Closed Cleansing and Atonement pv detention

Oliver was in deep, deep, deep, shit. A fight. A real, fight. With a muggle born werewolf. It was the worst thing ever to happen to him. Not counting the sorting hat's mistake. That had him in the deep shit, and the sneaking out with Novalie at nigh, and getting caught from that. Causing the deep, deep shit. This was just the third dive into the deep end of shit. And he did hardly anything wrong. Just self defense, what did the old guy say? He yelled a word that was against the rules or something? He had yelled a lot, it would be a lie if he said he knew what word he was talking about.

He was however smart, and if he had to guess, it was his use of mudblood. He didn't know why it was so bad, sure it was a 'bad word' but if one didn't want to be called it, one should not act like it. One, being Sandy. Who's blood was muddier then the other's. As she was not only muggle, but a feral werewolf. (As no non-werewolf would be biting people, naturally.) Oh how he hated her, he hated her so much. His parents where right, Muggle borns were nothing but trouble. All they did caused trouble. They should be banned from school. Why they were allowed in was beyond him.

His parents, man would they be pissed. He had to think of something to make it seam like it wasn't to bad. Like he wasn't at fault. Because he was not. Not at all, it was self defense. They would have to see that. He would just have to leave out the part that he 'lost'. Did he really loose? Oliver pondered this as he walked from dinner to the office where the grueling punishment awaited him. If he really did think about it, no one won, and no one lost. He had been the bigger person and backed away. He very much could have kept punching at her. But he didn't. Sure she broke his nose, but did Oliver hurt her? No, not really. She had done more damage to herself. Couldn't curse right, couldn't punch right. Oliver had offered her a mercy.

That had been another reason as to why he was so much better then her, He knew when to stop. (mostly.) He knew not to punch her. (mostly.) She should thank him for being so polite and sparing her more pain. He met her at the door to the Caretaker's Office. Looking her up and down, noting the lack of glasses. He scoffed. She was so pathic she couldn't even get them fixed after he 'accidently' dropped them. When Professor Weems accidently handed them to him instead of her, such a simple mistake. Perhaps he was muggle born to. "Are you really so pathetic you can't fix them yourself?" He asked referring to her glasses with a sneer. He scoffed a bit before going on. "After all, it would only make sense, if you cant curse right. Who can expect you to cast right either?"

All muggle borns had that problem, half bloods to. But the muggle's had it worse. The magic in there veins wasn't as strong as a pure blood like himself. Where he a nicer person, he would mend them himself. And could he cast better. But she didn't need to know that. She didn't need to know anything about him other then he hated her. "To bad your such a freak, I would totally repair them for you if you weren't one." He shrugged and walked into the door, letting it close behind him. Not bothering to hold it open for Sandy, Petty? Perhaps. If he were lucky, and were Sandy closer to the door, it would hit her right in the nose. Breaking it like she broke his. Lucky it had been healed. And sadly, along with her fingers.

Tragically they had to serve the punishment together, that did mean her having to come into the room. Sharing a space with him. And breathing the same air. He avoided looking at her. Just looked at the Professor as he explained the punishment. Sorting his garbage, instead of throwing it out? A scowl quickly appeared. How- well, Oliver supposed everyone had there hobbies. He then took a glace at Sandy. He hopped she got stung by some silver that some of the objects may have. That was werewolf's whole spiel; they got burned by silver? He didn't care enough to commit those sorts of things to his memory. Much rather keeping that spaced reserved for other class knowledge.

They needed to work. Together. He huffed, that was- it would have to be -fine. He could pretend to play nice for an hour. As long as she went along with what was sure to be his superior sorting style. Where Oliver drew the line however, was having to write an apology note. Four, or five inches. Of pure bullshit. He wasn't sorry, he was defending himself. Why should he be sorry for that? 'Dear Sandy, Sorry your such a dunce, and stupidly talk to floors.' Was that it? 'congratulations on not breaking your foot when you so rudely punched me. I hope I don't get your rabies.' Was that what this man wanted from him. Some half ass 'I'm sorry for being right.'

He heard a slight crash, and was drawn from his thoughts. Of course. She dropped something. Clumsily, and stupidly. "Can't do anything can you..." He muttered somewhat angrily under his breath. Crouching down to help put the garbage on the shelves. Picking up a muggle camera, was that what it was? He let out a hum, of something close to curiosity. 'enjoy the beauty of the castle' Oliver narrowed his eyes. He agreed the castle was beautiful. Blatantly ignoring the second part of the note he put it at the top of the shelf. How the hell where they supposed to be sorting these things? It was all trash. He looked over at Sandy, no. She wouldn't have an idea.

The professor said he didn't have any clue either. So it feel on his shoulders, like most things. Up to him to do all the work. He sighed and picked up the canvass bag, placing it next to the camera. There was no logical way to sort it. If he did alphabetic it would look weird with the different sizes. He let out a hum and bit his lip. Size, that would have to do. He looked up at Professor Weems who was just reading a book. Lazy. Using children for labor. He should write to his parents complaining about it. They were there to learn, not sort garbage, this was a job for Sandy. Dirty as the garbage they were sorting. Not someone as pure as himself. This is all messed up. All of it.

He sighed after only placing two on the shelf. And looked back at Sandy. "You can put the rest on, right?" He asked with some apprehensive tone, he didn't trust her. Not one bit. But, she was blind. And they had to write cards. He had zero faith in her handwriting skills. So he would have to take that task as well. "I'm going to do the cards." He told her, leaving little to no room for argument. Grabbing some cards and the quill, dipping it into the ink, and then gliding it over the card. Writing what the object was, and then where it came from. In the very best handwriting he could muster. Certainly it was better then what the mudblood would have done.

As Sandy placed the objects on, Oliver would place the new cards in front of the objects. He was bored. So, very, very, very bored. It didn't take to long, as it was thankfully just putting things on a shelf. Stupid things on a stupid shelf. Still. Simply enough task, easily completed. Then, it was time for the hard task. Saying sorry. He wasn't. How could he say sorry if he wasn't? Fake it? Oliver again had to bite his lip. Damn. This was hard. Nice things, start off with a complement maybe? 'Dear Sandy, congratulations! you didn't break your whole hand. That must have been pretty hard, as I don't think you know how to punch just yet.' Yes, that sounded good. After that, he needed to say sorry. His quill scratched against the parchment as he wrote, letting out a small huff.

Admitting his faults was never his strong suit. Now it was never more clear. He still wasn't good at it. Though he thought he was doing quite well for now. Scratch that, like he scratched out something that wasn't super nice. Although true. It wasn't nice. He finished his letter and handed it to professor Weems. "I think it's good." He said with a small smile looking it over one last time, and giving it a nod. "Yes, that's very good. I'm proud of myself I must say." He handed fully to him. "Here."

The letter -

Reducio

Dear Sandy,

congratulations! you didn't break your whole hand. That must have been pretty hard, as I don't think you know how to punch just yet. Also your first curse word, I must say I am proud of you. There was a little bit of stuttering but I think you can get the hang of it.

Now, I will say, I am sorry that I broke your glasses. I can only imagine with my 20/20 vision that it will be hard for you to see things now without them. Your fingers must have hurt quite a bit. I'm sorry that I had to be the object that broke them.

I guess what I called you was rude to, you're not a freak, you're the freak. You're just confused is all, I'm sure if you pay more attention in class you can lean that, no, floors don't talk. Mudblood is a rude term to I think. So, sorry about that to.

I don't think I should have started talking to you. As it ended in a fight. So, from now on I won't be talking to you. Your welcome.

Sorry,
xxxx Oliver

letter wc - 191

OUTFIT & INVENTORY Reducio Wand

OOC NOTE & STATS/ABILITIES Reducio Sandy godmod was all approved by Sandy's writer, please let me know if anything needs to be changed :3 the wc at the top is not including the letter. Fearless - Oliver does not scare easily, not effected by terrible presence or unsettling aura { Stamina: 7 }{ Evasion: 5 }{ Strength: 10 }{ Wisdom: 3 }{ Arcane Power: 2 }{ Accuracy: 8 }

Interacting : @Sandy Thompson, @Ruckus Weems |||| @Novalie Moon : Mentioning

0:24 ─●───────────────────────────────────────────── -2:56

Desperation. Guilt, a need to be good, pacifism.

When did it start? When did Frazier's lectures about never harming the small bugs on the sidewalk slip her mind? When did every patch on his leather jackets become a fashion statement in comparison to reality? Sandy was not an ignorant person. Empathy and devotion to the sole root of pumping blood, the beginning and her end. She was a good person, she was built from kindness and care and love, she was a machine of every good thing that her family taught her.

In the back of her mind, her sibling's voice could still be heard, the gruff tone faint in the night on their rooftop. If she tried hard enough, she could still smell the smoke from his cigarette, could hear the rasp in his voice but decipher the dedication to his cause. Pacifism, to stand up for something unjust without becoming unjust. Sandy was everything her brother hated - a violent, disgusting, volatile creature of sharp teeth and red-twinged eyes, swollen and wet. Frazier hated being too open with things like that, hated talking about how he sometimes wanted to break that pacifism, how his grip on their house keys tightened with every passing comment. Sandy was no different from the temptation of anger that flowed through him, vile and repulsive, but she was worse in the way that she had let herself slip.

It was easy to blame the stranger. Prodding, mockery; everything was easy to pin on him, but Sandy couldn't bring herself to do that. She could see him as everything wrong with the situation at hand, but at the end of the day he was the one with correct sight, and she was left with rebroken glasses stuffed into the pockets of her pants. In the cracked vision, from seconds of staring through the lenses, Sandy recognized that she had destroyed something in her. She had been so angry, so disgusted by whoever this boy was, that any sight of rationality slipped past her. If she had just kept her head down, took the comments as they went and pretended she was fine, nothing would've happened. The aggression, the conflict - it was all because of her, because of how easy it was to rile her up. She was a bleeding heart, the wine red seeping through the cracks of her fingertips and past the creases of her lips, reflected dripping down from the boy's nose.

Will. Nasally tone, scarred knuckles, broken promises and sneered voices. Sandy and her mystery victim were alike in the formation of one boy, in the shards of broken glass. She had his anger, his flare for making everything as painful as possible, the crimson running down the left of his lips after he had tripped. Lip pierced by teeth, metallic taste mixing with slick saliva, what was there left to decode? Down to the disgusting remains of her own blood dancing in the faint memory of prior, Will was there, found in her anger and the flash flood of aggression. But this boy, nose-boy, was nowhere near different. Sandy was no stranger to derogatory terms, no stranger to giggles about Frazier's appearance from the sneering boy or about her relation to the Weirdos of her family. Sandy may be everything physical about Will, but nose-boy was everything verbal. He was sharp tongues, the words of a poet who really had no reason to be speaking. The play was over, his job was done, and yet he would continue to call and call for actors and others to remake the scenes. Tragedies were tragedy for a reason, and hubris was the lead up to many.

All in all, past the flamboyance and flair for adding dramatics to whatever situation they were in, Sandy did feel for the boy. He... Seemed to have something she did not. A sense of normalcy. She was sure that in the eyes of many, behind the guise of a welcoming environment, there was something more fitting with him than her in this world. Sandy was built for sitting in her garage late at night watching her uncle horribly replicate a drum solo with a screwdriver and a wrench against a tire, or stealing her brother's jacket and pretending that just for a moment she had somewhere solid to fit in.

After the visit to the hospital wing, frantically flipping between distress about being in such a place and guilt from not deserving to be helped, Sandy wasn't sure how swell of a mindset she would have. Detention, a mortifying idea for someone who had only really ever accidentally killed a caterpillar while trying to make it become a butterfly, and yet a new sense of realism as she walked towards her destination. Something heavy weighed against her; a slouch of her shoulders, a deep pit in her gut. It felt like summer again, felt like hiding away after a particularly mean comment from a boy on the swings or crying while looking at photos of her family.

Shoes scuffing against the ground, blurry vision refusing to focus on the boy in front of her, Sandy halfheartedly listened to his words, "After all, it would only make sense, if you cant curse right. Who can expect you to cast right either?" She supposed he was right in some aspects, supposed that she really was a freak, but he certainly could've been nicer about it. In some sick way, though, she felt happy about it. She was horrible, a to-be repellent for any form of human nature, and this reaction made her feel more at ease with her own thoughts. It wasn't just deprecation, not just that shrill voice in the back of her mind that would eat away at any ounce of confidence she had, but rather a genuine complaint. Sandy was a freak, someone to be held at arm's length, and someone finally had the courage to say it.

With the closing of a door, the pitiful expression on her face drooped in the slightest, a sting of her eyes as she chewed on the inside of her cheek instead. Sandy stood there for a moment, taking in the details and reaching out towards the door with shaky hands. She missed it at first, a mere atom away from her objective, but it was enough to almost drive her to tears once more. After an entire physical fight, an already finished mental breakdown and a moral crisis, Sandy was entirely sure she didn't need to start sobbing before even starting detention. Still, she did have to start somewhere, and that start was with opening the door and listening to the instructions of the detention-giver-man.

Sorting.

It was just sorting and a letter.

Past all her grieving, every notion that she was a terrible, worthless person who deserved not even a speck of existence in this vast wasteland of a universe, she was just told that the apology to all her current problems was. Sorting items and making a letter. Two of the easiest things in the world. And she just... Had to do that? That's it?

Absolutely ridiculous. Fucking annoying, truth be told. Sandy wanted nothing more than to burn this place down to the ground with her in it for making her do such a stupid task when she could be writing her thoughts and emotions in a journal and setting that on fire. That was a real way of letting negative emotions and events go. Not SORTING ITEMS and WRITING A LETTER. If anything, Sandy had perfected both of those things - more than enough sibling fights had occurred for her to be an expert in faking sympathy, even if it wasn't entirely fake.

Reaching down aimlessly into the pile of trash, her hands returned with... A tin can. The surface was noticeably aged, rust lining it. Wasn't there some whole thing about not touching rust with your bare hands...

Far away from reality, in a state of annoyance and faint worry at what diseases could possibly be on her hands now, the can had managed to slip from her grasp. Well, more like slowly ease its way off of her hands and return to the graceful heap of loving garbage with a crash and a whimper. Now, she was fairly certain that tin cans couldn't whimper, nor could they sound scarily like her, so she had a slight suspicion that whatever that sound was just so happened to be from her. Either way, the commotion had elicited a reaction from the moody nose-boy in her vicinity, and she winced as an unnoticed apology for her theatrics.

After having the job of object placing forcefully thrust upon her, Sandy took it in stride, carefully noting her favorite finds within the pile. Notably though, the rubber duck was her favorite of all time, and the one she spent at least a minute holding and enjoying the presence of, much to the chagrin of her company. Sorting, a relatively enjoyable task, and one that seemed easy enough, did not take long. Smallest to largest, or what she assumed was smallest to largest with vision that looked like a pixel game.

The task was over as soon as it started, with Sandy feeling somehow worse about herself and her lack of rubber ducks, as well as the fact that she was sitting in the same room as someone she had just assaulted. Free of injuries now, but not free of the guilt that stemmed from it, nor the lingering presence of her glasses in the space of a pocket. Letters, duck-free, were next. Sympathy, pretending to be more emotion-stricken and less guilty? Not sure.

And after struggle and struggle, squinted expressions and the faint twang of wanting to burn the place down once more, the letter, as well as the original task, was completed. It had took much longer than the other student's, partially due to her already terrible comprehension of formality in letters, as well as her inability to see. Still, it was done, and her hands shook just a slight bit less as she handed the letter over. She didn't say anything as she did so, instead mustering up a sad wobbly smile before backing off.

LETTER:

Reducio

boy

im super sorry for hitting u, it wasnt very nice of me, and i take full respin respoon respondiblity for it :<
i shouldt have been talking to the ground, and its resonsable to have made fun of me, becauase its a weird thing to do!!! i was very upset that you made fun of me, but it is not your fault :> you were actng on impoles impulese and that is very okay! well not okay but it is okay becase its not your fault for finding something like that stupid.

im glad the nurse perosn helped u with ur injories, and im sorry that i did that to you!!!! it was not very silly of me unfotunately, and i hope u can forgive me for that and evrything else :>

please feel better and less mad at me
sandy

2:50 ─────────────────────────────────────────────●─ -2:56

INTERACTING: @Oliver Armani, @Ruckus Weems

@N/A :MENTIONING

OOC Notes‎‎

Actions

Additional

Reducio POST WC: 1712 LETTER WC: 139

Reducio grieving, more grieving, guilt, wtf letters and sorting? drop thing, sort, write letter

Reducio :3

@Oliver Armani & @Sandy Thompson

Ruckus kept his eyes just above the page of his book where he could see his detentionees tackling their task—which they were doing with surprising ease. No fighting, kicking, or biting. Was that a good thing? Sandy dropped something and Olive scoffed at her, but that was par for the course given the history here. A feeling of unease settled in the pit of Ruckus's stomach. Maybe laps around the Great Lake would have been more fitting? A jaunt through the Forbidden Forest on a fact-finding mission for the Care of Magical Creatures professor? Was there something that could at least make these two talk nicely to each other?

Probably a mediator or therapist. An ombudsman even. But Hogwarts didn't seem to hire those. If anything the punishment system was a bit old-fashioned, Draconian even, compared to the resources many muggles were teaching their children.

Ruckus had to remind himself that problems like this couldn't be solved overnight. The point of this detention was to punish, not resolve. And that made him deeply uncomfortable—probably why he had subconsciously chosen such an easy task. He wanted a come-to-Jesus moment from two eleven-year-olds, and instead, he got the bare minimum. Well, at least they didn't break his things.

Oliver turned his letter first. Ruckus's eyes glided over it wordlessly. The thing was practically dripping with condescension. The caretaker reminded himself to choose his battles.

"I think I'll do us both a favor." He ripped Oliver's letter into shreds. "As you may or surprisingly may not know, the word you used was a slur. It was created on the false notion that some wizarding folks are better than others. There is no proof or data to back up that people from "pureblood" families are more powerful or smarter than those from nonmagical families. In fact, I've seen a lot more evidence that the opposite is true. Privilege breeds complacency.

"Apologize to Miss Thompson now for calling her that word, without saying it again mind ye, and whatever other name-calling you did. And you'll be free to go. But if I ever hear about you using that type of language again, the following punishment will not be so easy."

Next Ruckus would read Sandy's letter—he scrutinized the words this time. He was trying to make sense of the small, shaky, timid girl in front of him who wrote a near-groveling letter against the girl he saw in the courtyard: the one who had bitten and punched, nearly a knockout. Was it all for show? Was the fighter waiting to pounce on Oliver once they left the classroom? He sensed some truth about her guilt and shame over the incident, or at least for getting caught. She was difficult to read. The spelling mistakes concerned him as well.

Would giving her letter to Oliver just add more fuel to his ire? Would this fight be doomed to repeat?

Ruckus carefully folded her letter and tucked it between the pages of his book. "Miss, your letter seemed to be a bit more from the heart, but to be fair, you may also recount your apology verbally and you'll be free to go."

OOC: Both students completed the detention and are free to make new threads.

He was quite proud of what he had written, thought it was from the heart, and really, it was the best he could do. "The hell?" he couldn't stop the words from escaping his lips, as he watched the damned caretaker- was he even really a professor? not anymore. Oliver had deemed him striped of his title in his mind. -rip his letter to shreds. Doing them both a favor, please. He avoided eye contact, rolled his eyes, even scoffed a bit. Lectured by a simpleton about his own blood purity and the shitty blood of others. Why the hell did he have to write it in the first place?

Say sorry to the mut, he did. In the perfect letter. Of course he knew it was a slur, mostly. Slurs were stupid, it was just a name. A 'mean' one. A true one more like it. How could he say it to her without being 'mean'? Sorry, that was. He looked over at the mud- Sandy. Almost gagged at the sight. "I know what the word means," He muttered angrily at Ruckus. Avoiding eye contact. He would have to mind his surroundings, perhaps his volume too, when he would, as he would be again, call Sandy a mudblood. It was what she was and could not be changed. Sad for her. Mangy mut. Horrible little creature she was.

He took a deep breath, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Sorry for calling you m-" Caught himself already. Doing good so far Oliver, just had to call her it when smelly, trash man wasn't around. "A slur. Sorry for calling you a slur." He repeated it for, well, who knows. To make it sound like he meant it more. Even though he didn't. Perhaps that was why his amazing letter was ripped up. It was just to good for him to understand, Oliver was almost sure now the older man was just like Sandy. Not in the werewolf aspect. But the incompetent. Didn't know what good writing was when he looked it right down the nose.

Sandy's was turned it. Oliver was almost sure it would be ripped up as well. For sure, it had to be. But no. What the fuck? Favoritism much? Her shit was just folded up and tucked away? He grumbled and clenched his fists. Of course, if he was the same creature as Sandy he would favor her. He would have to write to his parents. Just had to. The blatant favoritism. He had half a mind to try and get him fired. But no. If Oliver really started to think about it, perhaps his letter was best left destroyed. All proof that he, Oliver Armani, was forced to say sorry to a mudblood. Was gone. The only ones to witness the event were the untrust worthy. It was his word (the true one, for sure. No lies.) against there's (smelly, ew. Dead wrong.) Fact vs. Fiction.

At least, she to was forced to say sorry to him as well. Though he had hopped she groveled at his feet and begged for forgiveness, it didn't come. Whatever sorry she had to say, Oliver didn't care for. And just, major shock, rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. yeah, sure. Whatever." He would reply. Uninterested. He knew he was better, the best apology he could get from her was honestly an expulsion upon Sandy. But that to didn't come. Talk about bad days. Once it was over, Oliver didn't even bother saying goodbye. Just turned on his heal and walked out, slamming the door behind him. His apology was perfect. Ruckus sucked. And Sandy sucked. But he already knew that.

OUTFIT & INVENTORY Reducio Wand

OOC NOTE & STATS/ABILITIES Reducio Fearless - Oliver does not scare easily, not effected by terrible presence or unsettling aura { Stamina: 7 }{ Evasion: 5 }{ Strength: 10 }{ Wisdom: 3 }{ Arcane Power: 2 }{ Accuracy: 8 }

Interacting : @Sandy Thompson, @Ruckus Weems |||| @n/a : Mentioning

[Oliver leaves thread, slamming door behind him]