Dearest Dhampires Solo

Backdated to Nov. 1^st, Sunday morning

There was something supremely exciting about the first day of the month. Perhaps pride, nerves, or sentimentality were to blame, for Pericles was always eager to read the final publication of the Headliner. He didn't typically see what work the graphics team had done to spruce up his own articles, and it wasn't often that he read what other subjects were entered in each issue prior to publication. Early bird that he was, he was among the first few in the Great Hall that morning, bright and groomed and ready for a cup of cocoa to go along with the paper. Biased, the boy began reading with the automatic expectation that he would enjoy everything inside. Peri carefully cleaned his fingers between slices of orange, flipping pages with his trademark sleepy smile. It faded at what was wedged between a preview of the Quidditch season and an article he had written on hosting parties: DHAMPIRE: Docile or Dangerous?. The title was enough to halt Pericles in his tracks. The lad reread it once, twice, then scanned the page itself. Those gaudy blood splatters and imagery of fangs bowed the line of his lips. Certain that this must be a parody article, he resumed reading, though this time he held the Headliner with both hands, squinting through rectangular lenses intensely. Ironically, the blood seemed to drain from his face as he drank the article in.

What was a boy to do with all the conflict knotting in his belly? Appetite having absconded, he abandoned his bowl and departed from the hall, left lurking awkwardly outside of the Headliner office. He did not enter. "T. Ruth". What a penname. In his kaleidoscope of conflict revolution, Pericles briefly contemplated asking whose office this was meant to be, then taking his slurry of half-formed questions and feelings straight to their door. Yet a thought put him off asking. What if it had been written by the Editor-in-Chief herself, or worse, her secretary? What if he was overthinking? Overreacting? A thought joined the fray of contemplation. Just the other day, during the Halloween celebrations, someone had said something dear, something important:

"It isn't about whether or not real vampires find this material offensive per se- that is not the thing to worry about. The thing that should be questioned, is if other people believe the things depicted in this sssort of fiction...."

There was no undoing what was already read across the school, and if anyone had a right to take immediate offense, it was not him. After all: perhaps these were a series of opinions which should be written so as to be put to question, rather than stamped out or hidden away. There was value in the situation, and there was no going back, only deciding how he could contribute moving forwards. With this resolution ringing in his mind, Pericles slithered into his own little corner of the newspaper office, emerging with a note to tack on a bulletin board in the Small Hall.

DHAMPIRES
If any dhampires are willing to participate in an interview,
with the intention of dispelling doubt and misconception, please owl Pericles Dralt.

He oughtn't have been so solemn just tacking up a piece of parchment, Pericles insisted internally. He wasn't hoisting high some declaration of war. He wasn't painting a target on his back. It was an innocuous, reasonable request with good intentions. Everyone knew that all students of Hogwarts were rational, unbiased beings capable of true tolerance and ethical fortitude. Right...? Right. Withdrawing the spectacles from the bumped bridge of his nose, Peri passed a final (now blurry) once-over across the parchment, then paced off purposefully.

Reducio

OOC
These interviews would be a "dialogue only" scene, with me owling a few questions you'd reply to IC for the sake of speed, unless the interviewee has a preference for a full scene! I only have one week to finish fleshing out my article with some dialogue from actual dhampires, so please RSVP ASAP if interested