12 Aug 2022, 01:35
Broken Harbors
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.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 28/AUG/2022 @ past curfew | OUTFIT | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Marshal Mozor | MENTIONING @Leonard Oaksworth @Zykeal Lane
───•─•────────────────────────────────────•─•───
───•─•────────────────────────────────────•─•───The flap of the tent's entrance snapped with the sudden expulsion of one of its inhabitants. For a brief moment, dim light from the interior sliced across the path before being cut off once again by limp canvas. A warm breeze stirred, flags identifying various neighbouring structures fluttering gently by its insistence. Sparse gravel crunched underground, dug into the softer earth upon which it bedded. It was well past curfew now, the evening's events tied up and concluded. Any who had been in attendance should have been making their way to their places of repose. But not this one. The shadow of a figure would embark into the darkening night, purposeful strides propelling them away from the sanctuary of slumber.
Only a sliver of light shown down from above, the waxing moon only barely visible on its first night back to life. Shadow would envelop the camp, then. Not the sort of shadow that emerged as a result of a bright light casting dark reflections upon the ground; but rather an enveloping darkness that swallowed everything within its grasp, left only the narrow crescent of hope for a brighter tomorrow. During a normal patrol, Evelynn might have found that to be an unfortunate bane, compounding the difficulty of finding students out of bed. Tonight, however, she was among those slipping out of sight, desiring nothing more than to be left on her hunt to track down their missing resident.
Where had he gotten this time, anyway... Irritation bubbled insidiously beneath the surface of alabaster skin. To say that the sudden explosive outburst had come as a surprise would be a complete understatement. It wasn't as though Marshal didn't struggle at times with emotional regulation; Evelynn was aware of that on some level. But this had been a swift escalation that had left her indignant on Lane's behalf—a shocking revelation in its own right—and more than a little concerned for Marshal's emotional state.
The only reason she hadn't gone after him herself was because Oaksworth had taken that initiative. From everything he had said right before slipping away from the game, he was going to speak with Marshal. Which was just fine. Given their proximity, it was likely best that way. It had come as another layer of surprise, then, when Evelynn had returned to the tent to find Oaksworth. But no Marshal. In fact, by his own admission, he had given up on pursuit of the hot-headed Gryffindor before even finding him, and reported that Marshal hadn't even yet returned to the tent at all. Which meant he was still somewhere.
The question was where.
Steps would quicken their pace. As the summer camp had progressed, a sense of dread seemed to encroach upon the prefect. Sleep that had come so easily in the first weeks was beginning to elude her once again. That familiar prickle of nervous anticipation crawled across her skin at regular and increasing periods. It had been a long time since she felt as though the walls had eyes and that trust had to be rationed. And yet, despite the absence of any stone corridors, she could not deny feeling as though there were eyes upon them all. Something was amiss, she was sure of it. Which made it all the more imperative that she find him.
Annoyance released itself through her nares as the time slipped past. Evelynn had eventually found her progress slowed, progressing to a stop. Impulse had led her to hunt about the tents, to search as wide an area possible in the shortest time. It had been fruitless. And deep down, a part of her knew it would be. If he really hadn't yet returned to the camp, it wasn't likely that he would be lingering anywhere near to it. Her slate gaze, flat without the reflection of a vibrant skyscape, panned out towards the treeline. And with pursed lips, she would veer in its direction, suspecting she might know where he could be found. Fingers would slip her wand from her sleeve. Just in case.
Her trek through the sparse arbor copse would hardly be the same as last time, however. Little effort would be spared to keep herself unheard. Why should it matter if he heard her approach or not? If he was even there at all. She had no intent of catching unawares. Twigs snapped underfoot and branches whipped as she pushed them from her face. In fact, neither had she any intent to dawdle, either. It would not be a repeat of the week previous. If assaulting a student unprovoked wasn't enough, he had fled the scene, and failed to return to the tent by curfew, inconveniencing her to have to retrieve him.
A small measure of satisfaction would reward her emergence from the shadows. "So you are here then..." Although, perhaps satisfaction wasn't quite the right descriptor. It was more the prevailing relief that even more time wouldn't be wasted having to start from ground zero were the hunt to continue.
Her left arm—the wand arm—folded itself across her core, wand-bearing fingers left to rest loosely by her right hip. Against that wrist would brace her right elbow, its hand left to gesture absently as she flatly uttered, "Well..?" An auburn brow flared with the inquiry, the question delivered like a man's last meal on a fraying tendril of rope. One last chance to explain away the immaturity of his recent actions, although the lack of emotion behind the word would suggest she was not so disillusioned to believe anything he had to say would be remotely reasonable. "Are you ready to come back to the tent, or have you yet more to get off your chest? I am sure I need not remind you that you are past curfew, nevermind that little stunt you pulled attacking Lane unprovoked. Tell me why I ought not give you detention right now."
STA | 10 STR | 2 EVA | 15 WIS | 15 ARC | 2 ACC | 12
keen eye fearless impartial wandmaker
21 Aug 2022, 11:19
Broken Harbors
@Evelynn Decipio
~✯~ | ~✯~ | ~✯~ |
One breath, followed by another. First in, then inevitably out. Build the pressure until it overwhelmed, then let it release in a single whisper of iterated emotion.
Wordless, yet each exhalation voiced the mangled thoughts in his mind, forsaking the steady inhalation that had stilled his erratic heartbeat but a moment before. He was anything but steady, anything but rational or composed. He was anything but himself.
The darkness enshrouded him, inviting his form to become one with its endless ambiguity - to mingle with the gods of night in their dance of inconsequence. And he wanted nothing more, nor anything less, than to accept their offer to fade… into insignificant shadows who thrived beneath the futile glow of a token moon; beyond the periphery of reaching thoughts that those who knew him might entertain. So he let them take him, wrapping himself in gloom’s somber embrace as though it were a blanket to cover what he wanted no one to see.
The events of a so-called ‘game’ had led him here, alone and on the verge of breaking down. It was a fact that made his current state seem all the more absurd. Could the consequences of Spin the Bottle truly be so potent? A juvenile pastime that had been designed to trivialize hormones and emotion. A socially lawless setting, wherein backlash was rejected in the name of entertainment.
Action and subsequent reaction should have been discarded as nothing beyond participation within the accepted parameters of a dictating flagon. And yet, how could related affairs not be taken personally in a game with such an intimate foundation? Especially when certain participants unfailingly elicited such forceful leaps of the heart, whether they be kissing another, or receiving the same treatment in turn. And more particularly when the second pair of lips belonged to the one person he’d never considered could possibly stab him in the back.
Unbridled emotion still racked his soul, scarcely less violent than when it had driven his arm toward the ginger-haired stranger, and the malevolent incantation from his mouth. Indeed, rather than waver and die, the culprits behind the outburst had merely simmered in his chest, coalescing with the added ingredient of remorse until he was prepared to erupt once again at the first sign of prodding.
Solitude was his friend on this night, whether he wanted its company or not; a conclusion that remained unclear.
The only aberration to interrupt the slow boil within his chest had come with an abrupt end to his isolation. Although it had resumed almost as suddenly, the sweet presence to intrude upon his personal space had done so with startling audacity before abandoning him to the throes of bafflement.
The skin of his lips could still feel that of her own, brushing across a surface of passion that he’d carried since they’d met. The warmth of her breath yet caressed his pain, salving the sting if for but a moment, while her scent wafted to his nose with the next breath.
It had been as a scene in a cracked fairy tale that began one summer’s day, the motive behind its composition obscured by its influence. And it offered the only comfort he had received on an evening otherwise torn from a journal of nightmares. But even so, the warm breeze chased her aroma into the waiting trees, who swallowed it as they had her gentle visage.
In the end, despite what had transpired, she’d run away. Left him alone. Just like the others who had failed to pursue his hasty retreat from the tent. The only message to be taken away was the resounding chime of a bell, a hollow trill without symphonic accompaniment.
No matter how close anyone seemed to get, it meant nothing. Just like him in their minds.
Acidic unrest shaded his features, teeth grinding subconsciously as a hazel gaze scanned the sky. Stars winked from over treetops, though their brilliance took a knee to the glory of his previous time there. As if in mock observance of his life, they simply failed to shine quite so brightly as they once had, following in the footsteps of a moon that never held its post for long.
One leg lay straight on the grass, reaching for the foot of the hill and providing contrast to the other knee, which sat erect as a resting place for his wrist. His back was angled forward as he leaned his weight with the slope.
He blinked at the nearby sound of a mutilated twig, followed by an increasing amount of small snaps as the assailant of the woods grew near. The culprit behind the noise was not given a single glance. He had no interest in going to them; he had always done so - approaching those who had never asked for his intervention in the course of their lives - and look where it had gotten him.
No. Tonight, if anyone truly wanted to see him, they would do the finding.
Even the voice drifting mutedly from the trees failed to draw his eye. She was no exception to the sentiment. In fact, she only fostered its growth, considering her shameless actions throughout the game.
Thus, he would wait for her to speak first. And she did.
“Well…?”
The single world trailed past his ears, dragging an implicated question across nerves that had already been grated down to nothing.
”’Well?’” The inquiry echoed back to her with an added inflection of incredulity, bearing an equal weight of unspoken meaning. Was that really all she could say? Never before had he allowed his emotions to drive him to physically unprovoked violence - at least on such a level - clearly indicating that something was quite wrong. And she hadn’t even bothered to pursue him directly after the fact in order to ascertain his state of mind. Given the amount of time between then and now, she’d waited for the all-important event to end before giving him a second thought. There had been more people to kiss, after all; more objects to use on her quest to disprove a ridiculous award in the yearbook she had published.
But after all of that - after finally hunting him down such a large amount of time later - all she could say was ‘well?’
Oh, no. That was certainly not all she had to say. But it would have been better if it had been.
His head finally snapped in her direction. ”Why shouldn’t you give me detention?” Bitterness coated his voice, resentment now boiling over everything else that vied for his attention. ”I guess I don’t have a good reason. Not that it would matter if I did, would it? Because you have duties.” He spat the word like a poison sitting on his tongue. ”And those have to be fulfilled no matter what, don’t they? Can’t let anything get in the way of your image. So go ahead. Give me detention, miss prefect.” A sardonic snort escaped through his nostrils. ”Or should I call you Captain?”
~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
22 Aug 2022, 12:11
Broken Harbors
.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 28/AUG/2022 @ past curfew | OUTFIT | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Marshal Mozor | MENTIONING n/a
───•─•────────────────────────────────────•─•───
───•─•────────────────────────────────────•─•───The tread of a foot upon dry leaves... the break of a twig... the notable approach of an outsider into a private sanctuary. Little care had been taken in the traipse throughout the woods for the intention of avoiding a surprise. Thoughtful, some may have chosen to consider that choice. It was an opportunity to collect oneself given the forewarning of impending interjection. A moment for composure before a confrontation. As annoyed as Evelynn might have been...as conflicted as she might have felt that a close associate could have behaved in a way so grossly counter to her ideals...she could at least extend that courtesy.
Whether he had taken advantage of it, however, was difficult to say. Emerging from the woods, she had found Marshal in repose against the embankment. In many ways, it hearkened back to a time not so remote where the prefect had found him in a similar state. At that time, as well, she had pursued with intent to pull him from one reverie or another and return him to his bed. The last occasion had resulted in a jolted reaction to her presence. Yet this time, despite no hesitation on her pat to disturb the moment, nor temperance of volume, he moved not at all. It seemed unlikely that he would not have heard her, and so she might have thought him asleep. Except that the sheen of the heavens glinted across the misty surface of his eyes, reflecting just enough to deny him the excuse of slumber.
Only once she had gashed the silence further with her deliberately leading question--if indeed one word could be considered a question--had he stirred. Steps had continued to carry her closer to her quarry. Slowly, unhurried. One foot, and then the other. Almost languid in their approach, as though every one brought with it the renewed desire to simply stop and turn and take her leave. Which was not at all so far from the truth. It brought her no joy to have to shoulder through this particular situation.
Even less was the joy that was sparked by the incredulity with which her own query was reflected back at her. As though it were a summons for a dug hole, it made her stop in her tracks. He still hadn't even looked at her. Hadn't deigned to acknowledge her existence beyond an echo that suggested she was well out of line. As though she were the one acting unreasonable with the hanging question. As though he hadn't just done something that warranted a prompt and tidy explanation. Contempt had already prickled the back of her neck, nostrils flaring with deeper respirations by the time his eyes had finally found hers. By the time the words had started spewing.
"Excuse you?" This disdain for her duties, as he had put them, had come entirely from left field. They may as well have been a bludger for how hard their tone had struck her. So uncharacteristic were his words that she couldn't even believe she was hearing him correctly.Never had Marshal spoken to her with such vitriol, nor such brazen disrespect. Dripping with a venom that suggested the reality of her responsibilities were somehow poison to his ears, his response left her temporarily reeling. Lips parted with the flaring of her brows, her expression coloured with utter incredulity of her own.
But like the sharpening of a blade, the steel of his voice only served to put an edge to her own. "Would you care to reword that?" she hissed. "Since when have you ever taken issue with my role as a prefect?" The lofted hand jerked out to the side, palm and fingers up to the sky as though begging for a rationale thought. "I seem to recall you feeling rather invested in the consequences that have been doled out in past. Is this really how you wish to see this through? Have you any amount of regret for your actions? You spit upon my image. Do you forget yourself? Yes! It matters."
Fingers would knife together to jerk towards her sternum. "I am supposed to be a role model. My behaviour and actions are viewed with critical eyes by staff and student, alike. Do you think I enjoy the scrutiny? Or the attention it attracts from those who hold a grudge against authority figures and would seek to bring ruin to my day to sate their own enjoyment? Do you think I find satisfaction or fun in enforcing the rules? You of all people should know better than that. I do it to keep them safe. To protect them from themselves. Are you--"
Her hand would drift back down to cover over the other, crossing against her chest. Until that moment, she hadn't been able to curb the subtle rise in tempo and cadence, betrayal egging and racing her words along and threatening to send them careening over the precipice of a cliff if she allowed them to carry on unchecked. She had taken the bit between the teeth and run with it, but could feel herself stumbling, the hammering of her heart within her head almost louder than her own words. So she would stop, and swallow back her rising anger.
Taking a moment to compose herself lest she say something she regretted, silence was permitted to slip between them. The prolongation of her breaths might have suggested the effort she took to keep herself calm, but she found it difficult to fight for air with the way her throat had constricted at his conviction. Miss prefect. Captain. The titles twisted in her heart like hounds biting at her heels, his snort only serving to poison their wound beds. Lids drifted closed, shuttering the emotions that clawed their way to the surface. What fight may have flared initially bled steadily out.
"Was I merely a convenience for you?" When she spoke again, her words lacked conviction. Dust tossed into the night air with the expectation that the breeze would disperse them as easily it had torn through the apparently flimsy image she'd held of him. The curtains of her lashes would peel slowly back, empty shells of irises fixing themselves upon his visage."That if you got in well I would turn a blind eye to your misdeeds and spare you the same consequences I would expect for myself?"
Hands parted to beckon answer from the heavens yet again before falling loosely to her sides. It hurt more than she might have expected to put that thought to voice. To even consider that his companionship had been little more than a ploy to gain her favour. That yet again she would be found wanting, foolish enough to believe that perhaps he might have been different than the rest. When would she finally learn that it was a fruitless endeavor, this notion of friendship. When would she finally accept the reality of its burden? The vulnerability with which it cloaked her? They always left in the end. Or stayed only long enough to stab her in the back.
"You attacked someone, Marshal... Unprovoked. Maliciously. With intent to harm. Not even in self-defense. What were you thinking..?" Dulled by the hooding of heavily laden lids, her gaze would search his for answers. But all she would find looking back at her was the reflection of a stranger. He was not the Marshal that she knew.
Not the Marshal she thought she knew...
STA | 10 STR | 2 EVA | 15 WIS | 15 ARC | 2 ACC | 12
keen eye fearless impartial wandmaker31 Aug 2022, 10:30
Broken Harbors
Interacting: @Evelynn Decipio
Mentioning: @Leonard Oaksworth
~✯~ | ~✯~ | ~✯~ |
How swiftly respite had given way to conflict. Relative peace played its part as a sacrificial lamb for the discordant ritual of contention, between two souls whose existence had intermingled so closely without prior friction. Outward friction, at the very least. The kind that conceived of fire in the tone of a voice, or the depth of a pupil.
The kind that devoured Evelynn’s response, lapping hungrily against that which burned in his chest.
”Not particularly,” he spat, denying her supposed offer to let him rephrase his comments. A part of him knew he should; begged him to retract every venomous word that had stained his lips and tainted her ears. He could still taste them. Caustic and malignant, like a corrosion that rooted in his heart and ravaged all that could feel within him. All that could hurt. All that could hate.
But in that moment, they tasted good.
And the bitterness of hers only supplemented the relish of his acrid palate.
Any substance of the verbal reprimand shattered on impact with the wall of haze that enshrouded his mind. The regret she intoned had been buried, anger thrown hastily atop it in desperation to cover the horrifying reality of what he’d done. And Evelynn - as one source of that anger, and the one who presently jabbed at its tender surface in an attempt to uncover what lay beneath - would bear the brunt of its merciless weight.
"You spit upon my image. Do you forget yourself? Yes! It matters."
A sardonic reply snapped back. ”I’m so sorry to smear your picture of perfection. In fact, it’s probably dangerous for you to associate with me; I’m just a blemish on your record. So do what you have to do - I don’t care. Punish me like everyone expects, then forget about me just like I ‘forgot myself.’” Two fingers surrounded the last pair of words in air quotes, mocking her inquiry. Hazel eyes drifted back to the gathered shadows of towering trees, gazing past their depths as a more subdued murmur followed. ”Just like everyone else does…”
Even Leo.
He snorted when she purported herself a role model. It wasn’t untrue, of course, but to hear her say it was rather irritating. It only drove deeper the point that she truly felt responsible to appear infallible in the gaze of her peers.
”You say you don’t enjoy it, but whose fault is it that you’re in that position?” He didn’t bother waiting for her to finish before he cut in, head whipping back toward her. ”Did somebody force you to volunteer for a prefect position?” he offered a mock pause as though awaiting a response, though continued before she had the chance. ”Quidditch captain? Headliner writer? For someone who hates being in the spotlight so much, you sure do seek it out a lot.” An exhalation of laughter rushed from his lungs, blasphemy in the scene’s midst. ”Honestly, I’ve always hated how much you care about what everyone else thinks.” Her comment about protecting others from themselves would go unheard, his trailing question emerging in the sudden silence. ”Why do other people constantly have to be involved in what you do? What you think. The things you do and say.” The pause that came then was genuine, a lump in his throat banished to make way for a softer addition to his rant. One that shoveled its way from beneath the anger to bathe his tone in pain. ”Why can’t you ever just forget them and care about me?”
As quickly as it had come - catching him unprepared and sorely lacking self-control - the anger dissipated. And as a sun ray filtering through the fog around his mind, the hollowness within Eve’s eyes drew his full attention. But unlike the glow of celestial glory, in them was no light. Rather, they mimicked two stones, their surface flat and empty where he’d seen so many storms brew, and yet more silver linings to each cloud.
The omniscient hand of the moon had disgraced perfect irises, and in turn, he had disgraced his own duty - that of ensuring the flicker of life within them never went out.
The void in her solemn question sucked the last of his fury dry. And without that flame to warm him, he felt the icy fingers of regret reach from the ground to encircle his heart once more, their grasp stronger than ever.
”I…” he stammered.
A convenience? As though her companionship had been nothing more to him than a means to some selfish end.
”Of course not.” The affirmation tumbled into a shake of his head, growing in desperation when she continued, accusing him of expecting a blind eye to be turned. ”No.”
Once more, horrid reticence claimed its throne, and he had no allegation to unseat its authority. He could only climb to his feet, hands extended toward the figure of a dream, though tonight had become more akin to a nightmare.
"You attacked someone, Marshal... Unprovoked. Maliciously. With intent to harm. Not even in self-defense. What were you thinking..?"
”Eve, I-“ One step was taken, followed by another. First forward, then inevitably coming to a halt. Arms reached for her, grasping for some semblance of understanding. ”I wasn’t. That’s just it. I couldn’t.” One more step. ”How could I when you…” smooched my best friend.
He trailed off, and silence smirked yet again from its perch.
~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
22 Sep 2022, 11:21
Broken Harbors
.–⭒′˙°ˑ⋅⤜∽●∼⤛⋅ˑ°˙‵⭒–.
⋖ 28/AUG/2022 @ past curfew | OUTFIT | ENGLISH [#715380] | FRENCH [#b654a9] ⋗
INTERACTIONS @Marshal Mozor | MENTIONING n/a
───•─•────────────────────────────────────•─•───
───•─•────────────────────────────────────•─•───So it was going to be like that, then. Perhaps it might have been too optimistic, too much to ask for, but the depth of her disappointment and the rise of fury at Marshal's derision to rephrase himself suggested that there'd been some part of her that had desperately hoped he would. That the friction that lay thick in the air wasn't the smoke preceding the flames. Her words had been harsh, she knew that. Still, they flowed too easily—dripping with the frustration she so rarely allowed to surface—for her to curb them.
As positive as the boy's usual outlook, as agreeable his nature, it should have been enough. It wasn't like her to raise her voice or spew such pointed criticisms at him. So why... why... did he only seem all the more put off. Like the dragons he so longed to tame, he spat fire, his words vitriol in the moment. Gone were his easy smiles, his expression contorting with the rage that she could begin to see simmering just beneath the surface. It caught her off guard but only served to rile her own defenses. Every bit the lion that the sorting hat had recognized her to be, Evelynn wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Especially not hubris was brought into question.
There was something to be said about some of his reactions. It was dangerous for her to associate with him. Not for herself. But for him. How many times had this crossed her thoughts already, temptation guiding her to drive a wedge between their dynamic before he could be swept into the mess in which she so often seemed to find herself. The slug at Valentine's was only one such example. There were plenty of others, and until recently, he had been ignorant of the great majority of it. But he wasn't any longer. They'd spoken on the dangers, of her reticence of his involvement. He knew how she felt about it. So to cloak this rebuttal in swaths of acrid sarcasm... it only burned all the more.
Teeth clamped together, jaw setting. Just a blemish on her record. Did he think so highly of himself that she would craft her entire identity on some misguided notion of perfectionism? That his actions could somehow call into question her own value? Did he think so little of her that she would just forget as he put it? As though she were someone to just make use of those around her for her own gain and benefit with no thought to them? The more he spoke, the more heated she could feel herself becoming. Chest rose and fell with increasing frequency, sternum and clavicles straining to keep it controlled. Nostrils flared, hands clenched. In her ears, she could hear the persistent pounding of her pulse as it beat the drum of her defiance. And deep lines etched themselves between her brows as she held his gaze, unwilling to look away, to show any sway.
It wasn't enough either that he obstinately held to his position, but then he turned to attack her own character.
—Whose fault is it that you’re in that position?
What was she supposed to do? Just stand idly by, watching as her peers made stupid decision after stupid decision and ran recklessly into situations they weren't necessarily capable of pulling themselves out of? She was only one person, true. Hers would hardly be the spell or body that would make or break the results, but at least she could give reason. Guidance. If nothing else, at least she could recognize when retreating was in order and have had the sense to account for a fallback plan.
—Did somebody force you to volunteer for a prefect position?
No... she'd done that to be able to wander the castle beyond the typical hours of curfew. To have an upper hand on the other students. To gain access to areas that others weren't allowed. It had been done both for selfish access and convenience, but driven by the need to facilitate helping others. It always came back to them in the end.
—Quidditch captain? Headliner writer?
What did it matter that she'd been volunteered by D'Spacito for captain in a bid for some sort of passive-aggressive powerplay? How could she explain to him that she had joined the Headliner to facilitate the delivery of the T.Ruth articles likewise intended to educate the student population and give them tools for self-protection? How could she explain the stabs she continued to feel every time someone denounced the articles? The damage Rafael had done to her confidence?
—For someone who hates being in the spotlight so much, you sure do seek it out a lot.
Tears pricked angrily at her eyes, emotions roiling in waves that threatened to capsize and overflow. She couldn't blink them away or press her eyes together. It would be too obvious and she didn't want to cry. Not in this moment. It would undermine everything. So the grooves would only multiply upon her brow, lips pressing together in a thin line lest they quiver. Teeth bit at the insides of her cheeks, the ache of pain serving to ground her even as nails bit into the flesh of their opposite arms where they crossed.
She'd presented her hollowed question then, heat draining from her as quickly as it had risen, leaving nothing more than an empty chill in its wake. Her vision swam stars no doubt reflecting against the line that would rim her lids, but she refused to blink and loose the torrent. Before her, Marshal seemed to shrink. Already the fight seemed to dissipate, but it hardly mattered. His stance was clear, his opinions expressed with such enlightenment that the moon may as well have hung bright and full in the void above.
"No?" The scoff that expelled itself through flared nares carried with it every ounce of doubt.
After having just condemned her titles.. after having just finished berating her for holding herself to the ideals of others and to a strict moral code.. after just expressing that he wished she would cast aside her values to prioritize him... and he would have her believe that he did not expect her to turn a blind eye.
Then had come her final plea for reason. The confrontation of his actions and the call for him to acknowledge that he'd attacked someone. A tired gaze, weighed down by the expectations of others and the fatigue of balancing her sacrifices, would trail after him, watching as he approached. She made no move to retreat, nor to draw her wand. As done as she was with this whole situation, she still had awareness enough to see that he wasn't hostile. For now, anyway. There had been a moment there when a horrid thought had come to mind. His actions in the tent, the spontaneous outburst and his anger now... It wasn't like him.
She'd be lying if she hadn't thought of the possibility that perhaps he might be cursed. Or that he might not actually be Marshal at all, but rather someone masquerading in his body. Or that perhaps he might have been drugged with some kind of aggravating potion. She wished she could discard those thoughts, but they lingered there on the peripheries even as she shoved them to the side. Her wand would never be far out of reach, but she wouldn't draw it. Not yet. Not unless he did something to tip her suspicion and force her hand.
"You couldn't?" She would echo instead, gaze dipping briefly to his hands before liting to his face again. "You couldn't think? Or wouldn't?" Traces of venom had returned to her speech, then, his approach flaring her annoyance. At this distance he might have been able to see the hurt in her expression, the way her eyes danced in the reflection of the stars just a little too easily. "How could you when I..." Her voice would repeat his question right back at him, impatience rising. "When I what, Marshal?"
STA | 10 STR | 2 EVA | 15 WIS | 15 ARC | 2 ACC | 12
keen eye fearless impartial wandmaker