Closed Find Me a Find, Catch Me a Catch... PV Rafa, Eve, Alan Pt 2

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Interacting With: @Piérre Marchonné
Mentioning: @Evelynn Decipio @Alan Vanes [Indirectly]
Hex Color: #800000

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It was really no secret that Rafael and Evelynn didn’t mesh well.

In fact, it would seem as if neither made a real effort to conceal their obvious feelings for the other. In the least, Rafael didn’t disguise his distaste behind a mask – well, not often, anyways. Politics had always been a bit boring to the young man, but he supposed the annoyance he was capable of inflicting upon the redhead’s person in such instances had always been entertaining enough to nullify his prejudices against such lies. It was, in layman’s terms, as simple as this: Rafael disliked few people in the world and hated even fewer. There was only so much energy he could exercise against another being, as he was, of course, only a child with developing emotions and mental capacities – yet, when such fiery vengeance was instilled within the deepest pits of his stomach, there was very little one could do to tame the monstrous fallout, let alone snuff the flames in the name of goodwill. Of the numerous students inhabiting the school of magic alongside Rafael, strangers and acquaintances alike, very few people were capable of infuriating the young man in the manner that Evelynn Decipio had so dangerously mastered. Simply by existing, she had irrevocably distressed the Captain, a living, breathing testament to all that made his skin crawl – and Rafael, being the chaotic creature he was, had never been one to shy away from confrontation. Perhaps it had been his own stubbornness that had put him at odds with his star seeker, or perhaps fate had simply deducted them to be puppets, mere pawns in the name of entertaining the greater powers. In all honestly, Rafael couldn’t care less. As long as Evelynn was suffering, he didn’t mind putting on a little show.

Even so, Rafael had been more than a little distressed upon reading Pierre’s letter.

[Figaro, of course, would know nothing of such feelings, having received nothing but the utmost fondness. And if Rafael had shared some of his tuna casserole with small cat, no one had to know.]

The smile, having previously graced the features of the young Captain throughout the majority of the day’s activities, had sorely deserted his being at the very sight of such a hated, cursed name scribbled in the unsuspecting handwriting of whom he often regarded as one of his closest friends. Surely, having shared a dorm with each other for so long, the keeper would have picked up on his obvious disgust with his deputy captain? Rafael had never shied away from speaking his mind on the matter within the safety of Hodag Hallow – in fact, he liked to regard himself as a rather vocal advocate in the downfall of the damned witch – so surely, the message was one of Pierre's ambitious pranks. “A really, really fucked-up prank,” he muttered to himself, his eyes narrowed in the slightest as he considered the message slowly. There was absolutely no part of him that wished to associate himself with that she-demon on an off-day, let alone on a Thursday where he had fucking essays to prepare and strategies to sketch. Didn’t she have better things to do, anyhow? Like creep on unsuspecting kids and put them into detention? How was it that fate always seemed to shove them together? On one hand, he had no desire to heed nature’s call to disaster, instead content to simply enjoy his cup of tea and continue on with his day, as if he’d never seen the invitation.

On the other hand, he supposed that perhaps Pierre and Alan actually wanted to play some ball – an action in which not even the presence of the evil she-demon could deter his presence.

There would be no other reason for the young man’s attendance at the field – it was a rather lovely afternoon on the pitch, a light breeze blowing about the confines of the small stadium, just enough of an impact to relieve any outdoor participants from the slowly-intensifying heat of the sun. A near perfect day for flying, if it weren’t for the slight squelch underneath the sneakers of the Captain – oh well, he supposed they wouldn’t be on the ground too much anyways. As for the Captain, Rafael would arrive in a fashion very unlike his normal training garb, courtesy of an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction on his part. [In his last escapade on a broom, one of the rather important seams making up his flying robes had ripped – it was unlikely that his uniform would be returned to him for a good while.] His robes, on the contrary, had been traded in for a pair of workout shorts and a semi-fitted shirt, both carefully chosen as to not impede his aerodynamics on the broom. His purple fringe, furthermore, was pushed somewhat out of his face via the usage of one of his old Nike headbands, the material faded and the logo peeling. It wasn’t the most flattering outfit, of course, but he hardly needed a flattering outfit to look flattering. He had no one to impress, anyhow. Such thoughts would soon be dismissed from his consciousness upon meeting the unassuming image of one Pierre Marchonne – a smile soon spread upon his face, and his pace picked up in the slightest, his demeanor growing excited the closer in proximity he grew to his friend. “Pierre! Hey!” he yelled above the wind – approaching the slightly older player, he allowed his gaze to soften in cheerful acceptance. “I got your letter,” he grinned, raising his broom suggestively. As of the moment, he had yet to recognize the other two participants in their unscheduled practice – even so, he couldn’t bring himself to much care.

Rafael would very quickly recognize the absence of a broom on Pierre’s part – however, such a revelation did nothing to faze the Captain in his positive train of thought. The keeper, after all, was quite eccentric, and pulled odd stunts at such intervals impossible to predict. Surely he had forgotten it, or planned on attracting it to his person by means of a new spell or unconventional method. Truly, Rafael didn’t care all that much as long as it was entertaining – there was never a dull moment with Mr. Pierre Marchonne. Grinning with a mischievous look upon his face, the young man nodded towards his friend, an eyebrow raised in question. “Your broom seems to be missing,” he asked in a playful manner, his voice lowered in humor as he stepped forward a fraction of a foot. “I don’t suppose you’re forgotten it?” With such a statement, he took a moment to lean upon his own broom, a hand on his hip as he jutted his chin up in what could only be described as a flirty look. All in good fun, of course, evident by the unusual pursing of his lips disrupting what should be an intense gaze. Such a look could be all he could muster to mask his curiosity – obviously Pierre had a trick up his sleeve. The question was, how insane and flashy would this one be?

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING @Alan Vanes, @Rafael D'Spacito[/font]

To say that Evelynn was surprised by the feline-born note she had received would be an understatement. First of all, it was a rather peculiar delivery. Until now, all of the correspondence she had received had been delivered by owl. There hadn't been a single instance of a cat bringing anything at all to her. Unless she counted Nidalee, their barn cat, who had a bit of a kleptomaniacal penchant for stealing knickknacks and small objects from neighbours or areas around their property. Little gifts left for Evelynn at the entrance of the barn loft. This was quite different, however. She hadn't expected anyone to be able to train their cat to serve as courier. Although, this was the wizarding world. Perhaps she ought not to have been surprised.

Never-the-less, it wasn't even the form of receipt that had yielded the greatest arch of her brow, but rather the contents. Crouched on the spot where the mysterious cat had stopped her in her tracks, Evelynn's nails sought the flesh beneath soft fur at the base of its ears even as she read. Leave it to Pierre to butter her up. Although she'd been somewhat taken aback by his outright request to practice seeking despite his position as the team's keeper, especially with the embellishment that he was after the seeker's—her—position, she couldn't help but fluff her mane just a bit at his compliments. Really, there was no reason to turn down the request. As it was, Evelynn spent several hours on the pitch as many evenings as she could spare. She had already been planning to practice that very evening. It only made sense that she would join him if her own teammates happened to be there as well.

Unfortunately, there was one small detail that soured what otherwise would have been an enthusiastic desire to assist. For the most part, the co-captain had pushed through any distaste she might have had with any individual when it came to practice. The goals of the team were more important than her own personal discomfort, and when it came to team and duo dynamics, it was in the team's—and thus her—best interest to pair up and practice at least the basic set of techniques with every individual of her team. In the heat of the game, there was no way to dictate who might need to anchor an Alley-Oop, or who might swoop to spare her from an unfortunately premature elimination.

Even still, Evelynn there had been certain individuals with whom she had taken a pass. After the last game, however, she could no longer ignore that necessity. She had been caught by the last individual with whom she would have liked to have shared a broom, and their lack of cohesive play could very well have cost them the game. Rising, head lolling back in resignation, Evelynn quashed the temptation to skip practice that night. Still, the resolution did little to temper the irate glare she cast towards the rafters.

***

When the appointed time came around, Evelynn made her way towards the pitch. She took her time. If she was lucky, the rest of them would already be up in the air in the midst of practice and she could simply quietly join in without any of the unpleasantries of small talk. Better yet, perhaps the practice would be limited to a trio. Or maybe Ami was there and she could peel off from the rest to join Hufflepuff's co-captain in practice as she often did of late.

She was not so lucky. In fact, if anything, her luck had taken a downturn. By the looks of it, it was a trio, but the one missing wasn't the one whose absence she had been hoping would go unmissed. Pursed lips accompanied a resigned sigh as she crossed over the threshold and onto the pitch. Her broom hitched more comfortably onto her shoulder and the fabric of her uniform fluttered gently about her ankles with each step. A curious glance cast itself to Pierre when she noted, after a quick confirmatory glance to the peripheries of the field, the absence of his broom. Then again, with D'Spacito hanging annoyingly off the boy's shoulders with a rather cocksure grin, perhaps the two of them were planning to practice playing doubled up.

"Good evening, Piérre," Evelynn smiled, forcing down the bubble of bile that always seemed to heat her belly at the sight of the bull-headed captain. "I gather Vanes is still on his way? Or is he in the locker room?" Grey eyes cast themselves briefly in the direction of the Gryffindor locker rooms with the question before returning to the small keeper. They settled over his chest where the [13] of his uniform sat proudly displayed during games. 13. 18. How in the world she had managed to confuse the two of them, even in the moment, still irked her. Lest she allow herself to stew upon silly errors of the past, however, she forced eye contact and asked, "Did you have something specifically in mind for tonight? You wished to practice seeker manoeuvres?"

@Rafael D'Spacitio, @Evelynn Decipio & @Alan Vanes

Rafael, dearest captain my captain, had been the first to crest the hill to the pitch. Piérre grinned like an idiot and waved at him quickly as he approached. “Hallo mein cap-i-tahn! ” He shouted in return. Good... One of the fishies had gotten the note. The battle was half won.

Rafa commented on the boy's appparent lack of broom. “Oh, naw. Didn't forget it, it's on maintenance right now. You know Kyle's strength. I noticed a crack getting a bit bigger on Luciana than it should be and didn't want to take any risks with her. Should be up an at 'em by tomorrow or the next day.”

This was an advanced technique called lying, and the boy liked to believe he was good at it. He seemed to be shifty on a daily basis. Hard to read for the most part. Telling where his jokes ended and seriousness began could prove difficult. That was what the kid was currently banking on. He shrugged nonchalantly. “You know how it is."

A flicker of red hair and Piérre saw his second fishie walk into the fray. Perfect.
Now, where was Alan?

“Probably.” He responded to Eve's question of the Chaser's absence. “I'm sure he'll be out soon though, so we can probably start and then have him join in when he gets here.” And Piérre prayed to all that was good that the boy would eventually show up. He needed Alan to make this work to the fullest.

Thr second half pf Eve's question was responded to with a nod. “Uh-huh. Snitchnipping, blocking, Blatching, the works. But, um, like I told Rafa, I need to borrow a broom. Luciana is in for repairs because of Kyle's epic strength.” Maintain the story.

He indicated towards the shed which housed the school brooms. “I'll borrow one for today. Forces me to focus on my self-agility. Come on! Let's discuss tactics!” The Britalian trotted towards it, waving along the two captains.

If they chose to follow, Piérre opened the door for them. It was a shed, filled with brooms, dark (maybe?). So close. Piérre's mind began turning. “So... We need a sturdy broom. You know how chaotically I fly. I'll check the front, you check the back? I don't really like creepy crawlies.”

Dingdingding! Lie number three.

But.. Once they did cross that threshold, without hesitation, lithe fingers would wrap about Evelynn's trusty Silver Arrow, yanking himself out quickly and slamming the door shut behind the two before deftly slipping the broom betwixt the door handles.

Piérre had just trapped them inside. Piérre had his plan come to fruition. Pierre thought that these two were the cutest couple to ever wander this earth. Piérre had just initiated the most ill tasted game of "7 Minutes in Heaven" in foreseeable Hogwarts history.

Now to hold in the storm, and begin counting up the time that these two lovebirds would be sharing together.

For phun, just how goodly did Piérre snag the broom?
Accuracy Check (Surprise Round):
d20(1) + 10 = 11
d20(10) + 10 = 20

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING @Rafael D'Spacito[/font]

Something wasn’t quite right. Something definitely wasn't quite right. Piérre seemed…aloof. As though his head were in the clouds. Granted, that wasn't entirely unusual. The boy had a propensity for the fantastical, and a flair for imagination. Evelynn didn't know any other students who carried an array of uniforms to match every other House, exchanging them at a whim. Nor did she know anyone quite so boisterous, a trickster at heart. If chaos were personified, Piérre would be the one to emerge from its maelstrom. However, even more than usual, his head seemed not to be quite in the right space. It was like he was only half paying attention, answering the questions with only half-heartedly.

Another flag presented itself with the noticeable absence of Luciana, his beloved Silver Arrow. It was in the shop for repairs, allegedly. "It is?" Evelynn's brows crinkled slightly with confusion as she tried to recall when that had happened. Nothing came to mind about it being damaged. And what did DeRook's strength have to do with it? "When did that happen?" As long as she had known, Piérre was meticulous with his broom, treating it with almost the same veneration as he did Figaro. And if any of her players' equipment had sustained damage, Evelynn was failry sure she'd have known about it.

But even that wasn't even the biggest tip-off. No, it was what he stated as his desired focus of practice. Snitchnipping, blocking, and blatching. The works, he'd said. Evelynn was almost certain she'd misheard him at first, but no amount of replaying what he'd said offered her any other explanation. He'd said what he'd said. Piérre, the boy who abhorred cheating and would occasionally go so far as to shed tears on the pitch in the midst of a game when asked to do so, wanted to practice blatching. Evelynn's eyes narrowed slightly, skirting from the trickster to the captain and back again. It didn't fit. Something was definitely off. She just couldn't figure out what, exactly.

"Mn.." It was distracted with this little puzzle, and the simultaneous attempt to determine whether she was just being overly paranoid, that she went along with the coaxing to help him find a broom. At the mention of creepy crawlies, though, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shot him a reproachful look. "We keep the cupboard well and clean, you know.."

Which they did. Although…neither could she deny that the occasional spider might finds its way in. It was a (sort of) outdoor area, after all. And lo to Evelynn, whenever anyone found out that she was not at all bothered by arachnids or creatures endowed with extra legs, she was always the first to be voluntold. In to the closet she went like a dutiful little capitaine for her keeper, one hand filtering through the various handles in search of a suitab—

A sudden unexpected yank on her own broom caught her off guard.

Contested strength roll d20(19)+2=21

Her grip was solid, a sudden surge of adrenaline giving her a death vice unlike one she would normally be able to produce. It wouldn't have been terribly easy resting it from her hand, but the action had pulled her off balance, and a collection of brooms clattered, crisscrossing around her legs. Forced to let go lest she be forced to endure a less than dignified fall, she watched, confused and betrayed, as her broom slipped out of reach of her grasping fingers and the door slammed shut. Throwing caution to the wind as the last breath of light vanished in a blink, Evelynn's hands tossed brooms aside as she hurried to the door, palms throwing to slap against it. A tell-tale clink and hiss of something long being shoved through the handles sounded, and as she heaved her nimble weight against the portal, the doors rattled, but stayed firmly in place.

"Piérre!" Evelynn shouted crossly, palms leathered by the padding of her quidditch gloves thudded dully against the door. "What is the meaning of this!" she demanded, irritation instantly pricked with the acute realization that she was currently locked in a rather confined space with D'Spacito. "Let me out!"

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Interacting With: @Piérre Marchonné • @Evelynn Decipio
Mentioning: @Alan Vanes • Kyle Derook
Hex Color: #800000

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“Didn't forget it, it's on maintenance right now. You know Kyle's strength. I noticed a crack getting a bit bigger on Luciana than it should be and didn't want to take any risks with her. Should be up an at 'em by tomorrow or the next day.”

Rafael winced, the vibrant grin once donning his handsome features slipping off in lieu of something more thoughtful, pensive. He hadn’t noticed any issues with Pierre’s broom – though, in hindsight, it had been less than 48 hours since their last practice, and it wasn’t unlike the keeper to stay behind and work on his skills. The Captain brushed it off without another thought, his focus shifting from Pierre’s suspicious statement to the concerning might that was Kyle’s strength. “Sheeeeeeeesh,” he whistled with a wince, “He didn’t bang it up too bad, though? He’s got a real arm on him. I’m surprised it’s not in pieces.” Then, in a more serious voice, “I hear they cost more to repair these days. Makes me want to cover my own with bubble wrap.” He offered his dormmate a small smile, his hand finding the keeper’s back and patting it reassuringly. “Let me know how that goes, yeah? I’m sure we can find something for you in the shed.” Of course, the school brooms left much to be desired, but it didn’t look like there was much else they could do about the situation. He did say Luciana was coming back within the week, right? Perhaps the Captain could sacrifice his own broom in the name of his friend. After all, it was Pierre who called the practice.

However, before he could give the matter any further thought, his musings were rather rudely interrupted by the sudden arrival of a hag.

Not a hag, Rafa reprimanded himself. Hag was too generous a term, and he meant that monster of a child no such generosity. Really, she hadn’t presently done anything to warrant such raw and unbridled anger – no words had yet been exchanged, nor withering glances, nor wayward spells fired with the intentions of inflicting damage. She was, for all intents and purposes, innocent, clean of blame, and yet, perhaps it was her very presence that caused the Captain’s blood to boil at temperatures hotter than the face of the sun, the sensation alighting every nerve and synapse in his body on hot white fire and burning away at the foundations of his mental stability. The body of a child was simply not made for the amount of emotion Evelynn made him feel, the negativity that left his eyes stinging and knuckles white with steely tension. Such emotions had admittingly left the young man rather disappointed in himself – he wasn’t exactly sure at what point in time he’d allowed the older girl to crawl under his skin, but in the midst of his carelessness, she had latched upon a part of his icy heart, pumping her hate and repulsion through his veins like a poison, making him sicker and sicker with his own filthy, disgusting anger. There truly wasn’t a word in the dictionary to describe the revulsion the young man felt towards his co-captain. No word could do her likeness justice.

Yet, in the presence of Pierre, he could do nothing to alleviate his latent frustrations – letting out an internal roaring of anger, he schooled his expression quite professionally, his playful eyes hardening into something serious and once-ponderous twisting of the lips settling into a placid line. Perhaps the only tell of his repulsion towards the girl would be the ever-so-slight tightening of the jaw, or marginally more evident, the aggressive grip he maintained on his broom handle, hands trembling gently upon the polished wood. “He’s not here yet,” he replied coldly, enough to communicate his distaste towards his fellow Captain, yet surely not enough to warrant a confrontation. “I’m not entirely convinced he’s going to show.” He would have to display some semblance of self-control if they intended on having a successful practice. Playing nice wouldn’t be so hard? Right?

With this sentiment in mind, the Captain sure as hell didn’t have to make small talk with the girl to consider himself 'playing nice.' With the return of Pierre’s voice, the Captain silenced his own, allowing his mind to shuffle through the team’s most recent plays and practices rather than the many reasons he loathed the Gryffindor Prefect. Little interest was displayed in regards to the impending conversation between the two players, so much so, that he nearly missed Pierre’s signal to follow – resigning himself to his thoughts once more, he decidedly reminisced upon the most recent of the Lions’ successes, immediately cringing at the recurring memories of the seeker’s unfortunate descent upon his broom. Why wouldn’t she stay out of his damn thoughts, dammit! Was he cursed to this endless cycle of Evelynn? The Captain aggressively shook the intrusive flashbacks from his head, pushing through the shed doors gracelessly in search of a worthy mount for his dormmate. “I’m not sure we’re going to find anything too fast in here, Pierre, so you’d better prepare to fly like a grandpa,” he muttered absently, hands rummaging carefully through the brooms. “Or you could ride mine… maybe I’ll get out the bats, we can run some defense drills…”

Before he had a chance to finish this thought, however, a scuffle near the entrance caused the Captain to startle to attention – heart dropping ominously, he whirled around, just in time to catch his dormmate yanking the silver arrow from the hands of his co-captain and slamming the door with a definitive shuddering of wood.

For a moment, the Captain didn’t quite know what to do with this new information. His mind had most curiously blanked of all thought, his previously troublesome imagination now having been rendered presently useless. His jaw agape and eyes widened dumbly, he took a moment – really, just a sliver of a moment – to assess the disaster at hand, pupils racing from the irritated girl pounding upon the wood, to the shuttered doors themselves, to the increasingly apparent presence of must and cobwebs surrounding their midst like a terrifying omen. In a moment’s notice, the scenery had transformed from the innocent broom cupboard it had once been, to the darkest scene of Rafael’s most horrifying nightmares. His face slowly paling, hands beginning to shake, he tried to will his heartbeat to slow down in the slightest, only the very slightest, lest his knees buckle and the darkness surrounding them both strangle the breath from his lungs. However, before any such panic could take a hold of his senses, a much more petrifying truth became evident to him.

Evelynn’s broom had been previously confiscated from her. If Pierre hadn’t had a broom and Rafael’s was in his hands, then what was sealing the door?

The cogs had already begun to turn – it was far too late for conscious decisions. His face paling further, shoulders tensing in anticipation, he flung his hand out, lips moving before he could ever hope to stop them. “ST-TOP THAT!” he yelled sporadically, his legs already moving in the direction of his cellmate. And really, lady luck had taken the wrong day to overlook their collective midsts. For, in the midst of the Captain’s thoughtless frenzies, he had sorely disregarded the minefield that lay about him, brooms scattered all throughout the shed in a horrid mess of wood and straw. It would only take one misstep for the Captain’s foot to snag upon one of the nearest brooms, anchoring his massive feet and sending him careening forwards at an uncontrollable pace. It was almost comical, really, how the scene unfolded. The look of realization as he registered the trajectory of his ungraceful plummet, the erratic searching of his hands for a place of purchase, the sudden catch of his breath –

“SHIT –“

STA _____ 10 EVA _____ 8 STR _____ 9 WIS _____ 12 ARC _____ 2 ACC _____ 9

STATS & ABILITIES Interception Reducio When a Quaffle is being passed, users with this ability automatically get a chance to Intercept the quaffle. This does not replace their normal action for the round. This put the quaffle in your and by extension you teams' possession. Also, if the Quaffle is dropped for any reason, you would automatically (without it taking up an action) attempt another Quafflegrab. At present there would be no mid-round way to drop a quaffle due to the order of operations, however there will be certain effects in future patches that can cause this effect. Catch Reducio Able to catch two falling players on your broom when playing Quidditch. These additional caught players would be brought to the ground safely and they would be allowed to retrieve their broom and enter play again the next round. This can be done every round as the player's action if they choose to do so. With brooms that have the feature where an additional player may be caught (such as Bluebottle) where there is a stackable chance of failure with each additional person caught, there is no stacking failure chance for players with this ability. Perfectionist Reducio You have a reduced critical failure chance range by 1. In addition, you can counter up to 1 point of additional critical failure chances caused by abilities or spells (not potions). In other words, if you have an extended critical failure chance range (as is the case with certain races, the effect of certain spells or potions), this reduces that range by 1. So if you have a +2 critical failure chance range (meaning if you roll a 1,2, or a 3 you critically fail), this ability makes it a +1 critical range instead (meaning if you roll a 1 or a 2 you critically fail).

Action • Gracelessly falling in the direction of the door and consequently Evelynn as well

[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH @Rafael D'Spacito| MENTIONING @Piérre Marchonné[/font]

Again and again the door would shudder and grown beneath the earnest hammering of Evelynn's fists. As muted as the woody sound might have been by the leather of her glove, the rhythm was no less anxious. The devoid of any light, the closet was black, constrained. What was usually a source of excitement and novelty, by the brooms contained there-in, had become the environment of her nightmares. Her chest heaved with breath to replenish that lost in exertion of futile efforts and demands to be released. And within it, the beat of her heart pounded against the cage of her ribs, joining her hands in the veritable symphony of a confined and cornered beast fighting for freedom.

There was nothing she could do. She was trapped. Caged. Defeated by the likes of someone she'd thought to be a friend for purposes she didn't understand. Why. Why? Was this some sort of comical jest? A prank? Had she done something to earn Piérre's ire? Had D'Spacito? Was this punishment? Or was this something else? Were they being kept here for a purpose? Forced to remain, forgotten and forlorn for another to come collecting? Was Piérre working for another? For the hags? Had they been baited and trapped? For every question her mind presented, a plethora of others, deeper and darker, took its place, and no answers presented themselves. Only the burning need to escape.

No matter how much she strived for the give and creak of the door, however, nothing seemed to work. It was locked. Good and solid. Every time she thought it might budge, soemthing rattled and worked against her. Even shouldering against it did nothing, instead only serving to demonstrate just how pathetically fragile she was. For all her expertise in teh air, for all her intellect in the classroom, for all her adaptability in the heat of the moment against frightening situations, there was nothing she could do. Panic swelled within her, breathe catching in her throat, skin prickling in a fresh wave of gooseflesh as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wanted out. She needed out. And it wasn't happening.

"Why?!" Evelynn snapped, the yell from behind temporarily jarring her from her frenzied efforts and drawing that ire to pin point itself on the source of the unhelpful advice. She couldn't see him, but nevertheless, she swung her focus around in the direction from which the sound had come. "I don't see you doing anything to try to get us out," she heatedly pointed out before adding, "Were you in on this? Are you aware of what is going on?"

Wood clonked and clunked as they bounced and moved against each other, something moving forward and forcing them to scatter and fall. Evelynn could hear the shuffling of his clothing, the clatter of brooms as the connected with each other and the floor, the whisk of bristles as twigs and straw bent and slid against stone, or snapped altogether under weight. The steps were controlled at first, hasty, but rhythmic. Then frantic. Then the clattering exploded and all of a sudden a vague shadow burst forward from the darkened din right in front of Evelynn.

What little light that gleamed through the infinitesimally small crack of the door revealed the sight of a face aghast in horror and the frantic pawing of hands half a second before it would collide with her. She didn't even have time to react before the Captain had fallen into her, the weight of the collision throwing her back against the door and sliding her along into the corner of the hinges. Her own hands flashed out, fingertips of one scraping for purchase against the grain of the door while the other bend and smacked against the adjacent wall, connecting painfully at the elbow.

It took her a moment to register what exactly had happened. When the dust had settled and movement had ceased, she was cognizant first of the fact that she was still upright. Her back was pinched, however, ribs pinching uncomfortably as a weight pressed her forcefully back into the corner where door met wall. More than a few brooms had scattered in the motion, their handles an interwoven fortress at her legs. She wasn't even certain if her weight was being supported more by her feet or them. Not that it mattered. Hardly able to breathe, she needed to push forward, but something had fallen against her. Something warm and reasonably pliable. Something breathing. And as it moved, she felt the ragged rush of hot air move against her neck and the brush of something catch against her shirt as it pulled back from its previous resting place against her—

"You graceless, lumbering, imbecilic, slobbering GARGOYLE!" she shrieked, heat—of anger, surely—rushing to colour her features a raging shade of crimson as she attempted her very best [Str roll: 17+2 = 19] to throw him off and as far away from her as possible. Exactly zero care was given to whether such an action would result in injury or harm. And if there was, she would likely conclude the more, the better. "How DARE you lay a hand on me! Is this some sort of jest?! You find yourself confined with a girl and decide to throw tact to the wind and take advantage?!"

Her wand was in her hands now, her voice seething. "LUMOS." [Wis roll 4+10 = 14] The tip of her wand spluttered into light, the anger she held enough to have interfered with the casting of a lesser witch. White light illuminated the interior of the closet, revealing the carnage their clumsiness had cost the brooms as they lay in complete and utter disarray. More than a few of them would be requiring reparations after this. Unbothered, Evelynn pointed her wand towards D'Spacito, the register of her voice dropping to a threatening calm. "Touch me again and I will ensure you require a visit to the hospital wing."

In all intents and purposes, she meant it. Keen eyes would fix upon him, watching and assessing his every move. Gone for the moment was her interest in breaking down the door. Escape would have to wait until she had taken stock of this new threat posed to her. More than likely, he was simply an oaf of an idiot, but she couldn't be certain. To turn her back on him now and pit her attention onto anything else could apparently prove hazardous to her health, dignity and reputation.

Still, for all the gusto behind her words, something wasn't quite right. There was a subtle vibration to the light as though her hand wouldn't steady. And she hadn't taken one step from the corner. If anything, her body language suggested she was trying to sink ever further into it. And the pounding in her chest hadn't let up in the least. If anything, it had kicked up a notch. She could hear its incessant beat echoing in her ears, nostrils flaring with the effort of keeping her breathing under warps. Step by step, her control was waning, sand eroding and falling away from the precipice of a cliff side beneath her feet. She was acutely aware of the brooms tangled about her feet, of the door that failed to open; and the walls were closing in about her.

@Rafael D'Spacitio, @Evelynn Decipio & @Alan Vanes

Was it bad that the Britalian didn't care that he was literally introducing kerosene to fire by bringing together these polar opposites in such a deceitful way? Maybe. Was it well worth the effort and the amazing outcome that it was absolutely going to produce? By far! Even if Alan had yet to show his face, Piérre seemed to be handing things well on his own, even with the venomous glares that the redhead and the thunderbird were exchanging (pleasantly unnoticed by the Piérre).

Somehow the lad had managed to keep suspicions low until he had actually taken it upon himself to strike. But, the Gryffindor seeker would not give up her precious Silver Arrow without a fight. Admittedly it was only by sheer luck that Piérre, being as young and scrawny as he was, was able to stress the broom's well-being enough that it seemed that Evelynn was willing to relinquish her grip on it.

Not unwilling to take this stroke of luck for granted, Piérre braced himself and propped his form up against the door, digging in his heels and trying to ignore the scuffling within.

A huge smile was plastered on his face. With or without Alan, this was fun and the Jester was thoroughly enjoying this moment inside and out. He could hear Rafa and Eevee starting to bond already, even if it was over a tasteless joke such as this. Rafa was a good friend, he would understand.

Mama bear on the other hand... Mmmmm.... Maybe Piérre should start running after he let them out.

There was a crash on the inside and Piérre had to bite his tongue to not laugh as Evelynn gracelessly started to throw insults at his Quidditch captain.

Why?

“'Cuz you two know deep down you've got a heart for one another, and Imma gonna prove it!” The boy let his Italian lisp take over as he crossed his arms with confidence, beaming with pride at this ingenious venture and how delectably perfect it had turned out.

He was still keeping a count in his head, though admittedly his numbers were painfully slow. He estimated that it had been around one minute already. He was juicing every second of this, no joke. Maybe he would choose to let the numbers fudge a little... Make it eleven instead of seven... It was a rhyme after all... 'Leven Minutes in Heaven...

Yeah... Piérre kinda liked the sound of that.

“Don't-a worry cap-i-tans!” He chirped brightly. “This-a prank's on me!
Ten minutes left... Instant release if you two kiss!”

Why yes... He had indeed just issued the challenge.

Biting his bottom lip excitedly, Piérre tapped his feet quickly, excited to see how his poor Quidditch captains would react to this new predicament and issued ultimatum...

───────────────── ♛ ─────────────────

Interacting With: @Piérre Marchonné • @Evelynn Decipio
Mentioning: N/A
Hex Color: #800000

───────────────── • ─────────────────

Curiously enough, it would take only moments for a spark of confusion to light the bitter gasoline that had leaked into the heated room unbeknownst to them both. And in those moments, Rafael truly knew hate.

The captain fell without grace, and quite comically at that, his pinwheeling arms doing nothing to halt his aimless descent. In the midst of this hasty plunge, he found that his natural wits had deserted him sorely – in their place, a steely sense of survival had declared martial law on his physical facets, possessing his limbs in ways he would never have used them in his own time. All this to say, it was an accident. He would swear it. The following blunder could only be described as a social calamity – hands grasped upon flesh and wood alike as the young man hurtled into his unknowing cellmate with a haphazard fervor only friend to the clumsiest of individuals. The magnitude of his blunder did not escape him in the least, and for a moment, he remained petrified in place, disgust and embarrassment alike flooding his features in the form of a warm blush upon his cheeks and wide, fearful brown eyes. He couldn’t quite believe such an event had actually taken place, and he crooned as much to himself in vain, attempting most futilely to convince himself that his own brain was fooling him. Then, reason returning to his attention like a slap in the face, he hissed in horror, drawing his hands away quickly as if viciously burned. The offending hand in question raised itself in surrender, the callous youth prepared to attest to its innocence like a judge his client. “Look,” he began, both frantic and morbidly serious, “I swear that wasn’t on p-“

However, the appeal was abruptly swept away by the shrill howl of fury emanating from the snarling lips of his fellow cellmate – the captain’s heart dropped in icy apprehension, the very sort that was wont to stop the heart in its place, his gaze darkening in concern for his own integrity as dread swirled ominously within his gut. It was quickly becoming apparent that simple conversation was going to prove useless in the matter of defending his virtue. Interestingly enough, it would seem as if his honor was the very least he had to worry about – this was Evelynn Decipio, after all! And he should expect no less than the absolute worst of reactions from the malevolent witch herself. Before the young man could utter a word more in defense, a pair of frantic hands had grasped at broad shoulders, pushing with a definitive fervor that spoke of either the bitterest of vengeance or the deepest of fear. He wouldn’t have the time or capacity to decide which in the following frenzy – the resulting loss of equilibrium promptly stunned the captain’s senses, and for a mere split-second of time, he existed in this palpable state of confusion, his consciousness blissfully ignorant of the misfortune that would find him in only a moment’s notice. In a strange turn of events, a sole ray of light slipped in from the cracks of the door, shining mercifully upon the sorry sight that was Rafael D’Spacito. It felt nice, he couldn’t help but remark dumbly. This momentary reprieve was fleeting, however, and when the brooms around the boy’s ankles constricted, he knew his time was up. The captain fell harshly, a resounding snap sounding audibly through the small shed.

The agony that followed the hideous sound was one he’d seldom experienced before – and, Rafael noted bitterly, no less excruciating than it had been in the past. A pained shriek abruptly tore its way from the captain’s twisted grimace as a torturous stab of pain swelled in his right ankle – it was at that moment that the captain temporarily lost control of his senses, his vision flooded with a murky film and the whole of his body overwhelmed by a searing bout of suffocating heat. When his awareness returned to him only a short moment later, he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, before pushing himself up with shaky hands and surveying the damage the other captain had wrought. His eyes snagged upon one specific horde of brooms, the likes of which were holding his right foot at a less-than-comfortable angle – leaning forward, he attempted to gingerly adjust some of the brooms surrounding the tender limb, before hissing in surprise as the entirety of his leg throbbed painfully. “Shit,” he swore violently, before sucking in a breath and removing a few more conveniently positioned brooms. The harsh throbbing ironically distracted the captain, and for a few fleeting moments, he was blissfully unaware of the verbal admonishment he was receiving, courtesy of his most beloved cellmate. Then, removing the last of the brooms with a harsh exhale, his eyes were able to see the damage for the first time. What he saw made his stomach roll in displeasure, the dread it once held replaced with a sudden bout of nausea – the skin around his ankle was red and patchy with inflammation, his foot hanging at an angle that could be called under no circumstances natural. A dislocation at best, a break at worst.

A bitter scowl crossed his features at the implications of such an injury – wounds such as this were massively unpleasant to get fixed in the Hospital Wing. (He would know, having sustained similar from Quidditch games). The mere thought of the impending experience left a bitter taste in the captain’s mouth, and he grimaced, clutching his thighs in frustration as he considered the time he would inevitably lose because of this stupid prank. However, before he could sink any further into the depths of his own trepidation, his ears grasped upon the furious musings of the scarlet-headed perpetrator. “…ouch me again and I will ensure you require a visit to the hospital wing." He looked up for the first time in many moments, a twinge of anger pricking his senses and stirring up unwarranted emotions deep within his chest. She didn’t even let me finish my damn apology, he seethed to himself, the weight of the situation finally starting to dawn on him. It was at that exact moment that he noticed: Wait, is that bitch pointing her wand at me? What was once a spark of annoyance had caught wind and, in the ensuing storm of emotions, manifested itself into a deep tongue of fire that was rapidly expanding. In the midst of the fiery whirlwind, one particular thought took precedence over all others, the thought in question leaving the captain’s fingers twitching and his jaw clenched in wildly enflamed irritation.

….How dare she treat him like a criminal?

The following words bubbled from his chest without restraint, self-control only an afterthought in the face of the injustice he was experiencing firsthand. “I’m the gargoyle?” he sneered in a low voice, before his volume morphed into that of a vicious snarl, “I’m the gargoyle? Are you actually shitting me right now?” His gaze, steely and merciless, latched onto her tense form with a fervor unlike any he had ever felt before; with it, he attempted to project upon her every ounce of enmity he felt at that moment, withholding nothing in his efforts to make her absolutely miserable. What fucking reason did she have to be tense, anyway? He wondered furiously. After all, he was the one sitting pathetically on the floor, ankle throbbing. This was all her damn fault. He would express as much: “If you would have opened those bloody excuses for ears, perhaps you would have realized that I was trying to help!” he spat. “You absolute dumbass! Whose broom do you think is holding the door together? It’s not mine!” Taking off his left glove, he violently threw it at the ground beside Eve’s own ankles in white-hot fury, the article landing on the handle of his silver arrow. “And while we’re asking questions,” he continued, his volume steadily growing, “Do you craft these realities for yourself? Would you have preferred a reality in which I might actually deign to disgrace myself with such foul, disgusting actions?” Then, in a strange turn of events, his voice lowered darkly, and without breaking eye contact, he continued on his tirade. “Thank God for your impeccable judgment, Eve. Because of your absolute stupidity, my ankle is in terrible shape, as is the state of your broom, I’m sure. And for what? You look like a fucking imbecile, standing in the corner with your wand pulled. This is the dumbest shit I’ve seen from you.” His eyes immediately flew to the weapon she so callously gripped within her fingertips. In another fit of rage, he took off his right glove and threw it at her at full force, the most offensive action he was willing to partake in for the time being. He decided then that he was punching Pierre straight in the face for this one.

Speaking of the devil – it was at that moment that the voice of their cursed friend and jailer resounded through the tense air: “Don't-a worry cap-i-tans! This-a prank's on me! Ten minutes left... Instant release if you two kiss!”

Such a request caused a full-body shudder to rack the sullen form of the young captain, a dark shade tinging his cheeks in humiliation. He resisted the urge to scream in utter frustration, and in refocusing his sneer on the wall across from him, he managed to snarl: “This really isn’t funny, Pierre!” Then, hearing no response from the perpetrator, he sucked in a grating breath and put his elbow over his eyes in an attempt to calm his nerves. Surely. Surely he could survive ten minutes in this miserable prison. Deciding he would much rather stand on his own two feet than sit pathetically amid the brooms, he lifted himself awkwardly from the fray and, balancing on his left foot, managed to raise himself to a respectable degree. Happy with his efforts, he leaned against the far wall of the shed, resting his sweaty forehead against the chalky wood. His ankle screamed at him. He ignored its cries. Then, feeling a new bout of irritation swell in his chest at the incessant throbbing, his gravelly voice sounded through the barren room in a bitter, vengeful tone. “I’m so pissed off right now,” he expressed with a mirthless laugh, “that I am quite literally speechless. I don’t even know what to say. You have truly. Truly! Baffled me with this shit.” He laughed again, this time a bit more hysterically. His biting smile was soon exchanged for an intense stare, the likes of which he refocused upon the enemy in the corner. It dawned on him then that he probably looked like a cornered animal, hunched in on himself as his limb hung awkwardly below, yet with a ferocity that spoke of untold and unforeseen dangers.

The captain’s focused gaze revealed to him that his co-captain still wielded her wand defensively. Good. Rafa pulled out his own walnut wand with a flourish. A skilled wave and a ‘lumos’ later, the wand tip shined alight with the effects of magic, illuminating the far corner of the shed in an ominous manner. He held his wand in front of him, casually enough to be passed as a natural state of rest, though he was almost sure the young woman would understand his true intentions. Don’t make me use it, he projected darkly. Nevertheless, he focused the full brunt of his icy glare on her, the rest of his face otherwise calm and relaxed. Unafraid. Unperturbed. “What are you looking at, hag face?” he asked in a low voice, his dark glare boring into her very being as he smiled, ever so subtly. “I would rather kiss a dementor.”

STA _____ 10 EVA _____ 8 STR _____ 9 WIS _____ 12 ARC _____ 2 ACC _____ 9

STATS & ABILITIES Interception Reducio When a Quaffle is being passed, users with this ability automatically get a chance to Intercept the quaffle. This does not replace their normal action for the round. This put the quaffle in your and by extension you teams' possession. Also, if the Quaffle is dropped for any reason, you would automatically (without it taking up an action) attempt another Quafflegrab. At present there would be no mid-round way to drop a quaffle due to the order of operations, however there will be certain effects in future patches that can cause this effect. Catch Reducio Able to catch two falling players on your broom when playing Quidditch. These additional caught players would be brought to the ground safely and they would be allowed to retrieve their broom and enter play again the next round. This can be done every round as the player's action if they choose to do so. With brooms that have the feature where an additional player may be caught (such as Bluebottle) where there is a stackable chance of failure with each additional person caught, there is no stacking failure chance for players with this ability. Perfectionist Reducio You have a reduced critical failure chance range by 1. In addition, you can counter up to 1 point of additional critical failure chances caused by abilities or spells (not potions). In other words, if you have an extended critical failure chance range (as is the case with certain races, the effect of certain spells or potions), this reduces that range by 1. So if you have a +2 critical failure chance range (meaning if you roll a 1,2, or a 3 you critically fail), this ability makes it a +1 critical range instead (meaning if you roll a 1 or a 2 you critically fail).

Action • Trying to Intimidate Eve