Occamy Welcome to the Occamy Cabin Closed

@Kit Paine

There were several alternating thoughts in the windmills of the Britalian's mind. Several of them were friendly, focusing on the pleasant and idle conversation which was neatly whittling time away. Yet, another part of the lad was more guarded, almost suspicious. This was, after all, the same adult who helped run the Trial by Fear, an event which had left a bitter taste in more than one person's mouth.

Now, Piérre tried his best not to hold anything negative against anyone. Indeed, he found it to be part of his nature to find 'goodness' in every event, person, or thing he encountered and experienced, and he had to this point found very few who broke or tested that personal life rule. Perhaps it was weakness, or perhaps it was a gift. Only time would tell, but in this moment, Kit seemed more friend than foe.

Piérre appreciated people who could be friendly with no barriers. Who could laugh at themselves with ease. Put aside the guarded, troubled person and you found their core. Their pure selves.

He had no way of knowing of Kit's -- Ahem -- unusual traits and tendencies.

Still, he focused on the conversation. More pressing questions could come later if they needed to. “Maybe...” He responded to the art conversation. “Maybe in a bit.” And he tried to leave it at that, though he knew that he wanted to see some of the art that Kit had drawn that had been responsible for this entangling scenario.

He giggled softly at the mock fear of the caretaker, his eyes sparkling woth amusement. Almost like him in a way, if the roles had been reversed.

He watched as Kit made his slow, yet effective venture out of the tangles, admiring the Ehler's Danlose-esque movements of the adult. It did look quite strange, yet another layer of mystery to the predicament, but Piérre was polite enough to not make comment. After all, he was flexible too. Not in such a dramatic fashion, but let's be real, flipping, cartwheeling, backbending and pirouetting aggravating out of reach with a spin and a smile just so happened to be one of the few things that the boy was known for. He even recalled being dubbed 'Carnival Boy' by one of the upperclassmen during a dancing challenge. It was a title the kid wore with great pride.

“It was really nothing.” He smiled again at Kit
“I would have hoped that someone would have done the same for me.” He gently snagged his notebook as Figaro jumped fluidly from the couch and trotted over to Kit for a smell. Piérre turned the book in his hands, a the smile dissolving into a frown. “But I doubt they would. Unless I had the right people at my back.”

The events of the Trial flashed to him again. “I still remember what happened at the Trial by Fear. If it's any indication of the school dynamic, I'd still have been tangled up or maybe being thrown into them by you at this very moment and then left on my own.” He turned red with shame, his piqued ears lowering a tad as his brow creased with concern and the heartbreaking thought of it.

“I'd be mocked and made fun of," Despite his laughter and smile of nonchalance. “Rumors would spread.” Just as the tales of his pushing Marion Davenport off his broom ran their brief yet memorable course. “At least I have Figaro. And a good, tight group of friends.” He beckoned the cat to him after the silver Bengal had retained the adult's scent. Once again, the boy was stroking the fur of his cat with both hands, staring forward blankly into nothing.

Something flickered in the corner of his vision. Ignore it. It wasn't real. Something gently echoed in his ears; a fragment of unknown song. Thoughts he had, ideas he felt, but errors. A diagnosis he had to learn to cope with. His fingers found a dogeared page of his notebook. A special page.

“I'm glad I could help someone without being called a manipulator out for his own ends.” He smiled forlorn. “It... Feels good.”

And then a thought struck him and his mood shifted again, returning to melancholy. Too much to think about. So much...

'But I can't save them all, can I?'

But you can try.
This is your story, remember?

"It's not nothing," the caretaker told Piérre, a hint of confusion tinging his tone. "It means a lot. I know I would have done the same for you if it was me who had found you here. And not just because I'm the caretaker, either." He watched the student grab his notebook before the kitten made its way over from the couch to smell Kit. Kit held his hand out for the feline to sniff while observing Piérre's smile curve into a frown. Then the subject of the Trial by Fear was brought up.

Kit blinked. "Is that really what you think I'd do?" he asked, surprised. "Piérre...it's not my intention to harm students. I really care about all of you. Perhaps...maybe the point I was trying to make with the Trial by Fear was missed?" The tall young man grunted as he got to his feet and stretched a moment before walking gingerly over to the Gryffindor. He regarded the boy's ruddy complexion and rubbed the back of his own neck in discomfort as he continued to listen to the boy's words. Eventually, he knelt next to Piérre.

"Listen," Kit said gently, trying to meet vivid green eyes. "Everything I've done as caretaker since I've been hired by this school had been with you, the students, in mind. One of the biggest issues I've noticed you all seem to have is lonliness. Creatures like the hags prey on that lonliness. So I've done what I can to try to show you all that I'm your friend...if you'll let me be."

He glanced down at his own hand. "I'm a metamorphmagus. I've even tried taking the form of students like you to try to befriend you guys so you don't think of me as just another adult who doesn't care or who doesn't have enought time to deal with you. Recently, a couple of students have told me that pretending to be a peer doesn't help with the trust aspect, so I've been trying to just be myself..." A sheepish smile upturned the corners of his mouth. "...but it seems like it's hard for you guys to trust me as just myself, too."

Kit tilted his head as he regarded Piérre. "So...can you maybe tell me...what can I do to try to get you to believe that I genuinely want to be your friend?"

@Kit Paine

Piérre waved his hands at the misconstruing of his words, his eyes widening slightly with alarm. “Nonononono! No, M- Kit!” He corrected himself quickly. “That's not it at all! I liked the idea of the Trials, and I don't believe you try to harm us! I think everyone is trying their best, in one way or another.” He nervously clicked his teeth a bit, trying to think of the right combination of phrases.

“I believe in school unity. I believe that if we stand divided, we will fall. It's why I don't always wear my uniform. I wear all of their colors, because I know that in the end, it is not our color which should divide us. The Sorting is a tradition... But some have transformed it into a caste.” Piérre snapped his finger and surely pointed to the satchel laying on the floor in his room. Noiselessly, Figaro leapt out of the boy's lap and padded away to retrieve.

The Britalian continued to listen to the Caretaker in awe. He nodded quietly, mouth slightly agape as he committed to memory everything being said. It was touching, and the Jester understood. Ot was, in a strange roundabout way, something after his own heart. It was like his changing uniforms. He pretended to be that which he was not in order to not only blend in and stay unseen... but to understand and comprehend the worlds of others. At last, he nodded eyes watering a little. “Of course, Kit! Of course! Dios mio My God, I didn't think many others understood!” He threw his arms around the Caretaker without a thought, mind reeling and heart racing. A metamorphmagus... He had heard of them, but not seen many... but in a sense, it made sense. What better way to hide among the students and be a part of them than to be one of them? The ultimate chameleon, a perfect, incorrigible master of twisting fates.

But how very lonely. And it was this part that Piérre understood too. Tiring. Unloved and misunderstood at times.

He tightened his grip, the Jester who walked the misty halls, who trod wherever some elusive force drew him. Wherever he needed to be at the right time and the right place... Inexplicably. Perfectly.

“Distrust seems to run deep in this school.” He whispered to Kit. “I get the feeling there's more than what meets the eye. Strange things... Mean people.” A slash of red flashed in memory with the cry of 'Sectumsempra!'. He winced, tightening his hug briefly with a visible shudder. Two years later, and the event still haunted him.

“I don't think there is a way to get anyone to trust anyone else.”

He let the words hang in the air.

“But I do trust you. For whatever it is worth.” A thick Italian accent now coated his words as his throat tightened and his voice hoarsened. He was losing his grip a bit, and his slow devolving of a neutral accent was showing thusly.

By this time, Figaro had returned with the satchel in his mouth. Piérre took it as he gently pulled back, opening it and showing Kit the three other ties; blue and bronze, green and silver, yellow and black. These were his versions of student disguise. “And these are my attempts at school unity. Student of all, member of none.”

The caretaker blinked when Piérre hurried to correct himself, nearly stumbling over his own words to get them out fast enough. "Oh. Well, I'm glad to hear that," he answered warmly with a genuine smile. But Piérre had more to explain. Kit listened patiently, not wanting to rush the boy as he continued with stating what he actually did believe in.

The idea behind why the student didn't always wear his uniform - why he wore not his own house colors, but evidently the other houses' as well - was an intriguing one. Kit considered what he said about some having transformed the Sorting into a caste. What an interesting way to see it. Furthermore, what a creative and peaceful way to try to solve such a problem.

Kit also marveled when, with just a snap of his fingers, Piérre instructed his trained cat to go fetch his satchel. At first, he'd just thought the feline's owner was sending him away, which would have been impressive enough as a command for the kitten to follow. But when Figaro came back with the satchel for his owner to take soon after, Kit chuckled softly in wonder.

At Piérre's sudden, heartfelt hug, the caretaker was momentarily stunned before melting into it and hugging affectionately back. He was glad the student and himself were on the same page when it came to trying to see things from other perspectives. It took a rare mind to try to see beyond one's own limited world and horizons and Kit admired that Piérre evidently did just that every day in his own way. "I didn't think many others did either," he admitted, "but it's always a delight to find someone who does understand. I'm glad you do, Piérre."

The whispering of distrust earned a nod from the adult. There was almost always more than what met the eye. Feeling the boy shudder through his tightened hug, however, Kit got concerned.

"Hey...what's the matter?" he prodded gently. "Did you actually meet one of these...'mean people'?"

He nodded again when Piérre stated he didn't think there was a way to get anyone to trust anyone else. But a smile curved his lips when he was told he was trusted by the student before him. Kit pat his back lightly. "Thank you. That means a great deal to me."

It was then that Figaro reappeared with his owner's bag. Kit waited and watched as
Piérre accepted it in order to reach in and pull out neckties with the colors of other houses. The caretaker whistled, amazed. "What a clever way to try to keep from alienating yourself from students of other houses." He grinned. "I bet you cause a heck of a lot of confusion among your peers, don't you?"

@Kit Paine

His energy was quickly leaving him, now that most of the excitement had drained from the situation which had transpired, but when does a hug not feel good?

The answer is never.

But especially in the case of recalling unpleasant thoughts and instances in one's life, a hug always makes things more easy to confess. The first step in building confidence is openness. Piérre had been given ample reason to trust; between his slightly naïf nature and the small basis of understanding between the adult and the student.

Up to his schooling years, Piérre had had little experience with blood and wounds. Yes, he had been battered and buffeted, as many children usually are because of their energy and their overzealousness, but the worst injury he had experienced before Hogwarts was a small cracking of his ribs when he had been dealt a glancing kick by a horse.

Magic, as the boy had quickly learned, was far more capable of dealing permanent, even more deadly damage.

“The nurse before the French guy. Fin Vancleaf. He and his brother had a huge fight and...”

"Sectumsempra!"

The word rattled around in Piérre's head, echoing louder each time as every syllable was microanalyzed and mulled over. Green eyes glazed briefly as he recalled the blood. The concussion. How the metallic iron, REAL iron, and not the melted blood pops, seeped in between his fingers and stained his clothes. On Valentine's day of all days.

“One of them used the Severing Curse on the other. I... Don't know who... I can't... I can't stop thinking..." What if he and his twin, whom he loved more dearly than his own self at times, ended up that way? “They were brothers. Brothers. How could... Why would brothers do that to one another?”

But the conversation thankfully turned to another topic, a lighter topic: the ties. Piérre had been told once by Pericles (who by happenstance had also been a member of the same misfortune remembered above) that it was a good way to prevent oneself from being quickly identified, and if it were not for the fact that the Britalian was a relatively well-known Quidditch player for the Scarlet Lions, he would have agreed. Kit had it a bit more on the nose. In a different color, Piérre was a different person; not physically, not emotionally, not mentally... Because it was not him who changed. It was the people around him. Their minds changed, not his own.

The Jester smiled, biting his bottom lip with impishness. There was still a powerful accent in his words... He just couldn't help himself. “Yeahhhhhh.... It's-a kinda my job at this pointe. Really fun too. I love changing my wardrobe on a daily basis.” It was one of the few places in which his eccentricities shone through; outside of his swirly personality, of course.

He tipped his head, looking at Kit with the same mischief. “You said that you used student appearances to, y'know, interface with us at one point in time... Could I... See a few?” He tapped his index fingers against each other shyly. “Maybe I've seen you around and I've just never noticed.”