A Ponderous Meal

[narcisse]

Narcisse sat there, legs crossed, his fork twirling in his plate as his grey orbs trailed the Great Hall. It was not as crowded as it had been earlier in the morning when he had first arrived, but that was alright. He was always late to getting to breakfast, or any meal that he had to ready himself for. In the morning it was because he had just woken, bathed, and had to go through that daily ritual, and in the evenings it was because he had to freshen up. The only time he ever got to the Great Hall when most others were there was at lunch, since he didn’t have time to go to his room to fix whatever may have fallen out of place. It had been the very same this morning when he had risen, somewhat early, and began his ritual of applying this and that, bathing, then applying the cosmetics that he daily wore. Though they were not like your average make-up, but he did have cosmetics that his mother supplied him with to enhance his already near-perfect appearance.

He had even been a bit more leisurely about the ritual than usual, but then again, at home he had house-elves to help him. So it was bound to take longer at school when he did the work all by himself, with no assistance at all. And there were times, like this, on the weekends when he had no clue what he might wear. On weekdays it was easy, just put on one of his clean custom uniforms, but on weekends, when they were allowed to dress in a freer style, it often seemed to become a chore. Though he had finally made his decision, for that morning he wore a fine, very well-manicured cashmere sweater of the deepest royal purple one could ever weave. The sweater had a very intricate “E” woven into it on the left side in silver thread, just above where his heart was. It was one of the simpler crests of the House of Eraclea, and even in its simplest form it was quite ornate. Narcisse also wore a pair of somewhat tight black pants of soft cotton, with a matching cloak, though is cloak hung on the vacant chair just beside him. However, still upon his neck was his favorite scarf, the one his mother had imported from India; a brilliant scarf woven carefully with the most luxurious silver silk they could find. And laying just to the side of his fork was a pair of matching gloves of the same material, though with some light white fur at the entrance where his hands could slip in.

The young heir to the House of Eraclea sat alone however, he had not made any real friends since arriving, not even in his own house. But then again, he hadn’t associated with too many yet; he wasn’t shy, but just a bit snobbish. And the people he had met and talked too had slightly annoyed him. But he didn’t mind, his mother always said that the Eraclea had to be solitary at times, for it was the price of being one of the most ancient and powerful families in Wizarding History. At the thought of that his thoughts seem to return to his mother, at fourteen years old and he still wished that he could go home on the weekends. His mother was his greatest friend and confidante, advisor, teacher; he missed her dearly. He was just glad he got to bring his pet, Vanité with him, otherwise he didn’t know what he might do. Especially at this Hogwarts, that seemed to clash with him greatly.

At Beauxbatons he had, had many friends. Of course, those friends of his had known him since they were children. The rich families often scheduled play dates with one another so they could stay well connected with the best families. And hailing from the Eraclea made himself especially covetous for other parents to associate their children with. But it was not that way here, not yet anyway. Of course, it was to be expected he knew, for they were no longer in France. Were these thoughts spurned from loneliness? They could have been, but then, Narcisse often liked to tell himself that he didn’t need anyone…he was an Eraclea, and to need someone would be seen as a weakness, and that above all things was intolerable.

Though as he took a sip of his food, a somewhat tasty morning broth, he knew that he did like some interaction with others. Even if it was only to exercise his authority. Though he could stand alone, he also had to make connections so that he could become as politically and aristocratically powerful as his mother. She had taught him that over the summer, and also tried to teach him to be cordial with those that were his lower than he was in society. That he found difficult, but he would have to grow out of it. Though it was comforting that he could know that they were so beneath him, even though his silver tongue would say otherwise, being cordial and having some parlor banter with them.

So boring though, he thought, causing the other deep thoughts to scatter.

Narcisse took another sip of his broth, for he was never one to eat any meats or hard foods in the morning. Those startling grey eyes took the view of the room in once more, as he sat straight backed and perfect, like all nobility should. He would eat his breakfast and worry about trying to make connections later, it was unseemly for himself to think so deeply in public...what if his mouth had gone agape? That would've been most horrid indeed.

[Zane Lucifer Bishop]

She was alive! Zee believed it regardless of whether any others did. Thus while his walk was not quite the cocky strut it had been before, it was far from the broken down trudge it had become. A crookedly smirking grin adorned his face as he strode up the stone stairs from the dungeon toward the Great Hall for breakfast, a look that had not been seen on him in some time. Certainly not since he'd shortened his hair. Entering the large open room, his eyes scanned each of the long tables, noting the locations of all the present lightfighters. He would not sit near any of them. There was no reason to give Caira any reason to suspect any lightfighter she didn't already know about, and only Keaira actually belonged to his house anyway.

Walking up the aisle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables, Zee moved to an empty seat across from a boy he didn't recognize. Another new transfer? There seemed to be an uncommonly high number of those lately, Zee himself being one of them. He was hardly looking for a distraction, most of his time being dedicated to training or late, but still the new student could prove entertaining. And Zee was a prefect. He'd probably better at least introduce himself.

Slipping into the empty seat, Zee took note of the fair haired young man's attire and manner of sitting. Quite the aristocrat it seemed, and one who liked to show it. Zee had also come from old money, and while he owned many very fine outfits, he almost never wore one completely. Something about the contrast of wearing a well tailored, immaculate jacket and slacks with a somewhat tattered shirt and ragged shoes appealed to him. Of course he would switch out silken shirts and perfectly buffed shoes, wearing them with torn jeans. Thus anyone who saw Zee regularly could have no doubt that he wore such threadbare accouterments for style rather than necessity.

"So, another new arrival. How are you enjoying our lovely little community? Zane Lucifer Bishop, Slytherin Prefect."

The tone with which Zee had described their shared community had been intentionally ambiguous. He would wait until he had some idea of this boy's opinions before he committed strongly to any himself. Given the way the other looked at those around him, Zee was fairly certain he thought little of them, and so he leaned his inflection toward sarcasm.

[narcisse]

Narcisse took a few more sips of his broth as his critical eyes still surveyed the room. He seemed to be judging everything. The ceiling was a nice touch, but still he found the one at Beauxbatons to be quite lovelier. Their robes had been nicer too, but then again, the place was warmer and seemed to place more in the cliché beauty of things. And the robes were not too horrendous, but he enjoyed the pale-blue silk of Beauxbatons more. The food was more delicious too, not that he partook in such rich things. He had to keep his figure; otherwise he’d be fat like that Helga Hufflepuff he had read about in the library. His mother would not have enjoyed that at all. And nor would he, for it would take form his beauty, and that was the last thing that he wanted to do.

He turned his head to see a somewhat taller boy walk into the Great Hall, seemingly late as he had been. His walk was not one of arrogance, or of drudgery. Narcisse was gifted at telling such things, but it was a median. He seemed faintly familiar, perhaps someone he had passed in the commons perhaps? However, before he had finished trying to recall where he might have seen him the boy was sitting across from him. He was more or less, the opposite in terms of looks. He had dark hair, where as Narcisse was fair. It was not a bad look, and he was somewhat handsome. Perhaps this one might have been worth his time?

Those startling grey eyes connected with his instantly when he began to talk. It was simply something that Narcisse had done since he was a boy, he did not care for wondering eyes when someone spoke to him, so he assumed most others found it annoying too. Therefore, he tried to keep a light, though not intense, eye contact with someone when they addressed him. And when he spoke, Narcisse was slightly amused. Was that an inflection of sarcasm? Surely a boy, especially a prefect would not mock his own banner and school?

Though when Narcisse replied to him, he did so with his same noble and haughty air:

“I find the place to lack the beauty of Beuaxbatons, and many whom attend are sub-par in looks and intellect. They lack true good breeding if I do say so. And it is nice to meet you, Zane, is it?” The boy primly extended his hand, delicately flourishing it in his noble fashion, though he slightly regretted it, were the boy’s hands clean? “I am Narcisse Maximilien Eraclea.”

[Zane Lucifer Bishop]

One corner of his mouth turning up in an amused smirk, Zee took a quick, appraising glance around at the other students nearby. While this boy's arrogance was nearly intolerable, Zee found he couldn't really disagree with the assessment. Zee was less than thrilled with most of the other students around. He knew nothing of the French school the boy had evidently attended however. Mimicking Narcisse's gesture, Zee lightly grasped and shook his hand briefly before releasing. The boy looked a little fragile and hardly one to appreciate a firm grip. Zee decided to continue playing it safe for now. His voice retained the hint of biting sarcasm, though it shifted slightly to seem more sardonic.

"Oh believe me Mr. Eraclea, you've no idea. I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to meet a recent transfer who actually came from some kind of education. There is more than one 'student' here who, despite being my age and attending classes with me, has no prior knowledge of the ways arcane. It's shameful really and rather pathetic."

This was a side of Zee he hadn't shown in some time, mainly because of the company he typically kept. He spent little time with other Slytherins save Keaira, and she was an interesting specimen. He despise for muggles was not the same as the traditional arrogance of their house. It was far more . . . justified, though of course Zee would hardly believe and never admit that.

"So you recently transfered and the hat has placed you in Slytherin, hmm? I wonder what that says about you. Ambitious, resourceful and cunning are the stereotypical attributes associated with us. Which do you suppose prompted the hat to sort you so?"

It was something he often wondered of all the students, but rarely asked. He wasn't entirely sure why he himself had been placed where he was. Ambitious and resourceful? Zee liked to think so. Cunning? No doubt. But still he had thought Ravenclaw would suit him well given his intellect and discipline when it came to being studious. Perhaps he simply lacked the drive to learn things merely for the sake of learning. Knowledge was indeed power, but he had always thought it a waste of time to whittle away the hours looking over texts that he may never have a practical use for. No, when Zee studied it was for a very specific reason. Perhaps that is what kept him from Rowena Ravenclaw's house. Or the assumed lack of morals that all Slytherins shared could be responsible.