ALRIGHT QUOD KIDS! You're going to need a shower after that one, and Vercoer's impressive facilities certainly provide. There's plenty of time to see sights and stuff your face, so get out there and snack!
Students have about five hours to kick around the Vercoer-Bayou Sauvage-New Orleans area. (We are hand-waving that your kids are safe and supervised.) They'll need to meet up at the Yeehawl Station to head home by 7:30PM.
The pitch, used dually for Quidditch and Quodpot, is just north of campus and it's a short walk back to civilization. Vercoer Academie is a lovely campus, all French Creole architecture, tightly packed buildings lining narrow brick streets, all splashed with bright blues and greens, warm oranges and reds. It looks a bit like a miniature version of New Orleans's French Quarter. Every multi-level building features wrap around decks and wrought iron fencing, some of which is living, animated to writhe. It looks decidedly worm-like, which is appropriate considering the ver in Vercoer. The campus is much smaller than Peckenpaugh, concentrated across a couple of blocks and ringed by the village of Bayou Sauvage. It's difficult to tell where the school ends and the town begins with this arrangement, but somehow it makes the tiny town feel so much more metropolitan than Peckenpaugh's college campus-style arrangement.
Vercoer is a three House school, with each house seeming to fall under Sun, Moon or Star iconography. The motifs feature prominently throughout the campus, celestial objects fashioned from copper, bronze and steel, draped with moss and ivy and arranged seemingly without rhyme or reason. Instead of one central classroom building, classes seem to be conducted across several smaller buildings, some of which are open to explore and decorated with pieces of Vercoer and New Orleans history.
It's a nice day. Unfortunately, true to their reputation, most Vercoer students seem to know just how much more exclusive their school is than Peckenpaugh, and campus visitors may find they're dealing with a bunch of condescending space alien nerds. Thankfully, unlike the school's students, the local residents of Bayou Sauvage are a great deal friendlier, funnier and more engaging. Just about everyone wants to stop for a chat, tell you about the town, and compliment players on "one hell of a game."
While the bright paint job persists throughout Bayou Sauvage, many windows are darkly tinted and lined with thick blinds. Some shops are even closed outright with hours posted for evenings, only! The reason for this becomes immediately evident: Bayou Sauvage has a significant vampiric population, and they need to take special precautions to protect their residents from the sun. Still, there are plenty of shops open, places to eat and explore. The local bakery is giving out free beignets to students of both Vercoer and Peckenpaugh, and there is, unsurprisingly, a jazz band playing outside the local bar where residents have gathered to grab lunch and discuss the game.
This place is bringing out a strange envy in Chanel. She doesn't like being looked at like she's inferior, and she doesn't like thinking she is, either. She wished, a little, that she had researched Vercoer more thoroughly, and tried to draw Armani away from the cryptid paradise they attended now. The vibe is absolutely more Her, here. Sure, there's the issue of "they'd miss their friends" or whatever. But here, camped out under a blackened window, she can't help but think of what could have been. She could've had a vampire friend.
"It's not dark, so they probably won't even be out before we leave," she complains to the unfortunate victim she's tricked into sightseeing. She tosses a pebble and throws it up and down in her hand before ultimately deciding against throwing it at the poor creature's bedroom. They're probably still in a coffin bed, anyway. "We could pretend to be vampire doordash. Blood delivery, gone awry?"
"It gets dark around five so maybe we can wait?" Armani is anxious about knocking on anyone's door, but especially the door of a sleeping vampire. "Maybe one of the restaurants around here has a vampire breakfast special."
Edited (i'm a-ok if others want to tag in also??) 2020-01-05 07:14 (UTC)
Vercoer should have been Eddy's school. He'd been accepted. His last name was probably emblazoned on one of the campus buildings. And his post-life vibe did seem to fit in here a lot better.
Wyatt hadn't been accepted. And, well, it wasn't quite so simple. But it also was.
"Blood sausage," Eddy offers with a straight face. It's one of the rare things he's said this afternoon, seeming more content than usual to lurk quietly with his friends. Disturbing a sleeping vampire isn't high on his list of good ideas either.
This dumb joke prompts a rare exhale of laughter from Chanel. And all right, so stalking a vampire isn't her best plan yet, but she figures her friends could use a distraction. She hadn't missed the other Waxweiler. And the best way to treat a broken heart that she knew of was to fill it with an undead obsession. So she presses on.
"With a little side of blood orange juice, perfect. You know. This might be a good place to re-stock our Bloodletter. They've got to have stores accomodating their residents' tastes."
Chanel's embellishment of vampire breakfast special warrants a small smile. It's such a good distraction that Eddy doesn't even groan (inwardly) in the slightest when Bloodletter gets mentioned.
Considering he's one of two school captains here, he should probably hesitate a little longer before agreeing with Armani. "Yeah. Lots of bags." He still hasn't acquired a taste for Bloodletter, but the twins can't seem to get enough of it. Maybe he just hasn't found the right blood type yet. "Bet they have, like--" Uh. What's fancy? "-quail flavor too."
It's too late before Adrian realizes that this is how they get you. One beignet free and then, well, how on Earth are you supposed to eat just one?? After that game, he's too achy to move around much, so Adrian turns out his pockets for pastries, and has set up shop outside the town bakery with a massive plate of fried goodies.
Any time he sees a classmate pass by, he offers a friendly smile — one black-and-blue eye squinting shut — and a pastry. He...maybe bought too many to eat by himself?
Back in his misspent youth of... a year ago, Skip had chugged a bottle of hot sauce in under thirty seconds for a dare. The taste and the burning had stayed in not just his mouth but also his ears, nose, and throat for more than three days, and he’s pretty sure this time is going to be worse - he had been soaked in the stuff by the time he hit the showers.
Outwardly clean if still fire-red inside, Skip had gone directly to the local bakery for the free beignet he’d heard about before even stepping foot off the Yeehawl. He's already half-covered in powdered sugar by the time he notices one of his captains outside the very shop he’d just been in.
"Did you get any medical attention after the game?" he asks skeptically, eying his captain’s battered form with one raised eyebrow.
"Man, I didn't want Healer Greatheart anywhere near my nuts," is approximately what Adrian says, though it's nearly impossible to decipher with his mouth stuffed full of powdered sugar and fried choux pastry. He swallows before he says the next bit, tipping his head to the side. "So, I forewent any healing." The I'm tough, I can handle it is implied.
Adrian holds the plate up, further offering a beignet, again. "Played a hell of a game today, Rider."
Fred doesn't hesitate to shovel a beignet into her mouth when the opportunity is presented. Or a second. Or a third. She does offer some sort of greeting around deep-fried pastry after the second one enters her mouth. The fact that these aren't all free samples doesn't cross her mind.
"Our school clearly had the better marching band performance today," she opines to Adrian, in a way that doesn't invite disagreement. That's the real reason everyone gets together for Quodpot games, right? Then, as if she's actually looking at Adrian for the first time since shoveling three beignets in her mouth, asks, "Hey, did you get punched by a vampire? I've heard vampire street gangs are a serious problem around here."
The elf to the face set the perfect tone for the afternoon, with the only mercy being that Presley couldn't see the reactions of the rest of his cousins in the crowded stands. The entire match had him so tense that he couldn't even enjoy the sight of Eden breaking her arm. Every "Mondragon" uttered by the announcer crept under his skin, reminding him that had he gone to Vercoer Academie as planned, he would've been one of many, and likely not even the most talented or respected Mondragon. Hell. Given the final result, he probably wouldn't even have ranked as a half-decent cheerleader.
Presley escapes the locker room as soon as he can. He doesn't want to hear commiserations or reassurances. He's sick of everyone saying it was a "good game" and "we did our best" and "we should be proud." He doesn't feel proud. Worse, he can't even pretend to feel proud, which is not what anyone needs from a cheerleader, and so Presley hides himself under a plain grey hoodie and speed-walks as far away from the (unnecessarily large, ridiculous, ostentious) stadium as he can get.
He doesn't have a plan, unless you count "no friends, no cheer, no Quodpotters" as a plan, so of course the first person that Presley sees on the way to town is Felicity Fucking Deverill. If he just keeps walking and pretends he doesn't know her, will she think he's a Vercoer student? Lacking any better ideas, Presley keeps his gaze forward and continues down the path.
Felicity will do Val's meditations and drink Cherry Coke out of her crystal water bottle, but they don't fit her right. The mindful activities and spiritual behaviors are like a sweater that's too tight at the neck and bunches in the middle. One she's itching to take off. So after the team meeting, she too makes a quick exit and heads toward town. She's still steaming from the game. From how Vercoer played. From how Tony was eliminated. How she was eliminated. How they lost. The loss -- like her hot-sauce bathed skin -- still very much stings.
She should have played better, smarter, more under control.
She passes a particularly punchable trash can and almost swings at it, but she's stopped by her fear of being a cliché. Just then she spots someone in a familiar gray hoodie giving off a familiar "leave me the fuck alone" energy.
"Presley!" she calls out and hustles after him. "Pres," she repeats, falling into stride. (Which isn't the easiest thing given his pace.) She's still sour, but her grumpiness is perverted into a more enjoyable form in Presley's company. Her favorite grumpy friend. "Well, that was some bullshit, huh?"
Presley sighs loudly when he hears Felicity shout his name, but he still slows his pace when he senses her at his shoulder. He might not be in the mood for company, but Felicity actually played in that catastrophe instead of being a... a useless bystander. She has more of a right to feel bad about it than he does.
It's okay, Presley thinks. He can't bring himself to say it. "Some bullshit," he echoes. He's silent for a couple of steps, but Presley has never been good at silence, sullen or otherwise. "Deverill, you smell like hot sauce. Is it in your hair?"
Felicity pulls her ponytail around to the front of her face, gives it a sniff, then wrings it out like a dishtowel. A few orange water drops fall to the ground. "Guess so," she grumbles. She stops walking, pulls off her hair tie, and bends forward at the waste. She runs her hands through her hair, gathering it up, and gives it a few more hard twists. She wants this stupid loss off of her. When she stands her hands are faintly stained. Whatever. "Fuck it," she rubs her palms on the front of her pants and resumes walking away from the school. Defiant. Bitter. Childish. "I'd rather be us and lose today than be them who are losers all the fucking time." Childish, remember? "Ain't that right, Pres?"
"And how exactly are you defining 'losers'? Personality? The world doesn't care about what you're like, they care about your achievements." The bitterness in Presley's voice matches hers—maybe too much, given that he wasn't a player. The Quodpot team had done so well until now, and Vercoer was known to be tough competition. He should be proud of them for giving it their all, and not be... petty or whatever.
This isn't about you, Mondragon. "How are you feeling," Presley asks stiffly, arms crossed and barely looking at Felicity.
It's weird being in Vercoer right now. She doesn't come out here very often, even living in Baton Rouge. There's too many memories, good, bad and indifferent, and they're all tangled up and sticky with thoughts of her brother and who they were three years ago.
She doesn't intend to go anywhere on campus. She'd rather go to the lake or New Orleans, as removed as she usually is from the magical parts of Louisiana, but then she sees him. Viking. The boy who dumped her by howler just because she decided to change schools at the last minute and didn't even think to tell him.
And he winks at her.
"Are you staying on campus?" she whispers to her nearest schoolmate. "Because I feel like decorating someone's dorm."
Peckenpaugh's staff organizes a group trip to New Orleans proper, and while they could certainly portkey their way there, they decide to take the boat, instead. It proves to be the right choice, the ship is lovely and the weather is beautiful. A quick magical jaunt across Lake Pontchartrain will deliver students right into the arms of New Orleans proper. There's enough time to grab a snack or a mocktail and watch the water whisk by at the little cafe tables scattered around the deck.
The line between magical and mundane New Orleans is almost non-existent, making for a fascinating experience you won't find anywhere else. Muggles walk right past Apothecaries and Wandsellers tucked in beside restaurants and boutiques, not noticing them at all, only to turn right into shops clearly labeled as being for magic.
You've got five hours to eat as many po'boys and crawfish as you can, kiddos. Use this space to enjoy yourselves!
The appeal of rich food faded for Viola with the coming of the New Year. All the butter-soaked baked goods, tinsel, confetti, and champagne made promises of comfort and excitement that they couldn't keep and now she just feels weary. A twinge of guilt sparks down her spine every time she catches herself lapsing into silence—it was selfish of her to ask Aris to come with her on her search for chicory coffee, knowing full well she's poor company—and she pushes herself to make an effort. "Florian said you played well," she smiles softly, "I thought so, too, but..." She shrugs. "It all seems rather random to me."
A team player through and through and not one to hype his own performance, Aris responds with a shrug and a broad but slightly sheepish grin, "Thanks! Everyone played well, I think. On both sides. It got pretty wild out there!" Maybe a little too wild for him, in the end. It's been a while since he's felt as worn out as he does now, but he isn't about to let that stop him from going out with a friend. Especially Viola. Even if he's not sure what chicory coffee actually is.
As if to prove to himself that he's still got some energy to spare, he makes a point of grabbing hold of a lamppost and casually swinging around it as they turn a corner. Yeah! He's up for anything! Then he adds, "So...do we know where this place is? Or would that ruin the serendipity?"
The urge to gloat on his behalf passes through her brain but fails to find the correct language and Viola has a distaste for speaking imprecisely, so she doesn’t. Instead, she nods her agreement and loops her arm through his as he comes swinging around the corner.
Viola isn’t actually looking for a particular place but his question is a good reminder to look up from her loafers and begin reading the storefront signs. She is pretty sure they sell chicory coffee all over New Orleans, it’s just a matter of determining which of these shops accepts dragots. “Ruins the serendipity,” she smirks, tugging lightly on his sleeve. “I was hoping the universe would provide, for once. New year, new tricks.”
Happy to walk arm in arm, Aris quickly falls into step with Viola and nods along with her assessment, smile brightening. He's always been a fan of whim-based decisions and he's more than willing to walk until his housemate finds the right spot. "Universe is looking out for us this year. I can feel it!"
A remarkably optimistic outlook for someone who just lost two Quodpot games on the same day, but that's Aris. The only indication that Viola is amazed by his confidence is a barely audible huff of air through her nostrils. She does feel compelled to ask if he knows something that she doesn't. "It's been treating you kindly, thus far? Did you have a nice New Years?"
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peckenpaugh2020-01-04 03:36 pm
WELCOME TO VERCOER ACADEMIE!
Students have about five hours to kick around the Vercoer-Bayou Sauvage-New Orleans area. (We are hand-waving that your kids are safe and supervised.) They'll need to meet up at the Yeehawl Station to head home by 7:30PM.
VERCOER ACADEMIE & BAYOU SAUVAGE
Vercoer is a three House school, with each house seeming to fall under Sun, Moon or Star iconography. The motifs feature prominently throughout the campus, celestial objects fashioned from copper, bronze and steel, draped with moss and ivy and arranged seemingly without rhyme or reason. Instead of one central classroom building, classes seem to be conducted across several smaller buildings, some of which are open to explore and decorated with pieces of Vercoer and New Orleans history.
It's a nice day. Unfortunately, true to their reputation, most Vercoer students seem to know just how much more exclusive their school is than Peckenpaugh, and campus visitors may find they're dealing with a bunch of condescending space alien nerds. Thankfully, unlike the school's students, the local residents of Bayou Sauvage are a great deal friendlier, funnier and more engaging. Just about everyone wants to stop for a chat, tell you about the town, and compliment players on "one hell of a game."
While the bright paint job persists throughout Bayou Sauvage, many windows are darkly tinted and lined with thick blinds. Some shops are even closed outright with hours posted for evenings, only! The reason for this becomes immediately evident: Bayou Sauvage has a significant vampiric population, and they need to take special precautions to protect their residents from the sun. Still, there are plenty of shops open, places to eat and explore. The local bakery is giving out free beignets to students of both Vercoer and Peckenpaugh, and there is, unsurprisingly, a jazz band playing outside the local bar where residents have gathered to grab lunch and discuss the game.
Vampire Hunting With Chanel (Open!)
"It's not dark, so they probably won't even be out before we leave," she complains to the unfortunate victim she's tricked into sightseeing. She tosses a pebble and throws it up and down in her hand before ultimately deciding against throwing it at the poor creature's bedroom. They're probably still in a coffin bed, anyway. "We could pretend to be vampire doordash. Blood delivery, gone awry?"
Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani
Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani & Eddy
Wyatt hadn't been accepted. And, well, it wasn't quite so simple. But it also was.
"Blood sausage," Eddy offers with a straight face. It's one of the rare things he's said this afternoon, seeming more content than usual to lurk quietly with his friends. Disturbing a sleeping vampire isn't high on his list of good ideas either.
Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani & Eddy
"With a little side of blood orange juice, perfect. You know. This might be a good place to re-stock our Bloodletter. They've got to have stores accomodating their residents' tastes."
Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani & Eddy
"Ohhh, Bloodletter! Yes!! Do you think we could sneak it back on the bus without getting caught?" For that, he looks toward Eddy.
Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani & Eddy
Considering he's one of two school captains here, he should probably hesitate a little longer before agreeing with Armani. "Yeah. Lots of bags." He still hasn't acquired a taste for Bloodletter, but the twins can't seem to get enough of it. Maybe he just hasn't found the right blood type yet. "Bet they have, like--" Uh. What's fancy? "-quail flavor too."
Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani & Eddy
Re: Vampire Hunting With Chanel & Armani & Eddy
Beignets (OPEN++)
Any time he sees a classmate pass by, he offers a friendly smile — one black-and-blue eye squinting shut — and a pastry. He...maybe bought too many to eat by himself?
Beignets and Quodboys
Outwardly clean if still fire-red inside, Skip had gone directly to the local bakery for the free beignet he’d heard about before even stepping foot off the Yeehawl. He's already half-covered in powdered sugar by the time he notices one of his captains outside the very shop he’d just been in.
"Did you get any medical attention after the game?" he asks skeptically, eying his captain’s battered form with one raised eyebrow.
Beignets and Quodboys
Adrian holds the plate up, further offering a beignet, again. "Played a hell of a game today, Rider."
Beignets & Oblivious Band Members
"Our school clearly had the better marching band performance today," she opines to Adrian, in a way that doesn't invite disagreement. That's the real reason everyone gets together for Quodpot games, right? Then, as if she's actually looking at Adrian for the first time since shoveling three beignets in her mouth, asks, "Hey, did you get punched by a vampire? I've heard vampire street gangs are a serious problem around here."
Presley & Felicity
Presley escapes the locker room as soon as he can. He doesn't want to hear commiserations or reassurances. He's sick of everyone saying it was a "good game" and "we did our best" and "we should be proud." He doesn't feel proud. Worse, he can't even pretend to feel proud, which is not what anyone needs from a cheerleader, and so Presley hides himself under a plain grey hoodie and speed-walks as far away from the (unnecessarily large, ridiculous, ostentious) stadium as he can get.
He doesn't have a plan, unless you count "no friends, no cheer, no Quodpotters" as a plan, so of course the first person that Presley sees on the way to town is Felicity Fucking Deverill. If he just keeps walking and pretends he doesn't know her, will she think he's a Vercoer student? Lacking any better ideas, Presley keeps his gaze forward and continues down the path.
Presley & Felicity
She should have played better, smarter, more under control.
She passes a particularly punchable trash can and almost swings at it, but she's stopped by her fear of being a cliché. Just then she spots someone in a familiar gray hoodie giving off a familiar "leave me the fuck alone" energy.
"Presley!" she calls out and hustles after him. "Pres," she repeats, falling into stride. (Which isn't the easiest thing given his pace.) She's still sour, but her grumpiness is perverted into a more enjoyable form in Presley's company. Her favorite grumpy friend. "Well, that was some bullshit, huh?"
Presley & Felicity
It's okay, Presley thinks. He can't bring himself to say it. "Some bullshit," he echoes. He's silent for a couple of steps, but Presley has never been good at silence, sullen or otherwise. "Deverill, you smell like hot sauce. Is it in your hair?"
Presley & Felicity
Presley & Felicity
This isn't about you, Mondragon. "How are you feeling," Presley asks stiffly, arms crossed and barely looking at Felicity.
Presley & Felicity
Presley & Felicity
Presley & Felicity
VERCOER ACADEMIE: Claudia the Vandal (OPEN)
She doesn't intend to go anywhere on campus. She'd rather go to the lake or New Orleans, as removed as she usually is from the magical parts of Louisiana, but then she sees him. Viking. The boy who dumped her by howler just because she decided to change schools at the last minute and didn't even think to tell him.
And he winks at her.
"Are you staying on campus?" she whispers to her nearest schoolmate. "Because I feel like decorating someone's dorm."
LAKE PONTCHARTRAIN
AROUND NEW ORLEANS
You've got five hours to eat as many po'boys and crawfish as you can, kiddos. Use this space to enjoy yourselves!
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
As if to prove to himself that he's still got some energy to spare, he makes a point of grabbing hold of a lamppost and casually swinging around it as they turn a corner. Yeah! He's up for anything! Then he adds, "So...do we know where this place is? Or would that ruin the serendipity?"
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
Viola isn’t actually looking for a particular place but his question is a good reminder to look up from her loafers and begin reading the storefront signs. She is pretty sure they sell chicory coffee all over New Orleans, it’s just a matter of determining which of these shops accepts dragots. “Ruins the serendipity,” she smirks, tugging lightly on his sleeve. “I was hoping the universe would provide, for once. New year, new tricks.”
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris
AROUND NEW ORLEANS: Viola & Aris