The Futility of Building Bridges With Their Ashes PV Closed

⋖ 01/May/2024 @ study period | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING n/a
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The heel of leather riding boots tapped dully across cold stone floors as Evelynn made her way through a dungeon corridor. With every pace forward, the air seemed to condense, coalesce, a stagnant sort of stench not so dissimilar to that of mildew hanging thicker in the air. It was humid down here. Not the sort of humid that ofttimes comes to mind alongside tropical beaches and sea spray, but the sort of humidity that comes in the dank cold air in proximity to water, the sort that creeps through clothing and chills the bones, grasping tight to the soul and reluctant to relinquish its hold long after returning to a place of warmth.

As much as the fifth-year enjoyed the peaceful, measured focus that was Potions, she did not enjoy the locale in which its tutelage was delivered. Somewhere in the distance, she was certain she could hear a drip drip drip. It echoed off the walls, seeming near, yet unidentifiable in its source. Or perhaps it was just the trick of her mind. The tempo of her pulse had quickened slightly, its beat playing out a dull percussive beat behind her eyes that matched the rate of the drips. Students came and went, passing her in the hallway. She was safe here. Or safe enough, at least.

And yet, it was still—even after all these years—nigh on impossible to shake the anxious, restless feeling she got whenever she descended past the ground floor. Twists and turns made it difficult to spot oddities before they were already upon her. Every sound she made was multiplied tenfold as it careened off the walls to echo far ahead of her. The air was heavy, suffocating. And there simply wasn't any space. Like a beast trapped in a cage, she felt confined, constricted, without enough room to maneuver if ever the need arose to do so. Nevertheless, it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it. The potions class was where it was, towards the bowels of the castle, where the lake loomed high and heavy above the bracing walls, and shadows unseen lurked in unlikely crevices. She couldn't put off practical studies forever.

Eventually, Evelynn pushed open the door to the class, entering into the domain of hazy fumes and simmering cauldrons, hunched shoulders and faces of intense focus. Only there was only one pair of hunched shoulders at the moment. Still, having been through this song and dance more times now than she could count, the lioness prowled the perimeter of the room towards the cabinets, thoughts fixed more towards the potions she intended to practice than those whose space she would be sharing. She gathered what ingredients could be pilfered from the school stock then settled into a seat. It wasn't until she had unslung her satchel from her shoulder onto the table and begun pulling out her cauldron and mortar and pestle and the other tools and items she would need that a passive glance up to the ravenclaw boy seated at the next table over across from her, that she paused.

"Does playing the role of a studious Eagle help you study?" Her posture had straightened, one brow lofted as she delivered the sardonic and half rhetorical question. There was no attempt to veil the scrutiny as gray eyes passed their way over the boy's features and attire. While he looked a bit better than she'd seen him in the past, he appeared fatigued to her, circles beneath his eyes suggesting interrupted or absent sleep; and a certain lack of luster left him looking rather dull. The contrast to the sharp wit of Ravenclaw might have sparked amusement had her thoughts not already been preoccupied.

It had been a while since she'd properly spoken to him. He had been acting... oddly... for some time now. For the longest time, she had thought nothing really of it. Piérre had always had something of a dramatic personality, and with her own fixation directed inwards to the misery broiling within, she had shied away from even attempting to analyze it. Even during her last duelling match when it seemed to have come to a head, she had just felt... nothing. His words had been enough to shut her down, his melodrama too much for her to even want to bother with sifting through. Prince and Pericles had taken point on contesting his odd assertions and so she had just... left. And never really looked back. But with Warren's sudden transition at the ball and other revelations coming to light, she had to acknowledge that perhaps the behaviour shouldn't have been so passively normalized. It wasn't normal.

Her gaze had drifted to the petri dish he had out on the table in front of him. While she wasn't up close to discern the exact characteristics, it didn't really leave much to question even at a distance. Black and inky, the drop of liquid in the dish had a certain viscosity to it that even she could notice. Were it not for Pierre poking at it with a probe, she wasn't entirely certain that it wouldn't have maintained a beaded shape where it sat. But it wasn't even its properties that gave her pause, it was the fact that he was examining it like that at all. This was no potions ingredient that she could think of, and a normal situation would not call for poking at something. It was as though he were conducting some sort of experiment with an unknown substance. "What is that..."

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect: Evelynn Decipio & Figaro Affected

There was a small paw that lightly kneaded against Piérre's calf for a second with a warning mew to inform him that someone new had arrived in the room, but it was not the warning that Piérre had appointed to the feline that corresponded with that of Professor Reaganomics entering so Piérre felt that there wasn't as much concern to be had. Nevertheless, that didn't mean that he wasn't still at least a little aware of the impression of an individual traversing the shared environment with him--subconsciously his awareness lingered upon the newcomer, made mental notes of the way they wandered and the directions of their travels even as he continued to gather as much as the dark material into the center of the dish as he could. He intended to split this little piece into four quadrants and then experiment upon them with different substances to simply observe the reactions: acromantula venom, hydrogen peroxide, sodium chloride, and heat (perhaps mixed with light...). Placing the items aside, his now-free hand clenched and unclenched in the air as if stretching his fingers--he was really trying to dry the sweat that was beading in his palms and failing magnificently, but surely it was the thought that counted.

However, when the presence took a seat only a little ways away from him and spoke with a very familiar and unmistakable voice, Piérre could not help but freeze even as he was about to act upon the plan that he had just made. Despite himself, he felt his cheeks drain of all color as if something truly frightful had just crossed his mind and had made itself manifest at that very moment. His green eyes widened again ever so slightly and he held his breath as he watched the sulking ooze ooze just a hair outward. He considered the best way to reply to the one and the only Evelynn Decipio, and in a feat accomplished by very few indeed the boy suddenly found his mind very blank and empty for a response indeed--drained from his thoughts and his tongue the very moment that the intonations in colors of unimpressed and pointed had reached his ears.

"Sometimes." He finally said softly, his eyes not daring to move away from the dish out of fear of meeting those of Evelynn's steel ones. The word got caught in his throat in the impression of a mumble and required a small cough to dislodge itself fully. "Sometimes." He repeated again, a bit more clearly and loudly now. "It uh... it's an attempt to get my mind in the right place, anyways." Being not only as distracted as he usually was, and the fact that he did struggle with the academic concept of school overall. Perhaps if he tried to pretend that he was someone who really did know how to do such things he would trick his mind into taking onto himself those same traits and habits.

And it did work. ... Sometimes.

But he had found himself donning the colors of blue and bronze more frequently than usual now, perhaps mostly in part thanks to the event involving one of the few Ravenclaws (one of few in general, really,) that Piérre had always held close to his heart. It was, perhaps, a subconscious impulse of his. It was perhaps some kind of deep-seated insecurity that was eating away deep in the rent ribbons just barely holding themselves together by the confines of viscera in his cage of ribs. Something was on his mind, well... that thing of blood and the thing he had been to slow to prevent was on his mind, anyways, in conjunction to this curious item which he had on hand. Something was on his mind and he was thinking too much about a jumble of things that he could not quite coalesce into a rational order thought so as to fully probe at it as he would the substance in the dish.

He licked his lips lightly. The probe in his hand shivered ever so slightly as his mind now began to race and he considered the best way to try to continue this interaction. He had wanted to speak to Evelynn, after all. He had been trying to bring himself to confront her--well, to confront himself--ever since his little scene on the piste in the mid-winter. He had wanted to try to find a way, to somehow find in his heart the courage or at least a whit of boldness enough to...

It was ridiculous.

His heart beat a little bit faster, the tips of his ears turning red as a very very thin flush entered his cheeks. Well, perhaps now was as good as ever to try to begin stumbling through whatever it was the fragments of his mind were still spinning in an attempt to complete--like the desperate weavings of Arachne as she sought to prove herself better than the goddess.

"Evelynn, I want..."
"What is that..."
"...to--eh?"

His attention and by proxy his eyes now turned for the first time most directly towards the Gryffindor girl of great renown. They were now the size of saucers. "What is wha... oh, this?" He glanced back at the ooze before looking back at Evelynn and then paling again. "Oh, uh... just... an exotic ingredient. Something I found... around? When I stabbed the shadow slug looking thing when we were fighting it that one time a few years back?" Words tumbled faster than he could stop them, the pathological people pleaser and a bit of a rambler beginning to drip through the nervous exterior. "Saved it in my scarf, moved it to a phial, forgot about it after putting it in my trunk, remembered it again after a few years. With recent events I wanted to..."

His words dried up again as he stared deeply into those grey Athenian eyes. "... revisit it because... I finally... remembered it."

His palms began to sweat again, and despite himself for some reason his mouth was beginning to water. He gulped lightly and then found himself fidgeting as he tried to find something for his hands to do. Fumble with the cork of the hydrogen peroxide, perhaps that would help... or not... "A-and I thought maybe it was important--connected to things, maybe..."

Figaro's tail curled lightly around the boy's leg before the feline got up, stretched, and then made his way to the chair of the other lion, sniffing delicately at her shin to pick up her scent and discern its distinctiveness. Evelynn was one that he did recognize, even if the scent had changed a bit over the years...

"And what are you doing here, hm?!" Piérre suddenly leaned towards her, perhaps a bit too excitedly in a way that may have seemed almost nosily interrogative but was almost laughably easy to discern as being the body language of one that was likely using such a query to change the subject. He was an open book to read when nerves got the better of him, but oh... how he missed that feeling. How must a book feel, after all, when it lay fully open on the spine, achingly open with wonderful and terrible writings done by an inspired and desperate hand, only to be passed over and put aside by potential readers whose eyes did not so much as land upon the mysterious swirls and edges of the calligraphy? "Not disappearin--disappointing any professors with... uh... you know." Piérre waved his hand nebulously. "Disstudiousness, right?"

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 [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Phial of Shadow Slug Goo | Phial of Strange Plant Goo

⋖ 01/May/2024 @ study period | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING n/a
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There it was again, that odd behaviour. Only...the reverse of what she was expecting, in a way. It had gone unnoticed initially, the abnormal immobility, the whites around his irises, the drain of colour. But as Evelynn regarded him, she could not bring herself to even look away, never mind disregard the reaction. Flighty and forward; recluse and reckless; seeking the limelight and skirting the perimeter. The lioness had seen all manner of behavioural facets from the boy, a living paradox if ever there was one. It had always seemed to her that the more extroverted he was, the better his health. Yet there had been times as well when he seemed to vanish for extended periods of time. She'd never really thought much of it until the year he had apologized for doing just that. He'd admitted, then, to being unwell. His appearance suggested the same now, but it was more than just the sallow sunken eyes and nearly translucent flesh that clung greedily to bone. In all the years she had known him, she couldn't recall a time where he had appeared afraid in her presence. As though her very arrival had sparked some internal turmoil wavering between the options of flight or remaining steadfast in place.

His soft reply, barely more than a whisper, drew a tilt of her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Of what did he have to be frightened of her? The repetition and regained traction of his voice hardly helped matters. Sure, he was able to find it in himself to reply, but he couldn't hide the edginess about him. The tremulous hand, the licking of his lips...he was like a dog beaten to the point of being terrified to move, expecting nothing but terror from anything that moved. Only moments before, he'd been confident in his curiosity. Smoothly arranging his things and prodding at whatever substance it was that he had set up for study. Why did he stand there as though he expected her to harm him? Or was it something else? Had she walked in on something he had hoped to go unnoticed? Was he ashamed? Guilty? Fearful of having something taken away? Was it to do with...that?

It was her own probing into the unknown substance's identity that finally drew the boy's gaze. Wide emerald eyes looked to her, and hers pierced back, silver scalpels attempting to carve windows into his inner machinations. His thoughts evaded her—for now—but his continued surprise did not. He echoed her question as though not expecting it, eyes darting from her to the subject of her question and back again. If any more colour drained from his features, she was certain he would dematerialize before her eyes. Her lips crimped as he started on his explanation. An exotic ingredient, indeed. She half expected him to hold to that tale, to proffer some vague description in an attempt to appease her question and deliver nothing at the same time, and so was almost surprised when he made mention of the shadow slug.

"The hag slug?" A brow lofted, expression momentarily blank before all the concern and skepticism came flooding back into its creases.

She hadn't forgotten about them, of course. In fact, she'd warned Pericles and Salinger and Lark to avoid any intimate gestures for the very reason of their existence. Yet, it was clear now that she hadn't actually put much stock into their continued existence. It had been years since she'd last seen one, and without the ongoing attacks and grave encounters, she had evidently dismissed them as a current threat. The recent ball had skewed that perception. Both the younger Athanatos—if rumors were to be believed—and Warren had exhibited uncharacteristically violent tendencies then. She knew from Ryan's transformation that infection brought with it a gradual decline in health, a wasting away of one's appearance, a slip into madness, and eventually, mindless aggression. Her gaze slipped from Pierre, to the black substance, and back again, pieces of a puzzle slipping suddenly together.

Now that it came to mind, the outcome of what had happened to the slug they'd forced from Gray never had been made clear.

"Perhaps there may be some truth to that.." she replied quietly, regarding him carefully as he spoke of his recent recollection of the past fight that had likewise just been drawn to the forefront of her own memory.

"What am I doing here?" The shift in subject as he turned to interrogate her did not come as a surprise. In fact, given his fidgeting and obvious nervousness, it could only be expected. It was almost too forced, though. Pierre was not one she would necessarily have considered subtle in diplomatic endeavors, tending to favour humour and dramatics, but this seemed almost too forced. Like a knee-jerk reaction of a cornered prey, he sputtered defensively in an attempt to shift the interrogative light from himself to Evelynn. "This is the potions classroom," she stated simply, deciding to play along for the moment. "I am here to make potions."

A faint smile accompanied the flourish of a hand to highlight the cauldron and ingredients she had already laid out before her in preparation. Her hands lowered unassumingly to the surface the table, palms rotated inwards on either side of her cauldron. "Ordinary Wizarding Levels fast approach, after all," she continued, shrugging a brow. Fingers of either hand folded gently down to curl flat against their respective palms. "Unfortunately, I have quite a bit of catching up to do. I have disappointed our professors enough already this year. It is time to rectify that, I suppose. So the only disappearing I will be doing, is disappearing into my studies."

She paused for a moment, latching onto the slip in his speech and considering it further. Disappear. Such a specific choice of word. One that had been plaguing her and serving as the driving force of her nightmares for years now. She had been isolating herself and pushing people away for just as long, for exactly that reason.

"Why? Are you concerned I might disappear?" Another pause. "Because I am not the one who disappears. Bastille. Woodward. Holmwood. Morgan. Choi. D'Spacito. Lestrange. Beckett. Tan. Burnett. Martin. Valentine. Bellamy. Connor. Dralt. It is everybody else around me. The moment I start to draw near to someone, they vanish or die or fall victim to near-mortal peril." There was a certain gravity to her tone as she spoke, her expression draining of all emotion as she put to voice the truth that had been tormenting her for so long. Her shoulders rose and fell with a prolonged breath, though she soothed herself as fingertips brushed against the metalwork around her wrist. "Yourself included," she added, referring to that period of time where he had effectively been absent from school, apparently lurking in the bowels of the castle. His return had come with apologies. But now she wondered why he had been absent. And who—or what—had been the driving force behind that. "Remind me...where were you?"

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect: Evelynn Decipio & Figaro Affected

"Oh, yes, well... of course. Potions. Fun things." Piérre returned to fidgeting over the probe again, glancing away quickly. "I'm bad at them myself, but good for you." Ordinary Wizarding Levels... "Good, good. OWLs... haha... can't wait to fail those." Piérre grimaced at the thoughts of the strenuous exams coming up and how awfully they were likely going to go for himself. He wasn't... wasn't a bad student, he didn't think, but...

Well, he just wasn't... smart. Compared to Evelynn, compared to Romeo, compared to say Meenuah or Pericles, or Aly or anyone else, Piérre was simply probably close to an 92IQ person and that was likely being generous. At least it was above room temperature, but even that wasn't too terribly much to brag about. But Evelynn wasn't planning on disappearing. That at least was good. That was very good. That was the most important thing, actually. The most important thing above all. That was one thing that Piérre could do to preserve, to ensure continuity of such an effect. That Evelynn didn't vanish unless it was only for good reasons, that she was going somewhere of her own will and not by some other dark reason that could not be controlled.

But then she spoke of the others. The others that had done just what he had feared happening the most.

His hand flattened on the table as she listed all the names, many of which he did well-remember. More than he would have liked to remember, he did remember. Their faces were clear in his mind, clean and shockingly in-focus. Had he spoken to many of these people? No, not really, but he had seen them, had heard stories and rumors about them, had been in classes with them. He knew each one's face. He knew their resting expressions and those that he had been close to he knew their smiles. His eyes slipped closed as if in thought, and those voices that he did know, that he had heard and that he knew best, whispered their lingering dialogues in his mind. "They're not the only ones either, Evelynn." He said softly. "Many of them I don't know their names--they aren't in our grade, they're young--but I know their faces, I know they were real and that they existed. I knew a Lumley once. A Brielle, a Christopher, Booker, Draig, Rose, Bancroft, Parker... I saw them when I first came here and then they vanished. I knew a Moore." His eyes fluttered open again, remembering the face of one of the Potter witnesses--one that had also vanished. "I knew a Marion. A Faust."

He slowly rolled his neck, fixing Evelynn with a gaze that was now numb only because it was the only way he could bring himself to entertain such things in the dark ravines of his mind. "Vanished or worse. So I did it too, before anyone else got hurt. That's why." He shook his head. "I looked for Deathmote, the only one who seemed to have the remotest ability to grasp and expose the insanity of this place even though I think it ultimately affected his mind if it wasn't touched before. He's gone too, to the best of my knowledge. Down to the deepest parts of the dungeons--he knew the place like the back of his hand. I went after him to try to find answers but wasn't able to find him. Either he survived and is off the grid--which is good for him, to be perfectly honest--or something down there got him, which is also a possibility." Had he really wanted to leave? No, not really. Had he just been a child who hadn't known what he wanted back then and was simply wandering off of the spotlit trail towards a destination that was dangerous and more than likely ended in a dead end? Yes. Yes, that was mostly the answer. There hadn't really been a rhyme or reason to it other than the fact that... he had wanted to try to find what it was that he wasn't sure he was looking for.

And that he had failed, only to find what it was and what proof that he had needed to discover it by on the school's surface once more--the prompt for his total return once more. But truth be told: "I don't remember much. Don't remember why." And that much was true as well, his mind and his memories from that time were rather fuzzy, between trying to cope with the level of shocking turns that kept presenting themselves in his life, the memories that he had carried with him at that time from ages much younger vying for a place to instill terror in him, and potentially the workings of the castle itself considering a strange warning that the boy had once received from the albino Aida concerning the foods which the house elves prepared for the entire school.

Memory seemed to be a fickle thing in this school, one that seemed everchanging especially when concerning the students that appeared and vanished at random and especially those who vanished without warning or a readable trail of where they had gone. Piérre had once thought himself mad for beginning to notice such things in recent years... but evidently Evelynn had noticed too. "I thought that I was the only one. Who noticed disappearances, that is. Who seemed to be causing them." That was the root of the fear. Yes. That. His green eyes gleamed with wonder. "My friends as well, Evelynn: changing and vanishing. And you." He pressed his lips together into a thin line. "You and Pericles--both changed. I-in good ways too, but..."

Nobody seemed to be anything like how Piérre remembered them anymore. It was a lonely feeling... but at least they were growing. Everyone else around him, that was. Everyone had each other.

"I'm sorry."

For what? For a lot of things. Things he probably wouldn't know how to articulate anymore. For being such a bad 'friend', for trying to garner attention and be the center of the spotlight, for being a narcissist in that way, for trying to think that anyone wanted to be around, that he was causing all of these problems and causing so much mental anguish to all that he was brash enough to brush a hand against. For being a burden, which could be said for much of his life. For trying to fit in somewhere that he truly just... didn't belong. For trying to force others to stay with him when they would be better off alone. For thinking he could hold on when he just had to let go of. For thinking that he could hold on. For not knowing how to move on, how to speak, how to act. For not being good enough for the friendship, let alone the love of, those around him.

He bit down a knot in his throat. "But I get the feeling 'I'm sorry' isn't going to cut it anymore, not for everything I've done and how I've acted. Around you and around people that I thought were my friends but really just..." He didn't plan on disappearing again, but the damage had already been done--the shadowy impression of the creature he had met at the Trial by Fear which lurked in the back of his mind as his feet unknowingly traversed the trail leading towards its own nature. Already he had become too much like it. Now it seemed he was simply completing the pilgrimage.

He was too far inside his own head, feeling like he saw the dominos falling. He was exhausted. Tired of what he had tried to be, trying so hard to stay afloat. But what else was next? What else could he be other than that which he was inherently? He had nothing else but this, and without what he thought he was he was ultimately nothing but a shell. He laughed aloud lightly at the irony. "Would have preferred I had just..."

'If you want to die so badly, die by yourself.'

It was a knife in his heart... "I don't deserve to think I was ever a 'friend' to anyone."

'I should just go.' But he couldn't move. Like he were made of lead, he couldn't move. Couldn't bring himself to shift. Torn down the center and unable to make a decision of which half to obey and which half to shun. Yet perhaps neither of those options were the right one. So what was?

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 [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Phial of Shadow Slug Goo | Phial of Strange Plant Goo

⋖ 01/May/2024 @ study period | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING n/a
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Pierre continued to fidget, the probe prodding at the inky globular substance in the petri dish, his eyes darting about. The very picture of nervous energy, Evelynn was once again left with the distinct impression that he was either hiding something or was terribly uncomfortable with her presence. Perhaps both and more. Brows furrowed, eyes continuing to bore into him as she observed the subtle--and not so subtle--nuances of his behaviour. "You are in the potions classroom..." she remarked, lofting a brow at the mention of his deficit in that particular subject. "You could be spending your time practicing brewing instead of toying with substances excluded from the examinable curricula." Not that she wouldn't have been doing exactly the same in his position, of course.

"I know they are not the only ones," Evelynn replied, caution laced with melancholy. And perhaps a dash of acid. "Those were merely the ones with whom-" Well, she couldn't say friends as she would never have referred to D'Spacito as such. But.. "-I most closely associated." For better or worse. But she quieted as Pierre went on to list other names. Most were unfamiliar to her, but as he continued down his list, their familiarity and notoriety grew. "Moore is dead," she stated bluntly, as though commenting on nothing more than an approaching storm. "Twice over now, if my suspicions are correct. As is Davenport. And may we all be glad of that one, at least. She was no girl, but a hag. One of those from the Forest's coven. As far as I understand it, she was shattered into a million pieces." As for Deathmote, she could only shrug a brow, recalling the occasion on Flash's birthday where they--and most of the rest of Slytherin house, it had seemed--had ventured into those very dungeons in search of him.

"Your leaving was done in vain. Even in your absence, there were those who were hurt, or lured by one coven or the other. What made you believe that your disappearance would make a difference? What knowledge did you hold?" Naturally, her first assumption was that he was under the impression that he knew too much, that his awareness of one thing or another would be significant enough to draw the attention and ire of those who could do him--and those dearest to him--harm. That had been why Evelynn had withdrawn, after all. "What makes you a target? Or was it from your so-called friends that you fled?" Perhaps the ice in her tone was a touch cooler than she had meant it to be, but the memory of his behaviour and the way he had chosen to handle her on the piste during their last duel was not so easily forgotten. "And do not tell me that you cannot recall." Without looking its way, her free hand slipped into her satchel, withdrawing a clear vial containing a shimmering amber liquid. "That can always be remedied."

It was, of course, a Memory Potion, something of which Evelynn always tried to keep well stocked. Over the years, various comments and the occasional instance where her memory seemed incongruent with the inscribed accounts of events in her journal and the way many students seemed a bit hazy about basic information when questioned had led her to believe there was something off with the ability to create and maintain memory. The final straw had been the ball where she herself seemed to have lost several hours to the void. As a self-appointed investigator and chronicler of the strange happenings around the school, lapses like that were unacceptable. From then, she'd made it a habit to dose herself periodically with Memory Potion, particularly when trying to recall the finer details initially overlooked in one encounter or another in order to draw correlations previously missed.

"For what?" Pierre wasn't wrong. 'I'm sorry' wasn't going to cut it, and never would. From anyone for anything. As far as Evelynn was concerned, and by the values instilled upon her rearing, a simple statement of apology was meaningless without further extrapolation and action. It was easy to say those words, to flippantly hand them out to the wronged individual or individuals in question and to continued on as though nothing had ever happened. But that overlooked the hurt and failed to take full responsibility of the wrong-doing. There needed to be acknowledgement. Specific acknowledgement of exactly for what the person was sorry. Even more than that, they also needed both to articulate how they would overcome or avoid that err in future, and then to act upon it and carry that promise through. I'm sorry meant less than nothing.

"I do not even know for what it is that you are apologizing." And truly, the way he spoke of the apology enveloped her in a haze of confusion. As far as she could recall, he had only really wronged her once: at the duel. By the way he was expressing his vague regrets, however, it seemed like he was referring to some laundry list of transgressions, which only added to the creeping inclination that he was deluded and not wholly himself. The more he spoke, the more time Evelynn had to observe him. His words seemed to falter, his focus diverting from the present. She could practically see the gears turning inside his head behind the heavily lidded eyes, but they seemed to slip and jar, the machinations of his mind faltering at best.

"... just what?" Evelynn had inquired, voice low and almost threatening, as though daring him to speak whatever words had been left unsaid when he'd cut himself off. "No... I do not think so..." Evelynn replied when Pierre had suggested that he would be leaving. She had heard enough. With her paranoia renewed, recent events at the ball bringing once dormant threats back to the surface, and the memory of past encounters fresh upon her mind after a recent revisiting of past investigations, she had put enough pieces together to draw a conclusion that Pierre was not himself. His disappearance was suspect, and the lack of recollection of the details was either evasively deceptive, or supportive of affliction. If she was correct, it would explain much of his increasingly aberrant behaviour over the more recent years. If she was wrong, it would be a minor inconvenience for him.

She would not give him the opportunity to leave. Through the course of their conversation, Evelynn had gradually maneuvered her wand hand into position. As soon as he expressed his intention to depart, she acted. The smallest press of fingers upon the lever at the base where palm met wrist released the mechanism to launch the wand holstered in the hidden bracer into her hand. The wand was already pointed at him, and the movement was a simple matter of tracing a small angled rhombus. "Slugulus eructo."

Action: casting the slug-vomiting hex

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect: Evelynn Decipio & Figaro Affected

The potential of the single word could was so intriguing as a concept, for it was a word that could be applied pertinently to the past, present, and future state alike. There was so much he could have done. So much that he could do. So much that could happen. How could there be so much uncertainty at any point in time simply based on the utilization of that one simple and monotonous word?

Well, the point was that there were a lot of things that Piérre had simply outright wasted when it came to opportunities, even if he hadn't realized it. When he was young, he had wasted opportunities to try to make meaningful relationship with others besides his brother despite his nomad lifestyle. When he had come to Hogwarts, he had continued to waste his time that he could have been using to make new relationships in exchange for following a much more isolationist past of 'truth-seeking' and 'mystery-hunting'. He had tried to be an adventurer on the solo, a dream of many a child who had ambitions so far beyond their current state of being, and even that he had squandered as he had simply allowed trails to grow cold and refused to allow himself to approach others or ask questions or even act in a remotely civil way in subsequent years. Driving himself mad, making himself believe things that likely just were not real--could not be real--he began to ruin his academics.

He ruined his sanity. He ruined his friendships. He ruined his sibling relation. He ruined any hopes that he had to repair most of these things, and it had only been by grace alone that his brother and Valentin had stayed with him even in the midst of the crucible he had flung himself into headfirst. The psyche of Piérre Marchonné was likely a twisted one to those who were even marginally functioning, one that was splintered and meandering and lacked a direct route from A to B without a million little stops along the way that served no purpose other than a potential roadblock to further success or a detonating switch upon previously built structures. Somehow in it all, though, Piérre had tried to find it in himself to self-convict that what he was doing had been right. That what he had done, what he was doing, and what he had to do had never been wrong per say, but rather flawed in execution. His final goal had been well-intentioned... but his methods had much to be desired.

But as anyone else could see on the outside looking in, the boy was nothing more than a sad shade, a shell of a human who was simply a poorly disguised manipulator out for his own ends--whatever ends were able to be distinguished, that was. He couldn't admit that there was something wrong because he couldn't afford to admit it. At the cost of others, at the cost of himself--it was something he was too frightened to admit. That he couldn't afford to admit. That if he admitted wouldn't know how to confront it anyhow.

Green eyes continued to track Evelynn's own, darkened now entirely in thought and consideration of her words--unresponsive at the verbal lashes either conscious or unconscious that were issued. Moore was dead... well, people had died before and come back. Lazarus Syndrome likely had a very different definition in the Wizarding World--dying twice, however, was something even he had to admit was a feat. Not even Vladmir had been able to boast that (yet to his knowledge).

Marion being a hag, however, caused the boy to perk a bit. That was a name he knew better. That was a girl... had he interfaced directly with before...? Once there was a girl whom 'shattering' was a familiar memory--it was something he had been involved with, that he had caused a disastrous consequence upon. "The girl with glass bones." He blurted instantaneously back in return. "Black blood."

Well... it must have caught up with her in the end... Tragedy was as Tragedy does.

But as the words rebuking him were spoken, there was only a small sad smile in response as eyes still dark turned shiny. "I never considered anyone a 'so-called' friend." He finally said softly. "They are my friends--any so-calling was their call to make on me." Conviction, there was not a flicker of hesitation with a heavy emphasis on the present tense. "Perhaps it was that I didn't know enough. I wanted to know more. Wanted to learn more. Wanted to... to..." What was the right word? To explain that his desire had been to take all the pain of those that he loved and to channel it into himself directly? Take any curse, any burden no matter the cost--to sell his psyche, his body, his magic--just to ensure that all of that suffering, that it all ended once and for all.

His hand curled open and closed, as if grasping for the word physically. "... be useful, I suppose. Hah... but my timing has always been bad. And so's been my honesty." He wasn't a liar... but he rarely spoke his mind--often for the same reason as most other things he kept inside--the fear of what others would think if for one moment he allowed that veil to fall away so that one could behold the face of horror. "Believe me: if I could have my way--we wouldn't be talking like this." Maddeningly vague. "The real things, the rumors based in reality, they wouldn't have seen the light of day let alone had the chance to sink claws into anyone or anything." He was a child. What could he do? Well, perhaps he believed that he could do a lot more than the world expected him to be able to do... but that didn't prevent him from expecting even more from himself--even the impossible.

If he could work his way--if he could...

Perhaps he'd find himself at the elbows of Evelynn and Pericles and Rafael, Aly and Valentin and Romeo and tens of others that he knew the names of but had never allowed himself to get close enough to touch. Never let them get close enough lest his necrotic touch destroy their bodies or minds like Pericles' eye or Valentin's mind--Evelynn's coldness... Maybe sneers and fallen lips with expressions of apathy or emotionlessness would have been as unthinkable as any heinous crime. Sure, there would be the difficult times, but there would always be some way out. Some way to fix it or at least to bury the hatchet. No life without discord, no harmony without dissonance--but life was not to be the dissonance but the chord structure that built up to and then resolved such temporary tension.

Surely it wasn't too much to wish for a happy ending of some kind, or at least for a feeling of rest or relief from hard work well done. After all, it was the basest desire of the human condition.

"For letting you down, Evelynn." A psychological silvered dagger sank itself so deep into his chest that the boy could have sworn it was real. "For letting you all down. Not being there, not being good enough. For being such... such a shitty person." He slammed his fist on the table, anything to distract from the flush in his cheeks and the tearing in his breast.

But was he even being genuine? Was there some little devil in the back of his mind that was telling him what to say, how to act, how to work the strings of the situation to regain the love or at least the partial trust of the one that was attached to his fingers at the moment? How could he even know that he could trust his own words--and what if he broke them again? Unintentionally, intentionally... was it better to apologize and not be believed or was it better to be believed only to shatter trust at the next chance to prove himself? To fail again after he had worked so hard to rebuild the bridges he had doused with gasoline and struck a match upon? Had any part or parcel of his dialogue been in any way legitimate? Or had it all been an elegant lie--a sociopathic Machiavellian construct that he had subconsciously created to satiate a psychopathic bent that sullenly chewed bones to itself somewhere deep in his genes?

He blinked at the violence of his own action, but didn't hate what he had expressed. If there was anyone else that was at this school, perhaps it should be Evelynn that got to see the crack at the corner of the masque. "Anything I try to do goes wrong. I ruin everything I touch and don't know how to fix it. Others suffer for the things I do because I can't learn to just can up my own suffering like an adult, and I don't want others to suffer for it anymore!" It was the spiral. "I need to get out of here, out of this head and out of this stupid facade that I don't know how to take off of my face anymore--I don't even know if I'm lying or telling the truth to you now!"

He pushed the chair back, the legs of it screeching on the flagstone floor as he angrily made to leave and then no doubt nurse the flames of self-pity that he wished he could murder in cold blood. But even as he turned again to grab his bag, a spell from Evelynn caught him right in the chest. Caught off guard, the boy stumbled back, catching himself on the next table over and farther away from Evelynn. Figaro hissed at the girl with sharply incised teeth, fur bushing up with ears flattening and tail puffing on end as claws unsheathed, but did not strike. The anger in Piérre's eyes had vanished entirely, replaced by shock and a look of betrayal mixed with something near relieved awe.

But the moment wasn't long to last as a sickening sensation began to ripple through him. True to form, the slug vomiting curse would indeed produce nauseating effects... but Evelynn would get a bit more than what she bargained for--or perhaps exactly what she had bargained for depending on how one looked at it. After a few dry heaves and a sickening belch, Piérre doubled over and felt his nose and eyes sting as something came up and out from within.

A slick, inky mass finally schlorped onto the ground surrounded in liquidized black bile mixed nauseatingly with stomach acid, long and thin like a watersnake. With a high pitched shivering 'scream' that undulated just as much as the rest of its approximately one and a quarter metre long (perhaps a hair longer as the accessory ooze concealed much of its true shape and size) body, it lashed and began to take in its sudden change in surroundings with a vengeance. The creature that had been hiding in Piérre was now revealed, a creature that he had received around a year and a half ago from what had first seemed an inconsequential game of Spin the Bottle that had obviously gone wrong. It had grown well and strong in the boy's gut, feeding on his former health and benefitting from much of the mania that had already existed in him--mania that had led to successful spread to another host for that matter.

The emotions, or rather the tainting of the emotions of the vessel had ensured its survival thus far--paranoia, mania, nosocomephobia, poor decision making, reckless behavior mixed with interims of rage and anger--in other words short term mating instincts in nature, had worked for it and its purpose of spreading the black curse very efficiently indeed. Still hacking and bringing up the slime that had coated his tract that had served as its base of operations for that incredible duration, Piérre couldn't do much other than feel the stinging of acid on his tongue and in his nose, gagging on the scent of slime and the thickness of the substance alike. He was by now on his hands and knees, still completely out of it and unable to consider looking up though the nausea.

Francesca, on the other hand, was already rearing, sizing up the girl and Figaro--who was now poised by Evelynn's side having scampered away from a creature that they had both seen and combated before.

History liked to repeat herself indeed. The Hag Slug had reared its ugly head yet again.

Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 5 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 5
Currently Incapacitated -- Throwing Up (-3 Strength, -2 ArcPower, -50hp per round for 1 Round)

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

Items:
Wand [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Phial of Shadow Slug Goo | Phial of Strange Plant Goo

⋖ 01/May/2024 @ study period | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING n/a
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Words washed over Evelynn without impression, for the most part. So much talk, yet so little said, notions of insignificance in the immediate moment, but morsels upon which to ruminate another time. As soon as her spell struck, whatever fleck of triumph she may have had at successfully having pulled the curtain over her current counter-part was dashed when it actually seemed like it would deliver results. Bile burned in the pit of her gut as black ooze pushed its way up Pierre's gullet. Revulsion gripped her as tightly as white-knuckles adorned her wand.

Sure, the pieces had fit together, and sure there was some element of satisfaction in having solved a puzzle... But she still remembered the last times she'd encountered a hag slug. She was older now. Wiser. More studied. But would that be enough? For a split second, doubt pervaded, a singular silent wish cast heavenward that she had withheld, instead waiting to ambush him with her hypothesis after enlisting the help of others. As it reared, however, such regret dissipated as necessity for survival called for decisive action. With as much speed as she could muster without compromising herself, she shot her wand in the direction of the creature, hoping to capitalize on the lull as it acclimated to its new situation. "Ebublio!"

If nothing else, perhaps she could enclose the horrid creature in an impenetrable bubble to buy herself some time to think of how to address it, several strategies and possible approaches already coming together to compete for the limelight in her thoughts. They would have to wait for just a moment. "EVERYONE GET OUT!" she shouted at whatever stragglers and other students still remained in the classroom. Wasting no time, she rushed forward even as the spell loosed itself from her lips, a hand reaching to grasp for the back of Pierre's collar. "Get up!" She urged, pulling on his vestments in earnest. "Get away from it! How long h--" She cut herself off. That was unnecessary information in the moment. "Are you okay? Can you stand? Cast?" If he could be roused enough to join the fight, her odds of success would double in an instant. "Where is your wand?" All the while, she would try to pull Pierre back and away from the slug.

Action: casting the Bubble Jinx at the slug

House Colours: Ravenclaw

─────────────────────────Here We Go─────────────────────────

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Calming Presence in Effect: Evelynn Decipio & Figaro Affected

The actions unfolded all at once, each party acting in most immediate way that they could. There could be no time for hesitations or holding back. This creature was something that had thought to have been exterminated for a while, and the dangers it posed to the school by nature of its existence no matter how dormant had historically been both severe and threatening to the well-being of student and staff alike. This creature had to die. Or at least had to be contained.

Initiative (t!scramble): Francesca | Figaro | Evelynn | Piérre

Unfortunately, at least for the circumstances that it found itself in, it was a terribly fast creature. With an undulation of its powerfully muscular body, it rippled like a living shadow and rushed towards the red headed lioness with a shrill and ear-shredding high-pitched cry. Disoriented, though, its attack was more wild as opposed to accurate (2), and with an easy sidestep from Evelynn (20), the creature's mass was avoided and it was sent spattering across the flagstones opposite to the room from where it had started. The doorway for escape was open, and it was too far away to move fast enough to cut them off if it tried to pursue.

Like a feline on a laser did Figaro rush across the room on zephyr-like paws--a familiar of his master sword to protect and intelligent enough to avenge, the silvery bengal leapt upon the vile creature with teeth and claws. He didn't require his master's calming presence (5, 5) to make his attacks, and with needle-sharp teeth he grasped the creatures neck (20) and dug in deep enough to result in a whittling wail of agony (2, -50hp) from the slimy invertebrate. Though, when little claws tried to scratch (1) and pierce, the slug slammed the poor critter against the ground--unable to release the demonic likely part-kneazle, but able to inflict at least remedial bodily harm (-25hp) to the loyal animal.

In the distraction provided, Evelynn would approach and attempt a very useful spell that had the capability to completely negate all physical strength of the opponent. The Ebublio spell was a simple cast, and the Athena-eyed girl proved it as such with ease (DC 9, Wis 17). But without any further help, and perhaps with distraction from the silver cat hissing and caterwauling with the efforts of his own attacks as it engaged with the creature--slime and fur scattering across the floor in equal parts--the spell would not find (CP5, 15) its target, as the dark creature managed to 'slither' its way (17) just out of harm's way.

Piérre was in no position to resist the girl taking him by the collar, in fact trying to help her actions (incapacitated) as he stood up shakily, even with slugs dribbling from his lips in the mess of blackness that was staining the Ravenclaw blue inseam of his robes. There was blood (-50hp) mingled in the mess, his limbs shaking and his stumbling steps seeming more like that of a drunkard's than an athlete. Where the newly brought up critters landed on the ground, they coiled and flexed--a good deal smaller than their spawner--hissing with displeasure, but obviously immature in comparison to the larger threat.

If there were others in the room (for it was rather empty to begin with anyhow), Evelynn's command would be taken with readiness. The memories of those who had been at Hogwarts for longer than others would know that such warnings should not be taken in any other way than seriously if they valued their bodily health and wellbeing. In a matter of a few moments, a crowd was forming near the door--everyone was avoiding the cat and slug scuffle that was rolling about spewing mess in all directions within a wide berth.

"Ye--" There was a belch before he spat again on the ground to rid the taste of slime on his tongue. "Yes, yes. I don't know how..." That thing had been... inside him...? For how long? His internal question was the same as the one that Evelynn had stopped herself from asking before prioritizing the more important questions. His wand was still in its holster near his hip. It was, thankfully, still with him. "Yes. I can." Fingers curling on it as an aching deeper than his marrow began to manifest itself again. Yes... wand in hand, there was potential that could be released. Power that could be unleased and freed from the fragile flesh shell. He would stumble along with Evelynn, letting her guide him back.

Distance away was paramount--they had to keep the distance between them large enough to negotiate but close enough to make every integral strike count. But Figaro...!

"FIGARO!" Piérre was finally aware enough to realize that his feline wasn't with them--that the loyal creature was instead entangled in the fray a ways away. "Evelynn! Figaro..!" Like he loved his friends, like he loved his family, he loved his dearest familiar. "I... I have to..."

Too many spells were in his head. There were too many spells and not enough time to sort through them all. Offensive spells could hurt Figaro--choosing a spell to sequester an area would result locking the two into a death battle with the other. Walking in himself would make him a potential victim of crossfire and would hinder Evelynn's chances of rendering aid. Abandoning the fray was simply out of the question.

Perhaps it was the wrong choice, but Piérre tried to pick the best utility for the situation. Figaro had claws. Figaro could use them very very well indeed. The slug... simply didn't.

"FIGARO! RITIRARSI! lit. Retreat STEELCLAW!"

Only a small modification, not too intense, not too little. The vision was in the boy's head of what he wanted--a thin layer of steel, a reinforcement but not too much to hinder attacks.

"They don't like daylight. Or fire. You remember, right?" He coughed one more time before touching base with Evelynn again. "I'll get Figaro out of there, and then we can tag-team it?" He somewhat... wanted to capture it. A fully live specimen of a component of the darkness that lingered about the castle was--despite the dangers--striking him as incredibly tantalizing for some reason. Emotions could be handled for later, reconciliations could wait. In a moment, such things were placed aside, and the battle now was all that mattered.

Francesca lunged for Evelynn and missed (-50/??)
Figaro critically hit the slug and critically missed, suffering 25hp of damage
Evelynn successfully cast Ebublio, but missed the slug
Piérre was Incapacitated for a round, suffering 50hp of damage, he is now recovered

There are two Infantile Slugs crawling on the ground, hissing aggressively

Statistics: Stamina 650/700 | Strength 5 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 5
Recovered, Will Act on this Round

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

Figaro: 175/200

Items:
Wand [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Phial of Shadow Slug Goo | Phial of Strange Plant Goo

⋖ 01/May/2024 @ study period | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Piérre Marchonné | MENTIONING n/a
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Evelynn had thought she'd had a moment to act before the slug would retaliate. She had thought wrong. Before she'd even managed to get the incantation off, the slug had launched at her, necessitating something almost akin to a pirouette as she stepped forward and rotated out of harm's way, narrowly evading the inky horror as it lurched past her. Perhaps it was because of that, failing to come to a full rest before retaliating herself, that her spell had missed, leaving nothing more than a spattering of sparks against the stone next to it as it slithered out of temporary reach. She hissed, sharing in Figaro's distaste for the monstrosity.

At the very least, she'd managed to close the distance to Pierre, grabbing a strong enough hold of his collar to pull him to his senses. "Good," she responded as he affirmed his ability to bear weight, though her hand remained in place, evidently unwilling to risk the chance that his knees might buckle from beneath him. The attention she'd spared to him, however, was ripped away at the sound of something hitting the wall. She turned just in time to see a streak of silver, instinctively strengthening her grip on Pierre's robes. "Don't be rash," she interjected before any ill-thought action could be taken. As much as she could empathize, it would be suicide if he ran in there to save Figaro without a plan. "It won't do any of us any good if--"

But it seemed like her warning wouldn't be necessary after all. To her slight surprise--and relief--he seemed to have come to that same conclusion on his own, and she could only nod in silent approval as her drew his wand and cast what was arguably quite a clever spell. While Evelynn doubted the cat would be the deciding factor in a duel with a hag slug, there was no doubting its courage; and the claws would serve both to administer additional damage and defense. Moreover, the lioness would take Pierre's words to heart, appreciative of the reminder to their particular weaknesses.

Hoping her timing was right and the slug might be momentarily distracted by a more intimidatingly armed Figaro, Evelynn leaned out from behind the table between they and their quarry, and took careful aim while clearly chanting, "Incendio Tria."

Action: casting the Fire-Making Spell III at the slug
It's not in the duelling spell list, but I might suggest WDC 15, and damage 70+APx15, with DoT -70/round to follow the incremental trend of Fire-Making I to II.