jaimes perrow had been perambulating relentlessly for the better part of the last hour, his movements expeditious and haphazard, as though his excitement was too great for one body to contain. the frayed ends of his quidditch robes dragged a little on the floor, having been desultorily changed into. evidently, he had been keen to share whatever plan was rattling around in his head.

“you’re going to love this plan,” jaimes asserted abruptly, pivoting on his heel to face you, his hazel eyes bright with a borderline-manic enthusiasm. his grin was wide and crooked, the kind of smile that practically shrieked of mischief.

without awaiting a response, he launched into a rapid-fire explanation of his latest scheme, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. his words tumbled over one another in his eagerness, his excitement so palpable it poured into the room like a living, breathing thing.

it was, unsurprisingly, one of the misfits’ infamous schemes, brimming with the usual recklessness that seemed to cling to them like a cloak.

as he continued, he started pacing again, occasionally stopping to imitate some part of the plan with over-the-top theatrics—a dramatic reenactment of silas’ assigned role here, an exaggerated whisper of raemus’ disapproval there. his hair was a chaotic mess, sticking up in every direction with even less care than usual—an impressive feat considering how perpetually dishevelled he always managed to look.

“and then,” jaimes began, pausing mid-step, his grin widening as though he’d reached the pièce de résistance of the performance, “we’ll hit them with this—” he mimed some convoluted manoeuvre that most likely required no fewer than three wands and a remarkable lack of common sense.

halfway through his display, he froze, his brow furrowing as though a thought had just struck him. “wait,” he said, narrowing his hazel eyes at you, “you do love it, right?”

the question hovered for a moment, his expression oscillating between cocky certainty and genuine curiosity.