25 May 2021, 05:43
A Rose From the Heart is Not Without Thorns
Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth@Evelynn DecipioMay 14, 2021There is nothing to be gained without risk. Rewards that are worthwhile may be won only by those who put what they have in jeopardy.
Some think it safer to keep what is theirs locked away, free from the fear of loss, to stay safe from the pain of potential sorrow. But what is a dream if not sought? What is ambition without sacrifice? Those that wish nothing more than to be secure can have their comfort; but the stars are meant to be reached for, and one cannot catch the heavens without leaving the earth behind.
True joy was never without the accompaniment of grief, for one cannot exist without the other.
Perhaps without so many words, Marshal had always been taught these things, and believed them with every piece that made up his soul. It was the reason he had always lived without abandon, to eliminate the question that so many asked- that which had no answer: 'What if?'
'What if' was the antithesis of a dream, the enemy of progress, an unending process of aimless thought, and the vicious agent of regret. One could never relive an opportunity that had passed them by, nor take back words that never even left their mouth. So Marshal feared the question above all else, and made his life a mission to avoid it at all costs.
And yet, despite all his efforts, he continued to find that such a mission was impossible, for when a risk results in loss... what if you hadn't taken that risk?
Perhaps such thoughts were a tad dramatic when pondering the prospect of asking a girl to a dance that, in the grand scheme of things, would likely be of no real consequence. But in this moment - standing upon the lake shore, hazel gaze drifting over the glistening scene of the still water beneath the sunlight - the idea appeared daunting indeed. In fact, it was the kind of thing that the boy had never felt before. His heart thrummed to an erratic tune he couldn't hear, while something within his stomach fluttered and danced to the rhythm.
One hand gripped the soft stem of a single rose, the lack of thorns essential as his knuckles turned white with strain.
He had done this before. Not half a year earlier, he had asked a different girl to a different dance, and she had said yes. But it had been different then. His heart hadn't tried to escape its restraints within his chest, his stomach had remained still, and his muscles had stayed loose.
What had changed in such a short time? More than he could put into words, to be honest.
That girl, he had hardly known, for his time at this school had been limited. And while being left at the ball without a glass slipper to return to the one he'd hoped was his Cinderella had hurt, he had overcome the heartache without too much difficulty. She hadn't played a major role in his life; he could easily imagine day-to-day happenings without her in it, for she had hardly been there at all to begin with.
This girl, however, was a different matter.
If he were honest with himself, he hadn't known Eve for all that long, either, and had always faced the reality that she almost certainly did not reciprocate the feelings that he had entertained since the first time they met. To say he couldn't imagine life without her, or that he could scarcely go on if she denied him, would be a rather large exaggeration. But even still, she had already played an important role in his life. Without her, he would certainly not be the wizard he was now - which still may be severely lacking in prowess, but far superior to what we was before.
Over the course of their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, he had learned much, it was true. But he had also grown past the immediate infatuation that had overtaken him on that first day. She meant something real to him now; at the very least, as a friend, whether she saw it that way or not. And to take this action today was to risk all of that.
That word - 'risk.' That was another thing that had changed since he had asked Melissa to the Masquerade Ball. At that point in time, he had failed to associate that word with his own reality. If anything were to happen, he could simply move past it and try something else.
But that was all before the train wreck. Before he had nearly been killed, and suffered trauma that he would prefer stay dead and buried in the past. And it was before he had come to understand just how fragile life - and everything in it - was.
Among everything else that had happened as a result of that accident, there remained one thing that had impacted him the most, the one thing that had always scared him. What if?
What if he hadn't been fortunate enough to survive? What if the train car had landed on something other than his leg? Worst of all, what if it had landed on someone he cared about?
What if? What if? What if Evelynn didn't want anything to do with him after today?
Another train wreck occurred as his train of thought plummeted from a figurative bridge when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Turning to face the one who had intruded upon his inner conflict, he quickly moved the rose behind his back, safe from the gaze of those stormy eyes that now appraised him.
"Hi, Evelynn!" he greeted the girl stiffly, the words more forced and unnatural than anything he could remember saying in the entirety of his life. "Fancy meeting you here!"
No, what? he scolded himself mentally. Why would you say that? You were scheduled to meet here, like always!
This had never happened to him before. He had never questioned his wording, no matter how questionable it may be. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.
The Gryffindor had arrived at their usual meeting place early, in order to gather himself and prepare for the task he intended to undertake. Well, mission failed. If he had gathered himself, then he had effectively dropped the basket he had been gathered in and spread about the grassy floor.
Before today, he had entertained many ideas concerning how to ask Eve to the upcoming dance. Many involved big, flashy, or loud theatrics that may or may not have been frowned upon by the school. But through all the extravagant schemes, he had constantly returned to the one with the least moving parts; the most simple and natural of them all.
The more he had thought about it, the more he doubted that Evelynn would enjoy being made a spectacle of. Besides, this approach was the most personal, and his father had always told him that the more personal, the better. Personal gestures were more meaningful, and seemed more respectful to the girl in question somehow.
He had also considered going for a bouquet of flowers, but ultimately decided that a single rose was more classy... or something like that. Nothing made sense anymore. His mind was as scrambled as the eggs he had eaten for breakfast that morning, and his knees felt like a side of pudding.
It also didn't help that he felt as though his mouth would stretch off of his face at any moment, thanks to the strain of his forced grin.
How? How could she possibly say no?
Permission to slightly godmod Evelynn given
~Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself. It helps if you give yourself plenty of reasons~
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
29 May 2021, 22:17
A Rose From the Heart is Not Without Thorns
The week had come and gone and Friday was upon them. Classes that day had had a marked ramp up in intensity. With the approach of term-end, pressure was mounting and assignments piling. As much as she already missed it, it was a blessing that the Quidditch season had concluded. If the daily practice sessions had still been required, Evelynn was quite certain she would have had to have withdrawn from several of her lower-priority commitments. It was never something she liked to do, but there was only so much time in a day, and she preferred to strive for excellence in a few areas than to compromise with mediocrity in many. Several clubs had already been severed from her schedule, but it would have been a rather forlorn affair to cut the next on the list.
Never would Evelynn have thought herself to be one to tutor. Well, that wasn't strictly true. More often than not, her advice and corrections to another's classwork came unsolicited and rather bluntly stated. Generally, this ended poorly with hurt prides spouting defensive remarks and the redhead forcing to retreat back to mind her own business with a "well they can't say I didn't offer help" mentality. These sessions had had a similar start. Only, Mozor had been a rare gem among the pebbles and hadn't taken offense—as far as she was aware, anyway—to her intervention. Or if he had, he'd moved past it quickly with a wisdom that demonstrated he understood the benefit of collaboration.
Admittedly, it had been rather frustrating at first. She knew it would be. When the roles had been reversed and it had been she in the position of a novice first year coming into a strange world, nothing anyone could say could help her understand how to tap into her potential. To harness her innate magic and cast it forward into a successful spell. Day after day, the struggle had consumed the majority of her days until finally it had clicked in the corner of the courtyard. Her role here, then, with Mozor, she knew it to be one of support as much as instruction. But she'd fallen into it with purpose and a dutiful reliability. And all the moreso after the new year. She'd felt it important to maintain some semblance of normalcy after the accident. Something to direct both of their attentions away from the looming shadows of heart-pounding memories.
These moments had even developed into something to look forward to. Transitions from the grind of the week into the shifted pace of the weekend, allowing her a means to feel purpose while also accomplishing some of her own tasks. Today's would be a rather daunting assignment for History of Magic that she'd been putting off in favour of her preferred classes. After a brief detour to the library, she'd tucked the necessary resource material under her arm, slung her book bag over her shoulder and made her way from the castle to the appointed spot. Her feet carried her there of their own accord while her mind worked through the preliminary outline of how she was going to structure her paper. In the distance, a familiar figure stood near to the typical meeting spot. Mozor certainly hadn't tarried in getting there..
Her approach was met with a sudden turn and greeting. This swift acknowledgment of her presence might have been a normal reaction had he not traded in his usual easy greeting for the stiff outcry of a socially inept buffoon; or hidden his one hand away behind his back as though he'd been caught red-handed in the act of something and were trying to hide the evidence. Evelynn's scrutinizing gaze narrowed suspiciously, as she cautiously replied, "Hello, Mozor…"
Nor did she really know what to make of his following remark. Although it, at least, carried with it that sense of light-hearted nonsense she'd grown to associate with him. Even their first meeting had come with strange observations and commentary that she couldn't quite make heads or tails about whether it had been said satirically to stir a rise or in ignorant earnest. Fancy meeting you here. This was just like that. Of course they were going to meet here. They'd been scheduled to, just like every other time. She'd no choice but to take it as some sort of non-sensical statement said in irony. Rather than even bother addressing it, she simply disposed of her confusion with the shake of her head and stepped forward towards their spot.
"What is it that you're going to be practicing today?" she inquired, glancing at him in passing, pivoting on the spot to keep him in her sights, and lowering herself to perch on the root of the nearby tree
@Marshal Mozor
30 May 2021, 03:26
A Rose From the Heart is Not Without Thorns
Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth@Evelynn DecipioFor the first time, Marshal understood that speaking from the heart was decidedly difficult when your heart actively resided in pure panic. His father had never explained that little detail to him; an oversight that would surely render his invitation to Evelynn utterly unintelligible.
He stared like a dumbstruck dimwit as the girl returned his greeting, hardly noticing the suspicion in her gaze through the flurry of thoughts rushing about his mind.
How should I do it? Didn't I have a plan? HOW COULD I NOT HAVE A PLAN?
In reality, he had created a rough outline of what he wanted to say, and how he wanted to say it. Unfortunately, that plan had suffered defenestration the moment he saw Eve. And it wasn't coming back.
He followed her with his eyes as she passed by him, clumsily shuffling his feet to keep himself between her and the rose, and nearly tripping himself in the process. The majority of his focus being centered on his tutor, his ordinarily strong coordination suffered greatly, causing one foot to plow into the opposite ankle. His balance was thrown off, sending him stumbling gracefully to one side.
Luckily, he was able to save himself in two steps, regaining his balance just before Eve pivoted to face him. As she did so, he straightened up, arms behind his back, his posture resembling that of a soldier standing at attention before their commanding officer. Even the forced grin had been forgotten in his haste to right himself.
Truly, he must have presented an attractive figure indeed. How nicely everything was progressing so far.
Another thing that had escaped him in the midst of his two-step dance move was the content of Evelynn's inquiry.
"Sorry, what was the question?" he asked, feeling like a student addressing their disapproving teacher, not for the first time in his interactions with the girl. And upon receiving a restatement of what she had said, the boy once again racked his brain, and again found no suitable answer.
He opened his mouth, and it stayed that way for a few moments, with nothing coming out. His eyes glanced about, as if he would find a solution in the scenery around them.
Finally, something found its way through his gaping lips. "Uhhm..." His fingers gently caressed the rose behind his back, provoking his true thoughts to make themselves known. "How to make miracles happen?" The words, though framed as an answer, were executed as another question.
The young Gryffindor had an uncanny knack for the nonsensical, but this was getting ridiculous.
"I-I mean..." he added, attempting to salvage his response. "Because magic is so new to me, as a muggleborn, so it almost seems like a miracle every time I cast a spell. Not that I'm bad at it, except that I pretty much am-" His tongue had broken free of its restraints. There was no stopping his rambling now. "Just that I want to practice it more so it doesn't seem like such a miracle when I get it right. What I mean to say is-" In this moment of stress and anxiety, he habitually reached up to run a hand through his hair, exposing the rose that it held. Realizing what he had done, he jerked it back down, hiding it from sight once more, and continued like nothing had happened. "I want to practice magic. Yep. Like we do all the time. Nothing new."
He cursed at himself, wondering how it all could have gone so wrong. He had never been great at self control, but at least he could normally direct the flood of words that left his mouth- not to mention his hands and feet. But suddenly, all of that had abandoned him, leaving him for dead at a time when he needed it most.
Not only had he succeeded in making himself into a bumbling fool, but it was also too late to turn back now. Unless Evelynn had conveniently glanced away in the moment he had revealed the rose - possibly to roll her eyes at his stupidity - she probably knew exactly what he was up to.
In light of that reality, Marshal decided he might as well come clean, if only to get the whole charade over with.
He closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath to still himself. Opening them once more, his gaze found hers, those penetrating orbs pulling at him, as would the winds of the storm that seemed to reside within them. A slight breeze passed by, playing the leaves of the tree she sat under like a soft instrument, and tugging at her hair in a gentle plea that the red strands join it on its journey.
Drat. Why did she have to be so pretty? It was unfair to a heart such as his, which only wanted to give itself away. Why would she accept it when there were so many others she could take? What could he offer that she couldn't get somewhere else?
The answers to such queries would undoubtedly remain in shadow, whatever her response was today. And yet, he still had to try.
"You know what? No. That's not what I was planning on doing today." He moved forward until she was within arm's length, determination in his voice. "I completely forgot about what I want to practice, because all I could think about was the Blossom Ball. And you. Uh..."
Keep the momentum. Just go, he coached himself.
"What I said about wanting to learn how to make miracles happen was true, but the only miracle I can think of-" He removed the rose from behind his back and presented it to her. "-is if you were to go with me to the ball." A crooked smile played at his expectant features, this one as natural as ever.
~Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself. It helps if you give yourself plenty of reasons~
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
STA ✩ 10 | EVA ✩ 10 | STR ✩ 14 | WIS ✩ 7 | ARC ✩ 6 | ACC ✩ 15
30 May 2021, 07:23
A Rose From the Heart is Not Without Thorns
"…Mozor?"
Her question had gone unanswered. The statuesque form of a boy soldier stared blankly back at her in silence. His initial oddity had been slightly out of character, but he had seemed to slip well enough back into it. Or so she had thought. But this silence… it was eerie. Lids narrowed once again as concern etched itself across her brow. "Are you… unwell?" Perhaps her was under the weather? Or under pressure as the rest of the student body was with the approach of the school year's end? Maybe she was asking too much of him to continue with these sessions when everything was beginning to culminate to the crescendo of exams. Then again… wouldn't this help him prepare for just such an event?
Sorry, what was the question?
All over again, Mozor pulled the carpet out from under her. As confounded as he had often left her, rarely—if ever—had she seen him in a state of complete dissociation from the moment. Generally speaking, it was more difficult for her to stopper the flow of words that would stream from his mouth. Yet here he was, distracted, lost for words, and entirely awkward. Unable to think of any other reason for his behaviour, her gaze panned over his person in search of anything out of the norm. Any bruises or injury; signs of a scuff or damage to his clothing or person. After the train incident, and other similarly traumatic situation, students had been left lost for words and uncharacteristic in their affect.
But there was nothing obviously unusual.
"I asked you what it was that you wanted to practice today," she repeated herself gently.
Now that he seemed to have snapped himself out of his stupor, the concern melted gradually from her features, leaving behind only a shred of uncertainty. He was acting strangely. Even more so than was usual for him. Something wasn't adding up. Evelynn was at least certain of that. There was something that she was missing and the writhing of her stomach hammered that notion home. One leg lifted to cross over the other. The shrug of a shoulder allowed her back to slip slowly from her arm to thump softly to the ground at her feet. Hands pulled back to fold one over the other in her lap. And with the straightening of her back, she peered forward at him patiently awaiting his answer.
Then blinked. Any skepticism was promptly wiped from her face with his answer. "How to… how to make miracles happen?" she echoed, quite certain that she had heard him correctly and yet not at all understanding what he was getting at. Was this a first-year thing? Were the students in the year behind her derived of some sort of whimsical matter that left them speaking in riddles? For some reason, Mozor wasn't the first to speak in ways that often left her with more questions. In this instance, even he didn't seem confident with what he was saying. The upward inflection left it hanging in the air like an unbaited lure, entirely undeservedly hoping for a bite of affirmation. And like the fish that surveyed it, her lips parted, then shut again.
Fortunately, she was spared having to actually answer as he continued into what evolved into an episode of word vomit. Although, admittedly, she did have to stifle a laugh at the analogy of managing to cast anything at all as a muggle to being a miracle. It was a rather relatable notion, truly; but the pitying expression she fixed upon him reflected her belief that he wasn't doing himself any justice with that. He'd come a long way, really. She'd settled into her seat, relaxing her shoulders as he'd continue, content to let him ride out this little outburst of anxiety and prepared to offer him something of a pep talk before insisting they get down to business. It was just pre-exam jitters, after all, then.
What I mean to say is—
"—that you'd like to start?" she supplied with veiled amusement when he cut himself off.
A demure smile tugged at her lips. Plying her hands away to rest upon the root to either side of her hip, she pushed forward to rise, uncrossing her leg in a smooth motion that shifted seamlessly into what would have been a step. Then froze. In his nerves, Mozor had pulled a hand to comb fingers through tousled hair. Only, they never quite managed the task before his hand was tugged violently out of sight again. That alone was suspicious enough, but what was more-so was what was held within their grasp. "…what was that?" Evelynn asked, chin inclined to survey him yet again, grey eyes boring back and forth between each of his as though attempting to read the intent behind his shifty gaze.
He answered with a repetition of his desire to practice magic. A brow arched, her flagrant disbelief obvious for that moment before she calmed her expression. Maybe she was overthinking it. Perhaps he had been practicing the flower-conjuring charm. Perhaps this was an embarrassment over the product. While she was quite certain that it had been a flower clutched tightly in his fingers, she hadn't managed a close look. It could very well have been in a very poor state, indeed. Perhaps it was his reticence to produce a subpar result that left him hiding it from what he might perceive as a mentor's judgmental gaze. Yes. That must have been it.
That wasn't it.
The writhing of her stomach started up again as Mozor's expression turned inward yet again. Eyes closed, chest rising and falling with a steadying breath. She recognized those motions. They were the signs of an individual steeling themselves for an action yet to come. He was readying himself for something. Something that he was nervous about. Something that had left him intermittently tongue-tied and rambling. Slowly, she sank back to her seat. And all of a sudden, she was the one statuesque, gaze fixed forward upon his figure as though she'd been targeted with a bodybind. Her mouth parched; her palms itched with the mist of nervous perspiration that beaded in their creases; a cable tugged firmly back from her heart, urging her to retreat. She almost did so. But then he opened his eyes and rooted her to the spot with his words.
I completely forgot about what I want to practice
Okay… Not at all conducive to arriving here with the intent to practice Charms, but she had already deduced that his mind was elsewhere, so this was not entirely unexpected. She made no move to interrupt.
because all I could think about was the Blossom Ball.
Lips crimped and she flashed him a poorly veiled look of judgment. He couldn't stop thinking about the Blossom Ball? What was he? An eleven year old girl with fanciful notions of meeting their beloved foreign prince with the arrival of the international students?
And you.
Emotion drained from her face in a flash, leaving it a bare canvas of unprocessed shock. Two seconds passed in stunned silence, and in that time, she couldn't even have been certain her heart was beating at all. Then she swallowed. And her tongue flitted out to subtly wet her lips and return life to her countenance.
Uh…
He couldn't stop thinking about her? Her? Why? Why her? And the ball? Her stomach no longer writhed uncomfortably; it was a veritable pit of vipers churning and twisting in on itself. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and fingers curled in her lap. She doubted she'd have found the strength in her legs to rise even had the notion occurred to her to do so. Even thought eluded her, and the more she tried to chase down sense in this odd exchange, the less she was able to make heads or tails of it.
-is if you were to go with me to the ball.
Blinking, Evelynn stared up to see that Mozor was suddenly standing far nearer to her than he had been moments ago. And as her mind tried to catch up to her, she noted the crooked smile creasing his own features. At least he was back, then. The usual, familiar boy with whom she practiced spell casting was standing before her now, rather than the husk of nerves that had served as substitute earlier.
"You…You want me to go to the ball with you?" she echoed, confirming as much to herself as he that she had understood him right despite having glossed over part of what he'd said.
Her gaze dipped, then, to the rose held out to her. A single rose. In partial bloom. A relationship that had already begun to blossom, but not yet to its full extent. She cleared her through, mentally wracking together her thoughts. Red. Not pink for appreciation. Nor yellow for friendship. Red. Red was for love. Romance. Commitment. She wasn't ready for a red rose. She was only thirteen.
But then again…he was only a boy. And only a first year. What did they know of the meanings of flower types and colours? Surely, this could very well be as much a token of appreciation for everything she had done for him. For the time she had freely given to help him come into his own as a wizard and to feel accepted in the world. The invitations had been circulating already for some time now, and already she knew of many who had partners to go with them to the ball. Few enjoyed attending alone. Even she, who really didn't care for the date part of it had attended both of her previous events in tow with someone else. Neither had been anything more than investigative partners, really. It had afforded her a sense of security knowing there would be someone to watch her back and dedicate themselves to help her—and vice versa—should things begin to spiral out of control. And hadn't she wanted to be able to get to know the first years better? Would this not demonstrate publicly that she was approachable by those younger than she?
Perhaps he was even desperate. Maybe he had even asked a few others already and been turned away. The thought of being just another to reject his advance, when she really hadn't any reason not to, left her heart heavy. And that was just it. For as much as she didn't jump at the opportunity to say yes, she couldn't really think of any good reason to say no. She was planning to attend. Whether solo or otherwise, she would be going to the ball. If for no other reason than to be another set of eyes at attention for anything out of place. And nobody else had asked her.
So why not?
"Of course, Marshal," she replied after her several moments of thoughtful silence. She forced her frame to relax and reached forward to pluck the rose from his fingers and brought it to her nose. It really did have a lovely fragrance. Light. Intoxicating in a way. It reminded her of the rose petal teas that her mother would brew on special occasions. "I'll go to the ball with you."
@Marshal Mozor