Magical Masquerade: The entrance

Outfit

Calming Presence in Effect;
Romeo Marchonné, Valentin Schnell, Greta Fransson & Figaro Affected

As the bird closed in with a heart that didn't so much seem to have beats but rather a steady and consistent hum of background vibrato within his own chest, the wooden stake of a wand plunged once downwards into Pericles' face--through that perfect little gap of the mask's eyehole. With a sharp, shrill upslurred call that was the only sound that such a small bird's vocal cords were capable of making, a second panicked cry of "Tss-tswee!" was lost to the air as another terrible and human scream filled the air @Finnegan Connor--and the bird changed.

Wings became arms, small bird feet became human legs as the spatuled tail became the flowing fabrics of his Jester's outfit. With a cry, Piérre interposed himself between the raving boy and Pericles with a protective hand thrown behind him as if in an untouching attempt to force the ghost boy further away--his left hand was raised and poised for contact. A second blow, this one coming for him in his opposition, was caught by that one hand's arm and hastily deflected with a clench of breath from him in a tight hiss. Emerald green eyes watched the tip of that wand--was it slightly gleaming with the crimson treasure of the blow it had struck to Pericles?--warily, knowing that his ability to avoid such a fate hinged in his ability to judge were it was that the weapon would attempt striking next. "Stop now." Was all that a tight and frightened voice could speak. "What are you doing?" It was a voice that trembled with terror as his eyes widened in horror.

Sweat beaded his brow. He was much weaker than this boy, and he could feel it in the difference of their dueling muscling--he was much more feeble, far more vulnerable...

But regardless the second attack, the third strike, was the most predicable. As it arced, the boy's eye tracked and his hand came up to deflect in the only discernable way--with a hand to the wrist to twist and pressure. Piérre was not very strong, but his fingers were quite nimble. Somehow, some way he did not know as one green eye peered from the shattered masque, his fingers threaded into the clenched hand--with a sudden twist the wand fumbled from the boy's fingers and to the ground, and Piérre twisted his hand away, recoiling just as the boy was hoisted into the air by an invisible force.

Heaving heavy breaths, Piérre glanced around for a few seconds. A thought pushed itself to the front of his mind, though it seemed more to resonate in his own head as opposed to anyone else's... a small, feeble yet excited inner voice, a voice of shocked awe. That thought... 'I did it... I...'

Sounds rang in his ears, and the noise was overwhelming. Yet, they all seemed to dissolve into his own heartbeat, the white noise in his own brain in the strangest way--as if he were here and yet outside of his own body. Movements were what drew his eye but did not keep their attentions, and for a moment he found that the palms of his hands were pressed to his ears in an attempt to close out those noises and cries. Yet, as his eyes wandered, as his mind raced...

There was Pericles. And Evelynn was with him...

'I...'

As the boy beheld the near-touching sight of the two, the panic in his heart suddenly transformed to ice. There was something about the sight that chilled him--not in the way that entailed a horror, for indeed that horror was there in the form of the knowledge of the wand and the hidden unknown that potentially laid behind that concealing mask of Pericles himself--but there was a chill of dread. Evelynn's lips moved, though the Britalian could not hear the words. All he saw was their shared moment, that togetherness of an injured and a caretaker there and ready to swoop down and bind and to heal as soon as they were needed. How beautiful Evelynn was, there like a sentinel--challenging anyone else in something as plain as an assured stance against the tumult. Pericles... perhaps he could...

'... did... it...'

But he wouldn't be needed--as the timbre of his own thoughts transformed from an exhilarated rush of actualization of the thing he had accomplished into a monotone and sourly unenthused intonation that was morose and bitter in his own mouth. Somehow, he sensed it. In interposing himself, in letting Evelynn take Pericles aside and to a safe distance... Safe in her arms, and without his additional 'help' that would, without a doubt, only bring further pestilence and injury to an already vile situation. Already, Pericles' wand was being placed under the mask and his lips were moving. Already, Evelynn was at the ready, prepared for anything to occur.

They didn't need him.

He'd served his only purpose.

And yet he still hadn't been fast enough, even in that singular purpose that he had been supposed to fulfil. If he had truly been fast enough, then he would have been able to...

The boy's hand reached towards Evelynn and Pericles for a moment as his face twisted into that of concern and seemingly silent pleading before stopping mid-extension and then falling back to his side again as he found himself unsure of what to do. What he could do. A useless third party, an unwanted to their plight and the deep bond that they had already formed. It would be rude of him to impose, to try to help when it was more than likely it would instead be interpreted as an irritant or as an attempt to draw attention to himself that would be loathed. That would result in a loathing of him.

Already more people were swarming, to include a familiar false face and form that Piérre despised--that of the Nurse itself. For the first time that night he found himself thankful that he was wearing a masque, perhaps he could find himself just barely evading notice from It for just a little while longer. Long enough, maybe, if Pericles was well enough after initial recoveries, to encourage Evelynn and himself to go. To leave--to get out of here and to recover somewhere else that was safer. Someplace other than the Death Wing or this place of chaos and destruction at the hand of unknown things and beings. Still, Piérre was willing to bet that Pericles was more likely safer here than in the halls of the Wing or the hands of the Thing. But this was a conversation, a deep and abiding tribulation and set of deeply engrained beliefs that would have to be confronted and subsequently assessed for another day.

He didn't know if his words would be heard over the mayhem... but it could be worth it to try. His voice was soft--almost empty, as if there was no soul behind the words that were spoken. "Eevee... get him out of here." Piérre felt his throat tighten. "Not to the Hospital Wing... but..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. There was too much. There was too much, and besides... he was unwanted, for his opinions meant nothing. His knowledge was nothing, he had no knowledge at all.

But as if to add to the rest of this, another vaguely familiar, but not well-recalled, face was presented. The Dead Man, if Piérre's attention had been keen enough. It wasn't a name difficult to recall, if not for having read about it in the news--or at least what could have been claimed to have been slandered about his name and the name of his family--then the name that had fluttered about in rumors from those who were of the trade to gossip about the school. A Vladimir Athenatos. One of the three witnesses, and the only one of the three that now remained seemingly alive or at least alive enough to be recognized as such.

Emerald eyes would watch his approach, but not before he would try (if Alec permits me to grab it with no contest, otherwise I am alright with rolling initiative) to take the bloody wand that had been used upon Pericles and that had been attempted to be used against himself. The item would be stowed in the bag if it was ever in Piérre's hands, hidden away and tucked into safety so that the only way to retrieve it from him was by doing so over his senseless body. But, Piérre's eyes would watch the Dead Man with veiled intrigue. Vladimir was not the only one interested as to what had driven the hovering boy mad. As he would stoop to dig, Piérre would only murmur quietly as if unsure as to if he wished to be heard. "You again."

His brows would crease. There was a vague memory in his mind, a vivid one--of black blood and of broken bones from a height that should not have broken them. Of threats against his person by a boy similar to the Dead Man... likely the same. On the name of a damnable house. A vile house. But he did not feel that this was the time to bring up old marks, foggy memories that he had tried to relegate to the place of unremembrance in pursuit of preserving what little remained of the parts that he wanted to remember instead. His eyes narrowed but he did not speak.

Instead, he did one of the few things he was good at anymore. Trembling with adrenaline of the risk of near dangerous damage being done to his person but petrified with curiosity of what it was that could be discovered, he Watched.

Picking Up & Stowing Jack's Wand
If the above does not constitute a full action, Piérre Observes Vladimir & His Work

Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 5 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 5
Hummingbird: Stamina 1 | Strength 1 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 1 | Accuracy 9

Abilities:
Keen Eye | Calming Presence | Beast Master [Cat] | Cat's Grace | Animagus [Hummingbird]
Hummingbird:
Flight | Observation (50% Chance [Flight/V. Small) | Stealth (25% Chance), +2 Stealth

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

Figaro the Silver Bengal Abilities: Cat's Grace | Claws and Bite Action: Moving to Main Ball Thread [With Greta] Status: Calming Presence (Piérre)

Beast Master Familiar: 200/200

Inspiration

Mikael blinked about the Quidditch Training Pitch, a sense of familiarity burrowed its way through his heart. Had it not been just yesterday when he had used his broom to fly alongside the light? The boy's bright white hair had been his star, guiding him forward. A light that he had trashed with his darkness. The boy had shone so brightly and so innocently before he had messed it up with his greed. His frown deepened as he pressed his mask into his chest. Pressing it close to his chest as he looked forward towards the entrance of the ball. Now... the boy was different. It was something that had not taken a lot of understanding. A white snake with a sharp glint within its narrowed eyes. Constricting around him slowly as he fought for his freedom.

If only he had more time to offer the taller boy. But who was he but a pawn in something he could not understand? The boy swallowed thickly, the day at the train station had left him shaken. For he was being stalked by the lone wolf that wished to sink its fangs into the soft skin of his throat. A lone wolf that he had shot dead. Should his body not still be amongst the leaf litter and debris? Everywhere he went he saw him. Had he not once walked without the fear of being stalked? Simple eyes that stared deep into his soul forcing him open. Laying him bare to the world. How unnatural it was, and yet it had been something he had craved in his youth. The want to be known. The want to be understood, and Jakob had once given it to him.

Mikael stepped forward his face pulling into a look of uncomfortability as he raised his mask upward. Often he was the one who made those about him uncomfortable. Something he had grown accustomed to. His raised flesh felt unnatural. His fear soured his tongue, eyes wide and searching. Oh how he hated these instances. Something uncanny that wrapped around him like a shroud. Mikael placed his white mask over his face, his face concealed into nothingness. The boy stepped forward as he entered the ball.

Action: Entering Ball

| Stamina 11 | Evasion 10 | Strength 14 | Wisdom 6 | Arcane Power 7 | Accuracy 11 |

Lovely Creature | Terrible Presence | Perfectionist | Fearless | Statistically Relevant

☽⦙ Interacting With | @Elsian Cox ⦙☾
☽⦙ Hex Code | #810B2D ⦙☾

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It was funny how Dori thought back to the last ball where they spent it curled up in a hammock in Hufflepuff dorm with Buttons, crying and wondering where they had gone wrong with Elsi. What wires got crossed, what signals misfired. What had lead Dori to believe that there was something for him to bring someone else to the ball. For him to be so gleeful to even brag about it to Dori before slugging off to wherever Elsi was off to nap to next. It was only until much later that Dori figured out that Sam was just a friend, and Elsi was actually deeply in love with Dori and actually everything was fine. But the temporary heartbreak had rend them asunder for just a night.

How funny had their relationship changed, always with the moon and stars as their witness.

Now they had spent countless hours doing makeup trials on themselves to present to Elsi, one side being for Dori and the other for Elsi. The intention of course always to match. It had always been the understanding of their relationship that the two were vastly difference, starting with a ravenous ravine between them, begging to swallow them up and spit them out never to speak. But they had sewn a careful bridge that they could cross between, and eventually one so sturdy for them to swing in the middle, laughing and holding hands above the depths that begged for them to fail. They had been spending hours on the masks to match as well, designs matched to Elsi's sketches. Though, the final presentation of the masks was a surprise. Dori had spent most of the afternoons and late evenings spent in the Rehearsal Room or Room of Requirement trying to finish their outfits as an accompaniment to Elsi. Never daring to look at the designs unless given permission. The masks were for Dori, a thoughtful surprise.

Their darling Gryffindor had, of course, been the mastermind between the theme and the outfits. Bringing Dori's wildest dreams to life, while navigating some nightmares that wove through them naturally. Debating on whether or not to bind, debating on makeup at all, panic attacks in quiet moments of indecision that grew into cacophonies of screams inside their head battling for their presentation. Then Elsi, taking them by the hand and kissing their forehead and helping them navigate through the own confusion of their mind and what it wanted. In the end, light binding so Dori could still enjoy the night without having to worry about suffocating and ruffles and embellishments to decrease the prominence of their chest.

Elsi had painted Dorion into their perfect vision of androgyny on a night that always held pain. Painting Dori into a vision so beautifully handsome that even their mind had nothing to continue to scream about. It had made all the late nights hunched over melting hot glue in their poor cauldron over a fire and using toothpicks to lay thin lines of glue, trimming, and glitter (of course). Elsi had swept them up with the incredibly love that he laid bare whenever Dori breathed, incredibly grateful and amazed with their craftsmanship that paled in comparison to the magic that he did with fabric.

The actual night-of makeup application went about as well as Dori could predict, and they had planned extra time for Elsi's flirting and kissing with their faces so close together. Dori had also done their make-up in advance so Elsi didn't have to just watch his boyfriend spend much too long fretting over details that only came with applying makeup on yourself as opposed to others. But for the final touches like the blush and the highlighter and general face make-up... he was a nuisance. Luckily, a cute and loveable one.

So it was with their horror that when they were starting on their walk to the ball that they watched the perpetually sleepy boy raise a hand to his face... then to his eye- "Eep!" They quickly grabbed his hand pulling it back down. "Brownie, I spent a full hour perfecting that so help me Goddess you ruin it before anyone else gets to see it." Maybe it was their problem that they had chosen to do an incredibly intricate makeup for a masquerade ball, but they at least knew they wouldn't be keeping their own mask on the whole time.

However- Elsi was Elsi, and this meant the rest of the walk was joking about close calls and ruining all their hard work. The final noise to break Elsi as their protests became a mix of annoyance and fear was something that they truly had no words to describe. "You better not. I'll let you rub at it all you like at the end of the night when it's time to take it off." They couldn't help the powder blush that intensified with Elsi's kiss to their hand, "But I knew you wouldn't. I just figured you wanted me to play along or whatever." Bashfully they bumped their shoulder into his arm, mainly as a ploy to tuck themselves under the arm of the tall boy and shield themselves from the rest of the world.

For a moment they could believe it was just them walking together along the paths of Hogwarts, all dressed up just for fun. The students that were filtering in along with them fading into the background for a moment as they gazed up at their magnificently handsome boyfriend. As he looked forward, Dori took a moment to really admire him. The eyelashes that perfectly framed emerald eyes and the boyishly messy hair that always seemed to be purposeful. The boy that forever let Dori explore how they wanted to present, and was excited to make matching suits and capes. How had they gotten so lucky? After the second of gazing that felt like it had stretched into hours, time had warped back to present and Dori couldn't help but lean their head onto his chest, hearing the steady heartbeat of the Gryffindor that they loved dearly.

"Ah yes, our alter egos of Dawn and Dusk taking their place at a late night party. Though, you have brought on a new dawn into my life so I'm not sure how you got stuck with Dusk." They winked, though the line felt even bold for them and they couldn't help but look away to break any tension. They couldn't even bring the words up to say it was safe to don the mask, the setting spray probably having taken a good hold on their skin at this point. Rather, they opted for a small nod.

"Oh of course, but you freakishly tall boy will have to bend down a bit so I can tie it properly." They couldn't help but smack him playfully in the shoulder at the mention of an alleged plan for murder. They took the mask into their hands, and as he leaned down snuck up to meet him and give him a quick kiss. Dori wasn't huge on PDA, and wasn't sure how often they would feel comfortable kissing them in front of- every other student. Dori had pulled from their friendship bracelet making skills to braid the silk of the masquerade masks and create a tension tie so they just had to pull the two strands to tighten them throughout the night. It also gave a nice closed loop to hook them on belts later.

They did put on their own mask, but turned to have Elsi tighten the strap since holding it in place and tightening was simply not the move. "Ready to join the festivities, my love, my Dusk?" They turned around after the mask had been secured and offered their arm to Elsi, as being a gentleman of course went both ways.

☽⦙ Action ⦙☾
Entering the Main Ball Ignoring All the Violence

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Makeup | Dori Ball Outfit* | Elsi + Dori Holding Hands*

*Images Generated with AI by Elsian Cox*

☽⦙ Stats and Abilities ⦙☾
Stamina 12 ∴ Evasion 10 ∴ Strength 5
Wisdom 10 ∵ ArcPower 10 ∵ Accuracy 13
Healing Sage | Lovely Creature | Spell Spread | Healing Sage II | Animagus

☽⦙ Post Tracker ⦙☾
Elsi I | Dori I

@Vladimir Athanatos and @Meenauh Silmataturea

Apologies in advance for the rushed and super shoddy reply, some stuff was definitely missed, I've been surviving off of four hours of sleep and a prayer.

She couldn't say she expected such casual reception, given their history (as far and impersonal as it was). Their few encounters had always weighed more on the negative side of the scale, making their positive ones... well, unnoteworthy, admittedly. Interestingly enough, a great deal of those negative run-ins stemmed mostly from domino effects caused by their surrounding peers, in some way or another. Vladimir may not have been a "good" man by definition, but Xailah did recognize he was not the root of a problem half the time. A source? Almost certainly. But never the root.

It would seem his train of thought had been interrupted by her curiosity, disarming him for a moments beat. It was an awkward few second before he spoke, perhaps, but Xailah appeared mostly unbothered by the short silence- mistaking it for disinterest rather than a window to the socially inept. Vladimir was quick to the recovery, sweeping the almost-fumble away with some smart comedy. Or... was that sarcasm? The delivery of his joke was far too casual for something created on the spot. This was a routine.

Be it sarcasm or wit, the comment was enough to illicit a light scoff from the metamorphmagus. "Ah, the zombie has a sense of humor. Charming." It was, in an unusual way. She had never anticipated Vladimir as the witty sort; but then, that just proved how little she knew about the bird. It was a pleasant and welcome surprise, seeing this particular side of his human condition. If he was still human anyway.

Essence of sweetgrass wafted from the glittering censer hanging from the chain in her palm. Xailah peered at the Ravenclaw through the smoke and the white of her veil, considering him very closely- mayhaps to see if there was any semblance of truth behind his jest. The concept had her curious, she could not deny her intrigue. His skin was ashen and no longer blooming with sanguine life; his face was gaunt- a trait only accentuated by his tall and already thin frame. The stiffness in his motions was noticed as he looked to the lioness- almost as if moving was a labor in itself. And had Xailah been of the mind to judge his appearance, then yes, she would have called him peculiar; but that word did not come to her as she looked him over. His physical attributes became less interesting when her eyes moved to his ensemble and she began studying the quality and style of his suit.

She was looking at the stitching on his shoulders when he explained his reason for hanging towards the fray. He claimed that his aversion toward the masses was rooted in negative memories with... ex-friends, making Xailah's eyes narrow into crescent moons. She could understand his reasoning, to a degree. If her companions were constantly stirring trouble and leaving her with a trail of messes to clean up, she'd probably make it a point to avoid crowds too. It probably didn't help that most of the student body either wanted to harm the Ravenclaw or use him as their next big breakthrough for whatever injustice they were trying to solve, either. "You fear going through that again, then?" The alternative was a fear of delving back into social groups in general. There was more to be said on the subject, but the darkling woman would not pry on that door further. Not here. She decided it was wiser to abstain from providing commentary on the blond's dead friends (or at least the one she knew was dead), when she detected the slight of anger in his tone. No, there were some wounds not worth reopening.

She would gently try to move away from the topic. "Well, a word of advice: you're most visible at the edges; and therefore more likely to pick up unwanted attention." She explained, casually looking up from his shoulder to meet his gaze. "But maybe that attention can lead to an interesting social excursion." She'd offer him the light shrug of one semi-bare shoulder. Whatever that entailed was left for him to pick apart; Xailah was simply trying to provide affable company while the bird still had her attention.

Vladimir's return to Hogwarts was an impossible topic to avoid, especially for someone like Xailah who- for only a fraction of a second- gazed at him with muted envy. He had a chance to leave forever but he came back. A fool. Her discontent was doused with a sound commentary on freewill. She was quiet, steadily absorbing the Ravenclaw's words. He was right. And she hated that he was. She could leave whenever she wanted; and yet, she stayed and endured.

And for what?

Pride. Not her own. She craved the moment where her folks would take her to the side and tell her, "I'm proud of you". She'd yet to hear it. That was one of many reasons why she never left Hogwarts when she had the chance. When she found room to speak again, her voice had gone light and somber. "You have unfinished business here too, then?" Her eyes were on the training pitch gates now, unmoving. "Come summer..." she drew in a soft, wistful breath, "...I'm getting out of here. Finally. And I am never looking back." To emphasize her certainty, she ended the statement with a firm nod. She very much believed it too. Summer was going to be her season of freedom- she could feel it.

The quidditch training pitch was nothing more than one big soup bowl. Xailah would frown a little as she watched faces- both familiar and unfamiliar disappear into the festivities awaiting them. Many of the eager partygoers looked to be first years, likely attending their first Hogwarts' ball. "It is. Very much so." In contrast to Vladimir, her affirmation carried some sorrow. Or, pity, more like. If something were to happen and those gates shut again, the likelihood of some of the ball-goers not coming back out was very high. It was a depressing thought- but nothing out of the ordinary for Hogwarts. She hoped the casualties would be minimal.

It would seem Xailah's effort to offer the eagle a pleasant interaction, would give him the idea she was open for a more... intimate one. He was greatly mistaken. "Either you take yourself for a decent liar, or you think of me as a fool. There is always something afoot at these festivities." Her eyes never found him again after the gates of the pitch opened; his extended hand- an offer to dance- would go unnoticed as a result. He was left to hang awkwardly while she was none the wiser. His invitation was smooth, but not smooth enough. "No." Xailah unknowingly brushed him off, her attention darting suddenly to a boy ripping up the earth at the edges of the party. "I believe I am right where I am needed."

Although she was mostly blind to Vladimir's advances, his proposal would eventually sink in. While she had come here to dance, she wasn't sure if she was in the mood to do so with the strange scene unfolding over yonder. "I do not seek your company, only your answers." Cold, perhaps, although it was not intended to be. But it was the truth, nonetheless. Raising a finger in distant contemplation, she would add: "But do hold that thought." Whether that was a glimpse of hope for Vladimir, or a polite way to excuse herself from the idea of being swept away to dance with the tall blond, it would not receive elaboration.

It had been to the disappointment and frustration of many young men and women, when they found out Sally refused to slow her mustang down and trade it in for a little red Corvette. Xailah was an intangible entity when it came to all manners of social affairs. She was around for a fun time, not a long time; she lived life fast and hard, seldom making room for others in the passenger seats. Indifferent and unattached was her style, so it seemed; and whether or not she could recognize when someone showed interest in her, had been a great debate between gossipmongers. Did she notice how boys started treating her differently in third year, and how their behavior carried on with time? Or how girls stole glances at her from across the classroom? What about the flock of Hospital wing regulars that coincidentally seemed to only injure themselves when she was clocked in for her internship? If she did notice, she never reciprocated their advancements, choosing instead to modestly let them down or ignore them entirely. It had always been that way with her. Historically, there had only ever been one person to pique her interest: a man she had recently met over the holidays. But that had been a short, passing affair. She had no expectation to ever see him again.

The arrival of Meenauh Silmataurea was both a godsend and a pain. Xailah was ready to greet her friend with a smile, until she saw the woman furiously brandishing her wand, spouting some nonsense about someone named "Jack". So that's who her date was. The length of chestnut would find Vladimir's throat in an action that was admittedly uncalled for (sorry Meenauh). Xailah never once imagined coming to Vladimir's defense, but here she was, trying her best to diffuse the situation. "Stand down Meenauh. You cannot harm him in a way that matters." With that, she dared extend a clawed hand to the wand positioned at the base of Vladimir's throat in threat. Gently, she'd try to lower it with the tips of her finger. "We both know that." Threats were senseless. Attacks were pointless. Killing was useless- if rumors held any weight here.

Anger was rare state to see the sixth year in; and yet she stood before Vladimir absolutely fuming. And it was all over a date- how could Meenauh have possibly allowed one man to have such a pull over her rational mind? It was unlike her to be swayed in a way that elicited violence. "Calm yourself." Xailah tried to reason. "This is unlike you." Thankfully, the metamorph wouldn't have to keep trying to reason with her fellow lioness long. The boy who had been feverishly digging away (which Xailah connected as Meenauh's date, based off her frustrated accusations) began to cause an upset in the crowd. Upset was a rather light term- he was acting feral. The behavior nor the scuffle that was to follow did not concern Xailah. Meenauh was fast to act in diffusing the situation.

If there was one thing the lioness had learned from Galton Lansdale, it was this: when children started acting like animals; rabid, viscous animals; there was usually a cause behind it. And more often than not, it circled back to hags and their associated grievances. Jack's spat was going to look like a walk in the park if there was indeed a bigger force influencing it. That was why she did not extend concern to the fight. The spot he had been digging at was an entirely different story, however.

Broken bones could be mended. Torn flesh could be sown shut. Limbs could be regrown. These were small prices to pay in the grand scheme of things- if there was indeed something far more urgent to worry about. Mortal men could always be beaten in combat; and Jack was about as mortal a man as one could get. Anything else was about a good fifty-fifty. It would be in best interest of the partygoers for them to start praying that there wasn't an "anything else".

She and Vladimir would appear to be of the same mind, for they both began making their way over to the disturbed soil. Xailah's venture would come to a brief pause, however, as a piercing cry accompanied by accusations of murder(?) echoed through the air. Whipping around, she sought the source, narrowing it to a group lingering among the cluster of distressed partygoers. She couldn't see past the crowd enough to accurately discern what happened, but she could see that a boy was the one who had screamed. The Gryffindor wasn't sure if she would be able to get to him in time to help him effectively, but she could offer aid at a distance. "Reparifors will do nothing for a mundane wound. Separate those two and get a compress on that boy stat." The Gryffindor ordered, to anyone that could hear her above the surrounding commotion. "If one of you can, apply firm consistent pressure on his injury and maintain it until he can receive medical attention. If the weapon is still there do not remove it."

When she looked back at the hole, Vladimir was already reaching into it. She tried to look around him to see what he was trying to pull up- not that it mattered. If Jack had gone into a frenzy over it, it couldn't have been anything good. "Leave it Athanatos; some things are best left buried. You of all people should know that."

Giving Vladimir the Jerry Seinfeld treatment before going with him to investigate the (Jack's) diggy diggy hole. Also offering sound medical advice.

Possibly open to limited interactions.

||Dress||
(Use your imagination I haven't been able to draw one yet- it's white although it appears to shift into darker colors when she moves between lighting, and her ensemble resembles a sphinxlike creature. While she may be recognizable through aura and stature alone, keep in mind she is masked. She is carrying a ritual censer emitting incense.)

Reducio

Metamorphmagus (-5 DC to all transfiguration spells, +2 to stealth actions, 50% chance to recognize transfigured things/people)

-Blindvision (can see in the dark! Immune to all things that limit/remove sight)
-'s Grace (super sneaky, +2 to stealth actions)

Stam 12 | Eva 17 | Strength 2 | Wis 16 | Arc 4 | Acc 17

Posts | 1 2 3

"Jack?" was the name Dee had breathed, a familiar twisting feeling in her chest, one she hadn't been able to rid herself of even after almost a year - just seconds before everything descended into madness. A dozen metres from the scene, still trying to figure out what she was seeing, Dee didn't react in time - couldn't have reacted in time, considering that even those that had seen it coming were too late. Her fingernails would dig painfully into the skin of Alec's arm which she was still holding onto for balance as much as for comfort. And as soft as the last word had been, the next was anything but.

"NO!" It came as a scream, sharp and high-pitched, painful as the stab of a knife - or wand - even to her own ears. Not drawn out, however. She needed her breath for other things. She still stumbled along when Alec started moving, trying to draw calm from his presence and failing, but it was vaguely the right direction, anyway - towards the mayhem. It wasn't Pericles who was her target, there were people taking care of him; Evelynn, who had tried to pull him away; Piérre, who, oddly, had seemingly appeared out of nowhere between Peri and Jack's attack. She didn't have much of a mind to notice whether the Gryffindor had now been stabbed in Peri's stead, and she didn't have the capacity free to care, but she did, oddly, feel grateful. Better him than her friend was the cruel sentiment. Her task, however, was a different one.

She already wasn't listening when Alec checked on Pericles, and didn't register his request to stay with her friend. Instead, she was moving towards Jack - who was floating in the air, held by a spell from a source unknown to her. Focused, she didn't even notice the dead man walking. Her expression was hard to read, unable to follow the overwhelming swirl of emotions inside of her, it would have settled into a mask close to expressionless, but they would flicker through her eyes anyway, changing by the second. Anger. Fear. Disgust. Confusion. Pain? Worry?

Jack had broken her heart last summer, had stomped on it repeatedly. There'd been traces of Jack changing throughout the entire year before that. But that was one thing, and this was something entirely different; something that couldn't be explained away with jealousy and hot tempers. They hadn't spoken in months, she hadn't even looked at him when she could avoid it, but no longer. Dee was going to get answers.

"What is wrong with you!" It was less a question than an accusation, loud and piercing. Because there had to be something wrong. People didn't just change like that, to the point that they would randomly attack. Or did she just want to believe that? "You can't just-" She broke off, because that was obvious - you can't just go around stabbing people. "What happened to you?" Again, not a question: a demand, though laced with pain. "What turned you into this?"

Is there a way to turn you back?

But even distracted as she was, she'd been a duellist long enough to develop an intuitive awareness for when several wands were pointed in her direction. Or in this case, Jack's direction. Not good. Several spells at the same person, especially one in no position to defend themselves (floating and disarmed, in this case) could go terribly, terribly wrong. The reaction came on instinct - no thought to whether she should stop this, whether she wanted to stop this, whether Jack even deserved it - Dee spun. "Protego!"

Action | Casting Protego to protect Jack from incoming spells.
Interacting with @Alec Mason, @Jack Warren
Mentioning @Pericles Dralt, vaguely the rest of the mess

Click HERE for Ency

Outfit:

Reducio

Just as Valentin was gesturing at the newly arriving Johannes Sauer to come join the party, all hell seemed to break loose at once. The cry of Piérre the hummingbird morphed into a human scream, but as Piérre flew off to get tangled up in one of Hogwarts's stabby messes Valentin could not stop him in time. Luckily, a swarm of bystanders were already suppressing the violence in no time. “Stribog’s breath!” Immediately yearning to go protect Piérre, who had thrown himself into the middle of the fray, Valentin realized that Piérre’d had an extraordinary turn of luck and was doing quite fine despite his attempted self-martyrdom. There was simply nothing for Valentin to do to help Piérre as so many students came to help. However, he would still chase after the boy, although there was nothing left for him to do but talk.

“Hanya, Misha! Over here!” was as much as Valentin could contribute, trying to encourage more friendly forces to join up in case the situation further devolved into madness. “Are you okay, Piérre?” he continued, quite confident that the other was doing just fine after the magnificent maneuver he'd pulled off and the total failure of the boy's opponent.

Basic Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 16 [18] - ARC 1 - ACC 16
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
All dialogue in Russian unless specified otherwise.
Inventory (being worn): A golden locket, a silver earring from the Horntail Horde piercing excursion, and a golden ring from Yefim. The niffler is never seen without this bling.
Ency/Trunk: viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17006#p269554
Godmods of Valentin are consensual throughout this and other threads for Romeo, Greta, Mikael, and everyone else playing a Durmstrang character.

Action: [edited] Moving over towards Piérre
Free Action: Waving Johannes and Mikael over to the scene

Mentioning: Romeo Marchonné (@Piérre Marchonné), Greta Fransson (@Evelynn Decipio), @Astra Norrick, @Gideon Athanatos, @Finnegan Connor, Johannes Sauer (@Astrea Soleil Neptune)

Open to Interaction

English | French Word Count: 512

Interacting with: @Avery Chen | @Fang Hui-Ying |Open for Interactions Mentioning: @

Listening to Shimizu, Beatrice wondered whether or not his School was similar to Hogwarts. Mahoutokoro was certainly a younger School than Hogwarts, however as the foreign student mentioned, they seemed to be rather strict. It wasn’t the fact that Hogwarts was less strict with their Students, that threw her thoughts into a storm, but the fact that she never heard of anything bad happening at other schools. To her awareness there was no other school that accepted and integrated half human creatures as well and easily as Hogwarts did. Her Father’s voice mingled with her thoughts, including the cries of her warning mother. They had not been happy, hearing about the events that regularly went down at each Ball. Nor had they been easygoing with the information of a knifepoint situation in Beatrice’s very own dorm and a night later an almost knife stabbing, in her friends dorm. She couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing wrong and the more she thought about it, the more the role laid upon her pushed Beatrice to believe that she was obligated to help in any similar situation.

Pulled from the Storm of thoughts by Shimizu’s voice, she nodded along with his words on teaching students. She agreed. They were away from home for the majority of the year to attend school and that meant that the Schools had a certain obligation to teach them more than academics. Whether it was Muggleborns, Halfbloods or Purebloods, they all had to follow a certain etiquette and learn how to fit into a place full of different identities and beliefs. It was important to treat one another with respect and kindness, forgiveness and compassion. Hogwarts was a family in its own and while feeling superior was flowing through her blood, Beatrice often tried to make room for a different approach than what she had been taught at home. She listened to the two talking about Quidditch and Broom Racing, a proud small smile playing on her lips as Ying talked about her position on the Gryffindor team.

Moving on from Ying and Shimizu she watched as one of the participants in the drama forming, was lifted into the air and at least one adult rushed closer to help. She did not know any of the Students involved by name, only recognized them. From watching, you couldn’t really tell what was happening and Yings touch on her shoulder finally ripped Beatrice gaze away from the Chaos. „I believe you are both in the right, I guess I do feel somewhat obligated to ask whether I should help or not as Prefect, but it does look like they’ve got it covered.” Relaxing a bit, Beatrice let her hand move from her wand and interviewed her fingers in a less defensive position. Nodding at Yings suggestion, Beatrice silently agreed. „I do believe that may be best, perhaps we could move to the main Ball?” A perfectly trained smile sat on her lips as she waited for her friend’s approval before moving to the main setting along with Shimizu and Ying.

Actions: Conversing and Observing
Moderated Actions: Moving to the main Ball, unless stopped
Trunk
Stats & Abilities: stamina • 8 | evasion • 7 | strength • 6 | wisdom • 9 | arcane power • 5 | accuracy • 8

Lovely Creature | Keen Eye
Inventory: Wand | Mask| Light Cloak | Lipstick | Silk Tissue | Elegancy and Beauty - Lovely Creature in effect, for those that wish to interact with the ability.

OOC: Small godmod of Ying and Shimizu moving to the main Ball with Bea has been talked about and approved beforehand- Sorry for the delay in posting!

The moments of darkness between his eyes blinking were like a plunge into an abyss, a vast expanse of nothingness. The surge of anger he had felt moments ago had vanished, replaced by a deep longing to reconnect with the earth. The screams of panic below faded into obscurity and emptiness. They, of course, didn't matter. Jack twisted and turned, his movements mirroring a cat's desperate attempt to right itself mid-fall. The entity once known as Jack was driven by a single purpose- to ensure his prize remained intact. All else faded in comparison to the symbol of mortality that lay in wait, yearning to be liberated from its earthly shackles.

In war, the peace never truly lasts. Of course, it would be that Ravenclaw, the centre of every debacle—he who would cross the line. "I am after your thing?" Indeed, he was. The floating calm of the void began to burn away, replaced by the seething hatred once directed at a newly one-eyed boy. The ground was just too far. He needed to get down. He needed to be heavier. The primary weapon in his arsenal had yet to be used.

The skin on the boy's body began to ripple as two branches began to sprout atop his brow. His mouth began to elongate, shifting and contorting into a cervine muzzle. This form would protect him better than anything involving a wand or fist. His hideous snarls turned into an enraged animal's haunting and blasting bugle. The elk thrashed about the air, a glorified chandelier for this shit show of a ball. Though through the fog of war, a column of light through the clouds.

"What is wrong with you!"

So many things

Interaction with: Uh-
Mentioning: @Dealla Prince
Action: Jack will spend one action to transform into an elk, however hearing Dee's voice will pacify him for the moment

Outfit:

Reducio

Stats:

Reducio

Sta 7 | Ev 17 | Str 12 | Wis 5 | Arc 7 | Acc 10
Fearless | Charmer | Animagus

This post purely for the mod's awareness. Giddy would struggle when caught (the chance of it missing is low but feel free to roll it), so constrict away until he is KO. His defeat will end the need for the narrator's impact in this thread.