7 Sep 2020, 05:04
Proscribed Grief
A punishing summer yielded positive trends for Thomas Lestrange. The hag patsy has begun to take steps towards vindication. He reconvened with his mother, just the presence needed to realign his welfare. Combined with a series of therapeutic sessions that helped reshape his mentality. Developing a goal-oriented mindset that would provide many distractions for the boy. Achieving the position of prefect as a seasoned representative for his house. A focused plan for an uptick on test scores. Even the pursuit to be a contributing writer on the school’s paper. All were steps in the right direction.
Running from your problems only lasts for so long before they catch up. There would come a day where the boy was forced to confront the deep waters he has placed himself. Thomas would have a choice. Though for as long he could, he would avoid it. When the waters called his name he would turn his back, and walk away. No longer a will participant in the scheme of dark forces. The time has come for the boy to let go of his father, walking out of the man’s shadow to become his own person.
If only it were that simple. Ties to a coven aside, Thomas has earned a disconcerting reputation. As the red blink on the radars of many, the boy was aware of the many eyes that may travel in his direction. More importantly, those that would seek his downfall. To reverse the trend, the boy would start on an individual level. The hardest step of this process was to amend the pain he’s caused in others. This was no seamless task, and the boy may not possess the patience to achieve this. But he would try.
As part of the new responsibilities that came with a shiny metal badge, Thomas patrolled the quidditch areas. It almost felt like a test that he was assigned to scout these areas that traveled so closely near the lake shores. Every time those ice blue eyes found the lakeside, his subconscious took the helm, forcing the boy’s contemplation on the place his troubles started. The place he was often drawn to in his first two years.
It was time to let go. On an early Saturday morning, a week into the new semester, Thomas had formed a plan. The boy quickly deviated from his new schedule to focus on his studies over the weekends, and variating social activities. He sported his typical off-day athletic wear, a plain white shirt with black shorts, green and white sneakers. With him, he carried a small black bag with a shoulder strap.
The crisp green fields exuded a petrichor that came from overnight rain. The sun was alive and well, but not visible behind the overcast skies. The boy made his way from the courtyard, avoiding the trails, taking a direct path to the lake shores. He did not don his badge, no, there would be no signs of what Thomas intended to be on this day. Not until he stripped himself of the old remnants that tainted his soul.
The scattering of rocks with hasty footsteps signaled the boy has neared his destination. The intermittent breeze sent his overgrown brown mop fluttering atop his head. Several feet before the lake’s shoreline, he halted. Swiftly removing his bag. First a photo acquired through a darkroom session with the boy’s only considered friend. The most prominent figure in this photo was the notorious Ravenclaw with a ghastly reputation. It was of Vladimir Anthanatos.
Thomas placed the photo face down on the bed of rocks, and continued digging through his bag. The next item was a prized locket that a fellow prefect helped him find almost two years ago. Within this locket was a small photo of his father and mother before Thomas was born. Without hesitation, Thomas delicately tore the photo in half. The portion of his father remained firmly in his grasp while he placed his mother’s back in the locket, closing it and returning it within his bag.
The connection between his father and Vladimir? There was none, not that he knew of. There was a time a coven helped materialize a false belief of how his father died. In addition, the belief that Vladimir was connected to them arrived from a similar mark he saw placed on a cagey blonde girl, and a grizzled old man. It no longer mattered. It was time for Thomas to renounce what he sought.
The boy rose to his feet after placing the photos together. He removed his wand swiftly, pointing it at the two photos. His hand began to sway, gritting his teeth. He tried to rediscover that anger that led him here, now vacant. Replaced with sorrow, and fear. His hand began to shake, nibbling at the corners of his lips with a tightened jaw.
His mind so dead set on the task at hand, the boy was not actively aware of those that may further down the shore, or that lurked behind. That awareness would only be generated until he could escape his head. So for the time being, an encroacher had a strong advantage to sneak up on the boy. He would utter the words in his head repeatedly… incendio, incendio, incendio. But they would not come.
Running from your problems only lasts for so long before they catch up. There would come a day where the boy was forced to confront the deep waters he has placed himself. Thomas would have a choice. Though for as long he could, he would avoid it. When the waters called his name he would turn his back, and walk away. No longer a will participant in the scheme of dark forces. The time has come for the boy to let go of his father, walking out of the man’s shadow to become his own person.
If only it were that simple. Ties to a coven aside, Thomas has earned a disconcerting reputation. As the red blink on the radars of many, the boy was aware of the many eyes that may travel in his direction. More importantly, those that would seek his downfall. To reverse the trend, the boy would start on an individual level. The hardest step of this process was to amend the pain he’s caused in others. This was no seamless task, and the boy may not possess the patience to achieve this. But he would try.
As part of the new responsibilities that came with a shiny metal badge, Thomas patrolled the quidditch areas. It almost felt like a test that he was assigned to scout these areas that traveled so closely near the lake shores. Every time those ice blue eyes found the lakeside, his subconscious took the helm, forcing the boy’s contemplation on the place his troubles started. The place he was often drawn to in his first two years.
It was time to let go. On an early Saturday morning, a week into the new semester, Thomas had formed a plan. The boy quickly deviated from his new schedule to focus on his studies over the weekends, and variating social activities. He sported his typical off-day athletic wear, a plain white shirt with black shorts, green and white sneakers. With him, he carried a small black bag with a shoulder strap.
The crisp green fields exuded a petrichor that came from overnight rain. The sun was alive and well, but not visible behind the overcast skies. The boy made his way from the courtyard, avoiding the trails, taking a direct path to the lake shores. He did not don his badge, no, there would be no signs of what Thomas intended to be on this day. Not until he stripped himself of the old remnants that tainted his soul.
The scattering of rocks with hasty footsteps signaled the boy has neared his destination. The intermittent breeze sent his overgrown brown mop fluttering atop his head. Several feet before the lake’s shoreline, he halted. Swiftly removing his bag. First a photo acquired through a darkroom session with the boy’s only considered friend. The most prominent figure in this photo was the notorious Ravenclaw with a ghastly reputation. It was of Vladimir Anthanatos.
Thomas placed the photo face down on the bed of rocks, and continued digging through his bag. The next item was a prized locket that a fellow prefect helped him find almost two years ago. Within this locket was a small photo of his father and mother before Thomas was born. Without hesitation, Thomas delicately tore the photo in half. The portion of his father remained firmly in his grasp while he placed his mother’s back in the locket, closing it and returning it within his bag.
The connection between his father and Vladimir? There was none, not that he knew of. There was a time a coven helped materialize a false belief of how his father died. In addition, the belief that Vladimir was connected to them arrived from a similar mark he saw placed on a cagey blonde girl, and a grizzled old man. It no longer mattered. It was time for Thomas to renounce what he sought.
The boy rose to his feet after placing the photos together. He removed his wand swiftly, pointing it at the two photos. His hand began to sway, gritting his teeth. He tried to rediscover that anger that led him here, now vacant. Replaced with sorrow, and fear. His hand began to shake, nibbling at the corners of his lips with a tightened jaw.
His mind so dead set on the task at hand, the boy was not actively aware of those that may further down the shore, or that lurked behind. That awareness would only be generated until he could escape his head. So for the time being, an encroacher had a strong advantage to sneak up on the boy. He would utter the words in his head repeatedly… incendio, incendio, incendio. But they would not come.
@Evelynn Decipio
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be
Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 7
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers 2x
21 Sep 2020, 05:38
Proscribed Grief
The summer holidays had ended, and with it, the new school year had begun. Contrary to the veiled disbelief that Evelynn had held throughout that time, she'd found herself back within the confines of the castle and grounds she once thought to never return to. Transitioning back had been made with greater ease than she might have expected. There was already a baseline familiarity, and so the nerves of the unknown hadn't plagued her as they had on her arrival the previous year. But what was more, this time she had the advantage of allies. A strength rather unfamiliar to her had been found as she reunited with those she considered comrades. Seeing their faces, standing amongst them, it had — quite unexpectedly — inspired within her a courage to face the oncoming year. The dread she'd felt boarding the train had been carried away the moment she'd entered the Great Hall on feasting night on the upwards drafts of a thousand floating candles to be lost among the enchanted sky.
In the days that had followed, she had fallen quickly back to old habits. Evelynn couldn't even recall making an active decision to realign her schedule to the new environment. Rather, she'd awoken early the next day, before the sun had even risen or the common room had seen more than a handful of students, to take her usual run about the Great Lake. Then it was an hour of flying. Or more. Without the need to hurry to class, and with the acquisition of a certain new piece of equipment, she'd tended towards the latter. After that would be some combination of studying in the library, or pre-reading through course material in her books, or simply aligning her thoughts in the margins of her journal on what she might expect in the coming months. Perhaps it had been subconscious, this resurrection of routine. The grasping for a shred of control in an environment where rarely there was any.
This day had begun like those preceding it. The overcast sky had made for the perfect canvas upon which to paint a blur of colour as she took flight around the pitch. But the speed of her new companion coupled with the lingering humidity of the previous night's rain had brought with it an atypical chill. If it hadn't been made clear before, the creeping arrival of autumn did now. It wouldn't be long before Evelynn would have to dig out her cold weather accessories. Even this morning, on her trek to the lake's edge with her broom over one shoulder and her bookbag over the other, she'd regretted not thinking to pack along at least a scarf.
Fortunately, as she settled herself beneath the canopy among the oversized roots of her favourite lake-side tree, chill's grip loosened. Truly, so long as two feet remained firmly on the ground, the temperature wasn't quite so unmanageable. Even still, all of two minutes had passed before the decision had been made to conjure a small, very manageable, and perfectly contained little fire. Only then, as the warmth returned full feeling and circulation to her fingertips did the redhead settle back against the tree and prop up this year's book for charms against her knees for perusal before breakfast.
She was in the midst of reading up on the etymology of Finite Incantatum — not that she particularly needed to as it seemed fairly straightforward even on first glance — when the crunching and subsequent shower of shifting stones commanded her attention. There was no need even to look to know that hers was no longer the only presence on these shores. That said, she was nothing if not curious, and there had been more than a few encounters of those who sought to sneak up on her unawares. This was an advantage that would no longer be so easily taken. No effort had been taken by the individual to veil their presence, however. She needed barely lift her gaze to catch movement in her peripherals, that of a boy making his way to the water's edge.
A boy dressed like a muggle with a small black back over his shoulder. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have drawn any unwanted attention. He seemed preoccupied in his own efforts, and hardly looked suspicious in appearance. At least were it not for the way that he moved. It was purposeful, and almost with a sense of urgency in the way that he hastily pulled off the bag. Furrowed brows accented the focus of Evelynn's scrutinizing gaze. There was something familiar about him, but with his back to her, she couldn't quite place what it was. A mystery she would seek to resolve, and one that ensured the boy retain her as a silent audience whether he was aware of her presence or not.
In quiet observation, Evelynn watched as he pulled from his bag several objects. The first, she wasn't quite able to make out. It was a photograph, that much she was certain, but of what she couldn't be sure. Whatever it was, he placed it upon the shore. Face down. Odd… After that followed a necklace. A locket, she realised when he plied it open to pull something from its confines. Brows rose moments later with the unquestionable action to tear something in half. With every passing moment, this was beginning to look more and more like a ritual of cleansing. Had he sustained some sort of heartbreak, she wondered? Was this his way of attempting to put back together the broken pieces? But then… she didn't know of any boy who kept a locket of their own… Which he clearly had done when he stowed the piece of jewelry back into the bag, instead discarding only the half of what likely had been a photo to join the other on the ground.
Carefully and deliberately, Evelynn closed her book, eliciting no more than the quietest whisper of shuffling parchment that would easily be lost among the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Compared to the display unfolding before her, it could hardly hold a candle in interest. Setting the book to the side, cushioned by her bag, a hand found purchase on a root, gripping to rock herself forward to the balls of her feet. There, she crouched for long enough to determine whether the boy had been made aware of anyone watching him. Nothing changed. He only rose to his feet and, interestingly, drew his wand. With the exception of drawing her own wooden implement, Evelynn did the same, rising smoothly to her feet. Careful to step over the root, she circled the tree just enough to be able to lean her shoulder against it while facing him fully. And still she watched, head tilted and arms folded against her chest, curious to see what he would do next.
Which was… nothing. Apparently. It felt like minutes ticked by while he stood there, wand in hand, staring down at the two pieces of paper. The wind picked up on occasion, sending his brunette mop to fly in one direction or another, and the loose tresses of her own to fan across her face. Really, it was a wonder that the papers remained nearly untouched, as though bound on the spot awaiting whatever it was that he had in store for them. A future that seemed to ebb away further and further away with each passing second.
"You know…" Evelynn finally called out, her voice calm and lilting. "You actually have to utter the incantation if you want anything to happen."
[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH: @Thomas Lestrange[/font]
2 Dec 2020, 05:21
Proscribed Grief
The boy’s wand with a mayhaw finish trembled in his fingertips, as if struggling to pull back a bowstring. Hand unsteady, but eyes fixed on his target. Lestrange’s teeth sunk into his lower lip, blue eyes heavy and threatening a release. With a series of short rapid breaths he would combat this looming sadness with his anger. For his father...for himself. It was easy, wasn’t it? Turn the page, or in this case--burn it. Erase this past, and let it go. Yet nothing, no line of thought would aid him in ending this.
At one of the trees that bordered the outskirts of the rocky lake shores, a girl announced her presence. Thomas turned his head in her direction, though his eyes found the lower corners of his lids, preserving the visual of his memorabilia that fluttered in the wind below. He lowered his wand, left scrambling for the photos snugged underneath a bed of rocks. He returned the photos along with his wand to the confines of his robe pockets before approaching the girl.
Yes, he recognized that auburn hair that resembled the leaves on which they stood, hinting at winter’s approach. And those grey eyes that held a unique intensity, as if her gaze alone pried into his soul. “You have a knack for sticking your nose where it does not belong, Decipio.” It was not the first time he found himself at the end of her scrutinizing gaze, most notably a night of mosps and flame. She was not as sly as she may have thought, and it was time for her to answer for past intrusions.
“Yes, I know who you are.” Thomas confirmed, unsure if his recognition would catch her off guard. The words aligned with the boy halting a few feet away from the girl. “I’d think your time would be better spent on the pitch.” His eyes briefly flickered over to the unmissable stadium to their rear. Not only a statement that implies the boy knows more about her than she may realize, but also a subtle hint of shade at the state of the Gryffindor quidditch team.
At one of the trees that bordered the outskirts of the rocky lake shores, a girl announced her presence. Thomas turned his head in her direction, though his eyes found the lower corners of his lids, preserving the visual of his memorabilia that fluttered in the wind below. He lowered his wand, left scrambling for the photos snugged underneath a bed of rocks. He returned the photos along with his wand to the confines of his robe pockets before approaching the girl.
Yes, he recognized that auburn hair that resembled the leaves on which they stood, hinting at winter’s approach. And those grey eyes that held a unique intensity, as if her gaze alone pried into his soul. “You have a knack for sticking your nose where it does not belong, Decipio.” It was not the first time he found himself at the end of her scrutinizing gaze, most notably a night of mosps and flame. She was not as sly as she may have thought, and it was time for her to answer for past intrusions.
“Yes, I know who you are.” Thomas confirmed, unsure if his recognition would catch her off guard. The words aligned with the boy halting a few feet away from the girl. “I’d think your time would be better spent on the pitch.” His eyes briefly flickered over to the unmissable stadium to their rear. Not only a statement that implies the boy knows more about her than she may realize, but also a subtle hint of shade at the state of the Gryffindor quidditch team.
@Evelynn Decipio
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be
Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 7
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers 2x
21 Dec 2020, 08:02
Proscribed Grief
Her entrance really hadn't elicited much of a reaction. Not that she had really attempted to do so. Even still, a small voice smoke quietly from the corner of her thoughts, offering a warning to tread carefully. As far as she had been aware, at least, he hadn't been privy to her presence. Her voice, however unimposing, likely would have made most peers jump, or wheel defensively to face her. He had only adjusted his stance only slightly, looking to her from the corner of his eyes as though already ready to dismiss her entirely. The only reaction worth any sort of note was that, moments later, he went scrambling for the papers—photos, she could see now—and stuffed them into his pockets.
Only once the memorabilia were safely out of site that he turned towards her and approached. That little voice hissed its 'I told you so..'. There was little she could do now, however. She wasn't intending to provoke him, not really, but she had poked her nose, perhaps where it didn't belong. There was no turning back and retreating now. He wasn't D'Spacito. Besides, as far as she knew, this one wasn't explosive recklessness where she need be on high alert for the subtlest shift in presentation lest she be too late to react to protect herself. Shoulders rose subtly before their fall with a long, and calming inhalation. Arms shifting to fold comfortably across her core, only a faint pinching of her brow and crimp of her lips betrayed the fact that she felt perhaps just a little more defensive than confident in this turn of the moment. Her gaze, however, remained steady and unwavering upon him.
It was strange. This was not the first time that Evelynn had seen Lestrange up close. On the contrary, she'd been keeping a rather observant eye on him for some time—ever since she became aware at the Blossom Ball that he may know more about the school's goings-on than the average student. Then, however, she'd kept a low profile, watching from a distance, and never directly engaging. She might have caught his eye a time or two, but never held it long. One would think she'd have been more prepared for this moment with all her half-hearted tailing. But as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and a trail of pinpricks traveled the length of her spine, she couldn't help but feel it may have done the opposite.
"Do I now?" She retorted dryly with a flared brow at the accusatory comment he flung at her on his approach.
The comment didn't really register positively or negatively with her. Although she'd never gone so far as to actually follow him around to keep tabs on him, neither had she made a significant effort to veil her presence any of the times that she just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Plus, it wasn't entirely unreasonable to think that word might have spread that she had been questioning students about the various events and happenings around school. And when he came to his final resting place a few paces away, punctuating that halt with the announcement that yes, he knew who she was, the tension of her posture released with the peel of a quiet chuckle.
"Am I to take that as a complement? I would certainly hope you knew who I was," she replied airily, the hint of a smirk pulling one corner of her mouth as she tilted her head to regard him in this new light. She was, after all, the co-captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, an editor on the Headliner, had founded the Liberation club, was member of several other clubs, and was generally a very good student. But rather than list off those credits to her name, she added the simple, yet obvious, "after all, we are in the same year and have classes together. As for my time on the pitch, I thought I'd leave it vacant for your own House to use. After we defeated them last time, I wanted to give them at least a chance to even the odds in our match this season."
[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH: @Thomas Lestrange[/font]
11 Jan 2021, 03:36
Proscribed Grief
Unlike the wealth of red-head males that look alike at this school, the girls held more significant differences in appearance. Thomas has seen those blue eyes with a glint of grey peering in his direction far more often than the standard for a pair that share no spoken words. Until now, that is, she decided to break the silence at a time of departure for the boy. Her interruption would initiate this discussion with a bitter twinge, though positive notes are still salvageable.
The likely rhetorical retort would only leave the boy to mirror her dry comment with a smug tilt of his head and lifted brow. “You’re asking me? Am I supposed to know of this fascination you seem to have?” As the words left his lips, they curled into a soft smile. Yes, Thomas had no issues transitioning from emotional tremors to poking fun at a fellow student. If anything, it was a much needed distraction and welcomed delay to the inevitable step to put past objectives to rest.
After Thomas opened the door for the girl to explain her watchful eye, the boy shifted to admit she has not gone completely under the radar. “Take it as you will.” With a gentle shrug, the boy’s head turned back towards the lake’s rocky shores. “Your hope is noted, if not...evident.” Until the girl broke the impression he was forced to gather that she’s developed some piteous crush, he would continue to deride the dynamic as he perceived it.
Evelynn’s exception with the quidditch comment provided another flicker of amusement, the boy turned his frame to square with hers. “And I’m sure it was you that led to their defeat?” Thomas had no knowledge of this match[did not attend and not with headliner yet :p], but he would insist she had no part in the victory until proven otherwise.
The boy repositioned his footing with a huff, kinesics fortelling he was more than ready to deviate from the topic of Quidditch. Besides, snakes belong in the grass below for an unsuspecting strike, not drifting through the air in open exposure. Perhaps this was the reason the Quidditch Cup has been so elusive for the house in the past.
The boy reached to the exterior of his pocket that contained the items intended for destruction, ensuring they were safely snugged and would not slip out. Then he folded his arms, and addressed the real reason for her appearance this afternoon. “So what are you up to, then? Just another chance encounter?” Once is a coincidence, twice could be as well. Now the Slytherin boy has picked up on the pattern, and it was time for Decipio to spill the source of her peeping.
The likely rhetorical retort would only leave the boy to mirror her dry comment with a smug tilt of his head and lifted brow. “You’re asking me? Am I supposed to know of this fascination you seem to have?” As the words left his lips, they curled into a soft smile. Yes, Thomas had no issues transitioning from emotional tremors to poking fun at a fellow student. If anything, it was a much needed distraction and welcomed delay to the inevitable step to put past objectives to rest.
After Thomas opened the door for the girl to explain her watchful eye, the boy shifted to admit she has not gone completely under the radar. “Take it as you will.” With a gentle shrug, the boy’s head turned back towards the lake’s rocky shores. “Your hope is noted, if not...evident.” Until the girl broke the impression he was forced to gather that she’s developed some piteous crush, he would continue to deride the dynamic as he perceived it.
Evelynn’s exception with the quidditch comment provided another flicker of amusement, the boy turned his frame to square with hers. “And I’m sure it was you that led to their defeat?” Thomas had no knowledge of this match[did not attend and not with headliner yet :p], but he would insist she had no part in the victory until proven otherwise.
The boy repositioned his footing with a huff, kinesics fortelling he was more than ready to deviate from the topic of Quidditch. Besides, snakes belong in the grass below for an unsuspecting strike, not drifting through the air in open exposure. Perhaps this was the reason the Quidditch Cup has been so elusive for the house in the past.
The boy reached to the exterior of his pocket that contained the items intended for destruction, ensuring they were safely snugged and would not slip out. Then he folded his arms, and addressed the real reason for her appearance this afternoon. “So what are you up to, then? Just another chance encounter?” Once is a coincidence, twice could be as well. Now the Slytherin boy has picked up on the pattern, and it was time for Decipio to spill the source of her peeping.
@Evelynn Decipio
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be
Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 7
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers 2x
14 Jan 2021, 11:36
Proscribed Grief
"It's not a fascination," she objected with the tinge of a frown.
But whether the frown was a physical manifestation of her disagreement with his statement, or instead subconscious evidence to her somewhat inaccurate statement could be anyone's guess. Was she actually fascinated? That was a rather strong description; but then again, she couldn't outright deny that he'd landed himself firmly upon her radar after the snippets of conversation between he and Martin that she had inadvertently overheard at the Blossom Ball. There came no further explanation after that, however.
Even those few countering words were spoken with near immediate regret. Although she hadn't exactly attempted to be entirely unnoticed in her observations (especially as that would have meant investing significant effort into her trailings beyond an idle interest), neither was she keen to admit it so openly. Anyone with half a wit would know by her reply that even if it wasn't a fascination (if they even chose to believe it), it suggested it was something and painted her some shade of unquestionable guilt.
Still, this boy was not quite what she had expected. Or...perhaps it was merely that she had experienced too many encounters with peers who were particularly stubborn and confrontational. While there was some reflection of the haughty and sharp-tongued mannerism so common of their peers, it seemed—as he pulled his gaze away from her to peer back towards the lake's shores—to be just as easily discarded in favour of passive disinterest. But the sentiment that accompanied it only deepened Evelynn's frown. The way he had taken her expression of hope was decidedly not how she had intended it. This one, however, she let slide without further comment, acquiescing her loss of ground and making note to pick her words more carefully in future.
"Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin was a team effort," she replied, her words significantly more muted and tactful than they had been previously.
Perhaps she hadn't caught the snitch, but neither had Palmer. In fact, as she recalled it, she had barely left the bench at all that game, but that didn't mean she hadn't contributed. The strategy had been largely hers. Regardless, the game relied on too many factors for any one member to ever take the credit. Even the seeker wielding their 150 point golden prize would only be in such a position due to the combined efforts of those protecting them and placing pressure on the opposing offensive forces.
"I would not presume to take credit," she concluded decisively, noting the boy's shift in posture.
The shift in topic that followed as though on cue, while expected, was not entirely a welcome one. Quidditch was safe. Something she could discuss and dissect at length. While she had approached in confidence to catch him unawares and investigate his odd behaviour, the moment had evidently been a fleeting one. As she stood there at the lake's shore, certainty in her action seemed to slip away like the ripples in the wind. Perhaps in an effort to find that footing once again, she took a few steps forward—not to close the distance between the two figures, but rather to bring herself into the same line as the boy, equidistant from the water's edge.
"I wasn't following you," she began calmly, arms lifting to fold one over the other across her abdomen as she panned her own gaze over the waters. "This time," she added with a slight curl of amusement at the corners of her mouth. Truly, there was little point in trying to deny it at this point. "As it happens," she continued, "this really is a chance encounter. I was working on an assignment."
"You can't say the same, though," she noted after a brief pause. Her gaze hadn't lingered long on the waters before flicking to the boy's profile, dipping briefly to that pocket where his hand had groped moments earlier much as Warren's habitually had with his journal. "What were you doing? You ought to be careful, you know." Her eyes dragged back up to his face as she continued. In a moment, even the subtlest of reactions would be telling. "I hear there are students who target peers at the water and try to lure them into the Forbidden Forest.."
[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH: @Thomas Lestrange[/font]
26 Jan 2021, 04:18
Proscribed Grief
Thomas' claim of fascination was met with denial, a predictable reaction, and though his remark was in jest, it at least allowed Thomas to cross a potential nightmare off his list. It was easy for the boy to presume interest from other girls after an unexpected kiss from a fellow Slytherin he hardly knew. That kiss would live on to fuel a subconscious trend that left him with wary eyes and cautious steps when faced with a simple interaction with the dreaded female gender.
The boy surveyed her features carefully as she spoke, the subtle downward curl of her lip, a pair of blue-grayish eyes display an inkling of dubiety with his unfair suggestion. It was not a justified suggestion for the mere handful of times the two connected eyes without a spoken word. People talk, and if Thomas did not do enough damage to his reputation on his own accord, he had his father to thank for presumed iniquitous allegiances before his inevitable demise. So the seemingly bitter and judgmental glances from his peers was not a rarity, and could be the result of a variety of reason.
Lestrange also had a habit of getting in his own head, a fatalistic painting of his public perception with adverse connotations. It's what led him to seek out those that shared these self-loathing tendencies, such as a destructive veela and dhampir with dangerous reputations. Thomas did not share in the imposing physical stature of the aforementioned, his best weapon was his silver tongue. And now that he was on a path to gain superiority over his peers, it would prove most effective indeed.
"What would you call it, then?" If not a fascination, which was a prospect Thomas swiftly put to bed given the girl's unalarmed reaction that displayed more confusion than concern. A relief to know she was not just another schoolgirl limited by hindered vision of what a girl is expected to enjoy. This one, Evelynn Decipio, had an air of confidence to pair with a striking stare in Thomas' direction. Though experience with a band of crones provided a valuable lesson: appearances can be deceiving.
They stood level in height, in fact, the red-head might even be slightly taller than the boy. She was an athlete for a reason after all, taller than average for her age with an athletic frame. To boot, she unveiled her competitive nature, taking exception from the moment Thomas suggested she ought to be at the training pitch. "Spoken like a true professional." Thomas' head turned in a slow lull, eyes lazily traveling behind to connect with hers, hardly impressed with what he viewed as an inauthentic comment.
Still, if this was a player interview, her answers would pass the bar of how someone in a leadership should be expected to handle inquiries about team performance. So despite the unimpressed look upon his visage, the boy's brows slightly lifted with a tilted nod of acceptance. "Nor should you." But he slid in a sharp utterance, aligning with her decline to bask in credit for her team's victory. "I'm sure you'll catch it one day." Thomas assured in a belittling tone, as if the mere prospect of her doing so equates to a hobbit reaching mount doom.
A welcomed transition of topic, Evelynn addressed this chance encounter with folded arms as Thomas' eyes found the murky waters. Even as she spoke, he would drift away from her. Each step brought him closer to the bed of rocks situated before the shoreline that stained a new pair of rocks with each gust of wind. This time. She admitted to her watchful eye, followed by a declaration that it was not the purpose of this interaction. Still, it provided a simple path to uncover the why to her interest in him.
The boy did not have to ask to understood what she thought she knew. Thomas' eyes flickered from left to right to enter a deep state of ponderance, gears turning to identify her source of information. It was not information Erin or Howard would share with a friend, and he has not seen this Gryffindor around those two. The only other two that had any grasp on Lestrange's situation that he knew of, was Jack Burnett and Ivy Bellamy. Though the latter had migrated to a new campus.
@Jack Burnett did like to talk, didn't he? Could he be the one in a prideful saunter around the school campus, reveling in a constant blabber, anything to give others the notion he knew everything---as he likely believed he did. Thomas could not be sure of his part in Evelynn's telling implications a moment ago, but if it was anyone, it was likely the chatter fox. However, Thomas could only presume the Gryffindor knew nothing tangible unless she stated otherwise. The boy turned away from the lake to face her, a strained smile forming upon his lips. As if already fatigued by her company after just a few moments of being in it.
"Do you believe everything you hear?" Thomas asked coldly as he lowered his chin. "Like the stories about creatures that eat children." True. "The ones with nails like swords." Also true. "And give you what you may seek... a heart, a story, a feeling?" Erin, Thomas, and Howard respectfully. The boy's ominous hints suggested that he knew where she was treading, as Thomas himself was the student she referred to.
Did part of him enjoy the power that came with an allegiance to those that wander in the forest, and the dungeons? Who wouldn't. The twist, was that Thomas' purpose here this afternoon was to throw it all away. The first step to a new path that his mother helped lay out for him, now he would just need to take the appropriate steps. And Evelynn, her presence here was like stepping on his toes, her knowledge carried implications that association would come to define him. That there was no escape.
"What do you want, Decipio?" A notable change of tone, as if cutting through the deceptive vines that embodied her approach. Thomas was not one to speak in tongues or riddles. "Ask me what you want to ask me." Odd, he found himself in this same place with another curious girl who ended up going for a swim. Hopefully Evelynn would not have to be the next to experience this journey.
The boy surveyed her features carefully as she spoke, the subtle downward curl of her lip, a pair of blue-grayish eyes display an inkling of dubiety with his unfair suggestion. It was not a justified suggestion for the mere handful of times the two connected eyes without a spoken word. People talk, and if Thomas did not do enough damage to his reputation on his own accord, he had his father to thank for presumed iniquitous allegiances before his inevitable demise. So the seemingly bitter and judgmental glances from his peers was not a rarity, and could be the result of a variety of reason.
Lestrange also had a habit of getting in his own head, a fatalistic painting of his public perception with adverse connotations. It's what led him to seek out those that shared these self-loathing tendencies, such as a destructive veela and dhampir with dangerous reputations. Thomas did not share in the imposing physical stature of the aforementioned, his best weapon was his silver tongue. And now that he was on a path to gain superiority over his peers, it would prove most effective indeed.
"What would you call it, then?" If not a fascination, which was a prospect Thomas swiftly put to bed given the girl's unalarmed reaction that displayed more confusion than concern. A relief to know she was not just another schoolgirl limited by hindered vision of what a girl is expected to enjoy. This one, Evelynn Decipio, had an air of confidence to pair with a striking stare in Thomas' direction. Though experience with a band of crones provided a valuable lesson: appearances can be deceiving.
They stood level in height, in fact, the red-head might even be slightly taller than the boy. She was an athlete for a reason after all, taller than average for her age with an athletic frame. To boot, she unveiled her competitive nature, taking exception from the moment Thomas suggested she ought to be at the training pitch. "Spoken like a true professional." Thomas' head turned in a slow lull, eyes lazily traveling behind to connect with hers, hardly impressed with what he viewed as an inauthentic comment.
Still, if this was a player interview, her answers would pass the bar of how someone in a leadership should be expected to handle inquiries about team performance. So despite the unimpressed look upon his visage, the boy's brows slightly lifted with a tilted nod of acceptance. "Nor should you." But he slid in a sharp utterance, aligning with her decline to bask in credit for her team's victory. "I'm sure you'll catch it one day." Thomas assured in a belittling tone, as if the mere prospect of her doing so equates to a hobbit reaching mount doom.
A welcomed transition of topic, Evelynn addressed this chance encounter with folded arms as Thomas' eyes found the murky waters. Even as she spoke, he would drift away from her. Each step brought him closer to the bed of rocks situated before the shoreline that stained a new pair of rocks with each gust of wind. This time. She admitted to her watchful eye, followed by a declaration that it was not the purpose of this interaction. Still, it provided a simple path to uncover the why to her interest in him.
The boy did not have to ask to understood what she thought she knew. Thomas' eyes flickered from left to right to enter a deep state of ponderance, gears turning to identify her source of information. It was not information Erin or Howard would share with a friend, and he has not seen this Gryffindor around those two. The only other two that had any grasp on Lestrange's situation that he knew of, was Jack Burnett and Ivy Bellamy. Though the latter had migrated to a new campus.
@Jack Burnett did like to talk, didn't he? Could he be the one in a prideful saunter around the school campus, reveling in a constant blabber, anything to give others the notion he knew everything---as he likely believed he did. Thomas could not be sure of his part in Evelynn's telling implications a moment ago, but if it was anyone, it was likely the chatter fox. However, Thomas could only presume the Gryffindor knew nothing tangible unless she stated otherwise. The boy turned away from the lake to face her, a strained smile forming upon his lips. As if already fatigued by her company after just a few moments of being in it.
"Do you believe everything you hear?" Thomas asked coldly as he lowered his chin. "Like the stories about creatures that eat children." True. "The ones with nails like swords." Also true. "And give you what you may seek... a heart, a story, a feeling?" Erin, Thomas, and Howard respectfully. The boy's ominous hints suggested that he knew where she was treading, as Thomas himself was the student she referred to.
Did part of him enjoy the power that came with an allegiance to those that wander in the forest, and the dungeons? Who wouldn't. The twist, was that Thomas' purpose here this afternoon was to throw it all away. The first step to a new path that his mother helped lay out for him, now he would just need to take the appropriate steps. And Evelynn, her presence here was like stepping on his toes, her knowledge carried implications that association would come to define him. That there was no escape.
"What do you want, Decipio?" A notable change of tone, as if cutting through the deceptive vines that embodied her approach. Thomas was not one to speak in tongues or riddles. "Ask me what you want to ask me." Odd, he found himself in this same place with another curious girl who ended up going for a swim. Hopefully Evelynn would not have to be the next to experience this journey.
@Evelynn Decipio
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be
Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 7
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers 2x
28 Jan 2021, 15:53
Proscribed Grief
"I would call it curiosity," she had answered dully, tone flecked with annoyance at the accusation that there could be anything other than that.
While she wasn't one to talk ill openly about what others chose to do or whom they chose to pursue, she wasn't among them. The only fascination, so to speak, that she held for anyone was if she found them particularly interesting. Like a puzzle. … Like Reaper, really. Lips down-turned all the more as her own mind conspired against her obstinate stance and she exhaled a quiet huff through her nose as though silently telling herself off. She had maintained that borderline scowl during the remainder of the boy's ripostes, expression frozen except for his facetious surety that she would one day catch the snitch. To that, her gaze had lidded, her expression equally as unimpressed as his had been towards her politically polite comment on team performance.
She hadn't said anything, though. She dared not say anything. It felt as though to do so would seem as though he had put her on the defensive, as though she were scrambling to justify her reason for being on the team. No justification should have been needed. Especially not to him. Her team knew her worth, and she would be more than happy to demonstrate it against whoever it was that Gryffindor would be pitched against first this coming season.
Instead, she had shifted the conversation, openly—in a manner of speaking—acknowledging that she had actually been tailing him at least at some point in the past. Interestingly, he seemed not to react to that. Not visibly, anyway. His response only came after she had gone so far as to bait him with his own story, turning from the lake to face her with what appeared to be something that appeared to be caught halfway between a grimace and a smile. As though he were forced to sit through the annoyance of something clawing at him uncomfortably.
Do you believe everything you hear? Lips parted to riposte, a quip already cocked and readied in the barrel. But she closed them again. He hadn't stopped there. No, he had gone on. As he did, the annoyance melted from her expression. A tilt of her chin, loft of a brow, and the folding of arms one over the other across her abdomen followed. Like the stories about creatures that eat children. Hags. She hadn't even mentioned anything directly related to the witches, but it was to the hags that those students were being lured. The ones with nails like swords. Did they have nails like that? She hadn't been aware of that detail, but it wouldn't come as a surprise. Many illustrations and descriptions depicted them with unnaturally long nails. Like talons. And give you what you may seek… a heart, a story, a feeling? Now that… that was interesting.
"Then a bargain has been struck. The power to walk your own path, at the cost of everything." A story?
"A contract between you and I. The power to feel, at the cost of your fortitude." A feeling?
But.. The heart… None of the quotes that she ran through her head seemed to align to that. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Between the two visions, both only described the desecration and the loss of a heart. But perhaps what was lost from one could then be given to another. A chill ran down the length of her spine at that notion and she had to reign her attention back in to the situation at hand lest it run rampant with a whole new set of theories and queries. Not that she would have been offered that opportunity. It seemed the boy'd had enough of dancing around with metaphors and vague references. That suited her just fine.
"You asked if I believe everything I hear," she stated, echoing a previous query as she considered her approach. "The answer to that would be 'no'. Knowledge, for it to have any strength or conviction, has to be true. That's why I marked you." She chuckled at that, her gaze dipping down to the spot on his arm where the three-pronged tattoo was reported to be. "Well, metaphorically, speaking." Her gaze flicked back up to meet his again. "I want to know your story.
"I'm told that you were missing from the school for a year. Which would explain why you weren't part of the sorting ceremony, and yet are in the same year. I've heard that you have made a deal with the hags, and that you've lured students to them as well. I'm told you have a mark on your arm like Moore and Davenport and Athenatos. But different. As though perhaps it was bestowed upon you by a different coven. Or maybe just a different hag. I'm told a lot of things.
"What I want to know is…are they true? Are you an ally? Or are you a foe?"
[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH: @Thomas Lestrange[/font]
18 Feb 2021, 08:28
Proscribed Grief
Evelynn Decipio joined the list of many seeking inclusion into Thomas Lestrange’s neurotic days-of-yore. Another unwanted symptom from his association to auntie and the gang. How would Miss Decipio deviate from those before her? Curiosity is hardly a concrete explanation. Curiosity is still derived from a source, an insatiable drive, a beneficial habit to act upon--to question and challenge word of mouth, locate the source and examine the evidence yourself.
Thomas respected Evelynn’s curious nature, and approach. Yet the card that determines a successful breach was intention. The wrong intention, or what Thomas deemed improper in his opening dialogue with a stranger would reveal the dangerous nature to let a hunger for information overpower the invisible lines. Tact, formality, and respect were seemingly lost on this appetized mind of a Gryffindor girl. “I suppose you’ve not owned a cat.” A simple warning, an urge of care before she walked a one-way path into a silent dead end.
Fortunately for her, a direct approach was a preferred road for the boy across her. Often bypassing the bush for the core of an interaction. Conversations with Thomas were often short, highlighting an off-putting tendency to unapologetically utter the words on his mind. A hypocrite to seek an opposing tactful approach, when the definition of the word was lost on him. Yet he would still hold this stranger to this standard, the information he sought had value. It offered the boy with leverage for the many curious cats waiting in the wings. Gone were the days Thomas would allow himself to underestimate the power of information.
“A fool is made more of a fool when their mouth is more open than their mind.”
People like to talk, from Burnett to Winters, Jensen to White, Ryan to Decipio. A story once mysterious has lost its traction, now common knowledge amongst his peers. Yet whispers alter from ear to ear, the details not finite, plagued by imaginations that like to get carried away. What did these chattering fools really know about a boy taken underneath the lake against his will? Riddled with fear, a tampered body that emerged from atop the surface, only to look back longing to do it all over again.
The whispers that found Evelynn, excluding speculation into Moore and Davenport’s allegiance, were all true. Leaving Lestrange with shifting steps, an idle glance past Evelynn in continued conjecture of where she obtained this set of facts, and what else she may know. Still, with pressed lips, his cold blue eyes would shake from theory, following a firm internal reminder that the leverage remained in his favor.
Her admittance of absent belief that all she heard was true provided comfort. Thomas pleased to know she opted not to live in cold distant judgement. Even if overdue, mustering an approach to analyze the source of these fables would cull a nod of ease. However, the finality of her examination was a simple-minded approach. Friend, or foe? Yes, not as simplistic as it appears on the surface, she sought to understand if Thomas stood with these daunting crones, or ran from them. Are you in trouble, or are you trouble?
What did his answer matter, guilty by association, dubious spoken words from a stranger couldn’t dent this preconception: Lestrange was a boy marked by hags. “It didn’t matter who he was, what matters is his plan.” The boy sunk a tooth into his lower lip to subdue a burgeoned smirk. “After all you’ve heard, you choose to stand here, so far from the castle, alone with…” A pause, left hand motioning towards his own chest.
Either Evelynn was a stereotypical lion, where bravery was as much a fault as a strength. Or, she was not a liar. She did in fact not believe everything she’s heard, and by some miracle, Thomas has escaped pre-judgement. An uplifting concept, to break away from the shackles in his mind, coated with his own penitence. Predetermined pity that with each day willed him to accept himself as a hopeless case.
“And after I’ve told you? Back to your distant peeps?” With narrow eyes, he inquired to reach a deeper understanding of the why for learning his story. “What does what’s happened to me have to do with you?” He added an invitation to cite one good reason she’s earned access to his story. Closely examining her features for even the most subtle change. “Sure, I’ll answer your questions. But you can start, who likes to say my name?” Could be a test, could not be. Regardless, Evelynn’s answer would dictate the difference between information or a boy walking away.
@Evelynn Decipio
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be
Stamina: 8 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 7 | Wisdom: 8 | ArcPower: 3 | Accuracy: 7
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers 2x
5 Mar 2021, 11:59
Proscribed Grief
For all his defensiveness, he maintained an irritatingly stoic image. At times, he was quick to quip back, but at others—such as now—he held his tongue. She could almost see the gears turning behind the eyes that regarded her with notions about which she could only speculate. His was a countenance that was difficult to read, offering little my means of expressional animation compared to the great majority of their peers.
However, even the most reserved couldn't possibly maintain the façade of their calm forever. Eventually, their mask veneer would crack, hinting at whatever thoughts lurked beneath the surface. His slip would be the bite of a lip. The crux of that, of course, was that it was an emotional response to a multitude of mind states: a reflexive reaction to worry, a subconscious behaviour signaling thought, or perhaps even a deliberate motion to resist another more obvious reaction.. But which was it?
After all you've heard, you choose to stand here, so far from the castle, alone with..."
She didn't grace him with any verbal response. The motioning of his hand towards his own person was met only with a renewed lofting of her brow and quirk of her lips, an ambiguous expression of mixed amusement and disapproval. After all, it wasn't as though she had stalked him to this place this time. Nor did she find him to be particularly frightening—only the company that he might keep. And they weren't here, at least as far as she knew, anyway. Still, if it came down to blows, there was little doubt in her mind that she'd be able to stand her own against him. Perhaps hers weren't the most powerful of spells, but she had become a rather accomplished caster and they were effective. If there was anything that he would take away from her (mostly) lack of reaction, it was that she was entirely unafraid to be standing here with him.
Again, reservation could only ever go so far. Laughter broke through her own veneer at Lestrange's positing of her running back to her—as he had put it—distant peeps. For a boy who had suggested only moments before that he knew of her, too, he clearly didn't know that much if he thought she had friends (and plural, at that) to run back to. On the plus side, he hadn't outright objected to telling her anything...
"What does it have to do with me? Well..." Evelynn began, shifting her weight primarily to one side, left hand lifting to rest her nails thoughtfully along her jaw. "...I suppose in a way, you would be answering that, no? As I don't know what happened to you, exactly, I don't know how it relates exactly. But all of us have been affected by the hags in some way, haven't we? Just about everything that's been happening around the school has been related to them in some way, either directly or through one of their lackeys." Tilting her head, she shrugged a brow nonchalantly. "For all I know, you caused the Hufflepuff dorm fire." She highly doubted that he had.
"And I can't—" She cut herself off abruptly. There had been a very real temptation to quip back with a sarcastic remark about how nobody was likely to enjoy speaking his name. How Lestrange wasn't exactly one that brought up nice memories, and how no talk about the old Dark Lord continued on for long before that name seems to crop up. Even further, she'd almost been about to taunt him with the moniker of Tommy that she'd heard used on several occasions now. "I would rather not provide my sources," she said instead after a moment of thought (and another moment of swallowing down the temptation of confrontation), and then remaining silent for another thereafter.
Eventually, however, she had come to the conclusion that if she wanted anything from him, she'd have to give him something. "Ryan doesn't seem to mind sharing her stories." Evelynn took care to emphasize the fact that the stories were Erin's to tell. Sure, Evelynn had heard them second-hand (and she wasn't about to inform on the middle-man), but the source of the information itself had been the violet blonde-locked beauty. And as they had been Ryan's own experiences as much as Lestrange's, it wasn't a case of careless gossip.
[font=century gothic]INTERACTING WITH:@ Thomas Lestrange[/font]