Faust PV Finished

@Vladimir Athentos, @Selim Faust, @Aaron Jones, & @Marion Davenport

There was a point in which a person was meant to let go of a certain pursuit. There was a point in which there was no use fighting anymore, and all that there was left to do was survive and weather the storm. Piérre had finally found the moment. He had shared his last words, his thoughts. Whether or not anyone wanted to listen or take his words to heart was their own prerogative, and it was no longer his job or his place. As such, the boy would say no more to defend himself. Even though he stood by his words, even though he had strongly placed himself of the ranks of the Nameless and the Houseless, a scintillating mess of red, green, yellow, blue, silver, gold, black, and bronze, he knew that it didn’t matter in the end. His house would always remain a prison, a containment, a restriction, and a point of contentious judgement.

He would only meet the Upperclassman’s words with a blank stare of emerald, the fire long gone out, and now replaced with cool, gemlike serenity. He was listening. He was letting the words rush over him and crash against the beaches of his mind, break apart the crystal sands and form in their depths shells of memory and conchs of retention. In the end, he would smile softly and sadly, and nod quietly, saying no more. He had let this battle go, and he wanted no more fighting. He was done.

Marion was his bigger concern, and though she thrashed and struggled, the boy’s empathy continued to sing in the air, trying to calm and soothe the tortured spirit. Piérre didn’t believe that any of the things that the large upperclassman said about Marion’s strange convulsions and expulsions. He knew in his heart that there was something wrong, but in the end, he also had enough wisdom to know when to stop and let the seasoned take control. Young as he was, Piérre had spent his life more among adults than children, interfacing with people his own age was difficult as it was, and situations like this only made him more anxious.

Still, he felt a flutter of happiness as he helped to prevent the disgusting slime from staining Marion’s clothes. She deserved her pride, her dignity, especially in this moment. At her cries, Piérre dared a look up at the upperclassman, as if to silently ask what was to be done... But the attention was returned to the blackness. Hadn't he heard rumors of some sort of similar blackness which affected the Slytherins? Whatever this was, it didn't look normal, but he didn't know enough about it to make an informed decision or a choice.

“Do you think we should take her back? Is she well enough to go to her dorm?” He said softly, trying to gently affirm that while still highly concerned, bickering and trading verbal blows would do nothing for the girl of their shared interest. Piérre was not one for romantic endeavors, and he was finding it difficult to understand why this was being blown out of proportion as much as it was.

Unless other drama occurs, Piérre will stay with Marion until she is well enough to be taken to her dorm before leaving topic

Mod Note: Piérre has brought his Moontrimmer, Luciana
He chooses to place his +3s to Evasion (+13) and Stamina (6)
He also possesses a 10% Auto-dodge rate

Statistics and Abilities
Stamina 6 | Strength 3 | Evasion 13
Wisdom 10 | Accuracy 10 | ArcPower 5

Keen Eye: 25% Chance to Spot something Important
Calming Presence: 10% Auto-hit Rate. Allies: @Piérre Marchonné, Romeo Marchonné, Hanzo Fransson, Rafael D'Spacito, & @Marion Davenport

"The scars you can't see are the hardest to heal." - Astrid Alanda

Vlad's snide words were not missed by Selim, but he only closed his eyes in response. Teeth gritting.

"I know it doesn't. It's a psychological response." He was done with this. Vlad's attempts to assist him were appreciated, but after hearing Marion's desperate words and the sheer frustration the Ravenclaw was exuding, he knew that lingering in this cursed place would only make everything worse. His mental weakness was getting to him, and right now he could barely focus on anything, he was compromised and it was showing.

Athanato's dismissal showed that he obviously thought Selim was acting that way... for what? Did the eagle think he'd really go to such length of acting just because he was being stubborn? For attention? Why would Selim want the attention of anyone? He was solitary in class, barely showed his face, went out of his way to avoid people. Even now he hated being in this situation. Four people were too many for him to be around at once.

There was no point in puzzling over it. Vladimir was just a teen, a frustrated one, in rather unsatisfactory circumstances.

Well, with a bit of mental acrobatics he could see why he'd be reacting in such a way. it was no use holding a grudge against it. It was no use to try and appease him. He gave his explanation but he assumed the boy would just take it as another excuse.

He had overstayed his welcome, apparently.

The concerned words of the girl were met with a beat of silence. "I'm feeling a bit better, I guess some of it got down." A lie. Slytherins were usually good at lying, might as well fall back on the old tactic. "Sorry to distress you, and my condolences for our students ruining your night." His voice held no tone as he directed the words to the girl. He could at least giver her some words of sympathy, after all, she had even drunk the potion in an attempt to show him that it wouldn't hurt him... If only such simple tactics could get over his mind's visceral reaction to potions. Sadly trauma wasn't so easily cured.

'Not all potions were healing remedies'...

The boy stood, swaying slightly before forcing himself to remain still. He didn't want to stay here, it was overstimulating, and that was deeply unsettling him. Swallowing dryly and ignoring his dizziness, he passively glanced back to the group. "I'm going back to the dorm and return for a check-up in the morning. Thank you for your... assistance." He looked away. "Good luck trying not to be murdered by our peers, Athanatos. " there was no hint of dark humor or mocking in his voice as he said this, it came out as a statement, a rather justified one going by how common the boy being attacked seemed to be.

With that the boy walked away, leaving the hospital wing, removing himself from the stress. The night had been a mess, and he could give himself fresh bandages from his personal first-aid kit anyways.

He had to stop and take a break a few times, heat flashes, lights dancing in his eyes, dry heaving. Honestly, Selim was glad he struggled with sleeping, hopefully, he wouldn't be diagnosed with a concussion when he went for a check-up. He hadn't technically been hit in the head. Maybe his senses had just been knocked around by that punch and they'd settle by the morning.

The boy doubted the injury to his jaw was serious. It didn't feel displaced, he theorized that, at the worst, he fractured it a bit. It could heal on its own with pain medication, and he wasn't opposed to eating just soft foods and liquids for a while. After all the meals Hogwarts provided its students had quite the varieties, smoothies would be easy to come by, eggs and hashbrowns for breakfast, soup for lunch and supper. It'd hardly be a struggle.

Besides, he was going to get a proper check-up later. Much more reliable than the words of a frustrated teen.

Now confident, Selim completed his journey to his dorms and treated his surface wounds after undressing and washing up. With a fresh mask of bandages covering the gashed part of his face, he settled down, reading quietly with Kioshi curled up at his side as they sat in his bed.

Immediately relaxing in the less electrified environment, he quietly drank some warm apple cider through a straw when a thought struck him.

Why hadn't wizards put potion portions in capsules yet (preferably opaque ones)? It would be easier to manage, after all, and then Selim wouldn't be facing this annoying problem.

Honestly, the medical field of wizarding society needed to get with the times, this was ridiculous.

What a troublesome night.

No problem -- will just finish things off.

Agitation and frustration bubbling beneath the surface of the lanky teen. He wanted nothing more than to see the Gryffindor suffer like he... no, they made his friends suffer. Vladimir was far from perfect, he was a flawed, angry, distrusting young man. He was selfish. He was possessive. He was intelligent and he knew it and for that reason he felt that he knew better.

He would move protectively next to Marion. The girl was a mess, thanks to Pierre. His stomach flipped and his head throbbed. He was not sure if he felt nauseated or enraged, somehow he felt both. Of course, not that anyone seemed to notice, the boy's flaws were terribly amplified. He was labile in his emotions, not only here but in other situations as well. Did such a polished appearing youth truly lack such basic control?

They would see evidence of this later also. In how he blew up on Marion for daring date Alexander. In his desperate bid to find Victor, the dead boy. Had he gone mad? Perhaps.

Selim would leave. Not that he expected the boy to hang around as long as he already had. Marchonné would stubbornly remain until Marion returned to the dorms. If she was conscious, she could return. She would be safer in a den of vipers than in the company of a hungry, reckless, dangerous lions.

"Mary," Vladimir exhaled as he said her name. This was not a time for female hysterics. "We need to get you back to your dorm" so that this guy will leave you alone. Far from an elaborate plan, he frowned at the thought. He did not like to see her in pain. A part of him ached, felt like a failure for letting this happen despite knowing that this was outside of his control.

"V-" He was about to say Victor, that Victor could... could watch her. He couldn't, he was dead. Shit, that still hurt even these months later. He had no doubt this sensation like someone was sitting on his chest would ever go away. She would have to return to the Slytherin dorms alone. They could not depend on anyone, not really. "Just find Mathias," he advised with some hesitation. He would not touch her, not if he valued his fingers.

A steely gaze would pierce Marchonné. He did not need to state how much he hated the boy, by the virtue of his house. By the deeds he had believed he witnessed. Marion had all but assured that Vladimir would never trust a Gryffindor.

Vladimir takes Marion with him.