Secret Blossom Ball Event Finished

abilities
Lovely Creature | Monster Hunter | Evasive Manouvres
interacting with @Gem Stuart
mentions @Anastasia Beckett | @Rafael D'Spacito | @Lydia Cooper

Reducio

As per usual, Anastasia was being an annoyance, there was the utter lack of respect in the pureblood heiress' words. Despite her club leader and possessing a power to remove the younger Gryffindor from her club, the girl still had the cheek to insult her upperclassmen. Then again, Anastasia was never showed any cordiality towards the teal-haired girl. Some people never changed.

Aurelia would keep silent, admittedly fighting the urge to ask her if she was done. Fortunately, Aurelia was a sophisticated lady with 9 wisdom, unlike hotheaded Anastasia, knew better than to pour fuel into the already-raging fire. Though she would admit that the girl's harsh comments got to her, if only just in the slightest. Did the vibrant teal of her hair really made look like a stubby sea creature? "Teal doesn't suit me apparently. " The words left her lips in a sigh once the feisty brunette had made her leave. She turned back to the boy.

The boy's accent was hard to catch and put a strain to her ears, nevertheless, she managed. He had taken quite a hit, one that sent him crumpling to the ground, but what was Hogwarts without a little violence? Aurelia did not bother to ask if he was alright, he clearly was decently okay. But the fact that he thought that the attack was his fault was concerning. "Your presence? Do you have a reputation of some sort? What exactly did you do to the quidditch captain of gryffindor?"

"Then again, Anastasia Beckett does whatever Anastasia Beckett does. It shouldn't be your fault." Aurelia said before taking another sip of her drink. "She is a fellow member of the spells, wands and games club. No doubt you have heard of S.W.A.G? With that attitude, she ought to be kicked out and someone ought to keep an eye on her around here. Seems like her sweetheart is too busy flirting with other ladies." Blue grey-hues flited across the plane, searching for the particular quidditch captain. It was not long before she found the first year, just in time to see a particular blue-haired part-veela leave his side and seek another dark-haired boy. "Looks like Lydia heeded my advice after all. Rafael doesn't deserve to break her heart. Poor girl."

"Aurelia Notresvace. And you?"

Althea shot Hanako an 'Are you serious' look when said boy pet her head. She will never get used to his creepy yet intruiging behaviour. She was just about to elbow the boy for his action when she noticed two others in front of Hanako. Friends of his, she presumed.

Hanako turned to lead her towards the two, a hand on her shoulder. Althea wanted to sigh in the face of socialising, but flashed a fixed smile as she eyed the two. The boy had dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes, seeming to question her entrance. The girl, a Hufflepuff she had most likely seen around in the dormitories or in class, fixed her straw blonde hair in pigtails and had brown eyes.

"Oh dear, where are my manners~. Althea, meet Percival Rainwood, and Little Lady whose name I have never bothered enough to learn~" Hanako introduced sweetly, " I'll fill you in on what's going on. These two bumped into each other and now she's kind enough to give him her handkerchief in case he got hurt. And you came in and saved me from being a third-wheel."

Althea managed to cover her laughter with a cough. She guessed Hanako has not lost his sarcasm from the last time she had seen him.

"Um, pleasure to meet you," Althea spoke with the best smile she could muster at the moment, "I am Althea Valeden, from the Hufflepuff house." She shook Percival's hand and stepped back to Hanako's side, ready to retreat to a secluded corner at this ball.

Just as she was about to do so, another girl started walking over to them. She wore a flower-patterned blue dress, her dark hair pinned up neatly. Althea was about to question her decision of trying to talk to her business partner, when the girl face-planted onto the floor.

Althea flinched at the sudden fall but maintained her smile. The girl seemed chummy with Hanako, giggling softly as she mumbled about how clumsy she was on high heels. She got the feeling that this girl like-liked Hanako, and she was already got half the mind to tease Hanako straight away.

"I'm Kara, nice to meet you! I am one of Hanako's childhood friends," The girl introduced, startling Althea a little.

"Ah, I'm Althea Valeden of the Hufflepuff house. I am Hanako's 'business partner'," Althea nodded her head at the girl and smiled, putting out an open hand for Kara to shake. Turning back at Hanako, she murmured, "You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend, Hanako. You were as dense as the next guy when I last saw you.'"

Interactions : @Hanako Tone @Kara Capricorn @Percival Rainwood @Ginevra Tsuchiya

Occasional movements from a propped set of his black sneakers gently tugged the table covers off kilter, creating wrinkled lines across the fabric. Long overdue was this moment of introspection, to collect one’s thoughts, survey the field, and adjust the methodical approach. As Thomas awaited his confidant, the unintelligible hitman redeemable for a night that only consisted of trepidation thus fair. For the first time this evening, Thomas became the careful observer. The mood to witness overshadowed by a blackened cloud of dread. To presume Thomas a messenger for this darkness to travel was a notion of naivety. Yes, he had a role to play in all of this yet, but not the one you may expect.

The clock was ticking, the lulled state of this student body was to be made permanent for some, for others a rude awakening, the night would not go as the planning committee intended. In addition to Selim Faust, Thomas sensed the prying eyes of many others. The group of partners likely not much too pleased, the boy opted to overlook collective goals for personal. History shows his determination knows no bounds, preserving the ideals and wellbeing of others took a backseat to what he believed was rightfully his. In other words, he was selfish, and he would not apologize for it. It was a truth only to be echoed had the others arrived to confront.

All that was missing from his mob boss persona was a ghost white cat to caress. Perhaps when the prices for animals drop would he complete this pretentious aesthetic. Until then, grim reaper would have to do. A few notable observations intertwined with the young Slytherin photographer’s approach. As she collected herself, Thomas would carefully scan raised arms and accusatory remarks from a Slytherin boy that accompanied him only moments ago on the dance floor. The target to be charged, the Gryffindor captain who wasted no time stealing the limelight, amassing the attention of many in unceremonious fashion.

The next interaction of interest highlighted by an intimate crash to the green surface. Standing over the boy in a huff was an emotionally charged young girl. Oh, to be lost in the trivial repercussions of petty romance. The ignorance was something to envy, to live under the pretense that these low stakes happenings carried any significance at all in contrast of what's to come. If any consolation, it made for good entertainment, coating the boy’s face with his very first genuine grin of the evening. Then there was Cazares, timorous tension planted between the two, possibly sourced from his association with the outspoken violet tinted girl, preaching carelessly about her anti-prefect vendetta. Or the rumors surrounding Thomas, denoting the ominous waters he treads. His eyes lingered a few moments longer, in contemplation of the state of things. If she caught his gaze, he would quickly turn his head to look away. It was not a good time.

Lastly, at a table to his left, he took notice of a sneaky set of his eyes that swiftly scurried away. Was this the first time she peered at his direction this evening? Thomas could not be sure, as many eyes took notice of Marion’s public rejection, solidified by his pumpkin coating. At least it assisted in masking the toxic scent of fire whiskey. Back to the girl with red hair, seated a table over. Thomas made no attempts to hide his glare, his resting bitch face fittingly underlined this take no prisoners mentality. If they caught eyes, his brows would ascend along with visual daggers. Can I help you.

His expression returned to neutral when the photographer joined, arriving after a callout devoid of proper manners. To his surprise, the girl showed no opposition, gracefully taking a seat across him. His eyes narrowed at the girl’s soft tone, a wave of familiarity swept through at the sound. A subtly steadfast air accompanied her presence. She was there that day at the owlery along with the guarded blonde, though a transient appearance. “Thomas.” The statement of his name coincided with the drop of his sneakers, reacclimating his soles atop the grass. The boy straightened his back, pushing his hips backwards to fill out the chairs frame. He maintained the girl’s gemmy blue hues, carefully leaning forward with raised brows for the courteous exchange. And you are…?

Thomas was not the type to beat around the bush. After the exchange of names, any small chattered pleasantries were swiftly bypassed for the purpose of his call. First and foremost, the previous encounter must be verified. “You were there that day.” He offered a brief nod and clarified “At the Owlery.” Her visage, when committed to memory, was not easily forgotten. Thomas went on to address her early exit. “You left earlier than the others?” Immediately prying for an explanation. Was it simply sourced from the discomfort the hostile interaction provided, lack of interest? Or what Thomas was ultimately hoping for: she already had the answers Marion could have provided. Unlikely, but Thomas would approach as if she is guilty until proven innocent.

The next topic of discussion, the source of the click, the mysterious visual evidence of an intended secret evening. “What are the pictures for?”

Ending Interaction: @Thomas Lestrange
Interacting with: @ Victor Moore @ Gem Stuart
Mentioning: @ Anastasia Beckett @Aurelia Notrésvace @ Rafael D'Spacito

Watching everything unfold was making her anger surge. She was standing by Victor’s side when Victor in explaining the situation suggested she dance with Thomas. She did not have any interest in Thomas. She was here with him. She put a confused expression on her face and kindly declined, but the next thing she knew Victor walked over to Rafa. She was left alone standing, with Thomas, awkwardly when she heard the commotion. She looked over to see, and she caught a glimpse of Ana Beckett the sweet darling girl, punch the boy she recognized to be Rafa’s ex. She muttered a goodbye to Thomas and as she walked over to Gem, she stepped around a girl she recognized as Aurelia Notrésvace and stared him down. With as much venom in her voice as she could muster. She said:

“Gem, fucking, Stuart” she was a bit surprised at the language that came out of her mouth, but she wasn’t going to stop. “You hurt, the boy I consider a brother, Rafael D’Spacito, that ring a bell? You hurt him, so I am going to give you a taste of what you did to him” She reached her hand up and punched him in the face as hard as she could. Smiling, a venomous smile she continued: “You deserve more, but I can do no more for hurt of killing you.”

She was so mad standing there over the boy that had hurt her precious Rafael, so dearly. She examined her work and silently hoped he would have a big black eye the next morning.

Action: Punching Gem

OOC Note: Sorry about the bad writing, i had a limited time window.

interacting with: @Wren Caster & @Aurelia Notrésvace

Gem wasn't so sure how he was supposed to go about responding to the girl that had stuck up for him other than to nod, but he figured if he found an ally in her, making casual conversation couldn't have been difficult, right? It wasn't like this was an everyday occurrence, maybe just a misunderstanding... Merlin, he hoped so.

"It's... a bit of a long story, but I wouldn't put it past a few people ta hate me a bit after... well, everythin', I guess," He wasn't positive if it would be the right time to elaborate, especially considering the fact he didn't know this girl - she'd saved him a bit, but that didn't mean much in the long run... not now, anyways. "I fink it's best if I joost lay low, right? Thank you fer your help."

But it seemed like things just weren't working in his favor today, were they? If there was a 'fuckin' between his first and last name, he knew he was about as good as dead, and considering pervious events, he was completely correct. He tiredly turned his head around, his eyebrows raising high on his forehead, his eyes lidded, though they widened with every word spoken to him - this girl, he recognized, only because he'd seen her in a few classes of his, or mutual friends. Rafael, again? Were this many white knights at his side now? He'd missed more than he thought, and he was paying for it, apparently.

"Right, why don't we joost make a line to deck me right inni' face, huh? Is this a beat on Gem party or somefin'? Christ-" Before he could finish his rant, he saw her arm pull back, and that blow looked like it'd do more than wind him - it seemed like a good nose-breaker to him. If he'd learned anything about play-fighting with Rook, it would be to know your limits. Were there limits at this point? He didn't think so. In a wince, he moved his head away from her fist in a fell swoop, hoping his shoulder would get the hit instead.

Action: attempt to dodge Wren Caster's punch.
Stats: Stamina: 5/10 // Evasion: 7/10 // Strength: 4/10 // Wisdom: 7/10 // Arcane Power: 6/10 /// Accuracy: 6/10

Interacting | @Thomas Lestrange
Mentioning | @Ivy Bellamy

Pandemonium was slowly starting to break out, something that had been inevitable from the get-go. The ball was doomed from the very moment the concept was conceived. The fights were starting, and someone had already ended up on the floor. Perhaps, this photographer would make a smooth exit before she broke another bone. Spending the night in the infirmary choking down Skele-grow was not precisely her ideal kind of night. In fact, she’d rather go freeze by the lakeside or try to get more photos through the common room window of the lakes nocturnal fauna.

It would seem many people knew of her newfound if temporary, companion. A girl in an ice blue sleeveless dress (Ivy) started to pass them, drawing Santario’s eyes off of The Reaper before her. A slow caustic hitch in the girl’s step before she scurried along, bringing San’s eyes back to the boy sitting across from her. Clearly, he was not well-liked by a few people, but something told her that probably shouldn’t surprise her. His feet hit the ground and he squared himself in his chair no doubt to assert his dominance over the situation while keeping a face rested on neutral, something easily matched by herself. Emotionless masks were easy enough to maintain, especially if emotions weren't high. He in tandem answered her unspoken question asking his own in return. She would lean forward to mirror his posture. “Santario.”

She would not extend a hand in greeting as most others would. That was not what this conversation about. Small talk was nothing but tiresome prattle done by dignitaries who couldn’t string together a meaningful sentence that wasn’t written for them. “I was." Confirming what he already knew to be true, and there was the question. He didn’t beat around the bush, and she appreciated that. Nothing worse than people too lazy to reach for the things they wanted. Those were the people destined to get stepped on while the greats rose. Her answer would no doubt disappoint him. “Yes, I am not built for soul physical confrontation. I know my limits. Words are my weapon of choice, spells if the words fail. Then again, that can probably be assessed by looking at me.” It was no lie, Santario, was lithe and better suited to allow people like Reaper to handle the physical confrontation.

She felt like she was in a meeting between two significant figures negotiating a trade agreement that would better both of their situations. Granted, that was not anywhere near the case, but it was still amusing none-the-less. She clearly did not mind his onslaught of questions watching him casually as he posed his next one. Another simple answer and probably another disappointment. “Aaron, one of the organizers asked me if I would lend my skill to this thing. Something I never intended on coming to and planned on leaving when I was finished since this whole thing is destined to go to shit anyway. I’d probably keep a few for my personal photo albums just because I was here. Other than that, I have no plans for these photos.” Would this answer satisfy him? Most likely not, but it was the only answer she had for him. Although it was indeed possible that she was being untruthful, he could find sincerity in her words.

“I can make it, so none of you ever existed if you so wish. It would be a shame, though. The grim reaper aura you put off when you came in the second time was impressive.” A compliment at the end of a probably disappointing answer was a common tactic to make someone feel better when they weren’t getting what they wanted. Truth be told, Santario was a bystander in this whole situation, one she was hoping to leave sooner rather than later and certainly not on a stretcher or unconscious.

Commentary on pages 2, 4, 8, and 13

Outfit | Locket | Hair | Camera bag

Open to Interactions
Mentioning | @Ruka Tân & @Thomas Lestrange

Reducio

Nausea overcame Persephone as she neared the Quidditch Pitch, dim lights that gradually became brighter bringing blindness upon perfect vision. Wind tangled in the loose strands of the two French braids that adorned blonde hair, a hairstyle that would appear rather complicated, but was truly muscle memory to the girl that wore it, almost motherly hands crossing each section over the other. Candles ignited the pathway into the tainted pitch, bringing beauty and soft air into an atmosphere that didn’t welcome such phenomenon, a place bound to erupt in pandemonium come the night’s longed closure.

Walking along the brightened trail, her mind became encased in memories of how the pitch was created to appear. During its finest nights, a blackened sky would explode in burning stars, shining lights that danced before reflecting eyes, gifting the world with its splendors. The universe would be at peace on these nights, the troublesome people enthralled in their rest and only the deserving embracing the remnants left behind. It was a treasure, something to be cherished, something that would go greatly unappreciated during the evening that was tarnished by the dance. As the sun would rise, the emerald grass would sway with the will of the wind, mud beneath it forming with pressure, the pitch as a whole appearing more lively than anyone who stomped on it now.

The blonde dove into the pitch, shedding the unattractive trench coat that had disguised a simple dress, enhanced by the accessories that decorated it. Regardless of the blood status that cried for formality, the Slytherin would always remain plain, never stealing breaths of air but not quite achieving the opposite. Rather than defining the presentation by what flowed within toxic veins, her house had been the proudly selected theme, colors identical to the pride of the snakes and serpent related fittings torturing it to life. Silver ankle boots, a more practical choice for the natural earth that would support the party today, completed the admittedly insignificant outfit. Her disappointment could be imagined when Persy found herself walking along pavement instead of gentle ground. Pristine princesses, hmm? It felt forced to even think such.

Lights above, extracted from classical childhood tales, shone on the faces of the peers that over exaggerated their outfits. Gowns that loosely reminded the blonde of those from the very same stories, lies to soothe innocent children to sleep, would dangle on these children that carried no business dressing so maturely. Suits that resembled a grooms first choice would fall over the boys that attended, as though they had someone to impress. Loves, clinging to their dates as the songs played for them, dwelling in a world created by the couples. Dysfunctions and disfigured, but accepting. Persephone eased slowly into the back, leaving gaps to observe the broken majority, leaving gaps to be watched by them.

Among the futile dancers, who piqued no interest in the bringer of judgement, were a few notable faces. Immediately, like drawn by magnetization, that menacing gaze came to a rest on Ruka Tân, a short, petite, brunet boy that moved carefully, Persy’s eyes mimicking each shift. An angel, the logistics behind that title never being awarded to the curious onlookers, but never received in the correct context. Good person, maybe. Ethereal being, maybe. No to all, perhaps. It could not be said for sure, at least not for a fruitless person that didn’t endure the agonizing thoughts the other twenty-three hours of an unrelenting day.

Then, Thomas Lestrange wrought into her view, as though it didn’t sicken her to simply look at the survivor. Stomach lurching at his mere figure, Persephone pulled a strand of loose blonde hair behind her ear and whispered an inconsequential affirmation to herself, the only one who understood. Tonight, the strings were loosened, nearly to the extent of transparency, an illusion of freedom created by winding swirls of dark hair. A crow, but not one that was abundantly aware of this. Perhaps that ignorance would be enviable another day.

Suddenly, Persephone was a tad less disgusted by her attendance, regardless of how trivial she was in their twisted perceptions. The matchbox rubbed against the snake's ankle, protected in the inside of her left boot. Both fashionable and functional. Resting upon that subtly malicious face, a sinister smile that could kill a clown.

Interacting with : @Evelynn Decipio

Open to interactions

Reducio

“The pleasure is all mine.” Alexis kept her tone light and sweet, minding her own manners.

Her gaze fell down to inspect the dress she was wearing. The dress was indeed a bold statement, backless and deep cut. Yes, she has doubt about the dress before, but she decided against it. The dress was supposed to make her feel good and it did. And the color did compliment her skin, which was a bonus. “Thank you” She replied shortly.

Alexis lowered herself down to an empty seat, leaving one chair between herself and the red-haired girl. After all, she did not want to make the other uncomfortable by sitting too close. She sat her purse onto her lap and kept both of her hands there. She watched as the girl, she looked rather suspicious as if she was trying figure Alexis out.

Alexis didn't exactly how she should react. She chose to keep her expression neutral with a small smile on her face, contemplating about the the girl said. Eat and drink should be easy, but socializing and dance? Not so much.

“well, socializing is not my strongest suit and the dancing part...” She thought back at the time she took dancing classes, she has been told by her dance instructor that dancing appeared to comes naturally to her. It was one of many thing she inherited from her mother. “...doesn't sound so bad.”

She turned her head to see a boy she didn't recognise, she grimaced a little when he called out to someone rather loudly before quickly converted her expression back to neutral. “...yes. Perhaps not”

What did she expect from attending a school ball? Not much per se, but this ball did exceed her expectations. “I think meeting someone new would be ideal. Dancing does sound interesting, but like I said, socailizing is not my strong suit. Not knowing anyone here doesn't help.”

She let her eyes wandered once more before straighhen herself up and meeting the girl's gaze again. “...but moping around is definitely not suitable.”

Action : Sitting at a table with Evelynn Decipio

The boy opposite him offered Vincent a thin smile in reaction to his laughter when Vincent explained how he never would have guessed he was destined to be a wizard. Slightly embarrassed about his sudden outburst his laughter died out ending in some sort of crooked grin. He pondered for a second. Despite his jolly reaction it was in fact the truth. The whole concept of wizards and witches actually existing had seemed a ridiculous one to Vincent, conceived in the brain of someone with way too much imagination. The mere thought of something like magic actually existing was well beyond Vincent’s wildest dreams. Since both his parents were muggles, his mother had never discussed the topic with Vincent. Even after he had his first acquaintance with, as it turned out, magic, he was far from convinced it was actually a thing. He discarded it as a day dream, mostly because he had no satisfying rational explanation for it, resulting in him keeping the incident to himself. That has since changed, obviously, being invite to Hogwarts didn’t really give him another option. A slightly worrying thought nestled in the back of Vincent’s brain at that moment, but he pushed it away and ended of his moment of pondering. He was in a conversation after all, he could do all the thinking he wanted later on.

He shifted his gaze back to the boy whose mind seemed to have drifted off for a little while as well, and heard him say he preferred water in reply to Vincent’s earlier question. Vincent scanned the table and reached for one of the many bottles that were scattered all over it and picked it up, carefully scrutinizing it and it contents. It contained a clear, colorless liquid and as alcohol was, needless to say why, prohibited here, it could only be water. He offered it to Wyatt, while grabbing a chalice containing the now familiar pineapple juice for himself. Never change a winning team when you don’t know the qualities of your substitutes, his aunt Catriona used to say. A statement that certainly made sense, especially considering it coming from someone who had about as much knowledge from football as Vincent had from doing makeup. He subconsciously detected a slight change in the overall atmosphere in the arena, as if things turned a little less casual. Things seemed to be heating up here and there, an unfortunate yet sadly as good as inevitable side effect of events such as this one. Vincent hoped things wouldn’t get so out of hand it would mean the end of the ball, he enjoyed himself way too much. Once again he ignored the ruckus and kept his focus on his interlocutor.

As Wyatt started talking, Vincent happily concluded the boy at least seemed to be enough at ease around him to keep the conversation going. He told him he too, much like Vincent, never would have thought to ever be a wizard. But at least he got familiar with the concept earlier in his life as his mother was a witch. His father was a muggle. Vincent noticed the brief hesitation as the boy mentioned his father, but thought nothing of it, especially since Wyatt’s next remark flabbergasted him and nearly made him fall from his chair in surprise. He couldn’t believe his ears. Had he indeed heard Wyatt say that? Had Wyatt’s first experience with magic resulted in giving his father a concussion? That must have been a terrible experience. Vincent reminisced about his own first introduction to magic, reliving the moment in a flash.

He saw his classmate Norman Magoo approaching him with his request to ‘help him out’. He recalled the feeling of anger flushing him at the injustice of Norman wanting him to steal candy from Rita’s shop, so he could take revenge on her for telling on him, bringing him a much-deserved punishment for skipping classes. His refusal to help angered Norman, who raised his fists, ready to start a fist fight. And then there was the misty light, the deceleration of the world around him, the suddenly frenzied cat that jumped Norman, the missed punch and the misty light fading at the same speed it had appeared. The cat had reclaimed its position in the sun and was engaged in a grooming session as if it was the last thing it would do on this world. Vincent was still mystified by the entire situation and, perhaps even more so, the result. Norman had just stood there, oblivious to what had happened, his opinion on the matter turned a hundred and eighty degrees. He greeted Vincent, turned around and walked away. Just like that.

Vincent realized he was still staring at Wyatt, trying to find a fitting reply. “That… wow, really? You gave your father a concussion?” Vincent stuttered, still flabbergasted. “That… wow, that must have been a terrible experience. And probably awkward at that. I can only imagine how bad you must have felt. My first experience was rather awkward as well, but it luckily didn’t end with someone getting hurt. In fact it ended rather well, although I never quite figured out what exactly Norman had experienced.” Vincent said after which he continued to tell the story of his first magical experience. “And that’s my story." Vincent concluded. "As my parents are both muggles, the subject was never discussed and I never had the guts to tell my mom about this. But, if you don’t mind me asking, please tell me, you father… he wasn’t too badly injured I hope?”

The interaction threatened to make Søren laugh but he was raised to never chortle in someone’s face. Besides, this girl would clearly not take being laughed at kindly and he had an overwhelming eagerness to be liked by everyone. He was aware that walking away would save him from the trouble of interacting with this girl and she would obviously prefer it, but cracking a hard shell would gain him a lot of points, he was sure. He expected the slap on his hand to sting, but the girl’s tiny palm felt like it just ghosted over his knuckles despite making firm contact with them. He took a step back to allow her the room to get up and then he knelt down gently, gathering the things that had fallen. He had only been able to get a Yoohoo bottle within his grasp before noticing that the girl was walking away. Affected by the potential of losing a new… ah… project, he called out to her.

“W-wait!” he shouted, dropping the yellow bottle and standing up. Then she spun around and regarded the pile of food without acknowledging Søren. Thankful for Merlin who had stopped the girl from leaving, he smiled brightly and clasped both his hands together. “Okay, why don’t we get you cleaned up? I mean – I don’t mean both of us, of course! I’d just escort you to the ladies changing room and I wouldn’t go in…,” he trailed off, rambling with his eyes on the grass. The girl began walking towards him and he wondered if he creeper her out. Looking up at her, he realized that she was not looking at him. Instead, her eyes were fixated on the pile of food. “Okay, back to the first plan, then?” he muttered under his breath and turned back to resume picking up the food. He did not expect to lock eyes with a sneer, though.

“Go away,” she said, coldly. Her demand came like an arrow, afflicting his body with pain. As she got closer to the ground and began to gather the food, Søren felt himself smile and he shook his head good-naturedly.

“I don’t think I will,” he countered. He was aware that refusing to leave the girl alone would send the wrong message, so he settled into the grass on the far side of the pile. Starting to the brush the food towards him and pile things into his arm, he regarded the underdressed girl. “So… you don’t like dressing up?” he asked slowly, hoping the girl would make conversation. He would even take grunts or an insult as a positive sign.

Interaction Status: Open
Interacting with @Calanthe Choi
Outfit