🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

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Little? The Ravenclaw's sole working eye had a knack for finding Finnegan's buttons, and so far he had not restrained himself from gleefully pressing them. The affront to his pride sounded like a stick cutting repeatedly through the air, yet never managing to break past Pericles' practiced defense. With infuriating ease, the teenager parried every blow and that smirk, oh that annoying smirk just seemed to grow wider and wider. Why not rub a little salt in the wound, Pericles must have thought, because while Finnegan was fighting tooth and nail for his honor, the Ravenclaw lectured him like they were out for a stroll down the beach. The teen's thoughtful, almost poetic musings where however shot down moments after they'd graced the winter air. "I hate dancing." No matter how quick he was, no matter what angle he tried, he could not get past Pericles. Every attempt to shift the fight, to change his position on the roof was countered. The teenager seemed to insist on maintaining the disadvantage of the low ground, which made the ease with which he deflected each blow even more irritating. Finnegan knew he had been given the advantage, but still he hadn't come close to even just grazing the teenager's skin. The exasperated noises he'd heard @Rebecca Lark make when she'd been duelling Pericles made a whole lot more sense now. "Bollocks. You train to win, why e- Hmmpfh!" his rebuttal was cut dramatically short. He could only watch as his make-belief sword was sent skyward in a beautiful, perfect arch. Perhaps more annoyingly, the physicality involved with Pericles' hook-and-yank brought him the closest he'd ever gotten to the teenager all evening. Yet instead of cursing, instead of complaining, instead of stomping off and making some excuse as to why he'd been so easily disarmed, Finnegan shook his wrist like a dog shaking off excess water and offered a faint smile. "Nice one." He marched over to where his stick had landed, cleared off any sleet, then prepared to go again, this time more cautious and less keen to start swinging wildly. Squinting, he searched for any hole, any sign of weakness in Pericles' perfect, disciplined posture. In truth, he wasn't all too sure what he was even supposed to be looking for, but he did have one more trick up his sleeve. He spun the stick around in his right hand a few times, yet did not attack. "Did I ever tell you I'm left-handed?" Without further warning, he switched sides and attacked, hoping to throw the teenager off-balance by the sudden change of direction.

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@Finnegan Connor

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	When Finn claimed to hate dancing, Peri' intense focus was broken by a pout. So contrary, he thought. This did feel an awful lot like sparring with Becca. "Do you know how to dance?" the eagle asked earnestly. It wasn't so terrible if one knew the steps. Undoubtedly the timing of his next disarm was intentional. In truth, he meant to test more than footwork and dexterity: patience was a fine indicator of what sort of student one was working with. He may have expected an outburst, but was pleasantly surprised by the praise for his performance. Warmth softened the edges of his smirk. In answer, Pericles executed a leisurely roll of the wrist and a shallow bow in showmanship, watching through upturned eyes as Finn fetched his sword a second time. "Did I ever tell you I'm left-handed?" The soon-to-be-sixth-year straightened his posture. His eyebrows arched as the stick was swapped from one hand to the other, momentarily mystified by the farce. Then he smiled with a birdish tilt of his head as he said, "Funny. So am I." He mirrored his opponent and assumed an en-garde stance, stick raised. What Peri now lacked in depth perception was supplemented by short reaction times and a mind for patterns. He flinched when the odd attack broke through his guard, winced when Finn managed to rap his knuckles, and grunted when a cheeky attempt at a leg sweep knocked his own "sword" into his shin. That move earned a cautionary squint. A block, lunge, and parry sealed his retaliation as the blunt end of his stick slid through Finn's defenses. It prodded his stomach- not hard enough to harm, but a warning jab that preceded a third disarm. Pericles' breath left him as steady clouds of steam as he prompted, panting, "Tired yet?" Because he was.
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🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

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"Do you know how to dance?" "No." He didn't care to either. Few ever cut through his usual banter and antics, but dancing was like a mirror held too close, revealing every pimpled flaw he worked to hide. The world couldn't see the awkward limbs, the fragile pride, the hopeless romantic lording over his skull-sized kingdom. None knew that his cloak of bravado was frayed at the edges by hands that nervously picked at the seams, that it would unravel at the slightest tug if one found the right thread to pull, and if pulled he would be left standing naked for all to see. Relief washed over him when Pericles moved on, focusing on their mock fight instead. The teenager had disarmed him in the world of flesh, but Finnegan yet avoided the same fate in the realm of feeling. But for how much longer? He clenched his jaw and tried to pull himself back together. The ace up his sleeve had been countered with a tilt of the head, a snappy remark and a devastating smirk and once again the balance tipped back into the teenager's favor. A rap on the knuckles, like that of an old schoolmaster displeased with his student, was the only real damage he managed to cause. The leg sweep was not the pro-gamer move Perciles likely made it out to be and more of an accident, a misplaced foot that slipped in the slick dusting of snow. The bird of prey seized upon his mistake immediately, ripping his defense apart with uncanny speed and precision. His sword-arm was forced up and to the side, his soft belly left exposed and- He doubled over. One hand clutched his stomach, the other gripped Excalibur tight. "Oof!" A puff of hot breath fogged up the air. Pericles had struck him precisely where that cold blade had entered not months ago. It did not hurt, how could it? The jab was restrained, the stick had no been sharpened, and yet- Whoosh! The reaction was instinctive, swift and angry. Excalibur slashed up, cutting diagonally across Pericles' face, scraping over his good eye. There was a second of grim satisfaction at seeing the teenager stagger back, a rush of power in the ability to commit hurt. He straightened up, all anger flushed away leaving horror and fear to take hold of him. "S-sorry!" He dropped Excalibur with a clatter and rushed forward, terrified of the damage he might've done. "I didn't mean to- I- are you alright?" He'd closed the distance and grabbed hold of Pericles' arms, worried the boy might stumble too far backward and fall off the edge.

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@Finnegan Connor

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	The delight of play and underlying trace of smug superiority were dashed in an instant. Only after damage had been done did Pericles realize the significance of where he'd hit Finnegan. Regret hit him after. He dropped his defenses, reaching out, creating a careless opening. The blur towards his eye was too swift to avoid, registered just in time to trigger the nightmarish visions which had plagued the past months. The blur of a wand tip, the last thing his right eye had seen, the squelch it made. Nightmares substituted it for the image of an antler plunging into his skull. Pericles outright dropped his makeshift sword in favor of throwing up both arms, albeit a millisecond too late. His body automatically moved back several steps, a sleeve pressed tight over his stinging eyelid for fear that if he let go, what was beneath would spill out. A sharp breath was drawn and held, mind spinning. Losing his other eye was one of the truest fears he had, and inadvertently using it against him, Finn had undone all the upperclassman's posturing. Peri was vaguely aware of grabbing hands and stammered apologies. The voice reached him through the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, but was barely comprehended. When his arms unfolded from around his head, a thin line of blood had welled upon his freckled cheek, standing out stark against eerily pale skin. Fingertips traced along it delicately, smudging the red and testing his lid with a soft press. Eyes didn't feel pain. He would know. Ever so slowly, they opened, blinking repeatedly. There was no blur to indicate anything important had been damaged. With a silvery iris swiveling down to fix on Finn, Pericles regained himself, tone distant as he took in the panicked expression. "It's alright." Whether he meant his eye, or was trying to reassure the lion cub, was ambiguous. "It's alright." They stood precariously at the brink of the roof, and Pericles numbly reached to take Finn's shoulders, trying to march him a few steps further from it. "I think... we've had enough practice, for now." He reached for his wand to tap against his cheek with a muttered "Episkey."
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🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

xx

The exalted quartermaster to King Arthur stood suddenly dismantled and seemed smaller in that moment, little more than a precocious teen who had not yet matured beyond races and sword-fights. Clutching his eye, the boy had stooped down from the pedestal upon which he'd been placed and revealed that he wasn't invulnerable, infinitely wise, or fearless. "I'm really sorry..." Finnegan said. Noticing a streak of red underneath the teen's good eye he retreated a pace, fearing retaliation. It's alright. It's alright. Is it? Finnegan's gaze was so fixed upon the other that he scarcely noticed the gentle push away from the rooftop ledge. The girls were going to be livid if they heard about this, Rebecca most of all. She'd lend him her favorite person, allowed him the flattery of Pericles' companionship only for him to return her beloved doll wounded and broken. He dropped his shoulders and inhaled a steadying breath. As iron sharpens iron, the crisp air sharpened his senses and like a breeze, swept away the mind-fog. Pericles looked awfully pale, like bone whitened by age. He's always been pale, Finnegan reassured himself, he's just rattled. The tall teenager was not so feeble that a little cut would have drained him of all life-force, Finnegan knew better than most how much bleeding it took to be reduced to toothless pap. He held up four stubby digits on his left hand and asked Pericles to count them. Once reassured, he let out a relieved sigh and sank down into a cross-legged pose before scooting a little ways up the rooftop slope for a better view. From this far up it was impossible to say which of the muted, buttery lights below - like soft paper lanterns - was their tent. I think... we've had enough practice, for now. He nodded. "It's getting dark." Then looked back to Pericles, noticing the slight but unusual slump in the boy's pose. He seemed tired or maybe he was simply less skilled at hiding his exhaustion. Finnegan fought the dull, warm ache in his body with a calm reservoir of will, making up for what he lacked in muscle ten-fold with endurance and the insatiable need to prove himself. He tore his prying gaze away and for a short, silent while picked idly at his nails. "Pear..." He'd heard Rebecca call him that many times, but up until now it had seemed inappropriate to liken the stately boy to a sweet fruit. "Is there really nothing they can do about it?" The slight dip of his chin toward the teenager's face indicated the subject matter quite clearly. "You'd think they could..."

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@Finnegan Connor

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	Pericles wasn't proud of the uncharacteristic show of fear- upperclassmen were meant to be beacons of stability- but he wasn't upset over it, either. He wryly reassured, "One can't swordfight without a willingness to risk injury." The Episkey did precisely what it was meant to, sealing the scratch in seconds, and he wiped residual blood from his fingers to his pantleg. "There. As if it never happened." It seemed he was eager to put the matter behind them. When prompted to count fingers, however, his features eased into a melancholy smile. Peri played along in his own way, pretending to squint in uncertainty. "Eight...?" His mouth twitched with a feeble attempt at a smirk. "I'm alright, Finn. Honest." As the Gryffindor sank into a seated position, the Ravenclaw slid his hands into his pockets, both staving off the chill and hiding the faint tremor of residual nerves. He silently moved to join him, decidedly sitting on his right side. "Pear...." The heir was soft on the moniker. It was informal, and for one whose upbringing was rife with Master Pericles this, Mister Dralt that, nicknames had a sweet ring to them. His tone was receptive as he encouraged "Yes...?" "Is there really nothing they can do about it?" The curious look he'd directed Finn's way wavered. His lips bowed into a mellow frown, good eye glancing back over the campgrounds, a pensive pause arising as he debated how to answer. Finn's voice sounded an awful lot like the one in his head when he was transferred to St. Mungo's. When he spoke again, his words were gentle, factual, and hollow. Pericles had already grieved the loss; there was no use feeling any other way about it besides a dull acceptance. "Sometimes, when a wix loses control of their emotions, they can produce unintentional magic. The mediwizards said that when the wand struck my optic nerve, it let out a spark. I think... whatever was in Jack's head had the intention to kill me. Dark magic can leave incurable scars." In other words: he was "lucky" to have lost an eye and not his life. Finnegan's compassionate curiosity offered an outlet for an otherwise unspoken dilemma. Pericles replied beyond his typical one-to-two sentences, ambling along trains of thought with the faraway mien of one often stuck in their own head. "They offered me a prosthetic that looked like the old thing. Only it was empty, you know- eerie, like something you'd see in taxidermy." He added on a fonder note, "I liked the dark one Eve gave me. Ones like this-" the orb of ice "-are better than pretending it's still a functioning eye. There are enchanted eyes. The specialist is designing one for me, only it'll take some time, and...." Pear's forehead furrowed. He hadn't admitted it to anyone yet, believing few magic folk could understand why he wouldn't immediately go for the magical fix. "People think that when you lose an eye, the world looks a bit like this." He cupped a hand over his prosthetic. "The truth is, there's no optical input. There isn't darkness. There's nothing, as if half your head's gone. Imagine trying to see from your elbow." He snickered once, though the sound was bitter. "It offset me completely, but I've adjusted to it now. I can move, and aim, and balance again. What if the magic one is taken in the middle of combat? What if it's damaged, or malfunctions? I couldn't fly for a few weeks after the first time, let alone defend myself. Regaining binocular vision could be a boon or liability." The fear he had displayed was the product of this ongoing anxiety. Losing one eye had been hard enough. What would life even look like without either? Now that it was more or less off his chest, he side-eyed Finnegan, glancing to and from his abdomen. "Yours didn't scar, did it...?"
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🅵 I N N E G A Nxx🅲 O N N O R
xxxGRYFFINDOR THIRD YEAR SUMMER CAMP '24

Boys' night! August 1st 2024

xx

Finn flinched at the mention of optic nerve, his imagination taking over. A tiny insect flying into your eye is cause enough to make it water, to turn the surrounding skin red and puffy from rubbing furiously. Imagine then the pain of a dull stump of wood meeting the squishy jelly of your eye in full force. There would be a squirt of blood and goopy eye-matter first, then shock, a lapse in the brain's normal functioning, limbs acting on their own accord. Only after that wild flailing would pain follow, terrible and swift, overwhelming all other senses. He hissed softly between his teeth and turned his head away from Pericles, as if by doing so he could stave off the imaginary pain. Feeling sticky, hot blood stream between the crevices of your fingers was a sensation he could easily bring to mind, but the idea of losing half your sight? He watched as Pericles cupped his hand over his bad eye and explained it wasn't like that, it was worse, there was nothing, and who could imagine that? He looked away again, grimacing, helpless to stop feeling dull, second-hand pain from Pericles' descriptions. How cold it had to be, that icy orb, sitting there in his skull, how strange and hard it had to feel, and wouldn't it hurt to blink? Did he still blink under that patch? He didn't ask for fear that the Ravenclaw might be inclined to show his bad eye to demonstrate. Much better to keep that patch over it, keep the ugly truth hidden, best not to see the wounded flesh that surrounded the hard, keen eye. But when Pericles laid out his reasoning for choosing a dead marble over a functioning, enchanted eye, Finnegan frowned. "That doesn't make sense," he blurted. As if losing the race and the swordfight wasn't enough, now he had to throw himself into a battle of wits and reasoning with Pericles? The Ravenclaw had some answer at the ready, no doubt, yet Finn could not shrug of the lapse in the boy's reasoning. "You should take the enchanted eye." He tore his gaze away from the tents below and regarded Pericles with an unusually inquisitive expression. "What if you get hit in your other eye, your good eye? Wouldn't that throw you off just as much? What if that eye," he dipped his chin toward Pericles' regular eye, "stops working or gets damaged or malfunctions? You'd have the exact same problem, but I don't imagine you want to swap your good eye for another orb." Like the turning of the wind, the conversation shifted from eyes to tummies. But this was no pleasant summer breeze blowing in his face on a hot day. This was a cold and stiff gale, biting and painful, a seeking wind that he wanted to escape. "No." He'd thought back on the events often enough in private, but dodged the subject when prodded about it by anyone. Only Evelynn had had a peek behind the curtains, and she had promised to keep his moment of weakness a secret. "It's all better now," he added and conjured up a weak smile for good measure. But in his heart of hearts he knew that wasn't true. Though their injuries were different, they had both been stabbed by the same weapon, a question. Why? Pericles seemed no closer to answering it with mentions of dark magic and intention to kill. What lay behind the intention? Why had Jack done as he did? The true wound was one they shared and it was no closer to healing than the day it had been made. Why? Why them? For what reason and to what end? Perhaps there was no reason at all, just madness, senseless violence for the sake of it. That would be a difficult thing to accept, but it would be better than anything else if only he could be sure that was the right answer. Finnegan got up, dusted himself off and tucked his hands under his armpits to warm them, waiting for Pericles to ready for the way back down. He opened his mouth to state the obvious, to say that they ought to head back, but what came out was something else entirely. "Pear..." It was a good name for him. "Have you ever considered... have you ever thought about..." his voice was trailing off, like he was scared to speak his mind. "...a potion? You know," he hurried on, "to make you forget."

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