Sky's the Limit PV Marshal 𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍

Stunning Banner by Winnie Harper

@Winnie Harper

Eyes of subdued gold roamed from one cloud to another, as the silver spirals curled their way across the blue sky. The afternoon sun shone upon them, its rays undaunted by their meager presence and offering pleasant warmth to the late spring day.
A lack of any breeze left the blonde locks atop the boy's head in peace, content to remain in a tousled state that conveyed his disregard for a comb. Serenity played gently across his features, lips following the upturned nature of his chin as he traipsed toward the quidditch pitch.
In keeping with the passive visage of the heavens, the day had progressed with the lackadaisical energy of a stereotypical Sunday, events seeming to move in slow motion around him.

With no classes to disturb his inner peace, and having finished all of his homework early like a somewhat diligent student, Marshal had relished the opportunity to simply relax. Upon throwing the final book aside with all the vigor of a triumphant hero, he'd kicked back to embrace the concept of being lazy.
To give credit where it's due, it must be noted that he'd succeeded at remaining in one place for a stunning five minutes. However, before that coveted sixth minute could roll across the face of the nearest clock, his restless mind had presented tens of ideas that far outweighed the pleasure of lounging without purpose.
Swiftly scanning through the various possibilities, he'd come to a decision, which led to his current position.

Strolling amiably onto the quidditch pitch with a school broom in hand, the Gryffindor allowed his gaze to encompass the towering goal posts, whose hoops mingled with the distant sight of the clouds.
To this day, he'd never experienced the thrill of soaring amidst those hoops with a quaffle in hand, or pummeling a bludger with a bat, and yet this place felt like home.
No, he'd never played an actual match. But he'd watched, and he'd dreamed.
Someday, this pitch would be his domain - one to share with Evelynn, Anastasia and the rest of the team.
He'd cheered in starstruck awe as they lofted the quidditch cup on high, basking in the unmatched glory of ultimate victory. And if he had anything to say about it, he would soon join the celebration as a hailed champion, with the appreciation of his housemates raining down, like confetti, upon his countenance.
But of course, the first step toward such an eventuality was to practice his flying techniques, which was precisely his intention. That is, until the sweet tone of a friendly greeting danced upon his eardrums.

Turning his attention to its source, he experienced an immediate increase in appreciation for the area. Truly, was there anything not amazing about it? As far as he could see, the answer to that question was an emphatic no.
Two eyes the color of the radiant sky stared back at him, irises alive with pure intent. Long, ginger hair waved softly to one side as it followed the subtle tilt of her head, perfecting an image of endearing innocence that earned his affection instantly.
Even her snowy complexion lent itself to the general appearance of one touched by grace, as though she were the embodiment of a celestial being.

After a moment, the girl's porcelain features rang a bell of familiarity within his mind, and he recalled seeing her in classes before - those shared with Ravenclaw.
So she was a genius, then. Figured. She'd likely make him out to be a fool before three words left his mouth; yet that wouldn't stop him from putting forth his best effort at - how you say - whooing her.
"Please don't be sorry," he said with a soft shake of his head. "You never need to apologize for improving someone's day." Brandishing the nondescript broom as proudly as if he'd sold his soul to attain it, he flashed a row of white teeth in her direction.
Adorned in athletic shorts and a black tank top, he'd settled on an outfit that would allow him to fully appreciate the wind against his skin as he cut through the air. His customary rope necklace dangled around his neck.
As the girl further detailed her request, his hazel eyes flicked to the notebook she carried, then back to her face, the grin on his own gradually expanding.
Once her name exited pink lips, he responded. "Well, Winnie Harper, making your acquaintance has given my heart flight." Pun entirely intended. "I'm Marshal Mozor." Placing the broom's end on the ground, he gestured with the handle toward Winnie's book. "Why hear my account of the view when you can see it for yourself? This broom has room for two people, you know."
A single strand of golden hair fell across one eye, which regarded her in playful anticipation.

Interacting with: @Marshal Mozor

June 27th, 2021 | 15:00 Outfit

The lack of wind had left Winnie with beads of sweat on her brow, but the beautiful unknown seemed to understand and soon a soft breeze would pick up to cool the warmth of early summer. The gentle gust brushed the loose baby hairs across the Ravenclaw’s forehead and carried with it a silent melody that whispered promises of hope and freedom. The kind that often accompanied summer break. It seemed almost cruel that the two of them would meet in time for fate to force them apart again for summer vacation, but this moment belonged to the hopeless romantics.

The boy was visually appealing, without a doubt. The carefree tufts of his sandy blonde hair danced by the hand of that same wind. As he grew closer, it was his eyes the girl locked her focus on. Winnie was caught up in the grip of her pleasant stupor as she gazed into his warm hazel eyes that seemed to radiate the sunshine itself. Hazel. Of course he had hazel eyes. Why did they all have hazel eyes? Jack, Levi, Matt, and now this boy who possessed a perfect visage. Looks could take her breath away, but so could a beautiful painting.

It was the mind that mattered, really. Words could capture tiny pieces of her heart and lock them away, never to be returned. She would keep giving, however, offering what little she had. Was the boy kind? Would he whisper handwritten poetry to her-- No, she was getting ahead of herself. A boy could be pretty, but he could have nothing below surface level. Or, even worse, he could be like Mathias Pride and possess a foul spirit. She wouldn’t let the thought of the slimy Slytherin ruin her good mood, however.

She was so taken with the boy that she had hardly noticed he had spoken. She suddenly blinked, yanking on a figurative tether to bind herself back down to earth. "I’ve improved your day?" She asked, her head remaining tilted as a look of confusion shifted her features. "I’m uncertain what I’ve done, but... I’m glad?" She would straighten her posture before offering the boy a sheepish smile to combat the toothy grin he had offered her. How could he emerge from the mists only to make her heart flutter nervously against her chest? It seemed almost unfair.

It was then the boy said something that left Winnie in a state of confusion. He claimed she had given his heart flight, but what could that mean? Unless... Oh Merlin, was he... Was he flirting with her? Her cheeks heated up, transforming her skin colour into a rosy hue. "I-I..." She wasn’t certain what to say. She was not used to being flirted with. The only other boy that had flirted with her was Levi, and their interaction had left her flustered and bewildered. "A-Again, I’m unsure what I’ve done, but it’s a pleasure to meet you, Marshal Mozor." Still feeling the tug of anxiety and worried about her awkward behaviour. She had to say something to the boy, and quickly.

"Marshal, I really like your name. It reminds me of marsh marigolds!" What a peculiar thing to say. Even Winnie seemed to realize this, as her blush burned a darker shade and she tried again, "I-I mean... It reminds me of other things too, l-like um... marshmallows..." Oh Merlin, she needed to stop talking, and quick, or else she’d end up saying something even worse. It was then the boy, bless him, offered her an escape from her self-dug grave. He had suggested the two ride his broom together. Wait together? Wouldn’t that mean she would have to press close to him and... Nope, there was that flush again. It was up to her ears at this point. "I don’t wish to inconvenience you, Marshmel-- I mean, Marshal."

Stunning Banner by Winnie Harper

@Winnie Harper

The grin upon his face would only grow with each passing moment, the girl's every action nourishing his blind infatuation. And yet, it was not truly blind, was it? For he could see her face - the way it scrunched in confusion before flushing to closely resemble the color of her hair.
Like a flower blooming in spring sunlight, his desire to be close to her expanded, seemingly tugging at his hands as he longed to twist a strand of her ginger hair between his fingers. To touch her would be to reveal that she was a part of his reality, and not some heavenly visitor within his dreams. And yet, his hand was stayed. For now, at least, its touch ran only along the surface of his own skin. He would not violate her personal barrier of individuality; not until her own hand was offered to his.

"Indeed, you have," he responded smoothly to her question. "But there was no need to do anything. Simply being you has removed all the clouds from my sky. Now the sun can shine on my heart without a care."
Her steadily deepening blush captured his rapture, and held it in a vice grip. She may have been embarrassed by it, but the change to her appearance only made her more adorable in his eyes.

To be honest, this was a new experience for him at Hogwarts. All of his previous attempts at flirtation had been met with devastating indifference; which, for him, had been entirely unexpected.
As of yet, this interaction was progressing much more like he'd envisioned. And he wasn't about to let it slip away now.

"The pleasure, I hope you understand, is all mine. I consider knowing your name to be a privilege." He dipped his head in a slight nod.
Her next comment came in the form of a compliment, though a rare one, to say the least. Regardless, he opened his mouth to deliver a gracious response, appreciating the attempt, despite the lack of delivery. However, Winnie was quicker to address the brief silence, evidently unsatisfied with her own words.
Personally, Marshal preferred the second item she related to his name. Possessing a rather strong sweet tooth, he quite enjoyed marshmallows - especially those roasted over a fire and placed between chocolate and graham crackers.
He exclaimed cheerfully, "I'll take that as a compliment. I love marshmallows! Almost as much as I love cake." Leaning a bit closer to the girl, he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Chocolate cake, specifically."

As impossible as it seemed, the boy's grin stretched even further when Winnie caught herself, only just refraining from calling him 'Marshmallow.' This girl was too adorable. Certainly it was illegal. If so, then associating with her was one law he was perfectly willing to break.
"Believe me," he shook his head dismissively, "It's no inconvenience at all. I love flying, and it can only be improved by company. Besides, I want to help you out. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to draw a landscape based only on an explanation from a stranger. This way, you can see if for yourself, and I can see how to draw something more than a stick figure. It's a win-win for everyone!"
Shifting his weight, the young Gryffindor took hold of the broom with both hands, rotating the magical vehicle until it hung perpendicular with the ground. That done, he threw one leg over its handle, straddling it. Sure to leave sufficient room for another person to sit behind him, he then returned his gaze to hers, reaching out an upturned hand in a clear inquiry after her own.
"So what do you say, Winnie Harper? Shall we touch the sky together?"

DATE: 06/27/21 OUTFIT: X

INTERACTIONS: ▪ @Marshal Mozor ▪

✿✿✿

His hazel eyes only seemed to be enhanced by that handsome grin, and the steady beating of her heart would pause momentarily when it skipped a beat. Dammit. There she went again, her heart running freely ahead of her brain, singing naïve love songs and crafting fairytale moments within her head. She had really only discovered that boys could make her feel this way a month prior, and here Marshal stood, flustering her senseless. His honeyed words were practically prose, especially in the way he delivered each sentence. It tugged at her poetic heart, and she silently constructed whispers of Emily Dickinson poems in her head as she responded before she could think, "I... I can control the clouds no more than I can control the passing of each season, Mr. Mozor."

Merlin, what had she just said? She bit down on her lower lip nervously, strawberry flavoured, as per usual. The Ravenclaw wished she had simply replied with a thank you, but her mind kept abandoning her, journeying to the topic of poetry. "Are you a fan of Emily Dickinson? She has written several poems about clouds and their celestial influences. A cloud can be an offering of hope when the sun's rays are labouring. I... Envy your ability to soar among them."

At that present point in time, it would have been impossible for Winnie Harper's blush to grow darker, but the Gryffindor seemed determined to try regardless. Surely he would not continue until he rendered her into an unmoving human statue? "I-It's... Just my name, nothing special about it. It cannot be associated with sweets... W-Which I suppose is what you are... S-Sweet, that is... If you are being serious... I am uncertain why I have elicited such a reaction. Unless..." Perhaps his motivation was not as pure as she had assumed. It was with a pause that she managed to fix her gaze on those hazel eyes. She tilted her head to the side, loose copper strands cascading as she silently studied her newest fixation. "You talk to all girls this way...?" While there was no ill-intent in desiring to make all girls feel nice, doing as much often meant your words lost their meaning. If everyone was 'special', no one was special.

Whether or not this was true, it did not take away from the fact that Marshal Mozor was sweet. As sweet as a marshmallow, which was apparently a nickname he enjoyed. She had not realized how tense her shoulders were until she felt them relax upon realizing the boy had not found her to be too odd to continue a conversation with. Perhaps Levi had been correct after all, maybe there were boys out there who would appreciate her brand of... Unique. Who would appreciate the poetry she had carefully torn open a piece of her heart to compose.

His visage had grown close to her own when he whispered into her ear as if he were confessing a shocking revelation. "I love to bake--" His warm breath ticked her skin, and she turned her head to face him far too quickly. His face was mere inches away from hers, and the closeness allowed her to get a better look at the amber flecks those hazel eyes possessed. She took a wobbly step back, clearing her throat. "S-Sorry-..." She stuttered; her own eyes had grown almost comically large. If she had learned anything the past month, it was that she could not be trusted when that close to a boy’s face. Although quite admittedly this time it had not been entirely her fault. She would try to repair the fractured conversation by adding. "Anything strawberry flavoured is my preference."

She was still hesitant to accept his offer. This boy was almost fictional in a sense, as if he had jumped directly out of the screen of a muggle cartoon film, the ones based on grand fairytales where the male and female lead burst into song. Seeing the sky from a new perspective was an offer Winnie Harper found difficult to resist, despite a small voice in her head reminding her this could not be real. Well, if this picturesque moment were some sort of dream, at least she would have fun.

When the boy offered her his hand, it was with bated breath she would accept the gesture. She silently prayed he couldn't feel how fast her heart was beating when their skin made contact. As she swung her own leg over the wooden broom, she would have to intrude upon the boy’s personal space. ”E-Excuse my touch, Mr. Marshmellow.” There was no other choice, really. The hand that Marshal was not currently holding would, if he allowed it to, be placed upon his shoulder. Oh. He was muscular too.

Stunning Banner by Winnie Harper

@Winnie Harper

What happens when two poetry-enamored hearts collide? When a penchant for prose meets a relish for sultry speech? Perhaps their words might become entangled, bound together by a respective loss of finesse, and growing closer with every stuttering breath whispered in an understanding ear. But perhaps even yet, the combined love for iterated emotion would bloom; like two flowers intertwined at the stem, their petals may join to create something more diverse, more dazzling than a single bud could ever possess.
The sun has no shine without the contrast of shadow. The sea loses its sapphire sheen in absence of the sky's compliments. And a poet's diction falls flat with none to hear. In a world where solitude bears incompletion, only the blessed can hope to find a heart that sings the same tune, and Marshal felt nothing if not gratitude for this chance encounter.

Never before had the mouth of another expelled such words in keeping with those from his own. Where intentional speech was normally met with disregard, Winnie had captured his meaning and sent it back toward him like a boomerang with edges coated in sugar. Such sweetness leapt from pink lips and left him with no choice but to reciprocate.
"And yet the seasons only change guard to lend their respective glory to your existence." As though taken from a Shakespearian play the words were spoken. Yet this was no falsified parody of a dead man's affections; the boy was not an actor, but a personification of the literature he'd read throughout his childhood. "You flatter me," his response continued. "To be called sweet by one such as you is to be called beautiful by Aphrodite herself." Never hurt to throw a bit of Greek knowledge out there. One eyebrow arched imploringly as he searched the girl's form. "You wouldn't happen to be a goddess deigning to set foot on the earth for the likes of me, would you? Perhaps your true name is one a lover of light such as I would already know." He allowed the implications to hang in the air, along with her query concerning his communication with other girls.
It wasn't as though he regretted any previous interactions, but none of them mattered in this surreal moment. Every ounce of attention he had to give belonged to Winnie Harper, and he was determined to demonstrate as much.

A note was made in his slightly obsessive mind that she appreciated 'anything strawberry flavored.' Also that she could probably make him cookies. Both were critical pieces of information.
For now, a knowing grin and a short nod served as the only response to the revelations, as he would then mount his broom before offering his hand. A slight hesitation preceded the girl's acceptance.
Like the stems of their poetic flowers, their bodies were now entwined, if only by an extension of limbs. The smooth surface of her palm greeted his with a touch of the summer wind, sending warmth flowing through his every extremity. And as he lent his strength to her effort of mounting his broom, he could sense her movement, could feel the subtle presence of her body leaning near his own. She would then relinquish her hold upon his hand, only to reposition it upon one shoulder, effectively reigniting the fire that seemed to spring from her fingertips.
"You would have me excuse the touch of a goddess?" His gaze remained forward as his words mingled with the air. "I think not."

One moment passed as he savored the feeling of her breath upon his neck until, finally, he craned his neck to cast a mischievous smirk over the shoulder occupied by her hand. And as he did so, his poetic nature dropped for the first time, revealing the immature visage of an eager child.
"Hold on tight."

Without further ado, one strong thrust from his legs sent the two of them into the sky. Fueled by a mixed desire to show off, as well as give her a reason to hold him tighter, his flight patterns became painted by a more erratic hand than was quite necessary. Rising high above the pitch, giving them a clear view of the entire thing, he slowed the broom to a halt.
A pair of birds passed nearby as he turned his head to face Winnie once more, that same smirk still stretching his features. "All right back there, goddess? You should know what it's like to be in the sky, right?"

Interacting With: @Marshal Mozor |

Outfit: ꕤ |

Mentioning: @

Date: 06/27/21

It seemed the two had sparked the emergence of a new type of flower. The event was a blossoming of two halves that met in mutual admiration and an understanding of the heart’s longing for human companionship. A mutual desire to be heard and adored with such purity that it allowed the other to be taken in and loved with the kind of depth and passion that transcended the prose-crafted word.

So, the scene had been set; a young boy and girl had formed a blossoming bond with each other. The boy spun more than honeyed words. It was as if he had carefully opened up her chest, peered into Winnie’s heart and was now whispering a script her heart had rewritten repeatedly.

She felt the desire to shout poetry back at the boy, to excitedly rip open her worn notebook to show him what she was capable of, but the boy had rendered her flustered with his words. It was all she could do to gawk at him. She wondered if her face would ever stop burning such a dark shade of red. "You are... Incredibly flattering, Mr. Marshmallow. I hope you use your talent to craft poetry, and if so... You’ve just found yourself a fan."

He had to be this charming with everyone, right? There was no way he had singled her out. She was just a first-year who probably had grass stains on her clothing from laying in a field of wildflowers earlier to enjoy the scent and watch the birds soaring through the early summer’s blue skies, while Marshal had been ripped straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Since the entire situation failed to make sense to Winnie, she kept coming to the same conclusion; this was a dream. A tale that her mind had spun for its own sake to ease the lonely longings of a girl on the cusp of her teenage years who had a newly discovered obsession with romance. The whole situation was illogical, and she knew it, but all dreams were that way. Knowing it was a dream gave her an advantage; for it was the mindful dreamer that held the control.

He compared her to a goddess. Winnie did not feel like one, especially not the type of celestial being that was supposed to embody the concept of beauty itself. If anyone else had heard Marshal, they would likely point this out to him. She was odd and likely frumpy, just like her bullies often said.

The heroines of her novels wouldn’t back down, however. They inspired her to accept the compliment. "If I am Aphrodite, would that not make you Adonis? I am surprised that windflowers do not blossom wherever you step." The story of Adonis’ death was a tragedy really, having died in the arms of his lover as she wept for him, her tears and his blood mixed together to create a new flower; anemones (a.k.a. windflowers). These flowers were said to bring luck and protect against evil. Marshal reminded her of a knight, so the symbolism fit.

Unfortunately, the flower’s petals were also prone to being blown open by the wind, which is how they earned their name. Little did the two of them know that off the shoreline, a dangerous storm was already brewing.

Until that time, the two could enjoy the gentle summer breeze. The force of the broom’s lift-off shook her body, and she released a small squeak of surprise as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. The loose hold she had been maintaining was quickly forgotten and soon she was clinging onto him as if he were the only stable thing in a world that kept spinning too fast.

Though the entire world and an uncharted view lay just below them, she could only stare at the Gryffindor, her blue eyes wide with wonder. She had never been on a broom outside of flying lessons, nor had she ever flown so quickly. It was an entirely new experience, a rush the budding Quidditch player would obsess over during her summer vacation.

Her trance was only broken when she felt a small tug at the crown of her scalp. A hand reached up to touch her dishevelled hair, and she realized the twin buns had come loose. "My hair. I... I need a better style for when I play Quidditch." She responded, her face suddenly breaking into a smile as she freed her hair from the grasp of both elastics and allowed her tresses to flow through the air behind them. "You're really in your element up here, Marshal."

ꕤ ꕤ

ꕤ ꕤ

Stunning Banner by Winnie Harper

@Winnie Harper

Though no such confirmation left his mouth, Marshal was indeed versed in the art of poetry, his hand’s style governed by the same rule of prose which commanded his tongue on an arid afternoon such as this. But to be admired by one’s own inspiration seemed a contradiction. Could a scenic landscape appreciate a painting depicting its own visage? Or could the sun cherish its reflection in a body of standing water? The implications were absurd, yet beautiful. When a living entity acknowledged the artistry its life breathed into the world - not in arrogance, but humble recognition - its beauty would transcend even the boundless ceiling presented to stunt its potential.
So for the vision of a girl before him to declare herself a fan of that which was born of her nature, it only served to increase the radiance surrounding her presence in his eyes. Perhaps she’d been attempting to draw from the well of flattery for his sake, but she’d only succeeded in enriching herself further. It was simply the law of life and love; for every thing given with genuine care, more would be returned, making them who wanted not the same that received the most. And Winnie would receive anything the boy could possibly offer, despite that she may be wont to reject it. It simply wouldn’t be seen by the universe to accept her supplication of meager self-worth, at the very least not today.

To her credit, the girl seemed to slowly embrace the gifts which had been offered to her. Though the hue of her cheeks yet rivaled that of a rose, the tint of her voice grew more bold, and her words dragged deeper into the living fantasy they shared. As though drawn from the lungs of the very goddess he’d likened her to, her verbal return dipped into the Greek theme which had been proposed, countering that he may yet represent a god. And not just any god, but that of beauty, and of desire.
While the former descriptor bolstered his pride, the latter could not be denied. The word ‘desire’ was so often paired with filthy synonyms such as ‘lust’ and ‘greed’, yet they failed to address the emotions which now consumed his breast. Rather, he entertained a ‘fascination’ for this girl and all her virtues, even as his heart brimmed with ‘passion’, and his soul sang premature songs of ‘devotion’. Of course they had only just met, but could they not indulge in the finer benefits of a waking dream?

”A flower is nothing without its beauty.” The delicate intonation would float unhindered for a moment, before being overtaken by another, ”None would dare bloom in your presence, for they would have nothing to lend to a world focused only upon you. The windflowers and I have our charm, but Aphrodite taught us the very meaning of grace.” A steady decline of his head came in her direction, affirming further of whom he spoke.
Every moment she allowed would be spent in adoration, and he would regard her with a running narrative of the thoughts which she evoked. Even more so, he would follow the pattern of a scholar observing a spectacular discovery, recording impressions that struck him; though he possessed no notepad to document his findings, he had no doubt that memory would suffice, for this was the kind of encounter that would embed itself upon his mental museum for eternity.

Just as well, the sensation of her arms encircled about his torso as they left the ground would live on forever, if only as a phantom of the dream that had populated one summer’s day. A quick glance backward afforded him a view of her red hair, as her cheek rested firmly against his shoulder. Surely no illusion of the mind could simulate such a perfect feeling, and yet the prospect that the moment melded with reality seemed preposterous. This flawed world had no right to hold that which bore a celestial nature.
Rising closer to the heavens that might allow for this dream to last, he slowed the broom to a speed conducive to communication between them. As he did so, that sweet voice drifted to his ears and guided his gaze in her direction once more, where he witnessed the release of her hair from its bonds. Like a blaze of fire streaking behind her, it billowed and cavorted in newfound freedom, subjected blissfully to the whims of the wind. His eyes followed its pattern, hypnotized by the dance it performed, before dropping naturally to azure irises and the smile which brightened her face beyond even the fair complexion of her skin.

A grin of similar make adorned his own features as she spoke. One of unabashed joy.
”It wasn’t that long ago I flew for the first time, but I’ve never felt more at home than on a broom.” Words that would have been nothing short of comical in the recent past. ”Up here, it’s like nothing can touch you. Sadness and stress can’t follow into the sky. You’re just…” a shrug preceded the sentence’s conclusion as his head turned again to face forward, ”free.” A pregnant silence followed, though it only lasted a moment. ”So you want to play Quidditch too? Maybe we’ll play together.” A sudden realization hit him then, in that he hadn’t yet ventured to ascertain Winnie’s school house. ”What house are you in? I don’t see any school colors in your outfit. I’m in Gryffindor; not that it matters too much.” Following any comment she made in response, he would nod and glance back at her yet again, a playful glint in his eye. ”Seems like you haven’t been in the air much for a goddess. Want me to give you some pointers, seeing as I’m clearly an expert?”
In reality, he likely wasn’t the best suited to adopt the role of mentor, being relatively new to flying himself. But inexperience never had stunted his confidence; and besides, it was already clear that this afternoon was more akin to a dream than reality.