You, Too?
 banner by Charlotte Winfield |
word count - 955 interacting - @Charlotte Winfield speech - #7d7c78 ❝ when I tell you to get lost,date - April 1st, 2026 |
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_ | Something felt… off. Not in a I’m about to get jumped type of off, but within her bloomed a rather peculiar sensation that typically neglected to present itself during her early ambles. The girl almost seemed to dwell in a sphere of rare, pleasurable thoughts where she would — on a normal day — exhibit the best of her nihilism. Today seemed strangely unweighted, light, carefree; she felt strangely unchained, as though she was gliding high above on a hippogriff (or something of the sort - Care of Magical Creatures wasn’t exactly her forte) where she normally would remain tethered to the ground in a barrage of cynicism. Everything surrounding seemed of typicality. Nothing was out of the ordinary: that singular upturned stone beside that particular tree remained still; the water, albeit inevitably moving as the currents and ripples came and went, remained the ordinary shade of blue; the grass, though inevitably following the direction of the wind, remained rooted in the same soil. Yet — nothing was the same. It was almost as if somebody had cast Lumos to illuminate the atmosphere just slightly; in broad daylight, the spell held little effect, but those in close proximity would notice a faint light; the caster would see the most resounding difference, with the light emanating from their very own wand — the wand that was an extension of themselves, which hence rendered the emitted light an extension of themselves as well. The brunette felt as though she was the caster. Externally, her face remained sunken in the stoic equanimity that she typically displayed — whether it was a façade or a reflection of her true thoughts was dependent on the situation, though those who came proximate enough or knew her well enough would glimpse a crack in the mask, a crack that revealed the strange jubilance. And in routine, she was but taking her procedure morning promenade. Promenade. That was where the ordinary began to skew, where giddiness and… enthusiasm made up their minds to stage a coup against despondency. The prom, the dance, the Spring Ball, the masquerade, the fancy, pretentious party. Yes, it was this foolish, shallow notion of a ball that gave way to the thrill of all this strange elation. Ebony Vetra had never once conceived the idea that such events would bring such excitement — such events in which she once considered (and still considers) an ostentatious and absurdly asinine display of a façade, a desired reality that only fleetingly exists within the flurry of ballgowns and high heels and faux fur coats. It was the day previous that gave rise to a shift in perspective. Having had a night to dwell restlessly within her musings, she had come to the conclusion that balls were perhaps not as bad as she had originally made them out to be. When she had blabbed out the proposal of the notion to attend the ball with a particular blonde Slytherin girl — a rather impulsive decision on her part — she had never in a million years anticipated a “yes” from her. The brunette was unsure where she had, on the spur of the moment, found within her the flash of self-assurance that had empowered her to ask. It certainly did not originate from any one of the chambers of her heart, for it was there that self-distrust and uncertainty pooled at their deepest. Perhaps some of the blonde’s confidence (which she markedly admired) had had an effect on her. Any preponderance, any rational thought, seemed to have slipped away in that instant. Regardless, it was a done deed. A decision made yesterday. A decision that held all the more significance today, given the woozy giddiness that arose from it. The brunette wondered whether such a visceral reaction to a singular word was the norm. She doubted it. Her reaction was almost certainly exacerbated by the lack of precedence. She had never attended an event quite so big as a ball — let alone attended with someone. The primal human desire to belong, to be proximate, to be accepted, was indeed stronger than she had given it credit for. And that someone was Pea, no less. Pea Elena Fowl. Just the thought of the enrapturing part-Veela threatened to bring a doltish grin foolish enough to crack any façade. It wasn’t simply the fact that the girl was deceptively exquisite. The happiness was galvanised by how she felt as though she had achieved something impossible, as though she had overcome an obstacle so insurmountable. The eagle did not simply feel that she could fly. She felt as though she could touch the moon, hug it; absorb its glow. Such was the effect of bliss and euphoria — sensations that did not frequent, but certainly made themselves known when they were present. Dear Merlin, she was becoming one of those idiotic, superficial teenagers, wasn’t she? Though she supposed everyone did succumb to the foolishness eventually. To be rendered scatteredly euphoric by something so silly as romance was an inherent experience of adolescence, she presumed. A canon event, one could say. Lost in thought and fantasies, Ebony almost neglected to notice Charlotte Winfield gracing the corners of her vision. Yet another part-Veela who didn’t quite hold the captivating radiance that Pea did, but was ethereal nonetheless. The Ravenclaw had shared a rather delightful skating episode with the girl on the Great Lake back when its surface was still encased in ice, and so they were somewhat acquainted. Acquainted — not so intimate to the degree of friendship, but acknowledging of the other. Friendship was hard to build; a single interaction surely did not suffice, regardless of how intimate said interaction was. Hesitantly, she raised an arm to wave meekly to the girl, mind still hovering absently within bliss. |
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| iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing | sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15 𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌 |