Vera takes solace in her personal space. She expects the space to be neatly kept; organized within an inch of its life, if she’s being honest. Her dormitory at Salem, when she arrived, was far too drab for her taste. With a few magical alterations-- the chandelier, adjusting how the windows look from the inside-- the room is now precisely to her preference.
The place is a close replica of the bedroom she lived in before moving in with her step brother and mother. It is one of the spaces that Vera allows herself to truly relax, all semblance of attitude momentarily. If someone were to enter with an invitation, they would probably find a more likable Vera than they have ever seen before.
One aspect others might not notice, however, is the small hand mirror on her dressing table. The surface never strays from an inky darkness and is a relic from the year that she learned to scry from one of Koldovstoretz’s temporary professors. It is the one spot of darkness in the entire room, and she has been known to go to great lengths to keep it out of sight unless she’s using it.
Two nights a week, Vera liked to treat herself. Once her work had been done, she took a shower, used a homemade sugar scrub to exfoliate, and settled into her dormitory with a mud mask and a glass or two of Sangiovese. This time was often used for reflection, but this evening Vera’s luxuriant mood was impeded upon by the fact that she hadn’t received a lick of correspondence from her friends in days.
It was true that Olya had written to her a few times in early September, checking in and generally being her thoughtful self. But Vera’s last message, detailing Sergei’s atrocious behavior at the Conclave, had not been responded to. She tried not to dwell, but such things deserved quick response, and not getting one was an ominous note.
Her face was scrubbed clean but her thoughts remained dangerously fixated on the situation at hand. Grom did his best to distract her as she sulked, meowing loudly for attention then rolling onto his back for her to stroke his tummy introspectively.
The sirens wailed into the night and Vera found that annoying. She did not want to report to Karuzos Hall, she wanted to finish her regimen and then sleep in peace. Vera reluctantly dressed, loathe as she was to change out of her pajamas, it was best to be prepared for the eventuality of being stuck in Karuzos for any amount of time-- not to mention she was really not looking for the kind of attention her pajamas would attract.
Once again preparing for the eventuality of the sequestration in the other building, Vera grabbed a bag and began packing it. Her extensive nail kit, the Canadian shamans she’d abandoned while talking to Roisin earlier in the week, the rest of her wine, all of it went into the bag. Grom went too, although he really was not too pleased at all. Vera ignored his plaintive cries, assuming better safe than sorry in all situations did not exclude pet ownership.
Karuzos was a crowded and ultimately sorry mess, but Vera hadn’t much cause to care. She found a seat towards one of the inner walls-- no way was she taking the chance that any outside noise would stress her out-- and freed Grom from his prison. He sat near her but not in her lap, a surefire sign of his displeasure with the situation as a whole.
The Headmaster spoke after a short time, and as the other students scrambled to volunteer within and without, Vera hooked her nail kit out of her bag’s murky depths and set to work.
“What are you doing?” a voice inquired, incredulous.
“My nails.” Her answer was flat but not forceful, considering she had no idea who she was speaking to. Vera was not at all bothered to drag her gaze from the nail in question that she was filing.
“Really? You’re not going to help? In a time of crisis?”
Vera finally glanced up, only to have someone she certainly didn’t recognize giving her a look of distaste. Her gaze locked fully on the American, noting unkindly that he looked remarkably like a rodent. “Are you telling me I’m in immediate danger?”
“Well, no.”
“Right. And I wasn’t the one who let these creatures out to run amok on campus. So let me do my nails while whoever made this mess sorts it out. Have a wonderful morning.”
He walked away and Vera went back to her filing. She’d be damned if she was going to be guilted into being miserable for no reason at all.
‘Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful or just a beautiful disaster?’
Beautiful Disaster - Kelly Clarkson
It was late and yet it seemed early, and so Skylar found himself wondering how he had still not adjusted to the timezone change after a month. As he sat in his nearly dark room trying to finish this dratted Potions essay, he could hear what he assumed at first was was someone snoring over the loud thrum of the rain. It was an almost peaceful symphony of noises but even still he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up.
Something was wrong. He looked around his room not seeing anything out of place and then stood up. Opening the door into his suites common room, he still saw nothing out of place and as he stepped out of his room there was no trap. Skylar didn’t trip which only heightened his concern, so he leaned backwards and picked up his shoes.
Shoving his feet into them, an alarm began to blare and he darted out into the hallway, stumbling along the way. Joining the swarm of students, he quickly ended up in Karuzos Hall with hundreds of other students. His only objective: not to make this worse for the Professors. As he looked around, he realized that he was in the middle of another disaster but this time it wasn’t one of his own making.
To get you all started thinking about the upcoming event: THE CAGE IS FULL, we’re including a PROMPT we definitely encourage roleplayers to take part in:
A self-para of the events leading up to your character reporting to Karuzos Hall. Whether they were in the middle of a deep sleep awoken by the sounds of the alarm, brewing a cup of tea only to see the loud storm brewing above them, or taking a late night stroll only to be faced with a herd of mooncalves, tell us about their experience!
The prompt may be posted at any time! Please tag it as ‘radicalprompt.’ If you have any questions regarding the prompt, feel free to send a message to the main!
Attending Koldovstoretz does not make for a consistent schedule. Those chosen few have curriculum over the years that spans from household magic to xylomancy, with all the more room for eclectic taste. Although Vera has had her fair share of mundane classes, her most recent year at Koldo-- Lapis Lazuli-- found Vera taking up study in Arcane Symbols, Palmistry, and Occlumency.
Her favorite classes are by far those with inclinations towards Divination, having found scrying to be her preferred method of delving into the secrets of the future. Her Inner Eye is not the most potent, but Vera has accepted her lack of natural ability with surprising grace.
Classes that challenge Vera have a fifty-percent success rate. Like Divination in Garnet, Vera can throw herself into it completely-- or like Mermish in Emerald, Vera can quite simply refuse to give even the slightest bit of effort to a class she has deemed beneath her.
Occlumency had, of late, given Vera a much-needed sense of determination. Mental magics now hold much more value in Vera’s eyes than they might have a few semesters ago, if only because her eventual success in the course did leave her with a sense of pride.
That was part of what made it so hard for him to fit in. Some of his classmates had been attending school for four years together already when he showed up, all wild hair and wide eyes and a stuttering voice. But he hadn’t shown signs of his magic early enough to be admitted and so was admitted at eleven, when standard classes began.
Of course, Basile took to Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology right away. They were the two classes that let him be the closest to nature and to creatures, what he was used to, and he thrived in those classes with very little effort.
The problem came with things like Transfiguration, things like Potions, and especially things like Etiquette. Basile was constantly being scolded in his Etiquette class--he didn’t speak loudly enough, a stutter wasn’t proper, he hunched his shoulders, his hair was unruly, he had dirt under his nails, he shouldn’t be wearing gloves indoors. The criticism went on and on in that particular class and so Basile pulled further and further away from it, curling back into his shell even more.
Basile worked on the magical classes that he struggled in until his work was at least passable, but he still did much better in classes that allowed him to learn outside. He could almost always be found doing his homework either outside on the grounds or by the largest window in the library to get as much sunlight as possible. He felt like a flower that was wilting from being kept away from the sun for too long.
When the time came for Basile to become a tutor, he panicked. He couldn’t even speak to his own classmates, who he knew, so how was he supposed to speak to younger years? How was he supposed to teach them anything? He was assigned his first student to tutor and he went, nervously, to meet her in the library.
That girl began a long, long line of younger students who requested a tutor change because Basile stuttered, because he talked too quietly, because he was strange. No student lasted more than one tutoring session with him, and eventually he stopped being asked to tutor. It was required to be a tutor at Beauxbatons, and so it separated him even further from the classmates who avoided him already.
The only thing that Basile did that ever impressed his Charms professor was mastering a wandless, non-verbal Avis spell earlier than anyone else in his year. He chalks it up to his affinity for creatures--after all, birds are creatures, too. He also practiced it a lot in his dormitory until he got it right.
It wasn’t as if he lived in a house when he wasn’t at school, a big building made to hold a lot of material things. He lived in a glorified tent, really, with his parents on a dragon reserve. There wasn’t space or time or money for wardrobes full of clothes or much sentimental bric-a-brac. Basile had his own room in the tent, a place to call his and to keep what few belongings he had, but it wasn’t as big as the bedroom here. Great. This would just be another way for him to stand out.
He could already imagine his roommates and their bedrooms, with pictures of family and friends plastering the walls and wardrobes full of clothes and trunks that didn’t rattle with extra room. Basile put his trunk down on the floor in the middle of his assigned bedroom and sighed, shrugging off his backpack and placing it beside it. He was going to have to figure out how to make this room look as happy and full as possible.
Basile popped open his trunk, taking out what clothing he did own. He’d brought his Beauxbatons uniform just because it was something that he owned, and he’d brought everything he owned. He tucked it away in a drawer, knowing he wouldn’t need it here. It wasn’t exactly a uniform as it wasn’t standardized clothing, but he couldn’t see himself in the pale blue and gold here. Next, he pulled out his casual clothes. They were all made of durable but comfortable fabrics and were almost all flame-resistant--a must, where he lived. A few pairs of pants, a handful of shirts, one jacket. One pair of shoes besides the one he was wearing, and enough socks to last a week without washing. A few pieces of jewelry, mostly beaded necklaces and leather bracelets. When it was put into the wardrobe it looked like even less than it had in his trunk, and he closed the doors to the wardrobe with a heavy sigh.
After that was his bedding, which he’d brought from home. Usually, when he went to Beauxbatons, he just used the bedding there, but he was so far from home now that he’d wanted to bring this piece of it with him. Basile brought his comforter to his face and inhaled deeply, the faint smells of smoke and grass and the laundry soap that they used at the sanctuary filled his nose and he smiled fondly, spreading the dark blue comforter across his bed. He took the pillowcases off of the pillows and put on his own.
Next came the books. Most of Basile’s books were educational books about creatures and dragons, but there were a few fiction books mixed in. He unpacked about twenty books and arranged them on the shelf so that it looked at least mostly full, admiring it when he was done. Most of the covers were worn and fraying and some of the titles were unreadable, but they were certainly well loved.
Basile pulled his school supplies from his trunk, too, arranging them on the provided desk neatly. He thought for a moment about keeping them put away, but it made the room look fuller and more lived-in to have them out on the desk, and he decided that he liked that better.
The trunk was empty, and so he moved on to his backpack.
A very few personal effects were first from the backpack. A scale shed from an Antipodean Opaleye, a small succulent in a pot, and his wand were all set on his nightstand.
The last thing out of his backpack were the photographs. There weren’t a lot of them, but the ones he had were important. There was one of him with Afrodille, one of him with his parents, one of just his parents, and a few of the dragons. Basile stuck them to the wall above his desk with a temporary sticking charm.
Basile placed his empty trunk at the foot of his bed and hung his empty backpack in the wardrobe with his clothes and then stood back by the door, surveying his bedroom. It wasn’t fancy or busy, but it suited him just fine.
DORM SWEET DORM -- Radical Magic Development (no. 1)
For the majority of her first day on campus, Clementine hadn’t so much as stepped foot in her dorm room. Her excitement to meet her roommates and unpack the things she knew had been magically sent to the room already was overpowered by the curiosity that spurred from being in such a foreign place. Rather than spending her first day settling in, Clementine explored every inch of the grounds she could before she was to be in for the eleven o’clock curfew, chatting with anyone who would spare her the time along the way. When she finally made it back to Jonker Hall and to Dorm 1A, she started eagerly into the room that wasn’t already labelled Grace, Zoe, or Elena and got to work. With her insomniac-esque tendencies, she had all of her things unpacked and organized by the time the sun rose the next morning.
Her work began with her pushing the twin sized bed provided by the Summit against the wall to resemble the bed she had back home in France. Her bedsheets and the ridiculous amount of decorative pillows that covered her sleeping space still smelled of her room at Simone’s...fresh linens with a touch of lilac and other unidentifiable floral notes. The homely scent would soon intertwine with the overpowering stench of fresh cut flowers that you’re hit with immediately upon entering Clem’s room. Vases full of them are on nearly every surface. Golden circles--meant to resemble the sun--dot the area over her bed, where a number of other decor resides. Four small cork boards fill the space over where she’d lay her head for the next few months, the first filled with memos and the other three jam packed with photos of family and friends (primarily Simone and Violetta) she’d brought from home. A decorative canvas hangs over an inspirational block that reads FAITH IS NOT KNOWING WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS BUT KNOWING WHO HOLDS THE FUTURE. In a large white frame hangs a print given to her by Simone on her fifteenth birthday that reads ALL of ME loves ALL of YOU. The last of the decor that hangs over her bed is a series of hand-written note cards hanging from clothespins on twine that contain a number of quotes that Clementine relates with, the majority of them written in French. Some of the cards hanging read:
be someone that you would be glad to meet
a little more kindness and a little less judgement
la vie est belle (life is beautiful)
fais confiance à la vie un peu (trust life a little bit)
true love is putting someone before yourself
ça fait mal, mais continuez à essayer (it hurts, but keep trying)
there are so many beautiful reasons to be happy
la vie est trop courte pour le regret (life is too short for regret)
toujours trouver un moyen de faire un autre sourire (always find a way to make another smile)
be happy, do the best you can, be kind
détruit ce qui te détruit (destroy what destroys you)
Over her desk hangs a series of prints taken by Simone in either Lyons or New York City (where Simone often stayed with an old beau before the death of her sister rooted her to France) accompanied by a cloth picture board and a white board where her TO-DO list and GOALS were hastily scribbled. A vase of fresh flowers pops against the primary blue and pink color scheme. Stacks of books are filed on her desk, where her laptop usually sits under a reading light. A cup of cold tea can always be found on the surface, where Clementine most likely fixed a cuppa and forgot about it.
The majority of the flowers found in Clementine’s dorm can be found atop the dresser that the school provided, vase after vase sitting under another series of framed photos taken by Simone during her travels. A stack of unread books sits under one vase and her various palettes and assorted make-up scatter the top of the surface.
The three more important artifacts that Clementine dragged across the ocean begin with her easel, which is tucked into the far corner of her room, parallel to her bed. A clear tarp protects the ground underneath the space occupied by her paints and such so that she can pursue the one hobby she’s not easily distracted from with the added benefit of not worrying about tidying up. On the wall over her makeshift art station is a floral inspired C that, before she was born, was hung by her mother in the nursery she was meant to sleep in through her youth. With the death of her sister and a baby to care for with no baby-proofed place to put her, the decoration sat in a box to be fished out when Simone incorporated a nursery into the château she’d been left by Clementine’s late grandfather. Even after her makeshift nursery was completed, the colorful letter would only make a reappearance right before Clem was meant to be shipped off to the Summit. You can still see fleck of dust if you look closely enough. Lastly, is another item that she received in her late teens that Simone misplaced for some time. A medium sized box with Parisian qualities and an engraving on the inner lid that reads To My Dearest Daughter, Love Mum, has been used by Clementine at Beauxbations to store her personal stationary, extensive gel pen collection, and the mail she receives when she’s away from home.
THE GIRLS OF 1A
GRACE RALEIGH -- Grace, though she’d never say it to the other girls or to Grace herself, is Clem’s favorite roommate, if only for the fact that she speaks a lot more than the other two. Clementine shares Grace’s appreciation of the early hours of the day and is always pleasantly surprised to find that the young woman is willing to speak to her so early into the day.
ELENA ESPINOZA -- Elena is an enigma to Clementine. The two young witches barely exchanged three words with each other since move-in and while Clementine has gotten used to being ignored by those who find her to be too much, Clementine doesn’t feel as if though she’s disliked in this situation. She looks forward to warming Elena up through the year.
ZOE YAMAMOTO -- Just like Elena, Clementine gets a feeling of contradiction from Zoe. On one hand, she sees the young woman as friendly and talkative, but as soon as Clementine gathers the nerve to approach her third roommate, she feels as though Zoe disappears into her own world. Another shell she’ll attempt to crack, she supposes.
