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Leona Kingscholar, the ever-languid Housewarden of Savanaclaw, considered most minor inconveniences beneath his notice. He operated on a spectrum of "mildly annoying" to "not worth the effort." His suite in the Savanaclaw dorm was a study in comfortable, if chaotic, neutrality: sunbeams, soft furs, and a distinct lack of anything that required immediate engagement. He was currently draped across his oversized sofa, attempting to extract the maximum amount of vitamin D from the weak afternoon sunbeam slanting through his window. The other Housewardens were currently absent, likely engaged in some tedious business, and the dorm was quiet.
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That tranquility was shattered by a simple, insidious household object: a roll of clear packing tape.
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It began innocently enough. Ruggie had left it on the coffee table, likely after taping up a care package to send home. In a moment of rare, unfocused curiosity, Leona had batted at the roll. His claw caught the loose end. Instinctively, he yanked his paw (hand, whatever) back. The tape, in a shimmering act of betrayal, adhered to his pads.
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He glared at it. A small, sticky, transparent menace. He tried to flick it off with his other hand, a move he’d executed thousands of times with bothersome things like homework assignments or overly enthusiastic first-years.
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The tape stuck to that hand too.
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Leona froze, his emerald eyes widening by fractions of an inch. A low, rumbling growl started in his chest. It wasn't the sound of anger, not yet, but the deeply ingrained, primal noise of a predator confronted with something utterly, bafflingly wrong. A normal person might have simply peeled it off. But Leona Kingscholar, despite his princely title and human form, was at his core a magnificent, oversized feline, and cats have opinions about things stuck to them.
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He shook his hands violently, a wild, wide-eyed motion that sent a lamp teetering dangerously. The tape flapped like a tiny, aggravating banner. The sound it made—shhhk-tap, shhhk-tap—was like nails on a chalkboard to his sensitive ears.
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His growl escalated to a choked-off yowl. "Ruggie!" he roared, but Ruggie was long gone.
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Panic began to set in, a cold, sharp feeling that contradicted his usual apathy. This was wrong. It was clinging, binding him. He felt trapped by an invisible enemy. He started to pace the room, hands held out as if contaminated, his mind racing through escape scenarios that always ended with the tape still attached. He clawed at the air, his sharp nails snagging the adhesive only to become even more securely fastened. He began to hyperventilate, the sight and sound of the clear, clingy material triggering an instinctual meltdown. This wasn't just tape anymore; it was an invisible snare, a magical trap, a net designed by the most insidious of pranksters.
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He fled his room, a blur of golden fur and sheer panic, tearing down the empty Savanaclaw hallways in search of help—or perhaps just an exorcist. He burst through the front gates of the dorm and into the courtyard, a wild-eyed, panting mess.
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His luck, typically as dry as the Farena desert, dictated that this was precisely when the other Housewardens were returning from their meeting.
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Malleus Draconia and Lilia Vanrouge were strolling back to Diasomnia. Vil Schoenheit was reviewing his nails as he walked alongside a sighing Rook Hunt toward Pomefiore. Kalim Al-Asim and Jamil Viper were debating something minor near the Octavinelle trio of Azul Ashengrotto, Jade Leech, and Floyd Leech. Lastly, Riddle Rosehearts was power-walking toward Heartslabyul, already formulating a list of rules he was sure had been broken in his absence.
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All conversation ceased. Multiple eyes landed on Leona Kingscholar, the picture of composure, currently looking like a large, distressed housecat who had been dunked in a pool of clear glue. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his temple, holding his hands out with the offending tape dangling.
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Leona stopped short, mortified, but the panic outweighed his pride. He stared at the group, his eyes pleading, wild.
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"Leona?" Vil asked, his perfect eyebrow raised. "Darling, are you... crying?"
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"It's on me," Leona rasped, his voice high and tight. "It won't come off!"
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Azul adjusted his glasses, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "Why, Housewarden Kingscholar, is that... tape?"
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Floyd zoomed in, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Ooh, Sea Otter, look! Lion-senpai got somethin' stuck to him! He's all jumpy, heh heh!"
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Jamil sighed, rubbing his temples. Kalim, ever the sweetheart, simply looked confused. Riddle, however, noticed the genuine distress.
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"Leona, it's just adhesive tape," Riddle stated, walking closer. "You simply peel it—"
Riddle reached out to assist, but Leona flinched violently away, letting out a sound that was less a growl and more a pathetic squeak.
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"Don't touch it!" he yelled. "It bites! It’s stuck!"
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He backed away, pressing his back against the wall, trying to scrape his hands against the rough stone like a cat trying to get a burr off its fur. The tape, of course, was impervious to the maneuver, simply bunching up slightly.
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Malleus, who had been observing with the detached curiosity of someone watching an alien species, finally spoke. "It appears the King's brother has been ensnared by a common household binding agent. Truly, a fascinating display of vulnerability."
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Lilia chuckled, covering his mouth. "My, my, Sebek would have a fit if he saw this."
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Leona was a hot mess. The bravado, the lazy facade—it was all gone, replaced by a pure, animalistic fear of restriction. He felt the invisible grip tighten, binding his freedom. It was a sensory nightmare, and his instincts screamed danger.
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Vil approached him carefully, like one might approach a trapped animal. "Leona, calm down. It's an inanimate object. You have nails, don't you? Just pick at an edge."
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"I did that! It just sticks more!" Leona whimpered. The whimper secured his place in the Housewarden Hall of Shame for the rest of eternity.
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Finally, Jamil, deciding this was the most absurd thing he’d ever witnessed and wanting it over with, walked over with purpose. He grabbed Leona’s wrist—Leona tried to pull away but Jamil had a strong grip—and used a single, efficient thumbnail to lift the edge of the tape from the thick palm of Leona's hand.
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Leona froze, staring at the liberated edge. Jamil then, with a sharp, swift motion, peeled the tape cleanly off. It made a sharp rrrrip sound.
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Leona stared at his hand. He flexed his fingers. They were free. He looked at the offending strip of plastic in Jamil's hand. The silence was deafening.
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He blinked, the panic rapidly receding, replaced by sheer, monumental embarrassment. He smoothed his uniform jacket, cleared his throat, and looked anywhere but at his peers.
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"Right," Leona mumbled, his voice returning to its normal octave. "Ruggie's an idiot. Should teach him to clean up his messes."
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He turned on his heel and sauntered back toward the Savanaclaw dorm as if nothing had happened, attempting to salvage what little dignity he had left. The twelve Housewardens watched him go.
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"He's going to pretend that never happened, isn't he?" Riddle asked, bewildered.
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"Oh, absolutely," Vil replied, a perfect smile on his face as he took out his phone. "Which is a shame, as this footage is pristine."
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Leona heard the click of a camera shutter and roared from inside his dorm, the sound muffled but effective. The legend of the Great Tape Incident had begun, ensuring Leona Kingscholar would never live down the day he freaked out over a simple piece of Scotch tape.