Event Midspring Celebration

April 2nd 2022 • Night
Mod Tracker: x| x | x | x |

For Consideration

@Henry Knight

"The goblet?" Adlai repeated in a question like manner after Henry had enquired if she had placed her name into it, almost in disbelief that he had asked her the question. She wasn't offended, however she thought the answer was obvious. "Oh no! No. The goblet isn't something I'd survive even the first round of. I'm not one for those sorts of events, they'd truly ruin me if I were to participate. Which is why I give my best of wishes to those you do. It takes a special breed of person to go through with the games, and even more so to win them." She laughed awkwardly.

Although Adlai was an avidly active girl, with a background in gymnastics, dance and tennis, she wasn't one for completing mind games and running at the same time. "How about you, Henry. Did you put your name into the goblet?" she asked, curious to hear the boys answer. Henry seemed a rather athletic individual. He was on the dueling team after all from what she had from her peers.

"I wouldn't mind going to see what's outside!" Adlai inquired going along with Henry's suggestion. "Though I'd at least like to get one dance in before the end of the night, if that can be promised to me? It doesn't have to be with either of you if you don't want to or like to, really it can be with anyone." She said. "You see, I really only danced at a ball once before and I found it rather fun so I would just like to do it again." she added.

wearing | nails

hex: #3a5948

Announcing the champions was certainly an event. It was almost as if the cup was purposefully choosing the youngest students to compete. It was certainly a shock that it didn’t call in some incoming first year to get the freshest blood. Under normal circumstances, Wyatt would have laughed at that thought, but he was a little nervous tonight. His date didn’t seem to be feeling all that well and neither was he. Never having been great at social interactions that didn’t involve being rude, Wyatt was having a bit of trouble talking to someone without trying to insult them.

His overthinking became more focused on one problem when Opeila asked if he had put his name in the goblet. Well, he did, and he didn’t want to lie to Opeila, but what if she thought him some attention-seeking weirdo? Or what if he said he had considered her to be his “special person,” whatever that meant? And would she believe him if he told her it was only because he thought her to be a capable witch? What was their relationship anyway? Sure, she was his date to the ball and they had playfully gotten a bit touchy, but it was just play and they were… friends?

Wyatt had gotten used to finding alternate titles for relationships he considered to be friendships, knowing that he didn’t have enough experience as someone with friends to be able to accurately use the title. But in rare cases like Alec’s, a relationship got to a point where any other title felt incorrect. It was a bit belated, Alec might think, but Wyatt was still able to recognize it by this point in their friendship. With Opeila, Wyatt really didn’t know. Now that explaining Wyatt’s latest confusion is over for the moment, we can talk about some of the alternate titles he uses for alleged friends: classmate, housemate, schoolmate, acquaintance, informant, indebted, indebdtee.

“Uhm, yes,” Wyatt replied, going with the truth. He had a bit of a death wish this year, joining the broom racing team and then, as he honestly answered, tossing his name in the goblet of fire as carelessly as chewed up gum that’s lost its flavor into the bin. Before Wyatt could ask whether Opeila put her name into the goblet, she seemed to recognize a champion. It was a second year from the American wizarding school, Ilvermorny.

Wyatt felt strangely in response to her concern. Had she mentioned this person during their conversation at the Three Broomsticks? They had talked about the foreign schools and whatnot. It was easy to tell Opeila was distressed by the boy’s participation in the death tournament, and when they were done calling names, it seemed the list of possible distressors got longer. Wyatt didn’t know how to comfort Opeila or if it was his place at all to question her reaction to the announcement, but he would forget about that problem as his eyes landed on another.

His breath hitched and he exhaled a curse when he saw not one, but two people on fire. Immediately, his jaw clenched and he stiffened, and if he could see himself he would note it was odd that he reacted in a neither fight nor flight response. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t the one on fire, but completely unaware of how those people came to be on fire, he had no reason to suspect he wouldn’t be next. Whatver that meant.

“Sorry, but I think I’m going to go,” the boy said to his date. “If you want me to stay I will, but,” nodding to the people on fire, “I don’t know if it is the best option for anyone to stay.”

He wasn’t normally a safety first type of person, but he didn’t know why he decided to attend. He wasn’t a social person, and that was all these things were. What if being on fire was a purposeful, usual thing that happens at these things? It sounded insane but this is a school for magic. Well, Wyatt wouldn’t know if it was normal or not for people to be fully on fire, and that’s why he should leave. He wasn’t adding anything to this room, and Opeila deserved to have someone better and more fun to be with than him during these types of events.

And maybe Victor had a bit of a role in this worry as well?

“If you’d like to join me, you have my arm,” he offered. “If not… thank you for coming with me tonight.”

Action: Leaving, kinda hoping his date comes too

Interacting: @Opeila Winters
Mentioning: Alec Mason

Action: Cast the freezing charm at Howard.
Free Action: Grabbing onto Mik with a warm squeeze and stabilizing him.
Bunny hug picture:

Reducio

* "Misha" is another Russian diminuative form of the name “Mikael”. Godmodded descriptions/actions related to Mikael were granted permission in advance as non-contested.

Mentioning/Interacting: @Selim Faust, @Flash Holmwood as Yefim, @Percival Rainwood as Mik, @Evelynn Decipio as Greta, @Erin Ryan, @Howard White

Open for interaction from anybody

Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11

ACTION: Arriving | Mentioning: @Marshal Mozor | Interacting With: None | Status: Open to Interactions | Dialogue Hex: #143314

To celebrate was to be in blissful ignorance of everything. The wounds of horrid hormonal hurt were slapped a flimsy bandage upon in the form of plucky music and a possibly poisoned potluck, the torment of schoolwork temporarily lifted to make way for games and guffaws and other fun activities sponsored by Scotland Graves for Elders and Babes. The year’s insurmountable suffering was scrubbed away haphazardly for all such absurdities, wholly disregarding danger after danger year after year. As with just about everything that wasn’t reading or blinking or breathing in chronically disappointed sighs, Leonard considered the entire deal ridiculous. Aside from parties rendering him with the absolute requirement he join in on the festivities (what else was he to do on his mother’s birthday? Spit in her face and not profusely apologise for being the molten puddle of rotting slime he was with cupcakes and gift cards?), he attended to gatherings in the same manner as he did with family errands, sitting politely in a corner with his nose in a book and his scathing judgement left unsaid. ‘Unsaid’, of course, meaning told in excruciating detail with a pile of parchment sent straight back home, each complaint given the light of a thousand suns as he scribbled down the wizard equivalent of a one-star review towards the fact not everything was completely calibrated towards him and him alone. The ball was just a break, his parents insisted, from the stressors commonly bothering the uncommon magical student. Leonard scoffed at each paragraph, a well-meaning piece of advice on the surface that was obviously futile effort to rebuke his intellectualism and consider it plain cowardice. The only thing he was going to break was the nib of his quill as he sought a position far above his peers, one Goblin slash Muggle slash Unicorn War at a time. He’d start the damn war if he had to, really, and it wouldn’t be difficult in the slightest.

But perhaps he did want a break too, here and there. Perhaps he deserved a break, even, what with his devotion to scholarly duties surpassing that of any ritualistic union. Indeed, was it not anticipated for he, but a lonely housewi–er, househusband to Hogwarts curriculum slaving away at a sizzling cauldron, to seek a temporary escape from it all? Should war actually begin, as was very much anticipated when things such as the inherent inaneness of celebrating not the beginning of spring but the estimated median of its dates and some of the foreign students had yet to bodily clock in the ending of April Fool’s were right there in his face, he could always make a break for it right out the nearest opening. He did, of course, have the physique of a scrawny rubber band whose ideal body was a chicken skewer, but leaping out of a window and landing on something soft enough to break his fall was much less strenuous than dealing with people for the next few hours. It was baffling and bewildering in every aspect, and he could never quite grasp what there ever was to celebrate, which only disoriented him further because obviously there was so much to celebrate. He was just as terrible as looking for it as he was for looking for glowing cats or catching murderous portraits.

Ever since announcements of the events had reached puerile public eye and had informational posters routinely ravaged by gaggles of gaping first years basically certain to not wear age-appropriate attire, Leonard had been more or less apparating between choices and decisions and everything else that determined how his untimely death would come about. Spring was a symbol of rebirth and beginnings, of blossoming flowers and second chances. Still yet, the only thing blossoming within him was incredible vexation at the prospect of the jubilant affairs continuing. The vexation could be cut apart into several pieces in varying degrees of taste, each requiring a steady hand and a particular set of knives. The largest of the motley crew, taking the form of a pungent mashed potato with far too much salt, was skepticism. Then came plain anger, then a swirling slushie of disgust and stupefaction. And then, tucked away, there was jealousy, utterly nonsensical emerald-eyed envy that everyone else was having a jolly good time while he was still wallowing like a troll under the bridge except he wasn’t a troll and his only excuse for being so sad all the time was being himself. Tucked away even further, concealed behind curtains of an extravagant education, was loneliness.

And so his latest letter was not one dousing his family in secondhand grouse, but one soliciting the recipe to a traditional Welsh sweet bread they had manufactured since their bakery’s opening. Such was technically incorrect, considering that his latest letter was dedicated to assuring his parents that no, he hadn’t been replaced by a far more optimistic alien who had confidence in their ability to survive, he was merely riding a high and enjoying it as much as possible before being dropped into the abyss forevermore. Such made him sound cooler, though, and he wasn’t going to allow arguments with cool when he was metamorphosising into a beautiful butterfly who hated the world and looked amazing doing it.

What he was about to do, however, was undergo trials beyond that of what meager karma could create. It absolutely had to be the presence of something truly unholy, an entity neither the study of the Dark Arts nor anyone in his dormitory could prepare him for. Again, he could only blame the universe’s wicked sense of humour as it sent sign after sign of armageddon, celebrating its own ignorance to the series of happenings entitled his entire life wherein he needed every sign he could get. Striking the match to the gunpowder trail was his trousers. Yes, his trousers, pleated and a more pleasant sight than half the demonic epigones that were considered ‘fashion’ to these plebeians. Apparently experiencing the same anxiety as their owner, the slim-fitting strides had gone on sudden strike and slid right into a sharp corner. Come dress rehearsal the next day, the things were more torn than Natalie Imbruglia’s 1997 hit. But that wasn’t much of a problem, yes? He had at least five identical pairs of each of his wardrobe’s ensemble, and pre-cuffed was tackier than a Dementor’s ponchos. As was so convenient for him, his father’s antique pants had come with no such replacements.

Utterly disappointed, it was imperative Leonard go on a short walk to prevent him from entering a phase of emulating villainous comic characters, sending him on an anti-trousers tirade for the rest of time. It was also imperative for a bucket of some horrid mystery substance to be right at his foot on the walk, marking his first official snog to be with the cold floor and his seven-year-old dress shoes dishonorably destroyed. His eyes red and the skin around it resembling a raccoon, he turned to his third greatest comfort after studies and sadism: hair gel. In his inceptive irking, however, he’d taken liberties with his fourth greatest comfort of obsessive organisation and rearranged his hygienic cabinet. His spontaneous study of whether lotion could work as styling for his curls ended in nothing but a hundred showers. On the dawn of the ball did the cannon fire its final bomb: his dress robes revealing wholly disappeared sleeves.

At last, fully clothed in a spiffing black suit and a tie and trousers combination to match, he rode the highway to…whatever the Great Hall was at that point. Certainly not heaven.

“Oh, bloody hell.” He fiddled with his bowtie, straightening it to the point where ninety-degree angles all over the world bowed in servitude. Yes, he was to ride the high as his little dragon son was riding his shoulder, and he would not be dragged down by the likes of classmates uncomfortably close to his own likeness.

The sound of his even steps towards accomplishing a trio of self-imposed, self-considered-to-be drowned out all other current occurrences indisputably to spell later doom. Were he to focus on anything else, on anyone else, he knew he’d bring the doom upon himself by some mortifying measures. His first goal was to find his best mate, a creature of curious origins and even more curious caches of confidence: the one and only Marshal Mozor. Though attendance of other European institutions had increased the flaxen-haired populace by a significant quantity, none could match the giddy grin that lit up the Great Hall in rivalry with a thousand magical candles. Frankly, Marshal’s beam quashed all competition, but he was too appreciative of architectural design to simply say that. A short scan of the crowd revealed neither his companion in the pursuit of marshmallows nor a girl at his side, so perhaps it was best he not find out where those ventures went. His second goal was to plan a path out from any fight possibly ignited by his first-year idiocy. Never would he recognise the reason for his constant antagonisation, and while he might’ve admired the boldness, he did not admire the consequences. His third goal was to get the remaining survivors of The Great Welsh Cake Massacre to the Potluck table and advertise Oaksworth Bakery to all that would half-listen.

Delightfully, his third goal was in shambles. Scourgified shambles, most likely and luckily, but scattered dishes did not a banquet of Hogwartsian expectations make. He could hear the crowd’s commotion somewhere, the cries of ever-scorned children bouncing to and fro each corner. Yet, he was perfectly fine with not caring. At last, studying paid off socially and academically, for he was not to be involved with impromptu duels, battles of dance, or a blasphemous amalgamation of both until Marshal sensed his presence.

“Alright, then,” the boy muttered with resignation. He brought out another bakestone, breaking it in half. Merlin showed no interest in any of the food items so elegantly presented, instead beginning to swipe at his lopsided headwear once more. “More for us. You know we deserve it.”

Links

Trunk | Outfit | Post #1

Note:

Reducio

In case anyone was confused, Merlin is indeed a girl, as detailed in Leonard’s pet thread. Unfortunately for baby bearded dragon enthusiasts around the globe, Leonard’s eyes are eternally in tears and therefore cannot realise Merlin is indeed a girl. Credits to the brilliant Cain Corvus for the series of events showcasing how much fortune Leonard has.

| Outfit |

Percival felt a smile cross his face at the look on Ileen's face. None the wiser of her change in attitude. The boy was far too distracted by the way her face lit up when she saw him. Or the way her cheeks took a rosy hue as she spoke to him.

The boy felt his own cheeks light up like a fire at her compliment. Percival rubbed at the back as he spoke, "Thank you, Ileen. And I am rather glad to hear I'm not too late." he said taking a small chance to glance at his own outfit. He was glad Ileen took a liking to it. Percival spent far too long fixing his appearance in the mirror for it to go to waste.

His gaze would move towards the pale girl near Ileen. His eyes ever so slightly furrowed he wasn't too sure what a knight twin was, but it seemed like the two of them were rather close."It's nice to meet you." he greeted politely. Percival turned his gaze back towards Ileen giving her a smile as he held out his arm. "Would you like to dance?" he asked.

Action: Entering the ball
Abilities: Foulplay, Lovely Creature, Beast Master
Stats: | Stamina 6 | Evasion 6 | Strength 9 | Wisdom 8 | Arcane Power 8 | Accuracy 10 |

@ Ileen Knight , @ Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

‿︵‿୨✿୧‿︵‿

Interacting With: @Mathias Pride | Felix (I am hitting myself)

Outfit: ꕤ

Mentioning: @Hui Ming as Aryaan

Date: April 2nd, 2022

Her fist full of food would hit that lovely hair, though the feeling was less satisfying than she expected. Instead she just felt even more hallow, as if she had flung a piece of her heart at him instead of pasta.

"You looked for me for less than two."

"I wrote you another damn letter and you never wrote me back. I didn't even know what school you were in, Matt. Can you blame me for assuming we were breaking up? You wrote that what we HAD was FLEETING. Past tense. Considering you CONTINUED to ghost me after that, what the hell else was I to assume? I was grasping at straws trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong and why you went from... At least liking me to suddenly treating me like I didn't matter. And alleged ex? He's either your ex or he's NOT your ex! Just tell me the damn truth!"

It wasn't that she wasn't giving Matt a chance to say yes. She was storming away because she assumed he would stop her. She also needed to put some distance between them, or they would end up flipping more furniture at each other. The fiery temper within her just was not dwindling. She couldn't remember the last time she was this angry. Probably during the last Blossom Ball, now that she thought of it. Matt had really pissed her off-- Wait, had he...? What had he done? It was a blur, pieces unable to fit together. She had not remembered anything until this moment, then she had only remembered being angry.

He made her feel a lot of intense emotions. Like how that 'just go' had completely shattered her heart again. Her face fell, her vision becoming blurry once more. She had to bite down on her lip to keep from sobbing as she stormed away.

He did not want her.

Her father hadn't wanted her either.

Why would anyone want her?

Even her damn cat was too busy eating the toppled over food to notice her!

She wanted to wallow in self-pity for the remainder of the evening. Perhaps eat copious amounts of chocolate frogs and listen to a sad song. Scream into her pillow. Write angsty poetry about things that 13-year-olds thought were super deep.

Until that damn announcement. The moment she had looked at Matt he started to vomit up his dinner. ... Ew. Well, he had made it clear he didn't want her, so it wasn't her job to hold his hair while he vomited. Still, why had he wrote her name down? Likely some sort of cruel joke. Maybe that's what this had all been--.

Huh. Why the hell was he trying to grab a hold of poor Aryaan? The kid seemed pretty nice when she had met him that day at the lake. She suddenly paused, her Matt-in-danger senses started to tingle the moment she saw the taller boy approach him.

Her train of thought derailed, her mind only screaming 'DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.' Her bare feet slapped against the Great Hall's flooring as she zeroed in on the foreign boy trying to grab Matt. The former Slytherin was like fine china, beautiful but broke so easily!

The boy was too tall to punch, and his back was turned away from her, so she used the element of surprise to her advantage. She used the momentum she had gained and all of her strength to push the boy over, causing him to face plant onto the floor (Felix is my character so I don't require a roll for this presumably if I am allowing it to happen).

"Get the hell away from my boyfriend or you can go back to whatever country with a broken face, you weird gothic snowman!" The wound-up redhead practically hissed at the albino looking tower of a boy.

TLDR; Winnie is being angsty, cries about Matt not wanting her. Sees Felix approaching him, flips out and shoves him to the ground.

** Calming Presence Allies: Durmstrang students

───Interactions─── Reducio @Yefim Rumyantsev @Theodore Duncain

NORWEGIAN | SWEDISH RUSSIAN | GERMAN | ENGLISH

────Mentions──── Reducio @Howard White @Valentin Schnell

Greta had cast the knockback jinx, light reflecting her ire and desperation to protect her comrade flyign from the tip of her wand towards her target. And missing, striking a floral display in the distance to send it flying instead. But it was no wonder, really. No sooner had she cast than a hand had closed around her arm, snatching her attention and breaking her concentration on the cast. She spun to see Theo standing there, his words ringing in her ear.

"W-what..." Stammering, she shrunk before his eyes, all anger and fear snuffed in the very second that he's broken the contact barrier.

Eyes clouded in uncertainty of his motives danced from his hand to his gaze and back again, and she stood there, unmoving like a kitten whose mother had taken it by the scruff. She wasn't sure what to expect then. For all she knew, he was about to scold her for the bread. Or maybe tell her off for involving herself in the confrontation. Maybe something else altogether. But when he stepped forward and raised his own wand to point in the pale boys direction, her heart nearly beat itself out of her chest for the gratitude she felt at the action. He was going to help them. Help her.

Her appreciative beam lasted all of a second, however, before it transformed slowly into an expression of shock. The spell did not at all go according to his plan, backfiring and hitting Theo squarely. He was... frozen. "T-theo?" She was slow to respond at first, but then the worry began to set in. There was no movement. None at all. What was worse, a blazing heat and growing glow from her peripheries had heralded the impending arrival of a ball of flame.

"Theo!" Eyes wide enough to reflect the flame, she tried to coax the boy to break out of it, perhaps hoping the spell would be short-lived. It wasn't. His hand still clasped around her arm as well, anchoring her relatively in place. If she didn't do something, it would hit both of them.

Without enough time to cast, she did the only thing she could think of. "I am sorry!" She pleaded pre-emptively, right before tucking her chin, clasping her own hand around his outstretched arm, and pulling with her meagre might. It might not have been very graceful, but it did the trick. Theo toppled over, Greta tripped over her own feet, and the two fell haphazardly to the ground just as the spell whizzed overhead. Hands flew over her head as though that would somehow do anything at all to prevent the ends of her hair from singing, but the smell of burnt tresses quickly filled the immediate surroundings nonetheless. Still, she would be spared the worst of it, at least, as the spell somehow doubled back towards where it had come from, missed another target, then bee-lined back again.

"Yefim!" Greta shrieked as the spell collided with the already emblazoned champion to compound his heated issue.

She tried to rise to go to him, the flash moment of her own anger overshadowed by his continued plight, but found herself still partly trapped. Prying herself from the prone Theo's grasp, she scrambled to her feet, teetering between staying to help the Thunderbird, and scampering off to help her friend. But then... maybe she could do both.

"You wait.." she whispered, turning her attention to Theo, then. As though he could do anything other than wait from his current predicament... "I help you.." Crouching beside him, she dropped a hand to his shoulder. Crawling around him, she lifted her gaze to Yefim, then down to Theo, then up again. All concentration going to try to line the two up. Determined, she raised her wand again, holding it back at an angle that would let her bounce the spell like skipping stones on the lake. If she could split her spell... maybe she could bring the suffering of both Yefim and Theo to an end.

"Finite incantatum!"

ACTION: Casting a spell spread General Counter-Spell to cancel the immobilisation and burning effects on Theo and Yefim, respectively

─────────────────────────────

─────────────────────────────

He’d intended to kiss her, this time under his own power, per his own volition. Alas, it wasn’t to be. Puckered lips, met empty air, and another perfectly average kiss died before it could even stand a chance to be born. She’d dodged him, evading his movement seemingly without meaning to. How was it that he was perfectly capable of performing to a high level when racing, but the second it concerned Aurora Ranvier he fell all over himself? Was the lord above so cruel with the die of fate and chance? He would have been angry, trademark grumpiness threatened to set aside the joy of finally reaching an understanding with the girl he’d been mutually crushing on for the better part of a year. But the look upon her face, the genuine words of startlement and worry told him another story.

Nicholas wasn’t good with people. He especially wasn’t good with Aurora. His actions towards her over the past few months had made that crystalline. Yet, even he understood what the quivering voice of a girl meant. She was worried.

It was only then that Nicholas realised that he’d absolutely failed to listen into the Champions announcement. The entire reason he’d attended the ball had been rendered for nought, and instead he’d allowed himself to be caught up in the tangled mess of emotions that was his relationship with the Ravenclaw broom racing captain. Desperately, he cast his mind back to the events that had unfurled and transpired in the few moments that he’d been lost in the girl’s eyes and his own daydreams.

Who were the champions? A series of foreign names far too complicated and sophisticated for him to remember at the moment, not that he could do much better with those names that had been in English. He’d not met any of them, not properly, he certainly hadn’t introduced himself to them. Hell, all he was aware of was that Falentra and Erin had both been selected as special people… They’d been selected as special people? How had he missed that? Shit. Fal. Erin could go and get hurt, the girl had done more than her fair share of tormenting the second year Gryffindor. But he cared for the other older Slytherin. She was the closest thing he had to an older sister at the absolute mess of a school that Hogwarts was. She was tough, tougher than he, there wasn’t any need to worry about her when he’d been so quick to throw his own name into the proverbial hat.

Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand, matters that he could actually help with. Namely, one of the statues distinctly resembled the Russian boy he’d seen Aurora with when he’d gone to witness the arrival of the students from the youngest of the competing academies. Part of him tinged with envy, the disgusting emotion of jealousy boiled in his belly. But he’d been foolish for too long, rude to her for too long, and he forced the emotion back to the depths from whence it had come.

She’d just confessed to him, there was nothing to worry about. No need to fret. None.

“What happened?” His voice was stilted, yet surprisingly calm for one as hotheaded as he.

“The Koldovstoretz champion? Do you know him?” Another question, equally measured.

Outfit: Black slacks, white button-down shirt (sleeves rolled up, loosely buttoned)
Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 9 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Interacting: @Aurora Ranvier
Action:

Alec seemed a little flustered as she said her last comment, looking away for a little bit. And- was he blushing? No, he couldn't be. That had to be the light or something. What had she-

Oh, Merlin, she had just mentioned how good he looked. She hadn't really meant to do that, but it had come out anyway. He finally looked back at her, and took his own turn to talk. He looked very serious, telling her that she couldn't just let Bryan beat her. His serious look didn't last very long, though, and a smile appeared despite his attempts to look stern. Rose allowed herself a small smile at his comment about how much he loved talking to strangers. She had not experienced this firsthand, except for when he had just been talking to the random black-haired boy she didn't know. Alec was good at convincing her against leaving. He brought up some other reasons, like the food and the music and the dance floor. Even though those weren't entirely special things, they were some pretty good reasons why she shouldn't leave.

And, of course, she could keep Alec company.

Then a look seemed to creep onto Alec's face. Playful, like he was about to say something mischievous. As he started talking, changing the subject a little bit. Rose watched him carefully, a small smile on her face though she was unsure of what to expect.

He asked her if she thought Bryan would mind if Alec stepped in for him. And then he took another small jab at Bryan, and then he was talking about making her night worthwhile, and dancing and...

Oooooooooooooookay, Rose was not expecting that one.

Alec wanted to be her... date? To the ball? He wanted to spend the night with her? He wanted to dance with her? Of all the people in the room that he knew or could talk with, he wanted... her? Rose was finding it a little hard to believe. She attempted to take the shock off of her face.

Her face flushed a little. "I- Well, I really don't care what Bryan would or wouldn't mind anymore," she said honestly, though she sounded a little bashful about it. Rose honestly didn't care if Bryan minded. She didn't care if Bryan failed potions. She didn't care if whatever dangerous shennanigans that happened at Hogwarts picked Bryan next-

Okay, that was a little extreme. She didn't really wish that upon him (or anyone, for that matter). But Rose didn't care what Bryan thought anymore.

The only obstacle between her and Alec was... the thought of him wasting his time on her. He could have so much more fun if he spent the night with someone else. But... he was choosing to spend time with her. Who was she to stop him? Rose realized that this was a decision he was making, and it wasn't her responsibility to stop him.

Rose shook the thoughts away. "But... yes. I would love that, thank you," she said with a smile, trying her best to pretend like she wasn't in a little bit of shock, the little extra warmth in her face receding. She reached out her hand and accepted his.

But then he led her to the middle of the space, as if- wait. As if they were going to dance. Her blush deepened. "I- I haven't... danced very much," she said. "I... I really am not that good at dancing with other people."

For Moderation-

Action: being awkward, following Alec

Abilities: Keen Eye | Lovely Creature | Healing Sage Allies: Alec, Henry K Inventory: Wand

Stats: Stamina- 8 Evasion- 8 Strength- 5 Wisdom- 9 ArcPower- 8 Accuracy- 7