The Lost Pearl 2025 Fall Ball

Date 04/10/2025	@Caspian Villin Interactions
Speech #a88400	@N/A Mentions
WC 324 words	OOC

Nova still stood in front of the intricately made painting, eyes unblinking as she observed every inch of it. From the scarring on the man's eye to the shadows engulfing the background, Nova was in awe. The people who had set the entire event had clearly gone all out, and it was obvious in both the atmosphere and the location they had picked. The salty air and the mystery of the sunken ship perfectly tied the pirate/siren theme.

She reached out, intending to feel the portrait when there was a sudden noise next to her ear. She flinched, almost dropping her dessert, and turned around to find Caspian's flat expression. "Don't do that!" She said, grinning exasperatedly at him. She pointed past him at the tables now covered in dessert. "And you're late, by the way. Food's that way." She turned back to the portrait, curls flying from underneath the bandana she had successfully pinned onto her head.

Trixie peeked out again, tiny pirate hat crooked, and squeaked cheerfully up at Caspian from her spot. Nova, on the other hand, was staring intently at the lake. The torn sails overhead, the eerie hum of a record player, and the portraits that felt too real under the dim light all seemed to blur together into a strange stillness. She turned to Caspian, pointing across to the middle of the lake, which had an inviting aura to it.

"We can go over there to the dancing area if you want to, but I think we should explore around here instead." As if on cue, the mist seemed to thicken slightly. Whether that was Nova's own imagination or just something organized, it made her shiver lightly. A surge of curiosity overtook her, and she craned her neck to look closer, staring into the dark abyss lit with faint laughter and music drifting over. It was alluring, even unnatural in a way. There had to be more.

• Talking to Caspian and looking towards The Weeping Shore! •

Stamina - 7 • Evasion - 7 • Strength - 7 • Wisdom - 7 • Arcane Power - 7 • Accuracy - 5
Evasive Maneuvers • Charmer

Reducio For Trixie :]

Lanterns moved softly, as if catching the wind, and the lights they cast were like halos around the silver cups and small dishes, which looked like treasures laid out on white tablecloths. For a split second, he even stopped moving to absorb it all, Avery at his side, laughter and music surrounding them, and an entire table waiting as if it was reserved.

They found a smaller table near the railing, and it was close enough to the lake that the dark water could be seen off the ship's side. He tried very hard not to trip or look awkward while he was pulling out her chair with a slightly over-the-top bow. “Your table, Captain Gray”, he said with a sheepish smile, and a little bow. Mikey sat opposite her and gathered his thoughts for a moment, partly due to the dancing, the nervousness, and also the fact that she was looking at him like this was exactly where she wanted to be.

His eyes wandered over to the nearby food, rows of bread rolls shining with butter, and sparkling drinks in colors of gold and deep red. It was almost too much of a good thing. “So,” he started, "Would you like me to grab us something or should we go together? I'm still trying to figure out how this whole gentlemen thing works." he managed a small laugh as his words trailed off. He watched her for a moment, his eyes reflecting, as the light from the lantern hit her hair and turned the edges to gold. There were times when it was so incredibly easy to forget that there were other people on the ship as well.

“Though, I am definitely getting you a drink,” he added without hesitation. “You skipped breakfast, and I am quite sure that it is a crime in at least three different countries. Hot chocolate? Tea? One of those sparkling pirate-y mystery drinks that looks like it might start glowing?” The music changed to a new song and the violin player slowly and softly moved into a lower note, which was blended into the general noise of the talk. Mikey looked at the buffet and then at her, his thumb doing little circles on the back of her hand, which was lying on the table, without really thinking.



Action: Grabbing a table with Avery and heading to the buffet together

STATS

Stamina ◦ 6 | Evasion ◦ 7 | Strength ◦ 4 | Wisdom ◦ 9 | Arcane Power ◦ 6 | Accuracy ◦ 8

ABILITIES

Sixth Sense

Evasive ​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌Maneuvers

fall ball 2025; interacting with @Lyanna Oak and @Landsey Griffith Sterling

"You're from a Muggle family as well?" Vera asked once she finished chewing on the bite of cupcake she had. Lyanna quickly followed it up with a new blood status term Vera wasn't familiar with yet. "Ah, I see."

Wizard-born. Magical, but perhaps not completely pure? Perhaps not distinct enough to say half-pure, half-Muggle. Vera hummed. Wizarding society placed a great emphasis on blood purity and lineage, it seemed, a concept Vera couldn't quite understand. Back in what these wixen would call 'Muggle society', whether you were mixed or not didn't matter so long as you came from money. Did wealth not matter so much here?

There was still a lot to learn about wizarding society.

Landsey seemed to find no difficulty in adjusting to it, as he stated. Lyanna was more detailed in her reply. Vera nodded along as she ate, until the wrapper was empty, to which she folded it in half, then half again, and half again until it was the size of an eighth and placed it on her plate. She took a napkin from the table and patted the sides of her lips, checking the crumbs and if any of her lip stain had been wiped away.

"I hope so." She hummed as she folded her napkin and placed it on the table. "Hogwarts has been treating me well, so far, so I believe it'll continue in a similar manner."

Then, Lyanna mentioned sports. Vera's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, about sports..." Vera tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The only people that really knew this were fellow duellists and the Hufflepuff Head of House that allowed her to take the role in the first place. The news wasn't exactly broadcasted to the rest of the house or the entire school. Apparently, the entire captain team for Hufflepuff Duelling stepped down, though one had to because she transferred out of Hogwarts during the summer. Somehow, Vera stood out from all the other candidates, which was strange because (1) she was a First year, (2) she was a Muggle-born, and (3) she wasn't even a duelling enthusiast of any sort. But if they said she was qualified then, well, she'll make it work somehow.

"I became a Duelling Captain, though I'm not quite sure how that happened, considering my background. I spend a lot of time in the Duelling Club these days to work my head around it."

Vera nodded. "Thank you for the advice."

Then, a strange noise came from a different part of the event. Vera looked around. Where was it coming from? Everyone else seemed to be having their own conversations, so that meant it was coming from a different part of the venue. She looked out an entryway leading to what looked to be the middle of the lake. Was that it?

She turned to Landsey and Lyanna, trying to keep her expression neutral. "I don't suppose you'd both like to go check out the dance floor?"

Action: is there commotion over at the dance floor?

〚 •• ✎ •• 〛

| Date: Autumn Ball, 10/04/25 | Word count: 437 | Outfit: Something like this |
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The small group of four first-years sat down for dinner, and Frederick greeted Ally, the last of the four to join the table, with a friendly smile. “Welcome back.” The blonde girl had apologized for getting lost, but to Fred it felt as though she had been there with them the whole time. Maybe he had just gotten distracted, looking at the decorations of the shipwrecked boat, the people around them in costumes and fine clothes, familiar faces, and the seafood feast that appeared soon after.

While everyone helped themselves, Fred heard Marcus say something in a language he didn’t know, but knowing a bit about the boy and his background, he could recognize it as Italian. Fred laughed at his friend’s comment as he continued eating and agreed, “This dinner is really good,” nodding positively at the end as if to say there was truly no way anyone could disagree. Of everyone at the table, Frederick was probably the one with the least etiquette, and despite his forward nature, he never once acted impolite, knowing how to behave at the table.

Putting his cutlery aside for a moment to examine the card and bring up a discussion about what the writing might mean, Frederick discovered that everyone had received the same card from the sailor, or pirate — or both — who had welcomed them at the entrance of the ship. His little piece of paper wasn’t special and seemed to be under the same effect as the others', with letters that seemed to fade and reappear, yet had no meaning, as Fred could tell after examining it. In response to Maisie, the boy set the card down beside his plate and resumed eating his dinner, looking at the Hufflepuff girl before glancing at the other two at the table. “Come to think of it, all of our cards are the same, it must just be another detail of the night to get us in the mood.” He dismissed the idea of a riddle.

Soon finishing his first course, which seemed to be an appetizer, instead of remaining empty, he watched his plate be magically filled with the main course. Mouth watering, he noticed that the menu continued the seafood theme, but before digging in, he took a sip from a glass resting near his plate, almost full of sparkling lemon water. “They really went all out on everything.” He said after wetting his lips and setting the glass back on the table. “What do you think is going to happen after dinner? I heard that any good ball is supposed to have a dance floor.”

Action: None
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| Stats: Sta-8 ⁞ Eva-6 ⁞ Str-4 ⁞ Wis-5 ⁞ Arc-4 ⁞ Acc-8 | Abilities: Evasive Maneuvers |
| Interacting with: @Maisie Fenwick Rose Williams @Ally Craig @Marcus Contarini Crawford |

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  ❛ Art Deco — Allure in Effect ❜
  Date: October 10th, 2025 | Words: 543| Dialogue: #aa5713
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The moon reflected on the lake like a newly minted coin, and Stelle walked toward the runway as if stepping into an ancient dream. Each step made her dress respond with a soft murmur, as if the fabric itself breathed the same anticipation as she did.

The night air clung to the delicate chiffon that enveloped her arms. The dress—a warm, almost lunar ivory—cascaded from her shoulders in a light embrace, its flowing sleeves gliding like transparent wings. The corset, finely embroidered with gold thread, seemed to have been crafted by artisans from another era: tiny flowers, marine spirals, and lines evoking still tides intertwined on the fabric, catching the light in unexpected flashes. At the center, where the bodice met the petal-shaped neckline, a golden starfish-like piece held the drape of the fabric, shimmering like a tiny anchored heart.

The skirt flowed in almost liquid layers, embroidered with patterns that depicted submerged constellations. Every movement Stelle made those lines shimmer, as if tiny fireflies were caught in the seams. It was a dress made for the light, to be contemplated in silence, to exist in a space where magic didn't need to be demonstrated, because it was there, breathing alongside her.

When her hand touched the splintered railing, the cold wood contrasted with the warmth that gathered in her palms. She didn't stop: she moved forward, feeling the sleeves of her dress open and close in the breeze, as if trying to shield her from any shadow. Each step amplified the faint sound of the invisible beads embedded in the fabric, a whisper that accompanied her quickened breath.

The contrast between her luminous figure and the majestic ruin of the ship was almost symbolic. The Lost Pearl, broken and silent, seemed to recognize her; Or perhaps she only recognized the faint gleam in her dress, an echo of that lost splendor.

The moment she stepped onto the deck, the floating sails cast their glow upon the ivory fabric, causing the skirt to reflect shades of pale gold, like a wave transforming in the light of a dawn that never came. Stelle took a deep breath; the scent of salt and damp wood mingled with the perfume she had applied before leaving: white flowers and a hint of honey. In that setting, her dress seemed even more out of place and, at the same time, perfectly destined to be there. As if it had been created to contrast the shipwreck with a serene radiance.

The sailor greeted her with that strange appearance, and the citrus-scented card trembled slightly between his fingers. Stelle said nothing; she simply bowed her head, allowing her dark hair to fall forward and the light to highlight the gold embroidery of her corset. Looking up, she felt the weight of the ship's history, as if each plank held names that time had stolen.

She walked toward the tables, her skirt gently brushing the floor, leaving behind a luminous trail, almost imperceptible yet undeniable, like a signature made of light. The ship seemed to watch her pass. And she, even alone, felt she belonged to that moment; to the moon, to the lake, to the reborn ship and its mystery, as if it had been waiting for her for centuries.

ABILITIES: Part-Veela
STATS: | Sta-6 | Eva-5 | Str-5 | Wis-6 | Arc-7| Acc-6 |
INTERACTIONS: None
ACTIONS: Entering the dance calmly.
VISUALS: Here!
OPEN TO INTERACTIONS!

The two slowly made their way to the dessert table, and the brief respite allowed Maurice a moment to adjust to the situation. He was not much more talking, and very rarely made friends outside of his family, so this new environment was foreign territory. He second-guessed everything he did. If his hands were clasped behind his back, he wondered if they should be in his pockets. If his hair was parted to one side, he wondered if it should be on the other. Every stolen glance and light touch had his pulse shivering in his chest.

The food looked delicious, at least better than anything he had back home. Treats of all kinds were scattered across the tables, decorated to fit the nautical theme. Quite well, at that. Edible pearls and mystical blue frosting seemed to turn the simple treats into decorations themselves. Maurice could feel his stomach eating a hole into itself.

When Zophyr spoke again, Maurice nearly jumped with surprise. He drew his eyes from the dessert table to his date, and chewed softly at the inside of his cheek. A bit of warmth bloomed in his chest at the mention of his sisters. It was strange, but that question was the most romantic thing Maurice had been asked all night. The idea that Zophyr understood him so wholly that he had even asked had the flush creeping back into Maurice's cheeks.

"Uh... well. They're well. I wish I could be there with them." Maurice admitted softly, tucking his hair back behind his ear subconsciously. At Zophyr's butchering of Maurice's childhood sport, a small laugh erupted from the French boy's throat. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing up at Zophyr through his crinkled lashes. "Baseball, yes. Haven't gotten much practice in. And quidditch for you? It's been well?"

Maurice felt himself begin to ease into the moment, his eyes passing over Zophyr's elegant features and small mannerisms. His heart felt all tingly and warm, and he felt drunk with excitement. The prospect of escaping the crowd rang loud in Maurice's mind, and the subtle nickname rang even louder. "Dancing could be nice. Flying could be nicer. Er- I suppose I'm not too skilled at decision-making. You seem to know what you're doing."

Aamon did not release Nabi's hand, if anything Aamon's grip settled. His hand's position was assured, deliberate; as if the snake had never once doubted the placement of his hand. The flickering candlelight of the Lost Pearl traced the angles of the youth's face, capturing his unearned certainty in firelight. This Aamon bore the kind of expression that did not ask permission to exist. This Aamon looked like he belonged. He inclined his head just enough to acknowledge her words, her nearness and the faint challenge threaded through what she had to say. Only he was not cowering, not backing down, not hiding or apologizing. Not today at least.

"Arriving first isn't courtesy," Aamon said quietly, voice smooth as the dark waters beneath them. That was something the common person often believed because they were told it was simply polite to arrive on time. To arrive early. However, in truth it was an element of control. "It is intent," he claimed. It is about more than being where one promised they would be, when they planned to. Attendance is important because it speaks volumes about the man, about the people they were meeting - that they were worth attending or are meant to attend. It was a statement.

Aamon's manicured thumb ran an idle, intimate path along Nabi's pale knuckles. The motion of his thumb was not hurried or hesitant. Once gentle touch such as this would have betrayed the almost heir, an expression of human contact that should have felt too foreign, too shameful, too forward to the Athanatos. But not today. This boy was no longer burdened by anxious expression, fearful thought. His manners carried a confidence that felt practiced, almost predatory, as if he had already decided how the evening would unfold before she had even arrived. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a Seer, he already knew how this would unfurl.

"You could have left me waiting," Aamon allowed with a shrug, his eyes flicking briefly to the necklace around Nabi's thin throat, the way it caught the light like something alive. That was not far from the truth. "You could have vanished into the crowd... or the lake," or never came at all. A faint smile curved on Aamon's face, the expression sharp at the edges of his fine features. Like a shark wearing Armani. "But you didn't... you probably did not even consider that to be an option," he was confident in that statement because he understood the weight of his name. She would have been a fool to reject a propositioned by an Athanatos.

Aamon stepped closer to his date, just enough that the noise of the ball softened around them, like the world was politely withdrawing. In truth, the world was a mere backdrop in their story. They could be in a room full of people and individually feel utterly alone. The Slytherin's breath brushed Nabi's ear as he spoke again, low and amused as if he was sharing a secret. She was not going to feel one today. "And if you hadn't come?" Aamon contoinued, "I would still have stood here. Because I knew that you would eventually arrive." His gaze never left Nabi, his expression steady, his eyes unblinking. He was far too certain for a boy who once second-guessed even his own shadow.

"You're right," Aamon continued, his tone darkly indulgent with what one might call flirting. One who knew the boy better might have even asked: was such a timid child capable of this? "You might not be the right company," he granted, pausing after making the statement but not in contemplation. There was no hesitation in him, "but perhaps that is what makes you the right company." For an ambitious pureblood, there was no shock in why the Athanatos allowed the interest to take hook. His statement hung heavy with implication.

"As for sirens," Aamon added with a quiet laugh. Something unreadable flickered behind his pale blue eyes, it was not hesitation, nor doubt. It was calculation softened by something else. "Then let them sing," he declared, his voice dropping lower, closer. He lifted her hand just slightly, enough to brush his lips across Nabi's knuckles first; an old, almost courtly gesture that felt deliberately out of place against the juvenile pirate finery and candlelit decadence. The gesture was brief, restrained, but unmistakably intentional.

Confidence. Yes, with confidence Aamon closed the distance. The motion was not abrupt. Far from clumsy. He leaned in as if the moment had already been agreed upon, when was the first of anything planned out? Never. He moved as if the space between them had always been borrowed time. His free hand rose, fingers settling at her waist, not gripping, not claiming, just anchoring her there as his forehead brushed hers.

"For what it's worth," Aamon whispered, breath warm against her lips, "I would rather look like a fool waiting for you than be clever anywhere else," he lied and then he tried to kiss her.

Attack: Kiss

The dark waters rippled, running through the cracks of the rocks by the bank below. Smoothing over with ease, his words seemed to trickle beneath her skin, reaching.

Etching.

With the churn of a link as the chain around her fair neck rubbed against her skin whilst she took a breath, she was still alive. Breathing calmly as his thumb traced her pale knuckles, gray glinted beneath the candlelight, her eyes or the whisp? "You are right... I did not consider it an option." But I should have decided to ignore the gleam beneath the water's surface, the creature that lurked below... and not one of the enchanting voices. "Yet, you arrived first... so tell me..." Her head tilted as chains echoed, "are your intentions truly a declaration of courtly intent?"

Foolish was the one who ignored the call. The pull.

The hitch of a breath as Aamon took a step closer, and the world around them seemed to fade into a low hum. Her eyes never left him, taking in the sight of a completely different boy from the one she once knew, chuckling as though her words had humor. Perhaps it did. "First, you test entities, now the sirens?" A faint smile curled as she recalled what he had said the night of the first ball they attended together; his implication lingered in the air between them.

"Overly confident for a boy who ran after stealing a kiss from me." For ambitious implications and calculating eyes, there was an unconventional sense of certainty. Intentional, like the softening of her gaze as his lips grazed her knuckles. Nabi never denied it; there was a charm to him that she wanted to understand, learn. Possess like a secret he could have whispered to her ear, yet had decided to withhold. What a tease it was.

The gift of prophecy... As you had previously claimed.

Could have been nothing but another sweet little lie, a naive desire to hold at searing chords as his fingers curled around her waist. It was most certainly difficult, "Would you really, Mr. Athanatos?" I think you would cower... His whisper against her lips was faint as she leaned back, curiously, the moment he aimed to close the distance.

Wait a moment... please hold...

Nabi's eyelashes would bat, once... twice... at the third time, her mouth would open, but no words would be said, Did he just- Her ears burned as her heart fluttered, burned like the rusted metal chaving with each clash. "Did you attempt to steal another kiss?"

When the pair seemed to move with borrowed time...

A nearby candle flickered, as if chuckling at their unsynchronicity. Nabi should have left, should have reacted instead of freezing under the warm hues of the candles.

But oh the expectations...

Of an Athanatos and a Park.

Her heel would click as she took a slight step back, leaving his hold with wide eyes. The silence weighed, or it could have been awkwardness from the failed kiss attack.

Wishing for a different outcome.