Securing a PerAmiter PV closed

Saturday, September 19th, 2020

@Ami Procoppio

There wasn't a great deal which Pericles knew about Ami. He was aware of the essentials, the things most students could easily learn about their peers: house, year, Quidditch participation. They even shared common grounds as Headliner writers. Yet in spite of how little he knew, and regardless of club affiliation, the young Ravenclaw had- at the time- decided he did not at all like the Hufflepuff girl. It was an unusual state of affairs, Pericles Dralt disliking someone. He was a mellow child with an aversion for confrontation, but mind, a child all the same. Their opinions could be drastically influenced by their loyalty to friends. Peri's intense attachment to reason evidently did not outrank his attachment to Ruby Cazares, and as Ami had aided and abetted in attacking Ruby, it was cause enough to turn up his nose in her presence. Never mind Ruby's role in initiating the squabble. Ami had outright manhandled him with her apish paws, holding him down so that her accomplice could set his friend on fire. A most serious heart-to-heart was going to have to take place before he would let go of that barbarism. Granted, the fight was buried in his memory, low on the list of prioritized thoughts flitting through his head as he returned to the Headliner office for the first time that year.

How glorious it was to be back: back in their homey little office, with its clicking typewriters and clunking press, the rustle of paper and aroma of ink. Pericles was enamored with the Headliner. He enjoyed the methodical process of preparing articles, the opportunity to research something new, to share what he had learned with others. It was less of a "job" or "hobby", more of a meditative process. The boy was smiling sleepily as he stepped into the room, already lost in a daydream of what to write, when he spotted her. That orangutan from the graphics team. Pericles had accidentally locked stares with Procoppio, and the smile sizzled out like a stick of incense dropped in the john, twisting into the ghost of a grimace. A patronizing sniff and deliberate aversion of eyes would show her what for; so disappointed, he couldn't even bear to look at her. He seemed to suppose that if he ignored her well enough, she would simply cease to exist. Unfortunately: Ami existed even louder.

As Pericles passed by, Ami's leg somehow, of its own volition, decided it was tired of staying bent up under her desk. It extended for a satisfying stretch, placing her boot directly in Peri's path. He had been so busy examining the ceiling in an attempt to ignore her that he stumbled, nearly tripping, narrowly managing to catch himself yet losing the book in his arms. It slid sadly across the carpet while Pericles shot a rather nasty squint over his shoulder, pale eyes boring into orange hair. It would have been easy to insult her immaturity, or even whine at Alexx, though he suspected that would only feed her satisfaction. So with sizzling indignance and composure fit for an heir, he resumed his straight-spined posture, scooping the sorry book from the floor and proceeding, wordlessly, to his seat. The siren call of newspaper writing was lost to the whir of indignant expletives in his head. How dare she? And why? And what was he going to do about it? Should he say something? Confront her at the end of his article? A shifty, cautious glance flicked over the top of his typewriter, an accusatory look hurtled at the back of her head as though it were a dartboard. Then he saw it: towards the edge of her desk was a bottle of butterbeer, far to the side so as to not risk spilling on Procoppio's project. In that moment, he knew exactly the words he wished to say.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The incantation was whispered, wand swished and flicked close to the top of his desk. Ami's sweet fizzy drink suddenly rose an inch into the air, glided gracefully to the right, and plummeted into the bin below with an obnoxiously loud clang. It was disruptive enough to earn her a few questioning stares, while the bottle fell to its side and glugged the last of its contents into the trash. If she turned, she would only see Pericles' perfectly innocent expression three desks away, eyes fixated on his work, fingers dancing over the keys. A busy boy. The page in his typewriter read "AELADMLWS OFPWMDOA KMSOEM TSKDTKQPJD JAMBX".

Permission to assume interactions granted by Ami OOC