Petty in Pink SOLO

When: Wednesday, November 17th
What: Evelynn finds a misplaced notebook on one of the library tables. Curiosity overcomes her and she innocently flips through its pages, perhaps intending to return it to its rightful owner. Until she discovers who that owner is...

───Interactions─── [font=century gothic]n/a[/font]

OUTFIT Reducio School Uniform

────Mentions──── [font=century gothic]@Rafael D'Spacito [/font]

With the first quidditch game of the season concluded, and the mess of the Fall Ball well and decently far behind them, life at school had largely returned to status quo. Days were once again filled with the perpetual juggling of quidditch practices, prefectorial duties, the editing and writing of Headliner articles, participating in errands as they showed up, and everything else in between. Normally, lunch hours would be spent by the lake, precious free time dedicated to getting a start on that week's assignments or studying for upcoming tests.

With autumn gradually giving way to winter, however, the temperature had taken a dive. The frigid air was no longer conducive to pursuing such efforts in comfort, and so Evelynn had begun to spend an increasingly large amount of time in the library. Such was what had led her to the library on this day, a stack of texts a mile high in her arms, and the wheels of her mind already in motion on what points to highlight in her essay.

No amount of good intention could help her remain entirely focused on the effort, however. Although generally adept at maintaining a demure—at least outwardly—affect, a number of stressors were piling up, Divinations among them. She just couldn't, for the life of her, understand that class. It had been one of the electives she was most looking forward to. To be able to glimpse into the future, to divine the motives and contextual environment of others, to be able to better understand her own, and all with just the understanding and manipulation of mundane objects... it fascinated her. And yet... It seemed entirely out of reach.

No matter how much she tried to concentrate and how many ways she tried to clear her mind to allow the influence of the powers that be to give her a vision, nothing ever happened. There were times when she thought perhaps she could deduce shapes and infer meaning, but then again, there was never a certainty and she was oft left with the notion that she was forcing into existence from that which wasn't there. Even Professor Booth seemed to hold less than an iota of care whether she succeeded or not despite attempts to cur favour for assistance. It was infuriating.

That was only one of several things weighing on her mind, however. The letters exchanged with Flash; the inconclusive result of the ball; the realization that she very well might have bitten off more than she could chew with her electives this year; and most antagonizing of all, D'Spacito. There had been no leeway with him. Despite an admirable performance throughout last year's season, an impressive come back over the summer, and a dedicated approach to this new year, it didn't seem to matter. Her efforts were wasted; her value dismissed. It didn't help that she still couldn't mentally cleanse herself of the grotesque mauling she had sustained in the lockers those months ago...

Elbows lifted onto the table, forefingers pressing to either temple. A pounding had begun in her head, the rhythmic ba-DUM ba-DUM ba-DUM of her pulse as irritation kicked it into overdrive, her ire pounding the beat of a war drum against the back of her eyes. She closed them, shutting the dancing flames of the library's candlelight in an attempt to center herself. This was supposed to be a session of focused work, she reminded herself. And here she was getting worked up over a worm. The pads of her fingers dragged across her face from temples to nose, pressing and massaging at its bridge. Shoulders rose and fell with slow succession, numbers counted back from ten within her thoughts. Only then did she open her eyes again.

Almost immediately, they fell onto the corner of a notebook visible from behind her stack. One of hers..? Quirking a brow, she inclined her head to better glimpse its cover. No... not hers. A hand was already reaching for it, fingers sliding deftly beneath its supple pages to draw it nearer. She hadn't noticed it when she first sat down, but a cursory scan of her immediate area denied the presence of any peers. And it wasn't as though it had stuck out. There hadn't been many tables to choose from; and the one she'd been forced to select had been scattered with a number of papers and texts, likely discarded by a lazy student who couldn't be bothered to clean up after themselves. The notebook must have accidentally been left behind, then...

Without a moment more of hesitation, she flipped it open, searching for a name. Perhaps if she could identify its owner, she could return it. She was struck almost immediately by some doodles in the margins, and some key quidditch-related words that had caught her attention. Specifically, the names of several tactics Gryffindor team, themselves, had used. This had to belong to somebody on their team, then. Suddenly invested, brows furrowing with renewed curiosity, she drew the notebook closer and scanned the immediate pages. Then flipped through to peek at several more: a to-do list; some rough quidditch strategy outlines; the outline of some sort of letter to parents, perhaps; some rather horrid attempts at what she could only describe as slander that happened to rhyme; and then finally notes on Divination, the only item of value in the lot of pages.

She stopped in her tracks, transfixed by the notes. She knew those notes. Not the writing, per se, by the content. This was what she had been studying for their upcoming Divination test! Which meant... Her vestige of vested interest melted away, brow lofting as the corners of her mouth curled up in the slightest betrayal of her sheer amusement and delight. There was only one other person on the team who also happened to be taking third year Divination. What a deliciously pleasant surprise this was. How dreadful his loss of such—admittedly detailed—note-taking. No doubt any study attempts would be worse off without them...

A plan formed and solidified within her thoughts in a second. Casting a cursory glance about her immediate vicinity, Evelynn pulled free her wand, careful to keep it low below the edge of the table and out of sight.

"Colorvaria," she whispered, directing the charm to a page at random. "Colorvaria," she would say again, this time to a different page. And then again. And again. Each time, the text would change hue, shifting and fading, the ink transitioning into a horridly vibrant shade of cotton-candy pink.

"Duro," she whispered again, several times, hardening a number of the sheets at random so that they would not bed. Instead, even the slightest pressure would shatter them like thin glass.

"Epoximise," came the next incantation, gluing pages together at random, effort made to ensure they were off centered. And finally...

"Illegibilus." With that one last chant, the entirety of the journal's Divination notes would be left illegible.

A series of whatever spells had immediately jumped to mind that might irritate the author and prove an inconvenience to undo. By then, the shadow of mirth had deepened, lips pulling back into a self-satisfied smirk. Was it petty? Perhaps. Most definitely, actually, she had to concede as she returned the journal where she had found it and began to pack up her things. Did she particularly care in that moment? No. Not at all. The vexatious gnat deserved all of that and more. And this had certainly served to quell some of her pent-up resentment. In fact, she was fairly certain she would be able to concentrate happily upon her coursework again. Just...elsewhere.

leaves the library.

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