no place you can hide pv r. cazares closed

RPing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Preobrazhensky

It was October 28th, which meant that there were only a few more precious days before they had to return to Durmstrang. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Durmstrang—quite the contrary—but Margo went to school here and after hitting it off over the summer and owling each other at the beginning of the school year, he was understandably eager to spend time with her. Additionally, Beauxbatons and Ilvermorny were staying here at the same time, so students from all four schools got to mingle, which always excited him. It gave him the opportunity to interact with people of different cultures and to learn, but more to the point, it opened up more possibilities for effective pranking and friendship-making.

He was pretty satisfied with his time here so far—how could he not be? The only way it would have been unsatisfying was if he had stayed in his room the entire time instead of getting out and having fun. However, one of his goals before the end of the trip was to explore the castle as much as he could. Instead of sensibly persuading a Hogwarts student to show him around—or even better, asking Margo or taking a friend with him—he had decided to wander alone. He didn't consider the drawbacks of this or the fact that he was even doing it until he was already hopelessly lost and had no one to talk to or annoy (which, in his mind, were basically the same thing anyway and both equally as enjoyable).

Nevertheless, he recovered quickly, and patted himself on the back as he did so. He had come to the conclusion that this ancient Scottish castle was no match for him and his brilliant mind could surely come up with a solution if he encountered any problems along the way. Satisfied with this perfectly logical plan, he began humming joyfully, a merry little smile on his face as he continued his exploration, curls bouncing in response to the slight skip in his step. Perhaps when he returned to his bed tonight, he would tell Max that he had had a day of epic adventure, wandering through the wilderness of a foreign territory. Granted, it was just the school, but maybe his brother would humour him anyway. In this hypothetical conversation, Slava would assure the older boy, insisting that schools could be terrifying places, what with their homework and hosting of students that were frequently boringly well-behaved. The horror! He took a moment to contemplate how his brother would react, letting out a soft snicker.

The idle daydreams were brought to an end when Slava made the decision to open the nearest door. Adventure couldn't happen without a little spontaneity, after all. He hadn't made it far in his wanderings, only to an empty portion of a corridor on the second floor, so he figured nothing too bad would be waiting for him on the other side of the door. He was instantly met with a loud crack and stepped inside more cautiously, shutting the door with a quiet click, fingers lingering on the handle. Turning to look at the source of the noise, he saw a boy who he recognised but had never interacted with much. The boy, Johannes, was currently standing next to a broken mirror, which Slava so cleverly assumed was what had made the loud noise. He made his way over, making no effort to muffle the sound of his footsteps. It was better to let someone who was upset be aware of a newcomer's presence than to accidentally surprise them later on.

Wide brown eyes stared at the fractured mirror in shock for a brief moment before the boy giggled. “I look like an alien,” he commented in Russian, knowing that Johannes would at least understand that language, considering he went to Durmstrang. Playful, nonsensical noises were emitted as he leaned his head to one side and then the other, watching the way it made him look like he had multiple pairs of eyes. He was most definitely invading the personal space of the other boy, which he realised at that point. He spun to face him, taking a step back. “Mm, I like your rings,” Slava stated plainly, eyeing them with curiosity before flicking his gaze up, around the empty room, and back to his companion's face. “So, what made you decide to spend your visit to Scotland in this lovely… abandoned bathroom? It's not exactly the most comfortable or cozy in here.” Fingers stroked an invisible beard as he pretended to try to figure out the situation.

“Were you enjoying your alone time? I'd hate to interrupt whatever this mirror punching was all about. If you want, I can leave.” He paused as if to consider it or wait for a response. “Actually, no, I won't. Sorry. You're stuck with me now,” he sang, brown eyes glistening with mirth. “Oh! Maybe you could teach me the skill of making the mirrors into this more interesting… art? If not, please, carry on. I'm sure I'll pick it up eventually. Or you could punch me instead, I've been told I'm very good for that and for being irritating.” The shorter kid leaned against the sink, completely unbothered by the fact that he was likely making a horrible first impression on Johannes. A grin remained on his face, a portrait of childish glee and innocence despite his annoying attitude and endless stream of words. “Well?”

private thread with @Ruby Cazares
timeline October 28th, 2020 - Evening

I am nothing but trouble.
Trouble, yes.

The sudden intrusion of unbothered footsteps joined alongside Johannes' tense breathing, the soft tapping getting closer fraying his already shot-to-hell nerves more than he had thought was possible. Warily looking up towards the cracked excuse of a mirror as a figure shoved in against one side of his porcelain altar of frustration, he was quite unpleasantly surprised to hear the other have their fun messing with their cracked reflection and the though of aliens without any care for the uncomfortable position they had caught him in. When the stranger whirled back around to lean up against the sink- and now that Johann looked properly, not really a stranger at all as much as a passing knowledge- it was to bring acknowledgement to his rings. Of all things- There was a long name in there somewhere, as many Russian names tended, but he was sure the dude's name was Slava, or something. Maybe. Didn't matter.

What was more important was the fact that this was not the time. Completely, undeniably, not the time for any sort of meaningless useless chatter. "Beat it, kid-" More of a snarl than a proper interjection, teeth bared behind a curtain of mahogany curls and Russian syllables clipped with an irritated bravado. He felt more ferality than feature by this point, truly the leading man of his pack name- vulnerable and sunk deep in his own misery, he was not in the mood for being any sort of gracious host to this dilapidated wreck of a bathroom. Not in the mood for entertaining the boy intent on making a joke out of this. Most people would realise this was not a time for many things, but especially not something like literally refusing to leave and then questioning things. Wasn't it obvious? Well- Any straight-laced that was- because when your plentiful free time was taken up by mischief and mirth you learned to toss aside things such as a good sense of judgement in favour for the 'why-nots'. Maybe if Slava had caught him in a better position, he could have joined in with the smart talk, but it was very obvious that he wasn't and anyone with good self-preservation would just up and leave. Clearly the better damn decision. But no.

Glaring at his unwanted intruder going on and on from the corner of his vision, he wiped broadly at his embarrassingly wet eyes before they gathered reinforcements, biting back the thick despair taking root in his mind at the thought of returning back to Durmstrang with the news. He had looked forward to spending the holiday season with friends rather than family but it seemed that his plans ranked last in Ambrozy eyes- Didn't even have the decency to phrase it as a question. All those prissy pureblood manner classes, for nothing.

The kid just wouldn't leave. Spare the rod and spoil the child but he'd hoped that the other would just scram already. Sure, whatever, come back- he didn't care if his schoolmate got foolishly bold again later as long as Slava stopped being a spectator in his disrepair. A damn disaster he was. Moving to dry his hand against his jeans, he was oh-so-unpleasantly unsurprised to see his skin stained with black. This is why you don't cry with eyeliner on. Pencil or not, that black pigments not going to stay in one place, smudging off half-way through onto his clothes and staying stubbornly to his palm. Great, way to announce to the world that you're a disaster. Ugh.

Johann's forgotten why he hated crying so much, and honestly, he didn't miss the act at all. As a brat he used to do it more, he's heard. Getting into way too much trouble before running off, Asriel swooping in to make the getaway- no, don't get into that. Durmstrang probably got the letter first, honestly- someone had probably snitched his location to them. Maybe that's why the date's marked almost a month before. Or maybe- just maybe- his boot licker of a brother already told them and they'd just bided their time. God, why couldn't he have had one of his actual friends for a sibling instead of Mr Perfect Heir? That gaping hole of empty longing stretched at the seams of his heart once more, forcing his throat tighter and his breath hitching with the painful 'what-ifs' that would never happen. "What do you want?" Growl that question, boy, pull up your defensives like a city under siege. A beat as the other waited for a second, as if for a response. Johannes didn't grace him with one. Wasn't like the immediate stream of words let him anyways.

Contrary to popular belief, Johannes wasn't a violent type unless provoked- and if so he usually didn't start a scuffle. So Slava jauntily inviting him for a knuckle sandwich was a thought immediately dashed in his head, earning the kid an incredulous look behind the shards of his reality. "Wh- Art? You talk a lot." He groused, trying to make sense of the words echoing around the walls of the bathrooms. As appealing as the thought was, he was at least 80% positive that trying to deck the dude halfway to his own disaster with one aching arm and the other his lifeline to the porcelain sink would most likely end up badly. Probably going to draw bad attention- he was a trouble maker at heart but Durmstrang didn't necessarily have the best reputation with the House Heads anymore- and he wasn't looking for a tsunami of justifiably provoked friends to come down on him for messing with one of their own. After all, even straight-laced needed a support system to keep them afloat in such a severe school even if it was a lot easier as a rule-follower and you didn't get far without people to defend you. It just so happened that all of his Hellhounds were unavailable because of the institute's damn 'special choosing'- as if he was any better at anything than his talented lackeys. Love that.

But if chaos be madness,
may I never find sanity again.

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RPing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Preobrazhensky

Johannes responded to him, acknowledging the smaller boy's presence with a clipped snarl telling him to leave. Whatever. He had expected worse—more of an internal fire or some physical retaliation, maybe a threat. It wasn't like Slava didn't deserve it, getting in the way like that when someone else was angry. He wasn't unfamiliar with the rage of teenage boys. He had met with a fist on many an occasion, whether it was due to other people's actions and him being at the wrong place at the wrong time or whether he directly provoked a reaction. Yet for some reason the hit never came. The Durmstrang boy beside him was clearly irritated, but seemed to keep his temper in check regardless.

It was only then that Slava began to notice quite how upset his companion was. The obliviously happy child tended to… overlook such details in favour of having a good time, and he wasn't much attuned to the emotions of others anyway. But that didn't mean that he didn't care! Dark eyes widened at the sight of the lingering tears clinging to the boy's eyes and the smudged eyeliner. Okay, so Slava may have accidentally crossed a line he forgot was there. No one liked to be vulnerable, right? The image was supposed to be of strong, stoic boys and troublemakers who didn't let anything get to them—at least that's how he reckoned his friends would like it, so Johannes would surely feel at least somewhat similarly. While punching a mirror might have worked, shedding tears didn't exactly give off the impression that someone shouldn't be messed with. Or did it? Even if Johannes did have the air of a person you wouldn't want to cross, it wouldn't have stopped Slava. After all, the smaller kid had claimed Arjan as his friend, regardless of the fifth year's own feelings on the matter. What would stop him from doing something similar to Johannes, who was arguably less intimidating?

The taller boy finally spoke again, a growled "what do you want". What did he want? That was a good question. Did he want to mess with someone? He had clearly done that already and he wasn't sure Johannes deserved it. So what was it? If he wanted to have fun or make friends, this was... clearly not the best way to do it, since he was getting on the other boy's nerves. He had never been particularly good at comforting people who were upset. Even if he tried to do that now, it would be an abrupt shift from his behaviour earlier, which wouldn't be staying true to himself. It would have been a lose-lose situation, considering that whatever attempt he made would likely fail. He would go with what he did best—talk and act as a distraction.

He shrugged as a response to what he wanted, and then Johannes commented that he talked a lot. A proud nod would signify that Slava agreed. “I do,” he said, a little hum accompanying his words. “My brother Maksim—he's amazing, by the way, do you know him?—asked me once why I said three sentences for every one of his. I don't have much of an answer for that but I guess I have a lot to say? Compared to me, he doesn't talk much and could almost be considered quiet. I'm pretty sure he talks more than most people, though. Do you always speak so little, or is it because I speak so much? Or is it because we don't really know each other? Your name's Johannes, right...? I... don't know your patronymic, sorry. I'm Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich, by the way, but I just say that everyone can call me Slava. See, now we know each other!” With a cheeky, bright smile, he paused the babbling to wait for confirmation on the boy's name.

Whenever he received a response for the name or it was determined that he wouldn't be privy to one, Slava would hum idly. “You know, I've never been one for formalities. Why would people call one another by their full first name and patronymic when they're the same age? Doesn't it add distance? That doesn't really help if you want to be friends with someone, does it? It might help you gauge where you stand with someone but... it seems weird. Do you feel the same way?” The thirteen year old's brows were pulled down into a thoughtful half-frown that would show he was seriously considering the matter. He needed something to talk about to avoid the silence, after all. Imagine how awkward it would be if he just stood there wordlessly, a silent witness to his companion's ruin! That would have been unacceptable, surely.

His head tilted to one side as he took in Johannes' appearance once more, but he changed his mind quickly when he realised staring might cause discomfort. While he had wanted to try to figure out what was making Johannes unhappy, he wasn't great at deducing things like that anyway and would have to ask directly. Why would he want to stare anyway? Staring was weird. It made you look creepy, and Slava wasn't creepy. Unless being overly energetic was creepy, in which case... maybe he was creepy. He was fairly sure it was just annoying and not creepy, but he would have to ask someone sometime. Perhaps Max would be a good candidate for that, as he was actually decent at school. Slava would consider asking Johannes, since he was right here, but he figured he had already asked enough useless questions already. Then again... no, he would take pity on the poor boy.

Was pitying someone a particularly Slava-like thing to do? Was he nice? He didn't consider himself to be unkind—he was fairly well-liked at Durmstrang, at least in his own group, anyway. But he did have a temper and a reckless attitude that sometimes got the better of him, and he wasn't very good with judging where others' boundaries were, leading him to cross lines with people and anger them. Besides, while some enjoyed the company of one who was focused on happiness and pranks, others didn't appreciate the fact that he struggled to take things seriously. Sometimes it led to a situation blowing up on him, but he generally got out okay and moved on. He idly rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting to see the boy's reaction to him.

private thread with @Ruby Cazares
timeline October 28th, 2020 - Evening

Tell me, father,
which to ask forgiveness for:
what I am, or what I'm not?

Either the kid had the emotional self-awareness of a brick wall or was doing this on purpose. Between the two, he wasn't quite sure which was worse. By now, the anger buzzing under his skin had ebbed into syrupy deep-set hopelessness, weighing him down heavy enough to sink in this misery. He could not escape them even on this island of Europe, surrounded by unfamiliar walls and uncomfortably apart from the anchor of his pack- any chance of resistance now would be futile, they would not acknowledge it. All he could do was drag himself through the rest of the year, preparing, before taking up to those dreaded two weeks of being a Family Embarrassment™.

At the very least, the boy recognised his own loose-lippedness - he'd been and seen people far worse who didn't dare touch that faucet of their personality in favor of boasting some of their more desirable traits. Idly flexing his aching arm and trying to blink away the fuzzy embrace of slipping rationality, Johannes could do little else but deliberately ignore the shattered mirror and fight at the skin-crawling self-consciousness that came with his uninvited company's rambling.

Sparks of familiarity struck as his year mate continued on and on, of speaking habits and brothers- hadn't he met Maksim not a week ago? Maybe? Probably. The name seemed familiar enough but time was a construct and he was having just a bit of trouble getting to the building zone right now. Cocking his head slightly in contemplation, Johannes wove himself through the net of information Slava offered on a silver platter, slowly manoeuvring through the rush of words spoken too fast to understand all at once. Slava's brother seemed okay enough, as much as the familial title seemed personally tainted with the sourness of betrayal. Okay wasn't a promise that he wouldn't get immediately shunned for hurting the kid's feelings- okay was just good enough.

With what a belated introduction done, the kid looked strangely proud of himself with that too-bright grin in the middle of a too-dark room. Compared to this visitor, his name sounded pitiful. "Sauer. Johannes Sauer." Mutter the name with a bitter triumph, spoken in a way that Slava didn't deserve- in a way he couldn't scale down enough to feel halfway to normal. Ignore the fact that the surname he introduced himself didn't dedicate himself to his father's family like tradition required, like he didn't want. Wasn't like this kid knew. Or cared. And if he, for whatever reason, did- well, that was a mistake, wasn't it? Johannes still puzzled over the dysfunctionality of family on the daily, bringing in a nosy random into the situation would only make the problem bigger. But then again, he already kind of did include Slava into this- unintentionally- by making such a mess of things in the relative open-doored public.

In another life, maybe he would have called himself by a different name with by a different alliance, one carried over from childhood. Don't think about that golden glare from a face so familiar, knuckles bleached white with pressure around the heavy hardcover of a textbook as if restraining from doing something drastic. Maybe in another universe, he was to go down a different path, gilded with prejudice and trampled wildflowers. The audacity of those glorified highblood pigs, to claw him back into their hole of toxicity. This was not that universe and he would be damned if it became so after so long trying desperately to escape such a fate. For so long, he had watched and wondered- why was the concept of family split in two? Divided unevenly between two cold warring bloodlines, between two opposing moralities and mutual historical hatred. If it was run-off bad blood or new salt in an old wound, he still didn't know- no one really knew, did they? Either way-

Cue the jazz hands and sparkles for this salty-ass bastard by the name of Johannes Sauer. An underwhelming title for him to claim, he knew that fact well, but it was his. A handful of syllables he decided was the most comfortable fit. Nothing like a great chapter book title of a name Slava boasted, rolling right off the tongue at such a rapid pace it reminded Johann distantly of a crashing waterfall. Or maybe the spill of a knocked over inkwell, a Jenga tower knocked over- in a language so intimately linked with a school whose students fit the word "home" than anything else ever did. That easy pride that coloured such a peppy introduction spoke a lot about Slava's attitude towards his name- especially towards someone like Johannes who had struggled with the relationship between a name and allegiance for as long as he could remember.

A strange sort of dazed detachment lingered about his mind at the boy's chirpiness, attaching itself to his very soul like the world's worst limpet, proving itself a comparably much worse "companion" in such a disgusting-ass setting. He's heard so many times before that all things that go up must come down. Looks like it applied to emotional intensity. The uneasiness that came from having an unknown spectator to his fall abated fractionally as that unflinching gaze averted, a degree of tension dropping from his shoulders and allowing him to straighten up slightly from that defensive curl of ferality. Shrugging indifferently to the idea of formality, he swallowed thickly against the chafing rawness of vulnerability, attempting to salvage his crumbled composure with an armour of leather.

"I've heard people say tradition. Respect." A flimsy excuse he's heard time and time again from scolding elders with all the righteous power of a generation or two advantage, from old maids with forearms of steel from a lifetime of kneading dough to stern-faced teachers and their red pen marks. "Never really followed them anyway. I mean- Gets useless sometimes." God forbid he try and count the number of times he or his groupies have been reminded of the importance of respect amongst their peers, though they had long ago chipped their way through the binds of society's rigidity. They already lived in the present, those from the past would just have to keep up. Tortoise and the hare didn't apply here.

Tell me, mother,
which should I regret:
what I became, or what I didn't?

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