Long-Desired Banner by Evelynn Decipio

@Evelynn Decipio

The first rattle of the door would blend with that of the train itself, rumbling along its tracks, leaving the compartment's sole occupant unaware that his privacy was soon to be compromised.
Gazing listlessly through the single window - the portal to an outside world of scrolling wonder - his hazel eyes watched the scenery as it greeted him with all its splendor, only to be swept away in lieu of something more to take its place. Ever changing, forever developing, but never quite matching the perfect image born in his youthful mind.
But did that image, in truth, have anything to do with scenery? Or did the landscape of golden fields, untouchable horizons and flushed rays simply serve as a backdrop to the portrait of two that danced so vibrantly in the forefront of a reverential thought; one that described a cherished future?

The earliest indication of another presence to catch his attention was the more successful sound of a latch being disengaged. Head swiveling to determine the intruder’s identity, he would see naught but a looming shadow through the clouded glass set within the door.
However, several moments more than anticipated passed before a crack finally appeared between the door and its frame, then heralding the appearance of a boot in the newly created space.
Immediately, the boy recognized said boot, a rush of emotion accompanying the distinction. Genuine delight bumbled over lingering feelings of longing, as one occupant of the ever consistent, yet ever developing portrait entered the small room. And yet he could not see her face.

Eyelids raising, he marveled at the fact she’d been able to open the door in her current state, not to mention fit through it. He stood immediately, arms reaching out in hopes of relieving her burden, or, at the very least, steadying the precarious pile overrunning her arms. But at the same time, he wasn’t entirely certain of how to go about doing so; the stack of books was rather unruly, and at this point, so near her destination, he’d likely accomplish nothing but barring her way. So, ultimately, the decision was made to step backward and fall onto his seat once more, watching in fascination as Evelynn dumped her load onto the bench directly across from him.

“I don’t have one yet, no,” he responded to her question, accepting one when she offered it. “I would have helped you bring those in, you know. There’s no reason to do it yourself.” The comment was like a shovel, intended to dig deeper than what appeared on the surface, yet he knew it would fall on deaf ears regardless.
Glancing down at the Gryffindor yearbook now in his hands, he entertained a slightly mischievous grin as the cover was thrown carelessly open. “So you’ve read it already?” By ‘it’, of course, he particularly meant a few entries he’d contributed himself, and was rather eager to learn what she’d thought of.

Long-Desired Banner by Evelynn Decipio

@Evelynn Decipio

What might have been a casual and logical acknowledgement on Eve’s part played as a confession of monumental proportions on Marshal’s ears, one that threatened to steal his breath from its home within his lungs. For Evelynn, admitting a weakness was not generally a possibility. Save for exceptional circumstances, such as the Blossom Ball - where he still believed she’d been covering a larger weakness with the distraction of another - the very thought seemed to repulse her, to the point that her emotions were forcibly stunted in favor of remaining outwardly infallible. He’d seen it; seen her so near stepping beyond her comfort zone, seen the life of a genuinely beating heart behind her stormy gaze, before recognition of what was happening filled those same eyes, and clearing clouds rolled in once more. When nimbus darkened to gray, and those surfacing emotions were shoved back into their roiling prison.

Though the category of physical strength may simply have been one over which she was not particularly guarded, the unchanging fact remained: Evelynn had conceded that she wasn’t perfect. A laughably small moment in the grand scheme of all that colored his life, and yet it meant the world to him.
It meant that, with him - if only in some small way that she hardly even recognized - she was willing to be vulnerable. And that was a step.

The significance shone in his heart, but only manifested as a soft, contented smile on his lips as he flipped through the first pages of the yearbook. Even the return of Eve’s slightly scathing tone could not shatter his blissful delight.
Turning another page, his eyes scanned the names and faces listed there, picking out those he recognized.
Anastasia, Alan, Scarlett, even Nicholas McCowan rang a bell as that one fellow he’d beaten in chess once upon his first year at school. A rare and satisfying victory indeed.
He wondered what Nicholas had gotten up to since the crushing defeat…
But the question failed to linger long, as his hazel gaze drifted to yet another set of features that held a permanent place in his mind.
“Evelynn Decipio,” he muttered appraisingly without lifting his head. “Third year, Prefect, quidditch team captain, mentor for the hopeless and resident smarty-pants.” He now acknowledged her with a mischievous quirk of one brow. “Doesn’t take a bad photo, either.” Several more pages were then displaced, until he found the section dedicated to various awards and jabbed a finger at a random area without reading it first. “And look, it says here she won the award for driest sense of humor.” The other eyebrow now shot up. “And most attractive yet unappreciated male companion. Very interesting.” He gave a thoughtful nod.

It was then he would allow himself to inspect the awards in earnest, immediately finding an existing one to comment on. In fact, there were plenty. “Brightest lion, best advisor, pre-“ The sentence was cut off prematurely, eyelids narrowing before he finished, “Prettiest lioness.”
Was the award given to the wrong person? Absolutely and unequivocally, no. Anyone with a single working eye could clearly see that Evelynn carried the mantle of elegance and allure without effort, upholding her position as one of the most physically attractive girls at Hogwarts. She had won the same award the year prior, and Marshal couldn’t fault anyone for noticing exactly what he had himself; yet the fact that they did still irked him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
Of course, this year, the girl shared the award with another: Ivy Bellamy, the other member of the pair who had accompanied him to the Blossom Ball that spring.
The indication that he’d been with the two prettiest Gryffindors at the event wasn’t lost on him, nor could he resist a rush of pride at the thought, despite his previous displeasure.
Recovering from the initial hesitation, his playful tone reappeared. “Can’t say they got this one wrong. Ivy is very pretty.” Once again, hazel eyes would drift toward his compartment companion, gauging her reaction to the comment before returning to the task of scanning awards.
“What else do we-“ He began again, but was interrupted by a rather sudden fit of coughing, as he seemed to choke on his own words.
Unwarned and without expectation, he had spotted one category in particular - that of ‘Best Ship.’ He was aghast, taken aback, amused, horrified. All at once. All stumbling in front their counterparts for a place at the forefront of his emotional capacity.
“What is-“ He tried haltingly, attempting to force the question between bouts of coughing that still racked his frame. “What in the name of-“ More explosions erupted. “How is that even-“ Interrupted once more, he finally shouted a single word that seemed to encompass every inquiry he could think of. “WHY??”
Shoving the book forward, he would flip it around and place it beneath Evelynn’s nose, indicating the category with a single flabbergasted hand.

Long-Desired Banner by Evelynn Decipio

@Evelynn Decipio

Sparks of pleasure had traversed his being at the resentment his comments painted across her face, the resultant smirk coloring his continued jabs yet deeper.
In theory, perhaps, the antithesis of a smile may be viewed as a less than favorable reaction, as dictated in the doctrine of collective romantics. Of course such soft expression would have been the boy’s immediate choice, were the option presented before him. Yet, sadly, Evelynn represented an objectively poor locale for window shopping in the proverbial mercantile category of emotion. One could not simply choose a desired product, make a trade of currency in the form of dad jokes or sarcasm, and be awarded an upward curling of her lips as a result.
In fact, the best of days were those whereupon the stingy mall of Evelynn offered a sale, which altered the price of a singular emotion to a scarcely accessible price - that singular emotion being distaste. And if the under-appreciated customer played his cards just right, he might receive a free compliment of irritation.

Today was his lucky day, it seemed, as annoyance manifested in retorted pokes from the mouth of the red-head. When any reaction from her was forever a premium, he would take what he could get; and he had been enjoying himself immensely.
Lost within a precious few moments of what might qualify as typical interaction between two whose hearts shared a mutual space, he’d found himself convinced that this would become a fond memory, of the treasured nature from which he could draw in days to come.
That was, naturally, until the ‘best ship’ award had mercilessly assaulted him.

Amidst his attempts to subvert a fate of choking to death, Evelynn’s chin was pointed directly toward the ceiling. Laughter filled the air, the sound of a rare instrument, expelling the dust of neglect with every breathy note it played. And yet, it did not carry the gentle tone which Marshal had always envisioned such a hallowed artifact to bear.
No. Instead of the melodic series of notes he had assumed would carry him happily into the life hereafter, the song her laughter played was the blunt levity of a villainess enjoying her victim’s pain.
”The same reason I-“ Her comment regarding another award bearing his name met a brick wall. It did not compute, nor did a single facet of the scene begin to add up to anything that could justify… ”Marshal Mozor and the concept of a girlfriend?” he exclaimed, voice raising far beyond the general level of acceptable conversation, as he finally managed to swallow the blockage in his throat. It was entirely likely that the denizens of the next twelve compartments over were now just as involved in the conversation as they were, but somehow that seemed to matter little.

Eve’s next words hardly registered against numb ears. ”Surprised?” A laugh befitting a maniac rushed from his lungs, accelerated and without restraint. The situation was far from amusing. He was mortified. But the sheer absurdity of it all had to escape in some form, and this was presumably a superior method to throwing himself from the window of a moving train car. Only just.
”How was that even an option?” Suddenly, a sense of betrayal set in as her ability to control the yearbook’s final product claimed his recollection. ”How did you let that be an option?”

Her final comment cut him deep, like a razor tipped with acidic drops of truth. Denial instantly clamored for position to leap from his tongue, as though it were a springboard for a defense his mind had already formed. And yet, he bit it back, knowing that his position was admittedly flimsy.
He could not renounce his natural affinity to nearly all humans of the female denomination; their unabashed beauty and grace had commanded his infatuation since he’d been old enough to understand what a girl was - those mythical, divine beings his father had always spoken of with such reverence.
Despite all of that, the instinct to defame her claims was powerful. While the beauty of her peers had not diminished, his desire to note as much had. Because of her.
But how could he explain such a thing? Was it something that could so simply be expelled from his soul and into her sympathies?
If he told her that her voice drowned out the symphony of a thousand others - sardonic though its tone may be - would she understand? If he confessed that the stars held no luster behind the gleam of the sun reflecting off of her clouded irises, would she accept it? Or would she just turn around and leave?

Marshal held neither the answer to those questions, nor the desire to find them in this particular moment. Besides, in the grand history of the world and all its confessions of undying love, he doubted any had taken place in a situation quite so unfitting as this.
His affection had been trivialized. As if she would ever have taken him seriously, she certainly never would now.

So, in the absence of opportunity to voice what he truly felt, his gaze returned to the page, searching desperately for something - anything - with which he could return the derisive favor. And just there, he found it.
Features splitting in a grin rivaling the mirth of her own, he jabbed a violent finger at yet another award, detailed on the following page, which had turned - unnoticed - in the midst of his antics.
”And what’s this?” he accused, tone suggesting he’d won a hard-fought war. Given the veritable rollercoaster which had accosted his emotions, he may as well have been through one. But now it was his turn to laugh. The sound started small, scattered in irregular spasms that racked his body, then gradually grew in strength and number as he read aloud, ”Best r-riv-“ an involuntary snort escaped through his nose, while excess air hissed through exposed teeth. ”B-best rivalry… Ev-” Higher pitched in tone than he might have been proud of, an uncontrolled guffaw devoured the sentence.
He could no longer take it. Between the sheer horror, embarrassment and disbelief that had dominated the prior few seconds, and the shift in focus to something that genuinely tickled his sense of amusement, his emotions over-corrected. The stark contrast to the fun she’d only just poked at his expense was too much, and his already exaggerated mood flooded into an attack of roaring laughter.

The book fell - unheeded - to the ground, spine snapping open to reveal the subject of his mirth in all its glory.
The Gryffindor rolled to one side, unable to maintain a seated position. Colliding with the cushioned surface of the bench, both hands found his stomach while he fought for air in an entirely different way than the previous revelation had led him to.
Periodic outbursts of what resembled words mixed with the laughter, in vain attempts to complete his intonation of the award he’d begun to read.
Best Rivarly: Evelynn Decipio x Romance.

Long-Desired Banner by Evelynn Decipio

@Evelynn Decipio

The further provocations of her cruel tongue had dissipated without reciprocation, only serving to fuel the apprehension eating at his turmoiled stomach.
The confirmation that she’d allowed the subject of his humiliation to survive through to the publishing stage, not with an ounce of regret, but rather a spark of amusement, masked by the ‘relative ease’ she spoke of. Then the final twist of the proverbial knife she’d placed in his heart, mercilessly wrenched as she detailed every relationship that might have overcome him for the reward, yet failed. Each one she listed, of course, had a single paramount aspect in common - the inclusion of two names belonging to two separate people. Somehow, he had taken the supposed honor for himself, selfishly dominating an award he might have dreamed of winning, yet without that second face that would have dictated the dream’s purpose.

The shameless cheer with which the girl purported her thoughts would ultimately backfire, however, the twist of that knife deepening his agony, yet also acting as a key. Turning in a lock that guarded the retaliatory principle of spite, it had released a beast that Marshal had hitherto restrained, opening the door for his vindictive enjoyment at Evelynn’s current expense.
And right now, that beast was running rampant.

Now that his laughter had escaped in full, there seemed to be nothing that could stop its garish frenzy. Certainly not his companion’s insistence that it wasn’t ‘that funny.’ And assuredly not the way her gaze shifted to the door handle, cheeks adopting the rosy hue of an irate toddler as she fought to bury her embarrassment. It was an acutely adorable sight that merely inflamed his mirthful release, guffaws coming in longer and louder stretches as a result.
The scarlet stain spread across her features, painting her displeasure ever more clearly while she demonstrated the need to contend against any logic that led to the award's allocation.

Her indignant description of every reason why it was absurd only cemented its accuracy, and her oblivion to that fact led to a snap of the final string holding him upright.

Now, firmly planted on the bench’s padded face, he had been rendered motionless, save for the helpless shift of weight from his back to his side, then back again as the vertical cushion prevented him from rolling entirely.
Regardless of reasoning, reaction or plea, he couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to - which he didn’t. The overflow of delight was relentless, roaring with all the power of a flood, escaping the restriction of a long-standing dam containing the contents of an ocean. If nothing else, the cries for his laughter’s end only acted as yet another crack in the dam’s compromised defenses, allowing for even more water to escape its bonds, though it seemed impossible.

But it wasn’t until the whip of her arm, and the contact of a pillow with futile intent against his face, that the dam was reduced to nothing.
Roaring with somehow renewed vigor, Marshal finally rolled to the side not protected by the bench’s back. Slipping over the edge, the helpless grasping of his hands for his stomach left him unable to protect himself against the swiftly approaching floor. As a result, his forehead greeted the hard wood with a heavy thud, landing mere inches from the pillow that had preceded his descent.
A dull wave of pain washed through the entirety of his skull, a warning that his brain may have been jarred slightly too hard.
Rotating his body once more, his back now found the foot of the bench he’d occupied moments before, a hopelessly wide grin still splitting his face.

”Owahahahowwww…” he cried through uncontrolled convulsions. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but was it from laughter or pain? At this point, was there a difference? His stomach was clenched so hard that it was beginning to cramp up, causing agony nearly equal to that in his head, and complimenting the sting of his cheeks from being stretched too far. The boisterous sound emanating from him began to morph into a mixture of merriment and anguish, explosive seizures making his words nigh indistinguishable as he attempted to say, ”That hurt so… so bad.”
He could no longer see through the moisture coating his eyes, a vague outline of ginger hair registering as salty streaks flowed freely down the side of his face.
”Ev- Evelynn,” he basically choked. ”I can’t…” Another piercing howl filled the air. ”I can’t stop. He-he-help!”

Long-Desired Banner by Evelynn Decipio

@Evelynn Decipio

In this world of wonder, of boundless curiosity and of unrealized desire, there would always remain numberless concourses of the unattainable. Of every compelling ideal to grace the unfettered horizons within one’s imagination, only a select few would be granted admittance into the finite confines of reality. For each song written with the deft strokes of a full heart, there would be ten more in the shaky handwriting of a broken soul. And with every breath expended for the healing influence of laughter, there would be a pillow to thwart its necessary replacement...
How unfortunate - in this very moment - that one of those select few concepts to touch reality was the ability to breathe; made even more regrettable by its distinctly essential nature.

As though the universe had gazed upon his inability to regain sufficient amounts of oxygen through the violent frenzy of laughter by which he’d been overtaken, and come to the decision that the task should be even more difficult, he now felt a weight press against him.
Eyes clogged with tears, and ears replete with sounds of his own merriment, he had not heard Evelynn’s assurance that she would do anything in her power to answer his appeal for help, nor had he seen her approach with cushion in hand. So when the pressure of another body stretched partly across his own, he did not initially register what - or who - it was.
What he did register was the abrupt banishment of all light that came with an unseen mass being pressed against his face. For several moments, it mattered little, his laughter simply forced back down his throat as it was repelled by the fabric blockading his mouth. But following a few more moments, it mattered. A lot.

Embracing his features with a shocking amount of force clearly born of deep affection, it had already been established that the unidentified object prevented air from going out. And he quickly learned that it also forbade air from coming in.
Already left with next to nothing in his lungs, Marshal found himself feeling faint, vain inhalations coming in desperate gasps. Yet, even so, the spasms of mirth still refused to stop, despite his attempts to suppress them. Every exhalation escaped like a choked, twisted guffaw as he quite literally laughed himself toward the brink of death.
If he could see anything, his vision would have waned and swam, but instead he only felt the pain of lungs begging for sustenance as his consciousness began to fade.

Sensing the danger, his hands were finally torn from his stomach in a rush of primal delusion. The sensation carried an eerie resemblance to one he’d experienced amidst the events of a previous train excursion, when - bound from head to toe - he’d seen the light of a spell aimed to end his existence. He hadn’t had the opportunity to think then, overtaken instead by an instinctual reaction that ultimately saved his life. And this time was hardly different.

Scrabbling blindly for a grip on something - anything - one hand found a surface of rough material, unidentifiable save for the fact that his fingers could wrap around it. He jerked with every ounce of strength he still had, a reserve that was swiftly wavering alongside his senses, and felt whatever he’d grabbed break free of its restraints. Arm sent flying through the air by the sudden drop in resistance, he released the object, banishing the boot he’d unknowingly stolen from Evelynn’s foot to thump against the compartment wall.

His other hand raised to contend with the force still pressing the mass of fabric to his face, conversely greeted with a texture that was smooth to the touch, undulations rolling beneath the external layer as he fought to free himself. Perhaps an arm, muscles straining with the effort to suffocate him?
The arm that had thrown the boot now returned, folding around the first thing it found. Once more, fogged mind giving little heed to circumstance or consequence, he gave a hardy heave, twisting his core to pull the assailant toward him. His only aim was to displace the pressure cutting off his natural right to oxygen.