valesco ; a harry potter rpg

presenters & winners!
Free-for-all! Think your character would've been nominated? Go for it! Open for everyone!

There was a lot of noise going on around him, even though the visitors were doing their best to keep quiet. Any noise felt like too much noise, really, and Louis felt instant relief as he shut the glass door to the back steps of the house. The noise was sliced into the quiet of dusk and he dropped down to the top step.

Tomorrow would be a week since Adian disappeared. There were magical remnants of his strewn across the house and elsewhere that proved he was still alive, but just because Adian’s magic was thriving didn’t mean that he was. Louis wanted to be able to keep his spirits up, to hang onto that piece of hope that so many around him were, but his mind couldn’t stop whirling around all that could be going wrong. Why wasn’t Adian back yet, if he was alive? Had he been hurt that badly? Was he with someone? Was he…

His hands had gone to the back of his neck as he started to hunch in thought, but he straightened at the sound of the door sliding open. Louis looked over his shoulder and sent a weary glance to Saoirse, a newly constant staple of the house that did not make too much noise.

“I’ll come back in,” he said, stretching his leg out in front of him and making no effort to move. “I just needed a minute.”

( YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED... )

OOC hybrid post! post anything you like 😊 ❤️ Happy Valentine's Day!!

| LOCATION: WINOGRAND GARDENS | HOSTED BY LOUIS & ADIAN | ALL ARE WELCOME! | #FRIENDSHIP |

With how strange and unpredictable this past week had been, having a house guest was the last thing Louis believed he needed. It had been on the very tip of his quill to deny Saoirse's request to take her brother in, but her mention of the flat not being only his made him think...he hoped that wherever the wind took Adian, his friend was a helped along the way by the kindness of strangers with empty couches. During his Grand Tour, Louis had made many connections along the way, so he hoped...

Of course, Ronan Mullet was no stranger...perhaps the only strange thing was this entire situation...

He'd gained two guests: Ronan and his dog, Darby, who Louis was currently scratching behind the ears. Having a dog in the flat was the highlight of this rather tumultuous time, and it caused Louis to wonder why they'd never brought a pet home before.

"Your brother takes very long showers," Louis muttered, not noticing the slouch he'd fallen into within the cushions his chair as he and Saoirse had drifted into a long, heavy silence. He wasn't sure why she was still even in the flat, but he was in no rush to remove her or himself from the rooftop. It felt odd to settle into the main living room as now someone was living there, but it had been feeling not only odd, but empty, so maybe it would not be such a problem.

His eyes flicked over to Saoirse. "Has he spoken to you of plans?"

WHO: #twins
WHAT: hoo lawd
WHERE: The Leaky Cauldron!
WHEN: today! this morning!

( Are you Obliviator Orpington? )

NOMINEES ★ HONOREES ★ PRESENTERS ★ WINNERS ★ AWARD

Madam Puddifoot's Tea Party | Melania's Exhibition | St. Mungo's Gala~ | etc. etc. etc.!

Spread & Share the ♥!
OOC: Cards/Gifts from your characters to their loved ones can be posted here!! Have fun!

Huddled with the many layers of her skirt bunched in her arms, Saoirse couldn't say she was very interested in ensuring the entertainment of the guests at her own wedding. She supposed she thought if they were truly not enjoying themselves, then there would be no fault of departure from the little, nestled section of land on the Fawcett grounds the Williams-Mullet reception had taken over. After all, wasn't the benefit of friendship to express honesty between the other? To not feel forced into doing whatever it was that one did not want to do? Saoirse knew very much what it felt like to be pushed to do something that she otherwise did not want to, which was certainly why she and Howell had tucked themselves away in the closet under the stairs back at Drystan and Bess' house in downright defiance of Wedding Planner Caramel Flume's expressed wishes. She was sure there must be some important thing that they should be attending to at this instant, like cake cutting, or pressing small talk with table three, or preparing a set of magically-lit birds to fly into the night sky or other, but as always, Saoirse couldn't care. All she had, all she needed from the day was right beside her, and only wanting that, she felt little guilt in slipping away with Howell for a bit of quiet every time the opportunity arose (or when it didn't). Surely this hiding place of theirs would soon be exposed as the others had, but for now, Saoirse felt content in sitting on the floor with her head resting against Howell's shoulder. In a brilliant move the last time they had been dragged out to the party, Howell managed to steal a plate from dinner. Looking at it, uncurling one of her arms to wrap it around his own, she regarded the magically-refilling dish before their feet. With their wands both lit above, propped on a coat hanger, the foods on it were very easy to see. "Is this quail?" she asked, finding the meat odd. Her lips pressed together, and picking her head up to look at Howell for a funny moment, Saoirse realized she found that too strange. A soft and tinkering laugh escaped her lips as her eyes, as they always did, gazed to his.

WHO: Saoirse Mullet and Louis Bonaccord
WHAT: #slytherins
WHERE: Bridal suite?
WHEN: Before the wedding!

( There is something wrong with the cake )

St. Mungo's was not a place he wished to stay for long. The potions were never sweet, always bitter with an aftertaste that stuck to the walls of your throat. Spells that made your insides twist and bend and feel like they were going to burst from your skin. The beds, they were not comfortable, and why did the blankets always itch?

Was it meant to be the most uncomfortable of places so that their patients forced themselves to get better, to heal, so that they would leave?

The aurors did not waste time in asking questions, looking for answers that Louis did not have. He believed it was complete luck that the prince's abductors believed his tall tales, his twists of truth that bought them more time, that allowed them to be found. Reporters had tried to catch a glimpse of Monty, and when they failed they settled with trying to get a quote out of Louis, which his sister had expertly been preventing. This was not attention he had wished for or desired, and it felt very strange to be on the other end of some snuck in camera lens.

He just wished, for himself, for the prince, for their families and friends...he just wished for rest...

Saoirse Mullet was drunk.

And not just drunk, but drunk drunk. She was sure of that fact, she had only been drunk once... twice before in her whole life. Three times! Three times, she had been drunk three times in her entire life. And now...! Now was one of those times, she decided most gleefully as she buried her giggles into the back of Howell's neck. It was warm, but of course unable to not see where they were going for too long, Saoirse quickly popped her chin back up to let her eyes dance along with the light that reflected against the river beside them.

Adian was right, London was fun at night.

Not too long ago, she couldn't exactly remember when now, Saoirse had screeched that it was too cold to walk any further (a lie, the brisk air couldn't have felt better against her face), and taken it upon herself to jump onto Howell's back to stay warm. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and feet dangling under his arms, she thought... that... this was nice. It was nice to do normal things like go out to pubs with your friends and drink, it was nice to spend time together, and it was a nice way to spend a final night in England before heading to the ice tundra that was Siberia.

The fact that she would certainly be due a massive headache tomorrow morning was irrelevant. How could something so far way be prevalent in her mind? Never! Instead, Saoirse made a squeaking noise as she thought she spotted two familiar dancing figures a bit aways a head on the path.

"We must catch them!!" she thumped Howell's chest excessively, Saoirse Mullet never one to let go of an opportunity to win something. What was the competition? She didn't care. All she knew was that she and Howell must be first to make it to the Tower before the rest of their friends. Wouldn't it be fun to snog on the benches there? Her lips curled devilishly, and as her chin dropped to rest over his shoulder, her tangled, forgotten hair fell with it.

"Or we lose!"


[OOC] Adian and Louis collected their friends to send off Howell & Saoirse! The group is roaming the streets of London (IN MUGGLE GARB?!) so anyone could make an appearance... >:]

The first wave of victims of the Caerphilly Catastrophe have flooded into St. Mungo's Hospital. The Daily Prophet can confirm that there are fatalities on both the wizard and muggle sides, though names have not been released at this time. If you are searching for a family member, the St. Mungo's staff asks you to remain calm as updating lists will be posted in the main lobby.

Minister Bagnold has issued a short statement:

"What occurred in Caerphilly is the product of the mistreatment of one of our nation's most beloved pastimes. My heart and the Ministry's goes out to the families that were affected, just as they have these past few weeks of chaos. Remain vigilante; we will get down to the bottom of these disasters by any means necessary."


OOC: HYBRID COMMENTS THREAD! Here, your characters can thread out hospital visits from Friday night and on, depending on how you want your story to play out, or your character can react in comment form to the news. Updates will be made accordingly!

If you're threading, putting a title in the first comment will help keep track.

This had been a very weird night.

Charlie had noticed the helicopter first, and had immediately slipped back to sit in the middle hoop to watch it land in awe. This was the weirdest, weirdest thing he had ever seen! Quidditch was--it was such a magical institution that any thought of the muggle world was stripped from his mind, so to see...it was almost like a dragon had decided to make Caerphilly Stadium its new nest. The Kestrels had watched in shock as the two pilots jumped out and onto the pitch, looking frantic and confused. Hell, wouldn't you be if you were flying over an usually empty moor, and saw a stadium full of hundreds of people?

Axe had instantly commanded them down to the ground once the authorities made it onto the pitch (and the bloody choppers stopped spinning), and the Kestrels ducked down the tunnel that led to the opposing team's locker room. Charlie checked over his shoulder to try and get a glimpse of what was going on, and frowned at the sight of Griffiths seemingly having a panic attack. He made to head back, but Odette had surprisingly swooped in.

What a weird night.

Charlie couldn't get out any words as they moved to the lockers, and he was the first to push through the door, thinking it was going to be a long time before any of them got out of there. He turned around to walk backwards toward his locker and face the rest of his team, but was grabbed around the neck by a figure in the darkness. Charlie's hands went up, back and knees bent, and he let a strangled sound.

"What the fuck is going on?!" the muggle shouted, twisting one of Charlie's arms behind his back. Charlie winced before he shut his eyes at the feel of something cold and metal pressing against his temple, and it emitted a loud click that bounced off the walls of the locker room.

He had not thought that the combined brain trust of Odette MacFarlan and Charlie Spinnet was enough to create a mini, contained tornado in his locker, but it seemed like Artie didn't know much of anything these days. Every time he opened the door, the swirl of green wind picked up all of his things and sent them spinning, spinning, out of order, out of sorts. When the door shut, he would hear them clatter to the ground, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself to stop opening the bloody door. Knowing that everything he needed was in such a disarray made his head spin, his hands twitch, his skin itch. But he couldn't think of the spell that could stop it, he couldn't think of anything past how much he hated it in Kenmare.

Artie believed he must have been confunded to think that this trade was a good idea. It had seemed like a smart move, the team was still young and thriving, and he was getting lost in the bleakness that was Ballycastle. If he wanted to make his mark, he needed to be on a team that people paid attention to. All Artie wanted to do was prove himself, which he thought he had with his World Cup performance, but MacFarlan had instantly burst any excitement he may have had with her blatant---she had to have been lying when she said she didn't know who he was, right?

And now, it was a joke of the locker room, of the team, of the league. Who the hell is Artie Griffiths? He'd been in the league for years...was he that unmemorable? Artie opened his locker door again, and of course the damn twister started right up. He knew that if he reached in he would probably trigger some damn reaction, but in the moment he didn't care. Artie jutted a fist into the center of the miniature storm, and groaned as while the storm did die down, all of his things were in a jumbled mess on the bottom of his locker, covered in what must have been a Charlie Spinnet-inspired slime.

He slammed the door, feeling his face get red with frustration, with---his anxiety. He'd arrived to the pitch an hour before schedule to try and avoid the antics of his idiot teammates, but of course he'd been tricked again. Artie shut his eyes tightly and dropped down to the bench behind him, hands pressed to his eyes.

Peter had not understood his management's request to wear light colors, a white shirt if he could, until he entered the tented area on Wimbourne Field and was struck with a glob of what felt like paint. He stared down at the bright pink bulge on his chest for a few seconds before looking up to find the culprit, a tiny intern from the back offices who looked mortified that he had been the one to strike Peter. But, the week had been a good one for his team and for himself, so Peter just spread the paint across his shirt like a claw mark and continued on his way. If this was their theme, he was going to run with it. Anyone who came into his path had a pink hand-print somewhere on their body, whether it be in an appropriate place or not. He was enjoying very much the attention that had been put on the Wasps, and with their latest addition milling about somewhere, the news fresh off a post-game announcement, Peter was feeling excellent about the rest of their season. Perhaps he needed some yellow paint, with all this team spirit he was feeling. Peter made his way through to a table where the necessary supplies were at the ready, and dipped two fingers into the bowl of yellow paint. With keen expertise, he spread thick lines across his cheek bones, as if ready to go into battle. His spirits high and the lights down low, this was certainly going to prove to be an excellent night.

ooc: Black Buzzers and the Brash Bees win! Caden Flint and Hugh Orpington are your MVPs!
Black light party! Paint! Wizard fun! Lots of dark corners to get into trouble!

"What happened?" Liddie asked curiously, perhaps with a bit of a smirk as she settled herself suddenly on Charlie's lap. He had been half way through drying his damp hair, dress robes haphazardly tossed back on, but that was no matter to her. No, instead she tilted her head, rested her arms on his shoulders, and wondered idly how long they would have until someone came looking for the either them. Thirty minutes, at least? That was certainly enough for a proper story time.

Forty minutes, perhaps. This was a large castle, and the door to their private room was unmarked.

When Charlie made a strained face, Liddie laughed. For even now, after the wedding was over and the reception about to begin, he seemed guiltier than ever over his late arrival this afternoon. Charlie had been... well, she should say, Charlie and Michal had been---

Charlie had been just a little bit late to the ceremony, arriving about half past four. But that had been no surprise, because even before that, Ewan promptly announced that both Charlie and a certain final Lynch brother were no where to be found. After a bit of silent breathing and proper thinking, Liddie realized she knew exactly what was going on and had no problem waiting patiently for what was undoubtably going to be a very good story for the future.

When Charlie swept into her dressing room disheveled, a manic look in his eye, and tasting like rotten fish, Liddie felt quite pleased (and relieved, if she must admit) with herself. She would only be content with torturing him about this a little bit for the rest of their lives. Picking at the ends of his mouth to turn them upwards into a smile, she smiled too.

"You smell much better now than you did before," she teased, nodding seriously. Distracted only for a moment, she looked down at the fine intricate work of her white dress; it looked so beautiful against the dark tone of his robes.