Wonderland Waltz 2026 Spring Ball

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The crowd was already big and bustling when Sabrina finally joined it. Arriving under the shine of both stars and decorative lights, she stepped onto the scene in her maroon dress, hands clasped behind back, keeping to the fringes of the dance floor. Watching the crystals of the in-air-suspended chandeliers glisten in their own glow, she focused on the steadiness of her breath. Having elegantly avoided the autumn festivities, she was now faced with the whiplash of a year long gap between her present and last attendance to a ball. Standing in the courtyard of the stone castle, it seemed almost comical how sure of herself she was when within it's walls. Getting ready with her best friend, laughing and tying a ridiculous amount of red bows to her arms, the self-set task of approaching as many new faces as possible seemed managable. She scoffed at the memory, gaze falling down to the enormous vertical clocks. By now, she should've recognized the pattern of impossible ideas seeming, oh so easy when in comfortable settings, 'Stupid,' she adressed her own hazy reflection, feeling more than seeing the frown forming on her face.

Eyelids falling shut, she hopped in place for few seconds, humming. 'This won't get us anywhere. Come on, one, two, three, action,' staying true to her last uttered word, the raven forced her feet to move, slowly circling the round space, eyes searching for a lone soul she could connect with. Surprisingly enough, few members of the present student body appeared to be more than familiar to the girl, as she had a few not-entirely-horrible interactions with them. This newfound fact lend her more of that lion courage, spine straightening and stride purposeful. Soon enough, she found what, or perhaps who, she's been looking for. Cleaning her throat, she put on a wide, beaming smile, tapping on a shoulder of a girl she had yet to meet, 'Hi, my name is Sabrina, Sabrina Lyons, Brie for short. Would you like to dance?'


[ flip a coin ] stamina. 7 | evasion. 5 | strength. 7 | wisdom. 9 | arcpower. 6 | accuracy. 6
[ who might you be? ] fearless

Mentions: @Mikaela Hendricks

WC: 310

xxx

Hex code: #0050b4

OOC note: It's always tea time

x

The distant chatter of the ball had really begun to spill out of the ballroom, an indication of the dense population in it. Vasilius felt the hair in his neck straighten up. He remained still, not answering at once; instead, his mind dwelt on the words that had left Magnus's mouth, 'date', that's what he had called this whole thing. The word lingered in the air between, a testament to the tension between them.

Vasilius' gaze flickered; it didn't exactly meet his lens-covered eyes. Instead, somewhere past him, an attempt was made to act as if the word he had just spoken hadn't made a huge impact on him. He slowly cleared his throat and spoke, "Shall we go inside?" The words were quiet, yet missing the usual baritone of coldness they held, it was a slight crack to the armor of resilience of any feelings he had worn years ago.

And yet, he didn't pull away his hand; instead, resting it in Magnus's hand, it was much more comfortable, especially with how his hands were starting to slightly shake. His warmth was starting to feel like a solace amid the gnawing feeling growing inside him.

As they entered, they were approached by a kid complimenting their matching themed outfits, something Vasilius didnt heed much attention to; he had never been the kind of person who enjoyed any kind of attention on him, positive and negative alike. Though he bit his tongue in an attempt to stop any biting comment from escaping, on leaving them to have their privacy for the sake of not spoiling the evening for Magnus.

"You look ill", he whispered, observing Magnus's redened face, as he slowly switched, parent mode on, "We could've skipped it if you were that sick, moron. I swear if it gets serious." He muttered, the comment 'moron' coming out in a rather nickname-like way than an actual insult.

actions Reducio Entering the ball with Magnus.

stats Reducio STA: 8 | EVA: 7 | STR: 8 | WIS: 9 | ARC: 3 | ACC: 10

Banner by Vasilius Nighthawk

Magnus Blackwood!
DURMSTRANG | SECOND | OUTFIT | HEX
Russian/French | 04.19.2026 | WC 498

Smile wide, Sabrina nodded along to Ophelia's words, her mind instead mostly preoccupied with her inner monologue, which was probably rude, but to her necessary. Okay, this is going well - remember, breath, gather your thoughts, keep it short.

'That's fine, I can lead,' she proposed, despite being the shorter of the two, positioning herself into the male's starter position: heels clicked together, spine straight, one arm raised, the other bend and lifted centimeters before her ribcage, each ready to hold the other girls hand and back respectively. Assuming Ophelia would oblige, Sabrina's eyes would linger on her hand, mouthing a silent 'wow' soon followed by actually spoken words, 'Your nails are so pretty, did you do them yourself?'

Soon, looking over her shoulder, the witch would take a few steps backwards, leading them onto the dance floor whilst making sure they didn't crash into another pair. Although, the idea of them causing a collision before even beginning to dance amused the raven. Dropping that particular though process, she shifted her focus to be on the girl infront of her, 'By the color of your dress, I'd normally assume you to be a Gryffindor. But given the overall theme, tonight I wouldn't bet money on it,' she attempted to start a proper conversation, possibly not succeeding at it being engaging but at least keeping it short.


[ flip a coin ] stamina. 7 | evasion. 5 | strength. 7 | wisdom. 9 | arcpower. 6 | accuracy. 6
[ who might you be? ] fearless

Gideon Athanatos had arrived late, Gideon having spent his afternoon in the library rather than his dormitory. Time had gotten away from him, but she would not. Taylor, his cousin was somewhere at this ball, he just needed to figure out where.

The light caught Gideon first, candlefire breaking across the deep hue of his attire, turning the fabric into something richer than color alone. His coat was cut with aristocratic precision, tailored close through the torso before falling into a structured line that spoke not of fashion, but of intent. Dark velvet, nearly black at a glance, revealed its true depth only when it moved, when the light slid across it like something reluctant to let go.

Gold filigree traced the seams in deliberate patterns, at the cuffs and along the lapel, curling like old script or something carved into the margins of a forgotten text. The details were important as they spoke of wealth, lineage, something inherited rather than earned.

The collar sat high, structured enough to frame the line of his jaw, softening nothing. Beneath it, a crisp shirt that felt intentional rather than traditional. He was not wearing gloves and he did not trust those that did. His oldest brother often wore gloves to hide the grotesquery he had become. The gloves might have spoke of control, but existed out of practicality.

His hair, combed back with care, held that single, deliberate imperfection, a loose curl resting near his temple, softening the severity of the styling just enough to feel human. Flaws were integral to humanity, they provided the delusion of depth.

Gideon was not a liar in the conventional sense. He allowed people to make assumptions. The veracity of those beliefs should have been confirmed. Others presumed certain truths existed because they did in their mind, but imagination was not synonymous with reality.

Of course Gideon was unaware of the game Taylor was playing, that she had claimed his protection and intervention was a threat, dangerous, the implication of obsession. It was not wholly a lie, but it was also not quite the truth.

Still, Gideon looked far from the part of a maddened paramour or family member. Shoulders relaxed, spine straight, movements economical, in body mechanics unlike attire, nothing was wasted; nothing was exaggerated. There was no urgency to the Hufflepuff, there was no need to assert presence when presence was already assumed.

His pale blue eyes seemed almost ghastly as he viewed the space. Gideon did not look at everyone, he looked at what mattered. A flicker towards his older brother Mathias, taking in the Slytherin's tension, the control, the subtle violence dressed as barely-there composure. Noted. Filed. That heir was already managed.

There was also his younger half-brother Aamon, all softness and stupidity. He had apparently moved on from the dower one, he couldn't blame him. The boy was reaching, grasping for something solid but the roots that grew here were shallow and the earth was sand.

Then there was Taylor. Her blonde bob, jeweled hairband and pale blue gown. Gideon's attention did not soften, it sharpened. There was something wrong in the space around her, something not entirely contained and not entirely hidden. Gideon did not react to it outwardly, but the shift was there, quiet and immediate.

She was talking to someone. He had no idea who the lad was. A classmate from Durmstrang? He doubted it, the lack of jawline was a give away. He let out a breath he did not know he was holding as he made eye contact with the unknown male and approached. His jaw was set, not in anger, but in alignment. As if something he had already suspected had simply confirmed itself.

Gideon moved further into the ball space. A glass appeared within reach, he took it without looking, fingers curling around it with absent precision. He did not drink. It was bright red, theatrically like blood to a person that had never seen blood before. This bright cherry hue in a goblet rather than a basic cup to give a sense of refinement to a child's foray.

@Paul Turner looked a bit 'thirsty' Gideon had simply decided as he stopped behind the boy who could not be older than his first or second year. She could not find something more durable? He wondered in idle amusement.

He stood for longer than he needed to. He wanted Taylor to see him. To react, unaware that this was a part of her spectacle. Gideon regarded the glass. Something cheap made to look expensive, but only achieved gaudiness. The contents: bright, artificial. Meant to suggest something it wasn't. Meant to allow children to feel like adults even if it was pretend.

Then, without ceremony or warning, Gideon tilted it. The red spilled cleanly, a slow, deliberate pour cascading over, if not avoided, the boy's shoulder and down the front of his attire. It clung for a moment before soaking through, staining fabric in uneven streaks that mimicked something far more serious than what it was.

Gideon did not rush the motion. Regardless of success, Gideon had something to say in that characteristic sweet, almost young-sounding voice. "Unfortunate," Gideon said softly. There was nothing apologetic in his words because there was nothing to regret. Then, almost thoughtfully he added, "you should be more careful where you stand."

Action: Attempts to bully Paul Turner.

Artie pulled at the sleeves of his undershirt. It was poofy and flowy, and unlike anything that he had ever worn before. It felt so strangely foreign to him. He had a beige button-up vest underneath it, his sister had sent the clothing to him, and he remembered how her letter told him that it had been difficult to find such formal clothing for somebody as small as him. He had replied, thanking her over and over and over again. He had a pair of loose, black dress pants to accompany it. From his pocket, he pulled a pocketwatch. Damien had told him when to arrive, and he didn’t want to be early.

He took a deep breath, strolling through the halls until he arrived outside the doors to the entrance of the waltz. There, he saw Damien, waiting with a grin on his face that made Artie giggle. In fact, the whole boys' outfit made him giggle. “You’re so purple!” Artie laughed, walking towards the other boy and looking up so that they would make eye contact. “So very, very purple.” He snickered again, covering his mouth.

“I’m sorry if you were waiting long. I didn’t intend to make you wait out here for a long time, although I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t want to go in alone.” He said with a heavy sigh as he forced himself to stop ranting to nobody in particular. “The music sounds great! Would you, well, like to go in?” He said, a wide smile gracing his face, his eyes practically shut from how raised his cheeks were.

interacting with @Damien Dragonclaw