Closed Locks for the Lonely PV

.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 11/Mar/2024 @ 1915 | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
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Like that scene in a bad sitcom where mental acuity bows to a moment of highlighted significance, Evelynn stood there, dumbfounded, as the brief series of unfortunate events cascaded before her. A blank expression enveloped her, the usual mask of sharp stoicism that so often chiseled her features conceding to the unlikeliness of the encounter. Her gaze remained fixed forward, brows lofted, lured and caught by that of the intruder. She didn't even glance down as a fleshy tail disappeared around the corner of the door frame, nor to the tragic wisps of waning self-esteem that fell by the handful like the molting feathers of an ugly duckling. If there was a single silver lining to the comedy, at least she didn't laugh.

Afterall, how could she? As entertaining to a third party as the situation might have been, it wasn't the sorry state of the boy's premature alopecia upon which she had fixated. It was him. Although her recent tendency was to avoid anyone and everyone, it had all started with him. It was almost like she'd forgotten that fact, the memory of their last conversation of any real significance tightening around her throat like a noose. There was nowhere to run right now, though, her only exit barred by the phantom of her past.

Or perhaps it was the ghost of that which was yet to come. In her avoidance, she had neglected to notice the scope of change that had befallen him over the past—two?—years. Most notably, she found herself having to look up. When had that happened? The angle wasn't much, but notable enough. With that, coupled with the subtle changes to his features and definition to his frame, came the crashing realization that he wasn't a first-year child anymore. Feeling all of a sudden rather small, it took some time for the reality of the present to return to awareness.

Upon Marshal's exclamation, the spell broke. The spell of silence. Not the hair loss spell. That one didn't break. Marshal remained very, very bald, his new cue-ball of a head glinting gently with a sunset glow.

"What did I do?" Evelynn choked, finding both voice and the ability to move again now that the initial shock was beginning to wane. Her wand hand had begun to drift languidly with the pull of gravity, but flicked forward sharply again, sparks sputtering at its tip as she defensively shot back, "You walked into my spell! This is your fault! And—" she continued, gaining momentum with every word and the return of confidence in the indignation of his accusation, "—you let my snail escape! That was a locked door. You had no business breaking in here!"

Not to be outdone by regret in the panel of negative emotion, another member was making a swift entrance. Barging into his head like a belligerent clown into a birthday party, the arrival of genuine panic could nary go unnoticed, nor ignored.
It didn’t stop there, either. Seeping downward, it all but paralyzed everything it touched.
First, his mind. As the initial shock of understanding faded, it was replaced by images; each and every instance in which being bald could adversely affect him. Numberless were the scenarios, ultimately leading to a resignation that measures would be taken to limit the damage however possible. Mirrors would be avoided, hats would be worn, and - most importantly of all - no girls would be talked to until his mane had returned to its former glory.

But would it grow back?

The thought struck him like a flock of flying bricks, putting an end to any and all others.
This was a magic spell, after all, meaning that the rules of existence he understood could simply be tossed aside without a second glance. What if it were some kind of permanent hex, dooming him to a life without his magnificent locks? He was certain his self esteem couldn’t take that hit. While some people could pull off the look, he wasn’t one of them. He was Marshal, the boy who had received more compliments on one feature than any other, and who had grasped onto those words with his might through the past two-odd years. Perhaps it was absurd - a belief his self-conscious mind had been keen to highlight - but every bright spot counted when his world was so dark.
Now those bright spots were laying just there, laughing at him like the hairless clown he was.

It was then that the panic would reach his throat, clamping down on his airway with a vice grip. Breaths were suddenly at a premium, his lungs achieving little in their fight for life until they, too, simply seemed to freeze.
This couldn’t be happening, not really. It was a dream or some magically induced hallucination. Given what the world had thrown at him in the recent past, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to consider it may be some kind of cruel prank, played by some proponent of evildoing sent to sit on his birthday enjoyment.
Malicious or not, it would be much preferred to the mishap now taking center stage in his reality.

His hazel eyes would have a glazed quality for Evelynn to behold, pupils set on some faraway plane as he clutched the final vestiges of his dignity against a shining skull. Jaw hanging slack, his body stiffened in that position for a good bit of time. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as though his soul had simply departed, unwilling to inhabit a shell so fully stripped of cosmetic appeal. Truth be told, he quite nearly lost consciousness as his breathing halted altogether for several moments, shadows encroaching at the fringes of his vision until an incredulous voice finally penetrated his ears.

“-you let my snail escape!”

The preposterous notion was just enough to call his soul back, giving it the need to pick his brain for precisely what she meant. There had been no snail; and if there was, it wouldn’t be likely to win a footrace if she really wanted to catch it.
Throwing his gaze to the floor, he felt a pang of despair at what he saw. It was as if he’d visited a hair salon back home for a quick trim, but been assigned to a stylist with some sick addiction to seeing their clients’ hair fall. And now he could do nothing but stare downward at something that should always be located upward. Always.

But he couldn’t. Cutting the snail search short, he pulled his eyes from the awful scene, instead placing them on the one responsible.
“What snail!?” he exclaimed, voice cracking sharply with the tension. “There is no snail! All I saw was a giant rat and - oh yeah - MY HAIR ON THE FLOOR!” A violent finger jabbed toward the sorry pile at his feet, ensuring that she did, in fact, understand what had just happened. From what he could tell, she didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation for what it truly was.
In an attempt to drive that point even deeper, he now indicated his shimmering head. “I’m bald, Eve. BALD! Pardon me if I don’t really care about snails and locked doors much right now!” Fury drove that same finger straight at her nose. “You need to fix this! I don’t care how, just do it!”

Since most good things in the world had chosen to forsake him at once, the Gryffindor’s temper had grown. Resentment and self-doubt had a way of festering when unchecked, melding together over time until they finally exploded, more often than not at another person.
Having come to recognize and despise his shortening fuse, Marshal had put effort into avoiding situations that led to such an eventuality. But there was no fuse for this situation. He was justified because he was bald. He was BALD.

.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 11/Mar/2024 @ 1915 | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
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"Yes, yes, that was the snail," she interjected following his denial of it's existance, Marshal's tantrum eliciting little empathy from Evelynn. "I was prac—" But he would continue, volume turned up to drown out her protests, a finger violently jabbing at the floor to bring attention to the hair littered upon it. Lips pressed together, arms folding, any sympathy she might have had quickly slipping the way of the rat.

"I'm bald, Eve. BALD!"

"I can see that." Her words turned flat, gaze hardening. All the more so as he continued, his finger driving forward at her face. Lip curling, half a snarl displayed itself as her features contorted into defensive anger. As soon as he moved close enough to threaten contact, she snapped a hand up from where it was tucked, the back of his aside. "I do not need to do anything," she shot back, taking a step back. "This is the consequence of the decisions that you made. Or is that a lesson that still has not sunk in?"

It felt like the temperature of the room had been turned up, the general irritation nearly constantly simmering below the surface of her countenance turning to a roiling boil. Blood pounded in her ears, which had turned pink in her rising anger, and knuckles whitened with the firmed grip of her wand. Only recently had she been musing on how inane it seemed to be to hold grudges over conflicts she could barely remember. Now it all came flooding back, Marshal's presence serving as the lure to fish old memories up from their depths. Nearly two years had passed, and he still hadn't changed at all, growing recklessly angry over a harmless situation, casting blame to others instead of taking accountability for his own actions.

"If you had any aptitude for charm work, you could rectify the situation yourself. But no. You fall to panic and despair and anger as you usually do, allowing the moment interfere with your head," she clipped, offering no suggestion that she had any intent of reversing the harm her spell had done. "All the while trodding on those around you and shifting blame to anyone but yourself. You could always owl your parents—ask them to send you a wig. Or better yet, parade yourself through the halls to the Hospital wing. Perhaps the nurse will take pity on you and restore you to your vane and self-righteous self."

Seething, her shoulders rose and fell with increased effort, breaths coming quickly and jaw set. Fingers flexed with a strong urge to drive her point home with another hex that would actually be meant for him this time, but she resisted. For now. It had been some time since her ire had been stoked quite so hot, and under normal circumstances, it likely would have taken a great deal more to feed it. She was on the defensive now, however, hackles fully raised and teeth figuratively bared. Gryffindor or not, if he pushed her, there would be no holding back.

Marshal had pictured this moment a number of times. Two years prior, a friendship he’d treasured dearly had fallen apart, leaving the time in its wake empty where it had once been full. He hadn’t spoken to Evelynn properly since, her presence like that of a wraith, and his own akin to some clouded fever dream.
If absence made the heart grow fonder, it made the mind grow restless. His had toyed with the idea of this day through long days and sleepless nights; when he and Eve would come face to face once more, with no one else around, and she would finally talk to him like he was a real human being instead of just a ghost from the past. He’d contemplated how he would feel, what he would say, filling in the blanks with what understanding he had of her personality.

In moments of loneliness, he’d envisioned heartfelt apologies, leaping from his tongue without regard for his pride. When bitterness overcame him, he’d considered telling her off, listing each and every pang of misery she had caused or contributed to. Then, of course, there were times that his reasonable side had suggested he’d be most likely to simply walk away, unable to bear the emotional implications of any such scenario. It hurt too much, and opening that door could only lead to more suffering.

Of all the scenes that had played out through his mind’s eye, however, this particular one had failed to make an appearance. Losing his hair was never supposed to be part of the equation. No amount of Divination classes he elected to take could have prepared him for such an event. But then again, perhaps this connected to the ‘doom’ Professor Clairmount had alluded to. Frankly, he’d have preferred the traditional kind.

”Yes, you do!" The insistence pursued her denial of responsibility in fixing the problem. ”You-"
She cut him off, again to contend that she bore no fault in what had occurred. Just as she always had, and just like she had the last time they had been alone. Little miss perfect was never to blame. Cynical to a fault, the girl was an expert at pinpointing the flaws to another’s reasoning, while indignity and disdain cemented her own position in the right. It was one thing he hadn’t missed in her absence.

”That’s right,” he said after a slight pause. His tone leveled somewhat, a step back and a lifted chin augmenting the bitterness in his observation. ”It’s always my fault entirely. Never mind the fact it was your wand pointed at my face when my hair fell out.”
The question she’d posed had been laced with meaning beyond this interaction, and his response followed suit. She was making a point to call in shadows from the past, and he would have none of it. That said, the disrespect of it had been enough to make him hesitate, uncontrolled fury waning into a smoldering resentment in the pit of his stomach.
He hadn’t calmed down, by any means; the situation remained just as dire. But the finger Eve had swatted remained at his side, his advances stilled. For now.

And then came the insults, hurled with all the malice of an ape who wanted nothing more than to see Jump Man take a barrel to the face.
To be fair, she wasn’t exactly wrong concerning his aptitude for the coursework. At that very moment, in fact, the word she had spewed and its hair-dropping effects snagged at his brain, implying that the spell was something he ought to recall. Alas, he did not, nor did he receive a revelation as to how it might be reversed. In the end, the comment was a low blow, but not one he could refute with any credibility.

The rest of it, however, was uncalled for. Her tongue cut like a blade, lashing out with the intent to make him feel small. He was a lot of things, many of which he wished he wasn’t, but vane and self-righteous were two descriptors that didn’t fit on the spectrum of his personality. Throughout his life, he had always set himself aside to address the needs of those around him. He hadn’t always been perfect, but who was? In a world that begot personal preference and narcissism, he had always made an effort to rend himself from that trend. Eve, of all people, should have known that. In all the time they’d shared together, she had always been placed on a pedestal in his eyes, so high that he was naught but a pion in comparison.
Only since the events of summer camp two years prior had he favored more selfish tendencies, but that was not out of self-righteousness; it was out of self preservation. As he fought to simply survive, the energy he had left for others was lacking at best.

Her comments were unfair, and he had nothing much to say in return. Though an impish thought did cross his mind. While some spells he’d learned escaped him, the same could not be said for all. In particular, a bell rang on the subject of hair.

A moment passed in silence following Eve’s outburst. Eyes roaming the fury written in her scrunched features, Marshal’s own expression was unreadable, his posture frozen. The hand she’d smacked still lingered near the pocket of his sweatpants, where he knew his wand to be. Normally stowed in his sleeve, it had been carelessly stuffed in his haste to escape his dorm mates, the hilt protruding from within, but covered by the overlapping hoodie. That worked to his advantage.
He knew well enough that Evelynn kept scrupulous note of all her classmates; their habits, their dispositions, and even where their wands were normally kept. The exhaustive trait must have been horribly tiresome, but if one thing could be said about the lioness, it was that she didn’t do anything halfheartedly; not a single thing. As such, he knew she would expect his wand to emerge from its usual place, but on this day she was in for a birthday surprise of her own.

A heavy sigh escaped his lungs, one hand lifting to rub his smooth head, as though in accepting despair. The ruse was small. It wouldn’t buy him much of an opening, but a quick glance toward the action from Eve was all he needed.
Lifting his hoodie with the opposite hand, he drew his wand like a gunslinger in the old west, whipping it toward Evelynn’s face with two words off his lips. ”Crinus Muto!”

Were the spell to strike true, the girl’s hair would begin to change, morphing slowly as its autumn ginger gave way to the brighter, more violent tones of a rainbow peaking through the clouds after a summer’s rain.
The boy he once was would have considered it no less than blasphemy to alter the natural shade that framed her perfect face. But the more aged lion with a prematurely shed mane would grin like a madman as he witnessed the change before his eyes, deep satisfaction drowning his voice as he took a verbal jab. ”Aww, Eve! What were you thinking, standing in front of my wand like that? Look what you did!”

@Evelynn Decipio

.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 11/Mar/2024 @ 1915 | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
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What a fool she was. As Evelynn had spoken, Marshal had seemed to relent some. The hand that she had indignantly slapped aside had hung loose by his side. The objections he'd initially attempted to spout against her assertions had been quashed before they could even be fully spoken, only silence ensuing. He simply stood there, blank and passive in the face of her verbal reproach. For a moment, the lioness that even thought that he might accept that his accusation had been in the wrong, and if not apologize, at least have the good sense to turn around, close the door, and leave her in the peace and solitude whose seeking had brought her to that classroom in the first place.

But of course, this was Marshal, who threw fists at slights and blew up at his closest friends for playing a game by its rules. Her gaze had followed his hand as it reached to run itself across his head, anticipating that the turn and retreat would be soon to follow. Instead, swift, jerking movement in her lower peripheries would seal his fate. She didn't even bother attempting to dodge, although brows had lofted briefly in surprise that he, of all people, would choose to attempt to pit himself against her as a caster when she had the year, experience, and aptitude advantage.

There would be no flash or streak of light to indicate the success or failure of his spell, but both would know quite quickly as an array of gaudy colours began to replace the natural auburn of her hair. Free hand reaching up to the curls framing her face, the anger that had previously contorted her features condensed as she rolled a curled lock of shocking yellow streaked green between her fingers. Her gaze pulled slowly from it back to Marshal, her expression collected and calm. By all accounts, one who didn't know her might have thought the spell had done the trick to break her from her contentious state.

"So it is going to be like this, mn?" The volume of her voice had dropped, a melodic lilt sliding its way around the words. Cold daggers shot from her stone-grey eyes beneath a shadowed, lidded gaze even as the corner of her mouth curled up into the threat of a smile, very nearly mirroring the one he now bore. It had occurred to her to force him to relinquish his wand, to make him helpless in the moment, that she might freely decide how to demonstrate her distaste for how absolutely flawed the logic of his last comment had been. "Densaugeo."

With barely more than a slight vertical movement and an evenly uttered spell, violet light shot from her wand towards Marshal. Should it land, he would find his teeth rapidly elongating, and his lips no longer able to meet as a result. Speech—and the clear enunciation required to cast—might be a touch difficult after that. How sad. On the chance that her spell missed, she would simply try again, jerking her wand forward this time to close the gap and steady her aim.

Either way, Evelynn wasn't finished there. The moment he had raised his wand against her, he had given every impression of a rabid animal who didn't know when to quit. If he was going to act as much, snapping back against a predator that could rip him apart with ease, the lioness had little qualms displaying to the rest of the school what lay beneath his soured exterior. Long and jagged teeth were only the start. Unlike him, she had mastery over a wide selection of spells, and one by one would be more than happy to transform him into an image best left to the nightmares of piteous first-years. Teeth, ears, antlers, a tail... He might soon be known as Marshal the Jackalope.

Action: Casting Teeth-Growing Hex @ Marshal
Evelynn wisdom: d20 (20) + 15 = 35 crit
Evelynn accuracy: d20 (6) + 13 = 19
Marshal evasion: d20 (1) + 9 = 10
(Using the stats Marshal will have post trunk update)
19 > 10 Evelynn Hits

His spell struck true, indicated by the swift and rather drastic change to Evelynn’s hair color. It looked as though she had tasted the rainbow, found herself unsatisfied, then proceeded to adopt its qualities into her very being.
There were some key differences between the girl and the cheery shine of a rainbow, however. Not the least among the number was the distinct lack of cheer in her countenance. No life-giving arc of hope would alight upon her face in the moment. In fact, it seemed that every previous emotion had been wiped clean, replaced instead by a calm, collected expression that didn’t quite fit the situation. The more he studied her, the less he liked that glint in her eye.

His appreciation for the outcome of his decision dipped even further when she spoke.
”Like what? he wanted to know, mirroring her own words in part. ”I was just trying to see how you liked it.” Putting the shoe on the other foot, it you will. Such had been his intent. But for all the benefits of letting one taste their own medicine, forcing it down their throat only ever seemed to backfire, as most didn’t take too kindly to the deed.

The smile. He had seen her smile, he was sure of it. But why? Evelynn didn’t smile, let alone in the midst of such a situation. Her hair had just gone the way of a pack of skittles, and yet that twitch upon her lip spoke to some form of amusement.
He didn’t like this one bit. Over his time at Hogwarts, his internal dialogue had spoken many a descriptive word regarding the lioness; all of them good through the first pair of years, more of them less so over the past two. But in that instant, a new one rang clearly in his mind, echoes ricocheting off his skull like the tones of a warning bell.

Creepy.

The grin had vanished from his own features, brow scrunching in a ghost of concern.
Emboldened by the utterly uncomfortable silence that had settled between them, he drew breath to speak again. ”I’m not looking for-“ What he was or wasn’t looking for would be lost to the enunciation of a word in that lilting voice of hers. He froze with the instant recognition of a spell. It was either that, or she had opted to spew another language at him entirely - a habit she was not unknown for.
Could the word be French? Somehow he doubted it.

He caught the slight flick of her wand, if only just. Grossly unprepared as he was, it was most assuredly not in time to avoid the light which streaked from the wand’s tip, as he took a second spell straight to the face.
As if the loss of his locks wasn’t punishment enough for the ill-fated steps that had led him there, he took another - figurative in nature - toward becoming something he could only have predicted by virtue of a nightmare. The sensation was odd, that of a tingling in his front teeth, followed by the press of their tips into his bottom lip. Even then, they endeavored to grow, forcing his mouth into a slightly open position and allowing full view of the overgrown pearls.
Marshal hated dentists, balking at the idea of even a yearly cleaning. Something about the intangible sense of discomfort it caused in his teeth had driven him to a distaste for anything unusual regarding them; a fact that made this experience that much more unpleasant.

He hadn’t come for a fight; hadn’t even intended one upon casting a spell in Evelynn’s direction. So far as he was concerned, it had been a justified retaliation to something she had started, aimed simply to make a point.
But once more, hindsight reared its unfortunate head. This was Eve, whose hackles would raise if some poor soul breathed the wrong way, confirming her suspicions that they were, in fact, a hag set on murdering the entire school. She didn’t need a real reason to believe the worst of a person, and certainly wouldn’t respond well to a wand raised in her direction.
At this point, it was likely she had set her sights on the extermination of his entire family, all for the sake of culling her superstitions.
Perhaps the thought was hyperbolic, but he wasn’t willing to find out what she had planned for yours truly.

Roused by the certainty that his position had become critical, the lion discovered an instinct largely unexplored, options for survival shuffling through his mind in the span of a second. Running was an idea, and arguably the best of them all. With the door only a few steps from his back, he could utilize his natural quickness for a swift getaway, securing his life for another day.
The consideration was there, but something kept the boy’s feet planted where they were. Perhaps it was his pride; something that would be injured were he to retreat, hairless and with the buck teeth of a cartoon character. But deeper than even that ran the need for vindication - for the way he’d been treated, and all the pain he’d endured, he deserved more. And while furthering this petty feud would do nothing to truly prove that, he was tired of running, of simply avoiding his problems. Others could cast him aside if they chose, but he was finished doing the same to himself.

Set on a course of action, his instincts took a turn for how he might best Eve in a duel of this sort.
Given her natural prowess for spellcasting, coupled with experience as a duelist, she was the clear magical powerhouse in the room. Despite his advantage in physical size - the fact that he stood taller only now registering - he still refused to accost her in that way, if the outcome could possibly be avoided. Thus, he would be forced to strategize, and quickly.

Considering the infliction she’d caused, he selected the most effective spell that was relatively simple to pronounce. Wand raising with more deliberate movements than Evelynn’s, he attempted to enunciate the word, despite the difficulties presented by engorged teeth. ”Obscuro!"

Action: Casting the Blindfolding Spell @ Evelynn

@Evelynn Decipio

.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 11/Mar/2024 @ 1915 | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
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Marshal casts the Blindfold Spell @ Evelynn
+2 WDC for any incantation that has the 'b', 'p' or 'm' sound due to buck teeth
Automatic fail chance (from Evelynn's Wandmaker): d20[18] no fail
Marshal wisdom: d20[9]+7 = 16 vs. WDC 10 + 2 -> success
Marshal accuracy: d20[13]+10 = 23 vs. Evelynn evasion: d20[14]+15 = 29
Marshal misses

The violet light that shot forth from her wand had a prominence to it that few of Evelynn's spells had recently displayed. It had come cleanly and quickly, and even before she'd seen evidence of its success, she knew it would be effective so long as it struck true. And O, did it. A twisted sort of satisfaction writhed within her, head tilting with appraisal. The shadow of a smirk that had flicked across her features did not reappear, however. There was no mirth upon her face, no amusement upon her countenance. Evelynn looked at Marshal with the expression of a craftsman struck by inspiration, as though he were little more than a slate of rock that she would transform by her work's end.

She didn't even seem phased by the raising of his wand one more. On the contrary, she expected it, lithely rotating out of the anticipated path. The absence of light from spells such as the one he'd chosen to cast left it difficult to gauge at times, but luck appeared to be on her side with this, at least. "How quaint. You will have to try harder than that," she cooed. Climbing adrenaline narrowed her focus upon him, filtering out distant sounds and distracting thoughts to hone in on the moment. If there was one thing that could be said, Marshal certainly had her attention now. Whether he wanted it anymore, however...

"Cauda Incrementum." Quick as a cat, she struck back, though not quite as effectively as her opening hex.

Evelynn casts Tail-Growing Hex @ Marshal
Evelynn wisdom: d20[15] + 15 = 30 success
Evelynn accuracy: d20[15] + 13 = 28 vs. Marshal evasion: d20[18] + 10 = 28
Impaired Hit

Evidently, Marshal would not be caught twice so easily. In fact, given the lack of the very obvious appearance of a large and obnoxiously visible tail with which she had been hoping to gift the boy, she thought she had missed. Her tongue flicked against the back of her teeth with an irritated 'tch'. As she rose her wand to try again, she offered him an out. "Leave now and I will exercise restraint." Her words were clipped. Precise. Taking care to enunciate in a way where there could be no misunderstanding. "But carry on in this reckless falacy-" her tone darkened, taking on an underlying growl "-and you will regret ever having raised a wand against me."

Words were hard, more especially when one’s front teeth closely resembled those of a beaver. Despite these obstacles, Marshal found it in himself to force the incantation around them. He felt the familiar thrum of energy as it passed from his hand and into his wand, then released in the direction he'd aimed. Originally, that direction had encompassed Evelynn’s form, though as she contorted her body evasively, it became unclear whether the spell had landed or not. This particular one offered no telltale beam of light to enlighten his eyes to its path, though his heart dropped when she imposed a belittling comment toward his efforts. It wasn’t a good sign, he supposed.

After wasting a bit of time with her snide remark, his opponent sent a riposte his way. Given the bit of extra time to gather himself, the lion managed a reaction despite the swiftness of her cast. Throwing himself to one side, his was not quite so nimble as Eve’s demonstration of evasion, but he managed to displace himself quickly enough. Or so he initially thought.
Once again, there was no obvious sign of the spell’s trajectory, turning it into somewhat of a guessing game as to where it would end up. On the back end of his dodge, Marshal felt nothing out of the ordinary; a fact that led him to believe Evelynn had missed. It wasn’t until she spoke again that his tail bone began to tingle.

”Reckless fallacy?” he repeated incredulously, trying to ignore the sensation of a tail nub pushing against the waistband of his sweatpants, much like a rabbit might flaunt, though less poofy. ”Are you some kind of super villain? Is this your monologue?” The words came out forced and a bit jumbled through his incisors. Never had he felt the act of speaking to be physically exhausting, his lips impeded, and every muscle in his face scrunched in concentration. But surely Eve would get the point. ”I wasn’t actually trying to start a fight, but I’m no coward. You’re not better than me, Eve.” By that, of course, he meant she was not superior as a person. She was clearly a better duelist. "So screw you.” The comment was uttered in an icy flatline, as the sweet and flawless image he’d once seen in Evelynn finally released her last breath, leaving behind what he now understood she truly was: a cold, imperious girl that left no room in her heart for anyone else. He knew that she had been hurt. He’d heard the rumors of what happened to Ivy, realizing he hadn’t seen the Gryffindor girl for months. The news would have shattered Eve; he wasn’t oblivious to that fact. If things had been better between them, he would have tried to comfort her, but how could he when he was certain she wouldn’t even let him try?

He understood the pain of losing someone you cared deeply for. Even now, the agony served as his constant companion. It sat in his heart, and whispered in his ear. It stoked fires he had no intention of burning, and altered his view on life. The struggle was not lost on him, but Evelynn was just being cruel, and his current state, he simply had no room for that in his life. So again he raised his wand, but for the first time its tip pointed at someone he genuinely wanted nothing to do with.
Choosing an incantation that would be unhindered by his teeth, he tried something new. "Slugulus Eructo.”

Action: Casting the Slug Vomiting Charm @ Evelynn

@Evelynn Decipio