The Fate of the Jorts
@Dahlia Lee @Livia MachavarianiRemy held the plate high above his head. Sure, he had held it like he was ready to batter up and play a good ol american game of plateface, a variation of baseball played with a plate and a face.
Dahlia's words and laugh made his eyes twitch. Oh, he was going to throw that son of a gun out the window. He dropped the plate he was holding and growled loudly to grasp both arms of Dahlia's to pick her up. "REMY NO STUPID!" He announced as he looked at Livia's horribly smug face.
His nostrils flared, the sound of a clogged nose louder the angrier he was. He huffed, not even bothering to think twice. He was going to throw that jerk. So, he did. He threw Dahlia (harshly) into the table next to him, wanting to body slam like wrestlers did, but maybe the impact was enough to knock the sails out of her.
He turned to look at Livia, his hands preparing to grab her wand. "You no hurt me, me hurt you." He spat again. Remy was a kind, sweet and innocent boy, he was just pushed over the rails by two insane ladies who thought they were on top of the world.
He tried to grab the wand, wanting to snap it like a breadstick, but a part of him kept holding back. He didn't grab the wand, but something was telling his brain not to touch it, or he might be stuck scrubbing the toilets.
But Remy wouldn't let his actions be without consequences. He threw a punch into her left shoulder, though not as hard as he threw the glass of water at her earlier. A warning.
“Let us realize that a change can only come,
when we stand together as one.”
when we stand together as one.”
The Fate of the Jorts
time. lunchtime
place. great hall
with. @remy break, @livia machavariani
Dahlia was airborne. Her Mary Janes had lost contact with the ground. The girl's expression contorted in horror as she came upon the realization. She could tell by the lack of resistance as she swung her legs— a futile attempt to reach the boy's kneecaps.
The witch was tall for her ancestry: South Korean on her human side and Veela on the other. Neither of her parents exceeded average height but Dahlia, who had started her first year at five feet had, over the course of six months, grown two more inches. Both of those inches, as it seemed, were ornamental in nature. They had been allocated entirely to the girl's legs. However, despite their long length, her limbs were those of a baby deer in comparison to Remy's. Dahlia's feet reached his knees with the strength of grass against a tree trunk, all the more determined. Any sense of danger Dahlia possessed was not apparent in her gaze. Eyebrows lifted, she appeared entirely unfazed facing a boy twice her size.
"OAF!" Despite captivity, Dahlia could not be silenced. She lacked the tact that Livia possessed in plenty but made up for it in fighting spirit. An overwhelming sense of superiority did wonders for the girl's delusions. She continued. "You're such a good-for-nothing, muscle-brained, poorly-constructed, spawned-by-hags, anti-intelle-"
Dahlia's spiel cut off as she was released... harshly. Freedom from Remy's grip came at a cost.
Then, she was falling. Accelerating, to be accurate, in the direction of the neighboring table. Delightful. The son of an ogre had the gall to launch her across the room as if she were some kind of quaffle intended to be tossed around for his enjoyment. Her insults were justified.
"-ctual." The second half of the word arrived as she landed. Her hand, specifically her wrist, was the first body part to make contact with the table. Her elbow bent upwards in an unnatural direction as to prevent the rest of herself from slipping downwards onto the floor. The students around her, naturally, ended their conversations. A first-year had landed precariously near their bread basket. Dahlia did not believe such occurrences ought to be seen as commonplace even through the lens of Hogwarts' persistent madness.
The witch's gaze returned to focus on her surroundings. Both wrists throbbed in pain, moreso the left as she had landed primarily on that side. Her lower back stung from collision with the side of the hardwood table. Her nose was two inches away from a bread basket.
Her focus returned steadily to Livia and Remy. Someone with a stronger capacity for self-preservation would have removed themself from the situation though, newly infuriated, Dahlia was not eager to leave.
She pushed herself off of the table using her forearm exclusively (hands were out of the picture.) "Have you ever tried throwing a ball?" A singular eyebrow raised as if she had forgotten that she had been breathing on another house's dinner rolls moments prior. That was, in all honesty, the least of her problems at the moment.
The Fate of the Jorts
 Even a worm will turn. It was an expression Livia's mother had dropped a few times, always in conversation with Livia's brother. The most docile of creatures, those most prone to goodness and kindness – even they, once pushed, would not hesitate to retaliate. Little Julenka had not yet been pushed to that point; he was, perhaps, as harmless as a worm. Livia, however, was not. She had thought the other girl was handling herself quite well, given the circumstances. However, as she heard the relieving spout of insults silenced by violence, the scales of justice tipped. Livia felt no true loyalty to this girl – she was no Evpraksyushka, no Julenka – but they, in opposition to this Remy character, had formed a tentative alliance. That Remy punted her like a Quaffle suggested he might do the same to Livia herself, given the chance. Furthermore, strength in numbers was always advisable. Thus, Livia's wand remained levelled. She did not lower her hand when Remy advanced towards her. She saw his hand coming, but her proximity to movables did not assist her evasive manoeuvres. Even her small side-step probably made it worse. Her fragile, spindly limbs could not withstand more. She caught herself with her free hand pressed against the table beneath her, and only then would she act further. A hint of unbridled rage would flash in the Slytherin's green eyes before she did her best to contain herself. She would levy her wand at Remy and attempt to cast, 'Petricifus Totalus.' Though the pinprick of individual eyes upon her frame burned, she did not consider this to be an offence worthy of observation; surely, they were just observing Remy, what with his mammoth size and most reprehensible behaviour. Or, perhaps, they were gazing upon the other girl with concern, even if, given her ability to handle herself, that concern might have been unwarranted. She would cast a quick glance towards the other girl to attempt to scan her for worse injuries; given her immediate insult of Remy's sporting habits, she appeared to be mostly fine, if not a bit stunned. Livia, for her own part, lacked the breath for more words than her spell. Her shoulder would be sore for days and would likely sport an aubergine-coloured bruise within a week. If her face became similarly decorated, she would simply have to begin wearing scarves to classes. And that was if there was no internal damage... The thought caused her stomach to ache, which would make her attempt to move away from Remy. Really, all that sounded helpful at this point was a pleasant cup of tea – but not here, not after all this excitement. Still, though, she would not leave until she had ascertained whether or not the Gryffindor girl's functionality was largely unimpaired. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx @Remy Break & @Dahlia Lee |
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| [staff] jessamine lancaster even you cannot conquer the sun. | marina alacrán [inpc] her hair is kinda wild and free. |
The Fate of the Jorts
@Dahlia Lee @Livia MachavarianiRemy didn't even get to finish turning, as the horrible rights-to-move spell hit him, sending a wave of rigidness up his body, tensing his muscles and making him fall in the direction he was leaning, and that was forward. His jaws froze in the middle of a snarl and he felt like he was a tree that didn't get to yell 'TIMBER!'
He hit the floor with a heavy thud, maybe that was the Timber. His eyes were wide and his nostrils were flaring in some sort of outrage at the audacity of these dementors.
His instinct was to flop on the floor like a fish, nautical nonsense was not even something he wished for, nor was he some weirdo that was yellow and absorbent that lived in a pineapple under the sea. But he wanted to move. Being rigid was horrible.
He wasn't medusa's target. He didn't even want Medusa, with her horrid head of snakes. Other people are prettier, but these two girls that opposed him? Hell to the no. Medusa was prettier than them, and that was a fact! If they didn't hurt him, well, he would have something.. adjacent.. to nice to say.
His eyes darted furiously between the two girls, and Remy wanted to bonk her (Dahlia) for mentioning a ball. Well, if he were to throw a ball, it wouldn't be half as fun as using her as a battering ran to break the window and throw her into the whomping willow! Livia only earned him a muffled and guttural growl from deep within his body rising to meet his throat. He was in her house, he was gonna get his revenge while she was asleep.
Say bye bye to the disgusting toothpick they called a wand.
“Let us realize that a change can only come,
when we stand together as one.”
when we stand together as one.”
The Fate of the Jorts
time. lunchtime
place. great hall
with. @remy break, @livia machavariani
The fact that her hands were incapacitated ought to have been higher among Dahlia's priorities. The area around her wrist had begun to expand, not to mention the dull, stinging sensation. Neither of which improved as she attempted to rotate her wrist. (Seriously? The girl had no time for injury.) Perhaps it was because she was stunned that she paid them no mind. A visit to the infirmary required leaving lunch.
Such a feat was deemed impossible— Dahlia's feet were fixed in place. Mouth agape, her eyes were fixed on the hag-oaf-troll of a boy who had most literally fallen victim to Livia's advanced spellwork. Much to her delight, Remy was vertical.
Dahlia had not expected involvement from the witch who had spoken so sparsely. Rather, she had assumed Livia to be not especially invested in the goings-on, one who preferred to watch rather than participate. Alas. Had she been in her place, Dahlia would have run verbal circles around Remy, at least opting to insult him in multiple, innovative ways. Her emotions were expressed verbally.
Perhaps it was a mutual act. The Gryffindor chose to defend her over Remy. She did not deny that. The act had not been out of strategy nor genuine sympathy but, rather the pure, idiocy-driven annoyance that filled Dahlia thinking of Remy's unprovoked attack. (The twelve-year-old witch would have done the same in certain conditions but it wouldn't count as "unprovoked" in her case as her own entertainment served as both the motivation and the justification. Hypocrite.)
As per usual, the story had resolved itself in Dahlia's favor. Victory at last! She had known it in the moment. The princess' acquaintance with the Hufflepuff salad dish was but a momentary setback in the greater, noble course of her fairytale. Eventually, in homage to all that is good, the ogre had met his greatest enemy in entrapment and found himself no longer able to terrorize her rightful and victorious reign over the Great Hall kingdom.
A banquet ought to be held in her honor and, technically, Livia's as well. The Slytherin witch had been the one to cast the spell making her, technically, the knight of the tale. However, as Dahlia considered it, knights were sorely overrated in the medieval literature canon as she had learned it. Saint George and the Dragon, The Green Knight... She could go on. These stories ought to feature more fearless princesses, ones actually capable of saving themselves. Herself, for instance. (She would totally have thought to cast Petrificus Totalus had she known how...)
She opted for the next most noble option: laughing in Remy's trapped face. Cathartic.
The Fate of the Jorts
date: shrug
time: mid-day/lunch
location: great hall
Of course – the magic flowed from Livia's veins as if it were as mundane as her blood. The steady thrum of it only served to intensify her focus, and a small upward curve of her lips would be visible. The satisfaction of quite the flawless cast served her far better than the recognition of it taking effect. The situation had essentially dealt with itself, though Livia did, finally, steal a proper glance at the other girl. She did not truly know how to react when the other girl began to laugh in Remy's face. Victory spoke for itself and did not necessitate the crudeness of laughter; nonetheless, if the other girl was enjoying herself, Livia supposed it could not be helped.
A quick, calculated movement brought her wand back to her sleeve. The movement of her hand to her hair, slicking back the water-darkened (and -dampened) strands, was far smoother. Now that the threat had been assessed and dealt with, Livia would allow herself to more properly mirror (or attempt to mimic) the demeanour of her accomplice. What would have been a warm smile on someone else appeared a bit more like a chuffed smirk on Livia, who finally turned to fully face the Gryffindor. 'Lovely work,' she said drily, the natural warmth in her voice likely acting as if nails to the chalkboard of her expression.
That did not mean it was not genuine. She would extend her right hand towards the other girl in preparation for a handshake, as was often considered proper among well-bred adults who did not wish to offer kisses to others' hands. 'I fear we did not have a good opportunity for introductions.' The awkward smirk faded into a wry half-smile that would appear more comfortable on Livia's delicate features. 'Livia,' she offered. 'I would call it a pleasure, but...' She let her voice trail off in a hint of good humour, all while glancing down at the sorry excuse for a boy at her feet. '...well, its conclusion was something nice. We did well.'
Once more, her gaze travelled downwards towards Remy. 'Admittedly, I do not wish to linger here. Either we are blamed for the ruckus he caused, or he breaks free and targets us once again. I can only withstand so much fizzy water to the face, I'm afraid.'
With that, she would attempt to leave, although, should the other girl offer her name, she would nod almost personably, pleased to have something to remember her competent companion by.
time: mid-day/lunch
location: great hall
roleplaying as livia machavariani | ‘fit: x
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 8 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 8 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
Of course – the magic flowed from Livia's veins as if it were as mundane as her blood. The steady thrum of it only served to intensify her focus, and a small upward curve of her lips would be visible. The satisfaction of quite the flawless cast served her far better than the recognition of it taking effect. The situation had essentially dealt with itself, though Livia did, finally, steal a proper glance at the other girl. She did not truly know how to react when the other girl began to laugh in Remy's face. Victory spoke for itself and did not necessitate the crudeness of laughter; nonetheless, if the other girl was enjoying herself, Livia supposed it could not be helped.
A quick, calculated movement brought her wand back to her sleeve. The movement of her hand to her hair, slicking back the water-darkened (and -dampened) strands, was far smoother. Now that the threat had been assessed and dealt with, Livia would allow herself to more properly mirror (or attempt to mimic) the demeanour of her accomplice. What would have been a warm smile on someone else appeared a bit more like a chuffed smirk on Livia, who finally turned to fully face the Gryffindor. 'Lovely work,' she said drily, the natural warmth in her voice likely acting as if nails to the chalkboard of her expression.
That did not mean it was not genuine. She would extend her right hand towards the other girl in preparation for a handshake, as was often considered proper among well-bred adults who did not wish to offer kisses to others' hands. 'I fear we did not have a good opportunity for introductions.' The awkward smirk faded into a wry half-smile that would appear more comfortable on Livia's delicate features. 'Livia,' she offered. 'I would call it a pleasure, but...' She let her voice trail off in a hint of good humour, all while glancing down at the sorry excuse for a boy at her feet. '...well, its conclusion was something nice. We did well.'
Once more, her gaze travelled downwards towards Remy. 'Admittedly, I do not wish to linger here. Either we are blamed for the ruckus he caused, or he breaks free and targets us once again. I can only withstand so much fizzy water to the face, I'm afraid.'
With that, she would attempt to leave, although, should the other girl offer her name, she would nod almost personably, pleased to have something to remember her competent companion by.
@remy break & @dahlia lee.
ooc note: feel free to lightly godmod livia reacting to however remy/dahlia might react, but please run it by me via owls/dms first.
thread left unless stopped.
ooc note: feel free to lightly godmod livia reacting to however remy/dahlia might react, but please run it by me via owls/dms first.
thread left unless stopped.
| [staff] jessamine lancaster even you cannot conquer the sun. | marina alacrán [inpc] her hair is kinda wild and free. |
The Fate of the Jorts
Remy's eyes were open thanks to the spell, but he saw it, someone with power getting up, whether or not if it was for him or if they were doing something else. His stomach dropped like a stone and he began to feel some needle pricks in his limbs as he slowly regained feeling in his limbs. Remy didn't bother to finish his growl or anything, his body jolted like he was a spooked horse that saw something; like Andrew Jackson's horse at the Bell farm.
He scrambled upright so fast once the spell had weakened completely, planning to leave. "REMY NO EAR REMY GO NOW." The words spun out of his mouth in a frantic jumble, as he turned away and bolted towards the doors and ran like a panicked farm animal trying not to get caught- like a sheep that was being chased by a sheepdog.
His sandals slapped against the stone floor and Remy wanted to yell over his shoulders, and his zero wisdom would definitely be fitting for that, but his author does not want to load a giant translator. When he approached the door, second years came in and Remy hesitated between ducking behind them or stealing their tiny robes so he could commit a pathetic attempt at identity theft. However, he ultimately decided to run out the doors and never come back!
He would be back later. And Dahlia was not safe. Neither was Liver.
@Dahlia Lee @Livia Machavariani
“Let us realize that a change can only come,
when we stand together as one.”
when we stand together as one.”