Finally, Two Real People PV Marshal, Leo Closed

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

@Leonard Oaksworth & @Stanley Buttons

What was the perfect time to go to the lake? Why, any time of course!
While Marshal would normally balk at the idea of leaving the Great Hall during the holy event that was lunch, he was willing to make an exception if he had taken the time to snatch some delectable delights before heading out the door. And he had.
Of course, he had something other than food in hand as well - figuratively, of course; the idea of wasting space that could conceivably be used to carry extra food was absurd. Trailing behind him was a rather unlikely friend, but a friend nonetheless, one whom the blond boy had found himself around quite often during his brief time at this school.

Marshal and Leonard. Lion and snake. Impulsive and deliberate. Exuberant and reserved. Fire and oil- or was it water...? Nah, definitely oil. Put fire and oil together, and the oil is bound to get burned, along with everything around it, while the fire itself experiences the greatest time of its life.
Leo must have developed a liking for the kind of excitement that his involvement with the Gryffindor led to, seeing as he hadn't filed a restraining order just yet. Not that Marshal would have left him alone anyway; he made things much too fun to simply ignore.

All attempts at making sense of their relationship aside, Marshal had suggested a stroll to the lake, and Leonard had agreed. The 'suggestion' might have simply involved enough embarrassment that the Slytherin had jumped at any opportunity to get out of public, but the exact details seemed of little significance.
In any case, here the two of them were, meandering towards the lake. As the pristine water drew nearer, Marshal spoke between mouthfuls of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Jumping to the middle of the conversation, one would hear him say, "And my dad always said that peanut butter gives you strength, inside and out. Body, heart, mind," he tapped his head knowingly before taking another bite of the sandwich. Crumbs spewed from his mouth as he continued, "Did I mention that my dad is a fire-fighter? Well, he said eating one of these sandwiches before work would even make him impervious to fire." Shoulders raised in a shrug as he examined the sandwich in his hand. "It was obviously just a story, but it always made the peanut butter taste better. So you're welcome!" A magnanimous grin was cast in Leonard's direction. "Speaking of stories, there was this one time I dropped my sandwich in the middle of the road. Dad said I should never waste good food, but then this car came speeding down the street, and I had to make a decision..."
Just then, he caught sight of another figure not far away, sitting alone by the water, putting an end to his story before it even had a chance to get interesting.

Marshal could never allow anyone to feel lonely if he had anything to say about it, and in this case, he did. Perhaps this person had come here for a reason. Perhaps they wanted to be alone. But then, he couldn't possibly learn of that without approaching the lone individual, could he? If he was lucky, he might even convince them that they didn't really want to be alone.
Glancing back at the dark-haired boy behind him, he gestured toward the stranger with his head. "Come on, Leo! Let's go make you another friend."

Carrying notably less food than when the two of them had left the Great Hall - though still possessing a couple of untouched sandwiches - he approached the unfamiliar person with as much subtlety as one could possibly expect.
"Hey there! How's it going? Mind if we join you?" Without waiting for a response, he planted his rump firmly on the ground beside the stranger. Given a better angle, his hazel eyes made a more complete observation of the kid. Messy blond hair and blue eyes, the boy clung to a teddy bear as though it were his only lifeline. And if Marshal wasn't mistaken, he looked lost, an intangible heartache present in his face. Most people might not have noticed the detail, but the Gryffindor could easily recall that look from seeing the same one in the mirror, months before. To be honest, he still saw it frequently, when he was alone with his thoughts.

Eager to help, he did the unthinkable; he offered the boy one of the untouched sandwiches. "Want one? Peanut butter and jelly fixes anything. I was just telling Leo here about it, actually," he glanced back to where he had left his friend, "wasn't I, Leo?"

Interacting With: @Marshal Mozor and @Stanley Buttons | Hex: #143314

The lake was, by far, one of Leonard's least favourite locations in Hogwarts. It was an impressive feat, since the snake had many places in the school he thought of as utterly horrible. Most were useless to the boy, serving no other purpose than being classrooms, death traps, or in most cases, both and even more. By all logic, he would avoid it at any and every cost, instead opting to eat lunch in peace. Then again, by all logic, he would also avoid his overly enthusiastic companion at any and every cost, and yet, he found himself sticking to the Gryffindor and the the boy's utterly ridiculous plans.

And one fateful, fear-filled day, the plan involved heading to the lake.

As with everything in life, the Slytherin decided to calculate the pros and cons. On the negative side, there was the lake and its tentacled, possibly hungry inhabitants, the growing likelihood of something involving flirtatious fiascos again, and the incessant rambling of the blonde resulting in his ears being talked off, On the positive side, the story about sandwiches and mystical powers was tolerable, entertaining, even, unlike quite a few things about Marshal and his musings.

"My dad's a baker, and he talks about how chocolate cakes make him feel like he's flying past the moon. They'd get along nicely, I'd say," he replied, crunching the last bit of toast he'd managed to snatch from the table before being whisked away by Marshal. The snake's gaze was still kept on the dark ripples of water, though. One could never be too careful, he believed. "I'm surprised that your dad's a firefighter, honestly. Not sure whether he'd detest your choice in career for the danger and dragons or just chuck a peanut butter sandwich at you and cheer you on. My dad would definitely do the second one."

He looked back to Marshal, the everlasting, expected grin still there as the other detailed further adventures with bread. Even as biting comments about the dubious logic of the five-second-rule and queries about how in Merlin's beard he managed to drop a sandwich in the middle of a road went by in his mind, he kept quiet. If anything, the words would only encourage the blonde to share more tales about snacks, something he wasn't sure he could bear the burden of any longer. So, he nodded along, half listening and half wondering how long the closest to peaceful he'd been for a while would last.

Not long, obviously.

His fear of losing hearing via luncheon legends was swiftly replaced with a much larger, and yet common, one: talking to a new person. To the Gryffindor, it wouldn't be a fear at all, Leonard knew. To him, however, it was a new chance for everything to go wrong, for a new enemy to be gained, for a new peril to be introduced into his already annoyingly eventful life.

"Wait, Marshal, come back! I don't need another friend, I need to know what happened to the sandwich," he shouted in the direction of his partner in pranking, though lately it seemed everything the other boy was doing was a tactless prank on the snake's life. Knowing his pleas weren't heard, he sighed, and resigned to scrawling on a stray piece of parchment in his pocket.

My will is under my pillow. Follow it to the letter. - L. Oaksworth

Dropping the slip of paper onto the ground, he followed after the blonde, greeted by the new company of another light-haired boy, wearing a rather sad expression and clutching a teddy bear. Being completely unequipped for the new job of cheering up this stranger, he followed Marshal's lead, elaborating on his friend's words.

"Yeah, yeah, Marshal here was just telling me this absolutely riveting story about how he dropped a sandwich in the middle of the street when a...bicycle came by. It was a bicycle, right?"

Hurrying to cover up on the fact he was definitely not listening to the supposedly riveting story, he turned his attention to the stuffed toy.

"Nice, um, teddy bear, you have there, by the way. It's very fluffy. In a good way, of course. Not like it can be fluffy in a bad way. The only bad fluff I've ever encountered was when my dormmates decided to have a pillow fight, and it got out of hand really quickly. You probably want to hear Marshal's story more than mine, though."

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@Marshal Mozor, @Leonard Oaksworth

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Loosening his grip on the teddy bear, Stanley looked to his side to see someone had sat down and had started talking to him. His mouth parted slightly getting ready to say something but no sound came out. He was in a slight state of shock. Someone had actually voluntarily started a conversation with him. It was a miracle in the boy's eyes.

"I-" He stuttered while taking in the boy's appearance. He was defiantly good looking. Even for a first year. The boy looked slightly taller than Stanley and seemed to carry his body with pride and confidence. The blond hair that sat upon his head caused Stanley to wonder how on earth he kept it as neat as it looked. His hazel eyes scanned over Stanley as he offered him one of the sandwiches he had brought with him.

"I have never tried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before." He softly said while looking up to the second person that had joined them. Another boy but this one had brown hair and didn't seem to want to be there. "Are they good?"

The second boy started talking about a bicycle and something about a sandwich in the middle of the street. Stanley noticed that he was hurrying over his words as he started to compliment the teddy bear that was still wrapped up in his arms. "Thank- Thank you." He whispered out, "His name is Big Ted."

Coming to a decision, Stanley decided it was best if he took the sandwich and didn't complain. Unravelling his arms, the boy took the sandwich that was offered to him and took a bite. He chewed trying to figure out whether he liked the combination or not.

"I would like to hear both story's." Stanley nodded his head slowly. "I- I'm Stanley. Stanley Buttons." A small tugged at his lips and he lifted one of Big Ted's arms putting on the deep (but still quite high) voice again. "I'm Big Ted." The Hufflepuff laughed to himself before looking up to the boys hoping for a good reaction.

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

@Leonard Oaksworth & @Stanley Buttons

The drop of Marshal's jaw was entirely too noticeable, his unrestrained shock making its presence known as he attempted to process how an individual could possibly have lived this long without trying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, at least once. It was simply inconceivable. Frankly, it sounded like a life that the first-year would appreciate his subconscious never forcing him to experience within a dream - or rather, a nightmare.
"Are they good?" he responded to the boy's question, forehead crinkling in concern for this poor soul. He shifted closer, no doubt intruding on what the stranger considered his personal bubble. The expression on his face, and within his voice, was rather intense as he continued, "Far from it, actually. They're spectacular. Take one bite into this sandwich," the volunteered sandwich was waved softly, "and you'll think you've died and gone to heaven. Or that you're on the right path, at least."
Quick as a fox, Leo moved in to support his heavenly proclamations, revisiting the most integral part of the story with a memory that fell two tires short of a car. But at least it was a good effort, and Marshal appreciated that.
Momentarily glancing back at Leonard, he gave the snake a meaningful look. "More or less," he said before turning back to the stranger. "But the bicycle was so empowered by the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that it transformed into a motorcycle." His face scrunched up as he pondered the words that had just vacated his mouth, and he finally shook his head. "You know what? Just try it and see for yourself."
Much to his relief, the boy decided to accept his offer in the end, grasping the sandwich and taking a bite. The Gryffindor watched intently, awaiting a reaction to the celestial taste of a perfected meal.
Sadly, no reaction came.

Rather than gush over the glories of a lovable lunch, the boy took the opportunity to introduce himself, as well as his teddy bear. Stanley Buttons and Big Ted, the duo by the lake.
Slightly suspicious that Stanley was avoiding any comment concerning his opinion of the sandwich, Marshal let it slide - for now. Instead, he examined the teddy bear as Stanley waved its arms, animating the toy and speaking for it, like an aspiring ventriloquist. It brought back memories of when he would do the same thing, though he had abandoned that form of play a few years prior.
Not one to poke fun at something the boy obviously held quite dear, Marshal grinned and addressed the both of them. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you pair, Stanley and Big Ted!" Extending one hand, he pinched Big Ted's paw between his thumb and forefinger and shook, just as he would shake a person's hand. Then, releasing that hold, he offered the same hand to Stanley, hoping to repeat the action with the boy.
Regardless of whether Stanley shook in greeting or not, he would proceed to jab a thumb at himself, then at Leo. "I'm Marshal, and that friendly-looking guy behind me is Leo." 'Friendly-looking' may have been a stretch, but sometimes you had to be limber when making a new friend. "So where are you from, Stanley Buttons? What house are you in? And are you interested in Quidditch, by any chance? I'm still trying to convince Leo that it's his true purpose in life." He turned a withering gaze on the snake. "You haven't even talked to the janitor yet, have you?"

Banner by Akari Kato

Interacting With: @Marshal Mozor and @Stanley Buttons | Dialogue Hex: #143314

For all the exertion and effort he put into creating methods to avoid the most pain possible in his years at Hogwarts, home, and other horrible holes holding his sanity hostage, Leonard was absolutely terrible at making less pain for others. Beyond terrible, really, for even a convict with life sentences stacking until the universe imploded on itself would pity the boy’s pathetic attempts at expressing empathy. Making more pain for others, he could do with ease at speeds rivalling that of sounds in solids. That was something that came to him naturally, a wicked blessing in both senses of the adjective that no other seemed to want for completely unknown reasons none could put a name to. Frankly, he couldn’t fathom how it could be difficult for anyone to cause inescapable agony for the people around them, with how much damage he could cause in only a day. Perhaps it would be considered a distressing angle to view life from to others, but he accepted his atypical abilities long ago. More than accepted, even, for such proficiency found frequent purchase in the many, many, many people who decided that shattering everyone’s tibia with their obnoxiously placed shoe was instrumental to their survival. However, overspecialisation always had its woes and worries, and though he would not accept any responsibility for it, the Slytherin really needed to spend more time studying the skill of sympathy and how to communicate it without making the person he was communicating with actively try to break their tibia to escape the conversation. No, he would be using all of his feeble muscle to hurl the blame at one Marshal Janitor’s Apprentice Mozor who couldn’t resist dragging him into every activity he never wanted nor needed. Even if the bear-bearing boy was previously unknown to both of them, should he have desired another acquaintance he would’ve appreciated having a two week’s notice and a comprehensive list of likes, dislikes, and somehow. They were in a world full of magic, how was a little bit of insight as to how to make people less sad something he actually had to learn from experience? Utterly ridiculous, completely absurd, totally unbelievable. He’d still be doing it, of course, but there was no limit to the amount of grumbling he’d produce simultaneously.

He tried not to grumble too much with his response to learning the supposedly fluffy-in-a-good-way teddy bear’s cognomen, though, for it was the button-eyed bear who granted him a way out. In return, he offered a small smile and an equally small wave, wary of touching any of the sandwiches. There was truly no such thing as untouched food, and even if he hadn’t the heart (or lack thereof) to tell the other boys that, he didn’t want to contribute to the amount of fingerprints on them.

He thought back to his father, always saying the present was named for the fact it was a gift, that it was the time to do everything and anything that passed your mind to avoid later dwelling on regrets. Putting aside the verifiable truths that his father said many things from the Hallmark Channel shows said father insisted on watching ironically and that present was derived from Latin and Old French words not meaning anything close to something given with no price, usually with intentions of goodness, the boy simply didn’t think the moment one was currently in would always be the perfect place for everything. It was an opinion he felt should’ve been widely accepted as fact that the future was the best temporal length of presence to accomplish anything in. Its sprawling cover of possible whiles and whens was a large plus, and nobody with a conscience could conceivably refuse more periods of potential preparation. If he could make everything second on the schedule, if he could always be both at his peak and about to reach it, there would be nothing imperfect, he believed. It’s what he thought in the sleepless nights leading up to getting on the train instead of running away and living off various semi-poisonous fungi and assorted leaves, and it’s what he was thinking now. The schoolmate facing him possessing hair the shade of his Gryffindor companion’s most beloved snack and a rather soft sort of voice did not, in fact, seem to have all that much brashness in his personal archive of appurtenances. He could relate to that, certainly, but he really did need more time for pointers on how to exude all the charisma and confidence he only had arguing with himself in the shower. At that point, he’d even take them from the blonde bane of his uneaten, meticulously planned lunch, all his future meals be spurned for the purpose of learning the courage prescribed to run up to someone and start babbling incessantly with no care at all for what other people thought. Alas, there was no time, and he was left scrambling like the eggs his fork never touched to follow up on the conversation whose weight crushed him as the world crushed Atlas. The only good part about any of this was that he didn’t have to deal with a liver-eating eagle just yet.

An inelegant, snickering puff of air escaping from his previously diffident expression broke the string of disproportionately dramatic, sorrowful Greek mythology comparisons. Not even the six-year-old under the impression that with every door-to-door sale missed was another body part soon to disintegrate he once was could make such an amusingly theatrical depiction for a fairly everyday object. Surely, none of those jars of peanut butter and jelly summoned from wherever to the kitchen would make it out as a leftover with this level of intensity. For a moment, he wondered whether his father would take Marshal as an employee, before crumpling that idea into a ball and shooting it into the deepest dumpster his mind could manage. He may or may not have saved a digital copy in his files and placed it in his ‘Mayhaps’ folder, but that was no concern of anyone for now.

“At the very least, they won’t make you think you’ve died and gone all the way down.” Interrupted by the reminder of that merchandising strategy and that bringing up the topic of death wasn’t exactly the most advisable when one was trying to make a friend, he made another quick interjection. “Neither would my dad’s biscuits. I should ask him for some, really, share them with you lot sometime. You know, as long as none of you are allergic to the most brilliant packs of confectionery items and pastries your tongue will ever taste. Or gluten. Gluten’s a big thing in these products, actually.”

After an ever so slightly embarrassing bout of blurting his knowledge (or lack thereof, once more) of grudge-for-food-holding bicycles, he gave an apologetic shrug to the storyteller upon locking eyes with the other. The glance only lasting a bit, he wasn’t sure how much remorse he could actually convey in the short shoulder movement, but he hoped it was a lot.

“Buttons. Fun name, that one is. Obviously not in a bad way, again, I haven’t any hold over the court of judging names with Leonard Wendell Oaksworth as mine. Pleasure to meet you too, it is.” The words shot out with speeds battling light for the position of first place in their race were said with another sheepish sort of smile. He turned to the teddy again, who was quickly becoming his crutch in the conversation for when he inevitably said something much too awkwardly, which occurred much, much too often. “Big Ted, mate, really loving that baritone.”

The grin returned for a third time with Marshal’s last few sentences, and it seemed one of his father’s sayings was correct, seeing as this time around it was finally past the point of courteous and launched straight into genuine. He didn’t know why it suddenly mattered so much, but being called friendly, and by perhaps the friendliest lad on campus, was a nice thing, to say the bare minimum. The other side of his cerebral area immediately combated the celebration, of course, saying it was undoubtedly just a way to get Stanley Buttons’ trust, but he didn’t care too much about whether that was true or not.

“Or, by any chance, would you be interested in the sport of dueling? Not much less dangerous, I’ll give it that, but it’s not about seventy feet off the ground, which quite plainly gives it many more points than broom-ball,” he gave an identical glare to the Quidditch lover, all thoughts of returning the compliment vanishing instantly. “[color=##143314]I bet you haven’t talked to him, either.[/color]”

He turned back to Stanley, realising the other boy would have absolutely no clue about what they were talking about. He knew what that felt like, as well. In fact, he felt like that in every exchange he had the misfortune to participate in.

“When Marshal and I first talked, someone brought up the idea of undergoing apprenticeship with this janitor who’d had some kind of accident and was forced to retire before being able to pursue their dream of becoming a major league Quidditch player. Nice story, it is, but this janitor’s so elusive and evasive I’ve never come across him. Bet Mozor here,” he paused to return the thumb-jabbing gesture, tossing another glare the other’s way. “Hasn’t either.”

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@Marshal Mozor, @Leonard Oaksworth

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"Wow you are right. These are good." Stanley said continuing to much down on the sandwich. The taste had overwhelmed him at first and he had no idea what to think of it but slowly his taste buds rejoiced in delicious bliss as the peanut butter and jelly sandwich was chomped on.

The two boys in front of him then introduced themselves as Marshal and Leonard. Stanley could tell the difference between the two boys immediately. Firstly, Marshal did not mention his last name and instead was quite informal where as Leonard had taken it upon himself to let the young First Year know his first, middle and last name! Even though it was completely unnecessary. However the pair of friends where both extremely straight foreword. There was no way of stopping them from voicing out their thoughts.

Leo went onto ramble about his Dad's biscuits and offer to get some biscuits from them, "I would love some biscuits one time.. I'm not allergic to anything. I think." The hufflepuff furrowed his eyebrows trying to remember of anytime he had an allergic reaction but came up with nothing so he brushed it off.

Marshal then bombarded him with questions and it caught Stanley off guard, "Uhh.. I come from Accrington in Lancashire? Or Yorkshire.. I can never really remember.." He said going quiet as the sentence went along, "I'm in Hufflepuff. It's the only house I could ever see myself in.

"Duelling? Quidditch? Hmm.." Stan mumbled to himself, "I've always been more of a Quidditch fan. I've been thinking about joining the Quidditch team as one of their Seekers!"

Leonard's words then quickly settled into his mind and Stanley gulped, "Seventy feet off the ground? Wow that's high. Maybe its not such a good idea to join then." He shivered slightly and then put on a small smile to try and reassure the others he was okay.

"No I don't think I've talked to the janitor yet.." He put a hand to his chin and tried to think about the past month or so at Hogwarts, "No I haven't but that's quite a plan. I'm not to sure it will work though. What if they are afraid of heights. Or they… they have flying disease which doesn't allow them on a broom?"

Stanley then let out a small laugh before placing Big Ted on the ground next to him. "What about you? Where do you live? What house are you in?" He directed towards the boys. Maybe they had already said where they were from but Stanley probably had not heard them. Over the course of the two minutes of meeting each other, Stan had definitely gotten more comfortable and he was more open to the idea of speaking his mind.