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Plants were so much fun, and Tyranni knew that she would have to participate in placing vases of flowers around Hogwarts somehow for Professor MacTavish. She wouldn't say that she was very skilled at floral arrangements, but she enjoyed trying to make each vase of flowers unique and representative of different values related to Valentine's Day, since this was a Valentine's Day task. As she sat in the Study Room preparing the vases and arrangements, she hoped that some exhausted, anxious, and worried student may look at the flowers she had placed on each desk and find some relief from their stress. Is there a more perfect place to put flowers that are meant to help brighten the day of worried students? I hope everyone else who sees these will enjoy them as much as I do, she thought to herself.

One vase consisted of beautiful white flowers that represented purity, and the initial innocence of first love. In another vase she had arranged shades of pink flowers to represent young love. Yet another was full of red roses to represent passion. She felt she had covered all the basics, but was looking to do more.

Thinking about other values that surrounded the season of love, she decided to create one arrangement that consisted of orange Tiger Lillies, tulips, begonias, and a couple birds of paradise with fresh green sprigs of leatherleaf fern. This one reminded her of the sun, and how people in love tend to thing of their loved one as the sun, their center and source of safety, much like the sun reassured many humans and animals alike of the vitality of having a constant source of light and heat to keep one safe.

When she thought of the love between friends, she imagined the color blue as it contained many shades. Light blue for innocent friendships that are full of trust and genuine lighthearted kindness. Dark blue for intimate friendships shared between individuals who trusted the other with their deepest secrets. In this vase, Tyranni placed hydrangeas, forget-me-nots to represent long-distance friendships, tall lupine, with sprigs of green myrtle.

Lastly, she wanted to represent love that was lost, whether through divorce, death, or distance. She had watched many of her friends parents undergo a divorce, and how much pain ate at her friends as they believed they were the reason their parents no longer loved each other. She remember the loss she felt when her grandpa died, knowing she would have an emptiness that would never be filled in her heart as she longed to hear him say "I love you sweet girl." She remembered the loss she felt from a broken friendship when one of her friends moved away and they stopped talking. For this arrangement, Tyranni gathered various black flowers. Dahlias, hellebores, pansies, calla lillies, tulips, and black velvet petunias. This vase meant the most to her, and was her favorite. Maybe others would find it depressing, but she knew that it was filled with the most accuracy in the meaning of love and Valentine's Day.

Before she left the room, having completed her task, she wrote individual notes to place next to each vase, explaining the meaning behind each arrangement. She hoped that this would help fellow students contemplate the larger meaning behind each vase. She was a little worried that students might read the notecards and scoff at the cheesiness, thinking that it was stupid, but that was not something she should be worrying about. People are going to love this, even if some think it is stupid, she had to remind herself. She tidied up the cuttings from the flowers, and placed them in the trash. She left the room proud of her work.

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Refreshing the Room  Errand   Closed 

The study room was the last place one would find Thomas Lestrange. In his adolescence he has yet to develop strong study habits, instead opting to pursue athletics before his arrival at Hogwarts. Typically, a professor would sit at the front of the room, maintaining the rigid atmosphere to accelerate the completion of their respective assignments. Available to assist students if needed or intervene in the event of foul play. The boy would enter the room with no intention of upsetting the balance, but the odds are not in his favor. Trouble seemed to follow him wherever he went.

On this Valentine’s Day afternoon, the room was emptier than it would be on just another routine afternoon. Still, there were students from every house spread throughout. The only sounds to be heard came from the submersion of quills and parchment, the turning of pages, or the occasional murmurs from disgruntled students. After all, who wanted to be independently studying on the day we celebrate love?

Thomas appears on this day with the goal of continuing to make up several assignments to ascend him into his second year. Technically, Thomas is amid his second year already, but a mysterious disappearance put his development on hold. As his 13th birthday approaches, his urgency to catch up with his age group intensified. Thomas entered at his customary brisk pace, placing his bookbag on the wooden table with the fewest students. He scanned his surroundings briefly, noting the professor’s front table was vacant for the moment. In addition, a collection of delicately crafted flowers spread along this table in different vases. With a double take, he found his blue eyes fixed upon the vase with various black flowers. Out of curiosity, he approached the table.

Accompanying each vase was a descriptive note to define what the arrangements represent. Thomas scanned the vase of interest, narrowing his eyes to read the text. Loss and pain, feelings the boy could immediately relate with. His mind instantly fell upon his deceased father, taken in a building fire 8 years ago. His memory of the man was hazy, but the legacy he left behind carried powerful repercussions. He was publicly believed to be a death eater, a follower of darkness. These flowers inspired feelings of fear, closely followed by resentment within the boy. His fingers glided over the note of description, muscles tensing as he leaned over to intimately view the bouquet. He turned back in contempt, largely fueled by the emerging feelings associated with his father.

Thomas walked back to the table he placed his bookbag, a visibly negative change in his demeanor drew a handful of negative glances. When Thomas was upset, the sounds of his actions increased exponentially. The thoughts of his father clouded his awareness that he was aggressively going through the contents of his bookbag, emphatically placing the study items on the table. There were a few murmurs of concern as the boy continued to huff in angst.

Let it go, you’re here to study. Ironically, Thomas began his assignments for defense against the dark arts in hopes to create distance from his anger. Though every few moments, he found himself glaring at the black bouquet he approached earlier that afternoon. It undeniably continued to impede his productivity, spurring a continuous battle to redirect his mind away from his dad. It got to the point he switched over to an Astronomy assignment just to escape the ‘dark arts’ aspect of his previous assignment. Still, he found himself continuously reminded every time his eyes met that bouquet of flowers.

The boiling point was reached as Thomas came to the conclusion he had to do something. He considered several options, whether it was to leave the study room altogether, or to move the vase of flowers out of sight. Though the choice his mind kept revisiting was to destroy the vase. With a brief glance around the room, Thomas rose from his chair and approached the front table once more. He read the note in front of the vase once again and stood there, contemplating briefly the consequences of this choice. The satisfaction outweighed the consequences. He picked the glass vase up and hurled it at the wall behind the front table. The glass shattered against the wall, leaving moist scattered shards combined with the black flowers on the marble floor. Thomas released a heavy sigh and nonchalantly returned to his seat. Many of the students were staring at him now, a couple of them even left the room---likely to tell a professor. He did not care, what’s another bout in detention?

Reducio
OC: So sorry.

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers

Refreshing the Room  Errand   Closed 

we are young, we are gold
trying things we don't know!
hazel elise caelum
600 words
Hazel wasn't terribly eager to sit there in the study room and do homework; not that anybody ever would be. But today in particular had her especially unfocused, fidgeting in her seat and staring out the great windows that covered the stone walls. There was little to be seen but clouds, and yet the clouds held more interest than her charms homework that was due in a couple hours.

There were students whisking back and forth in the hallway, some in groups and some not; most carrying their share of Valentines goodies or supplies they would use for their tasks. Hazel ached to be a part of it - ached to be a part of the fun and the gifts and the sappy notes. She wanted to be there for the boys sticking their tongues out and the girls falling over their robes at the candies showing up on their comforters. The celebrations she had participated in during primary school had been so much fun to her: full of crafts and candy. Even her mother, who didn't bring her things often, but might have stopped by the store to pick up some goodies. Valentines was a good day to her.

But her sense of urgency was outweighing her prioritization - it wasn't even responsibility or self discipline; Hazel just hadn't finished her charms homework the night before. It wasn't like she was getting anywhere productive with it; she'd rest her head in her arms, or swirl her quill in her ink jar. She'd do just about everything other than her homework, writing maybe a few words every couple minutes.

At one point, there was a girl who swept into the room with a bundle of flowers and vases and Hazel couldn't possibly fathom how she was carrying all of it. Curiously, Hazel watched, as she placed color-coordinated arrangements on each desk. They were quite beautiful, and filled the room with the wonderful scent of earthen flora. Naturally, when she came to Hazel's desk, Hazel studiously turned to her work, because she needn't stare down the poor girl.

The vase left on the corner of her table was filled with orange flowers, the card reading something about the comfort and safety they symbolized. Hazel smiled, taking to them with great enough liking that she pulled out a spare bit of parchment to draw the arrangement.

When the girl left, Hazel continued to draw, her feet swinging happily under her seat and her quill scratching at the parchment. The room wasn't very populated, and for it, Hazel hummed a happy tune under her breath. In that moment, she felt wonderfully warm and welcomed at the school - at least, until someone ruined that peace by hurling one of the vases at a wall and shattering it.

Hazel flinched hard, a harsh gasp escaping her lips as she physically moved her seat. Her quill jerked an involuntary line across her drawing, ruining it. Hazel gawked, staring at the shattered vase and scattered flowers before turning her attention to the boy who did it. She didn't know him - his robes indicated a Slytherin, and she only had classes with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. He looked and sounded incredibly agitated, and she could hardly believe that he actually sat down in the same room as if he was going to keep working.

Frowning, Hazel angrily got up, making to pick up the scattered flowers. "Oui," She bit out, approaching Thomas where he sat, arms full of wet and broken flora. "Are you off your trolley? What'd you do that for?"
Interacting with @Thomas Lestrange

now take me home where i belong

Refreshing the Room  Errand   Closed 

One – Aimee Mann

One is the loneliest number.

Typical depressing broody character examination here: Thomas was not one to endear himself to others. Sure, he had some potential friendships in this castle, but it was of no importance to him. He was the bad guy. He was singularly focused on himself. It was all about him. Not lacking empathy entirely, but the feelings of remorse were a rarity. Instead, where others often feel guilty, or ashamed, Thomas felt satisfaction. It was an increasingly disturbing development within the boy.

Upon a closer look, the evolution of villain is often sourced from occurrences during their adolescence. What went wrong with this one, they would ask. In the case of Thomas Lestrange, he was not completely lost. However, the odds were not in his favor. The steady downhill trend encountered few speedbumps. His negative perspective of the outside world grew each day. Who was going to turn the tide?

It would not surprise you that Thomas felt no guilt watching the water travel throughout the grout of the tile floor. Shattered shards spread behind the professor’s desk; the dark collection of flowers left clinging for life. The vase was nothing more than a twisted representation of his father, who was often the primary source of his anger.

Following the outburst, Thomas remained focused on his studies. He tuned out any activity in his peripherals, knowing a reaction would be less likely if he carried on like it wasn’t his doing. The professor would surely enter the study at some point, and demand who is responsible. Thomas did not think that far ahead, opting to temporarily relieve his angst. Remember, it’s all about him.

Several minutes passed and a Huffle girl approached Thomas with remnants of the shattered vase cradled in her arms. Of course, it was a girl. Only a girl would be offended by the harsh treatment of trivial plants.

"Oui, Are you off your trolley? What'd you do that for?"

Without looking up from his books, Thomas heard the girl. She was offended. “One moment.” Thomas spoke softly. He continued writing without a glance towards the Huffle, opting to finish the point on his defense against the dark arts homework. His left hand steadied, gently setting the quill atop his parchment. Was he actually focused on homework, or mentally preparing himself for conflict? Slowly he would look up to link eyes with the girl. What were his options? Deny it, blame another, ignore her, walk away, convince her it was for the best? “Do what, exactly?” Blue eyes traveled down to view the collection of flowers. Laying his eyes on them again evoked those ill thoughts. “Oh, that. What’s it to you?” His tone remained soft, attempting to keep their interaction private. “You going to do something about it?” Thomas glared at the girl for several moments, as if inviting her to attack him. If she did not react physically, Thomas would return his eyes to the parchment and continue working.

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers

Refreshing the Room  Errand   Closed 

The library was loud that afternoon. Or perhaps not exactly loud, given that it was a library, but it was busier than normal with students revising and actually doing their bloody homework for once; there was definitely an uptick in the noise-level from the additional whispers and parchment rustling and general study-sounds. It was annoying, and put a damper on his usual homework spot, so it seemed that he would be moving. And thus: he decided to give the actual study room a try, in hopes of being less irritated. 

His mouth ticked up when the first thing— or someone, really— that he saw upon stepping into the study room was Hazel. He hadn't seen her in the library, but he also hadn't thought to seek her out here; a relief, that. Clearly he had already made a good choice, and he was heading towards her with a lazy stride when it occurred to him that she didn't look... well, like sunny, radiant Hazel. She looked like fierce, angry Hazel, and his pace slowed just slightly as his pale stare flickered between her, the mess of flowers in her arms, and the Slytherin boy he had only just noticed speaking lowly to her. And then his pace was picking back up as he approached them, a scowl already appearing. 

Bastille, as a rule, did not like to get involved in other people's drama. He frankly did not care for their squabbles and couldn't give a shite about justice unless pressed into caring by his Housemates, but Hazel? Hazel was his friend, and if there was one exception he made, it was for his friends. His irritation was already making a rebound as he stopped beside the Hufflepuff, glowering down at the seated stranger in poorly veiled (read as: not veiled at all) annoyance. His hostility only rose when it became clear the Slytherin was deliberately ignoring Hazel now. 

"Hey," he interjected, pressing a palm flat against the boy's parchment to obscure his view. "What's your problem? She's talking to you." He glanced briefly towards Hazel, eyeing the flowers in her grip once more, and snorted as he turned his attention back towards his current source of irritation. "What, you making a mess? That task wasn't designed so that poncy tossers like you could throw shite around."
Interacting with @Hazel Caelum & @Thomas Lestrange.

I KEEP TRYING TO CONCEIVE THAT DEATH IS FROM ABOVE — INFO
#85a9d9 — 5 STA | 5 EVA | 5 STR | 7 WIS | 6 ARC | 6 ACC

Refreshing the Room  Errand   Closed 

It did not take long for others to surround Thomas after his tantrum. First, the Huffle, visibly offended by his careless treatment of flowers. Now a Gryffindor approached, true to the stereotype, coming to defend the girl like a lion to their cubs. While Thomas knew a negative reaction was imminent, he did not consider it necessary. They’re just flowers? Little did he realize his behavior continued to trend to that of a sociopath. His therapist, and more importantly his mother, would share desperate concerns if they knew the direction he traveled. If anything, he deserved a severe karmic reaction. Was today the day he would receive?

"Hey,"

Thomas did not hesitate “Hi.” He spoke innocently, as if the girl initiated a meet & greet with her boyfriend at a party.

"What's your problem? She's talking to you."

The Gryffindor placed his palm on his parchment, drawing a glance of ire from Thomas. “And I responded?” He leaned back, straightening his posture and keeping his quill airborne above the boy’s hand and spoke again without making eye contact. “I don’t see the part where this concerns you.” The final word left his lips coldly, implying he should **** off. Thomas lifted his gaze to connect with the boy’s blue eyes. He was likely a few inches taller than Thomas, visibly agitated and carrying the heart of a lion. It would most definitely be a good fight. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a fight… The boy licked his chops at the prospect of fisticuffs. “Now, would you kindly remove your hand…before I stab it.”

"What, you making a mess? That task wasn't designed so that poncy tossers like you could throw shite around."

Task? Thomas pondered the task momentarily, unsure as to what the boy was talking about. He swiftly decided he didn’t really care. Twirling the quill in his left hand, he narrowed his blue eyes, offering another cold stare at the boy. As if to warn him one last time: move. your. hand.

[If @Bastille Aurelius decides to react physically, his first blow would be successful. Feel free, Thomas probably deserves it.]
Last edited by Thomas Lestrange on 15th March 2020, 12:04 pm, edited 1 time in total.

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.
Ability - Evasive Maneuvers

Refreshing the Room  Errand   Closed 

Teeter-tottering into the study room under a large pile of heavy textbooks, Ivy could hear voices, but she could not see anything, or anyone, in this case.
"What, you making a mess? That task wasn't designed so that poncy tossers like you could throw shite around." A boy. The voice was familiar. It was Bastille, one of her fellow Gryffindors.
"Bastille!" Ivy trilled rather happily, setting the large pile of books on the nearest table. One of the books fell down and she bent over to pick it up. When the Gryffindor did not respond, Ivy thought perhaps he did not remember her as well as she thought. Hm. She frowned for a second before smiling again and turned around to offer her hand. "Oh, I'm Ivy Bellamy. Perhaps you don't remember me."
When he still did not respond, Ivy realized that he and another boy were staring each other down, with a sweet-faced, pretty Hufflepuff she did not recognize holding a bunch of wet flowers in her hand. Ivy was about to ask what was going on when she realized that she knew this boy.
It was Thomas Lestrange.
Pureblood families always knew each other, and the Bellamys and the Lestranges were no exception. They often threw parties that went late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on which way you saw it. The children were expected to stay up as well, although Ivy was never sure why, as all they ever did was sit stiffly in another room and attempt failed conversations. Only her younger sister, Alison, would ever dare to run into the other room, declaring that she was hungry. All the other children were too scared.
Ivy had never spoken to Thomas, and Thomas had never ventured to seek Ivy out, but they knew each other's names, as it was required of them as children of "the pure", as her mother called it.
From what Ivy had seen from those meetings, Thomas was a cruel, narcissistic boy, exactly like all the others, and she had always avoided him, choosing instead to look after Alison. When those parties with the Lestranges had stopped because of some stupid dispute three years ago, she had been relieved. No more awkward conversations with the Lestrange girls, no more horrible boys, and no more trying to shield Alison from a room of drunk adults.
She'd had no idea he was at Hogwarts as well.
Her face had drained completely of colour as she stared at him in horror. He hadn't changed since their last meeting, three years ago. He had the same blue eyes, the same perfectly-in-place hair and the same prideful air.
Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "Thomas Lestrange."

She was a storm, not the kind you run from, but the kind you chase.
sta 6│eva 6│str 5│wis 7│arc 5│acc 6