Closed A Lucky Star and the Competition at Skylar Tent

roleplaying as approved iNPC Semyon Viktorovich Reznikov Sta 5 | Eva 10 | Str 0 | Wis 10 | Arc 0 | Acc 10 open for interactions_ _ _

Reducio

Semyon was lurking, no, mostly he was just existing in the here and no with no goal but also quite the opposite of aimless. If your goal was to have no goal, would that make you ever so unsuccessful in achieving your goal as the mere achievement of it, would cancel out the wish to have no goal? Was it one of the many mysteries? His gaze wandered after a butterfly, letting it lead his course for once it sat on a tent to rest its wings, the Russian boy was quick to realize that it was no ordinary camp for those attending this summer event. Softly, carefully, his fingers reached for the entrance of the tent as nature had willed him and granted him such entry and blankly looked around. No quirk on his lip, not even a flutter of a lash or twinkle in his eye, as the ghostly boy stepped within. One hand wrapped around the charm on a chain around his neck, the gloved hand gripping it tightly, obscuring just what hid beneath, a metallic dragon fly on a chain.

There was much bustle within the tent, not many people yet though. Semyon was questioning the universe and nature for leading him here, what was meant to happen, had the butterfly been mistaken? He seemed horribly calm and yet his gaze fluttered around to look for signs, clues, that he was meant to be here but also uncaring for what he was meant to do here. His mouth sealed shut, lips dry and chapped and hair tousled from the harsh winds and the lack of proper brushings.

Perhaps he was meant to disappear within here, blend in. What a task. Semyon flexed his free hand as he closed the tent flap behind him and began to merge into the background, not paying attention to a vendor that had tried to catch his attention. There was no point for interactions, not without a plan first, before gaining insight over the situation and what was to go on. This seemed odd, but perhaps nature was playing tricks on him, who was he to know nature's will. It spoke to him, sure, but it was with riddles as he wouldn't forgive nature if she went easy on him. Nor would he allow himself to get caught in the bustle this tent would surely attract and so he found himself a quiet, darker corner within the brightly decorated tent with the hopes to go unnoticed... for now.

July 18th 2024

Open to Interactions!
Speech: cfa120

Emily had slipped away early from dinner that evening. The excitement of the last few days at camp was too much to simply sit down in one spot. She got a good feed and that was all she was concerned for, thus the perfect excuse to hurry back out and explore the grounds some more. The breeze was gentle as it sifted through her brown hair, the end of ribbon keeping her ponytail up blowing behind her like a sail.

Summer camps back home were nowhere near this extravagant. There was a huge difference between people only concerned to do enough to meet the requirements so they'd get paid at the end of the season and those who genuinely cared about making a place feel magical - pun probably intended.
Each time Emily surveyed the quidditch stadium she felt nothing but awe, marvelling at the winter colours and the tents peppered across the grounds that blended in much more than she would've thought.

Even though she was days into her time at camp she still found herself circling in her spot to take in every little inch of the scenery like a child in the Christmas market back home, the shining lights and the soft glow from the snow giving that magical glow all the more. What could she say? She was a very easy person to please. Not to mention that any colour whatsoever was instantly an infinite times better than the usual cloudy, grey air back in Belfast. That place was lucky enough to have at least a week of nice weather each summer before it would be back to chucking it down.

She weaved in between the other tents, bypassing her own and finally stumbled upon another, decorated obscenely with quidditch pride all whilst advertising confectionery. Quite the pairing. Even from outside she could smell the sickly sweetness of whatever was being kept inside the inviting space. Emily stepped shyly but curiously through the entrance of the tent. She snuggled up her cardigan and walked in only to stop and admire the beautiful set-up within. It was like the aurora borealis had been condensed into this simple tent. With the elaborately set up tables and soft mood lighting bouncing gently off each ends of the tent, it felt more like something one would find at a swanky restaurant or even a school dance. Boy, that brought some interesting memories...

She caught sight of the fairy lights above her. Now that just made her feel nostalgic. The glow-in-the-dark stars and planets "Auntie" had placed on the ceiling for those peaceful nights while the butterfly stickers took charge of the walls in the daytime, and of course a small set of fairy lights at the foot of her bed for those late evenings where she'd be neck deep in books, or 123 puzzles deep into a book of word-searches.

It took her a full minute to return to the present, another one when she realised she was the only guest inside.

"Hello...?" She called out softly. She muttered unsurely to herself. "Am I the only one here? Or maybe it's not open yet..."

She felt she should've left with the possibility of it being the latter but the space was too beautiful to cut short of a good look. She paced around the space slowly, taking everything in. The urge to scoop up a few snacks was strong but she kept her hands to herself for the time being. That was when she realised she wasn't along. A boy was not too far away from her. She'd run over and say hello but... Good God this place was too gorgeous to ignore!

No doubt it wouldn't be long before another surprise greeted her down the line.

_{Word Count: 658}

Action: Taking Everything In...

Stats: Stamina: 7|Evasion: 6|Strength: 6|Wisdom: 8|Arcane Power: 7|Accuracy: 6
Abilities: Non-Human Enthusiast |Cat's Grace

𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙵𝙸𝚃: Reducio He wore a pair of beat up combat boots beneath his worn out jeans. Under his jacket he had layered a moss-coloured turtleneck. His right ear was decorated with silver piercings and cuffs, and a silver chain hung from his neck displaying the dragon pendent his friend Serena had given him years prior.

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▪ 𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈 ▪ ▪ FELIX ▪ KOLBECK ▪ ▪ DURMSTRANG iNPC ▪ SIXTH YEAR ▪

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𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂: Reducio @

Felix had been unable to return Hogwarts since his haunting experience during the hexwizard tournament. He also had little to no interest in attending the Hogwarts summer camp where he would be most likely to run into the boy who had shattered his heart into a million pieces.

Yet, his desire to escape the suffocating grasp of his mother, Lin, was even stronger. He could only take so much of Lin at once, and her overbearing presence was grating on him. She demanded to know about his personal life, who he hung around with, who was he dating, was he finally staying away from the wicked whims of the muggleborn sirens that kept stealing his heart?

With the location a least a country’s distance away from Hogwarts, Felix could only hope it would keep his mental phantoms at bay.

It was a pleasant surprise when he had learned the Quidditch stadium had been enchanted to snow. He would finally be able to spend a summer leather clad without the oppressive stickiness of heat. He had long since switched over to faux leather after discovering the source of leather, but he wouldn’t it or his vegetarian diet to anyone but his closest friends.

The Swede’s hair was magically bleached the usual platinum blonde he liked to sport whenever Lin wasn’t nearby. He wore a pair of beat up combat boots beneath his worn out jeans. Under his jacket he had layered a moss-coloured turtleneck. His right ear was decorated with silver piercings and cuffs, and a silver chain hung from his neck displaying the dragon pendent his friend Serena had given him years prior.

He was out enjoying the cool air when he saw it, a tent advertising a variety of things that seemed particularly out of place. The Quidditch display was enough to catch his attention, but it was the smell of the food that drew him in. He hadn’t eaten in a few hours and his stomach was already starting to growl.

Peering into the tent his eyes fell onto the pies. They happened to be selling a spinach vegetable one, and he had some galleons burning a hole in his pocket. “Hi, uh… Can I get this to go please?” He tried to ask the lady that seemed to be running the joint.

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Calming Presence in Effect: All Entrees Affected

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A Stranger with a Familiar Face...
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What many people probably wouldn't know about this cutesy little tent that was a miraculous marvel of beauty, elegance, and catering unparalleled due to the generosity of one Valentin Schnell, was that Piérre Marchonné was simply not himself at this particular moment in time. Well, one could say such thing about the kid at any point in his life, and especially if they happened to know what mysterious malady had been afflicting him for nearly two years by now, but for all intensive purposes insofar as the nature of the boy Piérre and his identity as it was for the soon to be six years of schooling at the prodigious death-trap that was the embodiment of Hogwarts Castle proper: Piérre was not Piérre.

Instead of him there was a young man probably crowning himself as being around the age of twenty or twenty-one, with wildly messy and tangled slightly curly brown hair, flashing green eyes that seemed deeper than the wild depths of Bacchic madness despite the dark shadows that indicated sleeplessness beneath them, a respectable amount of facial hair supernaturally neatly groomed, high cheekbones, a lithe but sturdy body shape, and generally strangely gangly limbs. About him fluttered a bold black trenchcoat buttoned only at the throat and once at the chest (with his arms in the sleeves, of course) that came down to his shins but fluttered like the gilded wings of Mercury's sandals, complete with a vibrant red inseam that flashed when he turned suddenly. Upon his head was cocked a most curiously simultaneously elegant and slightly bumbly-looking Ringmaster's Hat that was curious in its own way but also decidedly classy for the ostentatiousness that Piérre could have elected to enforce in his own couture.

In other words, Piérre Marchonné for the moment was not at home. The individual who had taken his place was someone else entirely--someone with a different face, name, persona, and history. This was someone that Valentin and Romeo alone were familiar with, a certain scoundrel that had caused a great schism between the two for the sake of a prank gone wrong.

He was currently grinning gleefully at his partner in crime, the albino Skylar Breezeborne, which had been almost like pulling teeth just to get him to accept his own name and--initially at least--to get him to accept being dressed up in his lovely gypsy-inspired sultan outfit. Dark jade eyes gleamed with amusement. "You've truly outdone yourself, my dear Skylar." He teased lightly. "Truly honored to be your humble partner in crime for this endeavor--oh and look we already have some little fishes that are ready to bite." His words had a curiously heavy lilt to them, a swinging pendulum of Italianized English that seemed to be only a wavering from flipping over entirely to the mother tongue of the young man. The man was a few inches shorter than Skylar, but he seemed to have almost an equally 'large' presence to him as the elegant and mismatching patterning styles that had been handpicked by the man for Skylar's use in this event extended to the albino.

Hungrily, his gaze flitted over the incomers, offering a wide smile and a wave to each. "COME IN!" He cried out to each. "COME IN! And come take a seat, and take your fill, and fill these benches for they are bare and lonesome until you come to keep them and us entertained!" He snickered to himself as he spun on a heel and caused the trenchcoat and its fiery red inseam to gleam vibrantly under its charcoal restraints. "Come in, and see what fates are in store for all of you who come..." He hummed amusedly to himself as he nabbed a thin wafer cookie and held it lightly between his teeth as his mouth watered. It was a strange hunger, this desire for attention, this need to be noticed and to entertain. It was a strange hunger that demanded that they love him and that he would lavish upon them many kisses of a performer's love as well.

A starved and rabid hunger indeed...

Briefly his eyes alit upon a smaller boy [Semyon] who seemed to be hoping to blend into the curtains in the back--those shadows that could in a moment become live and wild in and of themselves, that were more than capable of consuming any bite-sized child that dared to linger too close for too long. Green eyes creased with amusement as the man tipped his head with a tiny and almost borderline perturbing wiggling of thin fingers attached to a hand's palm crisscrossed with white scars. He snapped the wafer off with one hand and then swayed lightly back and forth before idly spinning again and resuming his little prattle with Skylar. "I hope you aren't wrong about what you've told me are the plans. I'll be sad for both of us if things don't go totally as planned... but you know... closed doors mean pratfalling through the window, I suppose..." He couldn't control himself and giggled madly as he spun on his heel again and crushed the wafter in his hand to let the crumbs tumble to the floor. Magic would clean it easily enough--this was all for the purposes of a character after all, right?

All a character... and nothing more. Because for the time being he was not Piérre. He was not Piérre at all...

"Try the punch!" He crowed towards a young girl [Emily] with his hand cupped about his mouth. "I can't remember which one I spiked, so I'd appreciate some reminderrrr!" The teasing (or not...?) statement was trilled like a troubadour's teasing arpeggios as they twanged at the heartstrings. "Nothing too serious, I promise, I just can't remember which one is a bit more fun than the otherrrs...."

His eye tracked a pale-haired scowling boy. He leaned to Skylar. "That's one, right?" He murmured, covering his mouth idly so as to masque his lips moving too much. "One of the ones? Do you think he'll stick around or do you want to try to run interference--or me?" His eyes softened the longer he looked at the surly one and his mind wandered nebulously. "Hmmm... I think he'd like you more, not gonna lie. And you know him better too--well... as someone else, anyhow." He began to sway at the hips again ever so slightly, tilting his head to the ceiling and considering it as if it were a mildly amusing growth of black mold.

He let out a tense breath through his teeth. "We do have everything ready, right? Nothing out of place?"

Statistics: Stamina 7 | Strength 7 | Evasion 18 | Wisdom 12 | Accuracy 16 | ArcPower 8

Abilities:
Keen Eye • Calming Presence • Beast Master [Cat] • Cat's Grace • Animagus • Muggle Condition

Items:
Wand [Yew & Snallygaster Heartstring] | Soda | [Sharpened] Locksmith's Knife | Amortentia
[Red] Deck of 52 Playing Cards | Trenchcoat of Sneak | Much Mustachio Ring | Ringmaster's Hat
Bottle of Fina Perricone Wine

July 18th 2024

Under the Ringmaster's Gaze with Felix Kolbeck @Winnie Harper, Semyon Viktorovich Reznikov @Oonagh Brown, @Piérre Marchonné, @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
Speech: cfa120
Thoughts: Italics

At some point just before going in, Emily had that small sneaky suspicion that there would be something attached to this place - whether it was a catch to this seemingly innocent tent or that there was some kind of hidden surprise awaiting her upon entry. Good or bad, she would never tell until after but sure enough as she was completely mesmerised by the atmosphere, a loud voice energetically made themselves known.

Emily's head swiftly turned around to be met with probably the most wildest character she had ever met. Even without his messy hair and the black under his eyes Emily could tell this guy was screaming with enthusiasm as if he lived on that one trait alone. She blinked as he approached her and the other guests that wandered in. It was odd but despite the unapologetic fervour in his cheer he also exuded a certain charm. Maybe it was the tone in his words that provided a softness to his otherwise chaotic demeanour? Or perhaps the fact that his outfit was enough to convince her that he was still capable of maintaining dignity? She couldn't tell. All she could really say at this point in confidence was that it was all oddly suiting him.

She was just about able to manage a surprised but friendly enough "Hello..." before being swept along by his gestures, ushering her across the tent towards the punch bowl. A startled "Nyeh!" sound gasped out of Emily's mouth as she tried to keep pace with him. Good lord he had enough energy to survive the apocalypse...

His beckoning to the punch bowl set off an awkward relapse in Emily's memory, not at all helped by the teasing pep in talk that it was possibly-

"S-Spiked...?!" Emily squeaked.

Oh no. Oh HECK no...

Even if his words were enchanting, Emily wasn't too keen on drinking something that could potentially make her feel funny (for a lack of a better word). In fact, she wasn't going to risk it at all this time. Not after what happened to that Italian Cream Soda at the Spring Ball. She had never felt such tension and been so twitchy after taking a sip of that drink, trying to keep herself composed all night. Everybody always says their first ball is a bit strange, but that was taking the piss back then.

"Oh... I see," Emily laughed nervously. "Maybe later....

She was eyeballing the punch bowl like it was already threatening her back. To think that something like a punch bowl was her enemy. Of all things!

_{Word Count: 480}

Action: Feeling Intimidated by the Punch Bowl

Stats: Stamina: 7|Evasion: 6|Strength: 6|Wisdom: 8|Arcane Power: 7|Accuracy: 6
Abilities: Non-Human Enthusiast |Cat's Grace

open to interactions

July 18th, 2024

This year’s summer camp was bustling with activity, or so Pyxis heard. He had spent much of last summer breezing about and wondering if life at Hogwarts was going to be as easy as relaxing on the campgrounds, but by the chatter of people at meals and around his tent, the events were popping off this year. Quite unfortunate that the young wizard refused to participate in most of it. He’d hold a personal vendetta against the camp organizers till the end of time for making him miss out on the festivities. If I meet the bloke that decided to make a summer camp winter-themed…

Pyxis released another weather-related sneeze and pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. He was on his way to have dinner and wished to be quick about it. If it wasn’t for the chill sending an ache through his ankles, he’d have already broken out into a run. And one thing he couldn’t fault the organizers for was the food. As always, wizard meals were just so much better. While Pyxis walked, he fantasized about chowing down on cooked meats and buttery desserts. It was like he could already smell it from this end of the pitch. Hold on… Nope, those scents weren’t coming from the dining area.

Following his nose like a bloodhound, Pyxis quickly came upon a tent he hadn’t noticed before. Everything about it screamed Quidditch and he would have turned away if not for the advertisements promising things to eat and drink. Without them, he would have assumed that the tent was being used for some private party for Quidditch aficionados. But it was clear that someone named Skylar Breezeborne wanted the stadium populace to have a go at their snacks and Pyxis would happily oblige.

Pushing through the tent flap, he was greeted by a woman he assumed to be Skylar. She pointed out the never-ending variety of food and drink available as well as the tables and chairs surrounding a stage, then left him to his business.

“T-thank you, Skylar,” he breathed, gaze moving from the ground where he looked to avoid the low cut of her dress to the interior of the tent, taking in everything it had to offer. The colors and decoration fitting together in his vision told him that he had entered a circus or something similar. I do wonder what a circus in the wizarding world would be like. And of course there was action going on at the ceiling too. Are wizards so dreadfully bored at their own events that they have to account for that by providing ceiling entertainment? Pyxis wished muggles could be like that too.

With his next breath, he remembered why he entered the tent in the first place. His legs took him straight to the food tables and his eyes raked over all the yummy things on display. Maybe I’ll have dinner here. So said, so done. If anyone was watching him, they’d think he wasn’t fed since setting foot in the stadium. He began piling things into his arms. Several steak pies took up the bulk of his carrying capacity, but he made sure to leave room for the macaron combinations of bacon and maple as well as blue cheese and pear. He also couldn’t leave behind a plate of fish and chips and managed to balance a square of shepherd’s pie on the edge of the plate. With his last free hand, he grabbed a glass from a random bowl of punch and then spun right around, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Oh! The churros!

With one stuffed into his mouth, Pyxis took a seat closest to the stage. He set his delicacies down and observed the sparse inhabitants of the tent while the spice on his tongue threatened to overwhelm him.

Food was a powerful motivator. Ever since Greta hit her growth spurt--if you can really call the inch or to she'd gained over the past year to reach her toppling height of 5'2" a growth spurt--she had found herself hungering at nearly all times of the day. Somehow, it never really seemed to matter how much she ate, or what; it disappeared to some dark extradimensional pocket of her gut, never to put more than a few extra pounds on her. It must have been the quidditch. Returning to the team had meant extra practice and training. Or maybe it was just that the calories were helping to fill out her previously stick-thin figure into something a bit more womanly. There was also just the matter of the social company she kept. They were always up to something, her brothers keeping her more active than a fresh litter of kneazles. And summer camp had become the crux of all of that. Excitement and wanderlust were at an all-time high, and her stomach growled.

Fortunately, it was supper time. Although she generally still held onto the habit of padding after her brothers to shadow their shenanigans, somewhere along the way that day, she had gotten separated from the rest of her tentmates. It didn't bother her anymore, though. Not like it used to when it was just her and Hanzo, when separation left her feeling anxious and lost. Now, she just viewed it as an opportunity to make new discoveries, to learn something new about her self or the world in which she found herself that she didn't know before. Today, for example, she decided to take a different route to the meal tents, using her nose as a guide to keep her going in generally the right direction. She passed students, young and old(er), of all walks of the world. Br
ight smiles and the occasional wave would be tossed to anyone who looked her way, but soon got distracted.

The aroma of food had grown stronger. Her stomach rumbled more frequently, a constant aching reminder of how it had been at least half the day since she'd last had anything to eat. Cayenne and pastry and honey danced on the air, luring her forward. Many students milled near the typical dining tents, lines already well formed for those waiting to find a seat, but Greta's patience was running thin. Her stomach churned, threatening to turn itself inside out and pull her feet out from under her if she didn't find something soon. Desperation led her to skirt the dining area until she found what could only be described as her ideal eating grounds.

A wide grin split her face as recognition dawned. Banners had been hung to decorate the tent, professional quidditch teams from around the world proudly on display. She couldn't recall having seen this tent in the days prior. Perhaps it was a special occasion? Had the Hogwarts students outdone themselves entirely and somehow enlisted famous players to make an appearance in the name of international comaraderie for the sport? She bit her lip, still grinning ear to ear at the thought. Maybe she could get an autograph.. Or MAYBE she might even know who they are! She knew Arjan Oberon had--tragically--left the quidditch scene having decided to pursue a more individualistic athletic career, but it was very possible that some of their other graduates may have been scouted. Or if not from Durmstrang, perhaps some of the students she had once played against. How fun that would be to know a real quidditch star!

Unable to keep herself from the mystery any longer, Greta cast one more sweeping look to note the "Skylar Breezeborne's Enchanting Delicacies" sign above the door before pushing through it. Inside, her breath caught in her chest, lips parting with awe as the room enveloped her. She turned slowly with every step forward, head spinning this way and that to take it all in. The twinkling lights, the tables situated around an empty stage, the musical accompaniment...it reminded her of the recent Spring ball in many ways. Except for the spread. She couldn't even begin to process it when first her seafoam eyes lay upon the feast. Meats and pies and ice creams and macarons and all manner of food lined the table.

Like a rabid squirrel set loose, she scampered towards the overflowing tables without need of ushering from the gracious Madame Bossoms, salivating at the sight. She hovered at its edges, lithe figure all but pouring over the dishes, hands hovered hungrily around them. Desire ached to gracelessly shove morsel after morsel into her waiting maw, but it was all just so... beautiful. How was she supposed to satisfy her hunger when doing so would spoil the display? Her expression shifted frequently between aggressive hunger and pained longing as the two sides battled it out, all while the valkyrie circled and scoped, like a vulture waiting for an opportune moment.

That moment appeared as soon as seafoam eyes glimpsed a bleached head through her gustatory gazings. Momentarily distracted by the presence of one of her tentmates, no less, Greta grabbed the nearest thing to her (some sort of honeyed meat on a stick) as though there would be no other chance to do so, straightened in a hurry, and launched off in his direction. "KOBY!" (Felix as @Winnie Harper) She squealed, launching herself towards him, arms encircling his unsuspecting form in a tight embrace. "What are you getting?" Her inquiry accompanied the unceremonious plucking of a morsel of meat into her mouth, which was immediately followed by the contortion of her expression into one of pure enjoyment, happy little noises reverberating in her throat as the flavour exploded and temporarily commanded her full attention.

"Hva i all verden! What on earth!" Her eyes widened to inspect the snack like it was from out of this world. "This is delicious.." Then, clueing in to another little detail of what Felix had said, hastily added, "Wait, you can't take that to go! Look!" She wheeled to point towards the stage and hooked a hand into his elbow. "There's obviously something that's going to happen!" Dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, grinned and continued with, "Let's get a little bit of a lot of things and go sit down to try them all! Maybe some of the others will find this tent, too, and can join us. Then we can try even more things!"

magnificent banner by Valentin Schnell

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

Skylar Breezeborne’s Enchanting Delicacies: what a curious little (perhaps that was an inaccurate adjective) tent, snuggled among the stadium's dining area and boasting refreshments, with Scotland's renowned butterbear among them, adorned with Quidditch memorabilia. It had always been a sport Hans was fond of, and now, well into his second year and associated with their captain Valentin Schnell, he started to regret not having signed up for the Quidditch team when the opportunity presented itself. With the roster full now, there was not much more he could do, but still, like with anyone else, his relationship with the individual members still stood strong enough. The tent itself seemed to have almost appeared from thin air though, or perhaps Hans had simply not been paying proper attention during its construction. Yet whatever attention he lacked to pay at that stage, he payed today due to the alluring menu. Entering without much hesitation (what's the worst that could go wrong, after all?) in his usual confident stride with a cocky smile, he kept his eyes forward, probably not giving the decor of fairy lights, triangular flags, and colourful satin enough credit.

What stopped him in his tracks was therefore not the site in front of him but the young man in front him, smiling widely with an enthusiastic wave, crying out 'Come in! Come in! And come take a seat, and take your fill, and fill these benches-' Thinking of him as the normal salesperson, his voice soon faded into the background, without Hans giving much care to it. After a day of blissful enjoyment, the priority of today’s venture into the tent was food first, socialisation and games second. Finally, starting to take in the scene surrounding him, the German boy's dark coffee eyes landed on boxes of miniscule confectionery, marked with "Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans", with different flavours clearly marked. First greeted with cherry and apple, he was beguiled to think it would be a wonderful little assortment, yet this was soon proven wrong as flavours such as snot or grass came into his sight. Not comprehending how such treats could be enjoyed, he turned his mind and eyes to other comestibles, eventually landing on an advertisement for the always-enjoyable funnel cake. Treading up to the vendor, a raven-haired young lady in a shimmering low-cut dress that surely turned eyes and wearing a brilliant smile, his eyes fell over the additional array of refreshments on the counter as a red-headed young lady was ordering, but finally, stopping at butterbear, the Scottish drink he had always hoped to try (and discover what injustice they had done to Germany's famous alcohol). 'Hi,' Hans began in accented English, 'How's it going? I would like-' and pausing to think of the word 'one funnel cake, one steak pie and the "butterbear".'

If his purchase was to be successful, Hans would proceed to make is way to a table, yet before he could get to one, he would hear an unladylike (like he was one to talk though, he couldn't exactly count himself as particularly gentlemanly either) squeak from a student with brunette locks tied into a ponytail of a "spiked" drink. Hans, with his English being only public-school level, did not completely grasp how spikes were related to beverages, but judging by the girls' reaction, it was not a particularly positive circumstance to be associated with. Despite his confusion on this matter, he still called out in his typical fashion, tone sarcastic, 'Spiked drinks? How wonderful!' However, his attention was turned away from English when two familiar figures caught his eye, with him just barely missing their dramatic embrace and most of the conversation. What Hans did hear was in a language he did not understand, anyway. First was the broad figure of Felix, his hair dyed stark white, as it often is, wearing his signature leather jacket over a turtleneck, practical jeans, and beat-up combat boots. Second was the slim Valkyrie of Greta, honey gold hair falling to her back, stood beside Felix. 'Greta!' he called the name of the Norwegian first, simply because any individual would deem her as more approachable than Kolbeck, 'Felix!' And switching to Russian, 'Hey guys!' Setting down his drink at the table beside them, he eagerly awaited his food.

However, a rustle among the curtains soon caught his attention, once more distracting him from the primary reason of his venture to the Skylar tent. Stalking over, half curious and half suspicious, Hans realised it was a child probably a year younger than him. He was no assuming thing, with a diminutive size at at least 20 centimetres shorter than Hans and a mop of brown hair, yet he derived some recognition from the German, who would assume him to be a Durmstrang student, probably a first or second year and considering his actions in the tent, a quiet one at that. Sudden realisation stroked over him as he realised him to be the new second string keeper, working with Johannes. An emotion almost akin to bitterness, accompanied by his prior regret of Quidditch, swept over him, for how did such a child take the position while he did not? It was no fault of the child's (whose name Hans just realised he never learnt), but still- Pushing such thoughts away, he approached and said, continuing in Russian, 'Hey kid, whatcha doing all the way back there?'

@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin Schnell "Skylar Breezeborn", @Oonagh Brown as Senya Reznikov, @Emily Shepard, @Winnie Harper as Felix Kolbeck, @Evelynn Decipio as Greta Fransson, @Piérre Marchonné "Pierluigi Martini"