Closed Errand Mass Thread Four Walls

House Colours: Hufflepuff

Calming Presence in Effect: All Participants Affected

Well, while he did have other obligations today as part of the Astronomy Internship program and the errand that the current professor of Astronomy Saltwater Gargle had planned for the same day as this errand, Piérre decided that surely it wouldn't hurt anyone if he swung by this one being held by Professor Clearmountain the Divination professor, with whom he had had not only a delightful conversation, but an interesting moment of divination with. The poor boy, however, between then and now, had been quite shaken up. Wide eyes that were wild with fear and apprehension had often replaced the wideness that came with curiosity or intrigue, his posture was leaning as if prepared to flee, and his smile was often forced more often than not.

Still, perhaps today he was too tired to be frightened, as he had brought himself to the courtyard and the crafting materials here regardless. It was a wellness errand, as he had gleaned--fitting for the students of Hogwarts, he supposed, but oddly enough he wondered if he would glean anything from the errand himself. Certainly there was to be an effort on his behalf--the boy never did anything halfway or shoddily--but he wasn't entirely sure where to start with introspection. Introspection, after all, was not his strong suit in his bluffed high hand.

The professor herself was engaged with fiery Evelynn, which keen eyes watched and appraised with a level of mirth and wonder from a safe distance away and as far out of sight as he could manage [Cat's Grace]. Before him was the empty piece of paper, as well as a few pencils that he had nabbed and then kept for himself as he considered what to write and draw with his favorite blue-feathered quill (the feather of which he had no clue as to its origins other than it was most certainly exotic in nature).

Perhaps the easiest way to start was with something that he was most 'solid' with, that he was most assured about. The whenua, then, seemed most obvious. Connection to land and roots. A green pencil slashed little blades of grass all around, and a red one splattered it with tiny flowers that were perhaps poppies. Other areas were left pale and white, as if the area around the house were blank and empty--as if it were sitting isolated in a void.

Piérre knew his roots were in Italy. That was where he and his twin had been found and subsequently adopted for the first time. But from there, there had been much travel. Before then, there was nothing to root them down or affirm a familial heritage. Their roots were never dug too deep, were shallow in the ground, and while easy to transplant did not happen to transplant easily. Other than a nationality, than a point of origin, there was nothing before and precious little after. They came to England, to London. The Bianchis had died in a horrific accident, the Marchonnés had been adopted by Mathilda, and now here Piérre stood. Very much like a wildflower's seeds scattered to the winds, he was never sure where he was or where he was going, or where he was going to land. He simply floated, simply travelled, and only had the mark of the place where he had first taken flight as an indicator of any prior 'roots' that he had once had. The ink of the pen would smudge as the boy wrote in his slanted left-handed font:

Motherland Italy was my home,
Cousinland Britain tries to be my new roam.

I do want to return back to Italy sometime...

What was next? What else could he most easily fill in or personally assess now that he had the 'foundations' of the house already planted on sand?

Taha tinana: physical health and well-being, perhaps.

He hadn't been outright sick, per say... but the boy hadn't been feeling well for the past few years. Bouts of nausea that came and went, a pallor that seemed to overtake him every once in a while and the subsequent woozy sleepiness that came with it. Gleeking and salivation when he wasn't hungry, and times when he was supposed to be hungry he found himself not. Sleep was finding itself hard-pressed to find him as well, but somehow his body had stayed strong enough to remain functional. He had no concerns about his physical well-being, and even if he did there was no way he would entrust that same well-being to the Nurse of all creatures. The risk was not worth the potential reward.

The left side of the wall was slashed with crossing diagonal hatchmarks of black, streaked with strong red lines, and then filled gently in with a soft grey hue.

The mind gives out before the body,
So I refuse to let it break until I'm done.

Get more sleep?

Taha weirua. Spiritual wellbeing.

This one was never in question. Piérre happened to be one with some defined religious belief. His upbringing as a Roman Catholic in particular had helped to instill strong beliefs in him, and had helped to guide him through the world this far. He had all the faith in the world and beyond that it would continue to see him through and that he should have nothing to fear in that regard. Despite everything that he had been through, despite all that had happened all around him, the boy still had too much Hope to allow himself to be crushed.

A belief in something beyond himself was something that helped any despair, no matter how deep and dark, be alleviated with ease. The left part of the roof was given texture with sepia and then gradated with yellow on the edges.

Something waiting beyond the veil
means that eternal Hope can never fail.

Continue wellness here.

Taha Whanau, family and social well-being...

His brother was nearest and dearest to his heart. He loved Maddie as well, and the Bianchis--even as their memory was starting to fray and turn fuzzy on the edges due to the passing of time and the relegation of those early childhood memories into the parts of his mind that were much older than others and therefore far more faulty. His family was a small one, then, with few extending branches. Maddie, his brother, and himself: much of Mathilda's family were either dead or difficult to contact anymore, the prices paid over the span of a life lived in a decisive moment in wizarding history.

But, there had been a curious thing, and that was that Romeo suspected that he may know who their biological father could possibly be. It was a name that Piérre had tasted on his tongue frequently, that he had let dance delightedly through his mind with the giddy nature of it. Gitano Luca Vero... a flamboyant ringmaster and a firedancer. Someone whom his brother had depicted as being... not necessarily kind. Someone that was instead quite hard and snide and perhaps a hair haughty. He seemed to remember the words being "like a sweet acid" that Romeo had used at some point or another to describe the one-eyed man.

Despite this, though... Piérre had excitedly considered meeting him himself. He wanted to know... wanted to find out for himself, and that excitedness even now made his heart thrum ever so slightly with a fluttering anticipation, with the knowledge that he had an idea, a thought on how he would present himself and how he would conduct himself for any kind of situation that was presented to him by that man.

@Evelynn Decipio's Wampus Hair: I wonder what he'll be like? A ringmaster... a ringmaster... My father might be a ringmaster...

Even now a curl of a smile caused Piérre to flash bright white teeth in a delighted manner.

But the thoughts that came with a social life somewhat swirled into the thoughts of the friendships that one was also supposed to have, and the lack of friendships that Piérre in particular seemed to have himself. He could see several people here that he knew, Evelynn one of them but also the white-haired and bespectacled Pericles a ways away--that way as well because of Piérre's self-imposed need to ensure that others stayed a fair and respectable distance away from himself for their own safety. That didn't prevent his green eyes, however, from mournfully laying themselves on each that he did know and then to flick away just as quickly as he tapped his finger on the quill and tried to determine what it was that he should say about his circumstance.

The wall on the opposite of the house was given vertical lines in green, diagonal angles in black. The remaining white areas were shaded lightly, very very lightly, with red so that it looked similar to a strawberry as opposed to a raspberry or an apple.

Blood family being found,
Friends beloved but kept apart to prevent them being dangerbound.

I am learning more about my family.

Lastly, and most fearfully to the boy... Taha hinengaro.

Not because he didn't want to speak or to confront himself, but because of what he might find and the fact that he did not wish to look upon such a terrible thing as his current relationship with his own thoughts and emotions.

They were a deep and dark valley, and he had wandered in it too frequently for his comfort, for his well-being. Its stability was the most fragile out of the rest, blank ink spattered across the right roof, creating giant cracks and a shattering pattern across its surface. This part of the home was broken, this part of the home was the one that Piérre had enough insight to recognize as being damaged beyond healthy repair. His mind was not together, had not been entirely together for some time--he had lost so many friends that he had once been close to, ruined so many instances and situations that could have been good but had instead been corrupted by his nature and his incessant nonsense. He was an irritant as opposed to a balm, a bad influence instead of someone to be looked up to and admired or let alone even recognized as being an equal or a person to be taken seriously.

He wasn't deserving of being taken seriously. He was, among the rest of these students, a mere ghost or shadow of his former self. Floating aimlessly into an oblivion where his only company was his own mind, when he reached out for others it became a competition--a challenge--to see how quickly he could instead be rebuffed or that he could ruin a once-nice thing. If others around him did not vanish, they changed. He himself never seemed to change... never seemed to take a hint.

That terrible creature that he had met when he was twelve in that dark tent, that had lived in that locked box... ever day he realized it was evident that its words spoken to him in that place were ringing more and more true.

He never learned. He never learned. He was worthless, could vanish, and none would care even if his blood spattered the ground beneath their own feet. He was another life brushed aside, another instance of a useless soul that had achieved nothing in the end. Piérre knew this, knew what others saw, and what he should change, what he should try to change...

But could never seem to bring himself to do it. After all, would those actions not make it worse? It would make it worse, would make it all worse.

I didn't want to live in a glass house,
and yet somehow stones were made to be thrown at it anyways.

How may I fix this without losing the view I once had out of it?

It was an ugly house, as the boy looked at his art: a disaster of chaos and disgusting arrangement. There was no order, no organization. Looking at it turned his stomach, hurt his eyes. It was an ugly creation, a disgusting and foul coalescence that could have been beautiful but had instead turned out quite ruined indeed. Ruined by his own hand, no less--by his own mind and by his very being itself. This was the house that was him.

And the house was just as ugly as the hand that had created it. As the thoughts and the mind that had birthed it. Just as distorted and as similar to a funhouse mirror as the person that it depicted the pillars of things that represented the being.

The corner of his lips curled in a nauseated way before he crumpled the paper up and left it where it was. He took his bookbag and spun away harshly, walking quickly away and off to better things to waste his time doing instead. He didn't need his own house to offend him, didn't need another reminder of his shortcomings and the wreck that he constantly found himself in.

2,170 words

Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 5 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 5

Abilities:
Keen Eye | Calming Presence | Beast Master [Cat] | Cat's Grace | Animagus [Hummingbird]

Items:
Wand [10.2 inches Yew and Snallygaster Heartstring] | Firebreathing Potion | Soda
[Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife | [Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards