Rule 1: Don't touch the Unknown PV Closed

❆❆ Our lives are as the snow; temporary, yet impactful. Cold, yet beautiful. It is our choice to either bundle up and face it, or to stay safe and warm by the fire. ❆❆

@Opeila Winters

Lunch. The holiest of all school activities - well, second if quidditch were to be included, but as of right now, Marshal was most assuredly not experiencing the exciting sport, thus crowning lunchtime as the current ruler of his daydreams. And there he was headed. All the information that he had gathered from his most recent class was effectively draining from his mind, replaced by thoughts of what exactly he would stuff his face with in mere minutes.
Admittedly, the loss of information wouldn't be as much of a problem, had he possessed an attention span that allowed him to take notes during class. Unfortunately, that simply wasn't his lot in life. Therefore, he would most likely force in some last-minute studying, or just wing it when the next test made its ugly self known.

All such troubling thoughts of actually learning something were unable to penetrate his current blissful state. He was almost to the Great Hall; he could practically smell the food within. But just prior to his entering through the great doors, he was stopped by a vaguely familiar voice calling his name, accompanied by an unexpected tap on his shoulder.
Whipping around to face the culprit, he couldn't help but let an eager grin cross his face. Out of all the fingers that could have conceivably poked him, he couldn't think of many that he would prefer over Opeila's. Of course, he hadn't seen the girl since Summer Camp, but that only made the reunion that much sweeter.

"Hi, Opeila! Long time, no see!" he replied enthusiastically. "I'd love to talk, anytime. Don't even have to ask." He glanced toward the doors leading to the Great Hall. A multitude of students piled past the two of them, adding drastically to the number of people who would get a shot at the food within before Marshal. He didn't love the idea of allowing that number to grow.
Turning back to Pei, he questioned, slightly anxiously, "Is this something we can talk about over lunch, or do we need to go somewhere private or something?" He sincerely hoped for the first option, but his luck never did seem to like him that much. Then again, this was Opeila he was talking to. Even if he had to forego lunch today - though the thought pained him - he didn't see any way that he could not enjoy his time with her. It was a win-win situation, he supposed. Though the bigger win would come if he could spend time with Opeila while eating food.
He thought back to when they had first met, back at camp. That was where he had learned that the combination of Opeila and food was a wonderful one, despite a bit of choking here and there. He could get over that, obviously.

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

[font=Times New Roman]@Opeila Winters

His worst fears were quickly confirmed with Opeila's response, turning his eyes and his hopes slightly downward. Why, he wondered, couldn't this have waited until after lunch? Perhaps they could have skipped a class, rather than his favorite part of the school day. Now, that really would have been a splendid turn of events.

Panic? Cause for caution? What was she about to drag him into? The uncertainty swiftly dragged his mood off of the ground once more, for uncertainty meant excitement, and excitement often came as a result of adventure, something that he was particularly fond of. Besides, who better to skip lunch with?
His mind made up, he nodded, his regular joyfulness having returned to his expression. "Lead the way, then!" he said. "I'll follow you wherever you want me to go."
And follow he did, away from the grand doors of the Great Hall and through a more discrete passageway, leading into an abandoned classroom.
Eyes exploring the space, he found that he was unfamiliar with the room, and vaguely wondered when he might discover its purpose.

Opeila started by mentioning the Fall Ball, inevitably causing the young Gryffindor's heart to sore, certain that his dreams were about to come true. An eager 'Yes' was ready on his lips before she finished the sentence. But unfortunately for him, her next words were nothing like he had imagined. Instead of a heart-felt confession of her undying love for him, or even a shy request that he attend the ball with her, simply because she didn't dislike him too much, she informed him that she needed to explain something about these kind of activities at the school.
A dull hope that this was all a random preface to what she actually wanted to ask him still remained within his chest, though that, too, was soon demolished.
They always go wrong? He repeated in his mind, confused. Wrong how, he wondered? Did half of the attendees tend to die a horrible death, or did they always run out of food and refreshments? Given a choice between the two scenarios, he wasn't sure which he would choose, as his rumbling stomach made the latter sound truly awful indeed.
Evidently, reality was closer to the first option. He listened intently as she explained; he would have been on the edge of his seat, had his rear end been planted. A giant bee attack. How awfully exciting that sounded. The boy envisioned himself wielding an oversized fly swatter, waging war with the killer bugs as the countless girls he defended swooned in the background. Yes, it did sound wonderful, didn't it?
Then the ball before that had been wrecked by part-giants, she said. Marshal had seen a couple of those wandering the halls, and their sheer size had unfailingly astounded him, though he tried not to stare too much. His mother would never tolerate such rude behavior.

Now Pei got to the real point of everything she was telling him. She wanted to know if he knew any spells; perhaps in hopes that he could defend himself, were something horrible to happen again.
Absentmindedly brushing the pocket that held his wand with one hand, he used the other to scratch his head sheepishly.
"Well, I know Periculum and Verdimillious. I guess I could be the first one to signal if someone needed help." Now that he thought about it, those two spells seemed rather inadequate when facing the possibility of giant wasps, or giant people. But he was not to be discouraged, as shown by the finger he jabbed at the air. "But magic isn't all I have, you know! I'm pretty scrappy, and if all else fails, I have my trusty stabbing stick. Those part-giants wouldn't stand a chance." The confidence on his face might have been a façade, but his father had always told him, 'Fake it 'till you make it.' And fake it, he did.

"Unrelated note," he added innocently. "There doesn't happen to be a supply of giant fly swatters laying around anywhere, does there? Or swords? Or shields? Or any other kind of weapon that doesn't have anything to do with saying fancy words and waving a stick in the air?"