"I just don't fit in here, I can't help what I feel."
Pierre Leabhcra, a second year Pomefiore student! Otherwise known as 'The one who wants to leave the dorm', or 'the one who causes Pomefiore's troubles'. As always, Housewarden Schoenheit's [least] favourite student~!
About Blog:
This is a reuploaded blog as my old account succumbed to a scam and hence was deleted alongside my @fairestvil blog. Only this blog will be remade/continued until further notice.
Basic DNI - Any discrimination towards anyone will not be tolerated and will result in an instant block. I sometimes do interactions with non-TWST rp's here, so please treat any other accounts that are interacting with my blog with respect too.
Spoilers are welcome, however please put [SPOILERS] at the top of your ask for those who may not want them.
All ships are welcome except proships, teacher x student ships :) Please note that Mod may reference/imply ships between canon characters occasionally. Because this is an OC account, there is no real 'ship' with him, but I am open to any anons, canon rps or other oc rps that want to engage as a ship!!
OC lore under the cut. It's long, I'm sorry, I got a bit carried away-! :)
Basic Information:
Name: Pierre Leabhcra
Dorm/Class: Pomefiore/2-D
Age: 17 Height: 176cm
Best Subject: History of Magic/Language Studies
Birthday: 14th April
Club: None
Hobbies: Poetry, Writing, Reading
Homeland: An island just off the Queendom of Roses [Ireland]
Likes: Debating, winning/being right, talking about his interests
Dislikes: Being accused of doing almost every bad thing that happens in Pomefiore
Fun Fact: His surname comes from the words 'Leabhar' [Book] and 'Corcra' [Purple] in Irish! :)
Film Inspiration:
He is inspired from this book on the Evil Queens bookshelf that was never in her [hand-shown] considerations when she was looking for the poisons book, shown below!
Personality:
Pierre is someone who is absolutely certain in his abilities yet is very socially awkward. He feels as though he doesn't fit in anywhere he goes and that he is constantly trying to prove against being a troublemaker, because most of the time, his only trouble is the fact that he doesn't hold himself to the 'Pomefiore standard': I like to think this is most likely shown by the fact that Pomefiore dorm is meant to not only be a dorm of beauty, but of creativity and letting people embrace themselves towards self improvement, but [as a mostly shown by the fandom thing] it is mostly seen as just a place to enhance beauty [which isn't helped by Vils actions as Housewarden /Pierres opinion]
He doesn't have an interest in beauty, but rather was placed in the dorm for his creative abilities, which makes him a bit of an outcast among other groups in the dorm. He does have friends and others who get along with him similarly, but because he is not fully 'into it' he often gets put in situations that make him feel like he doesn't belong. Because of his disinterest/dislike in the dorm as it is commonly known, he also bears the brunt of being quickly accused of doing things that he didn't do, simply because 'Oh, he doesn't like the dorm, he must have done it then'. He can also get very defensive.
He's generally a silly guy who can take things lightheartedly, but when it's something that pokes at his own insecurities [<- what was mentioned above], he can get quite defensive and argue about it. He is also quite reckless in a sense of he will argue with people who he thinks deserve it, shamelessly, and hence there's a bit of tension between him and certain others [Vil, specifically].
This is stemmed from Pierres original reference, when the Evil Queen doesn't even consider the purple book because it wasn't one that was on the subject of potions/poisons. Vil doesn't care much for Pierre because they have different opinions and ideals that clash, so he is not always in his good favour. He will come across almost goofy or careless with his friends/people he is familiar with, but he knows a lot more than he lets on and uses it to do things like write poetry, which is his top hobby.
Unique Magic: "Turn the Page!"
"Hidden spells behind tattered covers, your secret soon revealed. Turn the Page!"
His unique magic allows him to read another person's mind, though only to answer a specific question at a time. He will mentally say the question as he casts the spell, and the answer will practically pull itself from the other person's mind and be readable to him like pages of a book. Though he can only ask one question at a time, the opponent won't be able to know what question was asked or what information was revealed to him. He has never used his unique magic on another Night Raven College student. [Thus far...]
Background:
Pierre is an only child, though he has three cousins on his fathers side: Two younger than him and one older only by a few months, between his aunt and uncle and their respective partners. He never got along with them, always feeling a lot younger than them due to the three of them seeing each other more often than they saw him [Living the furthest away].
As a result of this, his parents encouraged him to join local clubs and activities, many of which he would join partially/mid-way through the year after suddenly quitting another due to disinterest, which would often lead him excluded [with little fault to the other kids] because they had already had time to for introductions and formed their own little friend groups. This didn't help with keeping him motivated for the club.
Where he grew up, sporting was a very popular hobby amongst people his age, so much so that it was normalised to expect that most children would be involved in at least one sporting club. But it just never fit him, he didn't have it in him. What he did enjoy was school. His childhood and early teenage years read like a stereotype, yet felt completely unique to him. he would spend his lunches sitting on the steps of the building writing short stories and as he got older, poetry. It was his escape from a world that didn't suit him. Oftentimes his teachers admired him for it, overly praising him for things that he thought were average. Not that he didn't appreciate it.
He uncovered his magical abilities just after he turned thirteen, unsurprisingly due to his parents both also being mages. Once it has been discovered, his parents gifted him a practice magic pen, though they still monitored it carefully. And so, a new interest was born, one that he was sure would not fade as quickly as the others.
He had a few friends over the years, some of whom he shared his best memories with. But oftentimes those friendships ended with advances to higher level schools, and finally, his acceptance into Night Raven College, being one of two of his friends to get into a prestigious magical academy - the other choosing to attend Royal Sword Academy instead. That acceptance letter was a ticket to him, an offer dangling in front of his eyes, taunting him.
"This is what everything you have worked towards has led you too. Every piece of information you absorbed, each spell you endlessly practiced. Are you ready to take the next step? Can you keep it up?"
It was a challenge: Prove that he could be more than that lonely child that sat writing stories and fantasising his life away. Show his parents that this was who he was supposed to be. In his first year, he was sorted into Pomefiore dorm: The dorm based on the Fairest Queens spirit of tenacity. The very place where creatives make up most the dorms population, where anyone could thrive and find a beauty in themselves no matter how much they doubted themselves. This was- ... a dorm of lost meaning. Why were so many people fussing over how they looked? They all looked fine to him. 'No, stop it, Pierre, this is their ways of expressing themselves. You have no reason to judge.' It wasn't perfect, it wasn't at all what he expected it to be, but he would give it a try.
Current day:
Pierre isn't fond of Pomefiore dorm. In his opinion, everyone spends too long worrying about all the wrong things. It's a dorm of lost meaning, or so he calls it. His first year was a disaster he never wants to repeat. He pushed himself to try it all, to be the prim and proper student that so many others were trying to be. But it wasn't him, it never was. He excelled in many classes, overcompensating for his lack of contribution to his dorms social life.
Where did that land him? Stuck with mediocre grades, sitting on the fence between burnout and an egotistical urge to be better than he was in his first year. Named antisocial and awkward by his peers and an easy blame for dorm incidents. 'Why not? It's not like he likes this place anyway.'
A few friends, more as of late, an odd rivalary that is leading to him questioning the logistics of, and a habit of avoiding Vil Schoenheit at every opportune moment - something he never imagined being something he would have to do. What would he know? He's just a Pomefiore student after all.
Pierre/Hatton timeline:
Because of my previous blog deletion, I lost all of the threads that have built the lore with @stxrrydxsires oc, Hatton Paetel, so this section will be a brief summary of what has happened so far!
- They fight, a lot. Arguments moreso, but these two are not friends. One day they were dared [anon ask] to spend a week having dinner together for 20k Thaumarks of for Pierre to go bald for 20 Thaumarks. In that thread, Pierre was far too early for the meeting, ended up making a fool of himself, and ended up having a few genuine conversations with Hatton [the word genuine is being used lightly here], until the topic of future careers comes up, which leads to Pierre insulting Hattons parents [without meaning to, and then actually leaning into it], resulting in him getting punched in the jaw and knocked unconsious [because he cannot defend himself for his life.]
- Pierre stops Hatton in the hallways of Pomefiore one day, trying to apologise, which leads to the other attempting to run away after a conversation with Vil about how he will be avoiding Pierre. After some time Pierre grabs onto him, pulling him back so that he will listen. In that conversation, Pierre apologises for what he said during their night together and claims to want to be friends, to which Hatton agrees to accept his plea. Pierre also uses his Unique Magic on Hatton here, to find out what are some things that he wishes would be changed about Pierre. With the information he needed, starts a strange new obsession.
- Pierre owns a denim jacket which has a lot of patches from various different places on it, silly references and whatnot. He wore this jacket that night with Hatton, and upon cleaning out his room afterwards, he couldn't bear to look at it, because it served as a trophy of his own weakness and made him lament the mistakes he made that destroyed the little peace he had. He makes the decision to donate it to a charity shop the next time he is down in Foothill.
- Pierre uses him Unique Magic on Vil [formerly me] for the same reason that he used it on Hatton, and begins to make more changes to the way he carries himself and things that he does. He will proceed to use it on Vil multiple other times for questions that he does not want Vil knowing he is asking [these will not be made into threads and will simply be stated as things that he has done in the past]
- Pierre and Hatton studied together - History of Magic, Pierre's favourite and Hatton's least favourite, which made Pierre realise just how much he actually liked the company, though he was slightly disappointed that Hatton had not acknowledged the changes he made to try and impress him. Vil walks past and is surprised to see the two together, but hopes that it might be the start to something new between them.
- Re: @poisyn-iron-veil's post about chasing someone who is chasing another: Pierre pressures his friend for an answer, making a joke about it being him, only to take it too far and needlessly upset Poisyn. In the end he agrees to be there if he ever wants to share.
-> as an expansion to this: Poisyn knows that something is different about Pierre, and knows that it is Hatton who punched him that night, and hence there is some increased tension between them. Poisyn has tried to get Pierre to tell him what's going on, which Pierre has insisted he is fine.
Anything from this point forward should be displayed on the blog.
If you read all of this, thank you so much and I do hope you found it interesting!! Our wedding is next week. <3 /nsrs
Major shoutout to @idiasnacho for helping me get my original intro post back!!
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Hello :)
I'm going to be taking a short break, I know I'm not online enough to really 'warrant' a break but I just have some things going on that I'd rather get sorted and spend some time on, and my motivation hasn't been great recently, as was probably easy to tell, so I think it's just best for myself if I honestly just leave it be for now and come back to it when I know I'll be able to hold myself to a standard I'm happy with.
I don't know how long it will be, maybe a week, maybe a few days, I don't know. I apologise for any inconveniences caused and hope to be more active when I return.
Thank you for your understanding!
[This applies to both @pomefiorestudentidk2 and @fairest-vil]
//I'm thinking of making this a poetry blog lowkey.... I don't even build on Meadows lore or anything and honestly I don't really intend to, the motivation just isn't there to do it,
However with that being said. Pierre's main sort of 'focus/expression' is through poetry. So I don't know if it would become repetitive or what, but this would no longer be an oc blog and moreso a blog just for some of the poems that I want to share but have nowhere to share them to [because they don't correlate to Pierres story]
Is that something that would be of interest to anyone? Please let me know, honestly I can't even guarantee that it'll end up happening but its just an idea I wanted to throw out.
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Can I please request that people don't vent in Vil's asks please, even if just for a while... with no offence whatsoever, it's simply that mod is mentally unprepared to be able to offer the support that would be needed in these situations, and I don't want to put myself in a situation where I'm forcing myself to answer a vent ask simply because I feel I'm obligated to.
I appreciate the trust that comes with that, but at the end of the day, none of you know me beyond being the mod of a Vil roleplay blog. I am not a licensed therapist, and though in some situations I am happy to help, there are times where I am simply unable to for the sake of preserving my own mental wellbeing.
Please please please do not always rely on people online to help you. Not everyone has good intentions and not everyone can/will help you in the way that you need them too in certain situations. Please, if you can, reach out to someone who you trust; family, friends, teachers, management figures, anyone who you trust enough to tell.
And if you find that those options may not be applicable to you, I recommend searching up local help hotlines in your area, there are many good organisations out there who are more than happy to listen and try and help, and whose advice would be a lot more reliable than that of my own.
I appreciate and thank you all for all of the support on this blog, even as inactive as I am. Your support means a lot to me, and has even since I started it on the first blog. However I just don't want anyone to be put in a situation where they need help that I cannot give them, or that they are not happy with.
If my stance on this ever changes, I will be sure to make a post relating to it, however for now if I could please request this, it would be much appreciated, thank you all very much. :)
Oh my- THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU I don't think we have ever spoken before but you are now my friend whether you like it or not!!!
...This should not be encouraged but I am deeply grateful for it
Could we still join the ALNST event, or is it closed ? :)
//It's still open! Honestly from my side it's very inactive but many others are still actively partaking in it :)
The only thing that is closed for now is the tournament round where you are randomly assigned another blog, but other than you're free to do whatever you want!!
M&M addictions are no joke. Someone left an unopened bag in the dorm pantry and I figured 'Oh, I'll just have a handful if no one else is having them, before Housewarden sees them lying around"
I ate the full packet within 10 minutes. And now I want more. Please send help [and M&Ms]
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'In my heart I've yearned to see you, each time your name has crossed my mind,
I can't help but wonder deep down how we ended up on such opposite lines,
You who shines so brightly, your name known and beloved in lights,
And me who's still here in your shadow, hidden just plainly out of their sight.
How is that our fate has torn us so far apart?
Those boys from back then who made fun out of their suffering?
The boy whose smile had a chokehold on my heart,
Has, no, I could never get enough of it.
Take me back there, I'll write it again, away from this stage,
I don't want to have to keep knowing you through only memories on a page,
I want to know after all of these years, who have you become?
I want to know who you really are beyond being number one.
How does your smile look now, is it as sweet as back then?
Or is it something more stern now, to please them, just fake?
I'd do anything in this world just to catch a glimpse again,
Please, give me a chance to see you before fate decides it's too late.'
*Pierre slammed his notebook shut, sighing as he lay bark against the hard bark of the tree he had dubbed his 'hiding spot.' It was far enough away from others that he wouldn't be bothered when he wanted to write, yet wasn't far enough that anyone would get suspicious that he was up to something he shouldn't be.
It was the perfect place to just... let his feelings out. Recently it had felt as though he had no-one to turn to. No, he knew that he had no one. Poisyn was gone, his name haunted him often, false memories of a goodbye that never happened and a false hope of wishing he would return just before it was too late.
'Too late' - a term that he had been using a lot in his poetry. So far he had managed to succeed in any rounds of the tournament he had been placed into, having to stand there with a grateful smile on his face, trying not to flinch as his opponent received their somewhat 'second place trophy'. He was sure that it was mere luck that was carrying him through, and with that came the certainty that said luck would soon run out.
He felt like he was running out of time. Every day came something new, a new poem, him trying to ink every thought that came to his head in the hopes that maybe one day his journal would be found and used to bring some sort of end to the stage - just as Chase had said to him then.
Today had been no different. His pen dropped from his hand to his side as he stared out into the distance of the garden, mind spiralling with thoughts trying to come to terms with the words that had flown quicker than he had processed them.
He had written a lot about him lately, it was a desire that never left him. To see the one he had once been so close to one more time before his fate came to tell him that his time was up. He wanted to see Hatton once more, not through a billboard, or a name circulating around, he wanted to see him. The Hatton he knew.
...had known. He wasn't quite sure he could say the same anymore. They were, once again, in different divisions through this tournament, something that Pierre wasn't sure whether or not to be thankful for. On one hand, it would mean his chances of losing to him would be zero, for now, at least, but on the other... how desperate would he become just to get the chance?
His eyes began to droop. His sleep patterns had been questionable since this tournament started, it wasn't anything unusual. Yet where he would normally resist and force himself awake with a different idea to linger on, this time he simply gave in. He didn't want to ponder any of this any longer.*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Where he woke, or was sure that he had woken, simply left him confused. This wasn't where he had fallen asleep, he had been in the garden, had he not? Where was his notebook, or... why was he dressed like this? This looked far too important to simply be lounging around in;
A powder blue jacket that was zipped until his chest, hanging around his arms and revealing the sleeveless white shirt cut just at this shoulders. Baggy trousers that looked to be a washed out shade of black, paired with a chain of silver starts dangling from his waist. His boots felt too highly heeled to be his natural height, they felt uncomfortably awkward on him, had that been by design? This looked like something he would wear when competing, not laying around writing poetry.
There was a darkness that surrounded where he sat, though a parade of lights not too far from where his partially blurred vision led him. He felt around for a moment, opting to lean on something boxy to hoist him to stand. If he wanted to make any sense of this, he needed to figure out where he was.
He began to wander towards the light, hastily reaching his hands out to feel his surroundings for support. The pathway felt somewhat familiar, there was a tension that rose in him like a memory that felt too close to comfort. That same feeling from just before he would...
...*
MY~ EVERLASTING. . . . MY~ DEAREST~ ACHE~ is what chooses to greet the diamond as he stares at the nothingness of the sky. he had always intended today to be the day he visit his friend. . . if. . . you could call them that, still. an invisible barrier remained between them, always. be it a screen, a light, a billboard, a song. melodies strung together with their voices, echoing in reverie for what once was, yet never were those melodies ever in tune for them.
the song he made, shared once, it hums in his mind. a forbidden something that refuses to leave. what was once created never leaves, never dies, truly, and sometimes the diamond wonders as he gives up his search for his "friend"- was the god that once was believed in so greatly by humanity still there?
does he live in a dimension beyond and watch as humanity suffers this hellish spotlight for the sins of forefathers that none of them will ever meet? is the folly of humanity's yearning what punishes them all for this?
giving up is what is best. he sits on a somewhat clean patch of grass underneath a tree. across from the rest of the humans in the facility's courtyards. they gawk but never dare come closer to touch or talk.
HAS THE GRASS OF THE FACILITY'S COURTYARD ALWAYS FELT SO INDIFFERENT?
he blinks once. there's a rush of cold air.
the air smells familiar, but Hatton tries not to name it.
a light lay beyond. he walks forward. confident, as if his feet move on their own. his body reacts the same way it does before the lights, tensing, chest forward and shoulders back. his expression stills into something unreadable. as it usually does. he is suddenly far too aware of the way his hair is too long for stage and the tape that holds the mic to his jaw.
his feet move on their own towards the light.
a thundering echo begins to swarm around him. loud, deafening. the roar of excitement and anticipation from a crowd that suddenly feels too real. the surrounding cast of too-clean metal and the attire of stage makes his skin crawl with the crashing reality of what is going on. the melody. voices speaking in languages he can't comprehend that rise in song and appraisal for a performance they've yet to witness.
towards the light
always upward.
forever reaching.
memories of songs of before flood into his mind as he is just a few steps from the blinding spotlight. the tunnel- hall- he lingers in makes it feel like he is stepping into a bath of light.
there's a hesitation.
hesitation means death.
yet he still hesitates.
glaring lights, the deafening cheer. suddenly his heart and stomach leap to his throat and choke out any semblance of rationality. he feels terrified,
and,
the song.
the song he made. shared once. it hums in his mind.
the song he made, shared once, it compels him to step into the light.
bathed in the glow of performance, he locks up, stepping forward, shoes clicking on metal with confidence as if the stage hasn't witnessed the deaths of many already and The Diamond had any less of a chance to witness another.
except,
it's him.
the terror is evident, his mouth making the movement of a name as they come closer. the stage is bare, no mics. the cheers roar and deafen, the glow sticks of the audience bathing the neutral white light in an afterglow of orange.
why?
Hatton mouths his name again. it feels like forbidden fruit from the garden that damned humanity to the torture of entertainment in the first place. he becomes half grateful for that sin, for what is a diamond without its stage?
his body moves on his own, the music in his mind thrums like an unkind reminder.
â . . . â they both know this song.
the song he made, shared once, and it sticks to their mind as their dance and song begins.
but it's not for them. never has this melody been for them.
â flee~ting~. . . â
*Pierre stepped out onto the stage, slowly. The sounds of the crowd overwhelmed him instantly, as though it was something he had never experienced before. It felt like his first time, with that shaky frame and and doubt beyond what he ever believed could be human to feel.
Ahead of him, he knew immediately who stood waiting for him. He recognised him like someone who never left, yet looked at him with such unsurety that he couldn't convince himself it was truly him.
Out there, Hatton waited for him. After so long, his wish had came true in the form of his greatest nightmare. He would die to Hatton. He would lose for Hatton. He would-
That voice... He felt drawn to him, his steps heavy as he slowly made his way across the stage to where he was standing, holding his hand out to Pierre and Pierre alone. It didn't matter that they were being watched, not to Pierre, all that mattered was...
He smiled to him, what else was he supposed to do? His body felt as though it wanted to collapse into him and just cry it out. Cry out the pain of years lost, cry out in yearning for what this might mean,
Cry out in love for the boy who felt so far out of reach, now within his arms length.
But he didn't cry, no matter how many tears welled and threatened to spill. He wanted to hold him. To shout, to stay silent. To apologise and to tell him that they would go back to the way they were. They could, they'd be free, they'd-
...That song... could it..?*
Fleeting... needing... *He repeated, like an instinct that came to him as though it were second nature. He hadn't heard it in years, it was something sacred in his memory, locked away in a heart shaped vault that he swore he would never access again.
He placed his hands on Hattons, gripping him firmly.*
I shouldnât grasp for more than our halves...
*The lyrics felt so bold, resonating through him in a hesitant shake of resilience as he allowed himself to be pulled closer. This would be something he would remember as his final moments, dancing with the one he loved most from afar, dying so close to him, for him.
If Hatton got to live, he would win. He was good at this, he would. Pierre knew he would.
But for now, he would bathe in this small moment of happiness they got to share. As he moved around the hard floor of the stage that was bound to doom them, a stray tear falling down his face as he just... kept smiling.
It was temporary and on display for the world to see, something that went against their odds and expectations.*
My dearest... dearest... everlasting ache...
*And yet somehow, Pierre wouldn't have it any other way.*
'In my heart I've yearned to see you, each time your name has crossed my mind,
I can't help but wonder deep down how we ended up on such opposite lines,
You who shines so brightly, your name known and beloved in lights,
And me who's still here in your shadow, hidden just plainly out of their sight.
How is that our fate has torn us so far apart?
Those boys from back then who made fun out of their suffering?
The boy whose smile had a chokehold on my heart,
Has, no, I could never get enough of it.
Take me back there, I'll write it again, away from this stage,
I don't want to have to keep knowing you through only memories on a page,
I want to know after all of these years, who have you become?
I want to know who you really are beyond being number one.
How does your smile look now, is it as sweet as back then?
Or is it something more stern now, to please them, just fake?
I'd do anything in this world just to catch a glimpse again,
Please, give me a chance to see you before fate decides it's too late.'
*Pierre slammed his notebook shut, sighing as he lay bark against the hard bark of the tree he had dubbed his 'hiding spot.' It was far enough away from others that he wouldn't be bothered when he wanted to write, yet wasn't far enough that anyone would get suspicious that he was up to something he shouldn't be.
It was the perfect place to just... let his feelings out. Recently it had felt as though he had no-one to turn to. No, he knew that he had no one. Poisyn was gone, his name haunted him often, false memories of a goodbye that never happened and a false hope of wishing he would return just before it was too late.
'Too late' - a term that he had been using a lot in his poetry. So far he had managed to succeed in any rounds of the tournament he had been placed into, having to stand there with a grateful smile on his face, trying not to flinch as his opponent received their somewhat 'second place trophy'. He was sure that it was mere luck that was carrying him through, and with that came the certainty that said luck would soon run out.
He felt like he was running out of time. Every day came something new, a new poem, him trying to ink every thought that came to his head in the hopes that maybe one day his journal would be found and used to bring some sort of end to the stage - just as Chase had said to him then.
Today had been no different. His pen dropped from his hand to his side as he stared out into the distance of the garden, mind spiralling with thoughts trying to come to terms with the words that had flown quicker than he had processed them.
He had written a lot about him lately, it was a desire that never left him. To see the one he had once been so close to one more time before his fate came to tell him that his time was up. He wanted to see Hatton once more, not through a billboard, or a name circulating around, he wanted to see him. The Hatton he knew.
...had known. He wasn't quite sure he could say the same anymore. They were, once again, in different divisions through this tournament, something that Pierre wasn't sure whether or not to be thankful for. On one hand, it would mean his chances of losing to him would be zero, for now, at least, but on the other... how desperate would he become just to get the chance?
His eyes began to droop. His sleep patterns had been questionable since this tournament started, it wasn't anything unusual. Yet where he would normally resist and force himself awake with a different idea to linger on, this time he simply gave in. He didn't want to ponder any of this any longer.*
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*Where he woke, or was sure that he had woken, simply left him confused. This wasn't where he had fallen asleep, he had been in the garden, had he not? Where was his notebook, or... why was he dressed like this? This looked far too important to simply be lounging around in;
A powder blue jacket that was zipped until his chest, hanging around his arms and revealing the sleeveless white shirt cut just at this shoulders. Baggy trousers that looked to be a washed out shade of black, paired with a chain of silver starts dangling from his waist. His boots felt too highly heeled to be his natural height, they felt uncomfortably awkward on him, had that been by design? This looked like something he would wear when competing, not laying around writing poetry.
There was a darkness that surrounded where he sat, though a parade of lights not too far from where his partially blurred vision led him. He felt around for a moment, opting to lean on something boxy to hoist him to stand. If he wanted to make any sense of this, he needed to figure out where he was.
He began to wander towards the light, hastily reaching his hands out to feel his surroundings for support. The pathway felt somewhat familiar, there was a tension that rose in him like a memory that felt too close to comfort. That same feeling from just before he would...
...*
áŽÊᎠáŽÊáŽê°áŽáŽáŽ áŽê° ᎥÊáŽáŽ áŽáŽÊ ÊáŽ.
{Roleplay starter for @nrcsfavoriteshrimps}
Pierre sat under one of the trees in the Anakt Garden, scribbling lyrical rhymes onto the paper that sat on his lap. Anything that came to mind would do, he just needed to get something out. Anything that would stop him from thinking about him - out in the freedom of the world, away from the pressures of having to perform, or sing, or-
Or hang out with him during times like these, where Pierre was most lonely, wishing for anyones company. He yearned for the company of his best friend the most, he couldn't help but wonder if it was slowly driving him mad.
But still, he had to keep writing. He needed something to convince himself that he could keep going regardless. Rumours had began to spiral of another tournament coming up, and this time, he knew he couldn't escape lightly. His owner had grown desperate to use Pierres past publicity for his own benefits, and based on the increased frequency of his training, Pierre was sure that this was going to be the end for him.
...Though... no, keep writing.
"Two smiles appear as one alone,
How can this eclipse shine now that you're gone?
I'm sure soon enough the suns show will reach its end,
Not when it's alone here, lost without it's frie-"
He looked up, noticing someone else surprisingly close to him. Unusual, most of the others didn't come up to him like this, not while he was clearly in his element, anyway.*
Can I help you? *His tone was slightly firm, yet not of annoyance. Simple curiosity masked with suspicion.*
[Chase startles slightly upon being noticed, his tailâs wagging coming to a halt. His curious smile falters before quickly growing again, this time with excitement.]
âHi! Iâm Chase!â [He sits himself down in front of the other boy, tail thumping against the ground.] âI heard that youâre gonna be my opponent for this roundâŠ! I wanted to meet you myself!â
[Partially true. There was another reason he was here, though.]
I'm Pierre. *He said, unwavering. He didn't smile, just... spoke it as though it were any other word.
'So the rumours are true,' He thought. 'I suppose I should've checked the lists but... there's no need now.'
Chase didn't seem to be... anything less than kind. He reminded Pierre a bit of his younger self. Enthusiastic, overly so, innocent, even. There wasn't that lingering tiredness about him that some of the older contestants bore, despite their age gap only being a single year.
Pierre was surprised when he took it upon himself to sit in front of him. He recoiled his legs closer to him, slightly. An odd habit he had picked up somewhere as a child, he wasn't the greatest with people he didn't know, not as much anymore, at least.*
Was there something you wanted to ask me, or did you just want to... know that I actually exist? *He asked in a slightly lighter tone. As much as he wasn't expecting the sudden company, he wasn't going to turn him away for simply being curious.*
âWell, ahâŠa couple of things.â [He might as well rip the bandage off now. Itâs not gonna get any easier.] âYou an I both know what will happen to the loserâŠsoâŠâ
[His smile doesnât falter, but it does soften. Brows furrowing in worry, possibly concern, he continuesâŠ]
âIf I dieâŠwhen I dieâŠI want you to know that itâs not your fault. I donât blame you in the slightest! Honestly, IâveâŠbeen preparing myself for it, ever since I found out that thatâs whatâs gonna happen.â [He fidgets with his hands as he talks, trying to find the words. He didnât prepare a script for this.] âIâm not going to sabotage your performance, but Iâm not planning on weakening mine, either. I want to bring smiles to peopleâs faces, even if only for a little while.â
[He takes this moment to pause. He doesnât get closer, but he doesnât back away. If Pierce seems uncomfortable with his gaze, he turns it away.]
ââŠwhen I die, I want you to keep going. Keep fighting. Keep livingâŠand maybeâŠâ [he puts a hand over his pocket, where a peculiar whistle has been hidden away.] ââŠmaybe end this cycle. Find a way to stop these shows for goodâŠâ
*Pierre puts his notebook down beside him, wanting to at least seem like he was paying attention. This was who he would have to face on the stage, after all, it would be mercy to get to know each other a bit before they were met with their fates.
That was until Chase actually started saying what he was. It wasn't that Pierre was clueless or didn't care for the opinion, he did, but to say something like this so... bluntly? It sickened him. What good was it to compete, if only to have pre-decided that you were going to lose? If that was the case, he would have given up before now. Maybe towards the end of the Junior Tournament before his divisions win, just after he found out that Poisyn was gone, or-
No, stop it, Pierre. How better are you than the one you judge for doing the same as you are now? Chase is young, he's probably just overthinking it, do not overreact.
He noticed the slight change in the latters expression, though his own doesn't shift from the blank face that he had grown used to calling his own. A slight guilt sifted through him, none of this was fair. Maybe that mercy was just cruelty, thinking about it now.*
How can you just decide something like that before we have even gotten the chance to perform? *His voice was a lot more aggressive than he meant it to be.* How can you just say that you're going to lose, when I have no idea what you're capable of, and more, how capable you are next to me. Unless you're planning to lose, that's a different story, but there's no way of knowing you're going to lose otherwise.
I won't be lowering my performance. *'Yet' he thought. His own... stance on his situation was questionable. Whether or not he'd even make it beyond a few rounds was questionable in itself, but Chase didn't need to know that much.* And you better keep to that ideal that you won't, either. I'll be expecting a fair performance, not pity points.
*He stopped, listening to the rest of what his opponent had to say.
"When I die, I want you to keep going."
"End this cycle."
"Stop these shows for good."
The words struck him like a loose nerve, riveting into a feeling that he couldn't quite place a name on. To end this entirely would mean to revolt, to live would mean to keep remembering and to stop the shows would mean... he would be free. They all would be. There would be no more pressure, no more unreasonable deaths, no more...
...They could all just... live.
The idea wasn't bad. Not at all, but how could Pierre be expected to be the one to fight for that? His power over the stage was hardly anything influential, they'd need someone who could take it all on and not back down if it got too much to handle.
Someone like- Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
Trying to stop this is... something I can't promise. *His mood changed a bit, softer, more... empathetic.* But either way that's not something that we can't go around planning. It's not up for us to decide. Nothing here is.
[Chase listens intently to his words. He understands that Pierce probably isnât necessarily angry with him. Something must have happened. Something he doesnât know about.]
[StillâŠhe canât help himself from flinching back slightly at the harsh tone, ears drooping. Yet, just as quickly, he bounces back.]
âAhaha! Well, maybe someoneâs been planning it secretly for a long time!â [Chase says, rocking back and forth.] âWe can never really know what goes on behind the scenes, can we? But anyways! Iâm here because I want to see people smile!â
[That was true, at least. Heâs prepared for the death, not because he wants to die, but because seeing the brutality of it made the aliens happy. He hates that suffering was what made them happy, but he canât do much about it. Heâs just one kid. Why is he like this? He doesnât know. Maybe heâs just a people-pleaser. Maybe heâs just a pushover.]
âI know that if anyone can change this, though, you can. Not someone like me.â
[âŠthatâs besides the point. Heâs here because he also wanted to get to know Pierce!]
âSooooâŠyou were writing something! Whatcha writing?â [he asks, glancing down at the writing in a silent gesture. Maybe if he changed the topic, Pierce wouldnât be upset anymore?]
I highly doubt that would happen. *Pierre said bluntly.* If anyone around here was caught planning something like that, they'd meet the same fate as if they had just taken part in the competition to begin with, it's not something that can just 'be' planned.
Everything we do in here is up to our owners. Nothing more, nothing less. And whatever will be in the competition, that's just it.
*He tried to smile, his lips curving into something a bit more unsure.* At least you have a goal, that's good. Something like that can really help you in here.
*Everyone has their reasons to keep going. Fame, freedom, happiness, someone, Pois- no, Hatt- no.
Pierre couldn't say the same. he couldn't tell Chase that he understood or share his own reasons to keep going. Maybe because both of his reasons were far too out of reach by now and his will to continue was fading the more his mind wouldn't let him forget about them.
Instead, he just opted to shift with the conversation. He didn't comment any more on what Chase had said, nor did he even acknowledge that it was said. He just sat there, brow perking once the other question had been asked.*
This? *He held up his notebook carelessly before quickly dropping it to the ground once more.* It's poetry, mostly. Thoughts, lines, ideas. Most of the time written in the form of poetry. It's something different, at least.
*His mood barely shifted, though he wasn't... unhappy. His face read disinterested, though he knew that he simply just wasn't used to something like this. His responses came out a bit more suspicious than he intended them to.* Why do you ask?
[Hm. He decides not to keep prying about the other topic. It seems like Pierce was firm in that hopelessnessâŠ]
[Instead, Chase laughs off Pierceâs suspicion.] âI think itâs cool! I donât see a lot of people writing their own stuff!â [His tail thumps against the faux grass as he makes a brief attempt at reading it, but doesnât get very far before choosing to stop.]
âHey, hey! Could I tell you a little secret?â [he asks, leaning forward in a conspiratorial way.] âI never get to do it myself, but I really like punk stuff! Punk rock, punk clothes, itâs super cool to me!â
*Pierre nodded, humming in affirmation. Chase did have a point, not a lot of people expressed their own interests around here. At least not publicly or as often as he was caught writing alone in the distance.
He quickly noticed the other trying to look at the words sprawled on the page open on the ground, and made a swift attempt to shut the book closed at his side before anything could be said or seen. He wasn't in the mood to have to explain any of his poetry topics, not that most of them were very pleasant to explain anyway. Some of them were a lot more honest than he cared to admit, who knew what trouble he'd get into if he was caught writing about such things.
He didn't acknowledge the others attempt, he simply closed it over and kept listening.
That was, until, yet another thought hit him as the younger spoke his supposed secret.
âI never get to do it myself, but I really like punk stuff!"
...
No, stop it, Pierre. Just feign interest at the very least, don't let it spiral, just show him that you do actually care, somewhat.
...
Do not mention the name you thought of first.
That's cool-! *He smiled, a bit more genuinely this time.* Honestly I don't know much about it other than a few things I was told by an old friend, he liked similar stuff, or so I think he did... if I'm remembering correctly...
*Yep. That went well.*
[Chase squeals, excited that heâs finally found a point of connection!!]
âYeah!! My brand is supposed to be all âcute and friendlyâ! Which I donât mind, of course! But I love punk stuff more!â [He starts gesturing wildly with his hands as he talks, his tail wagging faster.] âYour friend sounds fun!â
[Thankfully, he doesnât bring up Pierceâs friend again. He doesnât know who heâs talking about, but he can tell that itâs a sore topic.]
âI tried to write my own music, but Iâm better at composing than lyrics, haha!â
[He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and offers it out. Itâs sheet music for a song?]
I get that... *He smiled.* My brand is more... out there, if you know what I mean. Supposed to be something a lot bigger than I am, my owner always wanted that for me, but... there was always just someone better, I can't always keep up.
*He sighed.* I'm not big on that stuff either, not anymore, at least. My own company is more than enough, I don't really care how far I get.
*'Is it that you don't care, or that you've simply accepted that you can't keep up and that wishful thinking will only send the anchor deeper?' he thought, quickly brushing the thought out of his head.
...His friend. Yeah, he was great. He was practically everything. A friend, the brother he never had, company he never got tired of. Fun.
But he couldn't say all of that, so he simply opted for:* He was, really...
*Chase was quick to move the conversation onward, something that Pierre found himself grateful for.*
That makes sense, I'm the opposite, lyrics and poetry go hand in hand so it's not too hard for me. Composing on the other hand... I can get the rhythms down but never the proper... flow. I don't know how to word it.
*His brow raised at the piece of paper.* What's that?
//When you want to yap about something that you are well educated on but if you do you'll look like a larper despite it being one of your main interests, so you can't. RAHHHHHHH
There is no feeling more relieving than reading your old writing and realised how much you have changed, bettered, something positive that just makes everything seem worth it.
...And then you find the writing of times that haven't changed and wonder if you've just been lying to yourself this entire time.
An bhfuil feabhas mĂłr tagtha ort i ndĂĄirĂre, nĂł an t-aon bhuachaill Ăłg sin thĂș fĂłs atĂĄ ag iarraidh cosc ââa chur ar do chuid caoineadh teacht go cluasa do mhĂĄthar?
[Have you really improved a great deal, or are you still that young boy trying to stop your crying from reaching your mother's ears?]
An mbeidh tĂș fĂłs ag stĂĄnadh ar leathanaigh bhĂĄna, mar atĂĄ tĂș faoi lĂĄthair, agus an oiread sin le scrĂobh agat, ach gan focal amhĂĄin fiĂș ag teacht Ăł do pheann?
[Will you still be staring at blank pages, as you are now, with so much to write, yet not a single word coming from your pen?]
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And for my final act of love, I'll allow myself the failure that I have felt for myself for so long. Because failing to you means winning to me, when I know that you have what it takes to get further than I ever could, and freedom from this cycle of wishful thinking will be more rewarding than a solid victory ever could be.
Hi my name is Hyugo and I ' ll bring diagonally cut sandwiches of various types for all of us !!!
@g0reybonezâêšâ@equi-knoxâêšâ@redriot-jiraiâêšâ@ebi-heartsallthewayâêšâ@damselentorâêšâ@loftedlowâêšâ@sillypuddingbunniâêšâ@theangeloftill ++ open tags <3
Nyaho! My name is Damsel and im bringing loaded beef mac and cheese+utensils!! @winter-r0se @depths-of-deceit @beyblxde @er-idkhehe2 @deafeningdreamobservation +open tags I forgot sm people..
im bringing. uh .. alot so buckle upso first im bringing:
snickerdoodle cookies
sugar cookies
chocolate cookies.
Lemon Blueberry Cake (w/ powered sugar)
Brown Butter Blondies
Almond Flour Citrus Cake
Baked Blueberry Hand Pies..
ALSO NO ONE MENTIONED WET PAPER TOWELS AND TRASH BAGS AND I THINK THATS IMPORTANT SO IM BRINGING THEM!?
i love desserts.. and baking so i actually did make these irl before..
i also have sensory issues.. so you'll notice none of these desserts melt or leave sticky residue.. uuyuyuyuayuauya if something sticky gets on my hands i start wanting to kill someone
free tags TOO SLEEPY TO TAG OTHER THEN THE FIRST PEOPLE THAT COME UP in my head because they have easy names!! (i love all of my moots but im shit at remembering names that arent easy):
//Hello! I'm Pierremod and I'm bringing...
- An ice box to cool everyones drinks
- A music speaker
- Chips/Crisps
- 1kg bag of M&Ms [everyone gets one single M&M]
- Bread and some sandwich materials [Butter, chicken, ham, cheese, ect]
Random lineup but I'm sure someone at the picnic might like them...
And in return I'm inviting @stxrrydxsires @wr3athed-eternal1st and @ericschoenheit to the picnic-!
Pierre Leabhcra @pomefiorestudentidk2 - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
