Closed Errand Pages and paints

There was a brightness now: the weather, the ease and the pride. And this month, there was plenty of that around Hogwarts. It was no surprise to her at all that she would find Mylo, ever the responsible, at the center. They were thoughtful and organized, and really cared about people. So, naturally, she'd have to attend their event.

There were, in fact, some alternates: a parade and a talent show. (Perhaps she might sew an outfit for someone attending either. That could be fun.) But for now, arts and crafts were ever her calling. If she were really lucky, Mylo would have some sewing or even crochet items set up. That would be perfect. But it was rather a niche type of artistry so she wasn't expecting it—just hoping.

Despite this, with the billowing of her robes behind her, she made her way over to the courtyard. It was not hard to spot Mylo's arts and crafts and bookstall area: the flags and supplies sprawled out in a cacophony of color and a vision of wonder. Pride, indeed.

Mylo seemed to have taken exquisitely to the holiday; they were seated with buttons on their shirt as they started to work on a painting. Maisie took a turn around the booth—no sewing supplies, how disappointing—before strategically creeping up behind them to the best of her ability. (Avis was better at this sort of stealth mission.) Craning her head, she tried to see what they were creating but it was too early to tell. "I think you forgot a spot," she said, pointing to a blank area, "right there."

With that, she'd wait for them to turn around, hopefully a little annoyed, but she had to find ways to get them to loosen up, however little. Reaching into her satchel, she pulled out an apple she'd taken from lunch and bite down—loudly. After establishing her presence thusly, she figured she ought to make something.

But without her regular medium, she stood for a few seconds, thinking. But then, she decided to follow suit and grab a piece of canvas and some paints before sitting down next to Mylo. Placing the apple, now with a large bite mark on its skin, on top of the table ahead of her, she squinted before putting brush to canvas to replicate its form. She'd take it slow: one stroke at a time just like a needle running a single stitch and then more and more.

@Mylo Atkins
Open to interactions

june 7 | afternoonspace

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english | french | thoughts

@Mylo Atkins, open to interactions! please talk to my gaybie she needs it

Banner credit to: Elena Clark

June 7th, 2025	Courtyard
“English”	“Gaelic”

The sunlight sparkled, glittering off of the leaves that hung from the branches of a young sapling, bravely beginning it’s growth between cracks in the stone, typically a space occupied by moss. The sunlight shown through the tiny tree’s canopy, illuminating the stones of the courtyard. The beads of moisture that populated the vegetation in the early morning had disappeared from view, into the lovely tempered air that surrounded Hogwarts, due to a process called “evaporation.” Although it wasn’t quite a concept that Alyss understood nor particularly cared about, her reasoning for being in the courtyard today did.

Alyss had never thought of being queer as something that wasn’t considered a typical lifestyle. She had grown up around quite a few kids, many of which had varying parental matches. There was a single dad in her neighborhood that seemed to be perfectly fine, along with a lesbian couple that were raising a child, just the same as many of their fellow community members. It had never truly been explained to her in more than a few words that girls and boys can like anyone they wished to, including nobody, so long as they were happy. Alyss carried this philosophy with her everywhere, never considering the implication that acceptance of differing forms of love would be a big deal; merely that it was.

Something Alyss had not yet been introduced to until Hogwarts was the possibility of other genders, separate from the typical male and female sexes. Genders being a societal concept had taken many months to completely wrap her head around, and Alyss had been worried that if she asked too many questions, she would appear ignorant and rude. So she didn’t ask. She kept these wonderings to herself, instead making the effort to address others by the pronouns They/Them if Alyss wasn’t completely certain of their gender alignment. Granted, making these assumptions based off of appearances was not technically the correct way to do so. However. Alyss was eleven, and simply hadn’t been told the proper way to ask for pronouns, nor the proper way to apologize for misgendering any individuals.

So walking into this Pride Event, Alyss had one goal: to learn something new. Whether that came from asking the question herself, or reading it in one of the many books provided, Alyss was going to do so. Stepping into the courtyard was a surreal moment for the girl, with the sunlight still shining through the figure of the castle, leaving her enough light to gaze around the transformed space. There were tables with craft supplies, which seemed to include everything you could possibly imagine. It was an artists dream, with the time, space, and supplies to simply craft. There were beanbags scattered about, their colors showcasing the reason they were here: to celebrate. Lastly, there were books upon books, every single one of them centering around something LGBTQ+.

Although Alyss was curious and interested in the community and whether or not she had a place there, the mere mention of kissing anyone, or love still made her cringe. Alyss could not explore her orientation given her age and emotional maturity, and that was something that she was alright with. After all, she was supposed to be at this school for seven whole years. Just because she didn’t know which box she fit into this year didn’t mean she would never figure it out. As for gender identity, Alyss was comfortable. She was comfortable with the clothes she wore, with the energy she gave off, with the pronouns she was called, and the name she was given at birth.

Now, just because Alyss wasn’t sure where she fit into this world inside of Hogwarts didn’t mean that she wouldn’t make an effort to be a part of it, or to support those around her, namely friendly faces. As she settled into a pastel pink beanbag, Alyss managed to snag the book that had some bright colors on the front, along with a figure and an umbrella. She smiled at the title, Queer: A Graphic History, before cracking the tome open, and letting the words from the page tumble into her mind. This was an activity that Alyss rarely found herself doing without a good reason or being forced to. Schoolwork? She was being forced. Her best friend claimed it was the very best thing to have ever graced her eyes and that she simply had to read it? She was forced. However, furthering her understanding of the LGBTQ+ community? That was a pretty damn good reason to read a book.

Reducio

Pings: @Oliver Armani
Note: Happy Pride Month!! Alyss is closed to interactions currently.

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While Sergei had no clue if he was the type of person this holiday was trying to cater to, the moment he heard there'd be music [something he had been cruelly starved of since he'd come to the school] and a portion of the event specifically for arts and crafts [and reading], he decided it'd be worth going to. Unfortunately, the music wasn't exactly catered to his tastes, obviously, but it was still a balm to his suffering soul. Walking into the event, he had been greeted with loud chatter, more people than he felt comfortable around, and bright colours that made everything seem louder than it probably was. It wasn't really his 'cup of tea', so he had quickly retreated to the far quieter arts and crafts area.

Upon reaching it, he relaxed slightly. Any conversation was at normal levels or a murmur, likely for the sake of those reading. It was almost as good as the library, which he was certainly pleased about. Plodding through the area, he tried to remain inconspicuous. Humming softly to the tune of the music, he looked through the books with only slight interest. It was starkly different from the state of his homeland when he'd left it, there-- he had heard next to nothing about the queer community, and anything about it or showing 'pride' for it was punished. It was essentially still taboo there. When he had immigrated to Europe, that had honestly been a big part of the culture shock. It was far more accepting here, and it had taken quite a while to get used to that.

He had been curious, of course, and had done a little more research into it, asked about it occasionally, even. Though as a child it had hardly been his main focus, given the events in his personal life had felt far bigger, and still did. Pulling out a book, he had flipped through it inquisitively, skimming the pages. He had originally come here to draw in peace, or maybe try his hand at painting, but now his more academic mind had taken over slightly. He somewhat understood the basics of the subject, but he hadn't delved much deeper than that. Despite this, he had concluded that trying to smother the movement was stupid; people should be able to do what they wanted with their lives, and despite what his mother had said, men liking men or women liking women-- or whatever other subcategories there were didn't-- hurt anyone. He had seen no evidence of it harming people, so why would he believe what he used to be told? Frankly, it was silly.

Beyond this conclusion he had come to, though, he didn't look much more into the subject. Now, experiencing his first proper 'parade' as they had called it, he found himself curious. He did kinda want to learn more. The boy supposed that was normal, though, despite how he complained to himself about homework, he did actually enjoy learning new things. These days, his thirst for knowledge was rarely satiated. So after flipping through the book, he read the back... There were some words he didn't quite understand written there, but with a few context clues, he was able to roughly piece together what they meant. Brow furrowing as he deciphered these new words, he slowly made his way to a beanbag, not really looking where he was going as he stared down at the back of the book.

Sitting down, he set his bag full of sketching supplies on the ground beside him, flipping through the pages slowly as he tried to digest what he was reading. His eyes flickered about, scanning the words with thoughtful intensity. The lull of the music let him slip into focus, the satisfaction of learning something that he'd likely have never discovered had his aunt not insisted on his moving to Europe was sweet indeed. His surroundings faded around him, becoming a murmur to his mind while he digested each new bite of info he pried from the book in his hands.

The more he read, the more his stance on the topic solidified. Clearly, humans were more complicated than those who opposed all of this seemed to think. He didn't really understand why they were so against it anymore; was it simply because it was something new, or maybe they were that resistant to change? Brow furrowing, he leaned back, seeming perplexed as he tried to puzzle out the mindset that caused such hostility towards something so simple to understand.

"I don't get it..." he muttered silently. This topic was more fascinating than he had expected, and now he was a little irritated that it had been kept from him so long. Of course, there were still some things he was struggling to grasp beyond that; the simple concept of being attracted to someone was still alien to him. He didn't particularly like people in general until they proved they were worth liking. So liking someone to such an extent that it could be defined as 'attraction' was hard to understand. After all, according to this, there were even people who only wanted to be attracted to someone, but not have kids with them. Which was still slightly hard to understand.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to be hostile about it. It just meant that he wanted to understand it better. Maybe he should also look for books on stuff like biology or psychology. These books were practically skipping vital steps he needed to properly comprehend the subject. Which wasn't their fault, of course. This celebration wasn't about those subjects, so why would books about them be here? Hopefully, the library would have what he was looking for later.

Huffing slightly, he closed the book, having gotten halfway through it before he ran into that gap in his insight. Still, he was left somewhat satisfied. Now, though, he'd return to the actual reason he came here-- art.

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Text Hexcode: a80049
Quoted Italics = Russian
Open to interaction

Encyclopedia Link: Here

STATS

Reducio

===

Stamina: 5

Evasion: 10

Strength: 3

Wisdom: 5

ArcPower: 2

Accuracy: 10

===

Abilities | Sixth Sense

===

mentions. @Archer Duncan open to interaction! stats & abilities. STA 5 ⚡︎ EVA 5 ⚡︎ WIS 5 ⚡︎ STR 3 ⚡︎ ARC 6 ⚡︎ ACC 6 Metamorphmagus

Cassian lingered near the edge of the courtyard, feeling more like a bystander than a participant in the festivities. The music from the parade area filtered in bright and cheerful, wrapped in warm early summer air and laughter. People were already gathered in small groups — chatting, painting, waving little flags — and Cassian was struck by how loud it all was. Not just in volume, but in color, in energy, in sheer joy. He supposed that was the spirit of Pride, taking joy in who you were and finding community in those who shared your experience and background.

He wasn’t used to events like this. At home, things were quieter, more… restrained. Support for people like the ones here today was usually a silent kind of thing — a nod, maybe a smile, maybe nothing. No parades. No rainbow streamers. Certainly no glitter. To families like the Montelise Byrnes, the best support was a lack of opposition. Cassian had asked his mother once about the family with two mums that lived in the nearest town to their estate, and her awkward but kind smile had told him everything he’d ever needed to know about the way they felt. They wanted the best for everyone, but only from a distance.

But Cassian wanted to be here, in this riotous splash of color and sound. That mattered, right?

He gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, then headed toward the crafts table where things looked more manageable. It was less crowded and seemed less likely to send him into a panic and his hair shifting into all different colors of the rainbow. Although, he supposed that he might be more on theme if a color-changing hair accident did come to pass. Cassian’s hands stayed jammed in his cloak pockets as he walked over. He offered the person in charge of the area a faint, polite nod as he passed. They looked busy — setting out materials, tidying up after the other students — and Cassian was grateful not to have to say anything.

The table in front of him was an explosion of art supplies: paper, paint, glitter, beads, chalk, even bottle caps and string. For a moment, he just stood there, unsure what to do. It felt wrong to sit and do nothing, but the idea of painting or gluing or making anything elaborate made his skin feel too tight. Cassian had grown up being told by the older members of his family that he was too much. Took up too much space. Even though his mother had done her best to shield the blaze that was his… everything, he still sometimes hesitated before making the leap.

After a minute, Cassian drifted toward the button press, which seemed more contained in the grand scheme of things. He slid into a chair at the far end of the table, carefully avoiding getting glitter on his robes, and picked up a marker and a blank bottle cap. He stared at it for a long moment, then wrote slowly in small, neat handwriting. “Love is Love” appeared slowly in stark black ink beneath the felt tip of the marker. Cassian took a deep breath before moving on to the next button. He paused before beginning to write again, words tumbling around his brain. Finally, he settled on carefully penning “Ally” onto the second button and drawing a small rainbow underneath it.

Cassian didn’t know how to feel, or if he should even feel anything. Ostensibly, this event wasn’t for him. He hadn’t grown up in the right environment to know all that much, but even he knew that he was meant to be celebrating others during Pride. Still, the emotions roiling through him made him shift uneasily in his seat. He felt enormous and out of place and — somehow — utterly invisible all at once.

He had never really thought much about who he liked. Cassian knew his friends, both at Hogwarts and back at home, talked about it — about crushes, about kissing, about all that hand-holding, heart-eyed stuff — but he’d always kind of… dodged it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just never really felt drawn to anyone, not in the same way. He liked people! He liked them a lot. He liked liking people. Cassian just didn’t understand how anyone knew what kind of liking it was supposed to be. How was he supposed to know if he wanted to play with someone on a Quidditch team or buy them chocolates on Valentine’s Day?

But that didn’t matter, did it? He was here as support, the backstage crew in this motley, joyful stage production. He was here for the people who did know. For the people who had to fight to be themselves. That was the whole point of being an ally, right?

Resisting the urge to glance around — no one was looking at him anyways, stop being an idiot — Cassian pinned both buttons onto his cloak. A small, proud smile slowly spread across his face as he peered at his work. They stood out, the only spots of color on his black robes other than the ever-present Gryffindor crest. He liked the way they looked. He liked that people could tell that he was trying, even if he might be bumbling around and making an utter fool of himself. The little rainbow winked brightly up at him in the sunlight. Cassian might not have been ready to just leap into the festivities quite yet, but he was there, and he was really, truly, doing his best.

word count: 922

banner by Pericles Dralt| interacting as Archer Duncan

Pride.

In the sense of the LGBTQ+ community or otherwise, it was an odd word for Archer. He didn’t exactly know what to do with it. He wasn’t a particularly prideful person, mostly because there was little he could be proud of on his body. While intelligent academically he was far from perfect and he detested that notion. While a good enough duellist he had still lost the past two seasons and now he couldn’t even blame being pitted against sixth years for the latter. Pride. Funny.

And pride as in the sense they were commemorating today? As he stared into the distant midst he didn’t even know what role he played in that word, if any at all.

Today’s was the first pride celebration he had ever attended, and Archer had no expected the overload of colours. The flags were what he first noticed, the centrepiece a rainbow and smaller ones in striped patterns scattered around it. He found himself vaguely able to recognise the largest one as the umbrella representation of the LGBTQ+ community, and practically nothing else as they all blurred together, as much of a sensory overload as the many beanbags that now populated the courtyard and the music — nothing he would normally listen to — blasting in the background. Although he did not identify he was supportive, but even so, Archer soon began to question why he came in the first place, instead of skipping the event like he had everything else.

Well, he supposed since he was already here, he might as well make some use of it. Glancing around the courtyard once familiar and the benches under shade he had often found himself sitting on the locale was entirely redecorated and overwhelmingly so. Finally, though, his eyes landed on something, and he nodded with satisfaction. Of course, no one ought be surprised that Archer chose to loiter in the literary section which, thank Merlin, was offered. Strolling over to where the books sat with little care for speed he used the time to observe his fellow attendants. The only person that seemed somewhat familiar was a boy he did not know well — good, he certainly was not getting approached today. He would be in, he would be out, and it would not be difficult.

As he neared his fingers trailed across the spines, frowning at most of the bright titles he failed to recognise. Contemporary fiction. God. That was an entirely new genre yet to be explored. Suddenly, he stumbled on the gold-lined title of a book not quite thick, but clothbound was a sophisticated air about. Sliding the copy out from the stack perilously, his mind was settled too focused on the novella to care much if the entire stack fell. He studied the cover and soon Archer’s lips stretched into a smile. Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s classic gothic piece on lesbian vampires — perhaps one of the best choices here yet.

Archer spared the stack a look and, sure enough, it had collapsed. Shit, were the Fates serious? Slipping out quick words of apology at the student who seemed to have organised the event (Atkins, if memory from his classes, duels, and passing interactions served him right), his focus was quick to moved past them as his eyes caught onto four words above the name Oscar Wilde. Dark hazel irises sparkled and he grinned at the familiar cover he knew well, his own thumbed-through copy still sitting on his bedside table but that was nowhere synonymous with restricting himself from picking up another. Hugging to book to his chest he nodded his curt gratitude at the Ravenclaw prefect before walking away form the stand, in no mood to bear responsibility for a fault that was entirely his. Archer was not meant to be a clumsy person, but if he was not going to acknowledge it, then he could think of it all as simply a figment of his imagination.

He simply stared down at the two copies. Carmilla. Picture of Dorian Gray. Finding their rightful place in this collection. They would find a better place in his own though, no doubt.

Instead of plopping down on a beanbag however, Archer wandered, and eventually ended up in the crafts section. Never having been interested in the up cycling materials laid out in front of him why he thought this was an appropriate place for him to be was the question. On an odd day he drew, more to document than to express creativity, and it was by no means a hobby. There were certain things he could make by hand, mostly devices he had been taught to use for survival. In short this, especially painting on bottle caps, was not exactly an activity he found particularly entertaining. He grimaced, clutching his books tighter as he surveyed the few students standing at the tables. Most of them seemed to be at the parade, a blessing — a loud gathering for boisterous people, it was a perfect combination.

And there he was, the first victim of Archer’s social inadequacy. Well, in an attempt of “what normal teenagers did” this underclassman was about to be subjected to awkward torture. Dark haired Cassian Montelise Byrne, though to him he was merely an unnamed Gryffindor, with eyes as hazel as his own. He too seemed uncertain what to do with himself, awkwardly sporting two buttons that seemed newly made and handcrafted. “Ally?” He asked curiously. “Does that just mean you are supportive of the community?” He shifted slightly on the balls of his feet, and stared at the shorter boy as he awaited an answer.

ℬrookline glanced up at her bird’s nest of hair, and she put the whole thing in a messy bun. Messy buns and messy braids were what she did nowadays, and it was done quick and easy. Grabbing her book from her bed, she looked around for her companion before she left. Tigeress stalked into view, and she gave her kitten a ear scritch. Taking her leave, Brookline quietly closed the dorm door behind her, ready to read in Hogwarts’ quiet grounds.

She stopped at the Great Hall, first, grabbing some buttered toast on the way. Breakfast-on-the-go, is what her mother always called, when she was younger. One time, when she was around six years old, her parents woke her and her siblings up early for a surprise road trip. It had definitely been Amy, her mother’s idea, and the kids had brought Welsh cakes, croissants, and fruit for breakfast on the way. It made her feel a little down, but she was determined to have a day without crying.

Stumbling into the Courtyard, Brookline had a sheer look of annoyance on her face when she first heard the music. There... was also a lot of color. She didn’t recognize or remember any note, any beat of the song. “Of course, a bit of loud Muggle-made music that I don’t know,” She muttered to herself.. It wasn’t like she hated music, it was just that she really wanted a silent, tranquil day in the Courtyard. Preferred book in hand, she stayed to the side of the parade as she gazed around for a quiet spot to read. There! A book stall! Perfect for reading, and not-so-loud.

As she entered the arts & crafts area, she realized she wasn’t the only one there. There were already quite a few students inside making their own masterpieces, and there was a girl reading a volume, that was most likely one of the books, the Ravenclaw perfect, Mylo, displayed for the area. (@Mylo Atkins, @Alyss Gilmour.)

Setting her book aside, Brookline went to one of the tables, sat down, and there were sheets upon sheets of parchment and canvases. She chose a crisp leaf of unsullied paper. Grabbing some paints, she took a paint brush, and glanced at her outfit. A light pastel coloured colorblock sweater, with high waisted Jeans with a pink rose design. She wanted to apply that to the color wheel for her painting.

She dipped the brush in light pink, and taking a impulsive stroke, she created a thick pink line across the horizontal canvas. A rose-pink sunset will do, Brookline finalized, her brush taking light strokes, and then she washed her brush out, making sure she wouldn’t mix colors. Then dipping the brush in light violet, she blended in the pink and purple together, creating a pretty sky.

About half-way done, she heard the all too good sound of shuffling. Head perked up, and curious dark blue eyes open, Brookline glanced around, and she placed her paint brush down. A upperclassmen with short dark hair and a striped sweater, stuffing things in their pocket. They also had a pride pin attached to their sweater. Apparently Mylo had out blank pride pins as well! Goodness, he did it all. The Ravenclaw girl wondered if she go talk with the older student, it was Sunday, she supposed, Perhaps a little interaction will go well for me. And for the student. Or maybe it could end well. I should leave now. And just read in the dorm.

Brookline thought about leaving but decided against it. Leaving her half-finished painting alone for the time being, she ventured over to the student, and gave a little smile. Even though it hurt her cheeks, it was worth it to have a bit of interaction, today. “Hi! I’m Brookline. Brookline Quinn. I was wondering if you could teach me a bit about the colors on your pin?” She pointed to the upperclassmen’s pin. Then, as she gazed at the colors again, she realized she didn’t know much at all about Pride Month. I suppose I could ask. I hope this older student is friendly, Brookline thought as she proceeded with her words. “I can tell it’s a pride flag for Pride Month, but I don’t know much about it. To be honest, I don’t know much about the LGBTQ+ community either! If you don’t mind, do you think you could help me learn a little bit, today?”

Brookline looked a little scared as she spoke, but she remembered that she’s talked with a few upperclassmens. Merlin, she has all upperclassmens on her team. Not a single second year or underclassmen. Well beside Aston, their new co-captain. But no second year to race beside! She took a deep breath and remembered that upperclassmen aren’t all that scary. She was just overreacting a bit. Let’s just hope I didn’t come off wrong. I would hate to disrespect anyone here, or even call someone a different pronoun then they are, The Welsh girl thought, as she remembered some people have different pronouns. Sometimes it was just a bit confusing but she would live!

ooc notes:

june 7 | afternoonspace

⫘⫘ WC: 503 ⫘⫘

english | french | thoughts

@Brookline Quinn