#piquuse

it didn’t budge. riddle’s toe, instead, hurt a tad bit - nothing bad, but the sensation was similar to the one he got just the other day, when riddle had stubbed his toe on the corner of his desk. you’ve got to be kidding me, riddle thought, and stepped away from the weights. 

his and deuce’s arrangement was meant to have been a simple one. as deuce’s housewarden, it was riddle’s duty to ensure that the first year passed all his classes. and, while deuce had plenty of subjects where he needed guidance, it had been his magical control that needed the most work. 

it became obvious, after watching deuce fly, that he’d never done it before. or made much use of his magic before night raven university, either way. and it wouldn’t do for a member of heartslabyul to fall behind - especially when the solution was so readily available. 

so riddle had begun tutoring deuce. it was his duty, after all. he was housewarden, and deuce was a member of heartslabyul. but somewhere along the line, deuce had caught wind of riddle’s...less than stellar performance in gym, once flying was out of the picture. and then, he’d gotten it into his head to help him with it. 

hence, the situation riddle found himself in presently. out, in a clearing just beyond the hedge maze, staring down a stack of weights, under the watchful eye of the afternoon sun. distantly, riddle could hear the sound of footsteps, making their way towards him. 

turning towards the noise, riddle asked, “and, what, exactly, are you hoping to accomplish?” 

where:  sage island’s township. when:  just before 10am. who:  @piquuse. ♣️

“CAREFUL,” comes the warning of an upperclassman with no intentions of jumping to help, other than a foot caught on the edge of the door to let Deuce outside. Trey’s arms are just as full, at least, two bags hanging off one arm and a third tucked closer to his chest. There’s a smile all the same, head cocked to the side with a passing glance back at his freshman companion before they’re both outside.

The warning’s mostly cursory, but a habit—and betraying a little humor in Trey’s tone. For whatever it’s worth, the salesman’s smile is lighter today.

It’s not always like clockwork, because a kitchen’s daily demands change, even with the best-laid plans. Allowances made for people sneaking snacks and a balance struck with what Trey feels like practicing on his own time—a full list for Heartslabyul’s kitchen is never an exact science, much as some might like it to be. Some weeks, everything is anticipated perfectly, and others sees Trey rising with the sun for the long trek to town. It’s usually a pleasant walk, either way. No dormitory colors or school uniforms, just Trey, alone with his thoughts.

Sometimes, however, there’s no need for that: one pair of arms become two, and the list can expand to accommodate. It’s never a short errand, but Trey can at least provide the promise of lunch when they arrive back at their dormitory doorstep, and pleasant conversation the winding path there and back.

Especially back. (Trey’s hometown was by no means sprawling, but they had a decent enough bus line that ran through.)

“I’m afraid I might have to start leaving earlier, if I get too many last-minute requests while walking out.” Temper the fact between them, there’s at least two bags more than anticipated. Not every request granted, of course—a line has to be drawn somewhere. But, nonetheless, their shopping list expanded. “That’s one less trip I’ll have to make next weekend, at least, with your help.”

It’s not the first time, and it’s certainly not every time, but Deuce Spade isn’t bad company. He’s a more willing pair of arms than his siblings, and they have two limbs ahead of his freshman companion.

“Jeez, and here I thought Leona was a pain.” Breaking into Heartslabyul and smuggling out a nerd wasn’t exactly on Ruggie’s Night Raven University bucket list but, hey, he did it. Aforementioned nerd is with the hyena now, haphazardly wrapped in sheets and stuffed into a wagon full of fallen leaves and garden blossoms. Ruggie’s wheeling the boy out to the entrance of the Heartslabyul dormitory— Which, the small Savanaclaw student notes, is eerily silent. A question teeters upon the beastman’s lips, a curious inquiry whether there’s a Queen’s Rule that prohibits midnight loitering. If this were Savanaclaw, there would still be students relaxing at the lounge or playing a midnight bout of Spelldrive. He knows better than to satiate passing curiosity; it’s not like he’s trying to get an earful of this freshmeat’s woes. 

“So… Y’think that Ace guy is gonna snitch?” Ruggie chooses to inquire instead as he starts pushing the wheelbarrow out the mirror. He thinks his idea for a decoy was genius: Four fluffy pillows to act as the mass of Deuce’s body, topped off with a cobalt blue wig he stole from the Film Studies Society. It’s not like Ace or any of the other first-year’s roommates were gonna check to see if Deuce was present and sleeping... Unless Heartslabyul was that intense, then yikes! 

There’s momentary distortion in their surroundings before the duo finds themselves zapped into the mirror chamber. “—And you can get out of the wagon now, by the way. We’re in the clear.” Beastman lets go of the handles at last and slips off his backpack. He checks his possession: A wide assortment of snacks, a spare flashlight, some batteries, rope, a knife, and— Oops! Something else he shouldn’t mention. His mind drifts to the errand that he’s running on behalf of Azul. 

Dwarve’s Mines, right? Ruggie’s nose crinkles. Honestly, he has no clue what the place even is, but it shouldn’t be that hard to find a lost parcel… right? The delivery service probably chickened out after seeing some rogue bear. 

Send 🎤 to drag my muse into a karaoke duet.

"Woooow, and you're even gunna let me pick the song? Are you brave or stupid, Mackerel?" Floyd snickered as he leaned into the list, mismatched eyes quickly running over them.

He'd always seen Mackerel hanging around with Crabby and Shrimpy around campus. He always looked like another small fish who didn't notice exactly how big the pond he was swimming around in was. Floyd thought it was kinda funny. Especially when he'd heard rumors that Mackerel knew how to thrash with the best of them.

He kinda wanted to see it for himself, but he could wait for that. Mackerel's suggestion had been so surprising to Floyd, he kinda wanted to see exactly what would come of it if he played along.

"Ooh, this looks fun." Floyd grins and presses on one of the songs. The song loads before Mackerel can get a look at it and Floyd steps back with a delighted cackle.

(cw: talk of rotting food / accidentally eating rotten food and maliciously tricking someone into eating something against their will.)

“—PEOPLE FORGET WHEN YOU MAKE IT LOOK SO EASY.”

Trey’s missed all of Cater’s words except the last fragment. It barely registers as the platitudes or even a proper sentence, just background noise, static that only became untangled from the ambient dormitory noises because of the words spoken.

Cater means well. Out of the corner of his eye, he’s perched, chin in hand, elbow on counter, blurry but smiling. Trey thinks, at least. He can imagine the uneasy corners because Cater folds when conflict’s on the wind.

Trey doesn’t look at his roommate. Knife work requires careful precision. Trey is brandishing a knife and the last thing the day needs is losing a finger. The static is ringing in his ears. The strawberries underneath his hands are an off-ripe red, enough to conjure angry faces and an endless stretch of time. The knife goes cleanly through.

Housewarden Rosmas is a character, impeccably-dressed and not nearly as deft a liar as he thinks himself to be. His right hand is ineffective at leadership but his left hand is usually brandishing his magic pen, crafted by leadership into a scepter befitting a queen, around with a reckless abandon for someone who owns every single second of the dorm’s time. It’s his to wield and waste as he pleases, meant to impose upon his will only to cut students short where his own reputation might be tarnished. The Queen’s Rules mean little; his rules supersede all. Trey doesn’t consider himself a stickler—even nearing the end of his freshman year, he can only recall 80, wracking his brain—

THE QUESTION BRINGS DISTRESS TO HIS FEATURES,   mortified that it would be  noticed  in mere moments of showing his face.   the first - years had their own habits of meeting up with one another,   his  greatest  opportunity at making friends  —  no matter how stiff his social outlook appeared,   on the occasion he could find the means to  relax  bit by bit around those who he was frequently grouped with.   by no means did they know each other intimately,   only as close as acquaintances possibly could  —  &  apparently enough to recognize his hair on one of it’s more unruly days.   trying to get his cowlick to stay down was a task in itself,  but the rest of his hair was never  easy  either.  each time that he slicked it back,  it would flip up at the ends,    intent  on looking the opposite of how he would like. 

embarrassment manifests in the form of  irritation,   an easier way to conceal how he actually feels about the matter.   looking  clean - cut  is of utmost importance;  though it goes  deeper  than a sense of vanity,   there is nothing in this world sebek does for the sake of beauty.    he doesn’t  dare  touch his hair,   the  best  he could manage was attained before leaving the dorm. —  anymore  &  he would just cause more fly - aways,   more stick - ups.     “  does it  look  as if i have attempted to make changes to my appearance?  ”   crossing arms over his chest,   he fights the  need  to make adjustments once again.   no matter his fixation on attempting to tame his hair for the day;   a blatant refusal to allow himself to be seen in his diasomnia uniform without  setting  his hair to the best of his abilities.   without mousse,  his hair follows  jagged  angles,   &  yet the back still manages to stick out on the ends.   there is worth in taking the time in the morning,  no matter how the routine tests his  bleary - eyed patience.    

OBSERVE / ALWAYS ACCEPTING!

ᴀɴᴀʟʏᴢɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴜᴄᴇ ꜱᴘᴀᴅᴇ...

deuce spade has always been interesting to me. he's one of the more spritely and loud first years. that very assumption carries truth when you remember the incidents at the beginning of the year.

he isn't stupid as some may try and minimize him to. he has potential, a lot of it. deuce isn't just a mage on the rise but... I hear he's a good friend too.

loyal, brave, supportive.

... we are not friends, as much as I'd like to say we are! I think I just want to know him better.

he's one of the people that make me wish I was truly, alive.

LET'S GET HOOTIN! / ACCEPTING!

❝ saganaki. ❞ ortho was quick to correct duece, his response occurring nearly a second after deuec's own.

that didn't mean he was angry with the boy, oh no. curiosity was a wonderful thing! ortho was more than pleased to teach about this dish.

they didn't partake in it much on the isle, only on rare dinner parties and celebrations. much work had to be done to deserve a party of that caliber.

deuce's inquiry even caused ortho to giggle a bit. ❝ I promise it's not too complicated. yog just grab another plate! ❞

to display his explanation, ortho indeed grabbed a near plate and threw it to the ground.

as the glass shattered on the ground, he called out. ❝ opa! ❞