Only Revolutions PV closed

@Lamik Fillestar

Diffindo.

Diffindo!

Incendio!

These were the pleas of a desperate man. A madman.

Xailah was unsure of how long she had been leaning in the doorway, watching this young lion's phycological tether come undone with each dissatisfied cast. However, she did know she had overstayed her welcome once she saw his skin begin to bead, and his casting arm grow heavy. How many minutes had she played audience to his mania? Five? Ten? Time eluded her with the eventual (and very temporary) ceasefire.

The Dueling Club defined the word insanity; it was a place of unyielding repetition. It was a duelist's curse, to chase their tail in circles for the entertainment of the masses. The perfection all relentlessly sought through failure after failure, was a reward seldom won; and those who did find it hardly walked away satisfied with their accomplishment- thus restarting the cycle they had come so close to ending. The recital resumed, as did their unanswered cries.

Like many times before, it was those despairing chants which caught Xailah's attention in passing and lured her to the dueling room. She always knew she'd find the same old act- a spellcaster- often winded, often distressed, always angry- yet she couldn't help but peek around the corner every time, as if she'd one day stumble upon a different scene. Typically, she didn't stay long to watch the unfurling of severely suppressed turmoil, yet this lad's performance had captivated her. Perhaps it was the use of a name when referring to the practice dummy (a quirk she did not commonly find among the other duelists she had seen), or his quick and violent approach to casting, that made her stop and observe a little longer than usual.

Xailah would make herself known to the boy before he had the chance to discover her first. Clearing her throat in the midst of the blond's false-assurances to the practice dummy, she would call out calm and clear; "Pardon me for intruding." She offered modestly, and if he felt inclined to turn her way, she'd dip her chin in a slight bow. Although, she sought no true dismissal of her interruption. "I heard you down the corridor," she then explained, peering over her shoulder and jutting an index finger around the doorframe, "I couldn't help but investigate what all the ruckus was about."

Her golds narrowed in a way implicative of a smile, but no grin could be found forming on her face. Sharp pupils slid to the badly abused dummy, still smouldering in some places from the earlier assault it had endured. "Might I ask what you wish to achieve here? Poor Sam looks like he has taken quite the beating from you."

@Lamik Fillestar

Lamik Fillestar. Xailah may not have known him by name, but she did know him by presence. He was a sixth year Gryffindor, promising duelist, and a reserved- if peculiar- housemate, from what she had observed in passing; although, his present disposition challenged the image of a modest peer.

He was still odd, however. His mad rambling and relentless assault on the designated practice dummy reinforced that opinion. If that wasn't enough, he'd make a further spectacle of himself with an abrupt decision to turn his dueling weapon onto his prying audience. "A bit tense, are we?" The lioness returned calmly, peering past the crosshairs of his wand. "There's no need for that." Lest he planned to give her the Sam treatment.

It wasn't Xailah's first time on the wrong end of a wand and it definitely wouldn't be her last, given her troublesome penchant for combat and the like. She'd be called insane if she admitted to the thrill being caught down a scope gave. Still, she was mindful of the lad and his extended arm, acknowledging his precarious state. The hesitance found in his silence provided the impression that he had no intention to hurt her; but it was still wise to proceed gingerly.

She reclined against the doorframe's wooden edge, straightening her back against the polished timber. Her arms folded loosely across her chest as she peered at him under the glow of curious half-moons; listening to the answers to questions never asked. Sam the Eternal Child. Eternal child of what? Torment? That was the only everlasting thing this Sam was experiencing. Poor bastard. The edge of her brows curled into question marks. "You would certainly have a chance at the team again-" she squinted at the battered practice mannequin across the room, taking in the young man's handiwork, "-if they replaced all the duelists with dummies, that is." Not that it would make much of a difference.

It was unwise, perhaps, to insult a former duelist- if not known for their spellmanship, then they were often known for their short tempers- but this boy had all the time in the world to enact an assault; time that would be left untaken even with his wand still drawn in defense. "Have you no company to duel with? People make for better practice than dummies, I think." Xailah momentarily wondered if he was ever going to put his arm down- or at least do something other than stand around like a scarecrow. Not that she minded, but was that stance not an exhausting one to maintain? She'd watch the self-awareness finally creep across his face and into his arm, lowering it. "You were being loud, yes. But you were no bother to me." The metamorph concluded with a half-shrug.

His question was half-expected (even if the same could not be said for his less than friendly tone), although she didn't want to give the impression that she wanted something, because, well, she didn't. "Oh? No. I was just passing through." She admitted simply. "Unless you have something to offer?"