Feb. 6: Larger Than Life: Armory - Wesley

[Arnie Peasegood]

▶︎ Time's are changing everywhere.
Do we dream, and do we dare?

"...should be something unforgettable, but I'm not sure...what are you thinking?...shame for all this stuff to just sit about all the time..." Arnie mused as he strolled through the gallery. The Armory was still on this Sunday afternoon, a forgotten corridor perfect for talks that shouldn't be overheard. Unless someone was hiding in one of the suits of armor, which Arnie could see happening on a bet easily enough - more difficult would be the task of keeping quiet while trapped inside. The suits were kept shining, but he couldn't imagine students in detention catching every spot that needed oil to stop a giveaway creak, as Filch all too smugly pointed out the places he missed when given such tasks. And there was always the risk of invisibility experiments - but that was always a possibility. But it wasn't as though he and Wes were meeting to plot a takeover of the castle, that they'd be expelled if they were overheard. It was simply time to devise a culminating scheme of sorts to enact before his brother was out of the castle for good! Didn't hurt that his birthday was fast approaching, and Arnie was, as usual, at a loss for what to gift him.

"You don't think anything's, y'know - cursed in here, do you?" he grinned, eyebrows raised as his arm drifted up, fingers stretching towards the nearest suit of armor. "Or under any kind of enchantment, like an automatic alert?" As much as Hogwarts resembled a museum more than a school - their primary school had done little to prepare them for the endless stairways and the need to have points of reference inside a building to get around, nevermind the inescapable stuck-in-the-Middle-Ages feeling -  from what he'd experienced so far, a modern museum would be embarrassed at the lack of security. He had to watch what he said around Dad sometimes, their muggle policeman of a father not entirely keen on the idea that his children could at any point be bewitched or bitten by some fantastical plant or creature. Usually worked out to their benefit, though. And if they could remove some artifacts from here, figure out some clever charmwork, they could rig up a scene more thrilling than the Headless Hunt...

What was the worst that could happen?

Dealing with potential unknown magic, and you're seriously asking that?

"We should try one, just to see, could be useful," Arnie continued, words too quick in his excitement. Imagining taking a sword from one of the suits made his heart shake too much to try, but there were a few on display, and in the end - why not? If anything bad happened, Wes would make sure nothing got worse, and would help him fix things. His grin widened as he shot a look to his brother, and the door, and went for it. As his hands set upon the sword, he didn't feel any tells of magic, and he didn't hear running feet or the cackling of their resident poltergeist...so far, so good? And while Arnie didn't feel magic embedded in the sword...it still felt pretty cool, which he certainly ruined by emitting something best described as a giggle, and maybe he should've been a knight once or twice while growing up instead of insisting on comic book characters.

[Wesley Peasegood]

Nails painted black and chipping, grazed lightly across the polished surfaces of the armor as he ambled along behind his brother, who was chatting away, excitement positively oozing from him. Wes smiled down at his only slightly shorter brother -when had he sprouted like weeds? “Total waste.” He agreed, thinking more about his brother's latter question. Did he have any ideas for these heaps of metal that would aid in their fun? “Actually, I think I might, well, maybe, I don’t know. Maybe.” There was a spell, he thought there was…Wesley squinted his eyes at the ceiling, trying to dredge up the memory of said spell. The words, the wand movement, the feeling, but he came up blank every time he tried chasing the thought down and in the end, got distracted by thoughts of Bagman on a broom. He was such a hunk, pretty boy sure, but a hunk, and a total master on a broomstick.

Arnie’s next question brought him out of his musing and his smile broadened. At one time his younger siblings endless querying ground on his nerves, he was used to it now, and Arnies questions had gotten so much more interesting. “Cursed?” he echoed with a hint of excitement. Wes looked at the hand he had been trailing along the suits of armor for a long moment before shrugging. “Probably not. I’m sure they keep that stuff locked away. Wouldn’t want one of the young ones getting into too much trouble.” he said coming over to hold up the wall next to Arnie, looking as he did to the blades on display and nodding his agreement. “Could be an alert though.” But at his brother's next, he couldn’t help but feel a certain pride in Arnie’s bravery, it was clear to Wes that he was nervous about it, but he wanted to do it anyway. The middle Peasegood sent the younger a roguish grin. “Do it.” he urged.

And he did. Arnie picked up the blade in both hands and Wesley moved closer to have a look, clasping his hands onto his brothers shoulder. “Radical.” Wes said chuckling along in excitement. Without a second thought, he took up his own ornamental sword and made a show of unsheathing it, bringing it around in a large arc, and giving it an experimental twist of his wrist. Wesley liked to think of himself as graceful, -having endured the three or so years of awkwardness where his limbs seemed to have minds of their own and his face was too small for his ears and his feet were massive in comparison to the twigs of his legs- so he gracefully sidestepped, holding his sword aloof and sending his brother a challenging smirk. “Care for a skirmish little bro?”

[Arnie Peasegood]

"It'll come to you," Arnie assured after his brother trailed off, turning his eye to the vaulted ceiling to see if he could see what Wes was trying to too. One of the perks in being the youngest was that his siblings could share what they learned - who said an N.E.W.T. level information was only for seventh years? - and he trusted that Wes would catch his thought. Or that they would come up with something together, they just needed inspiration...

Wes made sense - he was right, nothing good would come from leaving cursed artifacts out and about, especially when firsties had the run of the castle just as much as the rest of them. Why would Dumbledore and the board of governors and everyone else do something so foolish? Especially when there were countless other ways for students to get hurt in the castle...and at the lake...and through the grounds. Might as well control what they could control, eh? He did wonder briefly, in his distraction, how differently his mind would have been trained to think had he continued into secondary school at home, taking after their father. Curses and creatures just the stuff of fairy tales, not worth a moment's concern in daily life. But really, there was no place he'd rather be than here, even if most actions necessitated a different sort of thoughtfulness here than there. Because to be at Hogwarts, with his brother - who looked cool as could be with an effortless lean against the wall, something that heartily took root into Arnie's subconscious - tuning into his ramblings, egging him on with a wicked grin he immediately returned in kind? The only thing that could've been better would be if their sister was with them. Even if, in moments like these, the youngest Peasegood did have to wonder how he and Wes would get to the end of school intact without her to save them from themselves.

A thought that was dashed from his consciousness the moment Arnie had the sword in his hands.

He couldn't help from laughing as Wes grabbed one himself and swung it about with an elegance his younger brother hoped he'd one day find in himself, after he'd grown into his feet. As it was, he hardly felt like Hercules, or one of the Musketeers, or Conan - although none of them had had access to the Hogwarts library, hmm? - but he couldn't say no. Not when his brother was up for a sword fight. And so he unsheathed the sword, giving a few trial jabs like he'd seen in film, and rolled his eyes at the creaking groans from the regiment of suits of armor. "Absolutely, I do. And you all should be thanking us for entertaining you!" he called to their onlookers. The fifth year jumped a few paces back in the gallery and shook his hair from his face, balancing with the sword in front of him, his other arm extended behind. This was just like a friendly duel, wasn't it? Except with sharper objects from the onset. "What's it - er - en garde!" he declared, darting forward with a grin and sweep of the blade.

[Wesley Peasegood]

Thoughts were really fond of living too long in his head if he ever caught on to them at all in the first place. They usually seemed to circle back around to him eventually so he didn’t worry about it. He moved on easily, nodding to his little bro’s encouragement. Arnie didn’t seem to have this problem. He always seemed sharp as ever, full of facts and questions and both useful and useless information. Was probably why he was in Hufflepuff and Arn was in Ravenclaw. He was obviously the more book-smart of the two, Wes preferred to think of himself as the street-savvy one and he was happy with that. It was more fun for him and more comforting to think that Arnie had the brains to keep himself together no matter what.

Arnie wasn’t too much of a smart-alec goody two shoes though, in fact, he wasn’t a goody-goody boy at all. His brother knew how to have fun with the best of them and was a master prankster in the making to boot. Wesley smiled mischievously as his brother accepted the duel, addressing their audience. He too turned to the suits of armor and gave an exaggerated bow in their direction. “For your evening's enjoyment.” he tacked on, seeing Arnie’s vision for their little play. A proper, you know breathing, audience would have been preferable but beggars could not be choosers. They weren’t even supposed to be down here, much less sword fighting. But alas, it was fun, so it must be done. If the only things they had to entertain was empty heaps of metal then so be it. It would be the best show the things had seen in their long, long lifetime. 

Wesley took his stance as Arnie did, holding the blade in front of him steadily. The Peasegood brothers in battle, what could be more fun? He laughed as his brother fumbled with the right words and leapt out of the way when he lunged forward, pointy end of the sword in his direction. “Ha! En garde to  you too!” He countered, slipping into a crouch and slashing his blade at his opponent's ankles. Of course, giving Arnie plenty of time to dodge. Grace would kill him if he cut off Arnie's feet. He popped up into a pirouette, sword held above his head. “Surrender now feign!”