Platonic but Panicked PV Summer Camp 2021 Closed

I will not be joining this thread. Levi indicated IC and OC a want to have time with you alone. I will however sent Levi's overbearing future wife your way. You're welcome.

Banner by Winnie Harper

@Winnie Harper
Pertains to @Mathias Pride

Let the record show that Levi Drakos knew his poetry. It contrived his thoughts, it was how he looked at people with their stretched, loose, and unnatural skin, or their eyes like the marble sculpting of the constellations, with their honey-sweet naivety reminiscent of the way the sun continued to try and skewer the grim rain clouds in their season. People are interesting; they are whatever their prose tells them to be, somber, dovelike, cosmic, fleeting. Best of all, these words can be altered, misconstrued, twisted by those who danced with their tongues. That somber fellow could be as gloomy as hours lapsed hiding behind a fabric garrison, crying your own body of water to survive on. Or, they may be a grungy glass window with rain droplets laving the dirt down to the sill, the storm to leave a brighter golden pierce when the day came bobbing from beneath the trees again.

Madame Winnie Harper could be interpreted in a number of ways. The starlight was a rhapsodic enigma in herself, a romantic at pink heart with no idea what to love. Her fingers were felt-tips against her own skin, and her blood was scripture of flowery adjectives and abstract nouns. She was the thing of a thousand books, a million poems, a wish and an unattainable future. She ran from you as she embraced you, the girl they write about when they personify the spring months. When his eyes fell upon her, nothing within him changed, but he’d remember it as the day that perhaps, something almost did. And he’d remember that memory and it would multiply and incarcerate him. A part of him, the part that dared this date and didn’t let her kiss an unsuspecting boy and get it over with, glared at Percematt with the same wish that all the world’s poets did at Winnie. Envy. Levi would never know how to appreciate poetry; all he was able to do was rewrite it.

This operates under the idea that Levi has any confidence in the reality of Percematt’s feelings— he doesn’t. But, maybe, for that wretched boy, they would bloom, yet they would only do it when he slid on faux glasses and pretended to smell as an ocean at unrest. It was a way of saying ‘I can be you better than you can’, and the brunet couldn’t live with that. So he would cleave the mask from Percematt’s face, watch it shred at its fleshy seams, and then bleed right there with him at only the cost of poor Winnie’s fissured heart. It wasn’t much of a payment, a girl like that would have her heartstrings toyed with and plucked many times in this lowbrow, insensate life. She shouldn’t exist away from the parchment that made her, no one would ever feel her as if they could read her.

That dawn, there’d been a dream. Shades of bronze and gold leaking through grand windows, paintings and their applause, calloused digits and a fumbled pick. Images flashed in a slideshow while he slept, and they lingered once he woke, haunting the backs of his eyelids where every blink was a reimagining of their evening. Mercy was slung over his shoulder and a blanket was in that hand as Levi walked along the campgrounds, wandering closer to the edge where he decided Winnie believed the duo would look most platonic. The sun had recently reached its peak above their heads, beaming rays down upon them and illuminating his personal gloom; his energy was tainted by restless nights spent feet away from Percematt. If it were up to him, the date would’ve settled with the day and a gradient of yellow, purple, and blue would dangle over the two, heavenly. Candlelight would flicker, becoming gradually more distinct against the horizon and the light said goodbye.

Winnie declared his platonic date too amorous and she suggested a time just past the break of noon. Lunch was a mere moment ago and her appetite would be spoiled with health and sensibility, but Levi still lugged a box of chocolate doused strawberries (not heart shaped) beneath his free arm. The redhead had arrived before him, pressed flowers slewn around her figure for the various love letters and poems she could cough up for the sun’s fated lover like a reincarnated Emily Dickinson. Casual to her was interstellar, twin braids draped down her back and a rum outfit presumably meant to redirect him from her. However, she’d caught the light, picturesque, made of outer space; that part of the evening was set.

Standing nearby her was artistry. He’d played it safe clothing-wise, if he wore much more than jeans and a white t-shirt, Winnie might’ve fled like a deer caught in headlights, burning. Perhaps dashed straight into the open bear-trap of Percematt’s flimsy arms, who’d cradle her as a semi truck sped into that doll face. “Aren’t you looking well,” he’d comment politely, sliding his guitar from his back and laying the strawberries in the viridescent grass. Levi would shoot her a charismatic smile, promptly unfolding the checkered blanket and collapsing, his shoulders in a relaxed state of ease, hoping to be mirrored by Winnie.

“Sit,” he gestured across from himself and opened the box of treats, pushing them toward her. Levi then glanced at the pressed daisies scattered about. “Well, they are certainly trying, just aren’t quite as easy on the eyes. Relax, I just want to talk to you about something. Maybe we could start with the poetry I quoted to you.” As he spoke, his hand would slowly begin to unzip the guitar case, gaze often flittering up to hers.

DATE ▪ 08/13/21 OUTFIT ▪ X

MENTIONING: @Mathias Pride

INTERACTIONS: @Levi Drakos Closed unless tagged.

Poetry was a celestial muse that seemed to flow around Winnie Harper. Her fingers would reach out to gingerly touch the invisible verses, bending and placing each word until her heart’s song could be spoken through ebullient prose. The cruel reality of life had yet to taint the girl’s heart, and she wore it openly on her sleeve as if it were a badge of honour. The greedy hellhounds were never sated, unfortunately. The girl was fated to be devoured; her light snuffed out before it had the chance to blossom. Despite his position as the puppet master, Mathias Pride had offered the girl refuge as his fingers pulled and tightened the threads of fate that weaved and winded around the students of Hogwarts. While Winnie Harper was decidedly his ’property’, no other creature would be able to fully claim her and she would live to dream through another day.

Levi Drakos was a conundrum. Then again, most people were to Winnie. The Gryffindor seemed to take this a step further, however, because what she knew of the boy seemed to contradict his very presence. He was Matt’s ex-boyfriend, and yet he had insisted on accompanying her on a date. Part of the Ravenclaw wondered if he was so obsessed with his ex that he would be willing to take him down simply by stealing away his girlfriend. A smaller part questioned Mathias’ words, but her growing guilt that shifted and moulded into the form of whatever this date was would quickly dismiss it. She had agreed to attend the date on a whim, really. Levi had set a trap, and she had foolishly taken the bait. Because of this, every feature of the date that she was able to control had to be just right; the outfit she felt was not romantic, the setting alongside the wildflowers instead of the sparkling Great Lake, and the time; midday, the least romantic time of day. The morning’s promise of a new day had long since faded, while the endearing mysteries of dust were still out of reach.

Her fingers had twined around the stem of another daisy when she heard movement in the grass behind her. She whipped around, her braids flowing through the air as her eyes focused on her company for the afternoon. She had to squint slightly as the sun danced in her eyes, but there he stood, framed by the beams of sunlight that only seemed to enhance his visage. Yes, he was as terribly handsome as always, and it was something she cursed the fates themselves for. His brown tousled hair seemed to shimmer with hues of gold and copper underneath the sun's rays, and, much to her dismay, he possessed the sparkling hazel eye colour that always left her weak in the knees. Still, he was not Mathias Pride who, in her option, possessed the perfect mixture of masculine qualities as well as a gentle nature. His tidily parted and combed hair, his hazel eyes that seemed to radiate aureate light, his snazzy sense of style, and his alluring scent of clean-cut grass, cashews, and seawater. His physical qualities aside, he was also, she assumed, an attentive and caring boyfriend. She still remembered the lovely picnic he had set up a few weeks prior in an attempt to help his cousin find a date. How thoughtful he was. He was the type of boy she could recite poetry to for hours on end. There was an unknown element that always seemed to accompany him, his thoughts a steel prison that Winnie could not force her way into. She did not know him well enough. Yet. Perhaps her attraction was still superficial, but she looked forward to carefully digging deeper and excavating the deepest parts of him. She would start as soon as this platonic date was over and she had made herself perfectly clear to Levi.

"Good afternoon, Levi." She would offer him a courteous greeting, straightening her posture as he approached. He had made a good judgement call with those jeans and that shirt; the presence of his casual outfit helped put her at ease. This was not the attire one wore on a date, perhaps she would be safe after all. She was still tightly gripping a handful of daisies in one hand as the other tucked a singular flower behind her ear, her blue eyes would turn downcast to stare at the box the boy was holding. "... What’s that?" She asked with a curious tilt of her head. Had he brought her a present? No, even better it was food. Despite lunch having just passed, she had been too nervous to properly eat. Her mouth pulled into a thin line at his compliment, her cheeks flushing a rosy hue, "Well, thank you, but... T-These... They’re my casual clothing." She informed him as if that would change his option of her looking nice.

Her eyes followed his hands to the guitar case, the presence of the instrument suddenly drawing her to the boy, like a moth to a flame. She took several steps forward and peered curiously down at the encased instrument. "You play guitar?" There was something so endearing about the guitar. She had a dream once that someone had played it just for her. Not in the way her maternal grandfather had, this had been... Special. She remembered through the hazy fog that it was a love song, one for the open hearts of two romantics. It had left her cheeks burning red and her heart fluttering against her chest like the heroine of a romance novel. Moments like that didn't happen in real life, they were saved for the pages of books or the screen of a muggle's television. It was fantasy. It had only been a dream, surely, because she couldn't remember how or why she had been there or even what the scene had looked like. She had only remembered the song that had played. Dreams were funny like that. "That's so admirable. I think music must be one of the most natural things in the world. Even nature has its own lullaby." She would echo her own words from the day in the rehearsal room that had been long since lost from her memories.

She sat with his command; as if they were dog and master. She tugged her satchel bag over her head and positioned it next to her. She carefully arranged her skirt so it draped over her legs as she took a seat. "Strawberries?" It wasn’t a tremendous leap to assume the girl liked them, considering her wardrobe and shampoo selection. She mindlessly passed him the collected bundle of daisies. Had they been meant as a gift for the boy? No, but that was quickly forgotten upon the sight of food. She carefully selected one of the chocolate-coated berries and gently pressed it between her lips. The flavour was rich, calming her and drawing in fond childhood memories of mornings spent huddled around the kitchen table on a warm summer’s day.

"Levi, about this date--... Oh, the poem. Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that." She spoke after she had swallowed the treat, a smudge of chocolate nestled against the corner of her mouth. She turned at the waist so she could swing open her leather satchel bag and grab the notebook she had packed earlier that day. Her arms wrapped around the book full of prose, holding it against her chest as if to protect it. Her eyes rose to meet the Gryffindor’s own, cerulean locking onto gold. "In this notebook... Well, there is a poem that I have written about a boy with hazel eyes. You quoted a line directly from it. I would like to know how you know my poem."

Banner by Winnie Harper

@Winnie Harper

When she was near Levi, there was an audible sharp intake of breath, not from his own lips but from the raw, scratched throats of the universe’s greatest divinities. Heaven on the end of its seat, Hell plastered to the wall, and the faint dimensions poets mused into existence were mourning the loss of their most idyllic sonnet. Winnie would be shredded here in his world, her flesh ripped apart into glimmering dust, and the essence of her would whirl around in a thousand galaxies before coming back to rest on the discarded pages of Robert Frost. There were so many things wrong with the pair of them, stretching much deeper than the fact of her boyfriend or the rumors of his numerous pursuits. No, morality wasn’t the raging, lethal current between them, they were wrong on a molecular level.

It was because he was the teeth. He was the jagged edge, the serrated blade, the shadowy creature, the very reason she should be no more than a soothing metaphor for a fleeting high of joy. A story, a protagonist, a love interest even. The girl turns to fairytales because it is where her heart first beat, she longs for a tall stone tower because she, too, needs to be sheltered from the universe behind a hard cover and a dated name. For her to run into two of the eight arms of the same boy that would strip her poetry from her skin and blood as though peeling her, it was all but doing it herself. Winnie would leave that embrace damaged, with wounds lining where her poems used to sit, and he’d go into the making of her eyes, the dimming of her light, perhaps a death in all ways but the presence of a final gasp.

He knew this, but a chasmic void washed away any trace amount of guilt. His soul was no place for such a burden to be nurtured, it was like a lush garden or an array of foliage was attempting to push through dense sand and raise from the lifeless basement of the desert. The underworldly heat and desolation would suppress it again, and the seeds would crawl far with the help of a breeze, grow somewhere they were desired. Levi was well-aware of their predicament, and thus aware that the same one existed between the interlocking lips of her and Percematt. With each brush, an ounce of his toxicity made it to her tongue, seeping in, ruining her, rotting the strawberry taste in her mouth. Winnie couldn’t be reintroduced to the parchment she’d torn herself from, to the world she was intended for, so she would be pulverized here, but it had to be him to do it.

A once charming sense of blissful ignorance, however, had been rinsed by downright nescience. Levi was a tad too late. Some of the color in her cheeks had been painted over, the fury in her chest mistaken for innocent infatuation, and the kindness of a would-be boyfriend was masquerading as unwanted advances from a stranger and furthermore, an ex. An assault, why no, only an expression of a long since reciprocated love. A hate poem, why no, just anger we conquered through our strong and certainly not founded-upon-lies relationship. Percematt had calibrated Winnie’s moral compass, directed it away from Levi and toward himself. And while a sensible man, a righteous man, may declare in truth that this is half-correct, the mere truth that it was half the opposite is what kept the brunet fighting. What made him sling Mercy over his shoulder, invest in her favorite treats, carve romance from a platonic slab of marble.

"... What’s that?"

“Just a treat,” He’d reply simply as he settled the area, busying his hands with flattening the blanket as to prevent himself from rubbing his knuckles. For a heart as swollen as hers, she really had a gift for choosing the most unsentimental place and time. As to bid romance goodbye, although he fully intended to casually restore the glittering spark from the Rehearsal Room that Percematt had snuffed out with whatever aces were slipping from his sleeve.

Her very being conflicted the platonic air the scenery was meant to convey. The sun was reaching its climax above the camp, no gentle gradient leaking across the sky to compare her too, but the remnants of a summer’s day remained, and ammunition was not totally lacking. A single wildflower was tucked behind her ear, tying her attire together with its long stem in such a characteristic natural beauty, a tether between her and the grass they sat on, the pith of the Earth that welcomed her. Even when his gaze was fixed elsewhere, somehow Winnie always lingered in his peripherals much like the sun, a bright and imposing presence that couldn’t be ignored since its effect was shedding over a mile radius. She pushed against his polite greeting, and the boy wouldn’t press further in fear of sending her cascading into overgrown grass or hiding away in her shell.

"You play guitar?" Yes, and you would know this if you weren’t dating faux Jack Crawford.

Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Mercy had become less of what she was. An everlasting chain to his life as a muggle, his means of balance, a familiar weight on his back to keep the boy from toppling forward. Still in her structure was home, a magic irreplaceable by its cold iridescent reality, but also wrapped around each string was an invaluable tool. Today, the velvet case unzipped for purposes that served him, not the tranquility of life itself nor the atmosphere which missed the harmonic, effortless rhythm of two sounds melting into one. He’d hoped recreating the circumstances under which they met may help sort through the low-lying fog and reach the memories the red-headed girl was destined to treasure. The closest she would ever be to her homeland.

“I do play, yes. I’ve played for you before,” Levi remarked, searching her eyes for any quick flicker of recognition. He’d probably need to reprise its melody entirely.

The starlight went on to echo her words from that day, flawless to the syllable and lodged in his mind as another one of those infamous almost-changes. Moments that were almost real. “There…” What had he said that day? He’d need to quote himself to keep their hazy mutual dreams returning to focus, but the boy entertained so many people that his musings began to blur together. “…is a charm to it, I agree.” Think, Levi. Think. Think. “To its rawness. It’s expressive, alive, so much so that everything can sound like a melody if you listen.” Not a perfect reconstruction of the scene, the shades of bronze were vacant, and his words had shifted uncomfortably, but perhaps something would awaken within her dead stare.

At his request, Winnie took her ordained place across from him, skirt falling delicately over her legs and her posture reminiscent of a princess. Everything about the girl, the scent that worshipped her from room to room and oftentimes her choice of attire, sang of strawberries. It was a rather fitting treat for him to provide her and seemed to click well given her apparent delight. He couldn’t pretend not to be relieved, having been concerned with lunch’s recent passing. Levi chuckled, briefly closing the gap between them to wipe chocolate from the corner of her lips with his thumb. “I’m glad you seem to like them.”

Then, straight to business. The poem, his call, the key to restoring order and bringing Percematt back down to their shared level. His ascension was faulty, a mistake of the universe, a repulsive bug creeping through the cracks and crevices to paradise on the other side. Levi would yank him back into their darkness, perhaps then step on his head in order to reach the top of their sinkhole as Winnie’s savior. She was a chance he’d never have again, to follow her to the realm she was written for, maybe even watch his weapons gradually dull and his teeth recede into his gums. She unveiled the notebook, that lively, throbbing collection of her soul’s deepest abstractions. “Bear an open mind,” He asked, finally letting Mercy shed her case and sit in his lap, “I know the poem because you said that line to me, almost two months ago. It was about me.”

@Percival Gray, feel free to pop in if/whenever you like and ruin the romance.

DATE: 08/13/21 OUTFIT: X

INTERACTIONS: ▪ @Levi Drakos ▪

MENTIONS: ▪ @Percival Gray ▪

✿✿✿

She knew being cautious was a must, that Levi Drakos was potentially dangerous, but there was something about the soft hues that swirled within his eyes that set her at ease. She could not help the steady drumming of her heart against her chest. He looked at her and spoke to her as if he had known her for longer than a week, but the thought was an absurd concept. Beyond being his ex-boyfriend’s new partner, Levi should have no idea who she was. She should also have no idea who he really was, and her feelings were irrational, simply a side effect of her anxiety. Perhaps that had been part of the Gryffindor’s plan; to confuse her when she was already flustered, lost within the flood of her very thoughts.

"Oh... Thank you, I... They’re my favourite." She admitted, growing confused over the nature and reasoning behind their ‘date’. He wanted her alone, clearly, to try and tell her something about Mathias, presumably. If that was the case, why had he brought sweets and a guitar? It was starting to feel more like a proper date, and that worried the Ravenclaw. During the campfire the night before, she had even slid a note to one of the prefects; Percival Gray. Her relationship with him had started off rocky, but they seemed to have mutual respect for each other by the end of their journey. She was hoping he would come and break things up between the two of them... Somehow. Ever a creature of habit, Winnie would reach for more food to stifle her fluttering heart. The juicy strawberry was a perfect harmony of sweet and tart. The piece of chocolate remained wedged against the crease of her lips as she slowly sampled more of the offering.

With Levi’s words, a feeling of déjà vu gripped her and offered her no chance to escape. It was an indelible memory that she could not shake free. No matter how hard she searched for answers, she found nothing that could justify such a feeling. Her eyes would widen with delight regardless, thrilled that the Gryffindor seemed to understand. "Exactly! Just like when the raindrops tap on the glass of a window, or the melody of the animals within a forest... I’m so glad you understand. Are you a fan of poetry as well?"

Beneath the blanketed mist that extended its wispy limbs over the innermost corners of Winnie Harper’s mind lay a feeling of familiarity when Levi extended his hand. The pad of his thumb would wipe at the corners of her slightly agape mouth, still glossy from a coat of strawberry lip balm. Her face blossomed, darkening to a deep red as her skin drank in the heat of his own. The scent of mint and fresh ocean air would permeate her nostrils, settle into her core, and she could not help but wonder again why it felt so familiar. "I... Strawberries... I like them." She repeated. What? WHAT? She was spouting absolute nonsense as Levi seemingly had broken her brain through a simple touch of his hand. She had the sudden urge to touch his hand, to feel the warmth of it against her own. The Ravenclaw would, if he allowed her to, place a hand over his before quickly withdrawing it and sputtering out another sentence, "I mean-- It was nice of you to bring t-them..."

She would not forget the moment again as the fresh memories grew like a vine in a summer garden, stretching and curling through every crevice of her mind. Her racing heart would urge her forward, the steady thumping acting as a melody as she flipped open her poetry notebook. It had been well-loved, with various prose written and scratched out. A poem she could not remember writing stared up at her as Levi spoke. He claimed he was her muse, inspiring her to pick up her quill and wield it as a sharp instrument that she would use to cut open heart and steal whispered prose from the still-beating organ.

"Two months ago? No... It... It makes little sense." She finally said, her words coming quick as she had been holding her breath while waiting on the Gryffindor’s response. "The poem is..." Colour returned to her cheeks as she spoke. "... It’s romantic a-and I’ve been dating Matt for several weeks now." She finally admitted in a hushed tone. "B-But it’s also about a boy who has brown hair, hazel eyes, and plays guitar, s-so..." Unless Matt dyed his hair and was hiding a secret talent, it could not be about him. She still didn’t understand how it was possible that the poem was about Levi, but he seemed to know too much for her to dismiss his claims. Grabbing the edges of her notebook, she tilted it upwards and begin to read with a slight tremor in her voice.

"His bright eyes were made of warm honey, spun like soft moss,
Fingers strummed my heartstrings like the wires of guitars,
Soulful melodic promises placed me at a loss,
Those eyes a shimmering gold, holding an evening star.

His fallen brown tresses crafted by Eden herself,
And although my feelings sprout like a drenched flower,
They are secrets I must only whisper to myself,
For I fear if he knew he would hold my heart's power.

His beautiful splendour, how can I even compare?
Through my silent heartache, the dawning morning has won,
I stand and falter; I, a plain Jane, simply unrare,
For the moon cannot compare to the light of the sun.

My heart is cursed, for he will never recognize me,
Trapped in my silent reverie, as if made of dross,
Yet my mind still soars to thoughts of his eyes,
Drifting back to those warm honey orbs, spun like soft moss."

Her voice had grown softer by the time she had finished her poem. The blossoming red from earlier had crept its way up to her ears. She could not force herself to look at the Gryffindor, opting to hide her face within her hands instead. Trying to ease the tension, she cleared her throat. "S-See...? It’s far too romantic. It can’t be about you; we just met the other day." The words of the poem, the memory of their first meeting, had faded into oblivion. They were no more real to Winnie than the fairytales the moment had reflected.