closed Atlantis Valentine's Day Cabin

There really is not much for Mathias to do here. I am having him considered out of the post order, topic exited because he is basically retiring for the evening.

Mathias would lug his trunk, which was possibly as large as Winnie's. He was not one to go without creature comforts. He was not particularly domestic, so he was not prioritizing new sheets. The room was... nice in a sort of touristy sort of way. Perhaps there was a slot to insert galleons into the bed.

While hopeful, alas no.

He stayed out of whatever the altercation was in the room adjacent. He had no reason to overhear whatever was going on with the young kids they had been shacked up with.

"Babe, wanna make out?" Why mine words or dance around the subject? They had been sent to France for a week with minimal adult supervision, he had every intention to take every advantage of the week starting now. "Giddy aint going anywhere," he reminded her. But at least there was a wall, a door, hopefully a lock between them. They had nothing to worry about, while Gideon was absolutely mad, he had some concept of caution.

Assuming Winnie prefers to interface with the other players, Mathias would recover a book from his trunk and make himself comfortable in their shared room. If she decided to take the snake up on his blunt offer, well what happens could easily be assumed... For the sake of the sensibilities of others, one can only hope that the door is locked.

Gideon had come to rescue Matthew Campbell—or at least, to retrieve the snake before he said something truly unfortunate. Giddy was not too concerned about the truth being revealed, he could always deny-deny-deny, or better yet... confess. Pull the mask away and start having real fun without pretense. But deception was a part of the game. Gideon did not know this young snake well, but Matthew seemed eager and malleable as well as clever in his own way. But cleverness meant nothing if one lacked control. And Matthew, it seemed, was dangerously close to losing control of this situation as he was faced with the no-nonsense Bubba McGarry.

Bubba McGarry was an older student. At least older than Matthew. Also, the Ravenclaw had a pre-existing tie to fellow bird Winnie Harper, his elder brother's gaslit fiance. Whatever union they shared was forged in the sterile, stifling walls of St. Mungo’s during her so-called "recovery." Gideon did not believe in coincidence.

So who exactly was Bubba McGarry?

A chronically ill invalid, lingering in and out of hospital beds, his entire existence orbiting around suffering?

A mentally unwell case, clinging to Winnie because they were both broken in some way?

Or was it something far simpler, far more enjoyable? Maybe—just maybe—Winnie was a liar.

He rather hoped for the last one.

Still, Gideon had work to do. Matthew was fumbling.

The Athanatos had approached the younger boy with an easy, casual request—asking for his rosehip tea. Something that he could only hope the teen would seek to verify. Doused in the scent of rose for only one, singular reason: to be able to lie about the contents of the bottle if someone came asking. Mossy rose, a vaguely romantic scent. It seemed fitting considering their setting. The substance could fill sachets, fill rooms with a lingering floral scent. It could be as he claimed that moment, used in a tea. If Bubba demanded a test to see if what was in Matthew's hand, they could easily play along.

The aroma was unmistakable—roses, soft and familiar. If questioned, Matthew could brew a cup with loose leaves, no hesitation. Matt or Giddy could swap the dried leaves for something else entirely, if one of them was bold enough. They could even serve their enemies hot poison ivy leaf water, if either of them were truly vicious.

But Matthew?

Matthew did not take the bait.

He claimed that bottle of dried leaves was for his anxiety.

Interesting play.

Gideon had been expecting deflection, yes, but not this particular brand of it. If Matthew were a keener player, Campbell would have understood that feigning strength was a better defense than feigning fragility. Fragility could be picked apart. Fragility was an invitation to be tested.

But he chose fragility as well. It was a way of drawing in others. Of making unlikely alliances. Protectors that suffered from a lethal case of white knight syndrome. Gideon's fatal flaw was not pride, so he had no qualm playing the damsel.

Giddy's eyes flicked about the duo. Was there a white knight he had overlooked?

No, there was not.

Did Bubba care?

That was the question. If Bubba gave a damn, if he saw Matthew as something small and precious, then the boy’s performance might work. But if not?

Well. Time would tell.

Gideon’s brows knit together as Matthew veered dangerously close to self-destruction.

Something about… farting in his brother’s bedsheets?

He could care less about whatever pitiful, childish squabble Aamon had with Matthew. If anything, he could hope that Matt toughened the idiot up. If Aamon was was a gooey mess at his strongest, then he hoped the snake has his fun.

Something about being the Slytherin Poisoner?

He had no idea what that meant. The rumor mill seemed to be lacking. Or, more likely the incident was so close to the journey that the whispers had not met his ears just yet. If anything, he was mildly impressed that this little worm actually made a name for himself.

Gideon's gaze sharpened.

Ah. So that’s where we are, then.

Matthew was embroiled in scandal—something to do with his brother or perhaps even Slytherin at large. A delightful little thing for him to unravel later. But for now, this feigned admission presented Gideon with an opportunity.

Gideon’s expression darkened with feigned fury, his stance shifting, projecting righteous indignation. His voice, when it came, was sharp, clipped—designed to bait Bubba, to bait anyone listening.

"You mean that was you?"

Then, without hesitation, Gideon attempted to grab Matthew’s arm. If Matt did not avoid the Hufflepuff's grip, he would attempt to drag him in a surprising act of physical aggression toward their shared room, his grip just tight enough to suggest vengeance. If Matthew avoided his grip, attempted to escape him, Gideon would feel a flare of heat. Did he not know what a sign was? Gideon would attempt to slap Campbell across the face hard. Hard enough to leave an angry, red imprint on the boy's face before making his demand "our room now."

"The spell gives the person that it is being used on a new hair color or a hairstyle even... granted we will not learn this spell just yet, perhaps in future years...and it does not damage one's hair so it can be used multiple times." Avis frowned; Nabi had given her a glance mid-explanation—one that Avis couldn’t interpret as anything but smug, as if she were pointing out the fact that while Avis might not know the spell, she certainly did and it was really Avis' fault for this severe lack of knowledge on her part. She nodded curtly, "Ah."

Following Nabi into the last bedroom, Avis took a moment to once again admire the flowing wall, before making her way to a bed and slinging her satchel onto it, claiming her territory. Pulling open the treasure chest at the foot of her bed, she began to pull out her supplies for the week: neatly folded clothes, pajamas (you could never go wrong with a soft pair of pajamas), and toiletries. All these things fit neatly to one side of the treasure chest, while her clarinet case took up the remainder of the chest. Looking at the still-mostly-empty chest, she glanced over at Nabi, who seemed to have an entire trunk of the same size full. What, exactly, did she need all that for? A formal dinner every night? A backup plan for every possible scenario? Maybe Nabi just liked options. Maybe Avis just hated the weight of too much stuff."

Being unpacked, she laid her satchel on the nightstand and sat on the bed, pushing on the mattress with her hands behind her and gazing around the room, sinking into the soft mattress. It was undeniably beautiful, but similar to Nabi, Avis was a minimalist, and couldn't say that she would have designed it this way. She nodded halfheartedly at Nabi's inquiry as to whether she wanted to be referred to as Avis. Of course, she did. That should have been obvious.

"I noticed your reaction to me using your family name as a way to address you...Is there a particular reason why?" Well, that was direct. A small grin made its way onto Avis' face. She appreciated Nabi's bluntness, it would only be a matter of time until they would see if it would be reciprocated. The silence stretched on a moment, not an awkward silence, rather a thoughtful one as Avis took her time to formulate her thought. She wasn't about to tell the girl it made her feel like a nursery school teacher, after all.

Finally, she spoke"Because that would indicate a professional relationship. And I don't know about you, but I prefer to avoid anything having to do with being an adult until it is forced down my throat."

"It appears us being roommates should be less troubling than what is going on-" That was for sure. At least it seemed that Nabi would be a logical anchor in the midst of this madness. Nabi was a bit too uptight for Avis' taste—rigid in a way that made her seem calculated rather than careless. But, Avis supposed, if she had to choose, she'd take rigid over brainless any day.

"So if you have any decency you won't judge me for having ruffled and well... farted in his bed. It seemed a light attack in comparison." Avis' jaw dropped, and she met Nabi's blank stare with utter disgust. She has forgotten, in the middle of all the tension and hatred and confusion, that she was sharing a cabin for a week with five teenage boys. Mathias, she assumed, wouldn't be a problem, considering the suffocating troves of cologne wafted off him, but Matthew didn't seem entirely the type of person who would use deodorant.

Nothing like teenage boys to bring a pair of girls together.

@Nabi Park

Bubba eyed him suspiciously as the boy attempted to justify his actions. He said he had poor choice in roommates as if he'd had a choice. The only good roommate would have been Winnie but she was already taken. He didn't know Aamon or anyone else and that was the problem. He didn't know any of them and he wasn't comfortable rooming with any of them. He was just going to have to keep to himself until this week of hell concluded.

Now he'd shifted gears and was prattling on about being ostracized or something. This is what happens when you go back and forth between schools, he thought to himself, don't know any of the juicy gossip. "Look man, I don't know anything about you being ostracized or being a poisoner or any of that shit," the word poisoner was setting alarm bells off in his head though. He didn't know this kid and didn't trust him, "I transferred back from Ilvermoney and have been here for about five minutes. I don't know the gossip and I don't care." He didn't know what he'd done but certainly didn't believe his story, "Hang on let me check my receipt real quick," he said as he mimed reaching into his pocket and looking at a piece of paper, "Yeah, I didn't buy any of your BS."

From behind him he heard Aamon chime in. Bubba still thought he was a weird member of a weird family but he hadn't really interacted with him. He should at least give him a chance. They couldn't all be rotten (could they?). And at least this boy was polite, his mother had always taught him that good manners cost nothing. He responded to his question by snapping, "I thought Lincoln freed the slaves," jokingly. He then added seriously, "I have not, but until we can find one," he took his wand out and pointed it at the boy's bed, "Scourgify!" before turning to his own bed and casting the same spell.

He had listened to Matthew's warning about Aamon but was mostly disinterested in what he was pretty sure was pure, grade-A bullshit. He spoke again, sounding more frustrated with his voice raised, he wasn't yelling but it would carry a bit, "I don't care if you climbed into his bed and took a shit before rubbing your junk all over his pillow, it's not your room and it's creepy if nothing else."

Then the other one, Gideon decided to try his turn at speaking. Was he trying to accuse Matthew of something? Bubba had lost all interest. Matthew wasn't going to cop to anything and he just wanted the little creeper out of his room. He did not take the bait and just let the words hang in the air as Gideon tried to grab Matthew and rush him out of the room. He was fine with that.

He was done with this conversation and with him so he decided to end his role in it, "You've done whatever you came here to do so go, back to your room or whatever, off you fuck," he said as he dismissively waved him away. "Oh and one more thing," he added, "I catch you creeping my room again I'll beat your ass and hide the bible if God's watching."

Interacting: @Winnie Harper | @Gideon Athanatos | @Mattew Campbell | @Aamon Athanatos
Mentioning: Drake

Date: February 12th 2025

It took a great deal of personal strength to not laugh at the pink princess' reaction to his lie, of course the likely miss bunny slippers would be disgusted by something as simple as a fart. Girls were always extra about that stuff but Matthew grew up outdoors knowing there were plenty of worse smells and fates. Despite this Matthew was actually a rather hygienic child (denying the allegations of @Avis Marlong) and he could understand the disgust but really they were all being very dramatic. I mean the boy who he now unfortunately understood, at least on occasion, to be American was acting as if someone had just shot his dog.

In under an hour Matthew's expectations for this trip had gone from bad to worse. For it seemed he was surrounded by some of the most uptight, paranoid and weirdly aggressive students he had ever met. The whole aura of the cabin felt stale and he was already tired of it. Had the prank gone successfully the effects would have been mild at best but it seemed instead everyone was quite literally determined to have a poor time, posing the question of why they bothered coming in the first place. Then things soured even more as a well of cringe was summoned from the American's performance. It was sickening, far worse than any action he had committed and his mime work an utter disaster worthy of at least a face palm. Bubba was clearly not destined to be the next Charlie Chaplin but he was certainly dramatic enough to prove his status as an American. Honestly the restraint it took for him to not walk out the room was worthy of sainthood.

Tensing uncomfortably at Aamon's labouring demands he wondered truly how he managed for even a second to consider him a friend, swearing off cider and firewhisky for life. Bubba's response may have been considered comical had Matthew not been recovering from the horrors of his crimes but instead the words just conjured a version of history where Lincoln had not only had to suffer assassination but incomparably worse, Bubba's acting.

Whatever ramblings followed next he struggled to comprehend. I mean the shit made sense, it was a logical follow up to the fart but why was he suggesting rubbing rubbish on his pillow, what relevance did junk have in this perceived equation. Then there was the notion of creepy, Matthew rather thought he didn't mind such a word, he had certainly been called worse but given his favourite holiday was Halloween and he was marked by death from birth he may as well adopt the development. Perhaps he could even scare some of the purebloods with recreating horror movie tropes, the possibilities the idea opened were truly endless. In another life he might've thanked the boy for the genius idea but at present he was telling him to exit rather unbecomingly so Matt denied him the pleasure.

In the meantime Gideon had butted in, pardoning the rather apt pun, with a confusing display of fury that had him reconsidering his earlier stance on the brothers. Perhaps he really was a stark defender of his kin and the snake was about to meet his untimely fate. Yanked in an aggressive manoeuvre out of the room his eyes flashed wildly, a prey caught by its predator betrayal and worry filling his features. Matthew had been in a few fights, after all Glasgow wasn't exactly known for its wholesome atmosphere, but he had other fish to fry for the condescending yank wouldn't stop yapping even as he was being dragged away. Gideon could beat the shit out of him later he wasn't ready to leave yet.

Watching as Bubba with a dismissive wave commanded his domineering threat he no longer refused his urges and released a monumental eyeroll while pondering the implications, technically the bub only posed a threat if he was caught so he would simply have to ensure he wasn't again. False politeness mustering its way into his throat he said, "Well if God's watching he can have these-" brandishing his middle fingers, with a self-satisfied grin, at the older boy "-and if not I guess you two can have them instead." In an ideal world Matt would have thrown a scowl at Aamon for good measure, perhaps even added a witty comment but this was not that world.

Seemingly this world was one of violence and aggression for as he turned around still resisting the tugging pull of the blonde behind him, who was oddly strong for his frame, he was met with a resounding slap that left his ears ringing. The warmth from the sting on his face was buried as deep as the imprint itself and he found himself needing a moment for his eyes to readjust before he could process. When he finally did he was being demanded to their room and the world was spinning ever so slightly. Off kilter he found himself towards his bed rubbing his cheek with disgruntled groans of pain. It was almost definitely deserved but the unexpected nature of it paired with the surprise had left him in a state of confusion. Was he meant to share a dorm with someone that was going to slap him about the place?

Gideon had gone from zero to one hundred in less than a couple of seconds and Matthew felt entirely unprepared on how to handle it. Would any of the others even come to help once they heard him screaming. Suddenly he felt very alone, isolated by his future tormenters own plans. Stunned to silence he sat on his bed awaiting the judgement. The whole ordeal was perplexing and Matthew wanted out, day one may have only just begun but already it seemed that this trip to France was bound to end in disaster.

Interacting with @Gideon Athanatos, @Winnie Harper & @Bubba McGarry

Interacting: @Mathias Pride | @Bubba McGarry | @Matthew Campbell

Outfit: ✿| ✿

Mentioning: @

English | Irish | Internal thoughts

Winnie had finally unearthed her spare pink sheets and was busy ripping the old pair from the mattress when Mathias asked if she wanted to participate in some tonsil hockey. She paused her cleaning, and despite her quirked brow her face started to heat up.

"You... R-Right now?" She stammered, blowing a piece of hair away from her face. Sure, her skirt was pretty short but she couldn't imagine she looked particularly appealing in the middle of stripping their sheets.

As she wrangled the bottom fitted sheet onto each corner of the mattress she considered his proposition; he was right, Gideon wasn't going anywhere. Not that she could particularly remember the evil Hufflepuff, but she would imagine that if anything, he'd be glued to their side this week.

"At least wait until our bedsheets aren't tainted," She teased, her blush creeping up to her ears as she yanked the last corner of the fitted sheet into place with a snap.

"Bubba, have you seen any house elves around here that could help me with my bed?" She was busy pushing pillows into cases when she overheard the young student across the hall ask his room mate about employing house elves.

"I thought Lincoln freed the slaves," Bubba quipped, causing Winnie to have to swallow a laugh.

She finished tucking the top sheet under the mattress before smoothing it out and adding the comforters. "One second, Mattie." She told her boyfriend before popping her head out of their door. "... You don't know how to change your own sheets?" She asked slowly, trying her best not to sound too judgmental.

The Ravenclaw tried, really tried, not to judge the youngster; it was obvious that he was a pureblood if he was asking for the assistance of house elves. Still, she couldn't believe someone could be so entirely... Clueless about a basic skill. It was like during historical eras when royalty didn't even know how to dress themselves without the help of several maids/butlers. She would give the fact the dresses were complicated to the women, but what was the men's excuse?

It was kind of sad.

"I don't care if you climbed into his bed and took a shit before rubbing your junk all over his pillow, it's not your room and it's creepy if nothing else." Bubba was scolding the croc-wearing fiend, his unique way of describing the situation had Winnie trying to swallow her laughter. Oh Merlin, what even was this trip anymore? She disappeared back into her room.

Mathias might have been on to something with his earlier offer to make out and forget the rest of the cabin.

_{Banner by Miss Haven Bohannon}

| Note: Thoughts, Speech, Bubba, Matthew, Winnie |

The door to Nabi and Avis' room was still open, and the boys' voices were clear as day. Nabi tilted her head as she heard one of the boys, his accent was one she had never heard before and it was rather difficult to understand what he had been saying. "I transferred back from Ilvermoney...", with a slight hum she nodded to herself in thought; Do all Americans speak in such a weird way?

She shrugged slightly, her thoughts returning to her room when she heard Aamon ask for house elves to make his bed. I did not see house elves..., "I thought Lincoln freed the slaves", Who is Lincoln? A small smile began to play at the corners of her mouth, the boys were already causing trouble amongst each other but she could not deny it was entertaining.

"... You don't know how to change your own sheets?" The voice was soft, and she automatically assumed it was the girl draped in pink. Nabi hummed momentarily before walking over to the door and peeking her head out, noticing the pink girl had already done the same. Looking toward the source of the dispute she saw Matthew, Aamon, the boy who appeared lost earlier, and the boy with blonde hair. Tilting her head she hummed again, though she was angry at Aamon— her curiosity was stronger. Does he genuinely not know or is he indolent?

Before she could say anything, the boy who appeared to have been lost spoke up, "I don't care if you climbed into his bed and took a shit before rubbing your junk all over his pillow, it's not your room and it's creepy if nothing else." Nabi was stunned, she blinked once...

Then twice...

Did she hear that correctly? Are all boys this...vulgar?

The boy with blonde hair spoke up. His voice was stern— angry even. Her gaze moved to him as she watched him grab Matthew's arm, pulling him away like a parent would when they were going to reprimand their child. But not before the other boy could have a final say, causing Matthew to retaliate by flicking him off.

...All boys are insane-

Nabi's trail of thought was cut short by the sound of a resounding crack. Her eyes were wide in shock, not noticing she had stepped out of her room. She looked to the door where the girl in pink previously was, wondering if the girl would say something but found the door had already been closed. The situation had escalated rapidly, it all happened so fast, and she had not expected the blonde-haired boy to react with such aggressiveness.

What...the...fuck.

Nabi watched Matthew disappear into his room with the older student who had slapped him. Her eyes narrowed in thought, that boy is unpredictable... or is there more to this? She was not one to take things at face value after all... a petty incident is not something she deemed worthy of a strike to the face.

This week will be interesting... I should keep an eye on the boy.

Aamon’s head was spinning, the house felt like a who-done-it scene, all they needed was to have one of them dead on the floor. Then the rest of the week the story would follow some gumshoe detective that solves the crime where everyone wanted everyone else dead. He just wondered who would be the body at this point. He really did not understand Matthew, he thought that Matt was just being friendly in the Slytherin dorms. If anything, Aamon thought he was the bad guy and convinced himself to break protocol and have a drink after being assured that the cider was absolutely safe.

It wasn't.

But since that betrayal, the only thing really lost to Matthew was Aamon's trust. Yet for whatever reason, Matthew needed to be angry and Aamon could not understand why. Nabi seemed angry too. He sighed as he started to bring the pieces together. Of course Matthew was mad at him and he felt foolish for overlooking the obvious. He arrived with Nabi from Hogwarts, they were a couple and Aamon was too blind to see.

Nabi, probably embarrassed and troubled by the sudden kiss in spin-the-bottle. It all made complete and total sense to him now that he thought about it. The bed farting was totally unnecessary as was the weird silent treatment Nabi was giving him.

He was going to interject but Bubba was just throwing random words together, like he was having some sort of muggle stroke. He really did not have any space to talk, but he appreciated Bubba's passion for having fart-free linens. But the cabin was escalating in terms of tension from mild irritation to absolute madness in a matter of seconds.

All Aamon wanted to do was fix his bedsheets. Get some fresh ones on his bed, no harm, no foul he reasoned. Then he would address this rivalry that did not need to even exist. Winnie had walked over to Aamon and asked him if he knew how to change his bedsheets, to which he looked at her as if she had asked him to do her taxes. It was not that he could not figure it out. There was probably a form or something. It was just... "don't we have elves for that?"

Meanwhile, Gideon had cracked Matthew across the face like he was some misbehaving toddler, and Matthew had been yanked into another room like a schoolboy being dragged to the headmaster’s office. Aamon did not have an opportunity to intercede, not that he would or he could. He was more astonished that Giddy was advocating for him. That was sorta nice, Matthew was going to likely be maimed or hospitalized... but that was real neat of Giddy.

"Actually.

You.

Don't.

Need--"

SLAM. The door slammed behind Giddy and the before-image of Matt that he could only hope the party memorized because someone was going to need it.

Aamon blinked slowly, processing.

He had expected drama—his family was here, after all. He knew things would go badly, but this was an entirely different kind of chaos, one that made absolutely no sense. House-elves? Bedsheets? Lincoln and slavery? Why were they fighting about this?

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as he readied himself to say something through the door before he just gave up and ran a hand down his face.

“Did I—?” He started before stopping himself. No. No, better to just let that question die before it even formed. He turned his head slightly, catching movement from the corner of his eye. Nabi had stepped out of her room, her face unreadable but her gaze sharp. She’d seen the whole thing.

The logical part of his brain was telling him to not turn this into another mess, to just let it go, but the frustration boiling in his gut had reached a point where he couldn’t just let it sit.

“I'm sorry about your and your boyfriend,” he asked flatly, his voice hovering between baffled and exasperated. His gaze flickered back to the closed door where Matthew had been taken. “Giddy, remember this house has several witnesses," he called to the door.

His mind drifted back to Matthew’s last words before the chaos unfolded. He’s all pleasantries and charm until it no longer suits him.

Aamon’s jaw clenched.

He was wrong.

Aamon wasn’t charm and pleasantries—he was confusion and frustration and a growing suspicion that this entire week was going to be some kind of twisted social experiment in human patience.

He glanced back at Nabi, who was still watching the door with that same calculating expression, and sighed. “I'm going to the tea party, I'll check and see who is alive after.”

I am getting Aamon out of there so people can do the tea party.

Topic Left

Gideon didn’t rush.

He allowed Matthew his moment of stunned silence, watched as the Slytherin sat there on the bed, rubbing at his stinging cheek, processing. Good. It was always better when they had time to sit with the weight of things. It was just a slap across the face. Maybe he enjoyed it, wouldn't that be fun.

But no-no-no... Gideon did not think that this was Matt's fetish. He saw indolent wrath, so in a manner of speaking, a mirror. He liked what he saw, as unrefined as it was. There was awesome potential in the youth if he was simply honed like a dagger should.

Matthew wasn’t used to being put in his place, was he?

How amusing.

Giddy had the aesthetic of an eccentric noble. His brocade blouse and his silken trousers were better placed in the British rendition of Arabian Nights, where the harem pants had a tailored English fit. Slowly, methodically, Gideon reached into the pocket of his brightly colored slacks, withdrawing a handkerchief of fine embroidered silk. Everything was gaudy and he was not one to reduce himself to a single hue of the rainbow, unlike Pride's devoted paramore. This included Gideon's teal kerchief. With exaggerated care, Giddy dusted off his gloves, flicking away invisible debris as if the very act of slapping Matthew had somehow soiled him.

"Now, now," he murmured, voice smooth, mocking in its gentleness as the sting of his cheek would begin to dull. "That Bubba fellow is rather dramatic, isn’t it?" The Ravenclaw was an unexpected, and strange variable. "But, it does seem that you have a talent for making a mess of things, so I suppose that was inevitable." He let his words exhale from him as he graciously forgave the Slytherin for his faults.

The deranged Hufflepuff took three measured steps forward, his hands neatly clasped behind his back, gaze locked onto Matthew with something cool and unreadable. Gideon seemed rather comfortable in a locked room with a stranger he had just assaulted without explanation. Was his confidence a mask for weakness and fear or simply a gossamer thin wrapping over something that had too many sharp edges beneath the surface.

Then, with a sudden shift, Gideon crouched before Matt, bringing their gazes level, his lips curling into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

The proximity was almost intimate, but there was no seduction in Gideon's tone. "You’re wondering, aren’t you?" he whispered, voice laced with something almost conspiratorial, like they were in on some grand joke together. "Whether this is about my dear, delicate brother—or if I just enjoy watching you squirm."

His fingers drifted to the side of Matthew’s face, not touching, but hovering just close enough to let the warmth of his palm radiate over the tender skin where his hand had struck. Pain and rage always had a similar heat.

"I assure you, it can be both."

The air between them tightened, the tension a coiling, suffocating thing, curling like a slow, creeping vine. Gideon was for all intents and purposes a predator who at times hid behind the guise of a child, a rouse he did not seem to bother with here among his brothers and the random assortment of teens that were unfortunate enough as to be assigned the same cabin. From Gideon's pores flowed a poisonous intention, the sort of sense that screamed run away if you can. But there was no place to run to. They shared a room, Matthew had no friends or allies.

He would hear, muffled through the door a reminder that this cabin had several witnesses. Poor stupid Aamon. Gideon's eyes never left Matt as he scoffed. "That is hardly enough to matter Aamon," his smile thinned and this time there was a terrible glint in his very blue eyes.

That was a thought. And it was terrible bliss.

"I may play rough, but I don't break my toys," he assured Matthew.

And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Gideon stood smoothly, turning away with a careless hum, as though none of this had mattered in the slightest.

Then, he paused.

"Scream." He ordered. Gideon's voice lowered nearly a full octave as he made that demand. He did not sound genteel any longer, there was a gravely component to his voice just then.

If Matthew screamed or not, Gideon would pound the side of his fist against the wall hard enough to make the wall shudder in protest.

"Scream," Gideon repeated, calm, patient. He turned slightly, tilting his head, that same damnably polite yet amused expression fixed in place. He was close to Matt, too close for comfort. So close he could wrap his hands around Matt's neck and give him a reason to cry out. "Loud enough for them to hear."

If Matthew screamed, it was still not enough. Louder, let that voice crack. Not a sudden, single yelp or cry. Breathe with that fear. The fear Gideon was near certain Matthew felt if he had any sense at all. Gideon slapped his own arm, hard. The cracking sound was harsh and the red welt left behind was merely a part of the game.

"Come now, Mmai," he drawled, mock disappointment curling at the edges of his words. "You’re a smart boy, aren’t you? You must understand by now—"

He leaned in, his breath cool and even against the shell of Matthew’s ear. If Matthew was backing away, Gideon would simply continue to move closer to him. There was no escape in a space so small, he was hovering as if goading him to push him away, to strike him. If Matthew did, all he would hear in reply was a wicked laugh. The sort of laugh that suggested he did nothing, even if that strike had the full power of a man with ONE strength. No, Matt's noodle arms were more likely to struggle opening a pickle jar than serving as a deterrent.

"The show is always more important than the truth."

A pause. A beat of silence, and then:

"They expect you to suffer." His voice was soft, almost gentle, as if offering something kind. "They expect me to be cruel. So give them what they want." He gave Matthew a push, not enough to hurt the boy, but enough to rush him into wall. For that dull sound to echo into the hall.

"Otherwise, the real thing might happen."

A slow grin spread across Gideon’s face, his eyes gleaming like cut glass in candlelight. His eyes said, try and hit me. I would probably like it.

"And wouldn’t that be a shame?"

His voice changed so drastically in the passage of a moment from some sort of monster to a lighter, aristocratic tone. A bit young, perhaps naïve or mischievous, but certainly not dangerous. This was no case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde however, Gideon was both the monster and the young man. This was a teaching moment for the Slytherin Gideon had oddly seen himself in. The weight of the teen's command hung heavy in the air.

Outside the door, there might be ears pressed to wood, waiting. Expecting violence, revenge, a spectacle.

And Gideon?

Gideon would not disappoint them.

Avis was trying her darndest to eavesdrop on the conversation in the room next to her, straining to hear the bits of conversation that were sure to make for quite the story, in ten years at least, but couldn't make out the exact words. Which was unfortunate, but what was being said wouldn't exactly have been something she wanted to hear anyway. Avis wasn't exactly one for vulgar language. Besides, she got everything she needed to know from her roommate's less-than-excited expression. That boys were being boys and that wasn't a good thing.

Or at least, she couldn't make out anything until... “Giddy, remember this house has several witnesses," Aamon seemed to be shouting the reminder through the wall as if he were simply reminding his brother not to forget his EpiPen. Like a "Hey, don't forget, its generally bad to destroy people, in case you forgot." Avis rolled her eyes at the casual reminder. Until the screaming.

The screaming. It sliced through her thoughts.

Not a joke. Not some overblown reaction. Real.

Aamon’s warning wasn’t a joke either.

Pale, Avis stared out her door, as if that would let her see into the room. That wasn't...That couldn't...what if..."Mathias! Control your brother!" She shrieked, her voice tearing out of her throat in a raw high shrill that she would later hate having spoken in. It showed weakness. Vulnerability. But in her defense, she was a muggle born, and not used to such utter disregard for order and morality. Shoplifting was big news in her world, much less attacking your roommate , with no one else even batting an eye.

Out of the motley lot that had been assorted into the cabin, the only one with any real chance of doing anything to help was the fifth year. Nabi and Winnie certainly couldn't, and Aamon had the mentality of a giant glass teddy bear teetering on the top of the Eiffel Tower. The only other person who really stood a chance was Matthew and, well, it seemed he hadn't stood much of one.

Avis sat rigid on her bed, frozen as she listened to the ensuing chaos as well as she could, her fingers racing, twitching across the bedspread. This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. If she sat here any longer, she would start to really panic. Her mind whirled. Trying to find something. Anything.

Tea party. There was supposed to be a tea party, right? She could go to that, get out of there. Maybe @Sabrina Lyons would be there...a small piece of logic in the midst of this hurricane of destruction. Slipping off of her bed, she picked up her satchel with shaking hands, and with another darting glance out the door, pulled out her wand. "Colloportus," she cast on her chest.

If it had a lock on it, that would be awfully convenient. If not, then, well, it chalked up to fear, she wasn't at her sharpest. Avis was perfectly aware that locking her chest would do nothing, nor was there anything for anyone to steal, unless Gideon or Mathias was an avid clarinet player, which for some reason Avis doubted, but it gave her a little piece of control.

Slipping out the door, Avis pulled it shut behind her as silently as possible and slipped out the door.

Avis has left this thread.