A Not-So Sweet Escape, Closed. Options

[Arcite Corelli]

It wasn't that he missed home, per se, that Arcite was drawn to the kitchens in the evenings; the end of every summer signaled his immediate enthusiasm with the prospect of returning to Hogwarts and escaping the confines of the house. And certainly, the food sent up to the Great Hall was just as good as that what was served at home (better, even, given the foreign guests), but Arcite had missed spending evenings in the kitchen of the Corelli Durham manor with Chillingworth the butler. It felt like a place apart from the rest of the manor, and so was Arcite's only refuge from his mother's frantic and vocal self-doubts about his upbringing.

And so in tradition of those quiet evenings, Arcite would occasionally make the trip through the dungeons to the large still-life painting of the fruit bowl, tickle the pear and step inside the cozy and homely (it was to him) kitchen, with the scents of cooking and baking wafting and permeating the air, for a steaming mug of tea and buttermilk scones.

This particular evening, however, Arcite fancied coffee and tiramisu, and it was probably a bad idea to consume so much caffeine and sugar at the time, but he wanted tiramisu more and you couldn't have one without the other. So he was getting both. It was a situation he had no control over, truly.

He regretted nothing.

A House Elf had come beaming and trotting towards him through the steam of the dinner being made and sent up to the Great Hall, and Arcite quickly recited his order, came over and hopped up onto one of the unused tables, and waited, legs absently swinging. There was another reason why he liked coming down into the kitchens: here was a place where he could be comfortable and think to himself. And get food while he was at it. But really, mealtimes had quickly become a very awkward affair whenever he sat with Damian, especially given the spell of weirdness that had come between them; Arcite would have to resolutely force himself not to look up the table to find Sebastian. And even in Damian's absence, there was Atwell, who'd considered it 'creepy' how Arcite would sometimes forget he had barely touched the food on his plate, and was instead rather busy furtively glacing at the Montague.

And how had that happened - that his inhuman appetite of two extra helpings of whatever he'd piled on his plate the first time, would poof! and disappear at the presence of Sebastian? It didn't make sense. What further confused him was that he didn't mind, or notice until someone like Atwell called him on it.

And so Arcite sought refuged in the kitchens.

Tonight, though, solitude wasn't in the cards. Stirred from his reminiscence of home, and inner debate on just where admiration stopped and - Arcite's heart gave a little leap at the very thought every time he'd thought it, and he could no longer think about it. Arcite looked in the direction of the kitchen entrance and remembered that there were other things that rendered him no longer hungry. Arcite's groan of frustration was what greeted Simone, as he slid an equally frustrated hand down his face, muttering something that sounded like, "Oh, Merlin, not you."

"Ugh, I seem to have lost my appetite," he drawled, fixing the Gryffindor with an irritable glare. "I blame you entirely for your unexpected and unneccessary appearance, Halliwell. Don't you have someplace else - wait," he held up a hand towards her. "Don't answer that - the very thought of you having a life is alone disturbing."

This post has been edited by Arcite Corelli: Nov 26 2009, 07:53 AM

[Arcite Corelli]

Arcite blinked, his cold and narrow gaze still fixed on Simone, his mouth still a thin line as he gritted his teeth at the girl's proposal. "Owe you?" he repeated, turning his head slightly as if he were hard of hearing for a moment. The prospect of owing Simone Halliwell anything was about as appealing as being bludgered in the head, suffering a concussion and then remebering that while he were in this state of poor mental health, he got dressed up in a tutu and were twirling around on top of the Slytherin table for all the Great Hall to see, while singing 'I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts.'

Not going to happen.

"I'd rather vomit," Arcite told her flatly, as he tried to banish the horrific mental image; that's what nightmares were made of, seriously. ...and for that matter, he was going to avoid bludgers coming at him more actively now, once Quidditch starts up again next year. Just to be safe and sure. "Sorry, Simone, but the only 'back scratching' I see us having, is that you leave me the hell alone and I'll do the same for you and good riddance." Arcite straightened up and shoved his hands into his robes' pockets, giving the Gryffindor a cold, level glare. "And if you think we can be on friendly enough terms for me to owe you a favor, then the air up in that tower of yours must be thinner than I thought."

He slowly walked around the table, too irked to lament his unfinished evening snack and sneered at Simone. "And for what it's worth, I'd hate to be friendly - even civil - with someone who uses blackmail to get to that point," he finished, shot Simone an irritated look and slipped past her out the giant portrait, his heart still hammering about the fact that Simone knew.

Gryffindor nobility? What a joke - Simone just wanted him to think she was being considerate, when she could rat him out as soon as he had a toe out of line.