lunch break

[xMarcellust]

This is where my samples will go for future use.

[xMarcellust]

The soft snow that gently landed on a certain Mage --most notably named Alexander Hayes Smith of the 'Le Cirque Du Merveilleux'-- was mostly ignored and remained neither unnoticed nor untouched until Time tapped the magician's shoulder and whispered that it was ready to depart with him; the magician then tapped the snow that rested on his pinkish cheek with two of his tallest fingers and showed it to himself by having his fingers face him at an eye-level angle. The boy sighed softly and closed and opened his pale eyelids in a slow sequence. He blew the snowflake that was on his fingers with a cold breath, and slowly but surely indeed, the snowflake floated in the air ever-so sluggishly as if it was a fat piece of matter; however, when Alexander touched it with his index finger, it transformed into a beautiful butterfly and began to flutter away to find a resting place, somewhere hopefully warm and safe. Alex smiled sweetly, and turned around to walk towards the caravan that would finally bring him to his final destination: Acquaviva, San Marino.

He took small steps, but primly stopped in the middle of the field and noticed that the white butterfly rested atop of his covered shoulder."You can come with me if you want," he said almost morosely; although, he didn't look like he was gloomy at all. The blonde boy continued his way towards the caravan of his own, with all the magical paraphernalia he needed to perform perfectly; it was bad enough that he had to do his acts alone. The least Kazimir could do for him was to allow him to have his own caravan with two horses and a coachman. And even with that, Alexander wasn't very pleased. He entered and signaled the coachman, who began to whip the horses, and at once, the horses galloped towards their destination. Alex, however, instead of staying warm and comfortable inside the comforts of his caravan, was sitting at the edge of the piece of thick wood that is usually used to block the caravan's insides from falling to the ground. He watched at the snow fell softly on the ground, and wondered how it felt to be a snowflake. He frowned and quickly showed a disinterest in his very own subject by going back inside and pulling the 'door' up. He did not want to delve into the subject, because he knew what it felt like, and he knew that he will never get to have a taste of what it would feel like. Ironically speaking, he has been roaming the Earth for a very long time, yet he can't ever say that he felt what it felt like to be a snowflake. He didn't know how it felt to be free.

A few more moments as Time passed by, they finally arrived to the main spot where the acts will be held. He saw that the tents were already set up, and very clearly that he was the last one to arrive. Always, this was the problem. His caravan stopped, and he got off of it, while smiling and nodding to the coachman, which mostly meant that he would carry all the baggage from the mobile to the tent he was designated to stay for the entirety of the show. "Thank you," he smiled again as the coachman walked away. He then searched his inner pockets for the wand he uses (for most of his magic tricks, anyway) and when he grabbed a hold of it, he swished it in midair and made a silly incantation to pretend that all were magic tricks; little did people know, what he does is real magic, and not some mere tricks to entertain people. "Wazza palooza bazooka...uhh...fubba fubba!" He flicked his wand on top of each baggage, and tapped them softly.

Magically, every time Alex tapped one of the luggage, it seemed to spring into life with a complete winter gear: a scarf that was tied around its brown, rectangular body, a small pair of earmuffs that was worn as if each corner of its thin side were ears, and a pair of snow shoes that fit the two small feet (like a baby's) it had grown in its middle part, which almost seemed too fluffy to wear at wintertime. This happened to all twenty-six of his baggage. Alex stood straight with his hands on the side and contained a serious straight face. The baggage did the same. "At ease. I am your commanding officer, Mr. Alex. You may call me that if you desire. Our goal for tonight is to cross this silver battlefield and rest in a warm place called 'tent' without having casualties. Am I understood?" He asked with a very serious face and tone, without moving a single muscle from two minutes ago. The baggage made some squeaky sounds; which probably meant yes. Alex took it as a yes, at least. "Alright lads. Let us cross this battlefield. Do not break ranks if someone dies," he said the last sentence with such a grave voice that it made some of the baggage squeak in terror, and two of them even fainted; they were helped by two other baggage to get back on their feet momentarily, however.

Alex turned around and began walking and chanting "left right left right" across the distance between we're the caravan was to where his designated tent was located. The luggage followed him in every step; some were walking to fast that it hit Alex's legs ("Ow! You, Number One, are in big trouble, young man!"), some were pushing and shoving that one was almost opened and had its contents revealed to the snow (it was stopped by the scarf, thankfully), and there were some that playing tag in the back. "Hey, 25 & 26! Stop it or I will!" He said angrily, while the bags stopped and looked down in shame and embarrassment. From there and then on, everything went smoothly. As they reached the tent, Alex opened the hanging tarp to allow the baggage to come in, and also to give him a chance to count. Once the luggage were inside, they were running rambunctiously, which Alex allowed for they were already inside. "Twenty, Twenty-three, Twenty-four, Twenty-- wait. Where's Twenty-one and two?!" He asked the playing luggage, while they only stopped and gave a shrugging gestures only luggage and Alex could ever understand. The young magician then looked outside and searched the ground for two brown bags, and -- "Ahh! There you are! All of you stay inside," he exclaimed greatly said the last sentence without looking back to his subjects. As great soldiers, he expected them to follow orders. He dashed across the plain and leaped at the thought that he could catch the two rogue bags: he was wrong. They ran away towards the opposite direction right after Alex fell face first on the ground covered with snow. He quickly ran towards the bags and flicked his wand. "Open sesame!" He shouted, and almost instantaneously, both bags opened and fell to the ground, their contents exposed to the snow. Finally catching up, Alex panted heavily and wiped the sweat on his forehead despite the cold weather.

"Oh yeah, what now huh? HUH?!" He gloated, but both bags were quiet and had their handles touching each other, as if they were star crossed lovers stopped by an evil villain. "Oh stop it, you both know you deserved it," the magician crossed his arms and turned away, but later looked back at the pair with tearing eyes and a red nose. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!" He cried and put all the contents of the bags inside them, then closed them and wrapped them with their scarves. He carried both bags back to his tent, and to his horror, at least ten baggages were opened, and some were chasing others, scaring to open them. "Okay, everyone, head count!" Immediately, all the bags stood (even those that were opened closed themselves and stood up in line groggily). Alex then began to count all of the luggage, and this time, the line was missing one bag. He sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes. "Where is your brother?" He asked the lineup, but no one seemed to know what answer to give him aside from a few small squeaking.

Alex, decided that he had enough for one night, snapped his fingers and poof! All of the luggage became inanimate once more, their feet, scarves and earmuffs gone. He then went outside to find the last baggage, and luckily, he caught a glimpse of it running into someone's tent. The youngster sneakily ran after it, and entered the tent with his toes stand on their tips. "Aha!" He exclaimed loudly as he grabbed the rogue baggage at its handle. "You mischievous miscreant!" It squirmed and cringed and tried its best to get out of Alex's arms, but it failed in doing so. Turning around, he saw that large orbs and shining gems all around. "Ana's tent, I'm sure," he said to himself as he tapped the bag with his finger to make it stop moving.

[xMarcellust]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ❝chrestmir kisch morazova; "christian"
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════
( ☂ ) ░ ⋙ALLALONEINTHECORNEROFTHENIGHTSKY⋆*╯
▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
spiral bones of a supernova starlight xxx fell in love with another burning bright xxx spiral bones of a supernova starlight
spiral bones of a supernova starlight xxx fell in love with another burning bright xxx spiral bones of a supernova starlight

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ⊰❛⋮sh↷e dream｡ed of a w⇣ay to ig━nite xx


↻ˇ ░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░━&&━░░░░: ✖❞
tonight, come on, come on collide! break me to pieces; I think you're just like heaven
come on, come on, collide! let's see what a fire feels like. i bet it's just like heaven
#307D7E

The night slipped away ever-so discreetly that it left nothing but thoughts and dreams in his mind; dreams that made him lift the corner of his lips and gave him thoughts of happiness that felt very warm on the inside. He, Chrestmir Kisch Morazova --more commonly referred by his acquaintances and friends as Christian or lazy a**-- was dreaming of doing nothing aside from sleeping on a large branch of a mahogany tree comfortably. He was under comfortable-looking comforters, and was laying his head on a comfortable-looking pillow. Overall, he looked comfortable and sound and peaceful and everything synonymous to relaxing. However, as was aforementioned, the night left and dusk began to break. This caused Christian to awaken, for the infamous thin and flimsy creatures called sunlight slowly crept inside his windows and slapped his fair face.

"Are you kidding me?!" he groaned in a hoarse, fuzzy voice, and sat upright on his bed, only to yawn and twist his back to pop the bones in his vertebrae. He opened his eyes calmly, but the sight he saw was so horrendous that it almost burned his eyes and melted his whole being. The whole dorm room was disheveled: clothes were scattered all over the floor, food wrappers were hanging wherever possible, the sofa was wet with orange juice, books were facing the floor and everything else was just trashed. "Holy --" he didn't even finish his sentence and just headed towards the trash and began to clean the room, with large beads of tears rushing down from his eyes to his cheeks.

"I hate these bitches," he cried groggily while picking up someone's underwear: it was either Jack's or Tomas' or Caio's. He threw it in a laundry basket and went on to his cleaning quest. It took him at least thirty minutes to tidy up the room and made it spotless --which would get disorganized again within two minutes once at least one of his roommates enters the dorm room. Nevertheless, he went ahead to do his daily hygiene activities and went to class exactly one minute before the bell rang as a reminder for classes to start.

He sat at the very back end of the room and paid attention to the lesson...until he became dozy and sleepy and his eyes just malfunctioned and dropped themselves to oblivion. As soon as he was in a deep trance, he dreamed the same dream from the previous night; as a matter of fact, he dreamed of the same dream over and over again every time he fell asleep. He was sleeping on a large branch of a mahogany tree comfortably. At least, that was how things fared until Annabelle leaned on his shoulder and woke Chrestmir up.

He opened his azure eyes slowly and looked at his best friend whose head rested on him. Putting his arm around Annabelle's shoulder, he released a small sigh and murmured some words probably unintelligible to mankind. Christian then went back to his usual nap, but was unfortunately unsuccessful due to the ruckus the class was making. He was in Hero Support, or a sidekick in a more precise manner of speaking, and he wouldn't argue that. Christian was convinced that he was the most deserving person to be in Hero Support, because his ability was no more than a crab has its pincers.

The Czech was a clairvoyant, who can sense everything with a touch of his hand. No offense, no defense, just clairvoyance. Did he hate himself for being a sidekick? Hell no. In fact, he was glad to be a Hero Support, simply and plainly for the mere reason that he didn't need to do anything too effort/energy consuming, neither was he required to actually move a muscle and save the world. No hero in his or her mind would choose a lame, lazy, loser clairvoyant, but Christian was content. He was a pacifist anyway, so working with someone to get someone hurt would please him too much.

Time passed by so quickly that he didn't even notice Annabelle leave before him; the whole class except the instructor, Mr. WhateverHisNameWas (Christian didn't really know what his name was), who was doing paperwork. Christian stood straight and yawned while his arms were stretched. He grabbed his messenger bag and saluted to the instructor, who only smiled to him, on his way out of the room. He wanted to sit with Annabelle, so with the magic in his fingertips, he immediately found her in the commons, sighing about her partners for handcuffs day, and while he was at it, he scanned through the list and found that sweet Katya and Moze were his partners.

He smiled as he left Annabelle's aura (who was with Chet by then), and headed towards where his best friend was. It only took him a few minutes to reach his destination despite his walking speed of .00000001 mph, in which case 'm' stands for meters. He grabbed a luscious-looking green apple on his way to where Annabelle was sitting, while saying 'Hi's' and 'Hello's' to those people who said it first of to people who he really liked...which were only countable with his right hand.

Christian then sat with Annabelle, Lotus and Chet, who was looking good for both Lotus and Ezr'ah. "Amber Alert? Ezr'ah's still sleeping, I feel," he smiled jocosely at his friend before he took a small bite from his fruit. Chet was a cool guy, who was very optimistic; people who were as lenient as Christian were an immediate "Oh-Hell-Yes" in his book. He can't say that they were as tight as nautical knots, but he was confident enough to interact and converse with the guy on a higher level than how he usually talks to others he doesn't really, really know.

He turned to Annabelle, who looked fairly grim. "I can tell from your aura that you don't like your partners very well." the clairvoyant snickered jokingly, and wiggled his eyebrows at Annabelle. "Is that my shirt?" Christian questioned with a curious face.

[xMarcellust]

xxxxxhenrieluciangrayson; the superior

As the sun succumbed deep into the horizon, its last rays clung to the earth mightily worthy of an award. Everything was with a beautiful silhouette, with the pastel orange sky in the background; it was an empty sky, cloudless and no stars. The moon was bright and big, and shined and replaced the sun's light; it shined with such beauty, that even Trogs (21st century monsters) under its luminescent aura gleamed with a beauty more precious and more priceless than diamonds. Trogs, or Black Bloods, were lining up and preparing to board the train to the current feeding district, District 4. The train wasn't accepting any passengers just yet, so their superior, Henrie Grayson, took the opportunity to remind his fellow people rudimentary things when it was feeding time. The man, in his late twenties, looked lethargic and weak, but still managed to stand in a platform before the train and had the energy to portray himself a strong leader in front of his people.

The superior cleared his throat quietly, but somehow, his countrymen were keen enough to catch the superior trying to take hold of their attention. Black Bloods had heightened senses, so it wasn't a very surprising thought. Well, most of them anyway. Henrie was fixing the sleeves of his robe, unknowing that he had garnered the attention of his people with such little effort. He looked at them with mortification, but as a leader, he ventured. "Okay, uhh, hi. This won't take long, I promise. So, as usual, during feeding times, let's be one people under one food, okay? Share your food, and don't waste any; there are others starving in some hot desert out there, I assume," Henrie thought about the said desert, but he can't think of any at the moment. He cleared his throat once again and moved to his left, where there were two Trogs not paying any attention and was instead talking about how hungry they were. The superior descended from the platform and approached them, looked them straight in the eye and said, "Pay attention." Instantaneously, the two Trogs looked at him and relinquished him their undivided attention. He smiled, and climbed back onto the platform to continue.

"Now, where was I? Oh, right. I advise all of you to find a feeding buddy, just so that you're safe. Word is, there will be Hunters from a so-called 'District R' who has vowed to hunt those who have fallen to darkness. If you don't get the reference, we are those who have fallen to darkness." He held his hands behind his back like a cool scholar, because it felt like what he was saying was turning out to be really long. An apologetic expression arose from his face, for unfortunately, there was a little more to the speech he had to give. He walked across the platform, and when he took one last step before deciding to go on with the speech, a shrunken board erupted from the floor, in which he almost tripped and fell to the floor face first. Luckily, he was quick to regain his balance. Some of the Trogs exclaimed for his safety, but they were all drama queens when it came to the superior's safety. "One last thing. Don't eat too much; we are people with dignity and integrity. We can't be fat and be branded like those people in the city upon a hill. That's it, and have fun," stated he with a dignified look on his face. He smiled weakly at his people, and just right after moments of his speech, the train was now being boarded. He returned to the two young Trogs who still had their eyes fixed on the white haired man. He whispered to their ears, and at once, they were back to normal, chatting how hungry they were and that they should be feeding buddies.

Being the leader of his nation, he had to enter the train last. While he was waiting for his turn to board the train, he counted his people and called on their names as they boarded, as if he was a teacher taking daily attendance with his students, the Trogs. He knew all of them by heart, with their names and ages and classes. He was a devoted leader, but not a strong one. Physically, that is. As the line shortened, Henrie released an exasperating sigh, and then took the steps towards the train, and after he entered, the doors behind him were shut tight. As he walked down the aisle looking for a seat --which he unfortunately did not find any available ones--, many of his people offered their seats for him, but the superior only declined cordially. He was at the very back of the train, and leaned his back on the locked door, then slowly sliding down to the floor. His butt made a plopping sound, like when a water ballon falls to the ground but doesn't explode. Henrie made a painful face, but he hoped nobody saw it, or else everyone on the train will run to his aid and ask him if he was hurt or if he was alright. Drama queens. Much to his chagrin, though, the ride wasn't bumpy, and he actually found comfort on the floor, so the superior easily fell asleep.

He awoke when he was thrown forward after the train abruptly stopped. He plunged the hardwood floor with his whole body, face first. "Motherf--." He didn't continue swearing as he realized that ALL of the Trogs took note of his falling and ALL of them ran towards him to make sure he was uninjured. Henrie was quick to get back to his feet and ensured the drama queens that he was indeed fine. He gave them a meek simper, and with that, they were satisfied. The doors were opened again as they have reached District 4. It was quiet, and dark and well, solemn. Henrie wondered if they were praying inside their homes to a raptor, and was actually curious to see what kind of rituals or incantations they were doing. He had been a human once, but that was fourteen years ago, and in the world in which they currently lived in, progress and change weren't hard to come by.

Before they all went stark raving mad for human flesh, Henrie had some few words to say. "Remember what I told all of you before leaving the island. Please be safe. Okay, have fun." Immediately, the Black Bloods scattered in every direction, smelling and looking for wayward humans unable to find security in time. The superior could already hear cries and pleas, and bones crunching and flesh tearing, and could already smell the blood wafting in the air, inviting him to its direction. But no, Henrie was somewhat different. He could resist the temptation of inconsolable gluttony, and could suppress his hunger for fresh flesh. Instead, he would only eat fairly dead meat, or the ones that are freshly dead meat. He can't afford to have tetanus from eating old dead meat. He also can't afford a tetanus shot.

Henrie walked around the deserted streets, street lights flickering eerily. He was looking for a map of the district, and up when he found one, searched for a morgue in the poster. "Ahh, a block next to this one. That's not far at all," he said to himself as he squinted his eyes to see clearly and leaned closer to the glass framed map. Henrie then began to walk towards the morgue, which, he hoped, was unguarded. It looked like Lady Luck was on his side, for when he arrived at the morgue, it was indeed unguarded. Who in their right mind would risk their own life trying to protect the ones without one from necrophiliac Trogs like him? No, he wasn't necrophiliac; he just didn't want to kill any humans. The superior entered the building with his hands on his stomach, trying to prevent it from releasing funny warbled sounds. There was a room filled with newly dead people, but still, Henrie had to check the expiration date. If the human has been dead for 42 hours, that gonna bring him either food poisoning, constipation, tetanus, or worse, diarrhea.

He opened each metallic compartment and unveiled the cloth from the feet that covered the whole body. Tied on the cadaver's toe was a tag with information as to who it was, it's gender, age, and time of death. He quickly found a newly dead one, and then pulled the body all the way out from its container. Henrie then removed the cloth completely, and found a very fresh body of a young man named Benjamin Mellencamp, age 24. His body was built and filled with muscles, and the thought of feasting on this man made the superior happy. "Yes! I'm having protein tonight! Look at those chicken breasts! I just wish I brought gravy. Well, I'm sorry Benjamin and Mellencamp family," he said, as if his victim could hear his apostrophe. Henrie bent down and took hold of the man's arm, ready to take a bite, but just as he was about to sink his teeth on the man's muscles, he heard something.

"Please don't eat me."

"Wha...Who's there?!"

"Please don't eat me." The voice was sobbing.

Henrie closed his eyes because he was genuinely scared that a man he was about to eat was actually alive. Ugh, humans and their inaccuracy. What are these technological advancements for if they can't exactly tell for sure that someone's actually dead?

"You're alive?" He groaned, for he won't be having that chicken breast his mouth was watering for not too long ago.

"Y-Yes."

He turned to the man, who was...dead.

"Where are you?" The superior looked carefully at the man and his mouth.

"Are you gonna eat me?" It didn't move.

Was Henrie insane or was he just really hungry that he was becoming insane?

"No. Come out."

From the ebony shadow of a large cabinet emerged a boy in his teens, witless scared and sweating beads of small alabaster cuts. He was crying, and fearful for his life, and of course, fearful of Henrie. The superior raised his arms in the air, and slowly moved closer to the child. It backed away, but realized that the man he was facing looked harmless. Henrie approached the child, and held his hand up. "Hi, my name is Lucian. What's yours?" Well, technically, Lucian is one of his names, so he wasn't really lying. He was just protecting his identity.

"Danny."

"Why are you here, Danny?"

"I'm guarding my sister from people like you."

"Huh. So you risk your life for someone who's dead?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I? She's my sister."

"She'll be safe. No one likes dead bodies except me. And I won't eat her or you."

"Thanks, mister."

"Would you like to go home where you're safe?"

"Very much."

"Okay, I'll take you home. But let me get a bite from Benjamin. I am starving."

Henrie tore Benjamin's right arm, and both of his chests, leaving the chest cavity a cavity. There was no blood, no pain, no screaming, nothing. Danny gasped quietly, but since he knew Benjamin was dead, Henrie wasn't bad for eating a human. The latter began to nibble softly on the man's hairless chest, and proceeded to the door. He looked at Danny who was a bit in shock, and beckoned him to come over and follow him, giving him the "what are you waiting for?" look. The teen then sheepishly followed the man outside. He was scared, but when you're walking with a dude who's eating another dude's chest (and definitely not in a sexual way), who wouldn't be? Danny was giving directions as to where he lived, and Henrie was just nodding, since his mouth was filled with flesh. "Wait, what if some other Trogs find me and eat me?" Danny asked with fear on his face but curiosity in his tone. He was still sweating, and was probably shitting bricks, but Henrie just gave him a reassuring look.

The superior only mumbled and jumbled words in his mouth, but somehow, Danny understood, because when they came across a group of Trogs eating a woman, they only looked at Henrie and made way. He was holding the arm with his left hand, while the other held the chests he was eating. It was a long walk, and conversation was bound to erupt. Danny was quiet, though, and the superior knew just the thing to keep him entertained. He wanted to save the arm for later, but since it'll turn sour after a few days, he might as well eat it right then and there. So, he removed two fingers from the arm and stuck the fingers in his canine, making him look like a sea animal.

"Hey, look, I'm a walrus!" He exclaimed, making funny walrus sounds. To his delight, Danny laughed at the sight of Henrie, and just like that, they became friends, telling stories about each other's interesting lives. It wasn't long until they arrived at the teen's house, and after seeing that he was in and safe under his parent's protection, Henrie left with a smile on his face. Not only did he get some food, but he also made a friend, and even though what he got was meager, he was already full.






ooc: a satire rather than an intro post
proofread and revised~

[xMarcellust]

There was a rapid influx of different tingling sensations that ran through Amnixiel's head; he was excited to spend the whole day with Milo, and was also excited for the usual Hogsmeade trip party, and on top of that, he was disgustingly, sheepishly, blatantly in love with the boy he held close to his body. Literally. Milo was two inches deep into Amni's body, mainly because the latter needed warmth for he gave his scarf and jacket to the former. "Yeah, babe. I'm sure," he gave him a cheeky smirk and held him closer. But in reality, Amni's body was freezing faster than one could say 'holy s**t he's freezing', and thus, he stuck with Milo to have some share of his boyfriend's warmth.

"Freezing? What? No. Haha." Amni managed to speak without shivering; if he had, that would've made him look like he was a liar and an idiot.

His heart careened carelessly when Milo asked about the party that was about to happen that night at the Shrieking Shack. Amni was always the life of the party; he stood out like a sore thumb on a white man's hand. He was one of the most sought out bachelors in his years, and in every party, he shined under the limelight. "Yeah, there's always a party every trip," he answered with a serene face. Although he adored partying, it would suck a lot if Milo wouldn't come, as Milo was the person Amni would want to dance, drink and make out with (this statement is arguable).

"Yes! I'd love to go with you to the party!" He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Milo's hips and carried him, then tried to kiss him in the lips, but was unable to due to Milo being held too high by him. Amni was relentless, though, so he tiptoed and still tried to steal a kiss. It didn't help his plight at all, since Milo arose as he did. Because of this, Amni quickly lost balance and both fell heavy on the thick snow that covered the side of the road.

They were both buried in snow, but even with that, Amni crawled towards Milo and hovered on top of him, and finally, kissed him. "You didn't get hurt, right?" He asked, feeling a bit guilty of Milo falling down because he was thirsty for a kiss in the lips. He then picked himself up, softly picked Milo up and began to remove the snow that stuck to their clothes. Amni snickered, and then went on their way to the Three Broomsticks.

Upon their arrival, warm air that was spewed by the pub greeted them, and made Amni smile in delight. Milo then gave him back his sweater, but kept the scarf. "You can keep it," he replied, and gave his beloved a serene look. However, their moment was ruined by a man who blatantly joined both men's company, speaking out of turn AND kissing Milo in the cheek. Good lord, the nerve of this man! Amni's eyes glared and was fixated upon him, with his palms beginning to clump up into potential potent fists. Although, he had realized that he didn't want to start a fight in front of Milo, so he calmed himself up and took a deep breath. The anger was still there; it was just that he hid it for Milo sake. But if he held no bars, Amni would have deleted this guy from the face of the Earth.

"Yes, Benedict," he said eloquently, but not pronouncing the last letter of his name, which sounded like 'Benedick'. He then crossed his arms and leaned back to his chair. "We are indeed dating. I hope I didn't break your heart or anything," he raised his eyebrow and simpered. If Benedict wanted to play mind games, Amni was the perfect playmate.

[xMarcellust]

xxx⋘▐⋮{ ❈; i had a dream ☛ so BIG and loudloudloudloud
xxxxxxxI jumノped so hig⇡h & ━ i ❛( tou｡ched ↸ the cl☁ouds* ↵
xxxx ♨⋮ I stret▬ched my h⋅ands out to the sky *♛⊱╮xxxxx Ezekiel Riraz Ahsti, "Ezr'ah"
▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀
I danced with monsters through the night xxx I danced with monsters through the night xxx I danced with monsters through the night
xxxx⒈ x ⒉ x ⒊ x please dont wake me now xxxxthisisgonnabethebestdayofmylife


The night was slowly starting to annoy one bookworm, named Ezekiel Riraz Ahsti, to the very core of his very bones. The man was reading a book outdoors, with the moon and the stars as his reading light. However, the dilemma was that the light was starting to shut out as a reminder from Mother Nature to Ezr'ah to cease reading and go to sleep already. The man was persistent. He kept reading until it he saw the sun rising and dawn breaking. That was his cue. Ezr'ah snapped his book shut (which was Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead), and headed towards the dorm room. It wasn't very long until he reached his room, wherein he dropped dead on his comfortable bed.

It didn't take long until Ezr'ah's alarm clock went off, leaving obstreperous ringings in his head. With his eyes closed, he rummaged the end table next to his bed and looked for the alarm clock, and when he grabbed a hold of it, it flew right straight to the wall and shattered and scattered itself after the impact. The ringing did not end, however, for the inside was as intact as Ezr'ah himself. "اللعنة عليك," he shouted in a furious tone, with the echo soundly reverberating all over his dorm room.

He arose from his bed and walked towards the noisy little alarm clock and stomped on his with his bare foot. Immediately after the blow, the ringing stopped, but for that to happen, Ezr'ah paid a steep prince: there was blood everywhere he laid his foot on, making it look like a crime scene. He grumbled loudly sat on his bed, and scoffed at himself for acting so rashly on destroying the round alarm clock he just bought for $100.

It was a pain to 1) extravagantly break expensive things 2) have such animosity in life generally and 3) step on broken alarm clocks. The Arabian laughed away the pain and got ready for an abusive 8-hour event wherein he had to interact annoying teenagers who do nothing but whine and cry about their stupid, pathetic crushes. Ezr'ah hated teenagers as much as teenagers hated...well, pretty much everything that stood between them and their godforsaken lover. Imagine the face he had when he was enrolled by his sidekick mom to a high school at the age of 19: it was profound. The pain and humiliation of being labeled as a student in some stupid high school for the gifted was profound.

The male then headed to the cafeteria, or how the principal would put it, the "commons". It was Handcuffs Day, and after the searched the roster of who were unfortunate to be stuck with whoever else, he found out that he was partnered with-- "Lotus and Chet. Not a bad pair, at the very least," he spoke to himself. Ezr'ah found them together huddled together, like a football team ready to strike fear against their opponent. The illusionist walked towards his partners, who seemed to have engaged themselves in a deep conversation.

"So, what now?" He asked vaguely while covering a yawn with his hand. From what he can see, Lotus was a pretty cool chick: she plays with ink. Ezr'ah would like a cool tattoo some time in his life, and networking is key. Maybe he could hit her up and ask for a free Solomon's Key on his back. She may not as bad as people say, Ezr'ah thought. Chet on the other hand, was simply annoying. For starters, he was sixteen, a boy with pubic hair and an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex that prevents him from making sound, mature decisions such as picking a worthwhile topic for a conversation. If Ezr'ah hadn't known better, he'd be damned if he didn't predict that his two "partners" were talking about romance.

But he had known better: judging by both of their red, steaming faces, one can infer that these adolescents were talking about something embarrassing, and what is more embarrassing than puppy love?

"Err, guys?" He gave them an empty look. What can he do? He was tired, he was sleepy, he was hungry, and most of all, he was impatient.


translation:
"اللعنة عليك" - damn it!

[xMarcellust]

It was already 7 clocks after the sun began the new day, and its bright, ultraviolet-filled rays slowly started to creep inside a man's rather colossal quarters, even with dark, thick drapes that hung behind the arched windows covering the most part of the man's huge room. Slowly, but surely indeed, the rays crept silently inside, as if a thief in the night was about to do his agenda, so silent that it left no sound of footsteps whatsoever, so discreet that even a light sleeper could hardly hear, so quiet that it made the deaf even more deaf than it already was a moment before the sunlight crept in. These malicious creatures, however sneaky they may be or might have been, were not able to escape the man's closed eyelids, as a single fraction of light, a single prism of the sun, as his eyelids were very keen in sensing a shift in the room's lighting. Without opening his eyes, he spoke indignantly. "Seal those curtains tight." Instantly, the curtains closed even closer than they were before. The man's severe tone would've given someone the impression that he was either 1) annoyed with the fact that the sun is trying to wake him up and get him out of the bed to attend a boring unbirthday party, or 2) he was a cranky, ill-tempered, hot-headed monster who will cut you piece by piece with a bread knife and still use it as if it was a perfectly good-to-use eating utensil if you stand in his way. To be honest, either of the two choices could work, as both were true, the first one, only fleeting and temporary, but the latter was, well, true to every vivid detail one could think of once one hears of this very graphic comment. But who's to say he is a guiltless psychopath? No one should, as everyone has had committed a heinous crime in comparison to his at one point in their lives. Who's to say his crimes are more brutal than others? Or others' less brutal than his? Every crime is equal, only to some extent if otherwise.

These were the thoughts that rattled around his frontal lobe, these very thoughts kept the man occupied for a little more than an hour and a half, only lying down on his King sized bed with nothing that covered his toned and perfectly created body but a rather thick comforter that shielded him from the cold the night before; he was contemplating, but only after he was awoken by the sunlight, that creeping, annoying sunlight that kissed every part of his fair skin complexion that faced it, and made sure he was indeed awake. He opened his eyes finally, dark blue eyes, as blue as the deep Cerulean Ocean that covers half of Wonderland, were gleaming due to the ray of sunlight that hit it, though the owner of this magnificent pair of eyes didn't seem to be annoyed by this, nor did he seem to notice, for that matter. The man stared into the ceiling, a painting of majestic wonders was plastered on it, with intricate jewel-and-gem emblazonment on the what seemed to be a golden frame. The subject of the wondrous painting was a nude, handsome, perfect man, toned and fit body; the subject had a symmetrical facial structure, and was well-endowed below. None could deny the perfection of the subject, no, no one. As the man in the bed moved to recover a soft pillow that had fallen from his bed, the subject in the painting did the same: it recovered the soft pillow that had fallen from the bed, just as how the man in bed did. The canvass revealed itself to be a mirror, and the subject was none other than himself, the perfect man in the bed, Christian Averell Kirsch of that name. He was the role model when it came to perfection. He sat upright his bed, hands on his knees to support himself. Chris still felt flimsy from last night, which was an intense, wild night by the way, as he had cavorted with three different people without stopping or taking a break. "Open the curtains," Christian commanded in a very shallow voice, yet somehow, these magical curtains of his, obeyed and opened immediately right after he spoke. The sun's light victoriously and flamboyantly marched in his room, lighting up the ceiling, which reflected it and pushed the light down, as if it was an actual ceiling light.

The perks of living in Borealis. They just can't stop improving their magic and they never disappoint their citizens. Of course, they shouldn't. The citizen's money is what keeping the city afloat, both figuratively and literally.

Chris stood up and walked towards his humongous dresser that seemed to reach the high ceiling, all because of its tall height. One can wonder, "How is it so big and so tall? What could possibly be in it?" And it is perfectly normal to ask these questions, because it was indeed tall. He opened it and looked for something to wear. A few minutes of rummaging through his dresser and he finally decided to just pick a fur coat and its counterpart. Chris didn't really mind being not fancy that day, although he likes to think he's all dandy, because it was another Unbirthday Party of his ex's, Queen Alice's. It was rare for Chris to attend such occasions; in fact, it is his first time to attend her pointless parties. He put on his coat with manners that he seemed to be a perfectionist, and acts like one with every inch of his movements. Chris then went out of his chambers and stood outside for a moment or two. "James!" He bellowed with a cacophonous voice that reverberated in the whole house, and immediately after the echo died down, a man of his thirties, wearing a nicely-ironed suit and tie with long, black slacks, appeared before him. The man, after seeing Chris, quickly got out a handkerchief from pocket and knelt down to polish Chris's perfectly clean and shiny shoes. He finished in about a half a minute, then stood on his feet, but bowed on the waist level. Chris fixed his coat before addressing the man, making sure he was perfect and presentable when he arrives at the Ebony Estate. "Prepare the carriage. I am headed to the Crimson Castle," he demanded without even looking at who he's talking to. The man only bowed deeper and removed himself from Chris's sight to work on his master's request.

He then started to take small slow steps on his grand stairs with his left hand on the railings. The stairs were made of mahogany wood, imported straight from Marmoreal. The steps were spotless, almost as if a bread-and-butter fly that lands on it will most likely slip due to its clean state. Of course, it is highly improbable because bread-and-butter flies cannot enter his house, nor does it exist in Borealis. Such untidiness would greatly diminish the patron citizens' interest in living in the city. They decided to reside in the city and pay tons of gold to live in a paradise, so paradise they should get, in which they deserve. Chris deserves perfection, so he employed at least 150 (the exact number is unknown) servants to fix, clean, maintain and do all those sorts of things to his house, but all courtesy by the generous city, of course. He reached the last of the steps and saw three servants attending one orchid plant. "The three of you," he looked at them with a piercing glare, one that could almost slash and bleed someone if tangible. The three servants knelt, kissed his shoes and planted their faces on the marble floor. "Tell me, exactly how dire is a plant's need of attention that it requires three pairs of working hands on it?" He asked in a stern voice, while pulling tightly his black leather gloves to make sure it fit his hands. "Master, forgi-" The servant in the middle spoke, but was interrupted by Chris himself. "All three of you are banished from this household. Never should I see even an ounce of your shadow. You will not live another day in case I do," he inserted his hands in his coat and walked on towards the gigantic door that wasn't very far from where he stood. When he neared, the doors automatically swung themselves open, giving him more than enough space to get out of his mansion and into the spacious veranda. The carriage that awaited him was, predictably, enormous, covered in gold, diamonds and other precious gemstones. It was emblazoned with many intricate designs that were symmetrical, which was beautiful to stare at even for hours because even though there were a lot of designs, they seemed to neatly touch each other, regardless of the fact that the carriage was only too small for so many decorations.

At the sight of him, the four coachmen got out of their seats and awaited Chris by the double doors. He then took small steps towards the carriage with sixteen white horses and once it was before his cerulean eyes, the coachmen opened the door for him, while one had his hand beckoning to the inside of the carriage. He entered and sat on the velvet seat, while a complete ivory tea set, composed with two teacups, three teaspoons, a petite tea pot filled with hot raspberry tea, a silver box that had small Bavarian cakes inside, and a small container for the creamer, all on top of a large round silver serving plate. It was floating in midair, but Chris didn't seem to take notice of the marvelous happening. "To the Crimson Castle," he spoke indignantly, with a distinct hint of anxiety in his voice and tone. Anxious to have this day over, because he will see his ex, and that is the most awkward thing to ever feel or do, regardless of how one sees his plight.

The tea set that was before him disappeared into thin air like a bubble popped, leaving a scent that resembled chamomile. The coachmen immediately whipped the horses, and in an instant, the horses began to gallop; slowly at first, but then gained speed as seconds passed by with the motivation of whipping. Chris peered outside the small, rectangular window, and all he saw were his servants bowing to him with their faces on the ground. A moment later, his carriage was out of his mansion and on to the extravagant and prodigal streets of Borealis. There, many persons were out and about, shopping for whatever they feel they should spend their money on. They were the lower class in Borealis' social aristocratic system, an ant in the pavement, a weed in the lawn. Chris was one of the highest, most respected member of the oligarchy. He needn’t to shop for goods. The goods themselves shop for him. He was that respected. And feared.

Many minutes later, the road in front of the carriage seemed to end. The city of Borealis was a floating piece of land, and all roads ultimately stop at the end of the city and at the beginning of its limits. This did not seem to be an inconvenience, however, primarily because the coachmen and the Jabberwock himself did not hesitate to continue, regardless of the road-less path they're about to take in a matter of seconds. The coachmen only whipped rigorously, which made the horses gallop faster. When the carriage reached the last piece of land, it fell quite rather remorselessly. One of the coachmen held a small, colorless crystal ball in his hand and whispered the words, "To the Crimson Castle". It turned into a deep shade of red, and after seeing the color transformation, he immediately dropped it and the ball, considering the height of the carriage from the ground, fell and splashed to the ground a few seconds later. The ground started whirring and turning, as if it was becoming a tornado, which became a vortex with the color red. Chris' carriage, yet again, fell into the vortex with neither ramifications nor consequences whatsoever; it fell straight to the vortex instead of landing intensely on the ground. The carriage was distorted into all shapes and sizes while it traveled through space continuum, but neither the people nor the horses felt a thing. Chris chose this form of transportation because it was very efficient and comfortable for him. If it weren't either, he'd rather buy winged horses and fly to wherever he wished to go.

His carriage arrived at the gates of Iliana's marvelous castle, which was adorned by things that were red all over: red roses, red trees, red fountains (Chris at first thought it was blood), red everything. One of the pawns that guarded her Majesty's royal gates came closer to the window and knelt with its right hand on its chest and the left raising in a diagonal form towards the window. Chris, from the inside, did not even bother talking to the useless creature and instead, just shoved his arm out of the window. The pawn looked at it, grabbed it and kissed the ring that was on Chris' middle finger. The other pawns that were guarding the gate opened it for the carriage to go in. The coachmen whipped the horses and continued to the front veranda of the castle. When the carriage arrived at a full stop, one of the coachmen got off the carriage and opened the ivory door for Chris to step out. He did so accordingly, and fixed his fur coat before advancing and taking another step. "I expect you here when I return," Chris spoke apathetically and raised an eyebrow. All of the coachmen bowed and said "Yes, Master" in a united voice. Chris then walked towards the large doors of Iliana's castle, and when he was before it (usually people stop and open the door, or stop and wait until it opens) it automatically swung open for Chris to get in. The castle was perfectly neat, tidy, and of course, red. "You know I don't like to be kept waiting, Illy," he spoke nonchalantly, addressing the Red Queen of Wonderland with such a cute nickname. His voice echoed and reverberated in the large foyer of Her Majesty's castle. Chris walked towards a grand chaise and sat primly, with his legs crossed and hands on the chaise's red shoulders.

"Illy, dear. There's no need to gussy up. For heaven's sake, it is a bloody unbirthday party we're attending," he voiced with his rather thick English accent.

[xMarcellust]

xxxxxxcorvus mykael rodrigues cavalcanti


A man in his early twenties was walking in a very solid way in a small sunlit suburbian street,
and was fast approaching a yellow school bus, which was receiving petite little children that
probably looked at around the adolescent years. The man slowly took steps towards the window
of the bus, where the driver was seated next to it; the man knocked at the windowpane to garner
the driver's attention, and when he had achieved in doing so, the driver gave the man a befuddled
look, as if a big question mark was drawn on his face as a means to say, "What do you want?"
without actually drawing a breath and speaking a word. The man only smiled, and fixed his
cravat.

"Salutations, great sir. I am to attend an ostentatious institution mirthfully titled 'Sky High'.
Might you know the explicit direction of this academy, perchance?" He asked the
driver of the bus, who looked more confused than he was a few minutes ago. There was an
awkward moment between both men, where no talking existed. Finally, after a minute or
two, the driver spoke.

"What?" He asked with a puzzled look.

"Might you know the explicit direction of an academy titled 'Sky High', perchance, good sir?"
The man asked again, irritated at the thought of having to repeat himself after he just clearly
explained himself and his question.

"Listen, man. I have kids to bring to school. I have no time for riddles. What is it you want?" The
driver said, while lowering the window completely and hang his arm on the outside of the bus.

"Do you know where Sky High is? I am a student," the man stated, with a grim, grave, almost
ominous voice.

"Well, why didn't you say so?! C'mon, hop in! These kids are students of Sky High, too!"

"I really do not want to impo--"

"Nah, nah. Come on! It'll be fun!"

"I would rather go by myse--"

"But you don't know where it is."

"Touche. A bus ride it shall be, then."

The man reluctantly walked around the front of the bus, and entered through the door, where his
first sight repulsed him: children chewing gum, others picking their noses, some were making
out, and a couple were throwing crumpled paper at each other. The man made an appalled
expression on his face, that almost disgusted himself in doing so. He was hesitant to take
another step, let alone take a seat with the nasty creatures on board, but the bus driver was
forceful on the thought of the man taking a seat so they can begin their journey towards the
school. With a heavy heart, the man finally gave in and sat with a mess-filled, testosterone-
bolstered, dirty-looking child, with a sloppy, unsanitary wool serving as hair on his head.

Exerting so much effort not touching the dirty child, the man sat with such horror on his face; he
was on the very edge of the seat that if he were pushed, he'd fall to the floor. "How come you're
so old?" The teen next to him asked, with his finger in his nose, trying to catch a salmon in a
pond. The man cleared his throat, and faced the child, and tried to contain his revulsion. "Even if
I answered you boorishly, you'd still not grasp even a word of what I'm trying to make you
comprehend," the man said snappily; it may have been rude to be rude, but the child deserved it.

bccoreycanttakeitanymoreTIMESKIP

After the horrendous flight and much more horrendous seatmate, there he was, in front of a
school on top of clouds, with more teenagers, who seemed a lot better than those whom he had
encountered in the bus during the ride. The man looked amazed at how there was greenery in
the school, and wondered how the keepers keep it alive; the whole thought of keeping a floating
school sufficient was amazing. As he took further steps deeper, he found a man who was giving
out directions to 'first years'.

"I apologize for this interruption, but may I ask a question, good sir?" The man gave an
appeasing look, plus a sweet smile.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. What is it?"

"Where would a new student like me should arrive to?"

"Well, everyone should be at the gym for the tournament."

"May I ask for accurate directions as to where this gym can be excavated?"

"You go in, take the first left, and follow the students. They're all heading to the gym."

"I cannot express my gratitude enough; thank you very much, sir. May you have a good day."

"You're welcome."

The man did as he was told, but the halls were so vast that he was easily lost, regardless of
him reciting the instructions given to him; there were many hallways, and the many hallways
were flooding with students who seemed to be going to every direction but the gym. He sighed,
for he was frustrated and disappointed of himself for not being able to follow simple, simplistic
directions of where the gym was to be found. He took a minute or two to collect and compose
himself before he decided to ask a fellow where the gym is.

He found a student who wasn't doing anything but read a book; he hated to disrupt someone
who seemed to be really busy with themselves; he hated to impose, and it was just downright
rude to disturb someone, especially if they were reading a book; however, the man found it a
dire necessity to ask, regardless of his poor etiquette and his obvious neglect for societal rules.

"Pardon me, kind sir, but may I inquire where the Power Strength Tournament is being held?"
He asked in a very polite tone, while employing normal, daily colloquialism called "plain talk".

"It's in the gym. Are you new here?" The young man said, and closed his book, and looked up
at the tall man, who just called him a 'sir'.

"Is it that obvious?" The man smiled cheerfully with a inquisitive look.

"Well, I haven't seen you here --and I've seen everyone--, and certainly not someone who calls a
younger person 'sir'."

"Ah, apologies, force of habit."

"I can show you the gym if you'd like."

"That would splendid! Thank you very much."

bccoreycanttakeitanymoreTIMESKIP

They arrived at the gym, where a lot of people were practicing with dummies with their abilities.
The man was bewildered and astounded by all of those who performed their powers in front of
people. He looked at the shorter guy, who tried to pat his shoulder, but was too short to do so.

"I am at a loss of words of how to thank you properly," the man said, to the verge of tears.

"Adam," stated the younger of the company.

"Thank you very much, Adam," the taller bowed his head with his hand on his belly.

"I never caught your name," Adam cocked his head slightly at the man, who seemed to be
really amazed at the people inside the gym.

"That's because I didn't give it," smirked the man.

"Well, what is it?"

"Corvus. Corvus Mykael Rodrigues Cavalcanti."

The man, now known as Corvus --preferably called "Corey"--, searched for familiar faces in the
gym, but who was he kidding? He was new to the school, and it was literally his first day to the
school. As usual, he was alone in very, very crowded room. Corey walked towards the wall, and
leaned on it, with his hands in his pocket, an angelic, ethereal looking face, and killer smile. If
he were to make new friends in this school, he needed to be quaint.




ooc:
sorry he's a piece of work DX
and this is a temp layout while i wait for his gfx

[xMarcellust]

#347235


CHARLES ERNEST, your prince

The rugged plywood that supported a sleeping prince, Charles Ernest to that name, held his back like a man with ironclad grip. It was in agony; Charles was in agony. He twisted and turn to every angle known to mankind, but it wasn't a percent enough to make him sleep the night away any comfortable, or any sleep-able, for that matter. He was awake the whole night, and the night before, the night before the night before, and not because he was away from home or because he was kidnapped or he was held captive by the legendary Davy Jones, no. The man simply did not have enough comfortable beds on his ship that the probable reason why the crew of the Flying Dutchman look like zombies is because of sleep-deprivation. Charles had eyes of ruby, each nerve spitting to the point of almost spurting into gross, disgusting blood that would make the horrible deck even more horrendous than what it already looked like. Or felt like, more so. The tanned man arose from his so-called bed and sat upright and uptight. He was only wearing his...well, he wasn't wearing anything but old-fashioned gothic drapes with burnt holes in them. "So much history, I see," he said with a deplorable tone and rolled his gray eyes in the process. To add more spice to sugar, his ankle was chained to a large, decaying column-like wooden post, and so was his wrist to another post on the opposite side of the cage he was in. They weren't very constricting that he can't move around his cage freely, but they were constricting to every meaning, nonetheless.

Charles walked around the room and surveyed every corner, analyzed every nook and cranny of the box he was in, and searched for a thing sharp enough to start slicing his metallic, rusty iron chains. Finally, after three hours or so, he grabbed a hold of a tiny knife that was concealed under one of the bed's feet. Charles immediately started to saw through the decaying post, for he knew yanking his chains will only make noise and awaken the guards who were not too far from him. Slowly but surely, he only sawed off the parts nearest to the chain that linked him and the post. He successfully freed his leg, and silently, he began to work on the other that held his wrist. It wasn't long until he freed his wrist as well, and he walked off silently from the stupidly opened door. He stepped with caution and silence; however, the floorboards creaked with his every move, giving a small "eek" every time he took a step forward. Luckily, it wasn't loud enough to wake everyone who with him, and who were sleeping. He got to the floor of his ceiling after taking a few steps up the stairs, and there was a sight Charles never thought to see again: the beautiful moon hanging with its brilliant light shining over the deck, the empty, person-less, guard-less deck.

It was his chance to escape. He briskly towards the edge, but before he was able to take a leap of faith to the sea, he was stopped by a voice. "It's cold down there. When you plunge in, you'll have 3 minutes until you die of hypothermia. 4 minutes, tops." The voice said in a slow, enthralling tone, which Charles didn't even pay attention to. Charles felt the man move closer, but the prince only moved farther away from the man and closer to the end of the plank. "It's a lot better than being held captive by Davy Jones." He didn't even bother turned around and acknowledge the owner of the voice. Instead, Charles just tightened the drapes around him and readied himself to jump and dive to the sea so cold that would feel like knives the moment the laid an inch of his skin. "Okay, say that you do survive the cold. Where will you go? We're kind of in the middle of nowhere," the voice replied with a deep, somber voice. Charles turned around and finally saw the face of the man who was talking to him. It was some handsome face that started to take his clothes off. Charles did not mind him; he was busy preparing himself to dive (to which he is not afraid to do so), and he prayed to the god of the sea, Poseidon. When he finished, he took a sharp breath and removed one of his feet from the plank and let it hover above the dark sea. Before anything else, however, the man's cold hands firmly held Charles' arm, pulling him away from the plank.

"Let go of me, you son of a b--" Charles exclaimed, but before he could even finish his sentence, he was pulled closer by the man, and pushed towards the large mast. He pulled his sword out, and raised it against the Prince. With his sword upright, he moved towards a couple of wooden boxes that were stacked together, and there, he got a cheapskate sword with a rusty hilt that looked like it would remove itself from the blade any moment. The mysterious man threw it to Charles, who got it without injuring himself. "Kill me in swordplay, I will personally talk to Jones about releasing you." The man snickered deviously. From that moment, everyone on the ship were awake and looked like they were anticipating the sword fight, with the probable exception of the captain himself, who seemed to be in his chambers, peacefully sleeping, or whatever the hell he was doing. "And if I lose?" Charles asked and gripped the rusty piece of scrap metal tight.

"You continue to be the Flying Dutchman's prisoner. Fair enough?" the man asked with an eyebrow raised. Charles moved closer to the man and nodded slightly. Both men did preliminary greetings, which were to hold your sword with your right hand in front of you, vertically, and your left hand behind your back, and bow to your opponent. After that, the fight began. The man was quick, but Charles was a lot quicker than him; the prince sliced through the man's arms and face, but the man somehow did not notice, or did Charles notice any difference in the man's movements, regardless of his sustained wounds. The man charged with his sword towards Charles, but he only dodged him and took a quick step that allowed him to have the man in front of him. Charles stabbed the man in the heart from the back, and the man fell on his knees. "I win, now let me go!" he said in a loud voice, commanding, too. The audience were amused and laughing, however.

He turned around, and saw the man he just killed standing, with the sword still stuck in his chest. The horror in Charles face was so profound that he wasn't able to pronounce anything for at least a minute. "You see, I don't die, and therefore, you can't kill me. Prisoner it is, then. But before that, I will deliver you to Davy Jones. You'll like him," the man said and grabbed his arm for the second time that day, but this time with a knife on Charles neck. They later burst in Davy Jones' chamber, who was unseen for that time being. "He's all yours, Captain," the man said and pushed the prince deeper into the room.

Hubris and bravado were his only companions, so Charles dare ventured. "I am not afraid of you. Whatever you are, Davy Jones," he said in a calm voice; he thought he was calm, but his palms and forehead were sweating immensely.

[xMarcellust]

It was still very early in the morning, yet in a small bungalow at the end of the main road, where trees grew rampant and the overgrowth over growing in a relatively macabre fashion, a rambunctious ruckus was waking everybody up. Good thing it was on the very end of the road, for no neighboring houses were even remotely close to the petite bungalow. It gave the passersby, or whoever was unfortunate to be lost in that part of town anyway, an eerie feel, with all its crooked windowpanes, rusty balustrade iron fence with a triangular plywood cutout as its gate and untrimmed lawn. Dried grass and dead trees were scattered in the yard, while the decor from Halloween (spiders, skeletons, cobwebs, etc) were still present and are unattended by the house's owner for so very long that even the fake cobwebs had been infested with real cobwebs. It was in the middle of Spring for Christ's sake. Certainly that was the reason why the Mondragon household --which consisted a cat named Caelum and a man named Faust Avel--, and to an extent, the Mondragon house itself, haven't had any neighbors for quite some time now. The household did not mind this morbid fact, though, for it gave them their much desired freedom to make some funky noise, which they did all the time, all day, every day.

Inside the bungalow was a pure and complete chaotic mess. Chairs were all over the floor, wooden spoons were inside a colorful sequined shoe, indoor plants were dead and water was leaking from an unknown source. It was chaos all around, and it was as if the owner of the house was a pig. Oh, but he was no such thing as a muddy Wilbur. Faust was a blind man, and unfortunately, could not do the things as easily as a normal seeing man. He tried to water the plants, but it turned out he was watering the couch (the couch and the orchids were relatively near to each other, so he did his best to remember where the orchid was). Faust tried to place the spoons back in the drawer, but there was no Braille for such things. Even with this handicap in his life, he didn't hesitate to live like a normal seeing being. He took walks down the park, went fishing down the lake, and went to the market to get some fresh produce. Faust, as of current, was using the same produce he got from the marketplace to bake a monstrosity. A monstrous pie of goodness. With all the ingredients on the table, he was reading a recipe book (which was upside down, by the by) on how to make pies for new people in town. They were humans, and although he didn't really care about them (mostly because he was once one), he didn't seem to dislike them that much, either, and being the Good Samaritan that he was, he planned to welcome them to town and start with them the right foot.

"Hmm, is this cinnamon? I think the recipe says 'add three cups of cinnamon'. That sounds about right, doesn't it?" He asked the cat, who was quietly playing with a ball of yarn, but then responded to the question with a soft purr, and then continued to play with the yarn. Faust, in turn, took the purr as a 'yes', so he decided to proceed with it. He grabbed a small bottle and slowly opened its lid, and poured all of its content into the bowl. He also counted the seconds when the contents were poured in as a justification to 'that felt like it was three cups'. However, when he replaced the bottle on the table, on a small piece of paper that was taped in the middle of the bottle, read "VETSIN". He kept 'reading' the recipe book and continued to add different seasonings into the bowl: he poured soy sauce instead of milk; there were still seeds in the lemons when he mixed it in; and it seemed like he had mistaken a bag of cream of mushroom powder as flour.

Faust was trying to bake key lime pie, which was intended to be given to the new human family in town, the Kings. After 30 minutes in the oven (fortunately, he didn't burn his house down), the pie looked like a mixture of mashed potatoes with green molds all over and some animal entrails that were left on the road, with the smell of rotten eggs and rat poison. But the blind man, which can also be argued as a man with no other senses working except his ears, felt like he had done a marvelous job. He somehow covered it in a foil wrapper, and thinking he was ready to relinquish his pie to the Kings, he scampered his way out of the house with all the furniture lying on the floor. The cat immediately dropped the yarn and followed Faust out. Together, they embarked on a journey through town, leaving the house...open and unlocked.

Dressed like an Englishman from the 1800s lost and drowned in the 20th century, Faust took sharp turns as he walked, narrowly missing obstacles in his way that would have proved lethal if mistakenly stumbled upon. The cravat he was wearing, black with some silver linings, clung to his neck that it almost looked like it was choking him. His coat was fine-looking...if people would disregard the fact that it didn't go quite well with his overall outfit, that is. His socks weren't matching; one was a Christmas sock, green and red covered in golden glitters, while the other was a black and white polka dot that had soft lacings in the edge. Luckily, his shoes covered most of the socks parts (except the lacings on one sock), so it didn't look like he was a total nut job at all. On his way to town, he heard a lot of people (creatures, more like) greet him with a smile or a "Hello, Faust", and he in return did the same. They knew not to make fun of him, because, well, everybody knew of his handicap. Nobody had the audacity to tell him his socks weren't matching, though.

Walking steadfastly at the side of the road where a car almost hit the both of them, Faust wondered where the Kings' house was located. "Caelum. Make yourself useful and find me that house," said he, struggling to hold the pie in one hand while the other was holding the cat's leash. The cat hissed at its owner, and broke free of the loose strap that was on its neck. It walked away from Faust and peed on a nearby bush. After it had gussied itself back to haughtiness, it meowed and made circles around its owner's leg. "I don't know, use your cat senses or something. Just because I'm supposed to know everything doesn't mean I know everything," he claimed with an exasperated expression on his face, but still continued walking. Both men (yes, the cat was a male) continued to walk for a few more minutes, when the taller man stopped abruptly, choking the cat with its leash --somehow it placed the strap back to its neck before they continued walking--. The cat meowed loudly, looking like it's annoyed or some sort.

"I have a feeling we should wait until something slams."

They stood in silence, and after about twenty seconds of waiting patiently, they both heard a loud bang, from which seemed to be a door being slammed shut, not too far from where they were. At that moment, they continued to walk until they reached a house (how they got there was unknown), where its steps tripped Faust and almost throwing the pie to the ground. Luckily, though, he held on it tightly that it did not leave his palms. The cat let out a sigh as if it was a normal human being, but after Faust regained his balance, they continued until there was a door in their faces. Faust scanned with his hand a doorbell of some sort, and when he found a small round button, assumed it was a doorbell and pushed it twice.

"Hi, welcome to the town. I hope you enjoy your stay!" He practiced by mumbling under his breath, but even that wasn't enough to remove even a little anxiety that was running through his nerves that very moment. He put a smile on his lips and out his best foot forward. It was almost always nice to befriend someone you don't know.

Almost always.



ooc: meager read for an intro post >.<
also this post layout is disgusting I don't even think
this can be considered a layout omg I'm sorry DX
but yeah that's faust in a nutshell lolol
proofread, edited, and revised <3~ read at your heart's content lol

[xMarcellust]

tab tab tab tab Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab tab x' tab tab tab tab tab tab tab Alexandria

"Laudate dominum, laudate eum..."

The record played nonstop for as long as the needle was scratching its vinyl surface, and the owner of the phonograph, Alexandria, didn't bother to stop it, or even think of bothering to stop it. Human music was exquisite, and powerful, and...celestial, even. Alex never had such ambrosial proclivities when she was growing up, and now she's trying to make up for everything she hasn't done for the past...well, the past millenniums she missed. She's barely in the Baroque Era, and she's actually loving it. She was facing a mirror on her wall taller than her, showing everything she needed to see. Her dress was a magnanimous creation of Emi's, one that Alex deeply loved and marveled at. The detail was profound, and Alex wanted to be the only woman in the ball to wear a blue gown. She would cut a b***h if she saw someone wearing the same color as her. She would.

Alex slid her hand on the strands of her hair that were loose, and easily put them behind her ear, showing her sapphire earrings that very much complimented her dress. Everything on her was blue: her necklace, her earrings, her gown, her shoes, and even her eyes. Well, kinda. She was wearing bluish green contacts, making her even more beautiful. As she decided she was ready to leave the comfort of her home and onto Arthur's, she moved over to the record player and lifted the arm up, and putting it back where it belonged, and immediately after doing so, the music stopped abruptly, closing the rhythm that reverberated in the colossal room for so long entirely. There was still ringing in Alex's ears that hummed the end of the symphony's last lyrics, but it also died just as quick as the rhythm.

She took a last glance at herself in the mirror, checking if her light makeup had been too much. She just put a simple mascara and foundation, and a small blush on her cheeks, and BAM! Alex looked like a million bucks. Ha, if only she could sell herself! Feeling content, she walked out of the room and towards the main door of her house. Standing next to it were her shoes, with heels that stood four inch high. Alex took them with her left hand, as the other was holding a small blue purse. She didn't intend to wear them, though, at least not yet. Heels weren't her favorite, especially heels that are four inches high. She carried them, and went outside and waited for a cab. However, it was already getting late and the Fury still wasn't able to find one that would drive her to the estate. She was patient and could wait for three hours more, but she can't be late to the party.

Alex took quite some time to deliberate, but after a few moments, she decided she would just fly to the mansion. She believed the humans were still in their house, anyway, seeing as they are, after all, humans, and there are four women with them. If one woman takes about two hours to get ready, how much more if there were three more waiting outside the bathroom? Convinced, the transformation began: the wing tattoos on her back started to take form and protruded out from her, slowly forming into a real pair of wings, with feathers and all. She looked around to make sure no human was around, and fortunately, it was just a dragonfly, who looked befuddled at the sight. Somehow, though, Alex and the dragonfly made a telepathic connection, and the dragonfly stood as her "watch", turning around and making sure that Alex wasn't seen by humans as well. It gave her a tingling sensation, and after a brief moment, her wings were out and about. She opened them and flapped them as hard as she could, immediately springing up to the sky. Of course, she didn't forget about her helper, so she glided down behind him and gave him a kiss in the cheek. For the second time, Alex arouse from the ground, leaving a gust of wind it her wake. Onwards, and quite literally, upwards, she went.

Up in the sky, she flew as high as her wings could take her, and used the clouds to conceal herself from watchful eyes below. Flying felt like riding a bike: the freedom that came with it was immensely amazing. She wanted to go higher and play with the bigger clouds, but she had a party to go to, and she can't get wet, else her makeup and her gown would be ruined. The temptation was strong, but good thing she brought her integrity and her scruples with her. Fortunately, though, the devil's attempts to tempt Alex was no longer applicable, as the mansion was already visible from where she was at. She quickly descended on a deserted alley, and slowly, her wings shrunk to its tattoo-size, and printed themselves back in her back. Good thing her dress was flexible. The fury then put her shoes on, and even though she wobbled during her first steps, she gained total and absolute control of her posture. The front lawn was majestic, and was well-lit, so it helped Alex not to step on the rocks (the estate was next to a lake), and a rocky lake at that.

As she entered the mansion, people were already there. Well, not people, but magical creatures that looked like people for the sake of other people. She walked briskly and passed by a mirror, which caught her attention so hard that she took steps back and looked at her reflection to make sure she was still looking prim and proper. And she did, so she continued walking towards the crowd. There, she saw the Oracle, the blind man who kinda looked cute, but unfortunately wasn't Alex's type. Also, he played the other team, so there was that. Another was a cutie, Paolo, who looked stunning in his tan suit. Alex was sure he was a fairy, but the guy wasn't very much of a people person, and was honestly a good citizen, so Alex didn't really have any opportunities to meet him personally.

Evangeline was also present, and feeling that she and Alex are at least somewhat acquaintances, she approached her quietly. "Good evening, Evangeline. You look lovely in that dress. Emi's?" She asked with a small smile on her lips, and crossed her arms. It was awkward, but Arthur, the hero of the play, arrived, and saved Alex from any more awkward situation. "Hello, handsome. Dashing, as always," she cooed as she gave him a polite kiss on both cheeks. Arthur was handsome indeed, but not really who Alex was craving as of the moment. She was still into Solstice's assistant...err, Solstice's co-owner of the library, Dakota. The looks of that guy could kill.



ooc: baam!

[xMarcellust]

Minerva McGonagall

The light from the gloomy moon and the twinkling sky that snuck inside her office brightened the dark, almost somber-looking room even when a few floating candles were lit; they were outshone and outdone by nature's powerful light, its warmth almost as warm as basking in the adulation of one's numerous companions. The woman inside the room sat behind a mahogany desk, writing on a rather long parchment of paper which seemed to be official, as her stamp and her signature were clear and visible at the bottom of the parchment, even when she wasn't done writing and filling up the paper. She stopped shortly, placing her wrinkled hand on her forehead and released an exasperated sigh. Even she was befuddled with this current dilemma of Muggles staying in Hogwarts. "What would Albus do?" She asked herself, thinking about her late mentor and friend about what he would do in this time of crisis. A small simper appeared on her face, the wrinkles showing even more.

The woman stood up and walked towards the portrait of the former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who was fast asleep, his half-moon spectacles almost falling from his nose that was as crooked as ever. Severus Snape was awake, so she ventured. "Severus, what do you suggest I do?" She asked the man in the portrait. "Minerva, I trust your judgement to be sound and fair," he said with a stern facial expression, as always. She never really trusted him. Not until the revelation of his true loyalty, which is to Dumbledore and Lily Evans. She even dueled with him and called him a coward for fleeing before the duel ended. Snape however, proved to be one of the most brave and courageous man Minerva has ever known in her lifetime. "Thank you," she gave a politic smile, and he in return.

Minerva returned behind her desk and continued writing when a Ravenclaw, Ms. Sung, came barging into her office and told her about another muggle that was found in the forest. They both went to the hospital wing to see the muggle safe, asked her some questions along with Madame Pomfrey's, and then, after realizing that she's fine, Minerva sent Ms. Sung to bed. "Another one. What are we going to do, Poppy?" She asked the matron with a low, quiet voice and sat on a chair nearby. She was exceptionally worried about these Muggles and the students of Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey, worried about McGonagall's health, conjured a cup of hot tea on top of a small, round serving plate, with a teaspoon next to the cup. She moved closer towards the headmistress, and Minerva stood up from her chair to accept the cup of tea. "Thank you, Poppy," Minerva smiled kindly to the matron, her eyes gleaming due to the flickering candles that were at close proximity. "I'm sure you'll do the right thing, Minerva," Madame Pomfrey smiled back, placing her hand on Minerva's shoulder and gave her a polite and caring hug.

Moments later, after she finished her tea, she bade goodbye to Madame Pomfrey and returned to her office. The halls and the corridors were quiet, too quiet as it seemed. She strode fearlessly, until she reached the griffin statue that guarded the headmaster's, or in this case, headmistress's door. "Sherbert lemon," the old headmistress spoke quietly and the statue sprang to life to make way for Minerva to come in. She never changed the password after she was instated as the new headmistress of Hogwarts. One, because she didn't like to change it, and two, she didn't have enough time. Imagine, the first few days of the school year and Hogwarts faces a problem that will last until the end of school. How problematic is that, especially for her, as she will be sent with Howlers from the pureblood 'supremacists', telling her that their children cannot go to school with Muggles. Not that she cared, no. She was pretty sure it will all come from the parents of Slytherin students, and to be perfectly honest, she never really liked them anyways, so she probably won't mind if these students drop out of the school. It's their loss, not the school's.

She decided that she'd continue writing her official report to the ministry about the incident. In a couple of hours, Ministry Investigators will be on their way to the school, asking students about what they saw in the forest that night. Minerva found this very unnerving because these investigators will obstruct the harmonious flow of the students and their classes. Not that there was harmony at Hogwarts at all, but it almost seemed a contradiction. Of course, she found this as a way for the Minister, and the whole Ministry of Magic itself for that matter, to keep their eyes on the school, the staff and the students, which Minerva found very rude, intrusive and displeasing. Disregarding this nuisance, she wrote relentlessly until she finished, the end being almost to close to the stamp. She then sealed the letter and attached it to a school owl, Coop. She smiled as she took some pellets from a table nearby and fed the brown owl. "Go hurry, and be cautious," she caressed its dark brown feathers behind its neck while it only replied with a low-pitched hoot.

She sank down her chair again, wallowing in her dutiful problems. She also had to take Mr. Moore to Diagon Alley to shop for his school supplies. Poor child, he had nothing but a robe and a wand, and this one wasn't to be overlooked by the headmistress. She felt as if Mr. Moore, or Rylan to be put more simply and formally, was a very special wizard. Heck, maybe she could even turn him into a protege of hers. But regardless, the child needs attending, and she will not falter. Minerva's eyes felt droopy as minutes passed by. She hadn't any sleep since two nights ago; she was busy figuring out what to do with the problem Hogwarts faced.

Finally, she succumbed to her drowsiness, but only a few minutes later, she was awakened by Coop's flapping of his wings. It had a letter tied to its scrawny leg that had the official Ministry of Magic seal. Minerva thanked Coop and removed the letter from its leg and read it with her eyes. The Minister was clueless on what to do as well, so he agreed with her about letting the Muggles stay at Hogwarts, as the school is the safest place for the Muggles to be in. Until the case is closed, they will be staying in the school for an indefinite amount of time, even on holidays, if need be. She smiled weakly and released a sigh. The fact that the minister agrees with her is a start of a good Hogwarts Headmistress - Minister of Magic relationship, but it still doesn't mean she will trust these investigators a bit in doing their job properly. She had a past experience with them, most notably Junior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, and her view towards the Ministry hasn't changed. However, she'll do her best to accommodate these Aurors in their pursuit of the truth to bring this case to a close.

The grandfather clock that stood silently in the corner broke the piercing air of silence that clouded and posed as the atmosphere in her office. It was seven o'clock, and it was time for breakfast. She rolled the parchment and held it tightly in her wrinkly hand. Her grip was weak, yet firm and tough. Minerva walked out of her office and headed towards the Great Hall. She encountered students in the corridors who greeted her a good morning, some in respect and some in fear. She smiled at them and nodded slightly. The headmistress stood in front of the large wooden doors of the Great Hall; inside were noises made by the students in response to the news that Muggles will be staying in the school. She pushed the doors softly, but they swung open rather loudly, as if a strong gust of wind blew it open.

Everyone looked at her in awe and silence. She walked across the Hall with her chin up, her face, indifferent; she was trying to look strong in front of the students. Minerva stopped and stood in front of the podium, wherein the sleeping silver owl awoke. It spread its wings before letting the headmistress speak. "Good morning, students," she started with a small smile, and then continued. "As you have all heard, there were Muggles found in the Forbidden Forest a night ago. I am here to confirm two things. One, those rumors you've heard are true. There were Muggles in the forest a night ago. Two," she stopped briefly before pointing it out with a matter-of-fact tone in her voice, "they will be staying here in Hogwarts in the mean time." There were contests and protests of this revelation, mostly from the green table, students loudly objecting to this, but Minerva only continued, ignoring all of these comments made. "With that in mind, they will be assimilated in either one of the Houses. They will be sorted by the Sorting Hat, and they will take classes as if they were normal wizards and witches." This statement made the students roar, half in awe, half in disgust, and half in indifference. Gryffindors and Slytherins were bickering; throwing snide comments about each other. The Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws were a bit shaken and had some low chatter, but not as much the two houses who had their students on their feet, ready to start a fight.

"Quiet please," she spoke lowly, but with the tip of her wand on her neck. Everyone stopped abruptly and looked at her. They then calmed themselves down, but there were a few students who still couldn't accept the statements she just said regarding Muggles, and therefore, were still talking in a low voice. "Whilst these Muggles will be attending, if you must, here at Hogwarts, I, in behalf of the staff," she stopped to take a quick glance at the table behind her, where most of the staff were present, and then turned her head around to face the students to continue, "will be watching every single one of you with a keen eye. Any wizard or witch seen cursing, hexing, jinxing or doing any kind of malicious magic on your fellow Muggles will receive four weeks worth of detention with either me or the professor that caught you, and a deduction of twenty House points for each student. I urge all of you to report an act of malfeasance to me or to any professor, as they will report it to me as well. Either way, you will be facing severe punishment when and if proven guilty," she eyed everyone, who looked scared by this announcement. They ought to be, because these Muggles are not toys to be played with. They are humans as well, no different than any witch or wizard, wands and magical abilities aside.

She turned around and walked towards a three-legged stool where the Sorting Hat sat down. She carefully picked the dusty, dirty hat up from where it lay with her two hands. Instantaneously, right after she took it off the stool, she nodded slightly and the stool grew feet and walked with her. When she stopped, the stool stopped as well, its feet vanished. Minerva placed the hat on top of the stool again and searched her inner pockets for a parchment containing the list of names of the Muggles that will be attending the school that term. She held it in front, and looked at the direction of the group the Muggles formed. "When I call your name, please step forward and sit at the stool. I will place the Hat on you and you will be then sorted to your appropriate House, accordingly," the headmistress said with a weak smile. Minerva read the list out loud in alphabetical order.

"Athanas, Ambrosia," she smiled, beckoning her to come forward. The girl did so, and sat down on the stool. She was taken aback when the Hat spoke, but recovered and pulled herself together. "Gryffindor!" The hat loudly exclaimed, and the Gryffindor table was split in half. Minerva guided Ms. Atwater towards the table. She was greeted with polite smiles and all those politic expressions. Minerva did this to all of the Muggles, although she found someone very familiar, and the hat did concur with her thoughts. Before she let him go, she whispered quietly. "Mr. Vondracek, I would like a word please, after breakfast, of course," Minerva smiled as she led him to the Ravenclaw table. After all the Muggles were assimilated to their respective Houses, Minerva had a few announcements left to make. "Before I finish, I would like to remind all of you a rule or two of this school's. One, the Forbidden Forest is restricted. It is called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. It is forbidden. Regardless if whether or not you are a Head Boy or Girl," she briefly gave Ms. Moon a piercing look before continuing, "you are not allowed to enter the Forest at all. Two, you are not allowed to be out and about after your curfew. Last, the usage of hexes, jinxes and curses on your fellow students is strictly forbidden. Break any of these particular rules, and you will receive four weeks of detention, regardless of the severity of the committed act, for you will be treated equality guilty." There was silence in the Great Hall, but did not last for a very long time.

"Finally, a Ministry Investigator, Mr. Castor Clayworth, will give a speech in regards to what they will be doing here in Hogwarts. Mr. Clayworth, if you please," she smiled and beckoned towards the podium, ready to give him the audience. The man stood and readied himself, while Minerva sat on her seat, in the middle of the Staff's table while she took a quick sip from the goblet that stood in front of her. This is going to be a year full of mishaps, she already knew. No divinations needed.

[xMarcellust]

Dreams were the second best part of sleeping, sleeping itself being the first. Dreams were spaces and lands where limits are undefined, freedom is unmeasured, creativity is unbarred, and imagination is not quantified. While he slept, a man named Castor Frederick Armstrong was dreaming about things and matters that did not and simply cannot exist in the world he lived in: the perfect man that Cas could love, and he to him as well. The perfect man who will match his eloquent tongue, the man who can endure some dirty tricks, the man who can stay up late with him under the stars and gazing at their brilliance, the man who can actually love Cas. He longed and searched for this special someone, but to no avail. "Five more minutes," he moaned softly, not wanting anyone to disturb his beauty slumber. He was sleeping on a relatively large green sofa, with an end table next to it that an alarm clock sat atop. It was ringing and buzzing incessantly, trying to wake Cas up and remove him from his wonderful world of dreams. He crunched his body up under a skinny, thin blanket that covered him throughout the night, but his feet remained uncovered due to the conflict between his height and the blanket's, leaving them cold and pale. "Oh s**t!" He immediately awoke and jolted up from the sofa, as if one of Zeus' thunderbolt hit him square in the chest. He ran towards the bathroom and turned on a faucet, splashing cold water on his face as soon as he had enough on his hands to splash his face with. He grabbed his toothbrush and brushed his teeth without toothpaste, and it was only later that realized he forgot this very component and re-brushed his teeth, now with toothpaste and bubbles in his mouth.

"Jan wake up! The bus leaves at 9!" He shouted loud enough for his twin brother, Janus, to hear, while white bubbles were flowing out of his mouth and onto his shirt. Cas then left his toothbrush inside his mouth and bit it, while walking towards Jan's room with white liquids and bubbles dripping on the floor. Jan was on the bed with another man, very much like Cas' type, but not quite. He pulled the blanket away, leaving both men uncovered, and gently tapped the other man's leg. "Yo. It's time for you to leave." The man ignored Cas and instead, mumbled about leaving him alone. Cas, for the second time, tapped the man's leg, but was unsuccessful at waking him up. Finally, he decided to do the last resort; Cas held the man's ankle and shook it rather rigorously, saying "Yo! It's time for you to leave!", and continued until the man gained consciousness and covered his private parts with a small pillow. He moaned and mumbled, but Cas was persistent. He searched the room for the man's clothes, and when he found them, he grabbed them and threw them to the man's face. "Okay man. You have to leave. Like, right now," he spoke while he continued brushing his teeth, even without any toothpaste anymore because it dried out while he was waking the two men up. He grabbed the guy's left hand while his right hand was covering his privates still. The man was probably still drunk, or worse, experiencing hangover, and Cas wasn't about to receive a handful of puke, so he quickly and briskly walked towards the front door.

Cas unlocked the door and opened it without hesitation. He pushed the man out of the house and smiled with both his eyebrows up. He gave a small wave and then slammed the door shut and locked it again, with the toothbrush still in his mouth. He walked across their apartment, and into the room where Jan was snoring loudly and vehemently. He threw a pillow on his twin's face, but Jan merely ignored him. He rolled his eyes and bit his inner cheek in frustration to Jan's stubbornness. He threw another one, but was useless. "Okay b***h I'm done. That's it. I'm over it. I'm not going anymore," he left the room and entered the bathroom, removing his toothbrush from his mouth, gurgled some water and then spat it all out. Cas then went inside the living room and slumped back to where he was sleeping; he searched the sofa's insides for the remote of the tv that he was in front of, and when he got a hold of it, he pressed the ON button and started watching tv.

SKIPPINGTIMEcauseitscool.

The Armstrong twins were waiting for the bus to arrive at the bus stop, and it has been about thirty minutes since they have been patiently waiting. Cas' ears were muffed by his headphones and was listening to a song of another language. He was a sucker for languages other than what he spoke, which were English and German. He learned Spanish back in high school, but his knowledge of the foreign language wasn't enough for him to properly speak it with accuracy. He could read and write fine, but it's always the hearing and understanding that hits him hard in the balls. He could, theoretically speaking, but it takes him time to process what he heard and make a t-chart in his head and conjugate the verbs and all that. It took time and practice, but it didn't hinder him whatsoever in his quest of being a multilingual freak. French and Italian were different cases. He'd just listen to French and Italian songs, and then just get it. Somehow, he felt like these languages are more connected with English and German than they are with Spanish. Of course, he was able to assimilate them, but how he did it was very confusing. He has also been persuading Jan to learn the languages like him, but the man was as hard as a rock when it came to suggestions. Cas one time told his twin about how he should stop eating unhealthy foods, but Jan just ignored him and devoured more than he usually did. This made Cas to use reverse psychology on him, and so far, it has been working.

A few more minutes of waiting, the bus finally showed up and arrived at the bus stop. He stood up from where he sat and removed his headphones from his head and let it hang on his neck. He tapped Jan and pointed to the bus. "About time it came. You ready?" He smiled and looked at his twin, his voice and tone were filled with a distinct aroma of excitement and anxiety. He put his arm around Jan's shoulder and approached the bus without clear hesitation. He let him enter the bus first, and he followed, swiping his card through the card machine for the both of them. They both sat near the rear end of the bus, Jan being with the window and Cas next to the aisle. After all the people entered the bus and sat comfortably, the bus driver started driving his passengers to the next bus stop, which was approximately fourteen miles away. The ride was pretty long, and only stopped for passengers, which also took a long time because the next stop was far away and the people who boarded the bus were as slow as snails. While all of these were happening, Cas was lost with his music, and started to get droopy. His eyelids were falling, but he tried to resist because he wanted to see the view; however, he thought to himself why he should keep himself awake when sleeping was one of the best things he ever loved. Cas sank deeper to his seat, and he let his head tilt and rest on Jan's shoulder. He closed his eyes and started to fly as high as a kite.

Hours went by slipped Cas' notice when he slept, and was only awaken when Jan woke him up after the bus had stopped. He rubbed his eyes to help them see clearer, and then got off the bus with Jan. He yawned lightly, the thought of sleep still rattling around his frontal lobe, which didn't affect his cogitation, regardless. "Hmm...How far is it? Two miles from here? That's not bad at all," he spoke without much thought of what came out from his mouth, which was very rare for Cas to do. He usually gave it time to think about what he should say first before actually saying it. But with Jan, he was all out. He wasn't smart-mouthed or smart or quick-witted or anything. He was him with Jan: a guy who wants nothing but to feel intimate admiration and a man who wants to bask in the adulation of his numerous companions. His bubble popped when he saw an obvious resident of the town, and it was his chance to ask about the villa. He approached the bearded man and smiled politely. "Good evening, sir. Do you, by pray chance, happen to be familiar, or at least be acquainted to a place where a ravishing Tuscan Villa is located, taken care by a butler named Gregory Troy Kirsch?" He smiled again, and inserted his hands into his pockets, hoping that the man could spare him from asking any more people than he needs to, just to find the right answer. "Boy, speaks my language!" The man bellowed, which kind of startled Cas to a point where he was also about to scream in his face. Cas, however, obviously being the one with a higher level of intellectual acuity in the intelligence prism between the two, composed himself and exhaled lightly. "Sir, do you know where a Tuscan Villa is? Its caretaker is Gregory Troy Kirsch," he spoke plainly and softly, but with a stern tone. "You means Greg? With that old house he take cares of? If you does, then go to that shoop right there and get yo selves a maps," the man spoke, pointing to an antique shop just right ahead, with a deep, thick Southern voice and accent, uncanny for a person to have in California. "Thank you, and enjoy your night," he grabbed Jan's hand and pulled him while he walked towards the shop.

The man walked away as well, mumbling the words "High school hoodrats. They just ain't learnin'." Cas rolled his eyes and arrived at the porch of the the wooden shop. On a pillar, were a bunch of pamphlets and brochures, with the map nicely concealed behind the marketing papers. Cas grabbed it and haphazardly moved closer to the candle porch light. The candle was dripping hot wax, which ultimately fell on Cas' hand. He quickly pulled his hand away and wiggled it, as if the pain would go away, dropping the map on the floor. Jan recovered the map and started leading the way.

TINYTIMESKIPcauseitswaycooler.

Cas was taking one step at a time while his eyes were fixed on a queer-looking map. "This is why I don't let you hold the map. The same reason why cats should't have sex with dogs. We're lost." He said with an irritated voice, without removing his eyes from the map. He grabbed his phone from a pocket of his cargo shorts and unlocked it to open his phone's GPS map. There was no such thing as a network in that area. He inserted it in his pocket and heard his stomach grumble like there's no tomorrow. He was getting hungry, which, has no other medicine aside from food. Cas started to wonder whether or not this trip was a good idea; they started the day arguing, got lost in the woods, and now, he's famished as a jackrabbit in July. His plight got better when he saw a relatively large house well-lit, a man in front, obviously waiting for more people, or else he wouldn't be standing there alone in the cold night. "Come on, Jan," he looked at him with gleaming eyes. They then slowly approached the guy who was in a clean, crisp tuxedo, with a cravat that almost looked as if it was choking him and preventing him to breath easily. "Excuse me, sir. But may I ask if this is the Tuscan Villa, and may you be the caretaker of the estate, Mr. Gregory Troy Kirsch?" He asked in the most polite tone as possible. Cas was tired; Cas was hungry; Cas was irritated. This man better be it.

[xMarcellust]

↺ INDEED IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY COME WITH ME AND LET'S FLY AWAY
↺ INDEED IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY COME WITH ME AND LET'S FLY AWAY
↺ INDEED IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY COME WITH ME AND LET'S FLY AWAY

The dimly-lit pastel orange sky was slowly swallowing the dawn's darkness and started to convert it into a lighter tone; the sun's morning rays crept inside people's chambers oh-so silently that it left no sound whatsoever as traces of footsteps. These malicious creatures entered a small room that contained one airbender, Eronn of that name, and slapped his freckled face with a warm hand that provoked him to open his chartreuse eyes. As the sunlight was against them, he immediately shut his eyes tight and turned the other way, then covered his face with a small pillow to prevent light from entering his eyes again, hence preventing them to wake him up. "Five more minutes," he spoke with a groggy voice and crunched his body under a short skinny blanket that covered him throughout the cold night, but a large portion of his legs and feet were uncovered due to the conflict between his and the blanket's height. Eronn was dreaming about sleeping with the man he loved with all his heart on a thick cloud, and he didn't want that dream to be disturbed just because Father Sun wanted to wake him up and tell him to go to work. "HOLY CRAP!" He jolted up in the air and landed a soft thump on his his bed, as if a thunderbolt hit him square in the chest. He rubbed his eyes and hastily put his loose robes on, for he was half naked the whole night. He unlocked and unbolted his door and zoomed out of the building without making a sound with his steps. His bare feet faced the cold steel floor, but he made no remarks whatsoever, nor did he even take notice of that very fact, since what occupied the majority of his mind was that he was going to be late for his daily dose of practice; either to meditate or air glide.

He was already out in the open when he realized that the sun was barely up and in the sky, and that he was tricked. He kicked the air and let out a quiet string of curses, but decided that he should just train with his air gliding while he had a chance, before everyone was awake. "Or I could meditate," he said lightly, and held his hands on his waist line, weighing air gliding and meditating with them, as if the choices he was baffled with were tangible objects. He frowned and bit his inner cheek while thinking about his choices, obviously having a hard time deciding which one he should do instead of the other. Eronn finally decided, and he chose air gliding instead of meditating, however fun meditating was as well, but hesitated about not meditating, because he grew up meditating every day of his life, and he loved it. He began by breathing in and out deeply and sharply, and the moment after, he propelled himself up in the air with a very strong gust of wind that came out from his hands. The cold morning air bit his pale face while he flew against it; he was about fifty meters up in the air when the force behind him was no longer potent enough to propel him farther. Before he came to a full stop, he jumped as high as he can and began manipulating the air currents that flowed between him and his robes, thus gliding in the air without losing any speed, velocity or acceleration. He wasn't very skillful at it, as he just began his practice with the practice itself a few months ago, but he wasn't mediocre, either. One could say he's fair at it, ranging at a borderline in failing and succeeding.

The headquarters was fairly quiet and deserted; it seemed like Eronn was the first to answer the sun's alarm. He decided to walk outside and take a sip of Mother Nature's air, which somewhat almost always cleared his mind from confusion or befuddlement. He wondered about the vengeance his soul had grudged; he wondered if it was right to take justice on his own hands; he wondered if it was still justified to put himself above the law. If I allow the 'law' to avenge my beloved Sisters' death, it would be pointless, since Dynasty is the law, he thought, while he sank down to a damp, watery knoll grass. Eronn finalized that his actions and thoughts of vengeance will bring him peace and provide him justice. With these thoughts in mind, he aligned his fists with each other and bumped them, then closed his eyes and emptied his mind. He then began meditating.


AWKWARD TIMESKIP


Eronn was floating like a falling feather making "whoosh" sounds when Kajin entered the room and spoke with a stern voice. "I have a simple plan I need you all to follow." This brought Eronn to his senses and assumed a seat somewhere close to him, while still floating in the air. The leader began talking about a small plan to make their day productive, which is to free incarcerated Phoenix members, to steal some documents from the city's archives, and 'kidnap' a four year old girl. Doubt and confusion appeared in his eyes upon hearing the latter, and questioned Kajin's usual ever-clear judgment inside his head. Eronn thought that kidnapping an innocent little girl is a bit over the boundary of where morality and humanity stood. But then again, he wasn't very moral and human himself, having done the things in his past no airbender could fathom to neither hear nor speak, let alone commit. Instead of speaking up and protesting, he just shut his mouth tighter, clenching his jaws and placed his elbow on the table while his palm supported his frowning freckled face. His mood brightened and lightened up when he heard he wasn't going to kidnap the little girl, as Kajin placed him with the group who were supposed to help other Phoenix members acquire their freedom back, and Eronn is more than happy to be the one to relinquish it to them again. He smiled and turned his frown upside down, having a fixed bubbly expression, his eyes gleaming with relief, which later landed on Lan Yuzhen, his female airbending counterpart, the prodigy protege of Eronn, or so he'd like to think so. He smiled at the thought of having another airbender as a friend, and an airbender he considered a little sister (this applies twice to Lan, mainly because Eronn's taller and older than her, thus making her Eronn's 'littler' sister, since she's twice a little sister to him).

He was grouped with Nikolao, Jianjun and Xiaoli to accomplish their mission. He walked towards Niko and stood next to the guy, placing his arm around the man's shoulder and leaned heavily on him. Eronn had a small crush on Nikolao, from the moment he laid eyes on the beautiful firebender. "So ya guys. Ain't it fun to free them gaol peoples? I'm excited to swish and swoosh them gaol guards. Ain't ya lot?" He questioned his teammates, but even before they could give an answer, he zoomed towards Xiaoli, and then placing his arm around her shoulder again, but this time, he didn't lean on her petite body. "Are ya ready?" He smiled and waited for her answer. His face was full of happiness, cheerfulness and of course, freckles, while his mind drowned in a sea full of malicious intent converted into pranks. Xiaoli was his partner in crime, and having her on a mission would absolutely light things up, especially when Jianjun's with the group. Both Jun and Niko were from the Dynasty, so Eronn assumed that these men would bicker over who's taking over the entire operation. The devil inside him then began what he hoped to be a drama scene; his eyes shifted from the girl to both men.

"But Xiao. Don't forget Nikolao's also from the Dynasty. He can also take the lead, and not just Jun," Eronn pointed out seriously and severely, and perfected every word's pronunciation. If he wanted a fight to happen, he made sure he gave the perfect push. "Hmm. I'm sure one is more able than the other, but I'm not sure who," he continued a serious face for the charade, but deep inside, he was dying of laughter. He pretended to brush off to the side the comment he just made and dusted his clean, spotless robes from the 'dust' it had accumulated.

[xMarcellust]

Terri's mind shifted from things to places in a rather quick and fast paced succession; he was having a phantasmagoria about his beloved twin brother, Avery, in front of his hazy, groggy eyes, all thanks to the fact that he was still very tired even after his long nap; he was also hallucinating about things that should not be, which, even to the heterochromic, prosopagnosiac seer, were deemed very confusing, regardless of how he was usually very intelligent and solved a puzzle after a minute of looking at its parts. Things became extremely hard for him to ponder and think through, for his sleepiness/fatigue was hindering him from achieving the true state of his usual keenness and his adept ability to differentiate what's perfectly, pertinently logical and what's obviously unreal or a phantasm; Terri was dozing off to the REM state with his eyes blinking and switching from side to side and from top to bottom very rapidly, and a very small, very low, very faint voice was telling to close his eyes and just float away into nothingness; the moment he gently closed his eyes was when there was nothing but bright white light in front of him, and a small, grayish dark figure was in the center of it all, and so it coincidentally happened, that the tiny spot was the owner of the low, faint voice that was telling Terri to succumb and dissolve into the ether, which also began to grow a little bigger and louder every time the interval of its statement had finished: he was looking at the dark thing that slowly covered the bright light with a morose, gloomy feeling, and it was advancing towards him.

"Come to me," It said in a very weak, very faint, very deep and very low voice, as if it were a dementor who had come to suck the living soul out of the young man all the while it was advancing towards him. Terri tried to run, but it was as if his feet were planted on the ground, and he was helpless to save himself from the advancing dark enigma; to his almost unyielding efforts, he was able to remove his feet from the ground and then began running, but was useless after a small whiff of the dark mystery caught one his legs, thus tripped him and landed of his stomach hard.

He tried to get back up and run, but was stopped shortly and was unable to get up; slowly the dark thing was pulling him closer to it, which, to Terri's horror, was a dismal, malevolent curse to be inflicted to him by an unknown perpetrator who desired nothing but ill will, mayhem and malfeasance. The pull became stronger, and Terri wasn't able to hinder it one bit, even when his fingernails were bleeding, and some removed, after using them to try to get away from it as possible. "Please no!" He cried in desperation, but was useless, as it seemed that the enigma did not seem to hear nor did it even acknowledge the plea, if it even heard it in the first place. "Crucio!" A red spark coming from the tip of an apparent wand became a jet of bright red light and flew towards Terri, hitting square in the chest.

To say Terri was in terrible pain would be an understatement, because just by the look on his face would make a grown man cry: he cringed in pain and screamed as loudly as he can, while the dark matter was laughing at the pain of his new found toy. The Cruciatus Curse was shot at Terri again, and when it hit him, he almost cried in pain, and what he felt and how he felt it cannot be overstated enough. "And now for the finishing touch," the man's face finally showed itself; he looked like someone Terri knew because of the distinguishing features on his face: bright eyes, simper smile, fair complexion, an extremely charming, extremely handsome guy, none other than his twin himself, Mitchell Avery Dolohov. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" A flash of green light exploded in front of Terri's eyes, and he was helpless to stop it to unravel itself before him.

**************

Terri awoke at the sound of Blyss' soothing voice. "Oh. I should've told you something. It's all my fault. I'm sorry, Blyss," Terri gave an apologetic smile but let an slight exasperating sigh due to his inability to help his friend earlier. He sat with a frown on his pursed lips and his palm supported his head while his elbow rested on top of the desk, with a tired expression on his face. He smiled at Agro who was all quiet in the corner; he admired the man for being very stoic with his transformations every once a month. He wouldn't know how to deal with lycanthropy if he were one, and wouldn't know how it'd feel like; all he could do was to feel sorrow for the fellow student, and whether or not what he felt was relevant to the man, Terri did not care.

Professor D'Miscori was talking to Maelie about Nordic dragons and new robes, which Terri found no connection whatsoever, when Vlad entered the room, and when he saw him enter, he immediately sat upright and forced himself to look presentable towards the male, if ever the male would dare do such thing and even look at a pitiful, horrendous sight personified as Terri. "Hey Vlad," he smiled weakly and blushed internally, the darkness concealing his overwhelmingly dark red cheeks. He tried to avoid eye contact with the male because if that were to happen, well, one should not assume such ludicrous things. He sat in silence while the professor talked about the rules and whatnots about the Forbidden Forest, then diving them in groups. He turned to his only group-mate, Vlad.

He stared at the male, but when their eyes met, he immediately swiftly shifted his eyes from him to Maelie, then back to Vlad. "So I heard you were in the cool group," he smirked and tried to play it off, while he approached the handsome muggle to where he was sitting. "Just stay with me, and I promise that no one will hurt you. Pinky promise," The Ravenclaw smiled at him with such a cheerful, bubbly face. Terri, with his group and their leading professor, then began their search and headed towards the forest. While they were on their way, Terri saw Professor Stabile and gave her a sweet smile and a warm wave, despite the cold, horrendous weather.

The cold wind slapped Terri in the cheek to a great intensity that it made him hug himself even when he was under four layers of clothing, excluding the raincoat provided by D'Miscori back in his room. He took small steps and was left behind the group who were almost walking in a brisk pace. "Hey, wait up!" He caught up to them by running a short distance between the cabbage and the pumpkin patches in front of the gamekeeper's cabin. The cold weather was infuriatingly hellish: it was draining all the heat from Terri's body, and all he could do to stop it was to rub his hands together and exhale some air on them. A few more step and the woods were visible even in the dark. He was amazed with the forest's magnificence; as much as he'd be embarrassed to admit it, being a Head Boy and such, he had broken the rules a couple of times and entered the forest at night, all because either someone dragged him with them or he had to follow someone and make sure they return to the castle safely.

Professor D'Miscori stopped them before entering the forest and gave his final words. "Well, he we go. Remember what I told you. Don't touch anything, stick to your partners, and say my name if you are facing a dire of a difficult predicament you think you can't handle. I will listen attentively and watch you closely," the professor gave everyone an ever-charming smile before he did the unthinkable: he took his coat off and handed his wand to Terri, and slowly but surely indeed, the professor's pale hands were turning into a tint of bright gold and large scales were popping out from his arm. A minute later, and he had successfully transformed into a gigantic "HUNGARIAN HORTAIL?!" Terri exclaimed in shrill excitement and sheer fear. He knew that the professor was a dragon, but he didn't know he was the fiercest dragon that ever lived; he always thought he was a petite dragon, like a Chinese Fireball or a Peruvian Vipertooth, but he was wrong. Professor D'Miscori was a humongous Horntail. The dragon lowered its neck towards Terri and spoke inside his mind, probably through Legilimency. "My wand please, Terri," It spoke just like the charms teacher, then opened and reached its hand in front of the seer. Terri then gave the wand that was previously handed to him by a human with huge eyes of shock.

The dragon roared and soared upwards, then opening its skin-like wings and began searching in the skies. "Okay, so Blyss, Agro and Maelie, you guys should take the right half while Vlad and I will take the left half of the forest. Our group will most likely just cover a small part of the forest since Professor D'Miscori only divided us in two groups, but that's fine because we're not the only one searching. So good luck to you guys, and remember the Horntail's advice," Terri snickered at the nickname he made for the professor, but then shortly stopped after he remembered the professor's third advice, which was that he could hear even a silent whisper. "Good luck, and make sure you're alive after tonight," he looked at the other group with eyes filled with worry and anxiety.

"Are you ready, Vlad?" Terri asked the male with a smile.


With a swift roll on his left and a little bit of luck, Terri managed to dodge the killing curse and run away from his to-be murderer, but there wasn't any place to hide since they both seemed to be in an empty white room, vast and its end unknown. Terri did not want to harm anyone, but the murderer left him no choice: it was either kill or be killed, and Terri was determined he wasn't going to die just days before the Yule Ball, especially since Vlad had already asked him to the dance. Instantly, it became the push that Terri needed to save his own skin: he reached for his wand in his robe's inner pocket, took it out and removed his robe, throwing it away in the corner, although he didn't really know whether it was in the corner since he didn't know how large the room was. The Ravenclaw was not in his casual attire, a plain brown sweater, torn jeans and raggedy sneakers, with a face so deadly, it would've been added to a Swiss Army knife if it was sharp.

The murderer only laughed at such sight, as if Terri didn't stand a chance. "Well, well. I see you've found your courage. Worry not, I will extinguish it in a moment," the murderer said with a raspy voice, the sound a dull, rusty knife makes when it clashes against a rock, which was enough to send shivers down Terri's spine and making all the hairs in his neck stand up in terror. The murderer closed in on the brunette, while the latter back away with every step the man took. His hands were still bleeding, his chest still ached, but with unwavering bravery, he spoke.

"I really don't want to do this. Please just let me go, and we'll both leave unscathed." Terri's voice almost faltered, but nevertheless delivered its purpose. The same couldn't be said for its meaning, though, for the man cackled like a hag. He then assumed dueling position: wand behind his back and ready to bow, and expected Terri to do the same, which he did after he'd seen the man do it. After the bow, they both pointed their wands at each other, and readied themselves for the battle.

"I hope Flitwick taught you well with your charms. Please, don't make me puke butterflies!" The man taunted, and laughed at his attempt to diffuse Terri's bravado. Immediately, the man struck with a speed as fast as lighting, and a jet of dark red emerged from the tip of his wand, targeting Terri, who effortlessly swatted it away with his wand. "Avis," the younger male said, and conjured up about ten birds from his wand; the flew around the vast room (or hall, whichever one was appropriate), but later settled down in one spot, pecking each other's back affectionately. The man laughed and struck again, an attack too quick for Terri to swat. It hit his arm, which to his dismay, caught on fire, but was quick to put it out with Aguamenti.

He then pointed at the birds and cast the Disillusionment Charm on them, but pretended to attack the man and missed horribly. The birds were invisible, but the man didn't seem to notice. "Crucio!" The man screamed and flicked his wand at Terri, who got hit by the curse. He flew backwards and cringed in pain, but managed to get back on his feet while the man laughed vehemently.

"Engorgio," breathed Terri quietly and pointed at the invisible birds, which grew ten times larger than they were before, but were still invisible to both belligerents. The man thought it was an attack directed at him and taunted Terri once more.

"Do you need your glasses, pretty boy?" He asked as a ray of green light erupted from the tip of his wand, barely missing the Ravenclaw by mere inches. There was now fear in Terri's eyes, because the longer he took to finish his attack, the more chances for his opponent to kill him, and the less for him to live on. "Incendio," he whispered, and pointed to the birds. They were on fire, but since they were conjured, they weren't harmed.

"Missed again."

"Not this time. Oppugno!" He shouted and pointed at the man, and one by one, the birds appeared, large as turkey and quick as cheetahs, crashing themselves against the man. At first, the man was taken off guard and got hit by one burning bird, but later predicted where they would crash and swatted the away like a fly. He smiled at Terri, surprised at the attack, and dusted off the ashes that parts of his robe became when the birds attacked. "Ingenious. No more playing this time."

What happened next was horrific: jets of different lights flew across the room, which mainly the man throwing curses at Terri while the latter shielded himself from them. But then, the brunette wanted more of it no longer. He had thought of a brilliant plan, one that would most likely mill him if he failed. As the man threw the torture curse, Terri moved towards it and got himself purposely hit by it. He was blasted backwards again, and writhed like a worm in a tub of salt. The man approached Terri, and disarmed him, stepping on his wand to crush it in half; he then bound the younger male in ropes with Incarcerous, and raised him three inches from the ground.

"Look into my eyes. I want to see you die," the man said, and Terri did as he was told. He looked into the man's eyes, which were empty, like a bottomless crevasse that could never be filled again. When the man was about to deal the final blow, Terri executed his plan. Wandless, he said: "Legilimens." Their eyes met for a brief second, and instantly, Terri was inside the man's mind. He had been practicing wandless incantations, but had failed...until that defining moment.

Inside the man's mind, there wasn't much. It was hollow and empty, as if someone had deleted all the memories inside. Terri felt a tug in his gut, a sign that the man is doing his best to resist the younger male's spell, so he ran and hurried to find what he was looking for. Terri searched the man's mind, and just when he was about to regain control of his own mind, the Ravenclaw held a box with his hands and whispered, "Confringo."

It didn't work.

The man was getting closer, and Terri knew that if he reached his location, he would be expelled from the man's mind and would be killed immediately. Terri whispered again and again, but his wandless incantation attempts were futile. His voice started to sound madder, and more demanding, more firm. "Confringo!"

Nothing. The man was closer than ever.

"Please work. Please! Confringo!"

Still nothing, and the man was now several feet away from Terri. He reached out his hands and prepared to lunge, but the younger jumped back in a desperate attempt for one last try.

"CONFRINGO!"

The box he held erupted in flames, which he immediately threw away. The man froze, still his arms out but unable to move any muscle but his eyes. They scanned their surroundings, confused why he couldn't move anything but them, the locked his bloodshot eyes at Terri with so much unfathomable rage that even Terri almost cried out.

He was now out of the man's mind and back to his body, still held by the frozen man. He wriggled his way out from his attacker's clutches and fell on the ground, then stood back up and got the man's wand to free himself. "Finite Incantatem." The ropes started to grow loose and eventually freed him fully, and as he was free to do so, he gathered the remnants of his old wand, his robe, and walked away from the man in silence. The man's fate wasn't to be frozen, however. His skin started to burn, like paper into fire, which after a few moments he was turned into ashes, as if the spell Confringo was shot at him. It was, as the box that Terri set aflame was his psyche, which killed him in the end.

The room grew colors, which turned out to be the Room of Requirement, and when the exhausted Ravenclaw was ready to take on the rest of the day, a door opened for him to exit. It was only seven in the morning, and he had already killed a man. He's got a long way to go before the day was over.