Escape. The one thing Maria could never manage to do. Every attempt ended in failure or just walking into another trap. Much had changed since February when she was last in Europe and yet she found herself in almost the exact same way. She was still not happy with being in Japan, only now she realized her dream of going home to China was a farce as well. The summer camp in the UK came at a time when she might finally get her wish and disappear.

Forsaken. That perfect, pretty as a picture, image that her family curated for years, carefully crafting her posture, giving her only the finest of hobbies and manners; it was all worthless now. It was all a lie. The week she spent with her family in China had taught her that all of it was only for appearances and in the end they didn’t care about her at all. As soon as they were convinced she was a squib they threw her away. Her parents went along with the ploy and forced her into a culture that fought her at every turn. Well, there was nothing left of that beautiful girl. Maria lit that life along with all it’s fancy clothes and dresses on fire on her way out. She would be who and what she wanted to be.

Freedom. Out of the ashes of that bonfire of faux excellence, emerged a Maria of her own choosing. Now she was in London and nothing would stop her. Or so she thought. Entering into her tent for the camp she found that no matter how far she ran, her past was always her shadow. Instead of finding a tent full of strangers with which she could continue to reinvent herself, it was full of Mahoutokoro students much to her dismay. What’s more is that they were just so damn talkative. The freedom Maria sought was so close yet so very far away.

She spent as much time as she could out of that blasted tent, even though her music and bass kept calling out to here. Anything to get away from Mahoutokoro and that constant reminder of a life she wanted to leave. As it was the beginning of camp, it was easy to pass the day bouncing from booth to booth, getting acquainted with all the various activities on offer.

Dressed in one of a dozen black dresses she brought with her, this one with gold buttons running the length of her midsection with ties and black string wrapping the dress tight around her, mid-calf black leather boots with elevated platforms making her an inch or so taller, a black choker and black pendant necklace, Maria walked around the fairgrounds. Her black nails and black lips glossy in the bright sunlight. In one of the games she won a pair of black cat ears and also managed to win a prize that caught her eye: a ring of warning (though she could have sworn the carnie included “almost” under his breath - whatever that meant!)

It was made of a shiny braided pressed metal, with a rectangular gem set at its center. Maria was quite proud of herself for the prize, even if she didn’t understand the Carnie’s clever little look he gave her as she walked away. Sitting cross legged on a bench near some snacks, filling the air with an obnoxious sweet and sugary aroma, Maria sat back and examined her prize. Well, what kind of warning was this ring going to provide and what counted as danger? She slipped it on and off her finger, no longer concerned with her surroundings though perhaps she should have. Perhaps if the ring worked, it might have given her some notice. Completely oblivious to what was coming, except that familiar feeling that she failed to register crawling up her back.

Interacting with: @Arno Dorian

Lovely Creature in effect

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Terrible Presence

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Arno hadn't expected to see anyone familiar, atleast not faces that didn't belong to his school. This was his first time being at the camp, and it was loud, full of competing voices and the air oddly seemed to be clinging sweet with the scent of buttered snacks and cheap cologne, a fair/carnival ought to do that he guessed.

But in reality, he had never been to a fair and the boy just went along with whatever was happening here, imprinting this as the standard of what a fair is supposed to look like.

It wasn't his sort of place, the boy wasn't particularly fond of forced merriment and yet somehow he'd felt comfortable enough to be present here. The only solace was the presence of other Durm students in his tent.

He adjusted the sleeves of his white T-shirt as he wandered through the booths, a cartoonized frog Merlin emblazoned across his chest looking like a perfect meme as he lingered around the fashionably older students. His cargo, scuffed from kneeling in the grass earlier to tie his shoes, were once again beginning to collect dust again. He hadn't cared before, but now he was conscious.

Either it was the crowd or maybe it was simply a coincidence, but his eyes caught a familiar silhouette across the square he had designated himself to walk around in.

His walk slowed.

It was Maria.

He remembered her from Beaux batons, vaguely, though she was hardly the kind of person one could easily forget. There had been something distant in her even back then, but at those moments Arno wasn't himself either. The boy was too sunk in misery to see another. She was not aloof or cold, yet she seemed somewhere else even back then.

Now she looked even further away from the girl he made acquaintances with. The dress, the choker, the black lipstick; whatever softness had been there in the past was calcified to appear as something sharper.

Something intentional.

She was sitting alone, twisting a strange metallic ring around her finger. Her expression didn’t match the sugar-sticky scent of the fair around her.

Arno approached the lady slowly, quietly. His soft serve had melted into his palm by now, but he was glad he at least took some taste of it before it all went away.

From up close she looked like she robbed a cathedral then wore whatever was left standing. "诗颖 (shiying), is that you?" he said, voice low as he attempted bringing the best recollection of her name as he could muster.

A neutral tone, neither teasing nor admiring, more observational was his approach.

He asked if he could sit and before she could answer fully, he sat down on the edge of the bench, a respectful distance away.

"Cool Clothes" he asked, nodding slightly toward her attire of choice. "Soo...whatcha been upto?"

A pause.

He wasn’t good at greetings. Or making small talk. Or even this. But the change in her presence familiar(they met for like 20 mins omg) but altered, made him want to stay and catchup. If only, his intention was to see who she had become. It wasn’t pity, though Arno would certainly believe she lost her clothes and someone handed her all black clothes. But Arno didn’t pity people. It was either curiosity or indifference.

He took a breath and glanced up at the sky, then at the crowd. "Are you still in Japan? Mohawk something school?"

He didn’t elaborate but boy was he running out of things to talk about.

She seemed to be hold herself a little tighter then France, like her threads might snap if you tugged too hard. And while Arno understood that, he didn't know the threshold at which those would snap, and something malicious within him wished to test it and find out.

"I got so bored here since I came, the whole place is so loud," he said finally, glancing at the booths. "Too many people trying to attract attention to their stupid booths."

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@Maria Leung de Almeida

Finally. At the cacophonous noise she had been waiting to hear for months of the boy who butchers her name with the finest of intention, Maria spared a secret smile, hidden by her hair, as she slipped the ring on for the final time, still not a clue what it actually did. It was then she felt that familiar skin crawl, a sensation she only felt one time, however brief, in France. What was once unsettling was now a welcome break from the sickening mirth of the festivities around her.

“小诺 (Xiao Nuo - Maria’s nickname for Arno meaning little promise),” she whispered lightly without needing to look up to verify. The discomfort he brought was now like a warm blanket in a sea of unrelenting merriment. “Have a seat,” she said plainly, as he, quite out of character for how she met him previously, assaulted her with questions - none of which unwarranted, but each one more impatient than the other as if he was just trying to fill empty space. Interesting. One of them embraced emptiness and the other seeks to fill it with useless murmurings.

Regardless of whether he accepted her invitation, her eyes met his, the dark mascara highlighting the clarity in her eyes. “Thanks, I picked it out myself,” she smirked at his observations about her dress. By this time, her change and the shock it brought to others only elicited sarcasm at the moment.

Eyebrows raised, she took a look at his ridiculous shirt. It was a far throw from the casual fashion and airy handsomeness that was on display in France. The lofty language she couldn’t understand, the forlorn expressions, the confident-yet-sorry-for-himself demeanor. All of it, as well as that hard to describe unease, played with her mind for months. Perhaps those 20 mins were just an allusion, maybe he won the shirt at the fair. Would she be so kind as to help him justify it? No.

“Mohawk? Your grasp of Asian languages leaves much to be desired,” she teased, her eyes narrowed but the smirk she wore had more warmth than before. “Yes, I am still in Japan. And you, my French-but-not-quite-French…?” she left the endearment to be implied with the question.

He looked like a dope but felt like a trap. This Arno was really beyond anything the Chinese girl could be able to comprehend but the more they interacted the more he fascinated her. He made a comment about the fair, and a moment ago she would agree with him about it being loud and wasteful and for idiots. Looking at him with a mixture of intrigue and interest, one edge of her mouth now curled into a knowing smile, she gave him a shrug. Whether she agreed or not depended entirely on his ability to keep her interested.

Meanwhile, her ring gently flashed and even more softly vibrated against her finger. Who it was warning of danger, perhaps only time would tell and it was already too late for sure.

"It seems summer camp is a little more interesting. Tell me, 小诺(xiaonuo), what would you like to be doing now, if you had the choice? I seem to remember a promise of an apple tart."

@Arno Dorian

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TERRIBLE PRESENCE | PERFECTIONIST | BINDING MARK

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He heard it, that word again. 小诺 (Xiao Nuo). To him it sounded like a question and a conclusion all at once. A name, maybe? His name? or something close enough that it wasn't worth correcting. But correction would require understanding her language. Arno's grasp on it was akin to cupping a water with a sieve. Nonetheless, what mattered was the way she had said it. It felt like it was anchored to something softer than the words that typically left the mouth of those calling his name.

He didn't hesitate when she told him to sit. If there was even a moment to play it slow, this wasn't it and he knew that. He dropped beside her with a sort of graceless energy, colliding into the bench like someone who had either too much excitement or too little sense in his head, maybe both to an outside observer, but in reality, the boy with a suppressed childhood was simply living what he hadn't before. The questions spilled out like coins from a torn pocket, ranging from her whereabouts, conditions, her attire and the unexpected change in her aesthetic. Had she always looked this terrifyingly elegant or was it new?

Her reply on his questions only made his grin slightly wider, but he still leaned back a little, giving her space to revel in them. "You've got great taste, 诗颖 (Shiying). Save some for the rest of us." The name tumbled off his tongue with surprising ease, he was sure he butchered the tones, but it was much better then him attempting to mimic the accent and fail miserably. Still, was yet to hex him, which meant he was going right so far.

He snuck another glance at her, more reverent this time. The clothing choices suited her, black and sharp, and quite unlike the pointed clarity in her eyes. If the fair was loud and seemingly excessive, she was the one quiet thing that stood out. Then came the line about the Mohawk, and his brain stuttered as his fumble of words began. Wait, what? That wasn't the name?-oh no. His mouth moved faster for damage control than his sense of shame. "That is- yes, my languages leave a lot to be desired, they're a work in Progress. But I've been going very steady with Russian."

Before shame could come grasp his mind, he added with bravado, " Ты выглядишь красиво, но в мрачном смысле." (You look beautiful, but in a miserable way).

He said it, but with no awkward confidence, he was someone who had spoken this tongue for enough months now. But his eyes watched hers carefully, searching for reaction, approval, amusement or something.

At her next question, he gave her a small nod. "Durmstrang now. I transferred after the French trip. Turns out I do feel better when the rules are colder and the walls are thicker. I may have slightly blown a hole in of the walls and brought down another. They let it go eventually."

When she asked about he'd rather be doing, her voice like velvet wrapped around a knife, he didn't give her an answer right away. He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to line up the image of her now, with the girl from France. They didn't match, nor did they need to.

"Promises are meant to be broken," he said as he gave her a small curtsy of the head, hands folded behind him in formality, the faintest edge of his posh demeanor unveiling itself. "But, Apple tart it is, if you'd still be willing. Walk with me?"

There was no teasing edge to that part, no flourish. Just the barest, honest offer of a detour, if she was still curious enough to follow.

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@Maria Leung de Almeida

The brightness in Maria’s eyes, that spark at seeing the one she anticipated for months, slowly faded and her breath caught in her lungs. That familiar feeling of being studied came back and after her visit to China where she was forced to defend the fact she wasn’t a squib and fight for her life, it felt like a vice grip. This pressure contributed to the fact that she at points didn’t quite catch everything he was saying. At one point he was speaking Russian? Maria snapped out of it though, gripping onto the only thing that ironically made sense to her, remembering now Arno’s penchant for talking too much, her name.

Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. “If we are going to work,” whatever that meant, “I really need to train you better.” She said this as a matter of fact. She grabbed his wrist, her touch more warm and inviting than her expression. She upturned his hand and placed it close to her. She traced what looked like an invisible picture but was really the characters of her name.

“If you are going to call me by my name. Let’s at least say it properly. 诗 (shī), like you are singing a high note, as if I have that effect on people,” she said gently, her expression softening as her gaze stayed steady on his hand as she drew the symbol, not yet daring to meet his eyes. “Next is 颖 (yǐng), it sounds like…doubt,” she paused, briefly withdrawing her hand and waited as if looking for a better explanation, stung by her own explanation. She collected herself and when she finished drawing the character, closed his fingers around his palm. “You can keep that,” she said, suddenly inexplicably shy. With a breath she met his eyes, the clarity restored with a hint of playfulness. “Shīyǐng. Give it a try.”

Her teeth playing with her bottom lip, she had to force herself to avert her gaze back to the food stands across the way. Clearing her throat, she got to her feet, “It doesn’t have to be apple tart. But go on, show me something good, and don’t worry,” she said, having fully recovered from whatever moment transpired, “I will be judging you. Lead the way.”

@Arno Dorian

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TERRIBLE PRESENCE | PERFECTIONIST | BINDING MARK

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Arno's head titled slightly as he blinked at the words Maria had just spoken right in front of him, "If we are going to work, I really need to train you better."

The boy's brain was stuttered over the words, fogging up as though someone had pressed pause right in the middle of his train of thoughts. Work? What did that even? Was she perhaps referring to whatever fragile tether of friendship or whatever this was, that existed between them? Was it training for something else? Why'd she train him for quidditch if he was playing against her school? He couldn't even begin to untangle her words before his half-formed speculations were derailed the moment her hand caught his wrist.

The warmth of her fingers pressed into the French boy's skin, delicate but commanding in it's presence, pulling his hand upwards as though it was well within her rights to determine what he focused on. Whatever witty reply he had attempted to form in his mind had dissolved entirely, exchanged with a confused smile that wasn't really sure what was occurring in the moment. She began tracing something against his palms, and the sensation alone could silence his world. He'd almost forgotten to breathe.

Her voice filled the quiet uncertainty that had taken its place between them as she broke down her name into pieces, as though offering him fragments he might be able to hold onto without breaking. "诗 (shī)," she explained, painting the sound with confidence, then 颖 (yǐng), more fragile in its weight, slightly hesitant. Arno's brow softened as she closed his hand around the invisible symbols she had drawn. He stared at his own folding fingers, as though sealing away something far more profound and meaningful than just pronunciation.

"I'll be sure to keep them forever," he murmured to her, voice low and steady, despite the faint pulse he could feel thrumming in his chest. When he tried her name again; "Shīyǐng," it came closer to her version this time, much better than the previous iterations, though still very much marked by the cadence of his own tongue.

Her gaze had already shifted away, lips tugging at themselves with an edge of shyness he hadn't previously expected of her. Then she stood, dismissing whatever fragile stillness had formed between the two. "It doesn’t have to be apple tart. But go on, show me something good, and don’t worry, I will be judging you. Lead the way."

There it was again, the pressure Arno both dreaded and thrived under. He had to make his choices even more carefully now. She was watching and Arno had gotten swept in with the wave, somehow her judgment now mattered more than he would've admitted. Ice cream caught his mind first, safer than many things, a blend of sweet and familiar.

His voice returned, steadier now, truly thoughtful. "Would you like to try something different, java plum ice cream? Or Dark chocolate. Or even both?"

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@Maria Leung de Almeida

The shyness which Maria felt dissipated as he attempted to say her name. She looked at Arno as if she had just ate something rotten but was forced to swallow. His pronunciation leaved room for improvement but it was already much better than before. With a curt nod, the Chinese girl said, “That’ll do. You will get better as you use it. I will just need to make sure to give you occasion to say it more.”

She never really considered a white guy choosing to use her Chinese name or put in the effort to try to say it correctly. She had a million names yet he chose that one. It made her feel like home and when she thought of home she wanted to burn the world down. However, she was quite enamored with that feeling. It gave her a sense of power and control. Yes. Burn.

She was snapped out of her impulsive desire for arson and revenge when the tall boy stood up and, in response to her commenting on judging him, offered ice cream. Oh. Ice cream would do nicely. “Well…小诺 ice cream sounds like a great idea!” She said, her former bubblier personality peaking through the mire and muck of her angst. She instinctively hooked her arm around his, a motion she was accustomed to with friends and family, and walked, or rather dragged, him along with her.

“So…” she said, clearing her throat and with it that pesky energetic girl she used to be, her face dour as it had been. “Have you…” she let her eyes wander around the fair as they found their way to the ice cream booth. Her voice trailed off when she spotted an attraction called “amortunnel” close to where they were standing. “…found anything interesting to do?” She muttered the end of her question. Now self-conscious she was staring with great interest at a particular spot, she shook her head and her eyes met his, a look of mischief dancing as the light caught pupils.

Having waited too long for a reply, Maria shrugged and decided she would find something more interesting to do.

@Arno Dorian

Action: Maria exits the thread