Closed A Grand Reveal PV

"Figaro?" A visit from a certain grey streak was the last thing Evelynn expected as she sat in the Great Hall, minding her own during meal time. Surprise intermingled with concern as she redirected her attention to the little feline, head bobbing up to glance around for his mischievous master. Piérre had once been akin to a brother to her in a way. Or as much as one as she was like to have. He had called her sister, at the very least, and she didn't mind his company; however devilish he could be at times. Balance in all things, her mother would often spout, and the Britalian seemed to offer that in many ways.

Lately, however, he had become something of a recluse. His depart from the Quidditch team had only been the beginning. His attendance was still noted in class, but he had otherwise become something of a shadow, lingering not at all in any public area of the castle that would allow one to approach and engage. She had been worried, yes, but not enough to demand an intervention. Perhaps her attempts to cajole caution from Flash had had something to do with that. Too often, her attempts to help had only left her being condemned as meddling, bridges damaged under the pressure of her concern. If he had needed help, he would have sought it, she would tell herself. Sometimes, she even believed it.

Not spying the flighty phantom, however, she soon abandoned attempts to locate him and instead returned her focus to the animal. Fingers moved to smooth the fur atop his head and down the length of his spine as she gently retrieved the note he had so dutifully carried. Still absently running her thumb over Figaro's nose and crest, she flipped it open. All at once, guilt flooded through her. The letter was so... Well, she wasn't exactly sure what to make of it. On the one hand, it seemed casually unbothered. But at the same time...

I missed you.

That pang struck at her core once again, a notion tugging at the back of her mind as though the problem had somehow been hers. If he had missed her, why hadn't he reached out before now? Surely he would have? Or had he? In a way now, she felt all the more guilty about it. Perhaps she ought to have tried harder to push past the barriers that had been erected. Perhaps things were not as well as she had allowed herself to believe.

With a sigh, she tucked the note away and gave Figaro one last pat atop his head. "You had best be off then. Your duties are only partially completed, it seems." And with that, she would finish off her morsel of food, push herself to a rise, and collect her things. When you get this note, the summons had requested. Well, she had gotten the note, and by the time on her watch, she still had time before she was required to be elsewhere. Evidently an impromptu visit to the owlery was in order...

* * *

The clack of her boots echoing on stone steps heralded her climb towards the owlery long before her image emerged in the doorway. Ever since obtaining Janus, she'd had little reason to come here. In fact, mental images of spattered blood and the fallout of a dhampir attack in her first year still plagued her every time she dared cross the threshold. For that reason, even though light streamed through the open arches and windows through which the birds would come and go, her wand still found its way into her hand, twirling loosely between her fingers. Just in case.

Keen eyes scanned the interior of the owlery as she crossed within its confines, settling not on the pellets and skeletal remains of small creatures, but searching the shadows for anything that ought not be there. Even if paranoia of stalking predators hadn't prompted her vigilance, the last time she had attended a Marchonné summons, she had found herself locked in a closet with a most deceitful of objectives. His assurance this time that there would be no tricks hardly served to console her. Eventually, her gaze came to settle on a figure high above the ground. It seemed his penchant for heights still cloaked him at least.

"I suppose it should go without saying that I received your note," Evelynn called up, coming to stand at approximately the centre of the room, hands lowering to rest one over the other against her thighs. "Have you been well? It has been some time since you have sought conversation."

@Pericles Dralt & @Evelynn Decipio

Piérre had his eyes closed, humming to himself as behind his eyelids his eyes tracked back and forth, as if he were reading a book in his head. He continued to rub the leather of the empty necklace and kicked his feet over the open air below. If he had brought Luciana he may have just tried to do some tight maneuvering. That may have been fun.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a certain redheaded Gryffindor, and without opening his eyes, the boy tilted his ear towards her, a slow smile forming into a delighted grin. “Is that an Eevee I hear below?” He joked to the open air as he kicked his feet a little faster. At hearing the second half of Evelynn's greeting, Piérre opened his eyes at last as he looked down at the now full fledged Quidditch captain. “Yeah.” He finally said softly.

Figaro 's Grace (75-100): 13
Figaro is not stealthed, hello Figgy!

Green eyes were drawn to a silvery kitten who came racing in with a consistent, light and sustained meowing as the Bengal raced up the multiple levels towards Piérre. When he had reached the boy, Figaro leapt into his lap, curling up immediately and rubbing on Piérre's arm incessantly for pets. Obliging his little kitty, Pierre's hand left the leather necklace for the time being, scratching beneath Figaro's chin and between his shoulderblades in the way that he knew the silver kitten loved. While doing so, he checked the collar for any message in the capsule. Finding none, Piérre reflected that if Pericles wasn't here yet... It either meant that the message had been lost in delivery, or that the eagle had received the note and just simply hadn't wanted to...

No. That was a preposterous leap. The Jester didn't want to even think about it.

It took a second for Piérre to remember that Evelynn was there, and with a sudden inhale, Piérre started and refocused his attention on the lioness again. Figaro lifted his head a bit before beginning to purr and lowering it again on Piérre's lap.

Piérre began to pet again, but this time a little more brightly. “Yes. Just... Thinking a lot.” A bit of an understatement, but what else was the boy supposed to say? I turned into a total hermit for 6 months without warning? I think I kind of went insane for a while? I didn't want anyone to find me or get hurt because of me so I went away instead?

Piérre sucked his cheek. “Questioning things.
Trying to reason why things have been happening the way they are. Trying to convince myself that I wasn't wrong to do what I've done up to this point.” He shrugged calmly, voice even almost disinterested.

Though he was exceedingly curious now that he was thinking about the time that had passed with his recent ghosting. Rumors had a nasty habit of festering and growing out of control sometimes. “But why should I be concerned about what my thoughts are on my actions... When other people have much more interesting theories?” He sniggered to himself a little bit at the silliness of it. He tipped his head. “Any news on the strange disappearing boy? Dramas happening around the general school? I love keeping an ear to the ground... And obviously I uh... Haven't been able to to that very effectively recently.”

Piérre held Figaro under one arm as he started to stand. The kitten then proceeded to dig his claws into Piérre's shirt and clambered about his shoulders in the comfortable sole position. Piérre began to descend the stairs, slowly at first...

Before leaping the bottom three and tumbling into Evelynn's arms with an enormous hug which perhaps seemed a bit tighter than a simple hello would have been. It was a hug which spanned those months he had distanced himself. Even if Peri wasn't here yet... Evelynn was.

And that was half the battle.

"I should certainly hope so," Evelynn's lilting voice carried to the rafters in response to the Britalian's inquisition to her identity. "Unless I am not the only one whom you have summoned?" Her voice lifted at the end, curiosity only now settling in.

By the way the boy's legs increased in frequency of the motion and the teasing, almost dismissive, reaction to her presence, this was sounding more like a sting by the second. Especially with consideration of the silence that followed. A quick sweep of her gaze around the owlery would confirm that they were yet alone, but the hairs on the back of her neck would start creeping to attention as though expecting a surprise appearance at any moment. She wasn't wholly convinced this wasn't another prank of his. And even if it wasn't, it could very well be even more nefarious. Pierre wouldn't have been the first of her friends to fall prey to the machinations of older and more cunning creatures...

Her eyes would find his again as he finally broached the silence, words hinting at the tip of whatever iceberg plagued his thoughts. Ambiguity coloured his words. Thinking. Questioning. If there was a dangerous sport at Hogwarts, that was it. Even Healy's bludgers couldn't wreck a student quite as much as chasing down the answer to one of the castle's mysteries. Doing that could lead a student to an early disappearance. It was strange, the way Pierre spoke about it. Like dangling a carrot for an inquisitive student without actually supplementing any real information. And then to segue entirely to a series of questions directed back at her...suspicion settled uncomfortably over her like a meal that was just on the edge of spoiling.

"What disappearing boy?" she heard herself reply, countenance shifting ever further into the image of scepticism with every passing moment.

Despite the earlier rambling about his own actions and thoughts, the prefect had not at all connected the two notions. Pierre hadn't disappeared, after all. Not really. He'd been around, attending classes, just less... active. But he hadn't vanished. Athanatos, however, had. And if the Prophet could be believed, he had died. Somehow, though, she didn't think he was the boy to whom Pierre was referring. Or maybe she just hoped that it wasn't. The last thing she wanted to find out was that he had some sort of connection with the dramatic dangers that seemed to surround a selection of the school's students.

"I imagine it to be difficult to keep your ear to the ground when you are all the way up there.." she countered, lofting a brow. And as though on cue, the boy stood, Figaro safely secured between an arm. "I am not so certain if there is very much to report, really," she continued, eyes tracking his progress as he began what appeared to be a descent. "The more interesting stories are those in the Daily Prophet, but you have access to that just as easily as I do. And I hope you'll forgive me, but I f—OOFPH.."

Air forcefully expelled by the sudden appearance of a Pierre tumbling in to her cut off whatever train of thought she'd been voicing as feet stepped swiftly back to steady her balance. Hands flew out to catch hold of Pierre's shoulders and her torso arcs slightly back over her heels as her centre of balance caught up to itself. A biting remark had found its way to her tongue, but stopped short of loosing itself at the lad; and her face, instantly pinched with displeasure for the assault, softened slowly. Whatever the reactivity of paranoia may have been preparing for, it wasn't an attack. The arms that had wound themselves around her squeezed, and didn't immediately let go. Craning her neck over his shoulder, she eyed him from the corner of her own, lips crimping with uncertainty. A moment would pass, and then another, and eventually her own arms would slide down his shoulders to his upper arms and give them a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you alright?" Genuine concern laced the murmured question. "You have been rather quiet this past while. Uncharacteristically so." If he let her, she would try to pull back from the hug, to hold him at nearly arm's length while her gaze searched his for the true emotions that hid behind the usual mask he had grown so accustomed to wearing. "What happened? What things have been happening? What things are you trying to convince yourself that you were not wrong to do?"

@Evelynn Decipio & @Pericles Dralt

House Colours: Unspecified

Was he okay? Such a simple question that should have merited a very simple answer, but truth be told, Piérre wasn't entirely sure how he felt in the moment. Should he be feeling alright, or was it possible that he did have a reason for sneaking around and staying off to the sidelines of social confrontations? Was he scared of hurting others with his mere presence? He seemed to be a magnet for misfortune, after all.

When he had met various different students in passing, even when he had tried to build meaningful relationships with them with the sole interest of forming a comradeship, they had vanished without so much as a word of warning to him. When he had encountered the twin VanCleaf twins, one had cursed the other and one had gone to St. Mungo's labelled as a madman. There had even been some claims that one of them had died. When he had met Victor Moore, that summer he had died under strange circumstances and with no explanation of the early demise. Marion Davenport had fallen from his broom, resulting in a life-threatening injury for her and a reputation-crushing rumor being circled about Piérre as the boy who had pushed her from his broom high over the ballroom floor in an attempt to kill her. And Vladimir... Well...

Though Piérre had never held any love for the upperclassmen who had threatened his life on more than one occasion and had been a source of more than one strife around the school's grounds, he had still vanished soonafter interfacing with the eccentric Britalian.

Bad things happened around the boy. Piérre had discovered that it was no longer a matter of if, but a matter of when.

And that was one of the reasons he had an empty leather cord around his neck, waiting for a very special treasure that would hopefully cure him of his ill luck; if only so that those that he surrounded himself by could rest easier and not himself. Even if he hadn't completely disappeared...

Maybe it would have been better if he had. For the sake of his fellow classmates and the students themselves, of course.

So, Piérre let Evelynn hold him at arm's length to look him over, letting her observe unkempt, ruffled hair and rumpled, unironed white collar of his shirt, tucked beneath a black vest. The bare leather cord hung empty about his neck in plain sight. Emerald eyes did not dare look up at his former captain, instead consigning themselves to looking down and attempting to not show the wild and foreboding thoughts that swirled behind them. Almost haunted, thoughtful, and also very, very frightened.

Figaro rubbed on his legs, twining between them in a figure 8 to remind his boy that he was still present and willing to be snuggled like he usually was whenever Pierre expressed such symptoms of mild stress.

Finding his voice at last, Piérre let a small smile form upon his lips and twinkle in his eyes, a look of pure childish hope replacing the formerly empty look. “I needed to run away. Far, far away.” He squeezed Evelynn's arms tightly, shaking them lightly as if to will her to understand. “After the Trial by Fear... I... Came to realize that maybe I was one of the things plaguing the school.”

It sounded mad. Of course he wasn't the threat that terrorized the school. At least, he wasn't the largest one. “Eevee... I think I've hurt people. Badly.” His voice shook and he cursed himself for it. “Ever since I came here... My nose has been in everyone's buisness... And I think I've hurt people because of it. It's like I cursed them by being close to them." His eyes locked with Evelynn's. There was no jest in them, only wide-eyed childishness with his observation and confessions. “So far... You, and Peri, and a few others have been very, very lucky... But I don't know how long luck will last.”

He was blinking quickly now, his voice still calm, if choked. “I don't want you or Peri or anyone else to get hurt anymore.” He shook his head. “And with the Celebration tomorrow night... I think my brother is going to try and come for me too. I... I haven't responded to his letters in months.” Piérre let a small, tense laugh leave him at the absurdity of it. Leave it to him to expect the worse case situations right off the cuff.

Piérre tried to bury his face back in Evelynn's shoulders as the smallest sob shook him for a second. Why was the world so mad? Fantastical, beautiful, terrifying and delusional. A place where mind ruled matter, where the strongest ruled the weakest, and where the nameless were lost and the named were presented as kings before their superiors; taught to crush the nameless and the poor of history.

And the boy was splintering. Despite having been told that he was bold and courageous and unbending in the face of fear and adversity...

He wasn't.

He always ran.

All he knew how to do was run.

And he did it so well...

So terribly, horrifically well.

“Eve... Why was I Sorted? Why couldn't I have just stayed Houseless? Would it have been better that way for me? To have just... Stayed unknown, like me?”

Much, and yet nothing at all, was gained by her careful arms-length appraisal. There was certainly an aspect that was... off. The ruffled hair seemed more haggard than carefree; the lack of care in dress acharacteristic compared to the antics she remembered. Most telling of all, however, was the way he seemed to hide from her. No emerald eyes would lift to meet hers, instead dropping down to the floor without their usual light and energy.

"Run away?" She heard herself repeat when the Britallian had finally seemed to regain confidence enough to break the silence. At least he wasn't so hollow that he couldn't muster a smile, but Evelynn could take it only with a grain of salt. It had come neither easily nor with much life. Puzzled by his explanation, questions began to line themselves up upon her tongue, but she would bite them back, letting him speak his piece without interruption.

Confusion gave way to concern as he went on. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting that could possibly held the usually boisterous boy back from the social lime light, but it hadn't been this. He'd said he had hurt people. Badly, at that. Naturally, her thoughts dipped to dark memories, of shattered mirrors and lively shadows. Of deals made in darkness and deceitful recruitment. Flash had been compromised. As had Lestrange and Burnett, Ryan and the rest... But surely Marchonné couldn't have been among them... Could he?

Cursing and pain by proximity... luck of being spared... Guarded caution only deepened the more he went on about his worries. Whether it was warranted or not—Evelynn did have her doubts—he seemed to fully believe every word he was speaking. She could see the self-loathing and worry eating at him, breaking him down before her very eyes until the point where he pushed forward and buried his face into her shoulder all over again. Lips crimped as a gentle sob shook his slight frame. Uncertain as to what to do, but unwilling to push him away when he so clearly needed comforting, Evelynn just stood there and let him cry if that was what he needed. She would stand there until class called them away if she had to.

"You were sorted because you belong here," she responded gently, palms lifting to rest gently on his shoulders to hold him in place, but not so firmly that he couldn't easily move away. "Nobody at Hogwarts is houseless. It may not be the most joyful of places, but we all find a place of belonging in these walls. And the Sorting Hat is never wrong."

As much as she tried to inject a bit of positivity into the moment, she couldn't help but circle back to the start of his shared sentiments. It had become clear very quickly that there were some serious misunderstandings. That he was shouldering an entirely unreasonable amount of blame. Unless she was utterly and completely misguided and blind to some foul for which she hadn't the faintest idea. A ludicrous notion all unto itself.

"I know it may be difficult, but I am having a bit of trouble following what you have said. By the sounds of it, you are feeling a great amount of guilt, but I cannot fathom as to why.." As much as she wanted to make eye-contact in the moment, she wouldn't push him back this time. "You said you think you have badly hurt people. That you do not want me among others to be hurt anymore," she continued in a gentle dulcet tone. "But I am not hurting." Well.. that wasn't entirely true, but it hadn't anything to do with him. "And of those things that plague the school, you certainly are not one of them. The black curse, the living shadows, the dolls... those have nothing to do with you. It is the hags covens. Perhaps remnants of past conflicts with Potter and Vancleaf as well... But unless you have made a deal with a hag, it is entirely preposterous to think you are at the heart of everything that has happened at this school..."

@Evelynn Decipio

House Colours:
Unspecified

Some of Eevee's words did make sense to the Jester, to a certain degree. That was the common belief, after all; that the hat was never wrong.

But could it be deceived?

Maybe not deceived, but perhaps more like led on? Let it believe what it wanted to believe so that its final selection was what it deemed to be correct. It was sentient after all, and sentience came with the ability to be mistaken or tricked, despite a potential sorting of Slytherin in mind.

Piérre could see very easily why some of his friends had been selected for their houses, and especially in several of his Gryffindor fellows:

Evelynn; what a brilliant pinnacle of stubborn will and determination that could not be quenched by any water! If fuel was cast upon her, she blazed even brighter, refusing to back down or shy away. A fighter at heart, despite a calm, almost stern exterior.

Anastasia Beckett; no introduction was needed to prove that the fireball of chaotic and sudden energy meant buisness. Cross her once and she would never let you sit again. Strong willed iron-minded, and perhaps a little hard-headed... She was the image of the undying hero.

Xailah Alptraum; though snakish at times and feline in manner, Piérre had witnessed first hand her courage in doing things unorthodoxly and without doubting herself. Hers was a blend of cleverness and self-assurance that led to a healthy pride in self that was the marker of self-courageousness.

Ivy Bellamy; another flaming scoundrel, sharp of tongue and wit, though possessing a propensity to act without thinking on occasion. Still, she did what she thought was right, staying true to herself and her personal code.

Alan Vanes; gentle, yet bravely so. True to those he cared for, yet firm in defining limits. He held himself to expectations, and that was laudable.

These and so many more, perfect for their houses, for what they were destined to become.

“Piérre Marchonné; a coward who spoke more than what was healthy for his tongue and whose actions brought more strife than hope or resolution. With no means to protect himself or those around him, he left behind those who needed him most, looking back at what disasters he had wrought in his footfalls with apprehension and grief. He kept those who cared for him most the farthest away so that he could run all the faster without regret for those he left behind; because they flew too close to his Sun and fell too hard to the Earth.” The boy cryptically shared his own narration of character without realizing it, in an almost dreamy, unfocused way that brought out the heavier parts of his Italian lilt, pausing at longer words before finding the right one and continuing his self-assessment.

He was not the heart. Evelynn was right again. He wasn't the heart.

Not the heart.

“The blood.” his eyes flicked to Evelynn for the first time since their meeting; bright, somehow younger than last time they had met. Whereas before it could have been that his body was young and his eyes wise... Now the age had returned to his body, but his emerald eyes had remained in youth.

“Not the source. The means. It's what everything going on has been; papers, covens, riddles, trickery, false faces, hidden intentions, and curses. Curses of glass bone and tissue flesh, of acid blood and black bile.”

Images of Marion's shattered body in the hospital wing shuddered through Piérre's mind before fading again, the cursing of Athentos severing the thought.

“A big game.” A mischeviously familiar sparkle, “A breathtaking deception. Now you see me...” Piérre's left hand fluttered away from Eevee, as if it were a bird soaring into the freedom of the skies. “And now you don't.”

His eye and head followed his hand before glancing back at Evelynn with a carefree and surprisingly honest smile of something not terribly unlike someone coming into a revelation. “A Grand Reveal.”