Secret Blossom Ball Event Finished

The reply didn't satisfy Vincent at all. First off, he had no intention whatsoever to see if it was passive, let alone hurt the thing in any way. In fact he preferred not to have anything to do with it at all. He loved insects from a photographic point of view, but not here and definitely not at this size. His remark about the flash was merely meant as a precautionary measure, not to try and tick a giant insect off. Why would this one be passive anyway? He looked around at some of the other insects, showcasing their rather aggressive approach, leaving him little doubt as to what their intentions were. Secondly, he wasn't the fleeing type, he wasn't going anywhere if he could help in any way. He would never be able to forgive himself for running away with others in need of help. This, however, decidedly not being the time to start a pointless, time-consuming discussion, he didn't react. It didn't really matter anyway. Instead he slowly, as not to attract unwanted attention from the nearby creature, or any of the creatures for that matter, walked over to a broken table, that had apparently been crushed in the panic that now had spread throughout pretty much the entire pitch. Trying to keep his calm, he grabbed a broken table leg that had a nasty set of sharp spikes where it had broken off of the table top, ditching the bottle he had kept with him by means of a weapon until now. This had a much wider range and thus was much more effective fighting off any possible attacks by the ugly creatures flying all around the premises. He might not be much of a wizard yet, if one at all, that was no reason to not sell his live dearly when push would come to shove.

His first concern was finding Wyatt, so he walked back to where he had last seen him, at the same time carefully scrutinizing the insect he walked away from, ready to take action if it showed any interest in him. It didn't. He looked towards the spot where Wyatt had stood when all this started. If anything he'd try to help Wyatt get out safely, provided he could find him amidst the turmoil. The path to the table was clear from the invading insects, but he didn't see Wyatt. Wondering where the boy might have gone, he noticed something in the sky that was rapidly appearing and on a definite crash course with him. Startled, he stopped in his tracks aiming his gaze towards it. Despite realizing it was way too small to be one of the flying creatures, he wasn't going to take any chances, so he ducked and covered his face with his hand, table leg raised in the other. The object landed precisely at his feet and came to a stop a foot or two further. As it landed he recognized what it was. It was a boutonniere, probably dropped by one of the wizards that were flying above the pitch on their brooms. The soft thud of the landing boutonniere was immediately followed by an ominous buzzing sound and flapping of wings. Vincent looked up and saw one of the creatures come swooping down like a diving bomber.

He didn't even have time to react. Another thud, a muffled, but much louder and heavier one this time, was audible as it landed right next to the tiny bouquet. It looked at Vincent with a mean, piercing gaze in its yellow, protruding eyes. The mere sight of the creature, that was so close he could see his strangely beautiful ugliness in full detail, made him shiver. The beast seemed almost luminous because of the purplish glow of its skin. Its yellow eyes still fixed on Vincent's blue ones, it seemed to consider its next action against him for a few seconds. Apparently though, the appeal of the dropped boutonniere was greater than its urge to attack - or perhaps defend - as its proboscides reached out for the flowers and with it shifted its attention to the small flowery showpiece, instantly and completely ignoring him from there on. At that moment Vincent recalled something someone, he thought it was the girl with the camera, had been loudly exclaiming. The creatures were apparently attracted to flowers, or the scent of them anyway, and the behavior this one displayed seemed to support that statement. It was completely oblivious to its surroundings now that it had its paws and whatever those other protrusions were used for on the dropped flowers. Vincent then realized he too was wearing some flowers, flowers he somehow needed to get rid of or else he'd most likely have a snowball's chance in hell to get out of here unscathed.

As Vincent slowly reached for the boutonniere he had attached to his lapel earlier that evening, the insect either didn't notice or deliberately didn't pay any attention to him. It was as if it had completely forgotten about him even being there. Perhaps it simply had no interest in him, a thought Vincent didn't want to trust on though. He had no doubt it would strike when provoked or probably even simply when it felt to attack, so it was best to remain cautious and assume it might attack at any given moment, without hesitation or provocation. He agonizingly slowly unhooked the safety pin and pulled it with the boutonniere attached to it from his tuxedo jacket. He absentmindedly noted the pin had left two tiny holes in the lapel. His mother, had she been around, would have sighed and shook her head in disapproval of his carelessness with his outfit. Despite the seriousness of the situation a thin smile appeared on his face. He doubted the two holes would have been his mother's main concern had she seen him in the situation he was currently in. He quickly focused back on reality as he now faced the challenge of getting rid of his boutonniere without challenging the insect that was still preoccupied with its earlier conquest.

Vincent racked his brain to find a solution to the challenge, preferably a peaceful one. He wasn't interested in a fight with this insect, or any of them for that matter, as he was likely to lose it. He had to pick his battles carefully, his main goal was to avoid a fight in the first place. He looked at the object in his hand, noticing a faint, rather sweet scent he knew but failed to identify surrounding it. With the reaction of the insect that had landed right in front of him just now in the back of his head, he was convinced that particular scent was the reason they were so drawn to these flowers. Not sure how to use that knowledge to his advantage right now, he stored it in the back of his mind for later use. Perhaps.

That still left him in a rather precarious situation, with a dangerously giant insect only three feet away from him while he carried something in his hand that apparently appealed immensely to it. If ever there would have been a recipe for disaster this would be it. And to make matters even worse, there was no easy way out of this. Yet he was not going to stand there and idly stand by waiting for the insect to make a move, so he decided to take matters into his own hands, putting his trust into something he had heard someone say. Rather dubious, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He slowly, hardly visible, bend down until he could reach the ground with his hand, continuously keeping an eye on the purplish insect, ready to jump up and run at any suspicious movement from it. He carefully put the flowers on the floor, close to his right foot. Then, ever so slowly, he got back upright, lifted the table leg, pulled his right foot back a little and then suddenly kicked the flowers towards the giant insect, making sure it slid only inches past it. He hoped the scent combined with its movement would distract the insect long enough for Vincent to make his getaway and make it to a safe distance from it.

The moment Vincent executed the kick, the insect stopped whatever it had been doing and turned towards him with worrying speed and agility. For a very, very long moment Vincent thought his plan had backfired. Sure enough the creature had reacted to movement, but not the movement he had hoped for. Well before the object he had kicked had even traveled half the distance between him and the insect, the creature had already targeted Vincent. He raised the table leg like a baseball bat, ready to strike at the insect when it attacked. But it didn’t. It did spread its wings and bend its legs, ready to catapult itself towards Vincent, but right then it got sight of the boutonniere Vincent had kicked passed it. Without any effort it turned once more and jumped right onto the small flower bouquet, immediately ignoring the likes of Vincent completely again. Vincent silently sighed in relief, took one last look towards where he had last seen Wyatt and then turned to walk back to the girl with the camera, hoping the insect hadn’t decided to get him after all. He knew heading further back in would be an irresponsible, most likely even dangerous act, so this was without a doubt the wisest thing to do. He addressed the girl once more. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Yes, of course, Wyatt felt bad, but he wasn’t really in the mood for getting stung by a mosp- the things looked like a wasp and a moth had a lot of babies and he didn’t like that one bit. Nor did a lot of the scaredy cats at the dance, because he wasn’t the only one running.

So this is why the real dance was called off. Yes, that made sense. Why did Wyatt have to be a part of the group who overlooked sense? At least now, he was making sense. Now he was running. Wyatt wasn’t very athletic, but boy was he good at running. Wyatt was familiar with running away- from his father, from the bullies at his muggle school and from Hogwarts. Running was good. Especially now. Running made sense.

Wyatt made the big mistake of looking back. He was halfway towards the castle, and the mosps weren’t even close. Wyatt saw the swarm over the party area, though. That was unsettling. He looked around, trying to see if he saw Vincent anywhere- “bloody hell...” Wyatt spotted the blonde, trying to fend off a mosp with the leg of a table. Without thinking, Wyatt ran towards the battlefield. He wasn’t going to sit and watch as a good person got stung by one of those things. If anything he’d try to help Vincent get out safely.

He was relieved that by the time he’d gotten there, the damn creature was on the tiny flowery thing Wyatt remembered Vincent wearing. So they like flowers, Wyatt thought. Noted. He jogged towards the Ravenclaw, who was now talking to a girl with a camera.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Wyatt answered for her. “Well we could leave and get somewhere safe?” He looked around, “Let the professors deal with this stuff?” He looked around again “Get professors..?” He noticed that there were no adults at the ball because someone had the brilliant idea of making a secret ball after the great Solomon Lear called off the real one. Turned out nice before the bloody MOSPS got here at least, Wyatt thought.

Interacting with @Vincent d'Arque
Mentioning @Santario Martin

interacting with @Mildred Wilson
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Lizzie knew she had to do something. She knew that one of the girls she was trying to help had gotten stung. It was her fault in the first place for agitating it. She was the one that had thrown the cup. It had missed obviously due to the Ravenclaw having bad vision. It also didn’t help it was pitch black and there were only a few selected students who had cast Lumos.

She brought her knees up to her chest and placed the cup on the flood next to her and closed her eyes. What was she meant to do? Go out and help the girl she didn’t know? Or try help herself which would be very selfish. She had planned to be all heroic but it was not working. The whole Ball had been a complete disaster.

“I have to do something.” She mumbled to herself. The blonde haired girl pushed her knees out and grabbed the cup once again while scrunching her eyebrows. She was doing something. Lizzie went onto her knees and pushed some hair from her face while crawling out from underneath the table.

Standing up quickly, she squeezed her eyes to try and look for the Mosp. It was nowhere to be seen as of that moment. She sighed and quickly ran over to the table where the girl was laying. Lizzie jumped over chairs and around the wide tables that were laid with flowers.

Quickly kneeling down and placing the cup next to her, Lizzie looked over the student. She had defiantly been stung. It was very unfortunate she had not brought her wand except it still wouldn’t have been much help. What was she meant to do? Stick it in the wound?

“It… it’s going to be okay.” She reassured the girl, “What’s your name?” She shook her head. Obviously that would be a question Lizzie would ask during a situation like that. “My names Lizzie.” She smiled at her hopping it would settle her nerves.

“This may sting a bit.” She said while tearing part of her dress off. She placed on where the wound was and pressed down, “You need to keep it held down so you don’t lose too much blood.” She looked around at stopped the Mosp who had stung the girl.

Lizzie looked back at the student and stood up. She grabbed the cup she had placed down next to the Hufflepuff and chucked it at the mosp. It was another dumb move but when Lizzie got angry she go very angry.

She then shrunk down a bit after realizing what she had done. It may have or may not have it hit but probably agitated it nether the less. Lizzie turned to the girl and her eyes widened. She knelt down again and pressed onto the wound hopping the venom would not be spreading to fast while being cautious about the Mosp near them.

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word count : 488

Action: Throwing another cup at Mosp #7 while trying to reassure Mildred

| Sta 5 | Eva 5 | Str 7 | Wis 7 | Arc P 6 | Acc 5 |
Charmer

@Charlie Woodward, @Evelynn Decipio, @Aaron Jones
Writing this for the sake of linear progression and traking Piérre's departure

He had practiced this move so many times, yet had never gotten to actually perform the maneuver in an actual game; only in practice and in his dreams. Doing this was Piérre's dream come true. With outstretched hands, Piérre locked with Charlie, his small hands clenching the second year's hands as if in a death grip. Indeed, let go too soon, and Piérre could be sent off in the completely wrong direction, spiraling into the unknown, and probably heading in the direction of the mosp swarm. As the spin became more and more violent, Piérre threw his head back, enjoying the tug of centripetal force and the blurry spin of the environment before tucking in and preparing the internal count for when the two of them would release and send the lighter boy towards the castle. A purple blur gave testament to Philipe drawing close, as if bumbling towards his Britalian friend, questioning why the lad was making such a quick getaway.

Charlie gave Piérre a motivational speech, telling him to get help for all these kids, and Piérre could only manage a nod and a wide smile before his hands slipped away from the chaser's and Evelynn, who looked as if she was going to puke at any given moment. With a twinge of pity, Piérre looked back, waving fast and pressing two fingers to his forehead in a sort of salute towards the two close friends. "Aye-aye Mr. Chaser! I promise! Take care of Philipe for meeeeee!" Turning back to his flight, Piérre focused on directing his aim towards the largest target he could find of the castle... The windows...

With a final warcry, Piérre lowered his head and prepared for collision. "Hasta la Pastaaaaaa!!!"

Continued in Sending Out an S.O.S.

Interacting with: @Lark Flaer
Mentioning: @Rafael D'Spacito

Time would only tell if his yells would go heeded by his peers. It was unlikely, but certainly possible. He kept his eyes out for the approach of any hostiles near the burning girl but it seemed like all attackers were doing the wise thing and avoiding the flames. The flames that were not yet out. Both the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and AJ's best friend both had their spells flicker out ineffectively. The Scotsman had expected it a bit more from Rafael due to the latter usually preferring to use his fists to solve problems, though it was quite difficult to punch out a fire. However Lark's miscast was more of a surprise, the Irish lass had always possessed a knack for these kinds of things. He lowered his guard for a moment and took a second to analyse her face, he had seen that look before, she was getting in her own head again.

He quickly holstered his own wand, trying to block out the screams of the flaming student just next to him. The boy had not yet mastered Extinguo, there was nothing he could really do for her right now.

He grabbed hold of Lark's shoulders and turned her firmly to face him, their eyes locking on one another, gaze focused. He gave her a soft squeeze and a shake, trying to bring her back to some semblance of reality. "Laerk! I need ye here. I knoo tha' luk. Yer leetun tha neeght haunt ya ageen! Thus usn't tha neeght. Am here thus teem, an' am no' leavin' you." He told her, trying to comfort her in some capacity, to get her back in the fight. "You knoo meh, am crap at these kina speells!" Some humour, try to get a laugh out of the shellshocked witch.

If all else failed the Scotsman would panic and pull a move that was likely to get him in trouble somewhere down the line. "Sorreh..." He would offer a brief apology before bringing his friend close and pressing his lips to her's in an awkward and hardly romantic first kiss. Not exactly the warm fire one would expect during such an event, but if he could surprise her into trying again, he could deal with the backlash.

Action: Risking cooties in order to save the day, like a hero.

Thomas honed in on the source of his adversary’s voice. She spoke to a new party, a boy she knew by name—Oliver. The part-veela seemingly a social bee since Thomas returned. The boy kept his body diagonal to the sound of her voice, aggressively leaning forward in preparation to attack. A second newcomer approached, fireboy seemed to locate the sound of Thomas’ voice, illuminating his visage to reveal dark reddish hair that appeared lighter with the flaming foreground. The boy was notably short, almost a foot lower to the ground than Thomas.

The brief change of sights did not last very long, the veins in his neck pulsated in a huff of rage for the unprovoked attacks from Erin Ryan. The audacity the girl had, to hold Thomas responsible for Fox’s actions, to withhold his identity. Pairing the notion with consecutive vicious attacks, it was Thomas’ turn to strike. Launching himself forward set Fox into motion, it was a predictable move he was ready for, taking his place in front of Ryan. Of course, Thomas was not aware until a flash of blue light approached when he launched himself off the ground. The timing was fortunate, the spell sent idly over his shoulder as his legs connected with the Fox’s midsection, sending the pair of boys into the grass together for a second time.

Not the wisest attack move, doubling the lingering pain in his lower back from the earlier collision upon contact. Overpowered by his adrenaline, Thomas swiftly regained his footing, catching a glimpse of Erin’s leg circling to bring him down. A stationary jump allowed her leg to pass idly underneath, once again proving she couldn’t touch this. Another flash of light approached Erin’s rear from…fireboy? His place in this fight surely lost on Thomas, but he would be welcomed like a hero as he evened the odds.

The aforementioned Oliver played party pooper, thwarting the flame wielder’s spell. Thomas urgently reached into his pocked to retrieve his wand in preparation for the encroaching caster’s follow up attack. Instead of his wand he found something he did not expect. The hilt of a dagger, which Thomas quickly deduced the newly acquired item was placed here before his companion’s departure—Faust. A weapon Thomas would not imagine using…at least not on a fellow student. But the notion spoke beyond self-defense, a sign of trust. Even if Selim was not there to actively defend Thomas amidst his trifles, providing this weapon expressed his commitment to the mission. For this moment, Thomas was appreciative.

The candles reignited, providing a visual to Erin’s fresh flunky. Thomas would look over Oliver briefly in contempt, the boy devoid of any muscular definition, perhaps one chocolate frog away from a third chin. “How much is she paying you to be her friend?” Thomas’ icy hues did not scan the boy for long, quickly drawn to the state of his surroundings. The ball has erupted into chaos and flame. Fire blackened a portion of the pitch, screams of agony intertwining the collective state of panic.

His eyes flickered across in search of his confidant. Initially finding a pair of girls involved in a lightly discussed pre-arranged plan, opposing Mary and the hobbit for the bag Victor arrived with. Victor nowhere to be seen around the group. Nor Selim, who approached the unintended bag with a separate group around Opeila. In his blinded stupor, he has neglected his goals for the evening, a result initiated by Erin Ryan.

His mind was not left to linger on his surroundings long, the fireboy eliminated the confusion of his place in this fight, swiftly expressing his concerns for…Jack. The long awaited name to the face arrived. But Thomas was not left to revel in this development, finding himself on the wrong end of fireboy’s wand. Just like that, his supposed ally disappeared, leaving Thomas with widened eyes and accelerated breaths.



Brows lifted, turning to the casualty of his dropkick, who has likely regained his footing by now. “He got in the way…” It clicked, the eerie similarities between the red heads. Brothers? Lovers? Brother-lovers? Regardless, the two shared a seemingly passionate connection, denoted by the fireboy’s fiery rant over the physical hostilities between the group. To defuse the tension of his fourth potential threat in the near vicinity, Thomas motioned towards Jack with an open palm. “Not my target.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he found the part-veela, remaining ready for her next attack.

Clutching the back of his mind was regret for his actions, the sobering stakes provided clarity for the boy’s lack of execution. His partner left alone in a dangerous position, the execution of his plan sloppy, dampened by the combination of pumpkin juice and fire whiskey. With regret, arrived clarity. It was not too late to act. He willed his mind to move on from Erin, resonating with fireboy’s argument and Jack's opposition. Only there to reinforce was the buzzing creature that put the fat flies to shame. The creature hovered over the nearest table. Leave them alone and they will leave you alone, right?

Thomas eyed the creature cautiously over his shoulder as Fireboy simmered down enough to remember the origins of Thomas’ callout, handing him a torch of his own. He nodded with an odd combination of bewildered gratitude before refocusing his attention on Erin, also addressing Jack with the words to follow. “Seems you and Jack have some things to sort out…”

Thomas offered one last uncomfortable glare at the buzzing creature. It was like when you see an oversized spider in your home. Its mere existence is enough for you to condemn it to death, even if it wouldn’t bother you. The off chance it ends up in your bed when you sleep was enough. However, in this scenario, eliminating one of the many creatures wreaking havoc was futile, the obvious option was to return to the castle. But to abandon the mission was shameful, especially given the dedication Faust has shown. Thomas would carry on, but he would not be going alone.

“On me, Fireboy. I need your help!” He beckoned the boy to follow, one last glare towards the veela before turning his back on Erin Ryan. "Til next time.A pompous tone. Forget about asking Marion for a dance, or attempting to scare Victor…this, this was the stupidest decision the boy has made this evening. He remained weary in his departure from Erin, hopefully his modern day Indiana Jones torch&dagger appearance was enough of a deterrent to keep her at bay. Well, if Indy went emo.

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Interacting With: @Arlo Reynolds
Mentioning: @Anastasia Beckett @Allister-Jameson MacAllister @Lark Flaer @Evelynn Decipio @Victor Moore's Bag

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Status • Temporarily closed for interactions.

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[font=Segoe Print]Everything was going terribly wrong.

He was a failure, and he knew it, a fact that was only more evident with time as the flames licked away at the sullen form of Ana Beckett, his spell having utterly and pathetically fizzled out upon the tip of his wand as his spell incantation died on his lips, shrouded by the screams and hurried voiced of those about him. He’d failed, and now, he was drowning in his thoughts, torrents of deadly waves washing over his mind as he fought for control of his own limbs. Watching the fire eat away at his friend – it was the most acute description of horrifying, the very feeling leaving his face pale and knees weak. He’d never been frozen in fear before. It was the absolutely worst feeling he’d ever felt in his entire life, dead-ass, the sort of dread that made him want to strangle himself on the spot, end it, right then and there. What was he to do with himself? Could he even help Ana? How was he supposed to move, breathe –

Part of him spurred his thoughts on, his wand tip raising in the slightest as he turned from his defensive stance once more, eyes flickering over his endangered friend. He could still try again. Yet… he knew his magic, his power. To try again would be futile, perhaps even ending in a terrible mess of backfire, much like the spell he’d attempted to cast at Evelynn all those months ago. It was this unconscious decision that spurred him into action – he shoved his wand into his pocket, eyes surveying the area around him as he searched for someone who was to rescue his poor friend from the flames eating away at her livelihood. Surely there was someone nearby, someone that could assist him in freeing Ana from the deadly clutches of the fire that scorched her livelihood. He had to work fast, the girl was running on a clock. There was no more time for fear, only action.

He had to save Ana.

He turned for a moment, eyes bewildered as they caught the familiar AJ, along with his lovely [albeit unfamiliar] date – they could watch her, perhaps even continue to assist in freeing her of the flames, he absently decided. “I’m sorry, Ana,” he would mutter aloud. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” His words were uttered in truth. Little did he know, the next few moments would surely be distracting, but he knew better than to abandon his best friend, especially when her life was endangered as such. Of course, she most likely wouldn’t understand his actions from the place she sat, a fact that would do little to console the child in the midst of his dizzying and multiplying problems. But there would be a better time to worry over such irritating issues. He would waste no further time, instead opting to turn, promptly disappearing into the panicking masses, eyes dutifully searching for someone who was worthy of rescuing his Anastasia. It wouldn’t be long until he found some action.

It was hard to properly assess what was going on in the moment, what with his health dwindling from the weight of Vladimir’s punches, and his attention discombobulated by the flames and panicked shrieks of his surrounding ball attendees. Everything was going wrong, he couldn’t help but note with every passing moment. He must have looked awful, too – hair disarrayed, bloody nose and split lip, dried blood dribbling down his chin and onto his hoodie suit, ruined by the slugs he had once been puking. A ruddy shame, he typically cared about appearances. Too bad the universe-damned ball had to happen, and screw everything up. He would have no time to ponder this further, however, as another, more concerning sight would catch his eye – particularly that of Arlo, in possession of the bag the boy so avidly wanted to rid of outsider possession. Victor’s bag. A distraction, dutifully thrown at the boy by the cursed universe, meant to throw him off his path of finding a well-versed spell caster. Not that the boy had ever known self-control, the bag acted as a squirrel to the eyes of a hungry dog, completely throwing off his attention as he searched for the trajectory the dwarven boy was traveling. No, he had to focus, he scolded himself. Ana was in trouble. What could the bag possibly do, to save his friend?

But the bag was valuable, was it not?

Slytherin was unbefitting regarding a proper Gryffindor boy such as himself, but it wasn’t like he had many other options. A plan was beginning to formulate in his brain, one that involved a lot of risk, ill-intention, but really, the boy couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. Anastasia was burning, and it was his own fault. He’d already darkened his ledger, there wasn’t much more he could do anymore. He felt numb by the weight of his own actions, dead from the sight of the flaming girl, the fire licking away at his rational thought, conscience, pride. There would be nothing left, only the natural need to fix what he had done. And, at any means necessary.

Setting his eyes upon his target and upping his pace, he shoved himself through the panicking masses, stepping up to Arlo. A positive acquaintance – he supposed the boy’s assistance of evil could only be suspected of a Slytherin. But no matter, he would come up behind the boy, attempting to use the element of surprise to snatch the bag from the grasp of the short man. It would be then, that his grip would tighten around the handle, his teeth clenched as he jerked it away from the grip of the boy who held it. “Give it to me!” he would growl, his form glowering with the weight of pure, true, deadly anger. He would gain the bag at any costs. It didn’t matter who got hurt anymore, only that it happened, that he found himself in possession of the mysterious bag, safe with its contents in his grasp.

And then, he would put his plan into place. [/font]

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Action • Ozai-Mode; attempting to steal the bag from poor Arlo

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Interactions: @Oliver Hart, @Ruka Tân, @Thomas LeStrange, and @Jack Burnett

Oliver Hart was the friend that Erin needed but never actually deserved. She had been cruel to the boy, just because she could. It was selfish, this want that she called a need to feel something even if it was pain. Oliver was a victim more than once and yet he was standing beside her.

Oliver urged her to leave. It was a smart idea, she had her broom. The Quidditch Players were all encouraged to bring their brooms. They could get back to the castle quickly, away from the large ...bees that had invaded the pitch. She lacked the capacity to fear. There was no sense of urgency. That was a consequence of only knowing, not feeling fear. She had an objective, presently it was to crush Thomas - something that she should have done the day that they met, this was long overdue. Oliver wanted her to leave but she would not have it.

Little did Erin know Ruka had meant her harm. A fight that had nothing to do with him. A fight that Jack did not have to involve himself in either. He could have tried to get Jack out of the way, but instead he targeted the third year Slytherin. Had he hit her, she would have been immobilized and helpless in the face of Thomas' assault.

"Immobulus"

The charm that would have floored her, leaving her victim to Thomas, the chaos and the insects that had started to converge.

"PROTEGO!"

Oliver cried. A chill ran down Erin's back, that spell. Well, those spells came from behind her. She would turn around and see a shield serve as a barrier between Oliver and her potential assailant. The Immobulus Spell was blocked by the shield. She blinked twice when she looked back, not just because Oliver just gave her back-up but also because she saw... Parce?

"Oliver?" There was the inflection of a question in her voice as Thomas threw in another jab. How much did she pay him? Nothing was ever free. A truth a logical mind would consider. "Not nearly enough," she acknowledged. Between the two of them she was the bad friend. She had not harmed him. She had kept to the letter of their agreement, no harm would come to him from her and she never would allow harm to come to him in her presence. She was powerful enough to ensure that. But she did not seek him out. She did not try or volunteer but here he was. he literally had her back. That sort of loyalty and camaraderie was rare and she knew it. It was something worth holding onto. "Can't retreat," not won't but can't. "We need to restrain them." Wait, she was going to listen to Oliver? Yes, he earned such a right.

Thomas' foot met Jack and sent him reeling back. Erin would catch him if he fell into her. Despite his duplicity, she was not going to let him fall. She was no longer enamored with him. No longer infatuated with his good looks. No longer deluded by his shallow gestures of affection. She could not wrap her mind around why beyond the fact that it was a curiosity, a deviation from the norm that entertained him. The same way someone enters a room of people with the intention of antagonizing them, sensationalist writers, had she been a muggle internet trolls. Amusement in the secret they held over them. An assertion that they were more clever. That they had the power. That they simply could. It was a truth that she had finally acknowledged, she was irrelevant. But she was an irrelevant that can leave one hell of a mark.

Parce look-alike ran over to Jack. If he was in Erin's arms, she would relinquish him to his smaller kin. Ruka was essentially a smaller version of Parcelsus, well Jack. Lord, they were everywhere! "The fuck," she muttered. How common could one boy's face be? Whoever they were to each other, they knew one another but she had no idea who he was. Another secret, one of likely many. She had overlooked much in her desperate want for companionship. A smile and a kind word made those red flags blur. She had taken smaller efforts to defend herself. But she should have realized that such sentiments were undeserved. Her mind could not grasp exactly when there was a change, when she had mistook one for the other. If there ever was a Paracelsus for that matter. She could not trust her memories, her perception and emotion had shaded them inaccurately. The sky was green and the grass was red, the water black and the flames indigo in her head.

The smaller Paracelsus would rebuke her also -- to stop. Her lip would curl a bit as she gave him a short reply. "This does not involve you yet," the implication clear. There was nothing between them, no reason for her to hold back if he got in her way. At the same time she had no reason to go after him yet except for that small matter of him attacking her a moment ago with a charm intended to restrain her in the middle of a fight. An obvious ally of Jack and Thomas, he handed a torch off to Thomas. "Your desire to be relevant is dangerous for your health--" she warned him as he gave his apparent ally Thomas, linking again Jack back to Thomas, a source of light.

Thomas would try to leave and Erin would draw her wand. An unassuming length of chesnut wood clutched in the grip of her small hand. "Tommy," not Thomas or LeStrange, Tommy. Something about the sound, the infantilization of the name that got to people with small... Well, adequacy issues. Like all words, names have power. Not the power of folklore, there was no 'the Law of Names' -- the knowledge of a true name allowing one to affect another person or being magically. But names still had power, some demanded respect, others piqued curiosity, others a source of humor and some... utterly mundane. "Your fight is still with me," she declared as she pointed her wand at him. "Tarantallegra"

TLDR;
Told Oliver that they need to restrain their enemies before they can safely run away.
Action: Tarantallegra cast on Thomas.

Stats:

- - Stamina: 5
- - Evasion: 7
- - Strength: 15
- - Wisdom: 3
- - ArcPower: 3
- - Accuracy: 7

Race: Part-Veela
- - Alluring
- - Scream
Ability:
- - Fearless

Interacting with: @Tyranni Whitethorn
Mentions: Thora Larkston, Arlo Reynolds, Marion Davenport, Thomas Lestrange, Erin Ryan, and Rafael D'Spacito

Things were not going their way. Her blindfold missed, Tyranni was petrified, and Thora must have gotten a bad grip on the bag because Arlo was able to pull it away from her. To make matters worse, their little scuffle had drawn outside attention and several people were now making their way over and involving themselves, eliminating any chance of getting Marion to talk. Sure, Thomas was technically her ally, but he had done absolutely nothing to prove it. Whatever his personal plan was clearly took precedence over the one formulated in the Common Room. Plus, he'd brought his own problems with him, apparently having decided getting into a fight with Erin Ryan was a good idea. Between Marion and Erin, he was a dead man. Short of him getting stabbed, he wouldn't get any help from her--she did not want his enemies.

Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain, another idiot looking for a fight if the slime on his shirt, bloody nose, and split lip meant anything, joined the fray as well. He was going for the bag, and who knew what he'd do with it if he got his hands on it. Certainly not give it to her. There was no way she could rip the bag away from him, though, so if she wanted it more she'd have to outwit him somehow.

First and foremost, allies did you no good if they couldn't move. Beyond Tyranni not being able to help while petrified, she was also an easy target for the giant bees. Speaking of the bees, it seemed that if you left them alone they'd leave you alone. Not that the other students had figured that out, still firing spells and throwing objects at the insects when that would only serve to anger them. Anyways, the sooner Tyranni was back in play, the better. "Finite Incantatem," Bridget incanted, her wand moving in the shape of a shield. As long as her spell didn't backfire, she couldn't miss a frozen target in such close range, right?

Action | Casting Finite at Tyranni Whitethorn
Stamina: 5 | Evasion: 9 | Strength: 3 | Wisdom: 9 | Arcane Power: 7 | Accuracy: 8
Sixth Sense | Evasive Maneuvers
Outfit | Broom: Nimbus 1700

Mentions: @Rafael D'Spacito, @Wren Caster, @Anastasia Beckett, @Arlo Reynolds.

Victor was set ablaze, but not by a rouge incendio sent his way but rather but the rash, foolish and selfish decision to not only steal, but prick and then burn something that does not belong to them. It was a ludicrous notion to believe that such was hers to posses, hers to take, and hers to burn. Yet she did all three of those things and the blood ties of those blooms meant to wither and die naturally instead caused the boy to be immolated.

There was a deep pain, the sort of pain that is felt on the inside rather than the outside. The sort of pain that is uncontrollable and maddening. Anguish with no respite, every last nerve ablaze. Yes, his felsh would blister and sear, but it was his very blood that was roiling. He let out a scream, not the sort one makes when startled or cheering. Not the mournful cry of someone wailing over the loss of a loved one. No, this was something more primal. He would see the thief, she too had been set ablaze. He had no time to think, only to act.

His wand was still in his hand, but he hardly realized that truth as he rushed the flowers. Rushed the girl that Rafael had abandoned with such haste, his mission worth more than the girl's possible life. "Can't leave us alone can you!" The boy roared, he was enraged. Like Marion, he had come to the conclusion that they, that being the aggregate sum of Hogwarts students, were their enemies. That they meant them harm. That what was theirs, be it their possessions, their secrets or their lives was theirs for only as so long as it was not of any interest to any of them. If they had an idle interest, if they simply wanted, that they would take. That the social niceties experienced were just that, a farce. A means to get close, to have him lower his guard so that they could strike.

Rather than save his ally, Rafael selfishly went for Victor's bag which was in the possession of Marion's date. She could really pick them apparently. That small guy had some guts wrestling the bag away from a pair of girls that were twice his size and a Quidditch athlete. Victor would have helped him if he could, but he was presently combusting from the inside. There was no thought beyond the limited - make this pain stop, Merlin I am going to die.

The pain was blinding, he grit his teeth and closed his eyes. With the wave of his wand he would cast a charm at the blaze that was once Wren's gift.

"Extinguo!"

He choked out the word, mustering what strength he had to flick his wand in spite of the pain. He was not so foolishly sentimental that he prioritized his own life and safety over the well-being of Wren's flowers. No, he wanted to survive and the flowers would be the key.

IF he succeeds, he would mutter lowly to Ana, "in such a rush to get to me you let each other burn. There is nothing more important than eachother." While Ana burned, Rafael had his prize perhaps but it was going to cost him everything.

Race: Human
Abilities: A Secret
Stats: Stamina ↣ 2 (+2) Evasion ↣ 10 (+2) Strength ↣ 10 (+2) Wisdom ↣ 3 (+2) Accuracy ↣ 10 (+2) Arcane Power ↣ 10 (+2)

Extinguo on Wren's flowers