14 May 2018, 03:02
The Question
Reducio
A question I ask, you listen and ponder,
what will you say, I wait and wonder?
Springs of blossom, both wood, and cherry,
a time with friends, both gay and merry.
A rose I give, a gift to see,
crimson and scarlet and bold and twee.
The path goes left, dip the sinister stair,
this way I wonder, how will you fair?
A rose I give, a gift to see,
white and simple and natural and free.
The path goes right; climb the spiraling tower,
please take with you this wilting flower.
Yay, I say, a choice I bring,
a choice to weigh, a choice to sing.
A day of magic and all that we let,
a night remembered; you won't soon forget
Nay, I say, a choice I bring,
a choice so gray, a choice to ding.
Neglected, scorned, refused, rejected,
not in the least what I expected.
May, I say, a choice I bring,
a choice to sway, a choice to wing.
A question unanswered and beholden to chance,
won't you come with me, to frolic and prance?
Signed,
A Secret Admirer.
P.S. Please arm yourself with a rose and a choice and follow the instructions in the poem. I'll be waiting~
what will you say, I wait and wonder?
Springs of blossom, both wood, and cherry,
a time with friends, both gay and merry.
A rose I give, a gift to see,
crimson and scarlet and bold and twee.
The path goes left, dip the sinister stair,
this way I wonder, how will you fair?
A rose I give, a gift to see,
white and simple and natural and free.
The path goes right; climb the spiraling tower,
please take with you this wilting flower.
Yay, I say, a choice I bring,
a choice to weigh, a choice to sing.
A day of magic and all that we let,
a night remembered; you won't soon forget
Nay, I say, a choice I bring,
a choice so gray, a choice to ding.
Neglected, scorned, refused, rejected,
not in the least what I expected.
May, I say, a choice I bring,
a choice to sway, a choice to wing.
A question unanswered and beholden to chance,
won't you come with me, to frolic and prance?
Signed,
A Secret Admirer.
P.S. Please arm yourself with a rose and a choice and follow the instructions in the poem. I'll be waiting~
The letter was given to her in the morning.
A few hours ago.
"Oh, come on Aubren! You just got to go, it won't be the same without you!"
"Yeah, you can't coop up with a book all day! It's a dance!"
The Gryffindor girls had been going to it for hours. The dance was a big deal, like Prom. Students all around Aubren were running around with millions of words exploding from their mouths, some talking about what they were going to wear, others talking about who they were taking. Of course, Aubren had told the group of girls that she wasn't planning on going (mostly because she didn't even have a date, but she was to embarrassed to say that) and was planning on just waiting in the common room until it was over. However, the group was having none of it.
"Who cares that no one asked you yet? I don't have a date, Mary-Rose doesn't either!"
"Besides, we'll help you! We'll get you the perfect dress, do your hair...a touch of make up wouldn't hurt."
A long sigh came from Aubren as she placed the book she had been reading down onto the oak table. They were gathered in the Great Hall, where the mail would be arriving shortly. Slowly, Aubren looked at everyone around her.
"Guys, come on. I'm not going to go if I don't have a reason."
She hoped that would be the end of it, but like always, it wasn't.
"A reason?"
"It'll be so much fun, Aubren. Besides, don't you want to impress that Dorian Gray of yours?"
The girl froze at that. She had her book halfway opened before she shut it close, an echoing 'snap' revolting off of it.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
A series of giggles erupted from the rest of the girls as they each exchanged glances. Aubren watched them, confused and red faced.
"What we mean is, we think Gray will absolutely drop dead if you showed up wearing a dress and looking extra good, right June?"
"Yeah, all men go crazy for a girl if she shows up alone. Which, actually, gives you a reason to go!"
Aubren hesitated, her and Dorian? Absurd. There was no way, he was...well, no one could deny and say that Dorian wasn't cute, he was, all the girls in Gryffindor whispered about him. Aubren wasn't one of them, she didn't even think of him like that. He wouldn't want to be with someone like her at the dance, why would he? He was probably going with the more somewhat popular people, the people in his league.
She sighed, it was just like those teen-drama things she's heard about.
"Forget it, guys. I'm not going, besides, why would Dorian even think about going with me?"
As soon as the words escaped her lips, the girls around her gasped.
"Are you CRAZY? You're beautiful!"
"You'll look even better in a dress and makeup, a hair do...Why wouldn't Dorian want to go with you?"
"I don't like him like that! At least, I don't think I-...Stop messing with my head!"
"We aren't! We seriously think Dorian-"
The sudden eruption of voices caught the girls off guard. In a loud disturbance, they turned their heads towards the loud noises. Above them, owls swooped up and down, varying of type, size, and color. The students around them straight forwardly grasped the mail they carried, whether it be letters, presents from home, or the latest news. Aubren, however, knew she wouldn't be expecting anything. The only mail she got was presents from home, and frankly, she knew quite well she wasn't getting anything this time.
However, she was quite surprised when a letter fell before her, right next to her plate of buttered toast.
The group of girls looked at her, noticing Aubren's confused expression as she placed the book down once more. Carefully, Aubren took the envelope into her grasp, holding it in a delicate way as though it was break able.
"Were you expecting something?" One of them asked, watching the Anson carefully open the envelope, only to then pull out a piece of parchment. Curiously, the girls watched Aubren read over the parchment.
Her cognac eyes grew wider and wider with each word she read.
Before long, her mouth had fell open in complete shock. Almost instantly, a burst of excitment traveled through the group, each of them reaching to grab the letter.
"What is it?! What does it say?!" The closest one demanded, managing to grab it in time before the others. Quickly, she scanned over it, and instead of a shock, she squealed loudly, shaking the letter violently.
"What?! What is it!?" The next girl grabbed it from the first, and it wasn't long before the letter had traveled with the girls, each one of them now squealing and jumping from their seats with joy.
With the letter back in Aubren's hands, and the jumping and screaming girls from behind her, she couldn't help but reread every word, every curve of the pen, every meaning. She couldn't believe it. She had to check who it was directed to every minute, and to her surprise and delight, it was addressed to her, by a secret admirer.
"AUBREN! GET UP! YOU NEED TO FIND OUT WHO THIS IS! NOW!"
She was yanked from the seat and shaken violently.
"I told you! Someone had a thing for you! Oh my gosh, I can't breathe-"
The girls kept up like this the entire time. They followed Aubren back to the Gryffindor common room, and stayed with her the whole time. As she broke each clue down to location, they went ahead and picked everything out for her. The dress, the hair do style for her, everything. They kept giggling and squealing, for hours. They didn't stop until Aubren had suddenly stood, announcing she cracked the case, and raced out of the room before they could comment.
It took her a bit to break it down, but she figured it out by the first two hours. The other two hours was just her having mental breakdowns over the whole thing in general. She had no idea who this person even was, and she couldn't tell if she was afraid of who it could be or not.
None the less, she followed the clues. The location? The Astronomy Tower.
Each step was hard, the creaks were quiet under her flats as she scaled the tower stairs. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, like a drum in a large hall. She could hear each thump of her racing heart in her ears, and it only got louder as she was near the top.
Aubren froze at the top.
Did she want to see who this was?
What would she say?
What would she even do?
A sharp inhale before she stepped forward, entering the very top of the tower.
Almost instantly, she saw a figure before her. A boy, facing away from her. He was dressed formally, a suit dark like ink, a strong build. She tilted her head slightly, a perplexed expression painted upon her face as she tried to recognize who it was.
It took her about half a minute before she noticed the familiar hair, she recognized the style...the pierced ears...
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Dorian?"
Last edited by Serena Towers on 14 May 2018, 10:46, edited 1 time in total.
ѕнe вlooмѕ wιtн ɢrαce ιɴ lιfe'ѕ ɢαrdeɴ
~A.A, Gryffindor
14 May 2018, 06:09
The Question
Nerves and the very concept they portrayed was fickle at best. Too many times during the writing of the letter he had reworded, scrapped, procrastinated, snap in frustration, slept, all while confining himself in perfect isolation. He had cordoned off the entrance to his dorm room, barring entry from any of the others that shared the room with him. Not wanting to be disturbed, he had written explicit signs and hung them all along and across the entrance: 'Do Not Enter!' 'Danger! Danger! Danger!' 'If any of you losers come in here I'll rip you in half with my teeth!' The threats remained along those basic grounds but only seemed to get more and more detailed the further one might try to venture on their way into the room.
There was a very good reason for how edgy he seemed at the moment; a very good reason indeed. The mentioned letter was to assume the form of an elaborate poem that he was having some trouble conceiving. The softer side of himself that he needed to channel in order to write the thing was as elusive as a Demiguise, and because of this, all the discarded drafts had been too direct, too insistent, too desperate. He didn't want to come off as being desperate even though he kind of was; Aubren wouldn't like that, or so he assumed. He knew nothing about what went on in the minds of girls, so suffice it to say he was probably trying too hard to impress based on assumptions of what he thought she might want to see. On that note he made another attempt, the words harrowing the new page thus:
Absolute trash! He crumpled the latest paper and tossed it into the growing pile across the room. The boy dragged his hands across his face and groaned so loudly that the spirits that haunted the castle might take the sound as a ritual of sorts and converge on his location to partake. Something was missing, something very crucial, but he just couldn't seem to put his finger on it. His nerves were getting the best of him, and his usually transpicuous mind was experiencing a losing battle. Reclining against the edge of the bed, he looked up at the ceiling and asked himself what he was missing. So many possibilities flitted through his mind, but only one truly stood out. "That's it!"
Something had obviously clicked because the next thing he did was to place pen to paper and write the lone word 'question'. His thought process was moving along the lines that he would first try to understand what it was that he wanted to base the poem on before he started to construct the body itself. Essentially, it had dawned on him that he was trying to start from the wrong place, which was to settle on an appropriate title that would grip the reader while also hinting at what he wanted the poem to be about. The words 'dance' and 'pretty' followed suit. Considering the first word he wrote, he thought of what a question entailed, and settled on the fact that 'choices' were next to present themselves. Looking again at the word dance, he decided that it gave too much away and crossed it out, then ruminated on pretty and came to the conclusion that 'flowers' were an obvious choice of this that portrayed beauty. Mulling over everything, it finally came to him.
This was to be the title of his poem, and once he had that written and accepted that this was right, the words came to him as if a floodgate had been opened in his mind. He wrote feverishly through the night, scarcely acknowledging the need to rest. Once he had finished and checked his work again, he decided that it was as good as it was going to get and stored it away safely to be sent the next day. That day came all too quickly, and by the time he had sent it with a messenger owl, he was getting dressed to impress. He decided on a full black ensemble complete with a soft spray of a subtle fragrance, a very very light almost-hinging-on-nonexistent styling of his hair and the two small knobs in his ears. Without further ado, he made his way to the place where his poem had hinted that he would be.
He faced the stairway and watched in silence, waiting in place without so much as a flinch. He was far too nervous to take stock of how early had gotten there, and ultimately how long he had been standing in wait. He didn't smile, nor did he blink as much as he probably should have allowed himself to. He was nervous. Given that this was his first time asking anyone to something as formal as a dance, he felt as every child his age would feel at the prospect of making a complete and total fool of themselves. It was only as the time got much later that he started to ask himself what if. What if Aubren had not been able to figure out the poem? What if she had figured it out and simply couldn't be bothered to go through the struggle? Worst still, what if she had somehow learned that the letter had come from him and was playing truant because of it? His own thoughts were his worst enemy.
He was this close to striding over to the tower's edge and flinging himself off when he heard the telltale signs of shoe heels hitting the pavement. If it was possible he became even more rigid, and when she stepped into view and called his name he almost jumped out of his skin. Exchanging his nervous glance with her addled one, he awkwardly raised his hand and gestured slightly in a half wave, only to pause and drop it back to his side after realizing what he was doing. He cleared his throat softly. "Hi Aubren." Casual, natural, familiar. This was what Dorian had been aiming for. Instead, he came off sounding hasty, slightly high-pitched and desperate. Mentally kicking himself in the rear, he tried again after clearing his throat. "I see my letter has reached you." That was a bit better.
He would try and emulate an uncle of his that always tried to sound more grandiloquent whenever he spoke. This would be better than the alternative of him coming off as shy and weird. "A question, I ask, you listen and ponder, what will you say, I wait and wonder?" he recited. It was a line from his poem not meant to be answered aloud but spoken as a prelude to the true question. "A rose I give, a gift to see..." He held his right hand out with palm facing upwards, waiting for something, and would only continue with the next line of either the second or third stanza depending on what she did next. He had planned this out nicely if he did say so himself. Departing from these two stanzas that posed separate questions of their own, the final three would be left up to her and what she decided. Three choices, and only one worth hearing. He would wait in silence for her to give her answer to him in poetic format.
There was a very good reason for how edgy he seemed at the moment; a very good reason indeed. The mentioned letter was to assume the form of an elaborate poem that he was having some trouble conceiving. The softer side of himself that he needed to channel in order to write the thing was as elusive as a Demiguise, and because of this, all the discarded drafts had been too direct, too insistent, too desperate. He didn't want to come off as being desperate even though he kind of was; Aubren wouldn't like that, or so he assumed. He knew nothing about what went on in the minds of girls, so suffice it to say he was probably trying too hard to impress based on assumptions of what he thought she might want to see. On that note he made another attempt, the words harrowing the new page thus:
Rose are red,
violets are blue,
get out of your bed,
I want to go to the dance with you.
violets are blue,
get out of your bed,
I want to go to the dance with you.
Absolute trash! He crumpled the latest paper and tossed it into the growing pile across the room. The boy dragged his hands across his face and groaned so loudly that the spirits that haunted the castle might take the sound as a ritual of sorts and converge on his location to partake. Something was missing, something very crucial, but he just couldn't seem to put his finger on it. His nerves were getting the best of him, and his usually transpicuous mind was experiencing a losing battle. Reclining against the edge of the bed, he looked up at the ceiling and asked himself what he was missing. So many possibilities flitted through his mind, but only one truly stood out. "That's it!"
Something had obviously clicked because the next thing he did was to place pen to paper and write the lone word 'question'. His thought process was moving along the lines that he would first try to understand what it was that he wanted to base the poem on before he started to construct the body itself. Essentially, it had dawned on him that he was trying to start from the wrong place, which was to settle on an appropriate title that would grip the reader while also hinting at what he wanted the poem to be about. The words 'dance' and 'pretty' followed suit. Considering the first word he wrote, he thought of what a question entailed, and settled on the fact that 'choices' were next to present themselves. Looking again at the word dance, he decided that it gave too much away and crossed it out, then ruminated on pretty and came to the conclusion that 'flowers' were an obvious choice of this that portrayed beauty. Mulling over everything, it finally came to him.
One Question, Two Roses, Three Choices
This was to be the title of his poem, and once he had that written and accepted that this was right, the words came to him as if a floodgate had been opened in his mind. He wrote feverishly through the night, scarcely acknowledging the need to rest. Once he had finished and checked his work again, he decided that it was as good as it was going to get and stored it away safely to be sent the next day. That day came all too quickly, and by the time he had sent it with a messenger owl, he was getting dressed to impress. He decided on a full black ensemble complete with a soft spray of a subtle fragrance, a very very light almost-hinging-on-nonexistent styling of his hair and the two small knobs in his ears. Without further ado, he made his way to the place where his poem had hinted that he would be.
He faced the stairway and watched in silence, waiting in place without so much as a flinch. He was far too nervous to take stock of how early had gotten there, and ultimately how long he had been standing in wait. He didn't smile, nor did he blink as much as he probably should have allowed himself to. He was nervous. Given that this was his first time asking anyone to something as formal as a dance, he felt as every child his age would feel at the prospect of making a complete and total fool of themselves. It was only as the time got much later that he started to ask himself what if. What if Aubren had not been able to figure out the poem? What if she had figured it out and simply couldn't be bothered to go through the struggle? Worst still, what if she had somehow learned that the letter had come from him and was playing truant because of it? His own thoughts were his worst enemy.
He was this close to striding over to the tower's edge and flinging himself off when he heard the telltale signs of shoe heels hitting the pavement. If it was possible he became even more rigid, and when she stepped into view and called his name he almost jumped out of his skin. Exchanging his nervous glance with her addled one, he awkwardly raised his hand and gestured slightly in a half wave, only to pause and drop it back to his side after realizing what he was doing. He cleared his throat softly. "Hi Aubren." Casual, natural, familiar. This was what Dorian had been aiming for. Instead, he came off sounding hasty, slightly high-pitched and desperate. Mentally kicking himself in the rear, he tried again after clearing his throat. "I see my letter has reached you." That was a bit better.
He would try and emulate an uncle of his that always tried to sound more grandiloquent whenever he spoke. This would be better than the alternative of him coming off as shy and weird. "A question, I ask, you listen and ponder, what will you say, I wait and wonder?" he recited. It was a line from his poem not meant to be answered aloud but spoken as a prelude to the true question. "A rose I give, a gift to see..." He held his right hand out with palm facing upwards, waiting for something, and would only continue with the next line of either the second or third stanza depending on what she did next. He had planned this out nicely if he did say so himself. Departing from these two stanzas that posed separate questions of their own, the final three would be left up to her and what she decided. Three choices, and only one worth hearing. He would wait in silence for her to give her answer to him in poetic format.
✧Improvidus, Apto quod Victum✧
Stam: 3, Agi: 3, Str: 4, Con: 7, Arc: 7, Acc: 6
16 May 2018, 02:17
The Question
Aubren Anson has never been so taken a back before. There she stood, pink blossoming on her soft cheeks like a vibrant garden, her mouth dropped open to a small shock shaped 'o', staring at the boy's cheeky greeting. She felt so silly, so silly indeed, to stand there in her black tights and school skirt, her knitted sweater a light grey while her hair was down (and most likely a mess, she thought,) all while the boy she met her first two weeks in Hogwarts stood dressed formally in a dashing tux, his hair ever so slightly fixed and the faint smell of a fragrance in the air. Aubren snapped her mouth close, only to have it reopen again when Dorian recited the contents of the poem, in which he had written her.
She couldn't wrap her head around it.
The same boy that fought Richie countless times for her, the same boy that had turned her cloak pink, brought her to the nurse, annoyed her constantly and always got into trouble because of his undying love for mischief...was asking her to the dance. Her brown eyes fell down to his suit, something she knew he most likely never wanted to wear no matter the occasion, then back up at him and his attempts to style his hair for her, to dress nice for her, and to bravely ask her in such a way, a way that left her speechless.
She couldn't help but smile the warm smile she gave countless times to the boy.
He was quite adorable.
As Dorian extended his hand, Aubren glanced at it for a brief moment before looking at him once more. She knew exactly what to do, it did take her a while to figure out what to expect when it came to the roses, but she knew almost instantly that she had made the right choice on her answer. Carefully, and almost shyly, she took a few steps closer to him from where she stood. As she reached into the pocket of her flowy skirt, she pulled out a white rose, in which she took the liberty of making sure it was placed in her pocket neatly, this causing none of the petals to be ruined by the rummaging of her skirt.
She held the lovely rose within the grasp of her gentle hands. Aubren looked down at it for a few moments before her eyes made contact with Dorian's blues, her hair in long waves and drawn about her head like curtains.
"...White and simple and natural and free. The path goes right; climb the spiraling tower, please take with you this wilting flower." She finished for him, and as she spoke softly, she placed the white pealed rose on the palm of his hand.
Aubren's smile never faded, in fact, it only seemed to grow. She didn't expect the admirer to be him, she didn't even imagine it in the first place. It was only in a good-natured way, however, for she thought he would rather go with a girl that seemed to be more fitting for his mischief and a bit more popular within the crowd of students. She was soft and gentle, either cooped up near the fire and reading The Hobbit or was too busy napping near the cold windows. She wasn't compared to the small group of popular Hufflepuff girls, who seemed to get endless amounts of boys writing notes and letters to them. However, she did not feel any negativity for Dorian being the author to that wonderful letter, in fact, she was extremely pleased. Aubren has read the poem thousands of times over, in love with the wording and getting herself into quiet giggle fits of the thought of someone approaching her in such a way.
Her answer to his question didn't come hard for her. It was clear to her, right in the moment she saw Dorian waiting for her in the very same location the author of the letter had hinted for her to go. Was she surprised? Yes, quite drastically, but only in the best of ways. The girls from the Great Hall were right after all, and it seemed like she would need that dress after all.
"Yes, Dorian. Of course I'll go with you."
She beamed at him, just as the white rose began to wilt in his hand, just as the letter said it would.
The girls from the Great Hall were right after all, and it seemed like she would need that dress after all.
She couldn't wrap her head around it.
The same boy that fought Richie countless times for her, the same boy that had turned her cloak pink, brought her to the nurse, annoyed her constantly and always got into trouble because of his undying love for mischief...was asking her to the dance. Her brown eyes fell down to his suit, something she knew he most likely never wanted to wear no matter the occasion, then back up at him and his attempts to style his hair for her, to dress nice for her, and to bravely ask her in such a way, a way that left her speechless.
She couldn't help but smile the warm smile she gave countless times to the boy.
He was quite adorable.
As Dorian extended his hand, Aubren glanced at it for a brief moment before looking at him once more. She knew exactly what to do, it did take her a while to figure out what to expect when it came to the roses, but she knew almost instantly that she had made the right choice on her answer. Carefully, and almost shyly, she took a few steps closer to him from where she stood. As she reached into the pocket of her flowy skirt, she pulled out a white rose, in which she took the liberty of making sure it was placed in her pocket neatly, this causing none of the petals to be ruined by the rummaging of her skirt.
She held the lovely rose within the grasp of her gentle hands. Aubren looked down at it for a few moments before her eyes made contact with Dorian's blues, her hair in long waves and drawn about her head like curtains.
"...White and simple and natural and free. The path goes right; climb the spiraling tower, please take with you this wilting flower." She finished for him, and as she spoke softly, she placed the white pealed rose on the palm of his hand.
Aubren's smile never faded, in fact, it only seemed to grow. She didn't expect the admirer to be him, she didn't even imagine it in the first place. It was only in a good-natured way, however, for she thought he would rather go with a girl that seemed to be more fitting for his mischief and a bit more popular within the crowd of students. She was soft and gentle, either cooped up near the fire and reading The Hobbit or was too busy napping near the cold windows. She wasn't compared to the small group of popular Hufflepuff girls, who seemed to get endless amounts of boys writing notes and letters to them. However, she did not feel any negativity for Dorian being the author to that wonderful letter, in fact, she was extremely pleased. Aubren has read the poem thousands of times over, in love with the wording and getting herself into quiet giggle fits of the thought of someone approaching her in such a way.
Her answer to his question didn't come hard for her. It was clear to her, right in the moment she saw Dorian waiting for her in the very same location the author of the letter had hinted for her to go. Was she surprised? Yes, quite drastically, but only in the best of ways. The girls from the Great Hall were right after all, and it seemed like she would need that dress after all.
"Yes, Dorian. Of course I'll go with you."
She beamed at him, just as the white rose began to wilt in his hand, just as the letter said it would.
The girls from the Great Hall were right after all, and it seemed like she would need that dress after all.
ѕнe вlooмѕ wιtн ɢrαce ιɴ lιfe'ѕ ɢαrdeɴ
~A.A, Gryffindor
16 May 2018, 06:24
The Question
There was no end to the internal interrogation he was visiting upon himself, questioning everything that had led him to where he was now and the possibilities that still lay before him. Over and over he considered whether he had made the poem too cheesy, asked all the right questions, left all the right hints and enough breadcrumbs to follow. Further still, he questioned whether she would even care for it enough to follow through with anything he had written on the page. He asked himself these things and more, much more, uncertain for one of those rare moments in his life. Now here he stood with his hand outstretched, his eyes wide open and his heart dancing the samba in his chest.
Deathly still and silent as a mouse, he watched her reach for something in her pocket, but before she could hold it up for the world to see he closed his eyes and took a breath. He could hear her nearly silent approach and his heart abruptly halted its wild dancing in favor of still anticipation, watching where Dorian didn't as if to see what she would do next. The moment he felt her hand brush against his and the slight weight of the flower touch his palm, his heart fluttered and his eyes opened. Her words came to him before he could even see which of the roses she had placed in his hand. A gentle smile spread across his profile as she finished, and the feeling his poem spoken in her voice elicited in him was warm and full of light. He was happy.
As his poem had said it would, the white flower that had looked near pristine and lustrous only moments ago now quickly wilted and petrified in his hand. The dust was quickly carried from view by a gentle breeze, gone as far as the eye could see. But somewhere just above Dorian's hand, the particles danced under the ministrations of a bewitched wind and, as if by magic, those same dust particles transformed into an entire cluster of white roses more beautiful than the single rose had been. They fell together into Dorian's hand and he held them with a smile, happy that this part of his plan was working as he had meant it to. Without pausing for further dramatic effect, he outstretched the bouquet to Aubren and finished with the words he knew by heart. "A day of magic and all that we let, a night remembered; you won't soon forget." This would be that night.
One may look at all of this and wonder how Dorian had managed to pull it all off. The answer was simple really. Magic. Not of his own doing given that he had yet to achieve such mastery and finesse over the craft, but with a bit of help, the world had become an open door for him. It had taken some serious effort and a lot of promises in the form of his mother's old money, but in the end, he had managed to convince a seventh year that was the top of his class in his spellwork to assist him with this trick of the rose. Two roses, one red and one white, had been enchanted to have very different effects should their criteria be met. The red, had Aubren brought it with her to the place that it led, would have grown malicious thorns along its stem, something Dorian had argued against. The seventh year had mandated that this be the case with the red rose simply for his own amusement, and Dorian had had little to no say in the matter seeing as he was the one seeking help.
The white, as had just been witnessed, was enchanted to wilt the moment it touched Dorian's hand, a tragedy at first, but quickly mirroring the way he felt inside. So the morphing took place and the rose multiplied as a gift for Aubren. One had spelled danger, albeit slight, had she spurned his advances. The other spelled hope for the present and the future where both of them were concerned. In all, the presentation was far beyond what was necessary, but he felt nothing short of a grand gesture would be enough. "For you" he said softly as he handed her the flower, his nerves no longer alight as they had been moments ago, but still smoldering. "I really feel like the happiest guy on the planet." He didn't want to oversell it, and he was still fighting a battle with his nerves, but he wanted her to know just how special he thought she was despite the short time they had known each other.
She was a good friend, a great listener, masterful at just about everything she applied herself in and could make a grown man cower when she got upset. These were all things that endeared him to her, and he needed this to be the night before the night. This was to be a night she remembered forever as something wholly unexpected and pleasant. Which was why when Dorian took her free hand in his own and led her away, he knew that it would only keep getting better. When they finally came to a stop she would see what he was seeing; a broom with elegant stylings and a newness to it that seemed out of place. This had been yet another boon given to him for the evening by the seventh year.
He released her and made his way over to the thing, pulling it from against the wall, positioning it and taking a seat. Looking towards Aubren, his smile only seemed to grow wider. "Since we're already here and no one else is around, how about a short ride? The sky is pretty and there aren't too many clouds. Perfect for a night flight wouldn't you say?" He would wait for her to get on behind him, and as soon as she did he would kick from the ground as he had learned in his Flying classes and follow through with all the motions to see them airborne and soaring through the skies. The broom was strong enough to withstand both their weights, and there would be nothing but smooth flight.
Deathly still and silent as a mouse, he watched her reach for something in her pocket, but before she could hold it up for the world to see he closed his eyes and took a breath. He could hear her nearly silent approach and his heart abruptly halted its wild dancing in favor of still anticipation, watching where Dorian didn't as if to see what she would do next. The moment he felt her hand brush against his and the slight weight of the flower touch his palm, his heart fluttered and his eyes opened. Her words came to him before he could even see which of the roses she had placed in his hand. A gentle smile spread across his profile as she finished, and the feeling his poem spoken in her voice elicited in him was warm and full of light. He was happy.
As his poem had said it would, the white flower that had looked near pristine and lustrous only moments ago now quickly wilted and petrified in his hand. The dust was quickly carried from view by a gentle breeze, gone as far as the eye could see. But somewhere just above Dorian's hand, the particles danced under the ministrations of a bewitched wind and, as if by magic, those same dust particles transformed into an entire cluster of white roses more beautiful than the single rose had been. They fell together into Dorian's hand and he held them with a smile, happy that this part of his plan was working as he had meant it to. Without pausing for further dramatic effect, he outstretched the bouquet to Aubren and finished with the words he knew by heart. "A day of magic and all that we let, a night remembered; you won't soon forget." This would be that night.
One may look at all of this and wonder how Dorian had managed to pull it all off. The answer was simple really. Magic. Not of his own doing given that he had yet to achieve such mastery and finesse over the craft, but with a bit of help, the world had become an open door for him. It had taken some serious effort and a lot of promises in the form of his mother's old money, but in the end, he had managed to convince a seventh year that was the top of his class in his spellwork to assist him with this trick of the rose. Two roses, one red and one white, had been enchanted to have very different effects should their criteria be met. The red, had Aubren brought it with her to the place that it led, would have grown malicious thorns along its stem, something Dorian had argued against. The seventh year had mandated that this be the case with the red rose simply for his own amusement, and Dorian had had little to no say in the matter seeing as he was the one seeking help.
The white, as had just been witnessed, was enchanted to wilt the moment it touched Dorian's hand, a tragedy at first, but quickly mirroring the way he felt inside. So the morphing took place and the rose multiplied as a gift for Aubren. One had spelled danger, albeit slight, had she spurned his advances. The other spelled hope for the present and the future where both of them were concerned. In all, the presentation was far beyond what was necessary, but he felt nothing short of a grand gesture would be enough. "For you" he said softly as he handed her the flower, his nerves no longer alight as they had been moments ago, but still smoldering. "I really feel like the happiest guy on the planet." He didn't want to oversell it, and he was still fighting a battle with his nerves, but he wanted her to know just how special he thought she was despite the short time they had known each other.
She was a good friend, a great listener, masterful at just about everything she applied herself in and could make a grown man cower when she got upset. These were all things that endeared him to her, and he needed this to be the night before the night. This was to be a night she remembered forever as something wholly unexpected and pleasant. Which was why when Dorian took her free hand in his own and led her away, he knew that it would only keep getting better. When they finally came to a stop she would see what he was seeing; a broom with elegant stylings and a newness to it that seemed out of place. This had been yet another boon given to him for the evening by the seventh year.
He released her and made his way over to the thing, pulling it from against the wall, positioning it and taking a seat. Looking towards Aubren, his smile only seemed to grow wider. "Since we're already here and no one else is around, how about a short ride? The sky is pretty and there aren't too many clouds. Perfect for a night flight wouldn't you say?" He would wait for her to get on behind him, and as soon as she did he would kick from the ground as he had learned in his Flying classes and follow through with all the motions to see them airborne and soaring through the skies. The broom was strong enough to withstand both their weights, and there would be nothing but smooth flight.
✧Improvidus, Apto quod Victum✧
Stam: 3, Agi: 3, Str: 4, Con: 7, Arc: 7, Acc: 6
20 May 2018, 21:35
The Question
She used to always, and I mean always, ask her parents how they met. Their answers were different, her mother would say their first year, but her father would turn to her and say their third. It would result, every time, in her mother stating he was wrong, concluding it was their first year, and that he had a knack of bad memory for such things (although her father would wink to her and mouth 'third year' when Mrs Anson turned her back). However, despite the confused year, their story was the same. It was the type of story that Aubren loved to hear over and over without growing tired of it. She dreamed about having a tale like that to share someday, to have that special connection.
Her parents would explain each point of view. They were what you could call "Highschool Sweethearts". Her father was Quidditch captain, a very good flyer in deed, while her mother was an open and loving girl. In their first year, or third year, or whatever year, Sean Anson finally took notice to Anna Anson, and instantly fell head over heels. Every week, he would always ask for her hand, and every time, she would laugh and say no. Well, that was until she did say yes, anyway, did they become the romantic peas in a pod.
Here, presently, Aubren thought she was dreaming. It was all too perfect, so perfect, that she had secretly pinched herself behind her back to check (the sharp pain told her that this was the reality). Dorian seemed to have planned everything, and he accomplished his goal with flying colors. The white bouquet, for example, had made her clasp her hands over her mouth from surprise and pure excitement. She couldn't help but smile and look down at the white elegance in her hands, and that smile of hers only grew more at Dorian's comments. She could still feel her rosey red cheeks burning, but it was clear that it wasn't from embarrassment.
Already, she concluded that this must have been what it was like for her mother when her father showed her a garden he had planted for her consisting of her favorite flowers. However, she was yet again, delightedly surprised when Dorian grasped her hand in his and lead her off elsewhere. As he lead her, she was left wondering what else this boy went to great lengths to do. She already knew, full well, that she was going to have a time telling the group from hours before what had happened, and she could easily picture each of their reactions clearly, screaming and jumping, this time only louder. You could say that she was lost in thought, as she smiled still with the cluster of roses in her soft hands, but even if she was, any thought she had in mind as quickly lost when Dorian pointed out the broom.
Her mouth had dropped again, forming that familiar 'o' from before.
"Dorian! How did you?..." She was left speechless again, he wanted to take her flying? At this point, she knew this was something out of Disney. It was a night she never expected, in fact, she should have been in bed playing with her room mates' hair, but instead, she had been giving a magical night she would never forget.
Aubren had hesitated slightly, she wasn't deathly afraid of heights, but she was afraid of falling. However, the offer he proposed was too good to say no to, especially since he was the one offering it to her in the first place. With an excited grin that replaced her unease, Aubren hurried over to him, cautiously getting herself onto the back of the broom. She secured herself by snaking her arms around Dorian in a hug fashion before leaning against him, looking down as they hovered slightly.
"You better not let me fall, Dorian." She said in a quiet, joking manner. Aubren trusted Dorian enough to already know he wouldn't dare let her fall, even again, by the short time they had been familiar.
Aubren, in these moments, couldn't help grin at the sweetness of Dorian Gray. Sure, he got into quite the trouble, and yes, he would usually handle it in a fit of violence, but it pleased her to see him in his what would some call it "softer side". Not only was it a bit of a change, but it made her happy that he did all of this just for her, and it was that thought that made her hug him tighter ever so slightly.
Her parents would explain each point of view. They were what you could call "Highschool Sweethearts". Her father was Quidditch captain, a very good flyer in deed, while her mother was an open and loving girl. In their first year, or third year, or whatever year, Sean Anson finally took notice to Anna Anson, and instantly fell head over heels. Every week, he would always ask for her hand, and every time, she would laugh and say no. Well, that was until she did say yes, anyway, did they become the romantic peas in a pod.
Here, presently, Aubren thought she was dreaming. It was all too perfect, so perfect, that she had secretly pinched herself behind her back to check (the sharp pain told her that this was the reality). Dorian seemed to have planned everything, and he accomplished his goal with flying colors. The white bouquet, for example, had made her clasp her hands over her mouth from surprise and pure excitement. She couldn't help but smile and look down at the white elegance in her hands, and that smile of hers only grew more at Dorian's comments. She could still feel her rosey red cheeks burning, but it was clear that it wasn't from embarrassment.
Already, she concluded that this must have been what it was like for her mother when her father showed her a garden he had planted for her consisting of her favorite flowers. However, she was yet again, delightedly surprised when Dorian grasped her hand in his and lead her off elsewhere. As he lead her, she was left wondering what else this boy went to great lengths to do. She already knew, full well, that she was going to have a time telling the group from hours before what had happened, and she could easily picture each of their reactions clearly, screaming and jumping, this time only louder. You could say that she was lost in thought, as she smiled still with the cluster of roses in her soft hands, but even if she was, any thought she had in mind as quickly lost when Dorian pointed out the broom.
Her mouth had dropped again, forming that familiar 'o' from before.
"Dorian! How did you?..." She was left speechless again, he wanted to take her flying? At this point, she knew this was something out of Disney. It was a night she never expected, in fact, she should have been in bed playing with her room mates' hair, but instead, she had been giving a magical night she would never forget.
Aubren had hesitated slightly, she wasn't deathly afraid of heights, but she was afraid of falling. However, the offer he proposed was too good to say no to, especially since he was the one offering it to her in the first place. With an excited grin that replaced her unease, Aubren hurried over to him, cautiously getting herself onto the back of the broom. She secured herself by snaking her arms around Dorian in a hug fashion before leaning against him, looking down as they hovered slightly.
"You better not let me fall, Dorian." She said in a quiet, joking manner. Aubren trusted Dorian enough to already know he wouldn't dare let her fall, even again, by the short time they had been familiar.
Aubren, in these moments, couldn't help grin at the sweetness of Dorian Gray. Sure, he got into quite the trouble, and yes, he would usually handle it in a fit of violence, but it pleased her to see him in his what would some call it "softer side". Not only was it a bit of a change, but it made her happy that he did all of this just for her, and it was that thought that made her hug him tighter ever so slightly.
ѕнe вlooмѕ wιtн ɢrαce ιɴ lιfe'ѕ ɢαrdeɴ
~A.A, Gryffindor
26 May 2018, 08:41
The Question
Dorian winked at her half question, knowing full well that he didn't wish to spoil anything by telling her just how he had managed to do all this. He would keep her guessing as to how he had managed to pull all of this off, and so far it seemed to be going without a hitch. Everything was perfect, and there was no room for error lest he spoil the evening. Inside his nerves were in a frenzied state, but there was a calming power to Aubren's presence that counterposed his irate nerves. For a slight moment he thought she would refuse his offer, but the moment she smiled he knew his fears had been misplaced.
They had taken off, and everything was going well. Far better than he could have hoped for. He never responded to her jocular remark, instead focusing on the flight and keeping the broom steady. Flying had never been his favorite mode of transportation, but it was the only thing that seemed even remotely romantic, and so he had gone with it. They were to make a final stop for the evening before Dorian, being the proper gentleman he was being so far, escorted her back to her dorm. The moment they landed Aubren would notice two things. The first would be the soft glow from the lantern light on the ground that illuminated the dark waters of the Great Lake some distance away. The second would be the picnic basket filled with an assortment of different foods; mainly sandwiches and fruits.
The flight might have been short, but it was all going according to what Dorian had planned. They would enjoy the rest of the evening in relative silence, simply entertaining each other's presence without too many utterances of rhyme or reason. The sound of the water as the waves slithered over the shore were calming; the gentle warmth from the lantern light was peaceful; Aubren's presence was perfection. These were all things that only added to what he would, from now on, consider the night of nights. Once they had eaten and it was all over, Dorian would clear up, not allowing her to help in anyway, and take her back to the tower via broom. From there he would escort her to the dorm before bidding her goodnight with a bow, a smile, and a simple yet effective "goodnight Aubren."
He wanted this all to sink in; the poem, the flowers, the flight, the picnic, and ultimately, the question.
They had taken off, and everything was going well. Far better than he could have hoped for. He never responded to her jocular remark, instead focusing on the flight and keeping the broom steady. Flying had never been his favorite mode of transportation, but it was the only thing that seemed even remotely romantic, and so he had gone with it. They were to make a final stop for the evening before Dorian, being the proper gentleman he was being so far, escorted her back to her dorm. The moment they landed Aubren would notice two things. The first would be the soft glow from the lantern light on the ground that illuminated the dark waters of the Great Lake some distance away. The second would be the picnic basket filled with an assortment of different foods; mainly sandwiches and fruits.
The flight might have been short, but it was all going according to what Dorian had planned. They would enjoy the rest of the evening in relative silence, simply entertaining each other's presence without too many utterances of rhyme or reason. The sound of the water as the waves slithered over the shore were calming; the gentle warmth from the lantern light was peaceful; Aubren's presence was perfection. These were all things that only added to what he would, from now on, consider the night of nights. Once they had eaten and it was all over, Dorian would clear up, not allowing her to help in anyway, and take her back to the tower via broom. From there he would escort her to the dorm before bidding her goodnight with a bow, a smile, and a simple yet effective "goodnight Aubren."
He wanted this all to sink in; the poem, the flowers, the flight, the picnic, and ultimately, the question.
Reducio
Exeunt
✧Improvidus, Apto quod Victum✧
Stam: 3, Agi: 3, Str: 4, Con: 7, Arc: 7, Acc: 6