Beneficiary | Open Closed

Sonya talking: #6600ff
Interacting with: @Piérre Marchonné

Stamina: 6 Evasion: 4 Strength: 9 Wisdom: 4 Arcane Power: 4 Accuracy: 3
"Why use magic in a fight when you can just use your fists? No magical person ever expects it." - Sonya Herrera.

OOC:

Reducio

That Thundercats joke aged me sixty years, but it was worth it!
Also, the spanish means "Oh my God, dude!"

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Calming Presence in Effect: Figaro & Participants Affected

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House Colours: Hufflepuff

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A subconscious chill would settle further when the young Slytherin Astra would also take a seat across from Piérre himself. He would welcome her to his presence with a bright grin and a similarly bright "Buongiorno! Good Morning!" to boot.

Over the past half year Piérre had gotten the privilege to get to know Astra a bit better than merely observing her from afar as he would for most others. It had certainly helped that he had recently elevated her position in his underground operations, resulting in getting to work with her more.

Nasty rumors had been circulated about Astra. Piérre didn't believe them, and he would be damned if anyone else dared to wrongfully accuse her over them.

She, like he, had been flabbergasted by the precious item. "I--uh..." I mean... he did have another broom, and she had a name... "Yyyyyeah. Yeah." A faint if uncertain smile began to form. "Yeah, a name. I think she needs to earn it." A small nod, more confident with every passing second. "Like Luciana did. You can touch her if you want. I trust you." He, in fact, offered the broom for Astra to hold if she desired. After all, it would give him more time to inspect the card unimpeded by the delivery proper.

The two darker barn owls, seemingly content with the fact that their burden had been delivered, began to fly off. The lighter cream one stuck behind, observing Piérre with enormous and soulful eyes as he continued to inspect the message that it had given to him.

Well, do consider the boy surprised, for indeed as enthralled as he was with the broom that he was still handling and the notecard he was still continuing to turn in his hand he did not notice a newcomer approaching from behind and exclaiming quite loudly her thoughts aloud. Tensing up for a second at the Spanish exclamation [an exclamation, interestingly enough that he was able to subconsciously translate due to the shared roots of the romantic languages], Piérre nearly fumbled the card to the ground as his eyes widened in secondary shock, but he snapped towards the evocation and then recovered, shaking his head and concurring with her. "Y-yeah...!" He said enthusiastically but still uncertainly. "I don't... don't know why I got this or whatever... but... yeah!" He smiled shakily, still looking at the card and then beginning to inspect the picture a bit closer.

He was stuck upon looking at the face of the elder man. That face... the silhouette-like impression of it. That single eye was dark and stormy, cerulean like his brother's... but the pupil, that gleaming seat of the soul, had no light in it. It did not reflect the remnants that managed to reach them... it consumed them and devoured it whole... The added fact that he now knew that that vengeful, empty eye was in fact a component of what had made him did nothing to alleviate that chilling sensation of being stared through. Of being watched. Hunted. Observed. As if he were a small rodent, and it were the eye of an eagle.

It was always the sensation of being looked at with eyes, wasn't it? Eyes of his classmates, eyes of those that he had let down, eyes of those who wished harm, eyes of those that wished pity. So many eyes, and so many obsessions that had driven him to the brink and beyond it more times than he could count. Even as his health had improved both mentally and physically, the memories of the things he had done even under influences continued to haunt and creep--the damages that had been done were ones that could not be mended.

Perhaps as a performer he should not have been as paranoid about such things. But as a young man, as one trying to tread water just enough to keep one's head above the water... he most certainly did. Swept together in fingers to collect the sparkling fragments of the old memories like diamond dust... slipping through his fingers to never be recovered...

The eyes on his back...

'Ricorda le mie parole, ragazzo: un giorno prenderai la tua morte. Segnateli bene, perché quando lo farete, giuro che sarà per mano mia. Mark my words, boy: one day you will catch your death. Mark them well, for when you do, I swear that it will be by my hand.' Played the growl of the silken voice in the boy's mind once more as he remembered even as that eye had turned foggy and uncertain then--the effects of the sleeping draught working its magic slowly but surely. E non sarà indolore, te lo assicuro. And it will not be a painless one, I assure you.'

"Yeah, definitely a 'she'." Piérre mused to himself before turning the picture over and looking at the message proper once more. The 12th, huh...? Not too long before the schools came to visit. His brother wouldn't be around... Nor would Valentin. The two people that he had come to trust the most after so many of his other relationships had fallen so disastrously away, two people he would not have access to on that day to answer the obvious and strange summons.

Was there a reason for this specific date? A reason for the assurance? The handwriting did not look like Gitano's, though... but then again Piérre had very little exposure to the unpleasant man outside of the drugging. Knowing his unsavory reputation, was it not a possibility that forgery could very well be a part of his repertoire? "Probably something to do with gold, maybe?" He glanced at Astra, still flipping the paper between his fingers like it was a fidget.

He glanced at the other girl. "I... don't believe I've met you. You like brooms? Quidditch player? Broom racer?" A faint smile began to return, the gleam in his eyes heightening once more even as he continued to consider the possibilities and purpose...

Figaro leapt up on Piérre's seat, beginning to playfully bap at the barn owl's folded wings.

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Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 8 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 9

Abilities:
Keen Eye • Calming Presence • Beast Master [Cat] • Cat's Grace • Animagus • Muggle Condition

Items:
Wand [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife | Starsweeper XXI
[Violet] Deck of 52 Playing Cards

Sonya talking: #6600ff
Interacting with: @Piérre Marchonné and @Astra Norrick

Stamina: 6 Evasion: 4 Strength: 9 Wisdom: 4 Arcane Power: 4 Accuracy: 3
"Why use magic in a fight when you can just use your fists? No magical person ever expects it." - Sonya Herrera.

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Calming Presence in Effect: Figaro & Participants Affected

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House Colours: Hufflepuff

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Well it was surely almost a certainty that Gitano had not been very happy about waking up the way that he had after Piérre had drugged him that one time. He didn't know, however, just how well the man would or would not hold a grudge. Romeo had been acting all finicky during the summer camp though he refused to explain why. Things were, perhaps, uncomfortably quiet--a rare instance of the cat getting away with the cream? Something that he likely should be thankful for and find it in himself not to question as it was, most likely, a good thing?

"Hey~!" Came the ejaculation when the sketch was snatched from his hand, green eyes immediately finding themselves heavily creased under their furrowed brows in a mixture of intrigue and distaste. There was a turning of Figaro's attention from the owl as a low sound came and went in his throat, but the owl regained his attention too quickly to act on a non-threat. Piérre's brow arced. "You like mysteries, huh?" Funny. He used to like them too before they had very quickly taken to tearing him apart with the madness of the need to either solve or to alleviate. "Well, Sonya, perhaps you know, then, that one of the bases of good investigation is to 'look, don't touch'." The upper corner of his lip twitched unconsciously, an uncomfortable attempt by the muscle to expose an incisor in a snarling smile that was crushed down far before its completion. The name went to his memory, filing itself and trying to tie together strands of his own knowledge based on the reputations of the school that slipped from incautious lips and loose tongues. "Especially when you don't entirely know what you're dealing with. That being said,"

Piérre glanced to Astra, feeling tension alleviate itself from his shoulders as he reassured himself there was no good reason for the terseness. He tapped the tip of his nose thoughtfully. "I don't blame the ambition. Tact, however, is a refinable skill." A full, secretive grin was flashed to the younger snakelet behind the obscuring hand. "And Astra is right. This is Italian: my mother tongue. French has its roots in Italian's roots of Latin, but the linguistics are very different. The paper would have to be many times larger just to fit in all the silent letters that wouldn't even be pronounced in practice." Came the backhanded tease of the particular romance language before with two fingers he plucked the picture back in the same manner in which it had been taken from him to begin with. He folded it up and put it behind his back, keeping his hand only slightly open towards Astra just in case the curiosity became too much for herself to bear.

The speakeasy smile returned once more. "Those are a few interesting theories of yours." He tipped his head slightly, his gaze flicking down at the notebook for a few seconds in a brief attempt to glean anything of particular interest. "And honestly your guess is as good as mine." He certainly had most immediately had the thought that the image could well be a precognition of some kind--especially since the handwriting was unfamiliar and the characters on the image were very strangely similar to the appearances of two people that he knew at least on a more basic level.

Himself... and Gitano.

"Could be someone with a knack for premonition, seer or otherwise." Piérre was willing to leave the benefit of the doubt on the table due to his personal skill with the art. "But like Astra said, I don't think the letter came from someone on the inside. I've run into precious few others here who speak my language fluently enough to write a grammatically correct letter... let alone know who I am... and then again let alone would be as generous as they are to give me a gift like this all willy-nilly."

The owl, seemingly content with its work, preened one more feather and then fluttered its wings before taking to the skies and exiting with the rest of the owls so as to garner for itself a well-deserved rest. Figaro left it with one last loving bap before stretching deeply and then climbing up the arm of his master at his silently beckoning signal of extending that arm to the feline. With contentment, Figaro curled around Piérre's shoulders and laid down, staring Sonya in the eyes with deep minty green feline curiosity. "Which leads me to wonder how they know so much, and why."

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Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 8 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 9

Abilities:
Keen Eye • Calming Presence • Beast Master [Cat] • Cat's Grace • Animagus • Muggle Condition

Items:
Wand [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife | Starsweeper XXI
[Violet] Deck of 52 Playing Cards