Contractual Obligations pv rafal

The inordinately outlandish situation Rafal Devereux currently finds himself in is one that is entirely unprecedented, at least on a personal level. As he makes his way alongside gaggles of fellow Hogwarts students, decked out in their most thespian garb and gear and buzzing with the high of being so close to what can only be described as one of the most anticipated events of the year, the Slytherin ponders escape routes. Looks like those long hours spent lounging by the fraught waters of the lake shall come into utilisation after all.

He could hide behind a tree, perhaps a big one with many leaves. It will undoubtedly be quite a task to spot such an oak at this time of season, but he is indefatigable. Or behind a boulder, of which there are many in the area. Even the sinister eldritch forces which make their home within the depths of the water suddenly appear awfully welcoming. The lesser of two evils.

As he grapples in his own mind, the brimming exultant throng abruptly halts and Rafal reflectively follows suit, just barely managing to pulling himself back and avoid walking face-first into the ungainly pirate captain ahead of him, who had evidently decided it was sensible to don lubbery chainmail and a hulking giant hat to a literal dance party. Did pirates even wear chainmail?

The second year casts a hurried glance to the many dandified fellows beside him, follows their lines of sight to the front of the mass. Slowly, his eyes inch upwards little by little, taking in the grandiose of the scene before him. Well. Rafal gets it.

Every new school ball, it is crooned and gushed how wow, the planning committee has done it again! They really outdid themselves this time, just like every single time before! Considering how the team is composed of a different gang each time, Rafal would not ever wish to be involved in one of these occasions. Everyone is blown away for a few months, then they move on to the next group. What even is the point of all that effort? Fine, perhaps he is in a rather cynical mood at the moment. His concedes that core point is not untrue, however.

Yet although Rafal does not in the least relish admitting this, the lot really have outdone themselves. The boy had been sceptical upon learning that a shipwreck was being advertised as the main event, but they did well as they could. Bathed in the incandescent glow of the moon hanging high above inky black skies, a tall ship sits. Undoubtedly having seen better days, still retaining the majesty which beguiled the renowned Captain Bartholomew Vane all those centuries ago. A wooden passerelle leads up to the main decks, and Rafal looks upon the splintered railing longingly. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to simply cast aside all formerly outlined engagements, leave them high and dry to make merry on his own.

Alas. Rafal is not the type capable of impetuousness, and blowing this night off will only lead to more trouble down the road. So he inwardly sighs, begins wading through the now mockingly jolly horde in search of his target.

In what is perhaps the most satirical twist of all time, the Slytherin’s engagement which has been weighing so heavy on his mind, is an engagement, and possibly he would be capable of appreciating the full irony of the situation and hilarity of word-play some other time. It is a winding story, full of long-lost relatives he never knew he had and opulence the likes of which he had never even set eyes on. Rafal can still remember how agog he had been back when summer vacation first let out, expectant of the most lacklustre few months.

How deeply, awfully wrong he was. He hadn’t, and still has not, the faintest clue how it came to be, but Natasha Devereux had received an abrupt letter and then off they were, leaving all the twelve-year-old knew behind and departing for the rolling hills and temperate climates of south-west England. It is all a blur, and Rafal does not like to dwell too much on that particular period.

His grandparents, previously assumed long dead, turned out to be very much alive and excessively well-off. Nobody ever said it out loud, but there are some things that can be inferred, if the downright ostentatious mansion and comprehensive general flamboyance ingrained deep into every aspect of the place are any intimation. At any rate, he and his mother had moved in, and Rafal still does not think he has managed to fully assimilate this continuous train of events. He has so many questions, yet they have all been avoided thus far, not so unobtrusively at times.

And the envelope that had come, save a fortnight into the school year? Its contents brief yet weightly, parchment turned to lead in between unsteady finger-tips. His eyes had scanned over the cursive in a whirl, and then again and again. Who can blame Rafal? It is downright fictitious, this supposed betrothal as a union not between individuals, but last names. The Slytherin has since then felt as if he were a character in some story-book, Romeo and Juliet in ancient Verona. There is no underlying tone of romance and intrigue in Rafal’s tale, but the setting does feel similarly illusory.

Well, there is no use dwelling upon his misfortune - except wait, he already is. Rafal has been searching for quite some time, navigating his way through the swarms of partygoers, many appearing less than pleased to be cut off, however momentarily. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. A second halted will not kill them.

And frankly, he is becoming rapidly more irked as the clock ticks. He tries to recall back to the description of the girl he is to meet, not that the sender had exactly bothered with giving Rafal much to work with. A bare-bones portrayal, barely enough for a cardinal illustration in his mind’s eye. With his recent streak of luck, the Slytherin will spend his night wandering around the perimeters, entirely futile.

Even the fates must have decided he looked too pathetic to ignore, drifting about aimlessly like some sort of gloomy spirit. When Rafal’s eyes land on her, it is unmistakable. Mostly as she is the only one he had come across this evening who was not all giggly and blithe, instead perched upon a great stone slab in a most dramatic fashion, neck craned up to the moonlit night. He supposes he cannot blame her. If the Slytherin could pull the whole sad melancholic tragic vibe off, bet he would have been up there at the first opportunity. He’d just have to grow his hair longer first. And maybe invest in a glittery outfit.

He realises he is standing there like a lemon and snaps himself out of the haze. All right. No sense in putting it off. Reflexively patting down his clothes and reaching up to smooth over blonde locks, Rafal takes a halting step forward, then another and another and off he goes. The girl is sitting with her back to him, and the fact that she is currently faceless does nothing to steel the second year’s nerves, heart pounding with rapidly increasing pressure. He stops once he is standing right behind the slab she had opted for, and from this distance, the girl’s shimmering fairy-esque dress catches the light from the nearby structure, as well as the glow of the moon. Caramel tresses braided over one shoulder, woven with somethings distinctively ornate.

Rafal clears his throat. Does not bother to force much faux exuberance into his voice. "Hello." He offers up a polite smile. "If you don’t mind me asking, would I be correct in assuming your name is… Brookline Quinn?"

Interacting with @Brookline Quinn