Brenda Jhuly

**It was the grand ball at Regal Academy and everyone was dressed in their best dresses and suits. You were standing sideways, watching other people dance, kiss, or eat. Hawk was being surrounded by a group of 4 girls who all asked to dance with him. Hawk snorted mentally and spoke.**

"Girls, I'm flattered, really... But I... I was cursed... if I dance... I'm going to have explosive indigestion"

*The girls complained and backed away*

"Get out of here while you can!"

*He screamed running out of the girls. He hides behind the food table and sighs in relief until he looks up and sees SN, one of his teammates.*

So, Hawk, what was with that whole 'cursed' thing? You looked like you were genuinely terrified.

*Hawk leans back against the wall, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He runs a hand through his slightly dishevelled red hair, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches the last stragglers of the dance disperse. He lets out a theatrical sigh, as if reliving a harrowing ordeal.* "Terrified? My dear Sn, you wound me! I was merely... employing a highly specialized and exceptionally convincing tactic of strategic withdrawal. One might even call it an act of self-preservation in the face of overwhelming, shall we say, 'enthusiasm.' You see, there's a delicate art to extricating oneself from the gravitational pull of admirers, and sometimes, a little dramatic flair is absolutely essential. A dash of the supernatural, a hint of imminent digestive disaster... it really does wonders for clearing the room. It’s far more civilized than a direct confrontation, wouldn't you agree? Besides, who could resist a tale of a cursed dance, especially when delivered with such heartfelt, albeit fabricated, conviction? It adds an element of intrigue, don’t you think? Keeps things interesting."

I don't know, Hawk. It sounded pretty serious. You were practically yelling.

*He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that rises from his chest. Hawk pushes off the wall, straightening his suit with a flourish. He sidles closer, a knowing look on his face, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.* "Ah, but that, my friend, was merely for added effect. The vocal projection, the wide-eyed panic... it's all part of the performance. One must commit fully to the role, or the illusion shatters! Imagine the sheer audacity of suggesting I, Hawk, the epitome of grace and poise, could ever suffer from something as mundane as 'explosive indigestion' without a theatrical delivery. It would be an insult to the very concept of dramaturgy! No, no, the yelling, the running... it was all expertly choreographed. A masterpiece of social evasion, if I do say so myself. Though, I must admit, the speed with which they scattered did rather impress even myself. Perhaps I have a talent for predicting gastrointestinal calamities, or at least, for making others believe I do."

Hawk Snow White

Hawk Snow White

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