5 Sep 2022, 16:20
Breathing is Eggcellent
August 7th, 2022
This is a detention thread for Romeo Marchonné(@Piérre Marchonné)
Mentioning: @Winnie Harper @Aurora Raniver @Cecily Quinn
Miriam was appalled. She had to give out her first ever detention during summer camp, to a student from Durmstrang who thought it would be a good idea to chokehold a 13 year old while playing quidditch. Sure fouls happened on a regular basis in quidditch, but she had never heard of someone choke-holding their opponent. It was very disturbing for her to see a complete lack of sportsmanship from the team that had already annihilated their competition.
After watching the game, and hearing Plott announce that Romeo was getting a detention, Miriam took it upon herself to give it. She wanted him to realize how cruel his actions and fully understand the consequences. As a former professional athlete, Mira knew how important sportsmanship was regardless of if you were winning or losing. She had seen people lose their jobs over something as simple as taunting. What Romeo did left no room for debate and Miriam was planning on making sure it never happened again.
A note had been dropped off at Romeo’s tent after the quidditch game, alerting him of his detention that would be held the following day at 2pm sharp in the rightmost side of the quidditch stadium. All the while, another note had been dropped off at a few other tents, alerting a select group of students about Romeo’s detention, but their note said to come at 2:15 instead of 2.
The morning of the 7th, Miriam felt confident that she was going to nail this detention. After breakfast she hung around a little bit to clean up and collect dozens of eggs as well as a few other foods. Placing them all in buckets she carried them to the stadium seats right next to the spot of grass where her detention would be held. Sticking around her detention spot, she placed a desk and chair, and smiled when she couldn’t see the buckets from down on the ground.
Once Romeo arrived for his detention, Miriam would motion for him to take a seat at the desk before launching into his detention. “You already know why you’re here, you decided to chokehold an opponent during a quidditch game. Not only was it an illegal move in quidditch, but it was a blatant disregard for sportsmanship. You severely injured Miss. Harper by trying to stop her ability to breath. If you were not both underage, there could be legal consequences for this, I believe there still should be but unfortunately I don’t have the power to expel you from your school.” Maybe legal consequences was a bit of a stretch, but Miriam wanted him to know that she wasn’t playing around.
“For this detention you will be doing two main things. Since you’re so determined to prevent others from breathing, you will first write an essay of least two hundred words on the parchment in front of you describing three different types of trees and how important breathing is to life.” The malice in her voice was extremely apparent. She wished that she could do much more then have him write, but there was regulations she had to follow.
“After that is finished, you will create a song and complementary dance about why not to put someone in a chokehold. This song will be performed in front of a group of critics who will be arriving in the stands shortly. They will be judging your song while I will evaluating your writing.” The critics would be appearing in the stands at around 2:15pm. In their letter they had been briefed on the detention and that there were buckets of eggs waiting for them. What they chose to do with them was not Miriam’s doing or her problem. She merely supplied the food, and would turn a blind eye if something were to happen with them.
“There will be no talking unless you have a question about the detention. You are not allowed to receive outside help of any kind, and and you must complete the assignment. I’ve got all day, so I can be here as long as it takes for you to finish. You may begin.” Miriam said harshly before taking her seat 4 meters to the side of him. She would get the best seat in the house to watch the action unfold.
Detention Thread Instructions:
- This is an official IC detention thread.
- You must successfully finish the IC assignment that has been given by Miriam.
- You must post a minimum of 600 words to complete this detention.
- Words can be posted in one go or as three separate posts of 200 words each.
- You do not have to wait for me to respond in order to post.
- General RPG rules apply, all words must be your own and any quoted words do not count.
- Until you have completed the detention, you cannot start or join any new threads on the site.
If anyone has an interest in being apart of the audience Romeo preforms to, please owl or dm me for more information.
Life is meant for great adventures
6 Sep 2022, 04:34
Breathing is Eggcellent
¤ | Ω | ¤
"Italiano. Italian."
"Russian."
\ Fingerless Glove on Right hand /
| Lichtenberg figure on right arm and down back |Team Yilbegän, "Audience", @Winnie Harper, & Professor @Miriam StubeThe day after the big match, and I had been given a note to attend my very first detention... ever. This was for a "foul" that I had committed during the game, one that claimed that I had chokeheld a girl who was falling from her broom. Though I (and hopefully she) knew better to the contrary, that I had in fact tried to prevent her from hitting the ground too hard by taking a hold of the cloak of the uniform at her neck (ergo the confusion and the thought that I had maliciously taken her by the throat) as opposed to attempting to effectively hang her between her incredible freefall momentum and the intense grasp of my hand in trying to slow her fall.
The entirety of the Horde had seen the note that had been delivered to me in particular, and I had stared at it blankly for a few moments before sighing and nodding, folding it up into a thousand different folds and tossing it into the brazier in the center of the tent to watch it burn to ash. 1400 tomorrow, Quidditch Pitch, sharp. Val had been extremely curious as to the contents of the note, and after a good deal of pestering, I finally opened up and told him about the detention and its expected time. I had laughed at it a bit the longer I spoke, realizing just how ridiculous it was in the end before finally just giving in and saying that I was just going to proverbially bite the bullet and deal with whatever consequence they felt that they should mete out to me. At least, I confessed, at least the refs felt that justice would be properly distributed. Better to have just one on our team punished for "foul play" as opposed to everyone on the Yilbegän. We had won, after all. At least they were not so cruel as to take away our hard-won win from us. Detention was a small price to pay in the name of the team.
I had arrived to the pitch at 1337, 23 minutes before I had to be there. As I had learned in my few years of life, five minutes early was always ten minutes late. Early was on time, on time was late, and late was unacceptable. I met the professor with a pleasant smile and an offer of a handshake. "Professor Stube, I presume?" I ask curtly, feeling myself subconsciously loosen my shoulders in order to mildly slump forwards and attempt to lessen my considerable, perhaps mildly intimidating, height when compared to her (an 8 inch height difference, to be exact). "Romeo Marchonné, reporting for detention."
I glance around, noting the oddness of the desk and chair in the middle of the pitch. Why put these here if we were not going to utilize the stadium itself? After analyzing it for a second, I find my glance returned to the professor as she began to detail the conditions of my detention. I listened to the first third of her tirade about the actions that I had performed in the sights of the referees and my apparent lack of sportsmanship. When she seems to reach a point to draw breath, I softly interject with a stern look of my own on my face. "Professor. While it is true that I did indeed catch a falling opponent player... I do believe that the announcer may have dramatized the actual action. I took Miss Harper by the cloak of her uniform, not by the throat. We were close together, so I am not surprised that it looked as if I took her by the neck. If anything, my actions helped to prevent more harm than cause it. I slowed her fall. I made sure that she did not hit the ground full force." My eyes flick ever so slightly, peering right at the Professor with intensity as I collect more of my thoughts. "I never would have intended her to come to harm, Professor."
Though I say these things with genuineness, there was much more that I could have said; that Ravenclaw cheated nearly as badly as we had ourselves, though with less success. If aims had been better and if maneuvers had not been executed properly... many more on my team would have been hurt. As it was... this had been my only foul the entire game. Up to that point, I had been using legal maneuvers, primarily using the Bludger to crush bone and knock players senseless. "Genuinely... I think my bludger to her ribs likely did more harm than my grabbing of her cape." A ghost of a smile appeared despite a twinge of embarrassment. Regardless of how it was sliced, it could not be said that I hadn't at least hurt Harper in some caliber. With that, I supposed that I could deal with having to perform my required time, regardless of what had actually happened on the Pitch the day before.
An essay on three trees and how breathing was important to sustaining life. Fortunately, I was a swift writer.I look over the paper a few times, ensuring that I had not made evident grammar or spelling errors before smiling and handing it back to the professor. I was starting to take my freelance interest in wandlore more seriously this year. If I was to have any chance whatsoever in becoming a wandmaker... I had to at least have a bit of knowledge concerning the common attributes and nature of the wood, as well as their reputations and appeals to the wizarding world (regardless of how true said rumors were). Keeping respectful of the rules of detention laid out for me, I do not speak (not a hard ask, for though I loved to share knowledge and ask questions, I had little issue with keeping quiet and contemplative, a trait that I had greatly embraced in my younger years), though I do take the small liberty of flexing my fingers and rolling my shoulders to ease the worst of the stiffness I felt from sitting too still for too long.First of all, it must be noted that we are talking about aerobic respiration in this context and not anerobic respiration. Whereas anerobic respiration relies on an organism being able to produce sugar and ergo energy by means of fermentation (a highly ineffective process, which is why when humans or other living organisms do it we begin to cramp up due to the buildup of lactic acid), aerobic respiration uses oxygen as an integral part of converting carbohydrates and other energy-producing materials into their raw forms that can then be processed by the muscles at the most base levels to produce work. When aerobic respiration cannot be performed by organisms, they fall back on anerobic respiration, which, as mentioned, is an inferior method of respiration. When not even anerobic respiration can produce enough energy to produce work (or more specifically when blood is no longer able to circulate oxygen to the vital parts of the body [namely brain]), a person may lose consciousness entirely. If the hold is held too long after that, then irrevocable damage can occur to the brain. A chokehold should never be held long enough to reach that threshold if a martial artist is even remotely self-respecting.
As for the trees. Trees of all kind serve the purpose of converting Carbon Dioxide (a waste product of the act of aerobic respiration) into Oxygen (the element used for the action of aerobic respiration) though the process of photosynthesis. There are many species of trees, but I'll name the first three I think of off the top of my head.
Blackthorn: Though sometimes considered a bush, this shrubby tree is also known as Prunus spinosa, and it can grow to be between 9 and 12 feet tall. It is fond of moist, well-drained, and sandy soil, and it does extremely well in direct light (which is unusual for most trees, as they appreciate shady areas as well). More light can imply more photosynthesis and therefore more conversions of Carbon Dioxide to Oxygen. These trees are native to Europe and Western Asia, bloom in the spring (when it is said that their sweetest berries and most beautiful blooms are after the hardest winters), and are a type of wood used in wandmaking. In wandlore, this wood is said to prefer physical fighters, produces flexible magic that can be both good and ill, and that in order to serve its wielder best, they-- like the bush itself-- must experience a period of great danger together, and then its most potent magic will be made known.
Cedar: A cedar 'tree' is not just one, but one genus divided into multiple different species, so it is impossible to make assumptions about any one species of cedar. What can be said about this genus is that it possesses needle-like leaves in a spiral pattern and that the genus can grow between 98 to 130 feet, or even more if given time to age. These trees are native to the Southern and South-Eastern Mediterranean, as well as the South Himalayas. They can live anywhere from 100 to 150 years, or up to 300 if conditions are correct. In wandlore, Cedar wood is best suited for those strong in character and exceedingly loyal. Their retributions, if caused to be inflamed are not to be messed with, for they can be swift and harsh, and their spells are rarely without some additional discomfort, especially to those that they distrust.
Yew: The Yew family is a collection of coniferous trees, and they are native to most of Europe, to Asia, Northwest Africa, as well as North and Central Americas. These trees, due to the nature of their poisonous sap, can ward away the worst of the insects and pests that try to cause diseases in the tree, though the tree can be susceptible to crown and root rot if not cared for properly. Because of said toxic properties, these trees were often confined to churchyards so that the toxic sap would not be spread to people or animals too easily. This specific aspect of the tree's nature leads to its lore in wandmaking, as it is believed that wands made of this wood hold inherent control over life and death. As to if these properties can indeed be backed by factual proof remains to be seen, though it is known that Tom Riddle's own wand was made of yew, and so through this known owner it may be further associated with negative energies and death spells. It should be noted, however, that the power granted to this wood through its core can greatly affect the exact properties of the magic produced with this wand wood.
By this time (I assume) people were starting to fill in around the stadium, and I glance upwards as the second half of the detention is made more clear to me. Of course, a public humiliation. Made perfect sense to me. Embarrass an unruly player and captain of the team, and discourage anyone else from attempting to do the same things as I had done.
Despite myself, I bite my lip and shake my head with a touch of amusement. Song and dance, huh? Something better intended for my brother. Knowing him, he would have started singing and dancing even before they had asked him to start performing for the purposes of detention.
Getting to my feet and embracing my full six foot stature, bouncing a bit as I smiled up at the crowd, I feel not terribly unlike a Shakespearian performer being scrutinized on stage. On the other hand, I feel my right hand's fingers twitch ever so slightly as I recall the Spring Fiasco where I had performed a chokehold on my own brother. A chokehold far too impressive for both himself and me. I had hurt him. Hurt him deeply, thoroughly. I had hurt myself in the action... But I had come to terms with it. In my own ways. I was not the collection of errors in my life, but the successes. What was one more detention, especially over something so petty?
Ah well... best get it over with, hm?
I was at least a little familiarized with singing, though I never prided myself on it. Dancing... was a little rougher now that I was built much stronger and sturdier than I had in my youth, but I was sure that it wouldn't be all that bad in the end.
"Ahm. I guess I'm singing and dancing for all of you, hm? Which would you prefer, musical theatre, show choir, or Vaudeville?" I crack a joke lightly before finally settling on something that... yes... that might just work.
Picking up a tune that I knew well, I decided to roll with it and attack a dance along with it. Oh Suzanna. Such a lovely little ditty.Shuffling back and forth in a swift grapevine with a small turn here and there, I try to formulate words as I count in an inaudible entrance to the prelude of the song. Despite myself, I find myself smiling broadly in a way that I hadn't for a long time. This... felt like all the times that Piérre and I would mess around for fun with no intention or care in our minds. He would gallivant and shout, dancing wildly, keep tugging me around with him in a crazed circle as he sang nonsense and I laughed at him for it. For good measure, I hop around a few times in a circle while spinning, ignoring any laughter. Fuck them. I was having fun. I was reliving the best memories of my life. A time I was a protector and a friend and a brother all in one; both dignified and willing to be humbled. My baritone rumbles with amusement as I begin to sing and dance in a bluegrass style, clapping and square dancing included.
Oh! Perché io vengo dall'Italia*
With a mandolin on my knee
I'm going to London Stadium
My competition for to see
It rained all night the day I left
The weather that day downpoured.
The lightning so bright I couldn't see,
Miss Harper, don't you cry
Oh! Miss Harper
Oh! don't you cry for me
Perché io vengo dall'Italia
With my mandolin on my knee
I spiraled down from the stormy sky
When everything was e'ry which way
I thought I saw Miss Harper
Falling down from on high.
To snatch her from an untimely fate,
I took her in my arms
I said I'll catch you, have no fear
Miss Harper don't you cry
Oh! Miss Harper
Oh! don't you cry for me
Perché io vengo dall'Italia
With my mandolin on my knee
Oh I soon will let her go once more and then I'll look up and down
And knowing that Miss Harper is breathing safe, I'll fall upon the ground
But if she cannot play again, then surely I shall cry
And no matter what my punishment be, Miss Harper don't you cry
Oh! Miss Harper
Oh! don't you cry for me
Perché io vengo dall'Italia
With my mandolin on my knee.
Oh! Miss Harper
Oh! don't you cry for me
Perché io vengo dall'Italia
With my mandolin on my knee!
* Translates "For I come from Italy"
Regardless of what happened, I continued to dance and gallivant, spinning and continuing to make merry like there was no punishment being had. I felt that had been a fine song, if I did say so myself.
What would come next could come as it may, I would embrace anything, scathing criticism (or worse) with open arms and a broad smile, especially directed towards Miss Harper, the subject of my little song.Rain Hell if You Can, You Hooligans!ReducioStats:
Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 7 | Strength 15 Ω
Ω Accuracy 15 | Wisdom 9 | ArcPower 0 ΩAbilities:
Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Last edited by Piérre Marchonné on 6 Sep 2022, 12:13, edited 1 time in total.
6 Sep 2022, 09:06
Breathing is Eggcellent
Valentin arrived early, carrying a heavy dufflebag, but this was not out of duty. No, after he saw Romeo departing the tent and, giving him a lead of five minutes to spare him some privacy, Valentin followed in the hopes of supporting Romeo at detention before the professor may have planned on. Despite patiently waiting those agonizing five minutes, the white seeker arrived at 13:40 due to his faster walking pace. As instructed, Schnell entered the stands just above the detention area. However, instead of sitting down passively, Val leaned over the rail to inspect what Beater #4 was doing. With his keen eyes, the seeker read Romeo’s essay even at a distance. By the time Romeo turned his head from his papers, Valentin was already ready to raise hell. Climbing onto the front rail of the stands, Val pushed himself into a handstand from which he looked back towards Romeo and sent him a big dorky grin. For as angry as Valentin was at the injustice of Rome’s sentence, the seeker already felt a bit soothed just from being around his co-captain. Coming down out of the handstand when he couldn’t hold it anymore, Val sat down on the rail and dangled his kicking feet as he looked on, searching for what would be the most opportune moment to wreak havoc on the professor’s sanity.
Yet, as soon as Romeo stood up to address the audience, all of Val’s plans fell apart.
"Ahm. I guess I'm singing and dancing for all of you, hm? Which would you prefer, musical theatre, show choir, or Vaudeville?" Romeo joked.
“Vau-de-ville! Vau-de-ville!” chanted Val, but he waved his hand away, laughing, to indicate he didn’t really have his heart set on it. Romeo was taking this all so lightly, realized the white niffler. The low-boiling anger in Val’s heart calmed a little bit more.
Romeo then proceeded to roll into a shuffling little dance and, getting into it more and more, the Italian’s stone-cut face began beaming with a broad smile-- the likes of which Valentin had never seen before. As Romeo hopped around in a spinning circle, the grin on Val’s face melted away into an expression of pure fascination. Romeo was not only having fun, realized Valya-- Rome was making this time his and turning it into something beautiful. However silly the dance may have objectively been, Valentin could only look on in wonder at Rome’s captivating innocence. The untainted, uncontrolled merriment ensnared Valentin's attention so utterly that strange, unexpected words shimmered into his mind: this is true power. Even in captivity, is he not wild and free?
The Italian went on rumbling an improvised song in the baritone Valya cherished, reciting his tale with such candor that Valentin ceased to care what the professor thought of the performance. Even at the song’s end, Romeo continued to dance and spin, gallivanting about with such childlike wholehearted ardor that, without a thought, Valentin’s body sprung from his perch in the stands. Valya could not give a damn about consequences now, for he was pulled in as inevitably as by gravity. Whatever rage still burned in Valya’s justice-loving heart sublimated away in the moment his feet touched the soil of the pitch. Dashing straight at Romeo as if reuniting at a port after years apart, Valentin’s sprint finished in a skid through the grass that whirled into a spin of his own as Valentin began making up his own impromptu dance.
Valya’s style consisted of a variety of graceful spins, with sweeping arm movements weaving through different planes like celestial orbits. While the white seeker’s revolutions swirled with childish theatrics, a certain elegance betrayed countless unspoken hours of practice. Yet, none of his friends had ever seen Valentin dance at a ball before. Indeed, if anyone at Durmstrang had ever spotted him, it was in random bursts of solitary play. Whatever the professor’s reaction may have been to Valentin leaping down to join in with the revelry, nothing short of a merciless spell could stop him from his calling.
Moving away from Romeo at the end of a spin, Valentin felt new music rising up in him. He often composed music at random moments, and had been doing so for years, but this was the first time lyrics poured out of him. Once the words parted his lips, they flowed on and on as if a blockage had been washed out from a mountain spring. A sweet silvery tenor licked the air as Valya’s movements slowed into a waltz-like oscillation.
[To the (abridged) tune of Heather Evans’s “Monster”: ]
Don’t be so scared
Of this devil from unholy ground
The monster’s in your head
Bloody red cloaks
On those evil foreign beasts, oh no
We may as well be dead
Tumbling down from up on high
The pretty girl struck by demons oh-so sly
She can’t flee from him
Not even when fallin’
You can’t see clearly
But the devil steals her from the sky
Ohh…
Don’t be so scared
Of this devil from unholy ground
The monster’s in your head
Giant clawed hands
Take her by the neck and pull her down
Into a ride of dread
Descending back to earth now by and by
He hands her to healers dooming her to die
She can’t flee from him
Not even when fallin’
You can’t see clearly
But then all of his words must be lies
Ohh…
The demon just lives in your mind
The demon just lives in your mind
When the song completed, Valentin blinked to himself in surprise. Was this what it was like for his mother, before she passed? Did the words and melodies just come to her like that, too? Valentin’s movements slowed to a stop as he looked up at Romeo. An expanse of peace permeated Valentin’s spirit as his gleaming eyes gazed at the boy in wonder. Usually thoughts of his mother sent Valentin into an inward spiral of anger at her killer and at himself for failing her, but now… only a tranquil curtain of words rained down through his mind: My ‘wild heart’ will be tamed with calming love and inner strength, not control… pure of heart, and... Stepping back with one foot and then another, a breath caught in Valya’s throat. The boy’s duffle bag full of hell-raising lay far in the distance as Valentin realized that not only did the winds of peace flow unbridled through him, but he was actually really happy now. Whatever attempts at control the professor had intended, and for however fiercely Valentin was prepared to fight for Romeo’s honor in public, none of that even mattered anymore in the face of such perfect joy.
With the look on the giant boy's face like this, Valya swore that no authority could ever take Romeo's soul. Overwhelmed by an urge for freedom, both of Valentin's hands reached out as he found himself unable to limit his wish to have Romeo's next dance. How ironic, thought Valya, that it is this display of wildness that tames me.
“Spin me!!”
Reducio
@Piérre Marchonné as Romeo, @Miriam StubeStats: STA 8 ✦ EVA 14 ✧ STR 2 ✦ WIS 15 ✧ARC 1 ✦ ACC 15 - Ency
Abilities: Keen Eye ✦ Charmer ✧ Evasive Maneuvers ✦ Fearless