "Ik dacht dat we pas morgen verder gingen?" Hm?
  8. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Friday the 5th of May 1837 - in the morning - Arithmancy Once upon a time, he looked at his family and decided he wanted to be one of them. That he would take money, and make more. Feed ambition into his veins, until it poured out of his mouth. Abide the same laws, the same rules, until they became the foundation of his universe. He took the right subjects, read the right books, dressed the right way and yet... And yet he was something else. He was an actor, a bad one at that, feeding himself lines his mouth would tremble over, that choked him in his throat. He made the same jokes, and they fell flat. He read the same books, but learned a different lesson. He wore the same suit, but they looked scruffy. He hated that, that you couldn't force yourself to be something other than what you were. That eventually, you were always the same. It was like a cage, made of your own personality. Maybe he was just too much of a rebel, maybe he hadn't tried enough, maybe he had been bored within the first two moments. Grade: Acceptable / Acceptabel
  9. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Thursday the 4th of May 1837 - in the morning - Astronomy His mother quite often called Quentin a dreamer. Someone with his head in the clouds, whose feet never seemed to be bothered with touching the earth. A child who loved stories, who thought the world was a little boring, who never seemed to be truly there to be loved. He couldn't help it, Quentin thought. The world was just so... familiar. Weren't other people bored? With the same stories, over and over again, the same little lies they told each other? How are you, good and you, oh yeah good. It was boring, boring, BORING. So he looked at the stars instead and dreamed of worlds that were different, better, exciting. Where people didn't get lost in the minutiae of their lives. Grade: Outstanding / Uitmuntend
  10. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    Eh, ja, waarschijnlijk zouden ze dan wel gelukkiger zijn, in het oppervlakkige idee dat iedereen die verliefd was gelukkiger was, maar Quentin had zich in alle eerlijkheid nooit echt beziggehouden met het geluk van andere mensen. Had altijd maar een beetje in de weg gestaan van zijn eigen geluk, dus hij deed altijd maar het minimale, puur om andere mensen tevreden te houden. Ja, de toverdrank een geur geven waar Elaine toevallig van hield was ook minimaal, want de andere optie was opnieuw beginnen, en dus was het een logische afweging. "Je klinkt haast alsof je het echt wilt doen," lachte Quentin. En daarmee was de grap afgerond, toch? "Ik denk dat we wel klaar zijn voor vandaag?" vroeg hij aan Elaine. Ja, hij moest nog werken aan de geur, maar daarvoor had hij eerst producten nodig die je niet in de ingrediëntenkast kon vinden.
  11. [1836/1837][EN] Our hope was with a coffee and a medical text

    Wednesday the 3rd of May 1837 - in the afternoon - Herbology Quentin never realized just how much he relied on his sight. He always thought he was more of a thinking person, someone who saw beyond the facade of other people to what was underneath, and then responded to that. Someone who didn't care about stereotypes, or first impressions, or what the world told him to pay attention to. Someone who didn't care about shining diamonds, sparkling champagne or the latest fur boots. But that was a hell of a lot easier to think about yourself when you had the opportunity to ignore those things. It was always easier to be proud of yourself for a sacrifice you could make because you had something in abundance. Quentin was the type of person who liked to drink two glasses of champagne and then boast about how he could have drank ten. Moderation was his greatest achievement. But there was no moderation, because there was nothing to see and thus nothing to sacrifice. He blundered around, first, stubborn and trying to be practical, but Q was not a practical person. He was a dreamer, a fantasist, a taker of opportunities, but only if he could see them. He was not suited for the darkness. Grade: Dreadful / Dieptreurig
  12. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    "Koffie," antwoordde Quentin, lekker stereotypisch, want natuurlijk was koffie zijn favoriete geur. Maar goed, koffie was saai en honing was een stuk beter en daarbij ging het er ook om dat hij probeerde Elaine tevreden te houden, en niet zichzelf. Quentin was heel goed in zichzelf ontevreden te maken, hij was eigenlijk het meest tevreden als hij ontevreden was, want dan voelde het alsof hij een moeilijk leven had en daar werd hij blij van. "Laten we het dan naar honing laten ruiken," zei hij enthousiast. "Dat kan vast wel." Of misschien witte rozen... Hij maakte wel twee versies, dan kon hij Elaine laten kiezen. Werd ze vast ook blij van. Een keuze maken tussen twee opties was namelijk makkelijker dan abstract alles verkeerd vinden. "Denk eerder dat ze dan afgeleid gaan zijn," grijnsde Quentin. "Dan komt er helemaal niets meer van hun toverdrank terecht." Ja, natuurlijk was het een grapje. Niemand ging echt andere mensen liefdesdrank geven, toch, Elaine? Hm?
  13. Monday the First of May 1837 - in the afternoon - Care for Magical Creatures Quentin often noticed he had a lack of care for things. It never bothered him, you could say he didn't care about not caring and you wouldn't be wrong. It was simply who he was. Little could excite him, little mattered, and little was important enough to care about. That didn't necessarily mean he didn't try, trying was the anthem of success, and so despite not caring, he shouldered through. Pushed his way through study guides about topics he wouldn't have minded not studying, full of facts that didn't bother him, to get a grade he had no need for. But that was what a decent human was supposed to do, so he put in the effort. Sometimes Quentin wondered who he put in the effort for, if it wasn't for him. His parents? His teachers? Would professor Foulkes-Davenport be proud if he heard that Quentin had achieved an outstanding for this exam? Was the little Manticore pup better off now that Quentin had calmed him down by feeding him some uncooked steak? Did it really matter to anyone, small or big, young or old, that he had achieved a good grade? But well, the alternative was to fail, to do nothing at all, and what a bother that would be. His mother would cry, his father would shake his head in disappointment, he would have to sit through lecture after lecture after lecture, and none of it mattered anyway, so... May as well. Grade: Outstanding / Uitmuntend
  14. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    Ja, natuurlijk had Quentin gelijk. Hij had vaker gelijk, heel veel vaker, trouwens, maar de rest van de wereld vond nooit dat hij gelijk had, en als je telkens gelijk had en de rest van de wereld dat ontkende, was het plotseling jouw probleem, dus Quentin glimlachte alleen maar naar haar en zei verder niets. Want Q was ook goed in het houden van zijn mond. "Hm..." Hij humde nadenkend, terwijl hij even door het boek bladerde wat ze hem gaf, maar hij kon nu wel zelf een goede keuze maken, maar dan zou Elaine alsnog ongelukkig zijn. "Wat zijn je lievelingsbloemen?" vroeg hij. "Of misschien een andere geur die je heerlijk vindt?" Andere mensen? Hij wierp een blik om zich heen. "Volgens mij maken Andie en Sarah een toverdrank om nachtmerries tegen te gaan," knikte hij naar de tafel naast hen. "Maar aan die boze blikken te zien die ze elkaar toewerpen gaat het nog niet zo goed." Maar dat kwam waarschijnlijk omdat hij die mint-geur rook en mint werkte juist niet tegen nachtmerries, maar Q ging dat echt niet zeggen hoor, wie dacht je wel niet dat hij was, een Huffelpuffer? Ha.
  15. [1836/1837] Something brewing here

    Quentin had zo onderhand nog steeds geen enkel idee waar Elaine het ten eerste over had en ten tweede waarom ze nu ineens met dit probleem was gekomen. Ze hadden een heel jaar gehad! Maandenlang dat ze elke week één les besteedden aan dit onderwerp! En nu, nu was het ineens allemaal niet goed genoeg meer? En Quentin was dan weer degene die alles op moest lossen. Oké, dat was hij niet, maar Elaine had ook niet gezegd dat ze het zelf wel op zou lossen en bij zijn ouders betekende het ook altijd dat Quentin het maar moest doen, dus. "Een treurige drank," herhaalde hij, terwijl hij naar de blauwe drank in hun ketel keek. Maar het was een drank om je nagels direct mee schoon te maken! Wat was daar nou treurig aan? "Misschien kunnen we iets eh... toevoegen?" vroeg hij. "Dat je nagels er extra van gaan glanzen? Of misschien dat het lekker ruikt... Is het dan nog steeds zo treurig?" Of misschien moest hij met een pollepel op haar hoofd slaan tot ze weer normaal deed. Maar dat zei hij natuurlijk niet hardop, Q was niet dom, of zo.