Drago was slightly terrified.
No wait, make that extremely terrified.
He had no idea what it would be like, especially alone. He was hoping that his cousin, Nyx, would be there but she hadn't shown her face since he saw her at the beginning of the summer. She just wasn't her usual gung-ho, snarky, black-hearted, dark, humoresque self. It was as if that part of her had curled up deep inside her and hid away in some dark corner.
And he was scared. He had never seen her like that before. So numb, so... Indifferent.
And his father wasn't much better. He didn't even bat an eyelash as Drago pleaded for something else. Just said that Drago had to learn how to deal with people.
But enough depressing thoughts, he had no more time for those as he was at the gate. He stepped through. As soon as he passed the threshold, it was chaos. Pure, undiluted chaos. People were running around everywhere, doing everything. Screaming, shrieking, bellowing. Everything. He watched as the chaos unfold, having a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was... A lot. He desperately wished that Nyx was ether but he would have to make do on his own. He tried to think Nyx'liek thoughts before he pushed through the crowd. He elbowed people out of his way discreetly, before he managed to get to his destination. Cirque Du Lune. He boldly stepped out, only to trip into the tent. But before he could fall to the floor, someone caught him. Wow. He thought as he stared into grey-blue eyes.

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☞ Speaking
☞ Thoughts
☞ Narration
Current Outfit:

Reducio

Black t-shirt, black, ripped faded jeans, black Converse smudged with ink

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Mamori trudged through the crowd with a massive pack strapped to his back and two hefty bags hoisted over each shoulder, his turquoise specs giving a slightly spinning effect probably because he had never needed glasses before in his life and his brain was still figuring out how to handle this sudden influx of clear vision. The palm leaf print Hawaiian shirt he had chosen for summer was now decorated with a nice layer of dust. Not that it really was, but Mamori's brain had long ago decided that Floo travel automatically meant getting dirty. Hence his preference for literally any other mode of transportation that didn't involve fireplaces. But when both parents are too busy being responsible adults to properly see off their child at an ungodly six in the morning, one must make do. Wearing flip-flops while hauling three bags through London Quid Stadium was proving to be one of his less brilliant life decisions: besides the weight on his shoulders, the never-ending walks in search of the right direction, the total lack of mirrors to check if his appearance was as shabby as the way he felt, there were also blisters that were starting to form, thus turning what should have been a simple walk into his personal hell. When he finally found his tent having completely missed the welcome feast, Mamori was ready to throw himself down on any bed that looked least cursed. Except there were two people obstructing the entrance — one had apparently decided the ground looked inviting, the other had caught them, and now they were having some sort of intense staring contest. "Either of you need help or no?" Mamori's voice interrupted whatever moment they were having as gestured with his thumb and spare hand towards the side. "Because fascinating as this is, you're blocking the only entrance to what I'm desperately hoping is my tent. MOVE." the words were sharp and unfiltered, the rare instance of Mamori's inner asshole making its debut. After lying down for an hour or five and maybe getting some food, he'll come back to being a decent human being ​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌again.

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tag @Damien Dragonclaw @Drago Thanatos-Kholodov @Jules Pollux @Elizabeth Hamilton @Claire Ducasse | ooc godmod permission was given, but lmk if i should change anything!

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Made by the amazing Prat Pass

Drago was left dazed. This guy was like a prince in shining armor. He was, in Drago's mind, ultra cute and extremely handsome. You know, like that drop-dead gorgeous type? This had to either be a dream come true or a nightmare. Definitely a nightmare when their peaceful moment was disrupted by lots of angry rumbling outside and people shouting about getting into their tent. Then stepped away, Drago blushing terribly. He desperately wished that he wasn't so clumsy.

The drop-dead gorgeous teenage dream, went on to explain that he was the tent organizer, and his name was Damien Dragonclaw. Hell, even his name sounded cute. Drago listened avidly to everything that Damien explained and nodded along. He immediately chose the black bed for himself since it was the one bed that the others were ignoring or avoiding. He smiled.
He didn't mind, and it reminded him of his bed at home.
He silently thanked his father for forcing him to come to this camp.
For once, he actually felt like his father had done something to help him.

He kept stealing glances at Damien and wondered how on Earth he was supposed to get his attention. He blushed at having such thoughts. That certainly wasn't like him. Then again, it wasn't like him to go to a camp filled his the possibilities of getting bullied and pushed around. So maybe a new Drago was arising.

☞ Speaking
☞ Thoughts
☞ Narration
Current Outfit:

Reducio

Black t-shirt, black, ripped faded jeans, black Converse smudged with ink

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wordcount 770/200

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As the variety of complaints behind him grew increasingly diverse, the two participants in their impromptu staring contest finally moved. Not feeling thankful at all, Mamori sarcastically said "thanks for the cooperation," before walking into the tent without bothering to take a look at the forming queue behind him. Two girls and what sounded like a bird, if his ears were not deceiving him. The moment he enters, the music fadied to unsettling silence and temperature dropped several degrees free of charge. Whoever put this place together was very much into the idea of a "haunted circus" and wanted to convey it through the dim lighting, dark color scheme, and questionable wall decorations. Heavy bed curtains hung around each bed apparently their attempt at privacy in a wall-less space. While this setup would send anyone with functioning survival instincts running, to Mamori's exhausted brain it looked like heaven incarnate; three seconds to unconsciousness sounded perfect right about now. Something about one of the boys from the staring contest immediately rubbed him the wrong way. The kid had positioned himself in front of everyone like a human roadblock, delivering what sounded like a host's welcome speech with all that "accompany me in MY tent" nonsense as if anybody actually owned these temporary cloth boxes they'd been assigned through a random signup sheet. Probably some pureblood brat who'd watched daddy play lord of the manor at family dinners, or whatever it is that rich people do for entertainment. The surname Dragonclaw did ring a bell with Mamori but now is definitely not the time for that rabbit hole. Quick scan of the room showed quite a few mirrors which led to an immediate "Oh perfect" from Mamori as he moved to unload his bag on one of the beds...until he saw the suspiciously Hogwarts-esque color scheme of the yellow and blue bedding, with the yellow one being offensively bright against the tent's gloomy aesthetic. Combined with the Dragonclaw kid's earlier speech, Mamori could safely assume someone had done their homework on the tent occupants. The bedding colors practically screamed "please read between the lines and pick your symbolic match" without actually saying it out loud. Magical micromanagement however, was something the pink haired badger absolutely did not appreciate. This whole setup crossed lines he didn't even know existed — violation of freedom of choice, breach of privacy expectations, unauthorized background investigation without consent, etc. etc. But he understands though, no point in starting a tent fight over democratic principles when democracy wasn't exactly wizarding society's strong suit. So Mamori, in a silent act of protest against both assigned beds & self-appointed tent lords and as a continued exercise of his today-only dickish persona, bypassed the yellow bed and deliberately headed for the black one — dark, practical since stains wouldn't show, and perfect for sleeping — only to find its already been claimed. With another mental tally added to his growing list of irritants, he settled for the teal bed instead. At least it was still reasonably far from both the stage and the entrance. If anyone had a problem with it, he could just shrug and say that Damien never bothered to explain what the colors were supposed to mean so he just went with his favorite. Or make up another bullshit excuse on the spot. Or just throw a tantrum and say that his bags are already there so deal with it. The mirrors on the walls were, to his great disappointment, all funhouse types either lengthening him into a beanpole or swelling him like a balloon, not a normal reflection anywhere — just his luck. Rolling his eyes at a glimpse of some creepy clown reflection flickering in the corner, Mamori settled for the least offensive vertically concave mirror to check his dust situation. Surprisingly clean. Probably thanks to the wind's impromptu cleaning service. His neck however, was another story entirely, pink hair plastered to skin with midday sweat in a decidedly unglamorous fashion that made him look like he'd been wrestling with humidity and lost badly. After wiping his neck with one handkerchief, Mamori went back to the bed he had chosen, dropped his specs on the nightstand with a little more force than was necessary, and in one quick move, pulled the curtains closed around himself, managing a brief "Sorry, but I'm dead on my feet and need sleep. Wake me before dinner by making an unholy amount of noise near my bed, thanks. Oh, and tell Damien to save me some snacks." to the nearest blondie (@Elizabeth Hamilton) before burrowing under the covers and blacking out.

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tag @Damien Dragonclaw @Drago Thanatos-Kholodov @Elizabeth Hamilton @Jules Pollux @Claire Ducasse ooc tent aesthetics referenced from Le Cirque des Rêves (sign-up thread)

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