Bowtie was slightly askew. His sweater vest was illy patterned and clashed entirely with the ivy green trousers he wore. His socks were the color of toxic-troll earwax and were pulled up to the ultimate level. The muggle pager he wore clipped to his belt was entirely non-functional and for aesthetic purposes only. His shoes were a half size too big. And his left hand nervously played with the fidget spinner he kept on his person at all times.

Finneas Schmoe wasn't exactly ready to face a gigantic room full of beady eyed kids, looking right up to him sitting there on the raised dais as if under a spotlight and asked to preform like a modern-day Adam Sandler, but like, what can you do? I guess.

Anyway, ANYWAY. Finneas Schmoe, new Muggle Studies Professor for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (temporarily housed at L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons) was here bumbling about the way Finneas Schmoe's do. His horrendous posture on full-display as he made his way down the dais and gave a nervous wave ... and a very short-lived, fleeting moment of eye contact to the Beauxbâtons Headmistress. This was nothing. He had done campaigns more intimidating than this! What's a giant room full of eyes in comparison to a rogue half-orc?! It's not like they were all watching the dais with hungry stomachs and low tolerance for literally anything as a result of what kids these days called 'being hangry'.

Anyway, anyway, ANYWAY.

His seat. Unfortunately he had no idea which one that was so he picked a vacant one. That's typically how tables worked anyway.

Ah their company was beginning to arrive. Giselle had set herself at the table ahead of time—only after settling a few matters with her own staff and students—prepared to be the elegant and gracious host for the rest of the evening. If you asked her, one feast was enough to start a term but there was no helping it this year. The poor, unfortunate darlings were without a home and who would she be if she didn’t offer her own in such trying times?

What a saint. A true sacrifice. The interviews she’d gotten as a result would surely testify to such.

Giselle smoothed her robes, fixing what she thought to be a wrinkle while she waited. Cups and plates in order, soft music playing, a relaxing evening in truth...so long as you ignored her apprehension about them coming in and breaking things. It couldn’t be helped, she’d heard behavioural reports.

Seeing this one approach the dais was further confirmation she would need to be on guard. What was he wearing? The Headmistress managed a small, uneasy smile at his wave, making no moves to return it as she non-physically tore the man apart. How...what...mon dieu....

And then the poorly dressed man was sitting...sitting next to her. Sitting where she knew he had no business being. Back straightening, eyes fixed on this obviously lost new comer, Giselle spoke calmly but her tone left no room for questions. “You are not ze Headmazter. I didn’t meet wiz you. Iz zhis some kind ov joke? I am not laughing and you won’t be eizer in anozer minute.” She wouldn’t hex him. That wouldn’t be the proper thing to do. But she would move him herself if she needed. This was to be a perfectly uneventful evening and he was threatening that.

This was.... different. Very different. And while this night wasn't Piers' first night here, like it was for the students, it still felt very strange. He had done the best he could to make an office and make a suitable space for the Slytherins to reside (that had REALLY been quite a project - a broom closet, really?), but he still hadn't gotten used to the feel of the French school. Hogwarts felt the same no matter what, but Beauxbaton felt very.................................. French.

It was weird.

Despite its weirdness that Piers couldn't really place, the Charms professor was arriving at the staff table before the students arrived, slightly nervous about the whole situation. Was it too much to ask for to have all the students get along and not start any fights? Probably.

"Evening," the former Slytherin said as he approached his chair. He noticed that New Guy and French Lady were already in a tiff - though that was probably because New Guy was sitting in the wrong seat... You know, Piers just... wasn't gonna bother with that. He was just gonna sit down. Yep.

It was quite lovely, wasn't it? Carmine found the gentle music of the wood nymphs particularly pretty and ambient, though there was something less.... substantial about the vibe here, something lacking. Perhaps it was just the nostalgia of Hogwarts tradition and the slight regret that her own children, two of whom were first years this year, and another who was transferring for his sixth after spending the intervening time homeschooled, would not be having their first Hogwarts feast at Hogwarts.

It was good to get settled before the students all arrived - give them some semblance of normalcy to see their professors before them, even with the new faces. She wasn't stuck down the end of the table this time, even if it wasn't the same table at all. Privately, Carmine still rather thought that having assigned seats was silly, but it wasn't worth making a fuss over. What was interesting though, was the presence of some new faces, one of them in Malachi's seat. The Beauxbatons Headmistress seemed... a little distraught about it to say the least.

Due to her particular positions, she had already met the woman, and had a tour of both the hospital wing and the greenhouses, as well as been brought up to speed about certain health-related measures that the French school had implemented that she (in particular as healer) was expected to endorse and support. Not that Carmine was against such things. On the contrary: in theory she supported it wholeheartedly. It was interesting that Beauxbatons was the flagship for it all.

"Madame Desmarais, a pleasure to see you again. I'm sure Headmaster Trent will be along shortly. I believe this gentleman," She was being polite, though she wasn't sure that his particular look warranted the label of 'gentleman', it was slightly on the concerning side, even if the ensemble was...... eclectically precious in its own way, she supposed, "is one of our new team members." She turned her attention to him. Which one was he again?

"I'm afraid I've forgotten your name, and what subject you're teaching," the brief meeting she had attended prior to the start of term had been a whirlwind: it was either Muggle Studies or History of Magic though, she was sure, "but that particular seat happens to be set aside for the headmaster." She informed him, as kindly as possible.

Well, he did look as though he might startle easily.

Believe it or not, his mismatched ensemble took hours to put together. Finneas was sure that it would be a big hit. Kids liked colors. Was it obvious that he never picked his own outfits before? At first the job fell to his mother, but for the past six or so years, his girlfriend took over. She was so good with the matching and the patterns and the colors and the straightening of ties. No matter, he had managed it all on his own. And he was proud too. Not now because now he was so hyper focused on a spot on the table right in front of him and had absolutely no business being proud of anything while he waited for the rest of the empty chairs to fill with his colleagues.

He jumped very slightly when the French Headmistress addressed… him? Was she addressing Finneas Schmoe? She did not sound very happy. Finneas blinked nervously as Finneases do, listening to her words (which were slightly difficult to decipher at the moment due to the whole being on a lifted dais in the middle of a gigantic room… and also, the accent). ”Oh no,” he shook his head, eyes moving from her eyes to the table just about constantly. ”No jokes,” while he didn’t exactly understand he did get the idea that he was not welcome at this particular seat.

So he stood very quickly, knocking his knee underneath the table (with a THUD) in the process. He sheepishly looked at both the Headmistress AND Professor Fuller-Thompson in apology as he scrambled to fix the display of silverware in front of him. Unfortunately in the process of bumbling about the silverware all clanged together rather noisily and he was rather preoccupied when Carmine walked over. He lifted his head (and the fork he was holding), again wearing a severely apologetic look, when he heard ‘new team member’. That would be Schmoe, yes.

”Finneas Schmoe, Muggle Studies,” he extended his hand. And by hand, I mean, fork.

Anyway, anyway, ANYWAY.

Forks weren’t meant for shaking hands. He quickly set it back down on the table, nodded his head, and proceeded to carefully back away from the chair. ”I was, uh, just moving, thank you, Carmine.” He didn’t know which chair to sit at, but he did have everyone’s names memorized. That was worth a little something-something, was it not?

Anyway.

He walked over to the end of the table (bumping into a few seats in the process) to sit at a DIFFERENT vacant seat. Apparently, this was not how tables worked.

The change of location didn’t phase him at all. He welcomed it with wide open arms in fact, because who in their right mind would turn their nose up at free lodging in an actual, bona fide PALACE? He was no fool. One quick glance at his shabby, moth-eaten robes however, was enough to confirm that he wasn’t accustomed to such grandeur or extravagance. Mitchell Barlow stood out like an unkempt sore thumb as he made his way to the staff table and claimed his usual spot at the far end.

In typical Barlow fashion, he was oblivious to any goings on that may have been… well, going on.

“Will there be frog’s legs on the menu this evening?”

No welcome, no greeting. Straight to the important questions. Frog’s legs. Yes. He was keen to give them a go.

Giselle barely glanced at the man who took the seat designated for the subject of charms. She hadn’t yet been fully acquainted with who taught what. All she did know was the seat meant for the Headmaster and it wasn’t the Headmaster who sat in it now.

The appearance of Beryl did somewhat loosen the jaw muscles that had begun to clench in her face but there was no relaxing until this...well this apparent fool, as he was not a miscreant, rose from the honoured seat. “I waz promized no mizconduct zhis term and I’d like to sink no one needs a reminder.” Came her return greeting to the Healer. Despite the words being directed at the woman, Giselle’s eyes never left the poorly dressed man. It was a warning, albeit a light one. She had fully discussed behaviour and decorum when she had offered her castle to the English man and didn’t need any unwelcome...surprises.....

Not another one.

The Headmistress could not help but scowl as this next one...the Transfiguration Professor by the looks of it...approached the dais and took his seat. He looked...dirty. Not in any real sense of seeing dirt but certainly not how she expected anyone showing up to a feast at Beauxbatons to dress.

Worried, she looked the Beryl and the only fellow dressed decently enough (Piers) once more. “Tell me zhey aren’t all like zhis.” She was beginning to regret her offer. This was surely not the standard they set for their students. Her own Professors would never dare.

A minute or two after the History of Magic professor had taken his seat, Ayana walked with purpose towards the raised dais. A magnificent set of traditional canvas coloured robes billowing behind her as she took a few moments to look around and appreciate, once again, the decor. Personally, she wasn't particularly pleased with their circumstances, nor was she vehemently protesting it either. There had been some minor disagreements with her Beauxbatons counterpart, and she had a bone to pick with one of the house heads, but she could not dismiss the whole school because of two unhappy beginnings. Even if they were very unhappy beginnings. Her face remained carefully neutral as she neared her peers.

"Evening," she greeted the table at large, nodding to the familiar faces. She offered the french Headmistress, a woman she greatly respected from the little she'd heard, a deeper nod. Manners and proper social conduct seemed to be quite important at Beauxbatons, and Ayana was deeply happy about it. Thankfully, she hadn't overheard any of the conversation between the headmistress and Carmine.

Speaking of, with her friend at the centre of the table, Ayana noted that she would be taking up her former spot on the far end. But there was already someone there. Their newest team member - not her anymore - a Mr. Schmoe. "Finneas." The Arithmancy professor smoothly walked towards him, wrapped her electric blue shawl tightly around her. "Has anyone informed you of the staff seating arrangement?" Ayana smiled kindly at the rather jumpy looking man.

There were two things Baron Snozz was very good at. Wait, two? No, make that three. They were, as follows (and not including removing items from the pockets of pajamas of sleeping people. Wait, what?):

1. Teaching the weirder parts of history
2. Doppleganging
3. Arriving fashionably late

Now he wasn't exactly late, but it SURE FELT THAT WAY! Several people were already at the table. Some of them he recognized. Some he didn't.

"SORRY I'M LATE! SORRY I'M LATE!" he bellowed in maybe louder tones than he intended. Wearing a much too heavy fur coat (fake fur, Baron would never harm an animal for clothing) and sporting a silver and black haircut, the history of magic professor walked in front of the table in front of the headmistress's and placed his hands on the table. "Sorry I'm late. I lost track of time. Spent too much time in the Dreaming. Lost the plot. Sorry, sorry."

And he hurried around to go sit in his seat. Luckily, he didn't forget which seat was his - unlike one of his colleagues. "Oy, mates," he said, smiling widely as he sat between Carmine and the guy whose name he forgot.

He drummed his fingers on the table top and beamed around at everyone. "So good to be back!"

He said that, but this was his first time here!

The Beauxbatons palace definitely had a different ambience to the Hogwarts castle, and one that Noble much appreciated on the whole. It was light and airy, and not only did his temporary office have a window, it came with quite the view for a former laboratory preparation area. He'd definitely be taking some design ideas back with him to his house in Oxfordshire at Christmas break. The musical wood nymphs serenading them at dinner though? They were a step too far for the Potions Professor.

Unlike some of the other men at the table (...seriously, had Schmoe got dressed in the dark?!), Noble blended right in as he entered the dining chamber, couture jet black robes flowing behind him. He strode purposely through the hall, adjusting one of his gold Hufflepuff cuff links before putting his hands behind his back as he reached the staff table. "Bonsoir Madame Desmarais," he greeted the French Headmistress with a slight nod of his head. His French was a little rusty, having had more reason to visit Italy during the summer vacation of late, but his accent was passable, and seemed to be helping relations with his teaching counterpart so far. At least, things seem to be going more smoothly for Noble than he'd heard about for some of his colleagues. "And no, we are not," he continued in response to her comment to Beryl and Piers, before heading to his seat near the end of the table.

His end of the table that thankfully didn't host the blundering Muggle Studies professor just yet. Inevitably, it wouldn't be too long until the man was redirected though, and would be clashing horrifically on his right side. Thankfully, Barlow seemed to be better with food than with keeping his wardrobe refreshed, and looked rather thrilled with the idea of frogs legs for dinner. Noble approved, and it was a welcome distraction. "I sure hope so," he responded. "Have you had them before?"

Simran had been having a little trouble with pinning the delicate material of her new saree (and pinning up sarees was a time-consuming task in its own right, even when the material had more structure), and as such, was rather a bit later than she would have hoped to be at the feast. Nevertheless, the fabric glittered in the light of the candelabras, the golden leaves of her headdress catching the light while the reds and oranges of her saree seeming like flames licking against the hand that gathered the front in an attempt not to trip as she hurried to the table.

Who ever said age limited one's fashion choices deserved, in Simran's entirely unbiased opinion, to be confronted with the error of their ways. She hoped that it wouldn't need to be a forceful correction.

Oh, there seemed to already be quite the congregation around her end of the table. With no small amount of dismay, she was reminded almost immediately that Carmine had relocated towards the centre of the dais - she had always loved their talks over breakfast, on the occasions that she managed to rise early enough to take breakfast with the students.

Nevertheless, Ayana was already at their corner. "Ayana, dear, you look positively radiant," she said. Meanwhile, she'd had to do no less than two hours of Yoga before the rage in her was snuffed. She then turned her gaze towards that strange Muggle Studies professor, Finneas Schmoe. And in Ayana's seat, no less.

"Finneas," she said, not unkindly, offering him her arm gently. "Your assigned seat is next to Ignatius, the Potions Master. If you're still fuzzy on names -" Merlin knew she was, when she'd begun at Hogwarts last year. "I can point him out to you."

It was only then that she turned her attention back to the others there, including the resident headmistress. Truth be told, she was not equipped for a term in France. Had it been Durmstrang, she'd have been better prepared. However, they were to do the best they could. "Bon soir, Headmistress Demarais," she said, bending just slightly at the knee and dropping her head as the ballet lessons of her childhood returned to her. "And to the rest of you, of course."

Meanwhile, she would just stand here so that Ayana wasn't the only one standing. Felt strange. Also felt hungry. It wouldn't be too long now, would it?

Piers was doing an excellent job pretending like he wasn't aware of what was going on. Of course he knew that the New Guy was already embarrassing them right in front of the Headmistress who had so graciously allowed them to bunk with them for an entire school year. In fact it was rather amusing. But he didn't want to outwardly make fun of the bloke, nor did he want to get on the bad side of the French Headmistress. So he sat quietly, avoiding the situation and looking around at their version of a "great hall" instead. It was his way of playing it safe.

It was obvious, however, that he was paying attention, because when the Headmistress asked him to tell her they weren't all like this, Piers had to stifle a laugh. "Only half of them," he replied with the slightest twitch to his lip. It was true, too. He'd say half of them being alright was a fair statement. Was she regretting her generosity?

Then Noble walked in and greeted the woman. Piers leaned back over when he left. "Noble," he said, nodding towards the Potions Master. "You'll get along with him." He was quiet, boring and brooding, had no tolerance for nonsense, and was absolutely no fun - which was how he was picturing Madame Desmarais to be, so yes, he thought they would get along nicely.

What was this about frog legs??? Piers just wanted mashed potatoes. And maybe some beans.

He felt...on edge. It was a different sort of on edge than he'd felt when there was the constant fear of turning into the next corridor and running into giant spiders. This time it was...quite frankly...the constant apprehension about breaking things. Everything here was so....pristine and delicate and elegant and....and Merlin's beard he missed the stone corridors and archaic design of their castle back in Scotland.

Speaking with Headmistress Desmarais had only worsened this. She'd immediately struck him as the sort that would entirely lose her mind if he put his fork in the wrong position while they were at dinner--don't think he'd missed the way she twitched during the feast he'd attended just the night before with the French students. The spoon he'd selected...as it so happened....was not the soup spoon. Go figure.

It left the man all and ill at ease about a second feast with the woman with her joining his hoard. There were SEVERAL reasons he had to be nervous. Would the students behave? Would his staff be impressive? Would HE make another faux pas while sitting right next to her? Almost made him wanna go fight giant spiders with the Ministry folk but there he was, approaching the dais and trying to appear as calm and collected as he needed to.

He'd only made it half way across the dining chamber when one of his new hires bellowed out his arrival. It made the man cringe, a scowl instantly in place. He could only imagine the woman's reaction and quite frankly, even without the worry of the French Headmistress, he was displeased the man felt this was the time and the place for such behaviour. A simple, muttered apology would have sufficed. Furthermore........they were not late. The feast had not yet begun and the students were only just set to be landing. "There's no need for all that volume, Snozz." Malachi said, his tone mild but firm as he moved to take his seat at the table.

"Headmistress." He greeted with a nod. They'd seen each other not an hour ago, there was little need for more in his greeting. By this point of the evening and indeed getting to Beauxbatons, he'd already seen plenty of her. "Everyone." Speaking of the woman, she seemed almost distraught at the moment. A glance to his right revealed a possible cause and Barlow to his left another. Schmoe though....was the likelier being dressed like a pinata and in the wrong seat entirely. "She's right. Your seat's all the way over there. Quickly, I've just gotten word the carriages are beginning to arrive. The students will be in soon."

There was some kind of kerfuffle taking place at the other end of the table, someone announced their arrival with what sounded like an amplifying charm and the boss man was now here. Barlow didn’t bat an eyelid. More concerned about what delicacies would be on offer, he remained impervious as to what was going on elsewhere. Nor was he aware that his tatty, threadbare attire had offended their hostess.

Instead, his attention turned to Noble and he promptly shook his head at the Potion Master’s question. “Sadly, I have not.” Tried frog legs, that is. “Yourself? I wonder if they’re grilled. Or maybe they’re fried… Hopefully not with peanut oil. Terrible allergies.” Death by frog legs, imagine that.

The Headmistress’ warning made Finneas all sorts of asfasdfasdf on the inside. He hadn’t planned on ruffling any feathers... ever. Especially not now. And especially not the Headmistress’ feathers. He gave her a sorely apologetic look as he backed away.

But again, he was faced with misfortune. As Finneas Schmoes often are. ”Oh, hello, Ayana,” names were the easy part. Seating was the difficult part. Apparently. Just as the Arithmancy professor had finished asking the question, it had registered that this was most likely not the right seat…. Again. He didn’t even have the chance to react to the strange arrival of one Baron Snozz.

Anyway.

As if like clockwork, Finneas Schmoe jumped to stand. Again. Knocking his knee against the table. Again. Side-stepping out of the seat. Again. ”Seating arrangement?” he echoed back (in what could only be described as a voice reminiscent of the third year boys who were undergoing the perplexing time of puberty), his face having turned a splendid shade of bright pink. A bright pink to add to the myriad of colors he chose to wear to the feast today. He was just about to inquire as to where this seating arrangement had placed him when Simran Sandhu, Professor of Astronomy, came in to help. ”Ah,” he nodded, still quite embarrassed. "No need," for the pointing. ”That is very helpful, er, thank you. Both of you.” SO EMBARRASSED.

Ought to change his name to Tomato Schmoe, really.

The cherry (or should I say, cherry tomato) on top of this embarrassment was nearly running into Headmaster Malachi Trent as Finneas was making his way towards his actual seat. ”Er, yes, thank you,” ASDFGH. In attempt to be quick Finneas did bump into a couple of the chairs on the way, but did eventually make it down to his side of the table, where he finally sat in his OWN seat. ”Er, Hello gentleman,” he greeted Baron, Ignatius, and Mitchell with the same fleeting eye contact and nervous smile he gave his previous three seat-mates.

The redness would drain from his face soon. Hopefully.

Ever the pleasant and inviting host, the Headmistress returned each greeting with a smile and a polite nod of her head. Perhaps this could all be salvaged.

But on queue as her ballerinas pirouettes, with the desire to disprove her belief, the sudden and loud entrance of yet another Hogwarts Professor (Baron). This was all leaving the woman in a sour sort of mood. Was this truly how they behaved when invited into someone else’s home? Was this the best foot they were putting forward? Her staff would not behave in this way if invited elsewhere.

It took everything in the Headmistress not to ask the man to have his meal in his office rather than further shattering the tranquility of the evening. It had been going so well before....

There was some relief when assured by the one she assumed to be Noble, based on another’s comments, that they were in fact not all like this. Perhaps there was still hope. Half hope, going by what the once quiet man interjected. (Piers) Half hope.

Trent received a tight lipped smile at his entrance in an effort to portray how truly displeased she was with some of his own. Hadn’t he been shown a wonderful time just the night before? Among her staff? Why was the same courtesy not extended to her now?

And ah there were the students. Giselle did her very best to ignore the imbecile (Schmoe while she watched them filing in but Schmoe seemed determined to get on her wrong side, bumping her chair on his way down the table. “Why are zhey standing?” She asked the general table. She had long been seated. Such odd, perhaps touched in the head, children.

Mathys—late, he was late—was held up at his table and it got her leaning slightly forward in her seat. “Av zhey already begun zheir nonsense?” The meal hadn’t even been served!

Trent had only just properly settled in his seat—y’know, the one Schmoe bumped right into on his clumsy way down the table—when...well....

....

.......

Malachi reached for his goblet and peered into it despite it being empty. Had it been full? Had he drained it without realizing then completely forgot? Was he in that zone where only he was seeing imaginary children stand on the table and yell at them? The Headmaster lowered his cup but took another look inside just to be sure.

Once he was positive this wasn’t a terrible dream and there was indeed a boy acting the fool—a first year no less—the man rose from his seat. “If you’ll all excuse me a moment. I won’t be long.” Just a bit of a reminder to hand out was all.

Carmine would much rather be quietly talking with Ayana and Simran than having the new.... Professor Snozz for a seatmate. She was not one to ask about the origins of people's names, believing it to be a personal choice much of the time, but honestly, Snozz? (And for that matter, Schmoe? Goodness.) She greeted the others and was about to greet the headmaster when, of course, several things happened at once.

Including a bout of vomiting by one of the students.

Well.

"That would be my queue. If you'll all excuse me."

And she had so been enjoying watching her children being sorted!

The look of concern did not leave Simran's face, even after Finneas Schmoe had left and correctly found his seat. She knew of his qualifications, of course, and that he had attended her alma mater, but somehow, seeing him in person led her to doubt that he had survived his time there with all his marbles.

As the headmistress mentioned the students still standing, Simran turned towards the crowd that had filled in over the past few minutes. Well. "I certainly hope they aren't planning a hunger strike," she said lightly, adjusting her pallu as she took her own seat.

And it was then that all of heck broke loose. Heck being a milder version of the place otherwise known as The Bad Place, where all snooty academics went, if they died at all. Simran was convinced some of them never would, because the Grim Reaper found them just as unbearable as she did. But as she was saying, heck had broken loose, and from her seat, she had the best view as someone's lunch made an encore and the other ensuing events.

Thankfully, the stench did not see fit to reach all the way to the Staff Table, where Simran was now watching with barely-contained glee. Oh, she adored chaos. Admittedly, this was probably the worst of times for heck to break loose, but it was entertaining all the same.

Shame that it meant Carmine had to go, though. She supposed she would swing by the infirmary later with a narration of the sorting.

He had no real desire to acknowledge the colour clashing monstrosity headed in his direction, and the distaste was evident on his face as he curtly and politely greeted Schmoe. It was unfortunate indeed that both Muggle Studies professors to date during his tenure at Hogwarts lacked any sort of decorum, and he was almost inclined to wonder what Trent had been thinking employing a man like Schmoe to teach at Beauxbatons of all places. There was eccentric, and then there was bumbling and altogether disastrous.

Schmoe so far seemed way along the latter end of the spectrum.

"I have indeed," Noble replied, casually turning to face Barlow more squarely on his other side . "Multiple times." Cuisses de grenouille had become one of standard orders when he used to visit an old friend in Paris. Like chicken wings when they'd lived together in New York, frogs legs made for good snacking as they consumed quality fermented grapes and put the world to rights. "Either are good, though personally I prefer them grilled." And for Merlin's sake, he hoped that the Beauxbatons kitchens had been informed of Barlow's allergies. Though, on the plus side, Beryl was now located on their end of the table, so hopefully he wouldn't need to be the one to revive the man should anything happen.

"Are there any other French specialities you're keen to try?"

There. Now that that was taken care of, Malachi settled back in his seat with the hope of continuing the feast without much else.

Back in his rightful place, the man continued to watch the sorting--one in particular. Kale Trent. Make no mistake, it took every ounce of self control not to break out into proud sobs when his son got sorted into his former house. Tears? No. He was being strong for the sake of everyone else. There was never any need to see a grown man cry. No. He'd just settle for applauding louder than anyone else and shooting his son a PROUD AS ALL HELL grin.

That would do.

When the time for the speech came, Trent exchanged a glance with the Headmistress. On the night before, she'd been the one to give the speech (for obvious reason) and now it was his turn. They'd already discussed what did and didn't need announcing to both sets of student bodies. He was sure he had all the basics at the very least. The Headmaster rose from his seat. On habit, he was about to knock his fork against the goblet but a side glimpse of the French woman had him thinking twice. Clearing his throat, Trent slowly lowered the goblet and fork, suddenly remembering that part of his courtesies. Instead, he cast a sonorus on himself. This worked too.

"Attention. Attention everyone. Attention." He waited a moment for the chatter to die down before continuing. "Welcome to the start of term feast. I'd like us to take a moment to thank our gracious host for allowing us to spend the year in this castle while the ministry works hard at recovery for Hogwarts." Another pause, this time to lead a round of applause. Gratitude never hurt anyone.

"I imagine the journey was a long one and you must all be hungry so I'll keep this brief. There will be no more inappropriate and disgraceful behaviour this term. That stunt by young Maximus Vindictus is not to be repeated. You'll act like the well mannered and civilized students I know you to be." Even if they didn't know they were. As Headmaster, it was his job to see the potential. "If not, actions have consequences. Let's keep that in mind. Treat this castle, as you would our own--better than how you would treat our own because it's on loan and as guests, we'll not allow our host to regret her decision. It's the small courtesies. I'm not asking for the impossible, simply your best behaviour--which you should be on anyway." Like the GREAT STUDENTS he'd told Desmarais that they were. Such amazing students that would not let him look bad like some had already started to do.

"Observe all school rules, they apply to you as well. Be mindful of the fact the castle will be hosting at least twice its usual capacity. Don't be selfish, be respectful in shared spaces. Let's all play nicely." As nice as could be expected. "This year, Gryffindor you will be housed with Papillionlisse. Ravenclaw, you will share a common room with Ombrelune. Hufflepuff, you will be with Bellefeuille. Slytherin...." How...how did he....how was he meant to...."You've been given separate accommodations......Professor Fuller-Thompson will clue you in further after the feast." There was just no tactful way of saying Piers had drawn the shortest straw and the snakes would be in the broom closet for the year as a result. Best....best leave that to HIM to announce. Ahem. MOVING ON.

"To those of you who've brought your cats this term, the Headmistress has a strict policy against clawed animals in the castle." Something about ripping all the fine upholstery and leaving fur everywhere. "Your felines," Cats and kneazles alike, "Will be housed out in the creature containment area. You may visit them there, but they are not allowed inside the castle. Any found inside will be sent home immediately and depending on who finds it, maybe you will be, too." Fair warning. While he would have them march the cat back outside, he had no doubt Giselle would pack them up on the first carriage to London within the hour. It was an unnecessary action they were better off avoiding. "Rats will have to remain caged and under proper supervision lest they chew through everything. Owls, as you know, will always belong in the owlery and toads I urge you to keep careful watch off. Crowded castles and squishy amphibians don't tend to mix." HE didn't wanna have to deal with a distraught kid who lost sight of their toad and found it splattered by a stampede of feet on the way to class.

"This year begins a Europe wide health initiative that's being test driven at Beauxbatons. What does that mean for all you? Healthier meals! A bit of extra exercise, a lot more fresh air. All those good and fancy things that none of you are allowed to complain about." Please? Save it? They were all stuck here. They could not change it. It was happening. The end. Complaining just made everyone more miserable and who needed that?

"We have a few changes to our staff line up this term. We'll go from right to left. Taking over the subject of Ancient Runes, we have Professor Jordan Strum. Beauxbatons's Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Mathys de Nostredame, will be doubling up to facilitate our lessons as well. Professor Angela Suxton will fill the Divination position while Professor Andrew Burke will hold Flying. Professor Beryl will be switching to Herbology. Professor Baron Snozz will be taking on History of Magic and Professor Finneas Schmoe will be your new Muggle Studies Professor." More pausing for applause. "I think that about does it. Once we're done eating, your Heads of Houses will lead you to your common rooms. For now, let's eat!" No doubt, if he forgot anything, Desmarais would pipe up.

And with that, plates of food began to appear; the fancy sort you'd expect in a place like Beauxbatons. The healthy stuff as the Headmaster had warned. Steamed vegetables. Smaller plates of fruit pastries. Nothing fried for a certainty. Soups. Wheat bread rolls. The whole nine yards.

Now...um....which was the soup spoon again?

Oh, he HAD to laugh. Had to. Because while three of the Hogwarts houses got to share actual nice common rooms with the other three Beauxbaton houses, Piers had drawn the short straw (quite literally) for the house of Slytherin.

Which meant... their common room was a magically expanded broom closet. Luckily for the Slytherins, though, Piers was the CHARMS professor, which meant he was quite good at extension charms. But you know, things - rooms - could only be extended so far before they started getting warped, so... it was still a broom closet. It was just a LARGE broom closet. And at least they didn't have to share it with a whole other house!

Regardless, it was FUNNY. Funny that this was where they had ended up, funny that half of Slytherin house was going to p e r s o n a l l y complain to him about how cramped it was, funny that he was going to tell them to stuff it and deal with it or pitch a tent outside.

Funny enough to make him laugh out loud when Trent so kindly skipped over telling the Slytherins that they'd be sleeping in a broom cupboard so Piers himself could do with it later. "Ha." Really. "Ha. Ahhh. Yeah." It was gonna be good.