Patchwork misfits
- Patch-fits™ -
ReducioThe outside of the Patchwork Culture tents are exactly what the name promises - one giant patchwork quilt, each panel from a different culture: Japanese silk, Ghanaian kente cloth, Scottish tartans, Turkish kilim, Mexican serape stripes, Indonesian batik prints... Countries from all over the world are represented in this tent's flowy exterior.
Inside, the walls are made of overlapping cloth panels from all over the world. The ceiling is canopied, and strings of multi-coloured lanterns and tassels are strung throughout. The floor is covered in soft rugs and woven mats, and cushions strewn throughout the tent invite to lounge, read, and chat. A low table surrounded by floor cushions offers a place for the occupants to gather and socialise.
There are no beds in this tent - instead, there are hammocks strung up between sturdy wooden posts. They're made of colourful fabrics, with patterns from different cultures (of your choice), with matching blankets and pillows.
One highlight is the storybook nook: There is a cozy corner in the tent that offers storybooks from around the world, in stacks on the ground or sorted into woven baskets. There are also trinkets and artifacts from different cultures displayed on low shelves, each with a short explanation of its origins.
Interactions: @Livia Machavariani | @Maria Leung de Almeida | @Akihiko Takahashi | @Botan Miura
Mentions: N/ADate: August 11th
Location: London Quidditch Stadium, tentJapanese: speech
- Patchwork misfits -
Punctuality was an important quality for any wizard to have. Being late was a terrible habit to have, and wouldn't serve you well in any way or shape. It was always better to be early. Although perhaps today she might be a little too early. There was no one else standing outside the sun-bleached patchwork tent, and judging from it's shut curtains no one inside either. To be truthful, she hadn't really known where else to go and locating her tent had seemed a good as a place as any to start. Having not attended school yet, she didn't have any social obligations to greet friends or acquaintances on the way either. No, the best thing to do was to drop off her bags and introduce herself to her new tentmates. She hoped that they would be tolerable, as she would be residing with them for the next twenty days. She had more than enough experience living with unpleasant cousins to justify the universe being kind to her this camp.
Pushing aside the curtains and opening them so that sunlight could illuminate the tent, she was greeted with an unexpected sight. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. She was well versed in magical tents, having been in a few herself on family camping trips before. It wasn't the magical side of it that was unexpected, but rather the decor choices. The carpeted and cushion covered floors of the tent held a low table, and all around it were hammocks strung up. The hammocks each were made out of a different fabric, seemingly originating from all around the world. The tent walls were a similar affair, being made up of a patchwork of all kinds of fabrics from different cultures. Despite the many different colours and textures, it was all somehow harmonious. Home decor was more of her aunts speciality, but she could appreciate the effort put into the design.
Choosing a hammock of familiar Japanese silk on the far side of the tent, she walked over and stowed her bags beneath it. She had packed relatively light for this trip, with one large bag containing clothing and all the other necessities she would need. There was no sense in over packing and having to haul around more than you could carry. The only personal touch she had brought with her was a small painting that Minato had made her, resting at the bottom of her bag. It was the view of the mountains from the Ito residences window. The trees were a bit crooked. Still, it was a nice thought. Takashi claimed that he had "helped" but she doubted it. That child was a menace with a paint brush. The walls were in more danger than the canvas, much to the irritation of his tutors. Her older siblings had both wished her good luck with her quidditch game, which was more than enough of a gift. She would make them proud, whether Mahoutokoro won or lost.
Smoothing down her robes, she turned her attention back to the tent. She supposed the only thing to do now was wait for the rest of her tentmates to arrive. Hopefully one of them spoke Japanese and was able to translate for her, because her english was rudimentary at best. Either way, she would find some way to communicate. It was likely that most of them would be in the same boat. Old-fashioned pointing and waving would do the trick if nothing else would. Glancing out the door, she watched as students from all over the world walked past to get to their own tents. There was nothing left for her to do but wait, and see what her first international camping experience would turn out to be like.
Patchwork misfits
Hatred. Rage. Darkness.
Maria had spent the summer fighting tooth and nail, quite literally, with her homecoming. She was invited back to her family compound only to be greeted by violence, malice, and more violence. In one instance, she was dragged out in the middle of the night for a duel that ended with her being dumped in the ocean, presumably to meet an early demise, only to have to smile and act like her attackers were innocent. Perfect, punctual, pretty Maria was done. Fuck that. Fuck her.
Maria arrived to the tent in a cloud of misery. Trunks galore followed her. Subtle and simple was never her style and she wasn’t about to let anyone mess with that! Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark mascara. Maria wore a black lace dress with various straps, clasps, and buckles hugging her mid section, as if the sole purpose was to keep her contained. Thigh high boots that looked like they were meant more for torture than walking. Black nails, black lips, and 100% get out of her way.
She stopped at the entrance to survey the tent. Somehow, the mismatched tent fabric, hammocks hanging loosely from tent pegs, and the thrown together mess of the decor matched whatever it was she was feeling. Whatever it was was…oddly satisfying. There was already a girl here, from Mahoutokoro - great, even all the way in London she couldn’t run from Japan let alone all of Asia. She gave the current an occupant a sidelong look that just oozed “talk to me if you dare” before moving to the very opposite corner.
Setting her stuff down she got to work unpacking. Makeup, lots of makeup, an extensive wardrobe of black and red, her school kimono and a formal one just in case - she wasn’t a monster. Finally she pulled out a gramophone and set it on a nearby table. She then placed a record from a sleeve on the play track and put the needle gently, almost lovingly, on the disc. The music filling the tent was the excellent, melancholy but appropriately aggressive artistry of the muggle band Sleep Token.
Slinking into a plush cushion, Maria laid her head back to let the bass and drum wash over her as if it were a cleansing scream. Taking a deep side she pulled her custom Fender out of it’s bag, brightly pink, but chips torn out of it like it had seen wars. She began running through some scales and practices as she listened to the music, her bass not amped so that it was silent in the perfectly percussive musical musings of her favorite band.
Maria had spent the summer fighting tooth and nail, quite literally, with her homecoming. She was invited back to her family compound only to be greeted by violence, malice, and more violence. In one instance, she was dragged out in the middle of the night for a duel that ended with her being dumped in the ocean, presumably to meet an early demise, only to have to smile and act like her attackers were innocent. Perfect, punctual, pretty Maria was done. Fuck that. Fuck her.
Maria arrived to the tent in a cloud of misery. Trunks galore followed her. Subtle and simple was never her style and she wasn’t about to let anyone mess with that! Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark mascara. Maria wore a black lace dress with various straps, clasps, and buckles hugging her mid section, as if the sole purpose was to keep her contained. Thigh high boots that looked like they were meant more for torture than walking. Black nails, black lips, and 100% get out of her way.
She stopped at the entrance to survey the tent. Somehow, the mismatched tent fabric, hammocks hanging loosely from tent pegs, and the thrown together mess of the decor matched whatever it was she was feeling. Whatever it was was…oddly satisfying. There was already a girl here, from Mahoutokoro - great, even all the way in London she couldn’t run from Japan let alone all of Asia. She gave the current an occupant a sidelong look that just oozed “talk to me if you dare” before moving to the very opposite corner.
Setting her stuff down she got to work unpacking. Makeup, lots of makeup, an extensive wardrobe of black and red, her school kimono and a formal one just in case - she wasn’t a monster. Finally she pulled out a gramophone and set it on a nearby table. She then placed a record from a sleeve on the play track and put the needle gently, almost lovingly, on the disc. The music filling the tent was the excellent, melancholy but appropriately aggressive artistry of the muggle band Sleep Token.
Slinking into a plush cushion, Maria laid her head back to let the bass and drum wash over her as if it were a cleansing scream. Taking a deep side she pulled her custom Fender out of it’s bag, brightly pink, but chips torn out of it like it had seen wars. She began running through some scales and practices as she listened to the music, her bass not amped so that it was silent in the perfectly percussive musical musings of her favorite band.
@Sayaka Ito, @Akihiko Takahash, @Botan Miura, @Livia Machavariani
Action: Maria enters, looks at Sayaka, moves to her corner, plays music, starts practicing on her bass.
Ability applied: Loving Creature
Maria Leung de Almeida is the iNPC of Dennis Tumberton
Patchwork misfits
date: summer camp 2025
time: –:–
location: patchwork culture tent
Despite living relatively close to London, Livia's hour-long journey from Ewell to central London was agonisingly slow. Her brother had begun to cry when he realised Livia would not be travelling to Kutaisi with the family, and the longer that particular realisation had sunk in, the more Livia had glowered, which only made her brother cry more. Her mother fretted over Julian, for once allowing Livia to wear an expression that was not born of polite neutrality, and it was an expression that remained on her lips even as they boarded the crowded train early in the morning, since Julian hated using the Floo.
'I don't want to go to camp,' she whispered to her father. She had ensured her face was angled away from her mother's line of vision before speaking the words, had kept her voice low and the movement of her lips hidden even as she expressed the sentiment. The girl, who had never before been impacted by motion sickness of any sort, gripped onto the edge of the train's window as the carriage shook, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her arms felt exposed in her short-sleeved beige blouse, her legs heavy in her pressed brown trousers and fine loafers, and despite the dark-green cardigan hanging loosely around her shoulders, she shivered. She swallowed. She stared at the train's ceiling and breathed slowly.
Séamus simply placed his hand on her shoulder, but that was enough; she acknowledged the gesture with a small nod of her head even as the train continued to move. 'I wanted to do some work with granite with Babu'a, and he told me he was looking forward to it. Do you think he will do it without me?'
Séamus shook his head. 'Not if it would upset you. But you'll be okay. Make some friends, learn something new. It's an opportunity, even if you don't like it—embrace it.'
He was objectively right. The train finally came to a stop, and Livia had to restrain herself from hurrying to the doors. She nearly stumbled out and had to take a few extra steps onto the platform to keep from tripping. She caught herself easily enough, though, and she was glad when her parents directed her and Julian to a glamoured pub, inside which they did end up taking the Floo to get closer to the stadium. Julian wailed louder, and when they arrived, Livia wrapped her arms around him and placed her chin atop his head.
After arriving at the London Quidditch Stadium, Livia's mother ushered the young girl inside. Livia straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and minutely lifted her chin. She suppressed the urge to adjust a strand of hair that had fallen out of her chignon. Her cheeks reddened when her mother fixed it for her and made eye contact with her before murmuring a reminder to be polite and always remember to do as she was taught—as if she would do otherwise.
Livia nodded and made to enter the stadium, but not before casting a fond glance back towards Julian and her father. She opened her mouth, about to wish them well or otherwise offer a kind send-off, but her mother took her by the shoulders and began to push her into the stadium. She went along with it without even a sigh of annoyance.
The rest of it was a blur. Patchwork quilts of tents, people and families, blusterous noises, the brightness of the sky, all of it almost too much. Livia squinted and raised her hand to block the sun from her eyes, but a well-timed stern glance from her mother caused her to fold her hands together in front of her. She hardly registered when her mother actually left her—one moment Natela's shadow was over her, and the next, Livia was alone in the crowd and the summer sun. She meandered throughout the stadium before finding a tent made of myriad textiles, and she inched closer, curious. Some of the fabrics, she could not recognise, but what did draw her attention was a panel that held strong similarity to a rug she had seen hanging in a bazaar the last time she had visited Tbilisi. Something twisted inside of her—her stomach, her heart, her lungs? she could not tell—and her lips pulled downwards into a scowl, her eyebrows drawing lower, her upturned emerald eyes narrowing as she pushed the entry flap upwards and ducked inside, tugging her belongings behind her.
Two other students had arrived before her. This information meant her mother had been wrong; arriving early did not always mean you were first. She would not have first pick of her... hammock? Livia's frown deepened. She had at least expected a bed. However, as she glanced around at the available sleeping accommodations, she reached out to touch a sturdy hammock sewn of various panels of what looked like carpetwork at first, then tapestry, and once again, a memory of the sun beating down through a window in Tbilisi struck her. She smiled, then frowned, then finally schooled her expression back to neutrality all while setting her belongings underneath the hammock. No one else could have this one. It would be hers, and hers alone, and if anyone dared to even touch what she deemed hers...
She blinked, drawing herself out of her recollections and speculations, and began to properly look about her. The tent, which she had now properly claimed as the one she wanted, had a very odd composition, full of panels that were not all from one culture but rather a mixture. Her gaze caught on the elegant allure of the hanging lanterns, and she felt her cheeks attempting to smile once again, a motion she quickly annulled with a deep inhale. The book corner, too, drew her attention; she could already see a book with Кощей Бессмертный inscribed in large, blocky Cyrillic on the cover. There were more stories, some she hadn't heard of, such as Le Petit Prince or La vida de Lazarillo de Tormes..., which caused her to begin to step closer to the book corner—she knew no Spanish, which she assumed the language was, but the vivid colouring on the cover as well as the long title captivated her.
The sound of the gramophone was what really made her recognise that the other people mattered. She tore her gaze from the books and instead eyed the girl with the instrument—a guitar? Livia raised an eyebrow but said nothing, content to watch. The music playing on the gramophone was dark, intriguing, something she had never heard before but was certainly not against hearing more of.
Livia then turned to the other girl, the one who seemed only slightly more open to talking, and she offered a small wave and a tentative, stilted, forced smile that she tried to reflect in her eyes. She sat on her hammock and made eye contact with @Sakaya Ito. 'Hello, good day. My name is Livia, and I...' She paused—what was the likelihood that the other students were foreign? Wasn't she supposed to mention where she was from, in that case? '...I am from England.' She pushed any thought of summers spent in Georgia to the back of her mind and forced her smile wider. 'As you might have surmised, I will be attending Hogwarts this September. I would like to ask what your names are, and also where you will be going to school.' Then, she glanced at the girl with the very impressive fashion (@Maria Leung de Almeida). 'And, I apologise if I am interrupting your practising, but this song is very interesting, and I am assuming the gramophone is yours. Might I ask what is playing?'
translations
Кощей Бессмертный – Koshchei the Deathless, a traditional antagonist in Russian folklore
Le Petit Prince – The Little Prince, a story by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
La vida de Lazarillo de Tormes... – a shortened title for The Life of Lazarillo de Tormes, a selection of tales from Medieval Spain
time: –:–
location: patchwork culture tent
roleplaying as livia machavariani
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
Despite living relatively close to London, Livia's hour-long journey from Ewell to central London was agonisingly slow. Her brother had begun to cry when he realised Livia would not be travelling to Kutaisi with the family, and the longer that particular realisation had sunk in, the more Livia had glowered, which only made her brother cry more. Her mother fretted over Julian, for once allowing Livia to wear an expression that was not born of polite neutrality, and it was an expression that remained on her lips even as they boarded the crowded train early in the morning, since Julian hated using the Floo.
'I don't want to go to camp,' she whispered to her father. She had ensured her face was angled away from her mother's line of vision before speaking the words, had kept her voice low and the movement of her lips hidden even as she expressed the sentiment. The girl, who had never before been impacted by motion sickness of any sort, gripped onto the edge of the train's window as the carriage shook, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her arms felt exposed in her short-sleeved beige blouse, her legs heavy in her pressed brown trousers and fine loafers, and despite the dark-green cardigan hanging loosely around her shoulders, she shivered. She swallowed. She stared at the train's ceiling and breathed slowly.
Séamus simply placed his hand on her shoulder, but that was enough; she acknowledged the gesture with a small nod of her head even as the train continued to move. 'I wanted to do some work with granite with Babu'a, and he told me he was looking forward to it. Do you think he will do it without me?'
Séamus shook his head. 'Not if it would upset you. But you'll be okay. Make some friends, learn something new. It's an opportunity, even if you don't like it—embrace it.'
He was objectively right. The train finally came to a stop, and Livia had to restrain herself from hurrying to the doors. She nearly stumbled out and had to take a few extra steps onto the platform to keep from tripping. She caught herself easily enough, though, and she was glad when her parents directed her and Julian to a glamoured pub, inside which they did end up taking the Floo to get closer to the stadium. Julian wailed louder, and when they arrived, Livia wrapped her arms around him and placed her chin atop his head.
After arriving at the London Quidditch Stadium, Livia's mother ushered the young girl inside. Livia straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders and minutely lifted her chin. She suppressed the urge to adjust a strand of hair that had fallen out of her chignon. Her cheeks reddened when her mother fixed it for her and made eye contact with her before murmuring a reminder to be polite and always remember to do as she was taught—as if she would do otherwise.
Livia nodded and made to enter the stadium, but not before casting a fond glance back towards Julian and her father. She opened her mouth, about to wish them well or otherwise offer a kind send-off, but her mother took her by the shoulders and began to push her into the stadium. She went along with it without even a sigh of annoyance.
The rest of it was a blur. Patchwork quilts of tents, people and families, blusterous noises, the brightness of the sky, all of it almost too much. Livia squinted and raised her hand to block the sun from her eyes, but a well-timed stern glance from her mother caused her to fold her hands together in front of her. She hardly registered when her mother actually left her—one moment Natela's shadow was over her, and the next, Livia was alone in the crowd and the summer sun. She meandered throughout the stadium before finding a tent made of myriad textiles, and she inched closer, curious. Some of the fabrics, she could not recognise, but what did draw her attention was a panel that held strong similarity to a rug she had seen hanging in a bazaar the last time she had visited Tbilisi. Something twisted inside of her—her stomach, her heart, her lungs? she could not tell—and her lips pulled downwards into a scowl, her eyebrows drawing lower, her upturned emerald eyes narrowing as she pushed the entry flap upwards and ducked inside, tugging her belongings behind her.
Two other students had arrived before her. This information meant her mother had been wrong; arriving early did not always mean you were first. She would not have first pick of her... hammock? Livia's frown deepened. She had at least expected a bed. However, as she glanced around at the available sleeping accommodations, she reached out to touch a sturdy hammock sewn of various panels of what looked like carpetwork at first, then tapestry, and once again, a memory of the sun beating down through a window in Tbilisi struck her. She smiled, then frowned, then finally schooled her expression back to neutrality all while setting her belongings underneath the hammock. No one else could have this one. It would be hers, and hers alone, and if anyone dared to even touch what she deemed hers...
She blinked, drawing herself out of her recollections and speculations, and began to properly look about her. The tent, which she had now properly claimed as the one she wanted, had a very odd composition, full of panels that were not all from one culture but rather a mixture. Her gaze caught on the elegant allure of the hanging lanterns, and she felt her cheeks attempting to smile once again, a motion she quickly annulled with a deep inhale. The book corner, too, drew her attention; she could already see a book with Кощей Бессмертный inscribed in large, blocky Cyrillic on the cover. There were more stories, some she hadn't heard of, such as Le Petit Prince or La vida de Lazarillo de Tormes..., which caused her to begin to step closer to the book corner—she knew no Spanish, which she assumed the language was, but the vivid colouring on the cover as well as the long title captivated her.
The sound of the gramophone was what really made her recognise that the other people mattered. She tore her gaze from the books and instead eyed the girl with the instrument—a guitar? Livia raised an eyebrow but said nothing, content to watch. The music playing on the gramophone was dark, intriguing, something she had never heard before but was certainly not against hearing more of.
Livia then turned to the other girl, the one who seemed only slightly more open to talking, and she offered a small wave and a tentative, stilted, forced smile that she tried to reflect in her eyes. She sat on her hammock and made eye contact with @Sakaya Ito. 'Hello, good day. My name is Livia, and I...' She paused—what was the likelihood that the other students were foreign? Wasn't she supposed to mention where she was from, in that case? '...I am from England.' She pushed any thought of summers spent in Georgia to the back of her mind and forced her smile wider. 'As you might have surmised, I will be attending Hogwarts this September. I would like to ask what your names are, and also where you will be going to school.' Then, she glanced at the girl with the very impressive fashion (@Maria Leung de Almeida). 'And, I apologise if I am interrupting your practising, but this song is very interesting, and I am assuming the gramophone is yours. Might I ask what is playing?'
@sayaka ito · @maria leung de almeida · @akihiko takahashi · @botan miura
translations
Кощей Бессмертный – Koshchei the Deathless, a traditional antagonist in Russian folklore
Le Petit Prince – The Little Prince, a story by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
La vida de Lazarillo de Tormes... – a shortened title for The Life of Lazarillo de Tormes, a selection of tales from Medieval Spain
Last edited by Livia Machavariani on 16 Jul 2025, 21:38, edited 2 times in total.
| [staff] jessamine lancaster even you cannot conquer the sun. | marina alacrán [inpc] her hair is kinda wild and free. |
Patchwork misfits
Akihiko wasn’t certain exactly how he felt about the whole situation this summer. He was attending summer camp, if only to escape the pressure that awaited him at home. Besides, it was better to surround himself with his peers to stay sharp rather than be left to study alone for the summer.
He had packed light, a single trunk filled with casual clothes for the summer, his Quidditch gear, school robes and a few pieces of more formal clothing. This, along with his summer studies and broom, was all he felt was needed for his month stay in the UK.
The Quidditch stadium where they were meant to stay was unlike the it had been during the Quidditch match he had seen there. Rather, the field was littered with circus like tents and lodgings, fairground rides that muggle children seemed to obsess over. He moved past them with purpose, selecting a tent made of patchwork from all origins.
Holding his trunk in his left hand and his broom in the other, he stopped at the tent entrance to survey the scene. Three students were already within the tent, each having already chosen a bed. Or…a hammock. His brows furrowed as he studied the sleeping arrangements, forced to pick one of the few remaining open hammocks. He gently set his trunk on the floor and turned to his tent mates, spotting two other students he guessed to be from Mahoutokoro.
Akihiko seemed to be interrupting a conversation of introductions. He had entered just in time to hear the younger British student trying her best to start some form of conversation. She seemed to be struggling to involve the other asian student in the corner of the tent who was aggressively dressed and even more aggressively playing a bass. It took him a moment to realize who she was, to which his lips parted to form an ‘o’.
He shook off the initial shock quickly, grinning as he blinked at her slowly. What an interesting change, she was hardly the girl he had seen around the school in the year before. He wasn’t certain yet how to deal with her, and made the decision to acknowledge each of his tent mates individually.
He first turned to the asian student in her hammock, and dipped into a shallow bow, then straightened and offered a gentle smile. 「マホウトコロの方ですね？ 高橋明彦と申します。初めまして！」 “You’re from Mahoutokoro, right? My name is Takahashi Akihiko. Nice to meet you!”
He next turned to the British student, and offered a charming smile. “Looks like we’ll be tent mates. I’m Akihiko Takahashi—from Mahoutokoro. I missed your name?”
Waiting for her response, he would finally turn to the final goth girl. While he thought he recognized her, he was too uncertain to ask for sure. 「こんにちは。お名前はなんですか？」 “Hello. What’s your name?”
Charmer - Evasive Manuevers I - Evasive Manuevers II
Action: setting down trunk and introducing himself.
@Maria Leung de Almeida | @Sayaka Ito | @Livia Machavariani | @Botan Miura
iNPC of Ava Winchect
Patchwork misfits
11/8/25 • english • japanese • wc: 492
While summer camp wasn't Botan's favorite, he wasn't angry about attending. He had limited options for what to do this summer, but the main reason he decided to attend camp was because he didn't want to spend time at home, near his father.
Botan had been at summer camp in the past, held at the London Quidditch Stadium, so he knew what to expect. Games, sports, crafts and more, all wrapped up in whatever theme the organizers came up with. Botan didn't really care about what the theme of the camp was, but what he did care about was that he got to participate in a Quidditch match.
Arriving to the stadium brought no surprises. Bright lights, loud sounds, families chattering- everything matched his expectations for the fair theme. Botan made his way towards the tent that he would be living in for nearly two months. When he reached the tent's entrance, he inhaled before sticking his hand out and pushing aside the flap of fabric that served as the door to his temporary home.
When his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the tent, Botan spotted three girls along with his cousin Akihiko, all making their introductions. Making his way inside, Botan dragged his trunk behind him while clutching his beloved Moontrimmer broom. He had brought his usual clothes, all in dark shades, along with his navy school robes and quidditch gear. Along with the essential summer camp supplies, he had brought his school books to keep on top of his studies and a few books on magical healing for his enjoyment.
He passed by three girls in order to set his trunk down near his cousin's, claiming one of the empty hammocks. He gently set his broom on the ground, tucking it behind his trunk for safekeeping. He stretched out his hand in order to feel the fabric of his hammock, and was pleasantly surprised when he found it to be soft and lightweight. At the same time, he eavesdropped on his other tentmates, listening to a young girl named Livia introduce herself as a Hogwarts student.
Botan glanced over at his other tentmates while trying to recognize their faces. He assumed that the remaining two of the girls alongside his cousin attended Mahoutokoro. Botan stood near his cousin, listening to him talk to each of the tent members while flashing his ridiculously charming smile that made Botan want to roll his eyes and throw up at the same time. During a short pause in the introductions he butted in, his cold voice chilling the air inside the tent,"Hello, I am Botan Miura, Mahoutokoro."
He then turned to Akihiko and said in the same cold tone except softer, 「いとこ。ここに来てくれて嬉しいよ。」 Cousin. Glad to see you here.
He glanced around the tent once more, spotting a corner of the tent equipped with storybooks and pillows, serving as a reading area. He instantly knew that if the time spent at camp went poorly, that would be his refuge.
books = magic. | | shop | CHARLIE JACOBSEN |
Patchwork misfits
Interactions: @Livia Machavariani | @Maria Leung de Almeida | @Akihiko Takahashi | @Botan Miura
Mentions: N/ADate: August 11th
Location: London Quidditch Stadium, tentJapanese: speech
- Patchwork misfits -
The first to join her in the tent was a girl, taller than her and by looks older as well. Where Sayaka's luggage and general style had been compact and with subtle elegance, this new girls was numerous and loud. Her outfit was something that she had to be truthful never really seen anything like before. It certainly would not be appropriate attire for the type of events she normally attended. She watched as the girl stopped in the doorway, gave her a look at would probably kill an insect, and stormed off into a corner. Well this was... unexpected. She glared right back at the girls retreating form before remembering herself and schooling her expression into one of polite neutrality. It seemed her first tent-mate had already gone right ahead and pulled a Cass. She was not stupid enough to attempt to talk to someone who had already very clearly put out the message that if spoken to she might turn feral. She stayed sitting on her cushion as her new tentmate... pulled out an instrument.
The strings made no noise as she played it, and Sayaka had the uncomfortable thought that she had absolutely no idea what this girl would do next. Thankfully this train of thought was interrupted by another arrival. Another girl, although this one was dressed much less adventurously. She walked over to the centre of the tent to greet her, returning her new tentmates forced smile with a polite one of her own. The girl greeted her, although not in a language she knew. English. It was fast becoming yet another one of her many problems. She just shook her head, trying to indicate that she could not understand her. "Do you speak Japanese?" she asked, although without much hope. One tentmate a complete wildcard and one who she could not even remotely understand. This was going to be a long camp. Still, she was an Ito. She would find a way to turn this around (although she had already dismissed instrument girl as a lost cause).
She pointed at herself and said "Sayaka Ito" In Japanese, family names are said first so it would be reasonable for Livia to assume her name is Ito. It was likely that the other girl had said her name somewhere in her introduction, but it was as unfamiliar to her as any other English word. So she gestured towards the other girl, attempting to make her understand that she wanted her name. It took a lot of willpower to stop herself from wincing as her new tentmate attempted to talk to the instrument girl. Either she was wilfully clueless of social cues or was willing to dig her own grave, but she did not particularly appreciated being dragged down into the ground with her. Once again the tent flap rustled, and this time it was a familiar face poking through. It was the boy she had met at the wedding she had attended in London earlier this year. The relief she felt was stronger than she had expected it to be.
"I am" she responded "Sayaka Ito, in case you've forgotten. Nice to meet you again". She wondered if he would recognise her. Nothing major had changed about her appearance, so unless he was a sufferer of a type of memory loss he should. Although considering her luck so far today, she wouldn't put it past the universe. One thing went her way though, because he spoke English. She was once again given a cause for relief when he spoke to the other girl. He switched back to Japanese again, and joined in poking the bear in trying to speak to the instrument girl. Before they could all suffer for his (and the English girls) actions, the tent flap rustled it's now familiar tune. They were joined by another boy, also Japanese. She had won the language lottery twice, it would seem. Although briefly confused when he spoke in English, she understood once again when he addressed Akihiko as his cousin. "I don't speak English, but my name is Sayaka Ito. It's nice to meet you" she said, repeating her name for the third time in such a short amount of time.
Patchwork misfits
All Maria wanted, all she cared about in that moment, was to be left alone. She even chose a corner and sunk into a plush pillowy cushion in hopes of being forgotten. Darkness was her friend now. Cold, unrelenting -
What? People were talking to her. First it was some foreign girl who stumbled into a tent filled now with Japanese students. Maybe she was lost? One of the Japanese students, whatever her name is, did a poor pantomime of trying to communicate. Maria did her best to stop a smirk spreading across her face - finally some comeuppance for such a stubborn culture. Wait, was the white girl going to need a translator? Was she going to get stuck with the role when she clearly didn’t want to be talked to? Best not to let on you know language, that is probably the best move here.
A few boys came in and started chatting up the room - especially one named Akihiko. Seemed he paid attention in English classes enough to communicate so it seemed like Maria was off the hook for now. However, her relief was short lived as she tried to bath herself in the tasty bass licks of her music. The British girl, who joined Akihiko as the most chatty of the group, insisted on an attempt to ask about her music.
Why does one need to talk about music when one can simply listen to it? That basically spoiled her mood at that point. She turned off the gramophone and got out her wand. “Maria Constança Leung de Almeida,” she said matter-of-factly to Akihiko’s inquiry. Her long western style name always confused Japanese and perhaps she might have said it loud enough for the girl called Livia to pick it up too, if those ears were as good for listening as her mouth was for talking.
“Sonorus,” she said softly, almost lovingly, as she tapped her bass. Testing the volume, which was softer than the gramophone but still noticeable, she was pleased with the balance. Without another word to anyone, Maria slapped the bass line to RHCP’s “Can’t Stop.” She would in fact, not stop (heh) for a round unless someone made the effort to put a damper on the tastily stanky tones of Flea’s iconic bass line.
What? People were talking to her. First it was some foreign girl who stumbled into a tent filled now with Japanese students. Maybe she was lost? One of the Japanese students, whatever her name is, did a poor pantomime of trying to communicate. Maria did her best to stop a smirk spreading across her face - finally some comeuppance for such a stubborn culture. Wait, was the white girl going to need a translator? Was she going to get stuck with the role when she clearly didn’t want to be talked to? Best not to let on you know language, that is probably the best move here.
A few boys came in and started chatting up the room - especially one named Akihiko. Seemed he paid attention in English classes enough to communicate so it seemed like Maria was off the hook for now. However, her relief was short lived as she tried to bath herself in the tasty bass licks of her music. The British girl, who joined Akihiko as the most chatty of the group, insisted on an attempt to ask about her music.
Why does one need to talk about music when one can simply listen to it? That basically spoiled her mood at that point. She turned off the gramophone and got out her wand. “Maria Constança Leung de Almeida,” she said matter-of-factly to Akihiko’s inquiry. Her long western style name always confused Japanese and perhaps she might have said it loud enough for the girl called Livia to pick it up too, if those ears were as good for listening as her mouth was for talking.
“Sonorus,” she said softly, almost lovingly, as she tapped her bass. Testing the volume, which was softer than the gramophone but still noticeable, she was pleased with the balance. Without another word to anyone, Maria slapped the bass line to RHCP’s “Can’t Stop.” She would in fact, not stop (heh) for a round unless someone made the effort to put a damper on the tastily stanky tones of Flea’s iconic bass line.
@Sayaka Ito, @Akihiko Takahashi, @Botan Miura, @Livia Machavariani
Action: BASS
Ability applied: Loving Creature
Maria Leung de Almeida is the iNPC of Dennis Tumberton
Patchwork misfits
date: summer camp 2025
time: –:–
location: patchwork culture tent
As soon as Livia recognised the language being spoken by the others as Japanese, she knew this would be an interesting month. Her family had ensured she was exposed to numerous languages, literate in some while advanced in others, and yet there were still so many she could only recognise and not understand, and still others she had never heard of. The words the other students were speaking flew in one ear and out of the other, their meaning lost to the British girl, who could only notice the cadence and the characteristic syllables of their language. She was grateful when the girl who she would now refer to as Ito Sayaka, and would puzzle out the rest of its significance later, pointed to herself when offering what Livia assumed was a name. As Livia couldn't tell where the surname stopped and the first name began, well, a full name was safer to use—although it wasn't as if she could do much communicating, anyway.
She nodded appreciatively at Akihiko and Botan, who had introduced themselves in English. She offered Akihiko a firm handshake. 'Livia. It's a pleasure.'
Turning back to Ito Sayaka, she raised an eyebrow. If they didn't both speak English or Japanese, there had to be an option other than just utilising Akihiko or Botan as a translator—however, given the hint of coldness in Botan's voice, she decided that, should it be necessary, Akihiko might be the better option, as he seemed slightly more receptive to talking. The more she was in the presence of the girl with the interesting clothing, the more she wondered if she had made a breach of etiquette in speaking to her. However, she continued to stare about the room, finally hearing a name that sounded very not Japanese in character—Maria Constança Leung de Almeida. Such a long name suggested wealth and status, which meant Livia's family would push her to interface with the girl, but given her standoffish demeanour, Livia decided to back off. Even potentially satiating her curiosity was not worth making an enemy with a pure-blood.
Livia sat herself in her hammock, pressing the pads of her fingers against the all-too-familiar traditional Georgian tapestry work. Deciding to ignore the catchy tunes coming from the goth corner of the tent, she instead made eye contact with Ito Sayaka. 'Вы говорите по-русски?'1 she tried hopefully. 'O parla italiano? Latine?'2
Surely, she was pulling at strings, but if there was any way they could communicate without requiring some form of intermediary, that would be best. The idea of being reliant on someone else for proper communication abhorred her—should she ask Akihiko to translate, he could say anything, and she would have to take him at his word. And despite his charming demeanour, Livia still held a healthy amount of suspicion towards him. Ulterior motives, if he had any, could prove harmful to her if she tried to ask for translation.
As she sat in the comforting fabric, she continued to observe those around her. Her ears paid keen attention to Maria's music, but her eyes lingered largely on Akihiko. Something about him just commanded attention, observance, perhaps even kindness and thoughtful words. He still appeared nice enough, and he looked put-together enough, too, at least for Livia to want to talk to him. He spoke English, so it was not as if she had to ask for a translation if she simply spoke to him...
She kicked the ground and tucked her legs beneath her in the hammock, letting herself swing in the air as she continued to stare at Akihiko. 'Do you enjoy Mahoutokoro?' she asked, taking extra care to mirror the way he had pronounced the school's name as best she could.
translations
1. Вы говорите по-русски? – Do you speak Russian?
2. O parla italiano? Latine? – Or do you speak Italian? Latin?
time: –:–
location: patchwork culture tent
roleplaying as livia machavariani
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
As soon as Livia recognised the language being spoken by the others as Japanese, she knew this would be an interesting month. Her family had ensured she was exposed to numerous languages, literate in some while advanced in others, and yet there were still so many she could only recognise and not understand, and still others she had never heard of. The words the other students were speaking flew in one ear and out of the other, their meaning lost to the British girl, who could only notice the cadence and the characteristic syllables of their language. She was grateful when the girl who she would now refer to as Ito Sayaka, and would puzzle out the rest of its significance later, pointed to herself when offering what Livia assumed was a name. As Livia couldn't tell where the surname stopped and the first name began, well, a full name was safer to use—although it wasn't as if she could do much communicating, anyway.
She nodded appreciatively at Akihiko and Botan, who had introduced themselves in English. She offered Akihiko a firm handshake. 'Livia. It's a pleasure.'
Turning back to Ito Sayaka, she raised an eyebrow. If they didn't both speak English or Japanese, there had to be an option other than just utilising Akihiko or Botan as a translator—however, given the hint of coldness in Botan's voice, she decided that, should it be necessary, Akihiko might be the better option, as he seemed slightly more receptive to talking. The more she was in the presence of the girl with the interesting clothing, the more she wondered if she had made a breach of etiquette in speaking to her. However, she continued to stare about the room, finally hearing a name that sounded very not Japanese in character—Maria Constança Leung de Almeida. Such a long name suggested wealth and status, which meant Livia's family would push her to interface with the girl, but given her standoffish demeanour, Livia decided to back off. Even potentially satiating her curiosity was not worth making an enemy with a pure-blood.
Livia sat herself in her hammock, pressing the pads of her fingers against the all-too-familiar traditional Georgian tapestry work. Deciding to ignore the catchy tunes coming from the goth corner of the tent, she instead made eye contact with Ito Sayaka. 'Вы говорите по-русски?'1 she tried hopefully. 'O parla italiano? Latine?'2
Surely, she was pulling at strings, but if there was any way they could communicate without requiring some form of intermediary, that would be best. The idea of being reliant on someone else for proper communication abhorred her—should she ask Akihiko to translate, he could say anything, and she would have to take him at his word. And despite his charming demeanour, Livia still held a healthy amount of suspicion towards him. Ulterior motives, if he had any, could prove harmful to her if she tried to ask for translation.
As she sat in the comforting fabric, she continued to observe those around her. Her ears paid keen attention to Maria's music, but her eyes lingered largely on Akihiko. Something about him just commanded attention, observance, perhaps even kindness and thoughtful words. He still appeared nice enough, and he looked put-together enough, too, at least for Livia to want to talk to him. He spoke English, so it was not as if she had to ask for a translation if she simply spoke to him...
She kicked the ground and tucked her legs beneath her in the hammock, letting herself swing in the air as she continued to stare at Akihiko. 'Do you enjoy Mahoutokoro?' she asked, taking extra care to mirror the way he had pronounced the school's name as best she could.
@sayaka ito · @maria leung de almeida · @akihiko takahashi · @botan miura
translations
1. Вы говорите по-русски? – Do you speak Russian?
2. O parla italiano? Latine? – Or do you speak Italian? Latin?
| [staff] jessamine lancaster even you cannot conquer the sun. | marina alacrán [inpc] her hair is kinda wild and free. |
Patchwork misfits
Akihiko’s eyes narrowed as he watched his cousin enter the tent, dragging a trunk behind and clutching a broom in hand. He studied the new broom, the nicer broom. He wished he could tuck his own, much cheaper, broom away in embarrassment.
When his cousin spoke, Akihiko smiled condescendingly. 「あなたも.」 "You too."
「はい、私たちが同じテントにいるのを見てうれしいです。あなたはおそらくここにいる間に英語を拾うでしょう。」 "Yes, I'm glad to see you in the same tent. You'll probably pick up English while you're here." He offered the younger Japanese student a small reassuring smile. With the english student her age not speaking Japanese, it presented a bit of a language barrier. At least there would be translators available, his cousin and himself.
The girl introduced herself, turning down the gramophone and pulling out her wand for some reason. "Maria Constança Leung de Almeida," He echoed, the syllables longer and more foreign than he was used to. Although it confirmed his suspicion of seeing her within the school, although usually it was with much…brighter colors. She seemed to have had a transformation between the last time he remembered seeing her and now.
She turned away, returning to her bass and casting a spell to give it volume. He eyed her. 「はじめまして！」 "Nice to meet you!"
Finally returning to the English girl, and realizing his individual acknowledgments were largely inefficient, he shook her hand. "Livia." He repeated, grinning. "The pleasure is mine."
As she turned to attempt a conversation with Ito-san, he busied himself with rearranging his trunk and tucking his broom behind it. He climbed into the hammock, struggling for a moment before succeeding. The fabric tangled around him as he finally sat up, sitting with his legs crossed within what would be his bed. A small part of him was worried that in the middle of the night it would tip over and leave him sprawled on the floor. Botan would get a laugh out of that.
Akihiko raised his eyes, feeling eyes on him. Finding the english student watching him, he pulled a smile onto his face. Her hammock swung gently as she tucked her legs under her, and seemed willing for conversation.
She struggled through the school name, but he found the effort admirable. "I love it!" He said excitedly. "The campus is amazing, and our professors know what they’re talking about."
He nodded. "And you’ll be at Hogwarts in the fall, right?"
Charmer - Evasive Manuevers I - Evasive Manuevers II
Action: Yapping
@Maria Leung de Almeida | @Sayaka Ito | @Livia Machavariani | @Botan Miura
iNPC of Ava Winchect
Patchwork misfits
11/8/25 • english • japanese • wc: 294
From the minute he walked into the tent, Botan was wondering why he decided to even come to summer camp. He didn't like people, he hated hammocks and was now in... this crazy clown tent? But Botan wanted to play quidditch. So he stood next to his cousin listening to the other tent members socialize and introduce themselves.
He watched one of the tent members, Sayaka who seemed to be unable to speak English. She began talking, or attempting to talk to the other tent members. She tried talking to Livia, who seemed very young and attempted to fix the language gap with a multitude of other languages, none of which Botan could not understand. Livia then reavealed that she would be attending Hogwarts in the fall. Sakaya seemed to already know his cousin, Akihiko which was very likely. Aki could never stop smiling or shut up. And Livia seemed intrigued... or maybe interested in Akihiko?
He turned his head and his eyes landed on a girl named Maria, who was also from Mahoutokoro. She was in the corner by herself, dressed in all black, and it seemed that she wanted to be left alone. Part of Botan wanted to leave her alone, but the other part of him wanted to talk to her, and ask her a random question, that some might perceive as dumb. She had introduced herself briefly before bringing out her bass and playing loudly.
His cousin was busy charming each of the tent members which made Botan wanted to gag more than ever. He rolled his eyes, and plopped down into his hammock, which was shockingly comfortable. He reached for a book in his bag, not caring which one it was because he was bored out of his mind.
books = magic. | | shop | CHARLIE JACOBSEN |