Serendipity PV: Rafael D'Spacito Abandoned

@Persephone Barret

[font=Segoe Print]Serendipity.

A funny creature, surely, as uncontrollable and fickle as it was. If anyone asked the young Gryffindor about his thoughts on such a concept, he would have to conclude that it was a strange force of nature, a sad excuse for the universe to make a soap opera out of the lives of innocent souls. ‘To interweave two people’s paths into one’, his mother had described to him once. A sign of good fortune to some, a superstition to others. Most people often talked about serendipity in a loving way, as one would talk about a wondrous mess of fate. A happening of destiny everyone prayed to see once in their lives.

Though, anyone who knew Rafael, knew he didn’t believe in such horseshit.

Perhaps the root of his hatred of such premonitions would have something to do with the boy’s mutual hatred of the universe. As silly and farfetched as the concept was, he was completely, one-hundred-percent positive that there were greater forces out there, forces completely hell-bent on screwing him over time and time again. And he would be a liar to say he hated it – in a way, he seemed to embrace his cursed destiny, choosing to wrestle with his fate rather than succumb to the universe’s plans. Yes, it seemed as if the world had something against him – he was here today, after all, walking into a carefully-laid trap set by his invisible nemesis.

What was the opposite of serendipity, again? Misfortune?

It had been the universe that had willed an onset of ominous storm clouds to blot the sun out of the bright March skies this fine morning, and the universe that had shied off all his dormmates during the earlier hours of the day. The thunderbird had been startled out of his sleep by a particular loud bout of thunder, the vibrations strong enough to rattle the floors of the castle. [A comforting noise, he would always explain, albeit startling.] He’d risen from the confines of his warm bed, drowsy and dazed, his eyes blurry and tired as he surveyed the dark, empty dorm room, for all intents and purposes believing it was early in the morning. It hadn’t been until he’d put in his contact lenses that he could fully survey the time – terribly, wonderfully late he was, a detention waiting to happen. Fucking wonderful.

He hadn’t spent a lot of time waiting around after that startling realization, instead opting to throw on some robes and make a run for his class. He hadn’t even had enough time to tidy his hair, for Chrissakes, and had completely disregarded his potions homework, lazily sitting on his nightstand among a thousand other papers. Something he would surely come to realize later in his class, a realization that would only increase the weight of the damper on his mood. His footsteps echoed quickly across the tiles of the empty halls, its usual occupants hidden amongst the recesses of the nearby classrooms. An unsettling fact, only serving as a painful reminder that he was moments away from a detention.

[Potions, he would have to conclude, was one of the more ambitious classes of the school, as it required a great deal of mathematics and attention to detail – something the young boy had never had a vast amount of. Therefore, he couldn’t say that Potions was his favorite class; nonetheless, he wouldn’t say it was a total bore. Rather, it proved as a great source of entertainment, as he quite enjoyed concocting new ways to make his cauldron explode or odor.]

[Did that make him a bad person? Absolutely.]

The thoughts of detention would only continue to plague his mind as he stumbled into the Potions Room, his hair disheveled and robes rumpled as his eyes searched desperately for an open seat. Everything’s full, he noted with growing frustration. No free seats. Not one bloody seat. The longer he waited, the more he chanced to be noticed. An unsettling fact that stressed his shoulders, his knuckles white as he clutched his books. [The last thing he needed was a howler from his mother. Of the very short list of things he feared, the woman was second on the list. Perhaps it was her from which his acting abilities came from – it was the only way to explain how the woman could go from cordial and cheerful to suddenly satanic in a moment’s notice.] Pushing his hair out of his face with his sleeve, his eyes combed over the desks with renewed fervor.

There was only one left.

A sigh escaped his lips at the mere sight – an oasis it was, a refuge, a place of safety. He had no time to ponder whether the person he was sitting by was cordial or evil, friend or foe, as his feet were already moving, his mind blank as if in a trance. Without another thought, nor breath of permissive air, he slipped into the last remaining seat, setting his things down abruptly and with an air of finality.

And that’s when he saw her.

Fresh pain sprouted up into his groin at the very thought of Persephone. The girl, left him on edge in a way that couldn’t exactly be described as fear. Perhaps the better word would be caution, vigilance – he couldn’t afford to let his guard down around such a dangerous question mark. He’d only seen the girl a few times – once in the Valentine’s Day event from afar, when she had wrought havoc against his co-captain, and once in the very room he now stood in. She had defended Jack, for some, deranged reason. [Note: Did she like him? Were they romantically involved? Such a violent girl deserved such a partner, he supposed.] She’d also gone for the low blow, too, a positively disgraceful move.

But, it wasn’t so much as the violence that set him off – rather, it was her strangely cryptic words. They flooded back to him in an utterly painful moment, her disdainful tones rushing to his ears as if freshly spoken. “…A word of advice, be confusing. You, my friend, are clear as day….”

At the very memory, a scoff escaped his lips, grating against the silence of the tranquil room. He wasn’t sure what he found so humorous about the notion – perhaps it was the irony of the whole situation. He’d been called predictable before, a fact he wasn’t exactly ashamed of in anyway. However, the way the girl had made it out, had sounded like an insult, a knife meant to plunge into his gut and frustrate him. And frustrate him, it had, to the point where her words echoed around his thoughts late at night, keeping him from drowning in the depths of his own sleep.

Before he could even contain his own words, they slipped out, a well-practiced whisper. “Predictable, eh?” he muttered, a bitter smile on his face as he opened his books, his eyes flitting easily over the words, surely garnering her attention. If she wanted unpredictable, she was going to get it. “Maybe. But my plan seemed to work, didn’t it?” A smile snuck onto his features at the memory of his little interaction with Jack – perhaps he hadn’t gotten the revenge he had hoped for, but he’d garnered some relief, he supposed. A shameless gratification. [/font]

@Rafael D'Spacito

Concerning herself with the best interest of the majority was a forlorn act bestowed upon Persephone by the creature that resided within all breathing organisms, a dangerous instinct that came in the two-for-one package of life. Sympathy. The Slytherin nearly gagged at the very thought of its vengeance; for years, sympathy was the mortal enemy, the true darkness that lay within and quietly disintegrated someone’s pure character from the inside out. Surrounding like vultures to a corpse, her supposed guardians had ridded themselves of this burden, admirably focusing on their own heedless desires at the deadly expense of their passengers. Blood suckers that didn’t cease at the scarlet essence, but intended to drink your soul until you were left a ghost, wandering among the living and wailing for someone to attend to you.

This was getting far too personal.

In truth, progress had been made on the blonde’s part toward this specific aspiration, a seemingly impossible task for someone of her stature to take on. The grounding part, the aspect of life that chained her to the incarceration of reality, was the concept that outside her own perspective, seeing through another’s gloomy eyes, Persephone was a member of ‘the majority’, a nameless face in an indistinct crowd. Amidst the human race, everyone was the main character in their own story, their lives an unread biography of trivial experiences that left readers with a sense of boredom. Even aside from this, how was one supposed to become so emotionally invested in another person that their individual stories intertwined and became one of no relevance still? Looking at things from a more factual than individual perspective, it was abundantly clear that if Persy was deserving of sympathy for her prologue, who was to say that other’s hadn’t dealt with similar conflicts?

Persy was. She was saying it.

Because they were the majority.

They didn’t matter.

On an uncomfortably more personal note relating to that monster suppressed in her humanly instinct, many yens of her own remained forsaken, those that could only be fulfilled with assistance that the first-year would never request out of pure righteousness. If things were achievable, she knew, then they were achievable on their own. People were often as untrustworthy as the universe itself.

Many times, Persephone had used the word ‘karma’, but never in a way intending to imply it was a real force working among them, at least not a force under the sway of the universe. Karma, better referred to as revenge, was a crutch for those who couldn’t avenge wrong-doings on their own accord, happy to depend on what they cannot see, touch, or sense. Alongside this, working on the frontlines, was coincidence, the true power among worlds. Perhaps it would break a figurative girl's heart to learn that the boyfriend who cheated on her didn’t become a victim of infidelity due to karma, but because he was a generally terrible boyfriend to begin with. It was a challenging concept to grasp, for many, that the universe wasn’t on their team. Karma isn’t real.

But if karma wasn’t real, why the hell did the latecomer have to be Rafael D’Spacito?

The scene of one of her more recent infractions replayed in her head, an inappropriate smile making its way through the flood of accurate facial expressions. Serving under justice, the lion had received a swift knee to the groin, rightfully so may she add, because many of her actions appeared widely misunderstood. Explaining things to those who choose not to comprehend them was a waste of her time, however; time that could be better spent laughing at them. Laughing at Rafael D’Spacito.

Against what should’ve been his better judgement, the dark-haired boy whispered to her, an action Persy could only assume was motivated by embarrassment. Why else try to argue the truth? He had been granted a merciful favor by one, not ending up in more agony, and two, receiving the blonde’s everlasting valuable advice.

“...be confusing.”

Yet here he was, neglecting it. A pitiful existence for those who never learn.

With a soft breath, her eyes met his for a fleeting moment. “Your plan seemed to work? Had you planned on taking a knee to the privates, lion? That’s somewhat silly if you ask me.” The snake met his smile, watching carefully as he peeled his books opened. Yes, of course. They were in class. Her favorite, for that matter, and he would not ruin it as he had her evening with the rose, no matter how badly he yearned to. Or, against her strongest wish, maybe the monster inside would make its appearance. Only in that aspect, did she wish to mimic her parents.

@Persephone Barret

[font=Segoe Print]“Your plan seemed to work? Had you planned on taking a knee to the privates, lion? That’s somewhat silly if you ask me.”

For a clever girl, it seemed as if Perse’s forethinking was a bit shorter than Rafael had anticipated. Which was quite humorous, if you asked him. And to think that he ad ever considered her a threat. No, on the contrary, the boy knew better than most that pain was only a pathway to success, as any tenured fighter could surely relate to. Getting your way was seldom easy, as anyone who had ever gone anywhere in life had gotten there through blood, sweat and tears. Which, sure, didn’t pertain to such a menial matter all that well, but the facts were true. How could she have not seen? He had gotten Jack exactly where he wanted him.

[Granted, that fact wasn’t necessarily true. He’d wanted Jack to suffer. Instead, he’d gotten a limp figure on the floor, broken glass, and a hardly settled vengeance, burning like a signal fire within the pits of his own soul.]

A knee to the groin had only been a small step to that success. A necessary pain, surely, but now that he reminisced on the turn of events, he regretted nothing. Nonetheless, the very memory of such an interaction caused the boy to wince once more, in mere memory of the immense pain he had previously felt. Her aim, he had learned the hard way, was sharper than most, as was her strength. Perhaps she still was a threat. However, the boy would do little to pay this any mind, instead sending the girl an easy, innocent smile, an edge of creeping condescension on his features. He’d always been a rather good actor – but Perse didn’t have to know that. “Last time I checked,” he drawled, “your boyfriend was the one on the floor. Which, I suppose, is a victory in my book.” A sharp prod towards the girl’s defensiveness at Jack. Any other explanation would make no sense to the boy, therefore he would pay no mind to them. Besides, what were insults if you couldn’t have a bit of fun with them?

He turned to his book once more, considering it with a wry gaze, his lips parted slightly in a gentle smile as he considered his lesson plan, something devious in his innocent gaze. Carefully planted, an Easter egg meant for Perse to find. “Ah, a Muffling Draught. Lovely.” He’d read of this potion before – with just a mere whiff, one would be struck mute, having to resort to a pen and paper for communication. His gaze wavered for a moment, his brown eyes looking at the girl in question. An idea popped into his head just then. If words hurt, why not take them away?

He wouldn’t let Perse know of his brilliant concepts, however, instead focusing on getting his notebook out, ready to take notes on the lesson. A small slip-up on his part, as he never took notes in class. Though, Perse would never have known that. “You wouldn’t mind too much, to be silent while I worked, yeah?” he sniffed, his friendly look fading slightly into a more subtle one, his lips pulled in a line, his eyes carrying the same mischievous energy they once had. “I find your voice to be a bit shrill – terrible to the ears. Would you be a dear?” His words were condescending, and purposefully so – he was trying to push her buttons.

“But, before that – riddle me this. What do you find so attractive about a vile boy like Jack?” [/font]

@Rafael D'Spacito

“Last time I checked, your boyfriend was the one on the floor. Which, I suppose, is a victory in my book.” The smile that enlightened the dungeon with disgustingly feigned genuineness made Persephone sick, a creeping nausea overtaking the once calm waves. As sickening as it was, his expression cowered in comparison to his verbiage, purposely chosen to distress her, to patronize her into proving his ever-incorrect point.

With almost supernatural suddenness, the ‘boyfriend’ or ‘crush’ jokes had overtaken insults directed at Persy, possibly intended in a teasing manner that instead erupted volcanically, ultimately dooming the jokester who thought it funny; in this case, that idiot was Rafael. This wasn’t his first blood-boiling comment, so disgusting in implication that it was one of the few phrases genuinely offensive; it had first risen to the scarlet surface during the infamous flower errand. After Burnett [second-guessing every thought now] captured the lions’ intimate relationship in a portrait of roses dawned over the board, the male of the pair had lost his head first, throwing a shimmering crystal vial at the trickster. Perhaps he hadn’t realized that actions had sweet consequences, call it self-directed karma, and has misinterpreted the impression of a justice vigilante.

Because that was all it was.

“As beyond you as this may be, I want you to think for a moment. That’s all I’ll ask! Just a moment.” She batted her green eyes at him, puckering her lips in a quiet beg. “Think of me, then think of Burnett, but then think of me again to clean that filth from your mind. Does that even seem reasonable?” Insults were self-inflicted, only bothering those who allowed such trivial statements to sting like a wasp. Today she’d brought a bat to the nest, yet allowed them to swarm her. The bug spray screaming from her pocket would remain unused.

Even though being paired, if only in theory, with Burnett was properly offensive in itself, the malign nature of the proposition didn’t end, or even begin at that enhancing detail. The raw concept of having a romantic relationship of any sort was formidable; love was a dictator of life, one that’s commands beared no weight if you remained devoted hopelessly to anarchy. Truly, it seemed so effortless, but scarcely were the facts of life uncomplicated or without incentive. To commit to chaos, disruption, the lifestyle had to seem appealing in all different aspects, including those that were often overlooked by the irresponsible optimists. Craving order or dependency in your life was the gateway to wanting to drown in unreal love. The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules. 

But by becoming loyal to this logic and ideation of what anarchy was, one was reintroducing the idea of a black and white spectrum, one the blonde had dismissed long ago. Persephone had a methodical, prepared way of thinking even if the ultimate goal was simple: disrupt the natural order. One could say she was pulling the gate to Love’s kingdom, on the edge of submission.

She would, without hesitation, argue against this. Win, perhaps not. There were codes to adhere to when one lived without rules, as if trading in a blade for a sword. As greatly as hypocrisy was despised, it began to look like the normal human process. If the only way to practice what she preached was to abandon human instinct, maybe that was the ideal solution.

“Oh yes, Rafael, I would simply love to fulfill all your commands. Should I go make a sandwich too, so you don’t get winded pretending to care about this class?” It was nothing more than a taunt, an assumption on her part, but even hardly looking over his appearance, judgement was made immediately and was unanimous among all her instincts. No living guy was that conventionally attractive without a decomposing soul, maggots crawling in and out of his copper eyes.

“But, before that – riddle me this. What do you find so attractive about a vile boy like Jack?”

Persephone hadn’t registered her physical recoiling from the question until her nerves settled once again, heart suddenly quickening at the very ignorant inquiry. Where were these terrible ideas coming from? Who [someone remarkably unhealthy in the head] could gaze at the pair of snakes and see any aura of interest between them? All that lived in the grey space working as a malfunctioning barrier were colonies of different reasons to loathe each other, resentment breeding from each and every action committed, asexually reproducing by multiplication.

People were seeing that right? Or was it not enough? Perhaps a revision would be necessary.

The first-year chuckled, obviously being ironic as she covered her lips with her pale hand. “You caught me! It’s just too cute when he insults me or tries to tackle me. Unlike you, who doesn’t have the courage to hit someone who ‘attacked’ you.” Easy. “What was that you said? Rip of my leg, right? Go right ahead, do that. I await the day.”

Her heavy textbook lay open in front of her now, pages flipped until the Muffling Draught’s portion was readable. The blue potion, like an ever-glowing sea, was powerful enough to omit its effect through only a shallow breath. Potions being the class it was, preparation was second-nature to the blonde, the page bookmarked prematurely in apprehension for this lesson. Persy hoped to drown Rafael away by engaging even further in a lecture such as this [quite handy in the real world, and in the presence of an annoyingly verbose lion], or even better, perhaps the Gryffindor would realize his comments were fruitless to her. Slackers often didn’t participate much in such complicated classes, and he looked the type without fault. Please, appearances, don’t be deceiving.

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Interacting With: @Persephone Barret
Mentioning: Elliot Price • Jo Morgan • Jack Burnett

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[font=Segoe Print]“Think of me, then think of Burnett, but then think of me again to clean that filth from your mind. Does that even seem reasonable?”

There was nothing that came out of the girl’s mouth, the boy wryly thought to himself with a grimace, that sounded even remotely reasonable. It was as if she assumed herself to hold any verbal power on him – she was sorely at a loss in this instance, her words holding no significance to the Gryffindor boy she was partnered with, and the reason was sown to her robes, the snake symbol practically glowing in contrast to the black it rested upon. An ugly sight, no doubt about it, yet any attempts to rip it off her outfit would be utterly vain, only landing him a detention. Which, he had no particular qualms over – however, the monster he feared was much more powerful, fearsome than any teacher or prefect. His mother had sworn to send him a howler, should he land himself in trouble once more. He would do well not to disturb a woman as herself, as he valued his health and safety just as much as his pride.

However, that wasn’t to say he couldn’t have fun in his own little way.

“If you’d like,” he said casually, a wry grin slipping onto his face in response to her proposal as he shrugged nonchalantly, eyes closed. “I’d love a sandwich, sounds delicious. Though, not sure I'd be one to accept anything from your kind. I actually value my health.” A pathetic comeback, sure, but witty words weren’t his focus right now. What really interested him, was the potion ingredients, lying before his fingertips, recipe before his eyes. Sure, he liked to screw around a lot – but what would happen, should he actually attempt to succeed? The area was definitely undiscovered, a well of possibility pooling just beyond his eyes. What was he capable of?

Such thoughts, however, could do nothing to prevent a massive grin from infecting his features at the sound of her concession. Sarcastic, of course, but he could certainly use it, couldn’t he? “Aww, that’s… sadistically cute,” he remarked, looking over at the Slytherin sweetly. “You know what, I don’t care who you are, or what you’ve done. I’m happy for you.” Shrugging, he focused his eyes back on the book in front of him. “Even losers deserve love.” The words were lilting, sugar-sweet, a prod towards the temperamental girl. Again, not the worst insult, but he had more important things to worry about.

Without much regard towards the girl’s expression or reactions, he turned deftly, beginning to measure out his ingredients. “So much anger, so much rage,” he mused aloud, a gentle smile still tugging at his lips. “I mean, I know a problem child when I see one, being one myself – what’s your deal, Perse? What are you hiding?” Then, stopping, he turned, raising an eyebrow. “Will we ever know what lies behind that porcelain exterior, blue eyes?” He was speaking in riddles again, damn Jo and her poetry. However, such things held little value in the moment. Turning once more, he deftly got back to work on the potion at hand, humming a little song as he worked. [/font]

@Rafael D'Spacito

Rafael truly was remarkable; somehow, every word he said served as gasoline, Persephone barely containing herself to circumvent the detention that would likely evolve from a repeat of their previous encounter. Life, to him, seemed a game, his peers a toy placed upon the pallet to dwell and melt into his infinite entertainment. It wasn’t a perspective the blonde was unfamiliar with, moving the pawn across the checkered board with a sly grin of victory, suppressing all those emotions that would be frowned upon. Each time the boy broke the holy silence with his voice of security, she fell victim to his facade, listening beyond his words. If provoked in just the correct manner, nudged in the exact right direction, perhaps the dark-haired Gryffindor would attempt to rip her leg off. And maybe he’d enjoy it, too.

Contrary to the intimidation this may strike in a weaker partner, it truly made the lion that much more interesting to observe. Not interesting in the way that say, Flash, was interesting, but rather in the way of finding his moment of surrender. When did he throw up the white flag? When did he break the dusk with a blinding sun? At what time would her presence move through him in the manner of a spirit, chilling and enlightening, so that the poor, devastated Rafael would know better than to incite her? Twirling the pearly quill between her fingers, Persy frowned at last, further frustrated by his remarks, imitation of whatever a ‘misogynist’ was supposed to look like. Newsflash to the victimized girls, Persephone had extraordinarily little uncertainty that Rafael behaved almost the same towards any boy. Honestly, wasn’t he just full of mysteries?

Looking back down at the textbook before her, almost entirely ignoring the lesson ahead, Persephone shook her head with a quiet, dry laugh. “Astonishingly clever, honestly. Can’t believe I didn’t just burst into flames from that burn. You’re sitting at a table with me, how much do you really value your safety?” A mocking voice that echoed behind the walls of her skull assured her that the lion didn’t think that far ahead, no words that escaped him held true meaning, nothing to be taken away from the conversation. His intention was to burn the rage within her, destroy things, and so far, that felt rather successful.

Bitterness underneath those declarations of sugar, it didn’t reduce that voice to nothingness, it remained strong and screaming, and in terms even Rafael could process: annoying. Lips parting and a silent breath falling from them, it came to light that he was probably too underdeveloped for her deceit, her trickery and use. Though, maybe in due time, the barbaric nature behind those hard eyes would prove useful in future endeavors. Even thinking that induced nausea. “I’m so glad you think so too, that shows great self-confidence.”

“My eyes are green, thanks.” Now the blonde was, undoubtedly, taking him too seriously, but Rafael stabbed in a weak spot, barely aware of it. Blue eyes were one of the few things she didn’t take from him. The traits the differentiated one from the other, they faded away under the dimming light of time. But her eyes would never be that cold. “Nice attempt at poetry, though it doesn’t fit you. It would be similar to me actually telling you a damn thing about me. Wouldn’t fit, would it?” The boy pretended to return to working, an unfamiliar song in the air. With yet another look of hindrance, Persy would look away from him and attempt to focus on the work, keeping those symptoms somatic.

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Interacting With: @Persephone Barret
Mentioning: N/A

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[font=Segoe Print]"You’re sitting at a table with me, how much do you really value your safety?"

Well, that was an easy answer. He didn’t, which was more than evident by the fights he provoked, teachers he mouthed off to. Safety was artificial, as was a lot of things in life – family, feeling, deity. And to be completely honest, the child had reached that point in his life where, he couldn’t really bring himself to care about such matters anymore. It was true, he usually flew by the seat of his pants, but there was something truly enlightening about being a Gryffindor – he didn’t fear things as much as the typical human being. There were things, sure, that made his skin crawl. Aurelia, Evelynn, his mom. Perse was definitely on the list. Pain? Safety? Such things were irrelevant, and therefore, he would not put forth the energy to deal with them. Rather, he would prefer to face his problems head on, with a shit-eating smirk and witty one-liner. There were worse ways to go down in history, were there not?

Well, she simply wasn’t taking the scattered jokes. Shame. Perhaps he’d better try a different tactic then – he’d been having this awfully bright spell lately, the ability to get under people’s skin with carefully placed names, insinuations. And, while there was no guarantee it would work on the Slytherin girl, of whom had probably been subject to every trick in the book, it was at least worth a try. A charming smile upon his face, he cocked his head horizontally towards her direction, eyes still glued to his book in nonchalance. “It wouldn’t fit,” he agreed easily, as if getting back to a serious conversation after a well-placed joke. “And, to be completely honest, I’m curious to know why. You see," he looked up for a quick moment, nodding her direction, "it's been proven scientifically that most people like to talk about themselves. It’s only natural, to want to share all about you. After all, you are the center of your own world.” Then, adding an ingredient, “Strangely enough, you seem to like to deflect a lot. A sign of weakness, will to please others … or maybe, a sign of fear. But you wouldn't be afraid, now. You're Persephone fucking Barret!” He punctuated his words with a chuckle, glancing down at his handiwork. To be completely honest, the boy was in no way trying to get her to tell him about her life – his words were merely a ploy to get under her skin, make her uncomfortable. He could still get answers that way. Leaning in, he pretended to get serious, like he actually cared. “What, let me guess. Your friend stabbed you in the back. Or, even better – daddy issues. Did you grow up on the streets? Did a family member die?”

He really didn’t know why the fuck he was talking. Oh, how easy it would be, to trip and fall on his own knife. Still, he was curious, his eyes searching the face of the girl across from him for any sort of tic, tell, indication that he was, in fact, right in his assumptions. The conversation, in his eyes, had strayed from the need to get a rise out of his acquaintance, to the need to satiate his own desire for information. And, while he was sure that it wouldn’t come from the lips of the antagonist, perhaps her body language would tell a different story. Still, he couldn’t lead her on, let her know his plan. Rather, he decided to move on to his potion once more, making quick work to throw in another torrent of ingredients. It would be only a matter of time before his concoction was complete. Perhaps he’d get precious answers before then… [/font]

@Rafael D'Spacito

The last thing anyone could’ve expected, even those who could distinguish the future of the coming days and hours that molded into weeks with such toxin, that Rafael could say a single comprehensible thing. Let alone something correct in its assumption, no matter how largely this minor detail was ignored. Truly, the two had hardly spoken in a nature that permitted Persephone to make assumptions on where precisely his knotted brain lacked proper function, yet this also ‘minor’ detail wouldn’t put a strong halt on such behavior. By nature, Persy belonged to diagnostics, specializing in one particular field: the recognition of incurable idiocy. Her emerald eyes saw past his body language for a brief moment, and surely disregarded any useless information he spit as though it would assist him, and instead deduced what was so obviously present. Shots in the dark, a dark that was so black it left its observants perpetually blind in its sewing seeds and threads. Sadly, these shots were ignited in flames of luck, the worst kind of ignition for Persephone.

When dealing with people who clearly couldn’t grasp the depth of words beyond three syllables, it was best to break his own accusations down into parts to be dealt with. Separate him, make the beauty in his chaos manageable; it was odd to crave both stability and untamable anarchy, but perhaps they were one and the same. Though, of course, this would only come to a truthful light when applied to the blonde that shaped it into what it was born to be. It couldn’t be utilized against her; the rain would wash such pity away and let the sun unravel all the accomplishments under the thunder. “I’d like you to introduce me to these ‘scientific studies’ whenever you get the chance.” Her tone was complimented in unattainable mockery, something that couldn’t be replicated. The lion would never know where to start in an endeavor to match her level.

Disagreeable philosophies, he possessed. Center of your own world, but no one had their own universe wrapped around the edge of their finger like a porcelain ring of Saturn. Perspectives, yes, and they did honestly consider their own of the highest value, but this didn’t amount to the world. It amounted to whatever their selfishness birthed and created within themselves, an endless cycle of creation and narcissism, no person immune. Not Persephone, though her individual and restless case may be justified, not Rafael, not Evelynn or any other fleeting member of the majority that was granted presence deep within her thoughts. Those were trenches that couldn’t be escaped by the strongest of will. The ideas would starve and drown in nourishment simultaneously.

“You sound like you’re projecting, deal with your own problems for once.” The blonde replied, as though tossing his entire explanation into the garbage behind her. It wasn’t worth reading, nor any brand of looking into that one could create from the smallest loophole. His second subject, though, was true. Persephone feared nothing except the obvious, the truthful, the inescapable grasp of reality, not the idea but what it held with it. His intimidation was a distant second string. Colorful language could be overlooked, it actually made the young Slytherin feel slightly more at ease. Yet, in honesty, she was never tense to begin; nothing about Rafael warranted such discomfort. Still, the girl would grasp at crippling threads such as simple misconduct.

Before she could say another regrettable line, however, the boy interjected once again with a chuckle and his best imitation of someone who cared. This façade was pathetic in a sickening light, and never would he convince Persy of his sincerity. That, and that only, was more dangerous than most nightmarish creatures dreamt by the innocent mind of a twelve-year-old. It was too bad she wasn’t typical. Any signal of distress was suppressed in an agonizing fashion; the slip-up with Evelynn in the nearby corridor could not be repeated, and it wouldn’t be. Though, the harsh scowl in her words wouldn’t do much to cover the annoyance. Or, a better word she may need to dumb down, rage. Their meeting was only so magical from his gaze.

“First of all, me? Backstabbing friends? Unlike you, I don’t need the assurance of unremarkable people to convince me of my worth. Second, your assumptions are off base, but it was a pleasant attempt. Third, watch your language and senseless accusations, or I’ll put my quill in your fucking eye.” What started full of loathing had diminished into an almost joking voice, so different from the words that their dimensions could be opposite. Only his fatal underestimation could kill their impact, each word quite literal regardless of the humor. To top it off, Persephone gave him a playful wink before returning to her own work, fully intending to let him fade into a soft dusk.