The Lost Pearl 2025 Fall Ball

XXXXX𝓥ioleta was surely a bit bored. These events always seemed to reach a certain point where she’d just be completely bored out of her mind and the brunette would just prove herself to be the wallflower she was.

Her hair looked a bit frizzy now, her dress was a bit crumpled and her feet were starting to hurt because of her heels. They clicked as she circled around for a moment, as she was on her own again, as in most balls she had attended over the past couple of years.

She had made the mistake of not bringing a purse or her trusty satchel and simply relied on the dress’s pockets, which simply contained her wand, some lipgloss and a black ballpoint pen. Though she really should have brought her journal.

The brunette was extremely close to simply leaving the event, as maybe she’d enjoy spending some time in her room more than this event that seemed like some of her precious time wasted.

Until she spotted a fellow wallflower she had interacted with at the previous ball, Mr. Archer Duncan. Fellow snake, headliner member and third year. She thought for a second before approaching the young boy. It was an odd sight, really. A young boy leaning against a corner looking more or less casual, but simply not participating, looking and observing.

He wore his usual clothes and she raised an eyebrow at that. Still, her heels clicked as she walked to the corner. A small nod was all she gave to him, after a few moments she finally spoke “Duncan.”, was all she said. “It’s all such an odd sight. You ought to wonder if they’re all here because they want to be or for other reasons.” she said, gesturing towards all the students. Her tone was nonchalant and she spoke her thoughts. She was honest. Some didn’t like that, however, Violeta wasn’t the type of girl to care about people’s thoughts.

location ; the lost pearl, great lake mentions ; @archer duncan, godmod permission granted by archer, as well outfit ; dress (none of these accessories), shoes

04/10/2025 ; date 325 ; wordcount xxx ; hair

Reducio

stats/abilities/action:

sta. 12 | eva. 6 | str. 3 | wis. 8 | arc. 2 | acc. 12

parselmouth, charmer

approaching archer duncan

english | thoughts ─── coded by elena clark ─── french | parselmouth | italian

He had found him. Zophyr had found the right person, thank any gods that existed out there. For a few moments, as the blonde boy turned to look at him silently - Zophyr's heart jittered at the sight; somehow those eyes were even more stunning when they were looking at him - he worried he'd assumed wrong, that he'd messed up, that he was making a terrible mistake. But after a few seconds (Zophyr of all people couldn't blame him, considering he was late), the mystery boy spoke. Stars, his accent was endearing in an entrancing way.

"I am," was the fourth year's answer. At least this was in character for him, the short sentences and preference for quiet over words, though usually it was by choice and not by starstruckedness. Maurice laughed, which somehow sped Zophyr's heart up even further - distantly he worried he might have a heart attack if his friend didn't stop being so drop-dead gorgeous - and he felt the urge to join him in laughter, at the insanity of it all. Nothing made sense tonight.

Zophyr was not stupid. He had fallen for people before. He knew what he was feeling wasn't particularly normal and platonic for someone you had only just met in real life. But it wouldn't last, it had to just be the thrill of the moment, the excitement of finally meeting him. He had to ignore it, it would go away eventually, it had to. Zophyr liked Maurice too much to have everything end and disappear like it did for Ren. No, this was him being silly and hopelessly romantic as usual. He could flirt, but it was nothing more.

Even if Maurice's compliment had his face burning. Even if he couldn't stop goddamn staring. Even if he wanted to hear Maurice keep talking forever, and he felt way too hot for an October night (global warming, what could he say).

"Thank you." He grinned at Maurice's mention of not having brought his guitar. "That's fine. I wouldn't have wanted to bring a fragile instrument across the English channel either. Besides - it means we have an excuse to meet up again, doesn't it?" Alright, he was getting the hang of speaking, this was good. It was fortunate he was more comfortable in French than English. "Have you eaten? I think they're onto the desserts now, but we can grab a bite before it's too late. Though I must admit I've got quite the snack in front of me already." Ah yes, a typical Zophyrism, flirting as a coping mechanism; he felt immensely stupid. Yeah, this was fine for friends or strangers, but - well. Maurice was something different. He could only hope it wouldn't immediately scare him off.

october 4 2025 | evening
banner + gif by me :]

Kirundi | French | English | Swahili
Arabic | Tswana | Xhosa

xx❂xxThe Old Pearlxx❂xx October 10th | 2025 ─── The Great Lake

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The little group made their way through the ship; it was truly splendid—everything from cracking floors to floating candles. Fred was leading the group as a true hero or leader, followed by the two lovely girls, Ally and Maisie. Marcus was willing to take up the rear.
They were walking down a corridor, with old oil paintings hanging on the walls and mist so thick that you couldn’t see your shoes. The others were walking in front, chatting, but something was strange – the hair on Marcus’s neck stood up, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He could somehow feel it; the corridor was enchanted, and when he thought about it, the corridor was too long and twisting for a ship of its size. He looked around and tried to make sense of it all, when suddenly Fred made a little “wow”. Marcus turned his head towards where Fred was standing, and, right before them, a wide hall welcomed them in. Marcus smiled and said silently: - ‘off course – I would be disappointed otherwise.’

The hall was decorated in a maritime way, with seashells, maritime lanterns, old and stained tablecloths, old and bent candlesticks, and much, much more. Fred spotted somebody in the crowd, clearly it was clearly somebody he knew. Marcus only knew one of them, or you could say he recognized. Rosaline, a fellow first-year Gryffindor, actually, he had never talked with her, only greeted her in passing, and of course seen her in the common room. Quickly, he turned his eyes away, not to be mistaken for staring.
He let them wander for a moment, taking in the starting party. People were talking and laughing, generally having fun. Now and then, Marcus would catch the eye of someone he knew, and they would mouth a silent “hey” to each other. Beside a round table close to the back of the hall, two people were in a full-blown discussion; it was Ripley and Elspeth. He had just taken the first step towards them and made himself ready to hear what all the fuss was all about. Almost automatically, he looked back over his shoulder. He saw that the other had found a perfectly placed table close to the windows. He immediately stopped in his tracks, turned around, and put on a perfectly proper smile.

They were standing behind the chairs, smiling casually at each other. The tension was broken by Fred sitting down, and Marcus smiled politely, waiting for the girls to sit before he would. The chairs were soft and very comfortable. Marcus’s stomach rumbled a bit, especially after glancing over the menu. It was a fancy dinner, and finally something light and elegant, notwithstanding the heavier everyday food served in the Great Hall, but this was really nice, and Marcus admitted to it with a slight sigh. As usual, Fred was a quick one and while serving himself some food, he would state; - ‘Guess I’ll do the honors, then.’ Everybody, including Fred himself, was laughing out loud because everyone knew it was so typical of Fred. By that gesture, the spell of seriousness was broken, and everyone started to eat. – ‘Merlin’s Beard.. okay, this is… wow Mamma mia, finalmente qualcosa di decente!(oh my goodness, finally something decent)’ He realized that he had slipped into Italian, he cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed but abused; - ‘Er - sorry…. Good food tends to short-circuit my self-control.’ Maisie might catch the little glint of pride in his eyes.

The dinner went very well – there was a lot of talk and laughter, suddenly Fred dropped his fork with a clang on the table, with an expression of somebody who had forgotten an important appointment, and just as suddenly expressed: - ‘Oh. The card!’ and whipped out the card from the sailor from before, and he looked a bit serious and curious, before asking: - ‘Hey… are yours doing that too? What do you think it means?’ Marcus recognized the card immediately, he took it out of his inner coat pocket and studies the card; - ‘If you’re meaning that the words are disappearing, then yes, my card is doing the same… but the what it means that is another matter’ he turned the card, trying to apprehend what was going on, but so fare without success…

Action: - studying the card closely and trying to understand the magic behind it

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Reducio

Word Count: 713
Character voice colour = #800020
Italian word/sentence (translation)

@Ally Craig | @Frederick Buckley
| @Maisie Fenwick Rose Williams

A voice drew a boy almost about to fall asleep out of such a predicament. Balls at Hogwarts inspired, after all, the utmost dullness. It was an unexpected one, yet perhaps Archer ought not to have been surprised that she would find her way to him again, in yet another ball no less. Something, and by that he meant their shared tiresome attitude towards such gatherings, must have joined them together. Violeta Roux, once more Archer found the two of them staring eye to eye among the crowds. What a funny coincidence, Archer thought, not finding the situation particularly funny at all.

He managed a smile, if only for the sake of politeness. “I don’t wonder at all. In fact, I am simply bored.” Of you, included, he was tactful enough not to add. Violeta, by all means, seemed to be a pretentious girl. Her words were laced with their fair share of philosophical musings, and every syllable of speech was there as if it was trying to prove a witty point. Perhaps Violeta, despite all her Ravenclaw’s inclinations, was a true Slytherin after all, just someone hiding behind another mask, no different from the many partygoers at the ball. No better from the people she was looking down upon. Not that Archer was not pretentious himself, but…

At least Archer was authentic in his pretentiousness. He was raw. Ugly, sometimes, yes, but when had he tried to stow that away? When he had wanted to fight he hit, when he wanted to reprimand he spoke, when he had wanted to love, to care, to pour his very heart into something he did. Perhaps Violeta thought herself as honest, perhaps she believed that people would not like her because of her directness, but Archer questioned, when had she been honest with herself? Something other than a manifestation of academia? The inventress must have invented herself into something else. He was not all bark and no bite.

But Violeta, at the very least, was a tolerable girl. A girl, he thought, a girl. By the standards of society, all boys were required to have a girl at a ball. The standards of society he often did not understand, often did not bother with throwing himself into the frays of, but somehow, today was different. Somehow, this entire year was different. He was going to make it different, force it if it did not agree with him. This year, he would be Archer Duncan, same name, same boy, in a new flesh. That meant trying something he would have shied away completely last year. Something he still, and perhaps will never, understand.

Violeta was an objectively attractive girl. A cascade of dark hair framed her fine features; her eyes were strikingly blue, and the sort a lesser boy could have gotten lost in completely. Archer must have been shallow when it came to his wrong ideas of love, and even though he did not know much about her personality, he assumed it was comely enough from their shared interactions. When it came to interests theirs overlapped dramatically, from their shared positions on the Headliner to their discussions on literature, philosophy, whatever pleased pretentious thirteen year olds. Pretentious for pretentious. That seemed to work fabulously. Logically, from even what little he knew of Violeta Roux, they seemed perfect for each other. Archer was pretty sure she could dance too.

He cocked his head and lifted the side of his lip in a crooked mimicry of flirtation, “Sometimes, I wish I had a date.”