Graduation Party & Farewells CLOSED Open to Durmstrang iNPC

When Valentin entered and saw the incredible spread that Felix laid out for the new Durmstrang graduates and their friends, his eyes widened. He suspected Felya would enjoy the assignment (ahem, the friendly but strong suggestion) to plan the celebration, ideally doing something to lift his spirits… but he hadn’t realized the true extent of the blustering boy’s talent. Stepping further into the room and surveying the expanse, Val reached out to grasp Felix by the shoulder. Silently taking it all in for a moment before grunting a gruff “hm!”, Valentin turned to face #15. The captain’s violet eyes stared hard into Felix’s, his face as expressionless as a statue from antiquity as his hand squeezed.

“It’s magnificent.”

Valentin continued his gridlock stare for a few seconds more to impress upon the other that he meant it, but then turned in a flash and began striding along the length of the main table in order to begin examining the finer details of the arrangements at new angles. The incredible degree of consideration shown by each choice communicated to Valentin some workings of Felix’s mind, only further strengthening his conclusion that the faux leather boy’s heart was kind, passionate, and thoughtful. The way Felix was haunted by the events of Hexiwizard, too, presented a nightly reminder to Valya how fiercely the feelings of love and loyalty must flow through the other’s veins. Behind all the fuss and thunder put into his show, wasn’t Felya’s true heart made of pure gold? Truth be told, the tenor of his spirit reminded Val of someone else whose purity of heart could make an angel weep…

Valentin put his hands on his hips as he appreciated the wide range of vegetarian options available, and his eyes lingered over a spinach mini quiche and a crystal bowl containing fresh feta, but the telltale glint of a draconic emblem in the distance proved too distracting and Valentin swept quickly to the back of the room to begin admiring the display of engraved music boxes. Being a musician himself, he was very tempted to play with them, but he opted to respect the glory of ownership owed to Durmstrang’s graduates by not interacting with them. Still, there was one left open – another gesture of Felix’s consideration and presentation sense – which seemed to hypnotize Valentin as he stood there staring at the golden dragon soaring on top. The captain did not even make it as far as the memory wall, having gotten stuck. Transfixed by the accompanying gentle melody, Valentin’s eyes began to shimmer with tears.

Basic Stats:
STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 20 [24] - ARC 1 - ACC 17

Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue & Veela

Finally. The school year was almost over and soon they would be free from their isolated hyperborean prison, known as Durmstrang Institute. Hans would not admit to the fact that he was bittersweet, for even though something tugged at him to return to the embrace of the world he was most familiar with, to the pool, to the mall, to his Muggle friends, magic had been given to him and such a power could not be so easily taken away. He acknowledged what awaited him in Berlin: training, races, that sweet rush of adrenaline only diving into dark, cold water below could offer, yet he would certainly miss the wand between his hands, considering even Otto, his only tether to the Wizarding World, would be away for most of the holiday. Thankfully, it would only be two months, give or take, and soon he would find himself returning as a third year. Time flies, and for the elder students, their last few days at the Institute were nearing. Good for them.

Credit where credit's due, Hans liked some of the eighth years. He detested others, respected just a few, and could not give a damn about the majority. However, what he could give a damn about was a party. And after hearing that the assemblage of Durmstrang emos, goths, try-hards, and teacher's pets were hosting are party for the parting graduates, he was glad that his salvation known as the first damn party he had attended opposed to hosted had finally come. Striding into the room of gold and red, he could not help but applaud the set-up. 'Wow, this is something,' Hans said in his native tongue, hands lightly gracing each of the napkins folded into origami shapes. Barely taking a look at the delicate enchanted music boxes and thoughtfully decorated memory wall. Grabbing a pastry puff at the back of the room, he spotted the familiar slender figure of Valentin Schnell, white hair silky under the light. Taking a bite as he approached, he said with a chuckle, in their shared language of German, 'I'm glad, I don't think you boring folks have ever hosted a party before.' Absently mindedly ripping the wrapping paper off the dessert, he gestured at the vaguely familiar platinum-haired upperclassmen stood next to the seeker, and said in Russian, the language of their education primarily spoken among Durmtrang 'So, do I have you to thank for this?'

@Winnie Harper as Felix Kolbeck and @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin Schnell

norwegian ❅ russian ❅ english ❅ swedish

Durmstrang's graduating party Viktoria Olsen outfits

@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood @Winnie Harper @Archer Duncan

open to interactions
i look forward to having - a lunch with you again

❅ ❅ ❅

The end of the year. That meant leaving the cold castle and going back to her warm home. It meant almost no more rules to follow. It meant competitions against her cousins. It meant the last time she went to school with her sister. Viktoria had recently turned eighteen, so she could now legally buy alcohol. She was also graduating, one year after Hugo. Of course, the eldest Olsen had insisted for the younger one to come. So Astrid came, faking reluctance because she would have come anyway. When Astrid entered the room, she noticed three things. One, her dress was matching the amazing decorations. Two, Felix was not wearing his leather jacket. Three, Viktoria's green and yellow suit contrasted with the redness of the room. Noticing without taking in the red dragon themed decorations, the girl almost ran to her sister and tightly hugged her. The graduate, who was talking with other students, stopped, and looked down at her sister. "Hey gremlin." said Viky in their native language, Norwegian. "Hey." Astrid detached herself from her sister but stayed close, arms circling her waist. Viktoria put a protective arm on her shoulders and continued talking to her friends. She looked around, admiring the whole room. The tables, all of red and gold. The buffet, with so many food options. The memory wall, at the entrance - Astrid will definitely do something on it. She spotted Valentin and his white hair, watching everything like a proud parent. Did he got the idea in the first place? She would really be surprised if Felix had the idea by himself. Her eyes hovering the room, she could see some of her classmates, some faces she saw everyday without knowing their names, younger and older students. Astrid released her sister and pecked her cheek before walking towards the memory wall. She grabbed a paper, a quill and some pink ink, and started writing. It was pretty short, but it was the most sentimental thing you could get out of the girl. She read her note again, before adding small sketches of a golden sun and a silver moon. Like their necklaces. Viktoria was the moon, with her calm and attentive personality, Astrid was the sun, glowing and full of energy. She smiled and sticked her note to the memory wall for her sister to see later.

❅ ❅ ❅

sta ● 11 | eva ● 9 | str ● 6 | wis ● 10 | arc ● 7 | acc ● 9
fearless - obnoxiously strong - keen eye - charmer
Post 1

as Durmstrang iNPC Rudolf Novikov | encyc.

Dolf did not expect Durmstrang to remember him when he was gone. He didn't take it personally. It took in a lot of fresh, young faces every fall — chewed them up and spit them out, eight years later, tough as steel. Sentimentality was not really part of the curriculum. Not to say, of course, that it was all doom and gloom and discipline. But the institute probably benefited from that reputation.

Since catching sight of the finish line around his sixth year, Dolf had caught himself wondering, now and again, if he was succumbing to Durmstrang's cold exterior and forgetting how to have fun. He'd been occupied with rigorous study, training himself in the arts of apparition and occlumency, and with his loving but very demanding parents. He was encouraged to spend his free time thinking about life after graduation: where to live, where to work, and how to get there. It was no secret that going home to Kyiv was to be only a desperate last resort. Dolf had become a man the day he turned eighteen, and once he left school, he would have to take his life into his own hands.

He did not mind the challenge, although it did not leave him much energy to do, or even really think about, much else. While he ought to have been celebrating his eighth and final year, Dolf had instead been keeping his nose in his books and focusing on getting to graduation day. He still ate with friends at mealtimes and joked with the other boys before class, but his social life had taken a blow. So it was to his surprise and his gratitude that he was slipped an invitation to a party at the end of the year. He and his fellow departing classmates were going to be the guests of honour. And in what world was he meant to say no to that?

The day of the party — a nice day at the end of June — found the young Ukrainian in front of his mirror, combing gel-slicked fingers through his hair and tugging at his school uniform. Aside from a frayed hem on the left sleeve and a small, mysterious stain near the right armpit, he'd kept the uniform almost immaculate, and he was very proud of this achievement. He bared his teeth at his reflection, checking them for any leftover bits from lunch, and was satisfied to find nothing that did not belong there. Finally, he sank down onto the edge of his bed in order to lace up his boots. As his fingers flew deftly through the motions, his mind wandered to life post-Durmstrang yet again. It was almost upon him, now. A year from today, barring any change in the plans he'd been making with a few other boys in his class, he'd be speaking English instead of Russian and working his first real job in London. That was an odd prospect. It was not his first choice, but it was one of the more convenient options. Someone's uncle or cousin or someone had a flat that they never used and were willing to rent to some responsible young men in need. Dolf would be living on his own — well, on his own with schoolmates — for the first time. Maybe London would have everything he was looking for. Maybe he would crash and burn in a month. Either way, he supposed he was excited to find out.

And if he failed, well... maybe Maksim and Slava would take pity on him and let him join the family business.

Dolf chuckled, imagining himself bartending at Maksim's side and remembering the one time he'd tried to make... hell, he didn't know what he'd been trying to make. He just knew he'd been hopeless without detailed instructions. It was probably better that he was not taking up mixology for another go. He reminded himself to ask Max if he'd learned any neat bartender tricks since they'd last spoken, cinched his boot laces, stood up, and made his way down to the party.

"Holy horntails," he muttered in his native Ukrainian tongue as he stepped into a transformed classroom, dressed in lavish crimson and gold. His eyes drifted across the floral centerpieces, the lanterns and floating candles, the wall of notecards and the stack of beautiful music boxes, and the banner wishing him an enthusiastic Congratulations! before landing on the table with all the food. Even the refreshments looked professionally organized. Dolf whistled in appreciation and hovered by the door for a moment longer before skirting his way around the room to make a plate.

He recognized a few of the students in attendance, upperclassmen who were a year or two below Dolf but renowned even in his social sphere for representing Durmstrang in competition against the other wizarding schools of the world. There was Schnell (wonder if he's still going by der Niffler, Dolf thought) talking to a younger boy whose name he didn't know. He greeted them with a wave and a polite, Russian привет — hello — but left them to their conversation, not intending to interrupt. He caught sight of another vaguely familiar face — Kolbeck, that was it — and acknowledged him with a firm, appreciative nod. Word was that Kolbeck had been the force behind putting this party together, which was an impressive feat. Dolf wanted to let him know his efforts hadn't gone unnoticed. He said hi to a few more partygoers before reaching the banquet table and starting to pick his way through the delicate arrangements of meats, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and more.

Not quite ready to sit down, Dolf stood by the end of the table and started to eat, cautious of dropping anything on the pristine red jacket of his uniform. To think all this would be in his past come winter. It made him grimace. But why worry now? That was a waste of a perfectly good time.

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