Washed Up? PV Illowy Magnard CLOSED

Illowy trudged her way back up from by the Great Lake, heavy limbed and disheveled in a particularly un-Magnard-like way. Hair tangled in confused waves and curled, ripped down from the bun it once formed with a knit hat pulled over to mitigate the mess, her pink trainers mudded, and winter cloak draped over her arm. Despite typically being an enemy of the cold, the sharp air felt good at the moment after her run around the lake. That was her life now; wake up, run, go to breakfast, class, run again, go to dinner, study, stand at paranoid guard over Slytherin at night sleep, repeat. Anything else had been lost to the wayside over the years... not that Illowy could quite pinpoint when her days had become quite like this.

Anything to rid herself of the constant vibrating of nervous energy that only seemed to cease when she wore herself out. Whatever she had to do to make her brain quiet.

At this point in her routine, she was on her second run. Her whole body felt like jelly as she gained ground toward the castle. On most days, she'd simply make her way quietly back to her dorm and clean herself up before making her appearance in the Great Hall for supper. Most days, she wouldn't pay any mind to her peers as she did so; but most days, there wasn't a pitiful spectacle on display.

That's the only way she could describe what she was paying witness to as she slowed her pace to watch the weakest Aqua Eructo she'd seen outside of the classroom during the actual lesson, soon followed by a painful to watch attempt at Expelliarmus, which ended in the lad's own wand going flying; her pale, ghostly gaze following its path to it's resting place somewhere amid the dying grass and rotting leaves of autumn before returning to the boy, who followed it; looking nothing short of a kicked crup pup.

Her cold gaze watched, trying to place him a moment. She couldn't quite place his name, but despite his appearance, she placed his face as one of her last opponents before she stopped showing up for quit the duelling team. Not that she had much room to judge on the deterioration of appearance; she, herself, knew she'd seen better days with the impact of her long runs and longer nights trying to constantly keep herself occupied and distracted. Even she could see how it wore on her, but she actively avoid acknowledging its impact on her studies, her body, her mind, relationships, all of it quietly compartmentalized away and written off with either the hit of a sneaker to dirt or the turn of a page in a book.

At the very least, despite her withdraw from the team and damn near every other kind of socialization beyond that which was inescapable, such as dorms and class, her casting certainly hadn't suffered. If anything, it had thrived under her restless need to occupy and perfect herself in the ways she could control.

The snake's gaze held steady as she moved to follow him toward where the wand had fallen, squatting down amongst nature's mess, "Since when do you miss?" she questioned, her voice cool and neutral as she smoothed some sweaty hair from her face and tried to locate the wand; which was quickly evident that it would be a more difficult task than anticipated.

"Stupid... Useless wand..." Thomas grumbled bitterly to himself as he brushed his feet over some of the isolated greenery in the courtyard, hoping to uncover what he had lost. He was of course blaming the tools when he should have been blaming his own hand, but self-awareness had always evaded him. At the very least, the frustration managed to shake him from his apathy for a brief while; Tom had always been the sort to be easily irritated.

"Since when do you miss?"

Looking up to the source of the noise, Tom's expression shifted. His brows relaxed briefly, his jaw unclenched, as some recognition dawned instead. It was a far cry from a smile or a warm welcome, of course, but it was only somewhat unfriendly. Which, save for when he was asleep and thus untroubled, was probably the kindest Thomas could offer these days, so sparing were his energy and manners. As for the question, cool and cutting at the same time, the young man dismissively waved a hand as he answered, "Probably around when I stopped caring." Tom spoke with a tone so flat it could level mountains, such was the weight of indifference. Long gone was the wizard who would suffer no insult, who would rage in the face of loss or mockery.

Drawing in a breath to offer further comment, he finally spotted his wand in the fray. After retrieving it, Thomas regarded it with some animosity. His gaze listlessly drifted back to Illowy, silent a few moments before asking, "What's your angle, here?" In all honesty, the boy assumed that she had approached to make fun of him. It wouldn't have been unjustified, not in his eyes, but he doubted an outsider's ability to outclass his internal monologue. One trait that he had managed to hold onto in his downward spiral was his self absorption, though now it was expressed most obviously in the form of deeply rooted self hatred.

"If you're looking for someone to jeer at, I suppose, be my goddamned guest," Tom offered, taking something of a bow as if he were some sort of performer.

@Illowy Magnard

Illowy could feel her tired muscles trembling under her weight as she shifted from her squat to sitting on her knees, quietly continuing her assistance in his search.

"Probably around when I stopped caring."

Something about such a simple statement, spoken with such ease of indifference, felt heavy in the air around them. Sure, she didn't know much about the guy, but they'd faced one another at least once, and Illowy was of the opinion that you could read a lot about a person by the way they duel. Haze as the memory might've been around the fine details, but she could recall how relentless he'd been, if not a little whiney once he was left on his own to face both herself and her partner at the time. How long after that had he stopped caring?

When the fallen wand was finally retrieved, she eyed him with a steady gaze, just as his own had landed on her. She could feel the scrutinization radiating off him, "Angle?" she echoed back to him with a slightly raised brow as he went on.

"I don't jeer." she responded simply, gaze flickering over him once more. Illowy's reputation boasted the majority of her poorest qualities; she was cold and aloof, she was stoic and unreachable, she was brutal and indifferent to most people who crossed her, but the at the very least, no one could claim that she was cruel or a bully. She wouldn't tolerate such a lie to be attached to her.

She sat back on her heels, wondering why exactly she had even bothered to approach him. They'd never even spoken before that she could remember beside that singular duel (if one could even claim that counted). There was just something about the look of him, of the whole scene, that just felt so... familiar. Like recognizes like and all that bullshit. Sort of, she'd never let an Expelliarmus backfire on her like that. But she knew that expression, and the slump of his shoulders and the taste of such self-deprecating sarcasm that dripped from his tongue, waiting for someone to confirm out loud everything already quietly understood in one's mind.

This year seemed to have been the year of her helping people. Helping the underclassman ease when they missed home, helping them with their classwork, or finding an outfit for a stupid dance or navigating to a classroom. If she were honest with herself, it felt more like weak attempts of placating the guilt that was already settling in her chest for all the times she'd failed over the years, as well as trying to make up for the fact that soon Hogwarts would just be a memory for her. However, Illowy didn't know how to help here as she looked at him, as though he were some strange reflection of herself in a carnival mirror. She was barely able to help herself most days.

The snake pulled off her hat, running fingers through dirty hair before she tossed her cloak aside and the hat along with it, "Want to practice with me?" she asked, not really even looking at him as she shifted to stand up carefully, willing her tired body not to sway once she was on her feet. Did she have the energy for this? Likely not, but she'd feel unsettled if she walked away now, "I'm a shite tutor, and it might be the blind leading the blind, but who better to help an ex-duellest who stopped caring than another ex-duellest who stopped caring?" she offered the smallest shadow of a smirk and an indifferent shrug of her shoulders.

At the very least, she could offer, even if she thought she might be useless for him. At least she could mollify her conscious by saying that she tried, even if he ultimately just scoffed her off.

"I don't jeer."

It was not any commentary on Thomas' opinion of Illowy that he used the word jeer; the young man was largely so absorbed in his self-hatred that he presumed it was universally accepted that he was terrible. As Thomas straightened up again, he regarded the girl in front of her with something along the lines of skepticism. If looks could kill, this one certainly would not, but it might wither. "Right," came his dull reply, lacking in energy and enthusiasm. Tom added, in perhaps the most self-pitying tone, "Pity is more your speed?"

Still, as the Ravenclaw took a closer look at Illowy, his furrowed brows and frown softened if only slightly. It was hard to put up such an abrasive front when it was becoming clear that she meant no harm, intended no great insult. Miserable though Thomas may have been, he did not possess the wherewithal to be outwardly spiteful for long. Taking in a deep breath, he exhaled out in a meandering sort of sigh, before opting to offer her a, "Sorry... That's not your problem." That referred to, largely, his self-deprecation.

He was conscious that his terrible moods likely was the cause of his self-isolation, which in turn made him feel even more horrid. Though aware of the vicious cycle, Thomas felt no real pull to fix it. The only person he felt he could reliably count on to put up with this behavior was one @Sylvie O'Neill, and she was probably too busy warring with her own mind to deal with his behavior. His struggles were hardly worth considering, and as such, Thomas was a prisoner to monotony.

Misery was familiar, now, and in that sense it was more comforting to remain this way rather than take the risk of fixing it all. Every day was the same, terrible day, and these terrible days were bookended by the occasional, Exceptionally Bad One. In losing his drive, in allowing his skills to atrophy, Thomas had lost something that was once very important to him: agency. Without the means to competently cast spells or pass his exams, his potential path narrowed considerably. Powerlessness led to paralysis, stagnation.

"Want to practice with me? I'm a shite tutor, and it might be the blind leading the blind, but who better to help an ex-duellest who stopped caring than another ex-duellest who stopped caring?"

The offer hung in the air a while as Thomas considered it. His immediate, kneejerk reaction was one of immense disdain, but the Ravenclaw did not voice this. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to collect themselves into a more orderly fashion, and his addled and apathetic mind considered the pros and cons. On one hand, he stood to embarrass himself in front of a person he... Didn't really know? Illowy might have remembered him from dueling literal years ago, but he figured that any renown he might have possessed from that period in his life had long faded. On the other, he'd not be navigating this practice alone, and would at least be forced to be somewhat accountable for his continued efforts. This might ensure that his apathy didn't win out once again, at the very least.

"What's in it for you?" Though interested, Thomas was still not quite moved by Illowy's altruism. He was convinced that she must have some ulterior motive for helping him, perhaps she was banking on having a favor owed later. "I can't offer jack shit, not unless you have some need for scathing remarks and terrible banter. I've been uninspired as of late, but if that's what you're after, I'll try my best." His tone was dry, bordering on insincere, but his gaze was focused in a way that it hadn't been throughout their exchange.

@Illowy Magnard, apologies for the delay!

The girl raised a brow at him when he bit back again, now accosting her of pitying him. Illowy Magnard certainly didn't pity anyone. Such a thing felt like an insult towards another; though perhaps that was only because she felt insulted when others took pity on her. Not that that had happened for quite some time. At least in this case, it didn't seem as though she needed to bother with a word as the lad corrected himself, and she decided to allow the outburst to roll off her shoulders.

She waited for his reply as he stood there quietly a moment. The snake could only assume he was further trying to figure out what he 'angle', as he'd so eloquently put it, was. Which once more, she seemed to clock from him.

Illowy pursed her lips slightly, "Maybe I'm just a masochist. I always did feel more alive when taking hits in a duel." she shrugged, her tone bored. Its not as though she was lying. Something always sparked in her taking hits in duels, making her want to hit back harder, faster. It made her heart race and blood pump, and she'd feel indestructible for just a moment. These days, she found different ways to get that feeling; but taking a hit would always rank the highest, "So maybe I just want to feel alive." a chance, for a fleeting moment, to feel like more than a ghost, floating about from place to place as the living world rushed about her with all the energy and colour she lacked.

Shrugging again, the girl pulled her wand from the holster at her hip, twirling the piece effortlessly through thin fingers "But, in the event that's not a possibility and you can't hit me, I can settle for shitty banter and scathing remarks." his eyes seemed to properly train on her now compared to before, "Everyone wins. You get to hone some of that pent up anger and distain on a willing participant. I get to feel alive. What more could we want?"

you're totally fine! No worries friend!

"Maybe I'm just a masochist. I always did feel more alive when taking hits in a duel." [...] "So maybe I just want to feel alive."

The frankness, though jarring, was oddly comforting. Thomas began with some initial, sarcastic quip, "Generally, it's meant to make you feel the opposite way." It was funny in that it was unfunny, a statement of the obvious. Still, there shone a recognition in his gaze as he eyed Illowy, and after a pause he found himself speaking again. A confession, perhaps, "There's... A rush, in it. Pain is such a reductive word." Of course, there was the adrenaline of the win, but Tom knew all too well the sensation of remaining standing against all odds. Further, he knew feeling of losing his footing, hitting the ground as his consciousness faded. The delirium of pushing through through stubborn determination alone had brought many a smile to his face. For all Tom's pride, if he had truly hated this, he certainly would have quit far earlier.

No, Tom had quit the duelling team for far less interesting reasons—he was tired, and little else mattered at the time.

"Everyone wins. You get to hone some of that pent up anger and distain on a willing participant. I get to feel alive. What more could we want?"

Glancing down at his own wand, Thomas lightly pulled a leaf off of the seemingly alive twig. He would have to shear these wispy branches off, he realized, if he actually wanted to take himself seriously again. It was another task to be added to the to-do list, in addition to maybe attending classes from time to time. Allowing it to fall from his hands, he met Illowy's eyes again, and his posture adjusted some. He didn't quite straighten—but rather than slouching, his stance was more akin to someone anticipating an attack. Thomas almost allowed a grin to break out on his face, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Seems we've got a deal."

There was an air of anticipation in his words as Tom finally answered, "For old time's sake, then. To chase how it used to be." This wasn't quite how he felt—the Ravenclaw hardly yearned for the inexperience of youth—but it was a close enough approximation. At the very least, he missed the simplicity of the past, and the brutality of slinging spells at a classmate for better or for worse. Nevertheless, despite the barely suppressed excitement that lingered under the surface of his scowl, Thomas seemed polite enough to await Illowy's first move before he took his own action.

@Illowy Magnard