26 Sep 2022, 23:19
The Ones Who Don't Exist
Date: 09/24/22
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodHouse Colours: GryffindorCalming Presence in EffectThe boy would be found sleeping in the rehearsal room.
That morning, he had stumbled down the Gryffindor tower in a daze and spent his allotted time in the great hall picking at a few blueberries and a grain or two of granola before standing up from the Gryffindor table unceremoniously and leaving the hall without so much as a 'pardon me'. Rubbing his arms through a gold and red harlequin sweater, the boy took in hand his Czeck-made mandolin that he had gotten over the summer and had brought with him to Hogwarts. The past few Saturdays he had been setting aside an hour or so in the rehearsal room so that he could practice playing and self-teaching himself on the lovely instrument. During those weeks, the boy had felt more and more sluggish and tired; losing his appetite and finding it difficult to get comfortable at night so that he could go to bed and get a restful sleep. Though in theory, Piérre was fine, there was no discomfort that he was feeling and indeed he refused to believe that he was just feeling under the weather, just a little stressed with all the new things going on this year.
Still, that didn't prevent the boy's physical appearance from seemingly shifted ever so slightly from his typical youthful and joyful poise; light circles had formed under his eyes that barely colored him like a raccoon when put against his still fair and slightly tanned skin, though admittedly his skin looked a tad more waxy and pale than if Piérre had been at full health. Still, even with that in mind, Piérre didn't believe it was enough to get him checked out by the nurse; indeed, he still held some animosity towards the Hospital Wing and the nurses of old. It was a cursed position in the boy's mind, and it would require more than a suggestion for the kid to bundle his way over to the Hospital Wing and have it 'checked out'. Funny enough, the boy didn't want to have another near-death experience in there even remotely similar to the last 3 or 4 visits of the past three years. Hard pass on his end.
So, when he had set up in the rehearsal room and had started out strumming a few notes that he wanted to review, stretching his lithe fingers as far as he could to reach a particularly nasty A chord and strumming a few times. The boy's fingertips were slowly starting to callus over, part and parcel of being worked at the wire of the strings, and though it had hurt for him to play the instrument at first because his fingers had been so tender (he had not elected to use a pick after losing his first two in unknown places) his fingers had adapted to being used this roughly and it was slowly becoming easier and easier to play with minimal pain. It was rewarding, actually, obtaining for himself more stamina so that he could play longer and better. He had memorized some chords with reasonable success, and had managed to play basic tunes at a slow beat. If he kept with it... maybe he would be really good at playing it someday.
The boy's eyes had started to flutter a bit when testing the D chords and the F chords, switching between major and minor chords lazily as he yawned. It wouldn't... surely it wouldn't hurt to take a nap. Saturday was supposed to be a day of rest, right?
The mandolin stopped humming its chords as the hand stroking it slowed and finally strummed one more time as it fell to Piérre's side. His holding hand loosened, and the mandolin fell away, softly cradled to the ground by the boy's crisscrossed legs as Piérre's head lolled to the side and his eyes fluttered shut with a deep sigh. Subconsciously, he laid down and curled up, bringing his knees to his chest for warmth as he laid on his arm like a pillow; this would help to lessen the worming pain in his stomach that had suddenly surfaced over the last week. The boy was out cold.
Figaro, curled up in his own napping doughnut, purred quietly, which only hypnotized the Britalian into an even deeper slumber; arguably the first truly restful one that he had had in a good long time. He was not a snorer, though a small whispering of breath would be audible in the otherwise silent room, this ball of gold and scarlet wrapped up on the floor with a mandolin right next to him, a small pool of drool barely forming beneath a slightly opened mouth. Brows creased almost as if concentrating on his task of sleeping.
How long would it be until he was spotted by a passer-by?
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
5 Oct 2022, 00:59
The Ones Who Don't Exist
Aida spiralled. Down from the heights of the Ravenclaw dorms of the west tower to the ground floor and circling back up again in a loop through each floor, the white wix subconsciously weaved a path towards the Room of Requirement. It was the only way the claustrophobe could stand to be indoors for any length of time-- meandering with the sensation that it was all only a passing moment, a movement through time that could not lock into place forever. Aida was a river that had to flow as incessantly as sand through the hourglass. Yet, what Aida needed to find lay hidden in the fourth-floor rehearsal room, no matter how confined.
Striding blindly into the music hall not knowing quite why, Aida’s feet carried the momentum of some silent, beguiling instinct. In a breath, the scene opened up before the wanderer: a gold and red harlequin, sickly, curled up on the floor… a napping silver cat not far away. Aida had not come alone, either, as a small desert tawny owl slept in a blob on the wix’s shoulder, wedged under the collar of their loose-woven Shetland wool sweater.
Indigo-periwinkle eyes skittered about, collecting details like a butterfly and pollen, curious as to who this boy was and why he had closed up like a sleeping fern in such a place. A mandolin by the boy’s side suggested he may have lulled himself to sleep with his own playing, and the wix approached the instrument, squatting down alongside it. The smell of its wood and its lacquer struck Aida’s hypersensitive nose, imprinting its characteristic identity as the curious albino plucked the high E-string nearest to them. The mandolin’s note rang out clear as Aida scanned the boy’s face, which creased with concentration while drooling. A curl of Aida’s lips and the smile of Aida’s eyes hinted quietly at their appreciation for the perfectly-tuned E and the helpless raccoon of a boy below. His sickly skin tone and rings around his eyes told Aida that he was not well, and sympathy overtook the wix just as readily as it would for any wounded animal. Scrunched up as he was, the boy didn’t look very warm. Knowing how one’s body temperature usually decreased when lying down, Aida pulled off their oversized wool sweater. The owl, Scheherazade, roused at the minor ruckus and fluttered in place until finding a new position atop Aida’s head. This position would have been fine for both of them, had the wix not been bending down to take a closer look at the sickly creature. Clacking her beak in sleepy surprise, the sandy owl floated down onto the mandolin and found herself gravitating towards the hole at the center of the instrument. As if finding a roosting nook in a rock wall, the desert owl wedged herself into the soundhole alongside the near perfectly-tuned strings without asking for permission.
Aida watched in amusement but did nothing to discourage the bird’s brazen move, standing up to move towards the boy to inspect him more closely. What was wrong with him? Latent magizoologist that Aida was, bearing inside the long-lost heart of one Morfran Griffith, the pale mage extended both hands to lay their sweater over the boy’s sleeping body. Then, squinting with concern, the wix pushed a clump of hair out of the boy’s eyes with the hopes of understanding what had wrought such concern on his sleeping face. Scheherazade cooed softly as she fell into a slumber, half tucked inside the perfect stranger’s instrument… for even in slumber, a calming presence seemed to permeate the scene.
Stamina✵ 10, Evasion✵ 12, Strength✵ 1, Wisdom✵ 10, Arcane Power✵ 10, Accuracy✵ 12
Blindvision, Sixth Sense, Beast Master, Wandmaker; Ency
24 Oct 2022, 23:44
The Ones Who Don't Exist
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodHouse Colours: GryffindorCalming Presence in EffectFigaro would be the first to notice the presence of newcomers, the tip of his black ear twitching for a moment before the cat's head slowly lifted and beheld the presence of the pale mage and her owl companion. With a small, creaky yawn, the bengal would watch in curiosity as the girl knelt down beside his boy and began to seemingly inspect him, the tip of his black tail slowly flicking back and forth with almost a pseudo-warning, mint eyes observing keenly to ensure that if this newcomer attempted to perform any sort of harm to his master that they would pay dearly for the transgression.
Distracted as the owl fluttered from the girl and onto his boy's mandolin, Figaro finally got up and began to stretch, arching his back and shaking his head before slowly creeping up on the owl in a low, predatory crouch, nose carefully scenting the air to figure out more about the bird creature that all these humans liked to used to deliver messages. Prideful creatures, Piérre had taught Figaro how to deliver messages castlewide as well. They weren't special. "Crrrrr-eeeeeee-eeeeew..." a half purr half meow would escape the cat as he tentatively raised a paw and attempted to bat the owl on the back to chase it out of the mandolin. It was an important item to his brother, after all... who knew how distraught he would be if something happened to it? "Me-eeee-rew!" Figaro complained to the critter.
As the boy was bequeathed the sweater of the albino, he would stir for a moment with a small audio complaint, hand unconsciously taking it and pulling it further over his shoulders as if he were cozying under a comforter and then sighing again. The wix would gently brush the boy's hair aside, to get a better look at his face. Other than looking rather waxy-complexioned, as if he was simply suffering a normal cold or fever, the boy looked relatively... alright? A few sleepless marks beneath the eyes, perhaps, no injuries... he was obviously just asleep and not reduced to unconsciousness by any violent means. A dribble was coming from the corner of his lips, forming a small collection of saliva on the ground around him. Just.... sleeping, probably.
The albino would likely be able to spot tiny white scars on his palms, the beginnings of callouses on his fingertips, but these were old, not of immediate worry. Other than that, there was nothing of particular note... just a very pale, sleepy boy, seemingly of the Gryffindor house, blissfully unaware of his current surroundings.
Practically dead to the world.
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
26 Oct 2022, 02:31
The Ones Who Don't Exist
The sickly-looking boy lay still, out cold, as Aida’s gentle hand brushed the hair out his eyes. Leaning in to get a better look at his waxy skin, Aida’s nose began its own investigations. Certainly the spot of drool had a particular fragrance, as did the natural oils of the boy’s hair and the funny smell of earwax. Some people developed keen eyes, some had exceptional hearing, but hyperosmic Aida had a sense of smell that had formed a primary means of knowing the world from the very start. With a crinkled nose, the white wix continued to sniff about in combination with otherwordly animal instincts, trying to understand this curious creature. [Sixth Sense] Aida’s small nose bumped the boy’s curiously shaped ear when pulling away to better admire the colorful sheen of his hair. It looked like an aurora-- like the iridescence of an exotic butterfly, or like the shimmering feathers of a wonderful bird. Captivated, Aida put both hands together and bounced up and down as if discovering a new species of animal. Did the colorful hair have a special texture? There was only one way to find out!
Aida pulled the thin white hood of a gossamer blouse over their dove-white hair to keep dirt from getting in it and proceeded to lay down next to the sleeping boy. Putting one hand through the oil-slick rainbow of hair strands, Aida learned about its texture while watching to see if the movement would interact with anything he might be dreaming about. It was a daring move for the aspiring magizoology crusader, knowing that everything could blow up in one’s face when not respecting the space of beasties, but the temptation was far too great when such a fascinating critter had appeared right here in the music practice room. Heart filled with an inexplicable peace, Aida could not help but feel comfortable enough to be overcome with curiosity and a wish to nurture the poor sicky. He was such a beautiful animal! Such cool ears. What other surprises might he hold?
Aida’s eyes were beginning to half-close in serenity when a loud *FLWOOOP!* sounded, followed by the twang of reverberating open strings. Pushing back up into half-sitting, Aida turned to look at the mandolin where ZaZa had been roosting. The tiny desert owl now gone from sight, but with the paw of a silver bengal still outstretched from its attempted bap, Aida’s mind tried to peace together the story of what happened. Alarmed flapping and hooting echoed from the interior of the instrument, and it struck Aida that Scheherazade must have fallen inside when the cat tried to bat at it.
With a snort, Aida could not help but begin to giggle, and as the peace within the white mage expanded with the perfection of the moment, the peal of laughter opened up into open-mouthed, rolling-on-the-floor cackling. As if all inner tension instantly turned inside out, uncontrollable [96/100] mirth wracked the thin wix's body, sending Aida trundling directly into the boy. If he hadn’t already woken from the racket of ZaZa getting stuck inside the amplifying body of the mandolin, Aida’s wild laughter and rolling into him just might bring him back from Morpheus’s domain.
Stamina 10 ✵ Evasion 12 ✵ Strength 1 ✵ Wisdom 10 ✵ Arc Power 10 ✵ Accuracy 12
Blindvision, Sixth Sense, Beast Master, Wandmaker; Ency
29 Nov 2022, 21:38
The Ones Who Don't Exist
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodHouse Colours: GryffindorCalming Presence in EffectIt had been a week or so since the boy had had a good night's sleep, and so naturally the kid wasn't going to wake up because of just any normal, lighthearted touching or prodding other than a small stir here or there as thin fingers brushed empty air by his ears and hair at each of the wix's contacts. Brows furrowed a bit before relaxing again and his face turned further into the ground and the puddle of spittle that gathered there. Mm, yes, Piérre was rarely graceful, and especially in a situation such as this; sleeping in the rehearsal room when he probably should have been in the boy's dormitory's Niffler Nook... among all the baubles and the small, cozy environment... the fireplace... children's story books... Still no dormmate. Piérre wondered why...
But, not thinking about that, the boy was pleasantly in his little dream realm; a colorful place where he currently traced his fingertips on a purring Figaro's black head stripes while he lay on his stomach and kicked his feet in the air, holding his head up with his other hand as green eyes glanced about the hill overlooking an oddly shifting landscape which melted between the high-walled and cobbled roads and bridges of Italian towns such as Milan and Rome, the gondolas and the channels of Venice, the bustling city of Florence and its iconic Cathedral... and the seafront, the woods, and eventually the dirtier streets of England, that claustrophobic area that to Piérre had always seemed infinitely choking in comparison to the breezier, sultry sea breezes and warm fronts of his Mediterranean home. The warmth was like a blanket over him, making his sights misty and his head heavy. A steady but soft breeze ran itself like fingers through his hair, causing the boy to lazily open and close his eyes as if he was safe under a weighted blanket. It was strange, though: even though his other hand traced his right earlobe, he could not feel he silhouette earring that he knew for sure was there.
That was odd. Usually when some odd sensation like that was happening, it meant that_
The sound of a mandolin's panicked strumming, as well as a heavy impact to the boy's stomach caused him to start and immediately start scrabbling as the sound of shrill laughter filled the air around him. Eyes still not entirely focused due to having just woken up, the Britalian resorted immediately to fisticuffs to deal with the immediate risk of something else having forcefully disturbed him in what he could only assume was his own dormitory. Pop, pop! Both fists flailed wildly as his feet also attempted to kick out against this assailant; though his latter methods of attack would only be tangled up in Aida's sweater and rendered completely inefficient against his sudden potential threat. The bangs on his right side of his face were stuck to his cheek, slathered in his own drool. As he recoiled from his attack, the boy tried to scurry backwards on his elbows, his eyes starting to focus in on what he swore was some sort of white wolf that had cornered him in his own room. Who in the school owned a white wolf? Why were they allowed to keep it in the confines of the castle? Was this normal? If it was normal, why couldn't Piérre keep something like a horse indoors? At least a horse was a method of transportation.
With a cottony feeling in his mouth, Piérre fumbled in his clothes (he was in clothes and not pajamas for some reason), trying to feel if he had by some miracle accidentally slept with or on top of his wand. His thin fingers probed about; pants, pockets, sleeves, chest... there! In the wand holster! Of course!
"Stai indietro! Non voglio farti del male! Stay back! I don't want to (have to) hurt you!" His voice cracked as loud Italian spurted from him without warning as Piérre's wand was quickly pointed towards the wolf. "Conosco la mAgIa! I know mAgIc!" The boy's voice continued to warble slightly the longer he tried to skitter backwards, spitting his hair out of his mouth and wiping his face on his sleeve without the use of his hands (which were preoccupied with angling the wand in an harmless direction in Aida's sights).
With a yowling meow, Figaro tried to fish for the owl inside the mandolin for only a second before taking notice of his distressed Piérre and very quickly changing gears. In a flash, the Bengal was leaping across the fray and into his brother's lap, putting soft paws on Piérre's chest and purring as he lightly licked the tip of the Britalian's nose.
Teeth grit, Piérre saw his cat in front of him (thank goodness Figgy hadn't gotten eaten by the wolfie thing or something), and as he blinked faster and faster to clear his sights as much as he could, his hands shook as he tried to verify his aim. He didn't want to hurt anything, this was true...
But there was more than one way to skin a cat; and the "Gryffindor" boy happened to be uncharacteristically crafty if he wanted to be. He had once tried to fight Nurse Brumby (well, not really, it was more of a reactive defense...), who was to say that he wasn't going to try and play dirty against something else that was threatening his life?
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
1 Dec 2022, 22:21
The Ones Who Don't Exist
Piérre came out of his nap punching like a panicked kangaroo, but Aida had already rolled out of range during a burst of laughter. His Italian might as well have been mermish for as well as Aida understood his outbursts. Certainly the critter was trying to be threatening, but with his cat leaping onto his lap and licking his nose, all he managed to do was quell Aida’s laughter. Instead, the white wix grinned with soft pink cheeks, enchanted by how adorable it was for the cat to be trying to get the humanoid under control. Meanwhile, ZaZa continued to make a ruckus from inside the mandolin, hooting with high reverb and jumping at the string-blocked exit.
“Olright ya wee grumpkin, I’m coming,” warbled Aida with a heavy Highlander accent, as often happened when talking to the owl.
With the wix’s very narrow hands, Aida slid into the mandolin at either side of its strings and wiggled around until one hand found the owl’s fluffy midsection. Beneath all the poof was actually quite a small animal, and with Aida smoothing down the feathers so they wouldn’t get caught on the way out, the wix lifted the bird out with one hand. Yet, Aida’s other hand wouldn’t come out – a bracelet on their right hand was caught on a splinter inside of the mandolin. Despite trying to free the hand, Aida couldn’t seem to get free.
“Better me than you, eh, ZaZa?” With a laugh, Aida began searching the room for some kind of tool for their main left hand to use. Not seeing anything particularly handy, the wix looked over at the creature under the care of the silver Bengal and squinted. “Hey, what are you? Are you an elf? Your ears are so pointy. You guys are so cool together.” Aida nodded towards the cat with an affectionate smile.
Reducio
Stamina 10 ✵ Evasion 12 ✵ Strength 1 ✵ Wisdom 10 ✵ Arc Power 10 ✵ Accuracy 12
Blindvision, Sixth Sense, Beast Master, Wandmaker; Ency
15 Dec 2022, 03:34
The Ones Who Don't Exist
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodHouse Colours: GryffindorCalming Presence in EffectAs the boy continued to shake drowsiness off of himself, he tried to focus more and more on the white blur in front of him that seemed to be... laughing? Well, who had been laughing but had now grown quiet as Piérre felt the comforting sandpaper-like licking of his kitten's tongue. He recognized his silvery familiar, the grounding that it provided for his often high-strung emotional stance. Still angling his yew wand towards the thing that had interrupted him, confused thoughts and attempts to understand continued to spiral through his system. Was this a friendly wolfie dog or something? Maybe it was just another poltergeist not previously known to the school that was now deciding to messing with him? Or maybe he had just developed brand new colorblindness?
Twisting the wand, Piérre became aware of the fact that his mandolin was playing of its own accord, which caused him to snap his attention that way instead and fix the shaking instrument with wide, concerned eyes and paling cheeks. He listened to the hooting and the strumming of the strings, trying to piece together one jigsaw piece with the others in context. Why was there... why was there an... owl... in his mandolin...? When did this happen?
But, then again, that curious happening helped to give him another piece of the puzzle; the 'wolf' was able to talk. As far as Piérre knew, wolves didn't usually talk... unless it was actually a human... maybe an animagus...
Whatever it was, it was stuck, letting Piérre have a sort of reprove from the 'oddness' of his situation. The pale person seemed to speak to their owl not terribly unlike Piérre spoke to his own cat. Zaza? Was that the name of the owl? It must have been really small in order to slip into the small throat of the mandolin. "J-don't break it?" He asked in a sort of mixture between a question and a statement as he continued to watch on in awe at the girl trying to free her little pet and only getting herself stuck instead.
Was he an elf? "I-uh..." Well, it wasn't an unusual question, per say; he had been asked stranger and much ruder things varying from things between being a leprechaun or a gnome to being something as negatively stigmatized as a devil. "If you like it, I-I guess I am? Yeah, I guess they are, aha..." His fingers trailed to his right ear, lightly tracing his external ear and the strangely uncurled third helix there, "Th-thanks? Figgy's a good boy. What about yo-you? A-are you, are you an, an animagus?" He squeaked out with a small voice crack, trying to decide which direction his wand was supposed to be pointed.
Leaving the former position that he had taken up with his back against the wall, the boy crept closer to the girl and her owl. He cared more about his mandolin than the fact that the girl was caught up in the strings, strangely enough... he had just gotten that over the summer... he didn't want it getting destroyed so early. Finally lowering his wand and securing it under his knee on the ground, his careful hands danced around the edges of the mandolin. "Hey um... Let me.. help so that you don't accidentally... break... the... strings..." He offered, his fingers twitching ever so slightly as he tried to figure out the best way to approach the small gaps that could be plied by gentle yet firm holds.
"Always wanted to be an animagus..." He trailed off quietly, his mind still preoccupied with the previous thought that his easily distractable brain was now hooked on and was finding it difficult to let go of.
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
18 Dec 2022, 01:11
The Ones Who Don't Exist
“If I like it, then you’re an elf? Is that some kind of funny magic, where you turn into whatever I want, and if I want you to be some kind of creature, then you will be?” Aida regarded the “elf” curiously. “Does that mean, like, you’re a metamorphmagus…?” The creature, whatever he was, seemed to be warming up to the wix after his previously aggressive stance. Looking at the cat, Aida learned from the other’s namedrop that it was called “Figgy.”
“Hello, Figgy,” greeted Aida with a tip of the head – the wix wasn’t exactly in a position to offer the silver Bengal the usual varieties of kitty affection. “As for me, an animagus? Not yet. I’m still just a fourth-year, but I plan on becoming one, if I can. It’s always been so weird to live in a human body and I just can’t wait to get out of it. Why would you ask if I’m an animagus? You want to be one, too? Which animal? I thought only full-humans can become animagi. Don't tell me you're a .... huuuuman?” Aida's questions fired off as quickly as sparks from a sparkler and ended with a wrinkled nose, as if humans were somehow inherently stinky. Anyone who knew Aida knew that this was how the wix talked all the time, endlessly barraging others with questions if given a moment's airtime.
Scheherazade ruffled her feathers and began to preen while watching the Gryffindor move closer to her human. The bird’s flame-colored eyes locked onto him with suspicion, still shaken up by the claustrophobic terror of being inside the mandolin. There was certainly a calming presence about him, but it would be a while before the desert tawny owl’s fear endorphins would wear off.
“I’m not gonna break it…” whimpered Aida, dejected at the lack of trust shown by the very nearly total stranger. “Maybe I’m reckless and cause a lot of trouble, but I’m not mean enough to – ACHOOOOOO!” From the ambient feather particles kicked up by Scheherazade’s panic, a powerful sneeze rocked the thin wix so hard that Aida flopped right into Piérre. Even under the force of the jolt, the lightweight Ravenclaw cradled the mandolin with care, so the instrument would not suffer damage, but it would twang with a funny warped outcry. It would be the second time Aida flew into the ailing Gryffindor, but this time Aida came at him with precious cargo on the line.
Reducio
Stamina 10 ✵ Evasion 12 ✵ Strength 1 ✵ Wisdom 10 ✵ Arc Power 10 ✵ Accuracy 12
Blindvision, Sixth Sense, Beast Master, Wandmaker; Ency
10 Jan 2023, 21:28
The Ones Who Don't Exist
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama EllwoodHouse Colours: GryffindorCalming Presence in EffectStill incredibly dazed by being woken up in such a rude fashion, the Britalian was trying to make sense of his surroundings despite a small throb in his head indicative of an incoming nap-induced headache. Trying to rid himself of the stubborn cottonmouth that he was becoming uncomfortably aware of, he found his mind spinning as the pale girl started to spout off a multitude of thoughts and questions that in his current slightly disoriented state he was not quite able to make sense of. Maybe rubbing his eyes in an attempt to lessen the pressure behind them would help out. This he did with a small groan as he started to answer the questions groggily one by one. “Wull, what I mean is that… if you wanna call me an elf, you can call me an elf. I don’t really care one way or another, tobehonest.” He yawned again. “Mmnotametamorphtho… WishIwuz… Izreallycool…” He confessed sleepily as Figaro lightly padded to the center of the action at hearing his pet name called. Perhaps this person knew his brother or something. With a flick of a black-tipped ear, the bengal lightly touched Aida’s closest free hand once or twice with a pink nose, picking up the scent of the strange newcomer and the very very odd owl.
Eyes fluttering open and closed, Piérre listened to the girl’s continued ramblings. Truthfully, she didn’t sound terribly unlike Piérre himself when he was excited, but the difference between the way that he reacted to a reflection of his high energy and the way that others reacted to it was that Piérre was indeed still listening, it was just that he was was also resting his sore eyes from the light periodically and still trying to rid himself of Morpheus’ entangling fingers. So… the girl wasn’t an animagus, at least not yet (though perhaps she had plans to become one when she could)… Huh… must have been a weird hallucination or something. “Oh… you jest kinda looked like a wolf when I was still sleepy I guess…” Piérre confessed. “Like a blurry white halo, I guess.” Upon hearing her strangely toned question about his being a human, Piérre raised his head from his hand and fixed her with slightly tired and dark circled green eyes. He blinked once as he raised his eyebrows and a smile flitted across his features. “‘s far as I know, yeah. I’m human.” He blew a small raspberry. “I can’t talk to snekkos, I don’t seeeeeeee the fuuuutuuuuure, I don’t have fangs, don’t transform on the full moon or on a whim for that matter…” The boy shrugged. “And I have no clue about my family tree, so insofar as being a half-breed? Eeeeeeh…” He chuckled a bit at his own expense. “So, yeah. I’m just a boring hooman person. But a hooman person who wants to become an animagus too. I’m not sure what, but I hope it’s really funny; like a ferret or a mink or something. Maybe I’ll end up a clownfish or some sort of silly bird like a puffin.” He waved his hand idly as he focused half-mindedly on the mandolin and ignored the girl’s complaints superficially. Still, he backed off a bit, acknowledging her belief in her ability to not break his precious instrument. “I dunno… I guess I’ll find out when I get to that point.” He hesitated. “If I get to that point.”
The Britalian’s gaze was drawn towards the little itty bitty owl and though he really wanted to touch those soft feathers, he also had his fair share of bites from the less well-tempered owlings that lived in Hogwarts’ Owlery. So, when Aida sneezed and fell onto him (which in turn caused him to fall over himself with a small gasp of surprise), Piérre was more than surprised and his heart raced for a moment as his poor mandolin let out a distraught cry of wire and reverberation from the constant jostling in the past few minutes. There was a visible grimace on the boy’s face once again as he tried to help the girl pry the instrument from her hand and thereby free her from the unfortunate circumstance she had found herself in. “Salute! Literally; Bless you! Naw, I like strangers; they force me to socialize and be clever. Troublemaking, huh? Well, I can’t say that I don’t know anything about that. I’ve already had a couple detentions just because I was at the wrong place at the wrong time or had the wrong person notice me. Well, in the past anyways.” He started rambling himself. “What kind of troublemaker are you? Rabblerouser? Class clown? Miscreant? Mischief-maker? Prankster? Lots of different methods of making trouble… some of them more… distinguished than others in my opinion, if you know what I mean.” Another small, almost self-satisfied smirk. “Naturally I like to consider myself one of the elite, but my pride would immediately spite me for it.” A sigh. “Man you are just… really jammed in there, huh aren’t ya?” He bemoaned under his breath before stopping, rubbing his chin, and hissing through his teeth with thought.
After a second, he thought about a certain thought experiment. “Hey, let’s try this. You know about the monkey and the date jar?” He queried aloud. “Y’know, the one that says that the monkey puts his paw in the jar and then grabs one of the dates, but the lip of the jar is too small for him to fit his whole paw out when it is holding the date, so he’s stuck there?” Another long and rambling thought, to be sure. “Try unclenching your hand. You might be able to slip a thinner, longer hand out through the gap in the strings better than if you tried to fit your entire fist through? Just– I know you know– but be careful? I just got it from Czechoslovakia… and it wasn’t cheap… and it was partially because Maddie was feeling nice and helped to pay for a bit of the cost and… well… uh…” Piérre trailed off. “I just really don’t want to break it… I’m trying to learn how to play… and I’m not really much good at it since I just started self-teaching… Here, lemme see if I can try and part the strings to make it a bit easier.” So saying as he shyly trailed off, he tried to gently part the strings again in an attempt to help the girl coax her hand out of the mandolin prison.
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
18 Jan 2023, 02:12
The Ones Who Don't Exist
“I look like a wolf?!” Aida howled with glee. Was elf-ear serious? “AH! I’ve never gotten such a high compliment before. You’re not flirting or something, are you? I never understood that kind of thing. Still. Thanks. I hope you’re right.” Running a hand backwards through the windblown mane of white on their head, only scruffing it up worse, Aida did look barely-emerged from some animal burrow.
Piérre continued on, admitting that he was unfortunately human, too. Still, a likely animagus?
“Silly puffin, eh? I’ll bet to puffins you are the silliest creature of all.” Aida didn’t mean it as an insult, but as an observation of what they believed was the boy’s true nature. Still, anyone with a touchy ego could easily have felt attacked. Aida’s hand still firmly stuck in the instrument despite Piérre’s efforts, he had not yet spotted the simple bracelet on Aida’s wrist caught on an interior angle. “I believe you can do it, become a puffin or clownfish or something. Clownfish is more colorful. You’d be better all colorful.”
Scheherazade saw the Britalian’s gaze fall upon her, and with a poofing of neck feathers and a waggle, the bitty desert tawny owl looked like she was about to approach… when Aida’s loud sneeze startled the bird into a burst of flight. Still, once the scene calmed once more, ZaZa shyly hopped over behind Aida, closer to the peculiar boy. For even the owl, there seemed to be something calming about him that invited one in nearer to him.
“What kind of troublemaker? A freedom fighter, of course! Humans will learn to know better than to shackle the beasties soon enough because I am sworn to free them all. Magical ones first, since they need extra magical help. That’s why I train so hard. The human slavers have such strong magic I have to become even stronger. Now, if you’re such a distinguished troublemaker, maybe I can learn some things from you. Teach me, please, how to become elite like you.” By their tone, it seemed Aida wholesale believed everything that the Britalian claimed.
Completely forgetting about being trapped inside the mandolin due to the excitement of a favorite subject, Aida began to giggle when the boy pointed out the wix was still trapped. Still, Aida tried what Piérre said about relaxing their stuck hand. Escape roll, 20 v. 36, fail
“It’s not working. My bracelet is just too tight. You can try a diffindo if you want, but you’d better heal me if you cut me… and if I bleed all over your pretty instrument I bet you won’t like it, either. I don’t want to hurt it, let alone hurt you by making you sad, too. Would you play it for me after I’m freed? I bet you’re good even if you are just teaching yourself. That’s real passion.”
Squinting hard at the jester, Aida got the impression not all was well.
“Hang on, wait wait, are you sick? You look sick. I bet you're sick."
Reducio
Stamina 10 ✵ Evasion 12 ✵ Strength 1 ✵ Wisdom 10 ✵ Arc Power 10 ✵ Accuracy 12
Blindvision, Sixth Sense, Beast Master, Wandmaker; Ency