Icarus Rising closed pv

The wilds of Durmstrang had long been a meditative temple to Valentin Schnell, but in recent times they became the sanctuary required by his burgeoning impulses to escape. There was just one area that he avoided on casual jaunts – the rim of the lake where he had fallen and almost died on its jutting pier. Yet, today’s was not to be a simple leisure stroll as he deliberately sought out this lakeside in order to confront the phantoms of his past. Laying himself down across its weathered larch planks, Valentin raised one hand to block out the sun as he stared up into the apex of the sky. The meek chirps of sparrows and the occasional overtures of a starling provided a natural musical accompaniment as Val began to recall the events of that morning almost two years ago. Replaying the scene in his mind as his eyes traced the arcing trajectories of birds, the seeker batted his white eyelashes against the blinding power of the sun whenever he turned his head too far. Was this why he was still alone in the realm of romance? He was told by many that he was “intense,” and while people gladly gathered around his light and warmth, was he so intimidating that others were reluctant to come too close? Sighing as he drooped his hand over his face, Valya decided it was surely for the best. His was a dangerous kind of love, one best not toyed with in idle whims.

Parting his fingers just enough to peer through them into the deep blue heavens, Valentin felt lucky to be alive. If it weren’t for the kindness and forgiveness of others, he would have been killed by the lightning bolt he’d been so foolishly courting. He had almost killed them, too, by making them get involved. There were good reasons people learned to fly with starter brooms – and yet, Valentin’s spirit still hated being contained within limits. The champion hated the very idea of rules constructed by fallible human minds, as the universe was full of ever more possibilities than even the lot of them could fathom. Yet, it was his own vulnerability to making mistakes that made such rules helpful, and even life-saving. Was he holding back the quidditch team with the way he was training them? Did his use of power constrain the group to his way of thinking, stifling quieter minority voices that dared not go against the flow? It seemed that for every “yes” there were also many “no’s” that came as a consequence.

An unusual movement in the atmosphere drew the captain’s keen eye, and as he watched, the telltale movements of a broom rider crystallized in his mind. Laying there on the pier, Valentin continued to study the way the individual flew – the aerodynamics of the shifting poses, the choices of when and when not to accelerate, and the style of movement in choosing where to go. The rider then plunged down towards the vegetation and began blazing through a track winding between the clumps of trees. Valentin sat up to continue observing, and the speed at which the rider flew through that terrain struck him as dangerous indeed. Still, to be bold or even a daredevil was a characteristic that united much of Durmstrang’s culture. Val couldn’t help seeing his younger self in the aggressive choices made by this rider, defying conventional constraints of proper flying and instincts of self-preservation. Standing up, the champion knew what was coming. He had crashed enough times to see the writing on this wall. Still, hoping against hope, Val wanted this person to prove him wrong. He wanted them to succeed and show him where his predictions and theories were wrong. Would the rider pull up and away from danger, or would they shoot through the end of the treeline miraculously unscathed?

A moment later, the familiar crunch of a crash rang through the Frost Captain’s ears. By the sound of it and knowing the elevation to be much lower than his fall, Val knew the outcome would be much less brutal than being struck by Stribog’s bolt from on high. Still, he broke into a run, and his footsteps echoed off the pier that had nearly claimed his life. Even if he expected that the other would live, having that expectation dashed was not a risk Valentin was willing to entertain.

Dashing through the woods, Valentin homed in on the site of the crash through dead reckoning and observing the signs of icy debris cast about the blast zone. By the sound of it, the snow had cushioned the other’s fall, but any wrong angle could have snapped the person’s neck. Finally the seeker came upon the heart of the accident site, and with its victim not exactly making a speedy escape, he quickly spotted a young brown-haired boy leaning against a tree – very much alive.

First scanning the other for life-threatening injuries as he approached, Valentin then looked for where the boy’s broom had ended up. If it were between them on the ground, Val would stoop to pick it up on his way over. Since the boy seemed very young, the captain doubted he was very experienced in the finer points of broom maintenance and construction, as he himself had been studying for years.

“I can show you how to fix this thing up if you want.” The seeker was tall, dressed in all white, and clearly a dedicated athlete. His snowy hair glittered in the sun as he offered a friendly smile, avoiding making a scene out of what had just happened. If Hans knew much about quidditch or his school in general, he would probably recognize Durmstrang’s seeker and its designated champion on sight. “Would you let me have a look at your injuries while we’re here? It’d surely be a painfully long walk to the castle otherwise.” Eyeing the other’s leg and checking for a telltale hunch of the back before looking the rest of him over, Valentin tried to assess all of the places the boy might be hurting.

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

@Archer Duncan (Hans Jenssen)

- IC: Jan. 7, 2024

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Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

Valentin Schnell was an interesting figure, the white-haired hero with a thousand faces, ranging from the most mundane of student to the most heavenly of martyr. Yet the question of actual significance was who Hans viewed the Durmstrang champion as: a celebrity, nothing more, and like any other celebrity, glorious in the eyes of the public, yet removed, cold as the Institute's ice. His reputation preceded him, but he was purely a name suited for conversations, faceless, soulless, a faraway, unachievable ideal, as high as he must have flown his broom in Quidditch matches, a person to follow, to idolise, to envy, to detest, if one so desired, all from a distance. He was no associate. He was no comrade. He was no friend. Valentin Schnell was no person to speak with, and if he would allow himself to be put on such a high pedestal, then so be it.

If he was to find it in his plentiful fancy to lower himself from such a pedestal, golden and shining in his laurels, he had all his right, but Hans had made it clear to himself this afternoon that he did not require a knight in shining armour when he was his own. He could fall like Icarus a thousand times, yet he would rise past the sun a million more. He would do that with his own melting feathers and without the help of his fickle Daedaluses. Enough architects, his parents, teachers, coaches, upperclassmen, and as he would later learn, his beloved grandfather, had attempted to craft him already, and he was glad to be free. If such freedom came at a price, he would accept it with open arms. He could craft his wings himself and solely himself. Hans could soar, and for that, he extended no gratitude to anyone but his wondrous self.

Therefore, when Schnell, in all his silver seeker's splendour, white costume blending in with the pristine snowfall, stepped out of the forest and subjected the previously oblivious Hans to surprise, the boy did not quite welcome the intrusion, although no feature on his face evidently played at such a notion. Despite the fleet footsteps that had crunched through the snow with his arrival, Hans had not payed much attention to his surroundings. Why would he, under the assumption that he was alone? Turning slightly, although begrudgingly, to face his saviour - who, just as a casual reminder, had not yet assisted with anything, his eyes flitted open and he lowered his flask. Expression unchanging in a semblance of a smile when the upperclassman's odd pigment-less amethyst eyes scanned over Hans' unconcerned stance as he neared, he waited before tipping his head as in "Are you done yet?" The boy's own coffee eyes followed the Quidditch captain's nimble, dextrous fingers as they grabbed onto the school broom that he had just crashed. 'I can show you how to fix this thing up if you want.' Not responding, the German gave a vague gesture for the champion to continue, 'Would you let me have a look at your injuries while we’re here? It’d surely be a painfully long walk to the castle otherwise.'

Straightening from his prior post of the tree, he raised a brow, and ignoring all of what the older boy had just said, remarked cooly, 'I wasn't expecting company.' Pausing as his eyes rolled over Valentin's athletic wear, he continued, tone trivial as the afternoon tea chats, 'Whatcha doing here?'

@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

"Are you done yet?" was the impression Hans gave with his arched brow. The brown-eyed youth was staring back fearlessly, looking over from above his lowered flask as Valentin approached. Such clear suggestions of impatience brought a chuckling smile to the Champion’s lips, and he bowed his head in an elegant half-nod of greeting and affirmation. With each passing moment this boy reminded Valentin ever more of himself when he was younger, always in such a hurry. Faster faster faster always insisted littler Schnell, wanting to blaze through everything of little interest in order to fit more moments to adore into his day. Such a careless rush had cost Valentin some marks at school early in his academic career, as well as served him his fair share of painful broom crashes. Luckily someone had enough sense to keep him tied to low-level brooms in the beginning so that he wouldn’t so easily perish from his youthful hyperactivity. It was surviving his many crashes that taught Schnell the true meaning and value of forbearance. The question was not whether he, or this boy, or anyone else would crash. The question was what they would learn from the experience.

The sparkle in his amethyst eyes spoke where the captain’s words did not. Rather than putting him off, Hans’s spitfire comment had backfired and ended up charming Hell Chaser Val. He’d been watching the boy’s maneuvers – daring, limit-bending, riding the hot edge towards brilliance. This kid was the young Icarus that Valentin started out as not that many years ago, and so the affinity was instant. Even when Val offered to teach him how to fix up the broom and suggested the usual courtesy of backcountry healing, the tiny dragon lashed out with sharp words and wordless denial. Such replies only communicated to Valentin, however, that the boy had not heard how Durmstrang’s Frost Captain worked. If he’d known better, he would have understood that Valya enjoyed being attacked and challenged. The more savage and severe the truth, the more Valentin reveled in his treatment. Could he entice even more scathing criticisms out of the young Icarus, though, or was their relationship still too newborn and toothless?

'I wasn't expecting company.'

“No, I shouldn’t think so with a crash like that. One doesn’t fly like that to get attention. One flies like that to lick the sun.” Valentin’s voice purred, clearly pleased to even be speaking on the topic, let alone engaging in it.

“Was it good? Did you find that sweet, rapturous, but ever-fleeting edge?” Valentin’s fingers curled through the bent-over twigs of the battered school broom, stroking in smooth and affectionate arcs as his hands worked their magic of healing the broom. It would be fine if today was not the day for the brown-haired boy to learn to love and care for his steed. To lead and to teach was forever an exercise in enduring the prickling coals of patience. Today Valentin would aim for the matter’s heart.

“What am I doing here? Why, only the same thing as you.” Suspiciously, Valentin carried no broom of his own. His hands held only the hurting one that met a brutish angle with the ground.

“I came to find an edge to dance on in search of that higher state.” Rubbing circles over a scuff on the broom handle with his thumb, Valya eased its splinters back down into a less belligerent texture. Then, without warning, the captain threw the broom back at the coffee-eyed boy.

“Show me something fun.”

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

@Archer Duncan (Hans Jenssen)

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Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen, all dialogue and thoughts in German unless otherwise specified

'Lick the sun?' Hans repeated, scoffing at the Silver Falcon's soft words, tone entirely different from Valentin's purring speech. 'Hell no,' he chuckled, tongue slipping into his native language of German as a laugh escaped him, not all too different from the wild, untamed sound of the north wind. Taking a few steps and nearing the seeker, coffee eyes connecting with amethyst ones, sparks of energy seemed to crack between the two. Hans then said, language returning to Russian, 'I'm here to swallow the sun whole.' Voice lowering to an almost conspiratorial volume, yet tone still light as a summer's afternoon, he continued, 'But, y'know, just between you and me, does the sun taste good at least?' Retreating from his upperclassman and grinning with a shake of his head, he spread his arms as if saying, "Can you believe what we're talking about right now?"

Catching Hans' slip into German, the seeker pressed in the same language, 'Was it good? Did you find that sweet, rapturous, but ever-fleeting edge?' A superfluous use of words, indeed, yet had he really expected anything less from the world-renowned champion? His eyes carelessly flitted after Valentin's nimble fingers as they soothed the battered surface of the wood, not unlike the forgotten flotsam discovered after a shipwreck. Indifferent to the fate of a school broom, the second year answered simply, 'It was worth the fall, that's for sure.' Was everything not worth the fall? Was every action not worth the risk? Swimming had been a gamble. Otto had been a gamble. Durmstrang itself had been a gamble. Hans did not live in gambles, he indulged in them.

'What am I doing here? Why, only the same thing as you.' Narrowing his eyes, though obviously as a form of playfulness rather than actual suspicion, his gaze dropped to Valentin's hands, holding nothing but the chipped school broom, Hans gestured for him to continue. 'I came to find an edge to dance on in search of that higher state.' Not in the mood for a philosophy lesson from a seventeen-year-old, he waved dismissively at the answer with a soft "Huh." Tipping his head, Hans asked, 'You enjoying yourself?'

Yet his attention was stolen away all too swiftly as Valentin, without warning (though "warning" was not a concept the German was particularly familiar with), threw the broomstick back at him with, 'Show me something fun.' Fun? Hans was the king of that. Catching the broom with one hand, instead of hoisting himself up in preparation for flighting, he let go without a second though, the shaft sinking into the snow with a muted plump. If Valentin had been expecting a damn airshow, today was not the day. Maybe the next Sunday if he came with some money. Nudging it out of the way with his foot, he asked, puckish smile spreading as he shook his head, 'Oh, you let cleaning equipment define your fun?' Kneeling down, though eyes still kept on Valentin's, Hans swiftly scooped up a handful of snow, refreshingly cool to his touch as melting ice water soaked into his riding gloves. 'Well, I'm disappointed, Frost Captain,' he said, and chuckled, a sound sparkling like the defrosting waterfalls, before thrusting the makeshift projectile in the general direction of the seventh year, eyes sparking as white reflected in their coffee brown. Laughing despite having completely missed the target, Hans drowned in the moment of exhilaration, the harsh Scandinavian landscape melting away as promptly as the snow did with the incoming spring, and found himself transported back to that faraway winter morning in Berlin. 'Oh, don't you worry, Valentin,' he said, calling the teenager by his name for the first time, before raising his voice with, 'You're going down!'

It was a trip down memory lane, back to the good ol' days when the taste of the sun had been no concern of Hans'.

@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin Schnell

A wide grin broke across the captain’s face, bristling with pleasure while chills like static electricity prickled across his skin. To swallow the sun whole – now that sounded incredible to Hell-Chaser Val. The words themselves invoked the luscious taste of memory. With Hans’s slip into German, Valentin responded with his own Bavarian-accented native tongue.

“Is sunfire delicious? There’s only one way to know. I love it – perhaps too much – but it’s not for everyone. Perhaps it would please you after all.” Smoothing the wounds of the school broom with his fingers, Valentin nodded, agreeing that he also thought Hans’s flight to have been well worth his fall.

“I knew I was going to like you just from watching the way you fly. You’ve got the spirit, but will you endure? There are so many dreams one can chase in life.” Looking down at the broom, Valentin’s eyes traveled along its length as he assessed if it had any urgent safety issues or other concerns for its well-being. There was only so much he could do without a workbench. Gazing with beatific violet eyes like the Saint of Broom Maintenance himself, Valya wondered if a life as an experimental broom maker was really for him. He’d certainly enjoyed learning new woodworking techniques from Romeo over the winter break as they worked to restore Val’s father’s Oakshaft 79, and advancing the bleeding edge of what brooms made people capable certainly appealed… but was that really the best use of Valya in the world? What about his secret dream? Wasn’t there something much bigger out there for him, on the scale of swallowing the sun whole? Swirling his healing thumb across a patch of splintered wood over and over, the captain almost seemed lost in thought.

'You enjoying yourself?'

With a blink, Valentin turned his attention back to Hans. For now, uplifting Durmstrang and its people was his quest.

“Show me something fun.”

The school broom flew back at Hans in Valya’s toss, and although the brown-eyed boy caught it, he dropped it unceremoniously into the snow with a plmmp. Hans pushed the broom further out of the way with his foot, eliciting a dour look from Valentin who seemed like he’d swallowed something quite bitter. Yet, the Tatar boy did not say anything, keeping his cultural distaste to himself. Valentin was raised to not use feet in such a manner, which were symbolically thought of as unclean and disrespectful to use on anything that mattered. Anyone with acute observational skills might have even noticed that he would not point the bottoms of his feet at other people nor directly at a fire. Even a model as humble as a school broom might as well have been sacred to Valya, but he shook off the feelings of disrespect by acknowledging that, by his native Berlin accent and appearance, Hans seemed to hail from only half of a shared culture.

'Oh, you let cleaning equipment define your fun? Well, I'm disappointed, Frost Captain, ' remarked Hans, stooping to gather a handful of snow for a makeshift projectile. So the boy did know who he was. 'Oh, don't you worry, Valentin. You're going down!'

As Hans launched his snowball, Valentin grinned. Leaning ever so slightly to the side, the snow-white boy sensed that not much was needed to dodge the wildly inaccurate strike. [12 acc vs. 28 eva w/o Eva. Man.] Valya was not only the quidditch captain but also their first string seeker, who had spent countless hours studying the finer points of evading bludgers, blatches, and balderdash.

“Oh Hans,” revealed Valentin, knowing the boy's name from studying the broom racing roster in case new talent presented itself as worthy for redirection onto his quidditch team. “It seems I still have a lot to teach you about not telegraphing your movements, speed, and ACCURACY!”

With a spinning motion that momentarily concealed the gathering of his own snow, Valentin spun like a dervish and from somewhere in his dance-like swirl emanated a tightly compacted and fast-moving snowball of his own.

While Hans was no snail and made a good effort to dodge 1d20:12+10=22, Valentin’s experience gave him the upper hand 1d20:8+17-1=24 as the Frost Captain’s little comet struck true in an explosion of glittering snowflakes.

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

@Archer Duncan (Hans Jenssen)

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Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

At Valentin’s grin, Hans returned the expression, eyes gleaming and not solely from the snow’s reflection. Sun-fire seeping through his teeth as he swallowed it in enthused gulps, gushing through his hot, fervid, perfectly juvenile blood... literature was not the boy's forte but what a delicious metaphor. It would have pleased Hans, and if it pleased Valentin, perhaps there was justifiable evidence behind his glorious title of Hell-Chaser.

Yet, 'There are so many dreams one can chase in life.'

Few things did anymore, but such a remark seemed to have caught Hans off-guard, and only because Valentin, living up to his reputation yet again, was entirely correct in his wisdom. Two years ago he had an entire career in sports laid out at his feet, each milestone only awaiting his completion. Accepting that he had to give up such dreams when entering the Wizarding World was part of the challenge itself and now with such a routine utterly broken, violently proven by his loss last year, he found his life without a specific orientation. He wished this was because no options were provided to him yet, but perhaps more frighteningly, such a boy who always managed to come above everything found himself overwhelmed by the sheer myriad of options laid in front of him. So 'I'd rather chase one dream with passion than a million without,' Hans replied, not a bit uncertain as he looked his upperclassman dead in the amethyst eyes. Lips tugging into a smile as if he was savouring his next words like they were something clever, he continued, 'I don't know how good your astronomy is, but out of all those stars in the sky, we only need the Sun to sustain life on this Earth.' Pausing before stepping closer to the white Seeker, he said with a raise of the head, playing even further into the metaphor, 'There's a reason you love your sun-fire and not star-fire, Valentin.'

Still, shaking his head in feigned annoyance of the lecture on accuracy, Hans didn't provide the pleasure of surprise as Valentin revealed the knowledge of his name. Instead, he simply allowed it to fuel his ego further. As he would learn though, ego can be blinding, so when Valentin launched his own snowball in retaliation, he was not as swift to notice as the elder boy had. Despite so, with laughter ringing through the snow-tipped forest clear as Durmstrang's defrosting waterfalls in memory of such playtimes as a child, he allowed himself to be immersed in the almost movie-like whim of the interaction. Two strangers had met each other operating on pure serendipity and had found a Sunday afternoon the perfect time for a snowball fight.... Forcefully brought back to the reality of the situation, Hans made his best attempt to dodge the hit. However, the celebrity would prove that he indeed lived up to his tales as his own accuracy got the better of the second year. Raising his arms in mock defeat, Hans would accept the hit with sportsmanship, yet his attitude would change as the improvised projectile found its mark.

‘Shit,’ Hans cursed as the fun and games melted away with the winter snow, contrasting starkly to the fancy he had indulged in mere moments before. Glancing down in time to catch the still-glittering white explosion that had been painted across his jacketed chest, coffee brown eyes gradually returned to meet the Seeker’s electrical purple as his brows raised in displeasure. Momentarily wavering on how to proceed, all the German registered for the first few seconds was the blunt veins of pain that had spread from the point of impact, sending a dull throbbing through his muscles. The treacherously hidden shards of ice concealed in tightly-compacted snow had struck him exactly where the branch had, aggravating his bruise and more importantly his frustration, for a bruise in the chest was far too endurable, pain dwelling enough in mere days if not a hours. A bruise in the ego not so much. Leaning back on the tree with one arm to catch his breath, now purposefully slowed into a steady and comfortingly familiar rhythm, he used the built up momentum to edge forward towards the Niffler once more. 'Valentin,' he said, features rare in their expressionless state, voice low and rushed in a half-jest as he pulled himself closer to the Hell-Chaser, 'From here on now you are personally responsible for paying my damnable medical fees.'

Hans was glad he did this somewhere deep in the woods.

@ Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood playing Valentin Schnell

'I'd rather chase one dream with passion than a million without,' said Hans, eliciting a nod from Valentin. Clearly the seeker approved, but Hans had more. Dangerously more. 'I don't know how good your astronomy is, but out of all those stars in the sky, we only need the Sun to sustain life on this Earth.' Valentin’s Turkic eyes narrowed. What… was this? Stepping closer to the captain as he looked him straight in the eyes, Hans continued: 'There's a reason you your love sun-fire and not star-fire, Valentin.'

Though staring back undeterred, a question and the mark of alarm lit the champion’s face. Such words bit true with a sharp edge. Did this boy know of Valya’s problems? How? The coffee-eyed boy revealed earlier that he knew Valentin by name and by reputation. Had Hans been watching just as attentively, if not more, than the seeker observing from afar during broom racing practice? Were such incisive comments any more than a lucky shot in the dark? What was this kid, a seer? Yet, even if such a jab was as deceptively specific as fortunetelling, Valentin couldn’t deny the message’s importance. Letting Hans’s words sink in as they exchanged snowballs, the captain’s interest surged over what made this boy tick. Based on the Berliner’s inability to escape the older athlete’s shot, it seemed he was not perfectly prescient… or was his lack of aim and evasion due to a lack of physical control, rather than of perception? As Hans began to approach him once more, visibly in pain, Valentin decided that the blow to the other’s ego hadn’t been enough to scare him off… yet.

“Curious, what has been the basis for your success in broom racing so far – intuition? Do you have a ‘feel’ for what is coming next… or have you just been enjoying a stint of good fortune? Luck and confidence can only get one so far, but training and experience…” As Valentin rolled his gloveless right hand in an emphatic gesture, the glint of a silver scar emanating from inside its palm could easily have caught Hans’s eye. “What do you think, Heliotrope? Are there things you want to learn from me, or would you prefer to keep my light as safely distant as starfire? After all, to approach the sun is to invite in its relentlessly scorching and piercing light. It seems you know something of my reputation. I do not go easy on those rare people I take for my own. If you wish to use me to reach higher heights, you will have to learn the way of the phoenix. I would burn you down time and time again just to relieve you of what is holding you back. Only you can say if such torment is worthwhile.” Turning his head with a sly smile, Valentin stooped to pick up the humble broom Hans had pushed away with his foot. Smoothing over a bent twig once more, the champion’s amethyst-and-mithril eyes flitted back to lock onto the other’s pupils. “As for your medical needs, I will provide you with only the best. You will surely be needing it.”

With a chuckle, Valentin extended the school broom back towards Hans. Certainly the low-end model lacked the embellishments and finesse of more expensive designs that were more difficult to control. Yet, for as “uncool” as the introductory broom was, it was made to endure the struggles in technique and inevitable crashes of young flying students. Built like a tank and just as reliable under even abusively careless maintenance, the school broom was kind to beginners. Often its job was thankless, and being easily brutalized despite its endless dedication to serve, this basic model held a special place in the captain’s heart.

Waving him on, Valentin indicated that he would provide Hans any desired healing or simply proceed with him back towards the castle. Still, the boy’s words clung like smoke to the curtains of Valya’s mind. There was a problem within them that he needed to solve, but the answer remained elusive – something to be puzzled over. Was he doomed to keeping others at a distance, lest he disintegrate relationships with his intensity? Had he inadvertently pushed others away and become as quaint as starlight? How could he ever achieve his dream of consuming another’s soul as wholly as the mythical dragon devouring a sun?

It seemed that the captain, too, had things to learn from Hans. As he took his first step away from the crash site, Valentin smiled in gratitude. On the long trip back to the castle, would Hans have more to say, or would they both remain quietly lost in thought? Would the boy opt to fly out alone, sparing himself further conversation? Jenssen’s choice now would be the next in a chain of decisions that Valentin would be studying with newly stoked interest.

Val is on his way to exit the thread at Hans’s pace. Feel free to initiate a new thread occurring later in the year when desired.

@Archer Duncan (Hans Jenssen)

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Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen, all dialogue and thoughts in German unless otherwise specified

Hans was unable to decipher the meaning behind Valentin's next words, though whether they formed a genuine question or were meant to obscure less straightforward intentions, he could not truly care. If either luck and confidence were aiding his growing success, he was grateful for it. While Hans knew all too well where effort brought an athlete, his racing career had only just begun after all. There was still plenty of time to gain altitude, to touch the flickering sun-fire, to fall into the ocean, and to repeat the process all over again. Nodding with nothing more than a smile, he spoke nothing in reply, a trait very much unlike him.

'What do you think, Heliotrope?'

A glint of silver scar tissue caught under the sun drew Hans' attention towards Valentin's palm. Having seen barely a flash of it though, no reaction beyond a raised brow was given by the brunet. What presented itself to be of more intrigue, however, was the title of "Heliotrope" he had bestowed upon the boy. It was of no inaccurate nature, for Hans was one to turn towards the metaphorical sunlight. Having aroused his curiosity, he rested his eyes upon Valentin's amethyst ones in expectation.

'Are there things you want to learn from me, or would you prefer to keep my light as safely distant as starfire?'

Valentin had made himself unclear: what could he teach Hans? Brimming with teenage eagerness, he could learn anything and with fierce ardency, but in turn what would Valentin throw at him? Valentin had proven himself to be much more than expected, but perhaps much less at the same time: the boy behind the fame came as a surprise. With genuine curiosity rather than sarcastic intention, what could he learn from Schnell that he could not learn himself? He rolled his hands in a gesture for the white-haired boy to continue, neutral without suggestion a particular inclination.

'After all, to approach the sun is to invite in its relentlessly scorching and piercing light.'

That light, however relentlessly scorching and piercing as it might have been, was what he lived for. Aiming for the stars yielded a painless journey of mundanity, yet benignity only served to the deter for the daredevil of a boy. Why else would he set his eyes clear so high if not for the thrill of it? Icarus had fallen for flying to close too the sun, but if falling was merely a fraction of a much more extensive equation, he might as well have burnt in sun-fire first.

'Only you can say if such torment is worthwhile.'

Such torment had the potential to be worthwhile, as all torment had. His goals were strenuous and to accompany for such drive, was the recognition that not every path was sunshine and rainbows. "The way of the phoenix," as the white-haired had so poetically put it, was already a familiarity. But the true answer Valentin owed Hans was not the nature of this "torment" but if he was the right person to be the fire that rendered the phoenix into ashes. To make the assumption that he, a boy he still barely knew, could burn him down so utterly, was on a wild basis. Hans relished in such fire, but he was not quite so flammable either.

Despite his caution, every part of Hans ached to accept. Torment or not, it was the irresistible offer he had never been presented with. How could he turn it down when he was all he ever wanted entering this eldritch world? Skill, experience, power, they were everything he had silently yearned for, cautiously stitched over with unconcerning jests. Having found his place everywhere yet nowhere, Valentin was the Daedalus to craft new wings for the naively paradoxical yet innocently eager Icarus, proven to Hans through his literal mending of the German's broken broom. This was an opportunity he should pounce on. On paper, it was something no version of him could have passed up on. Denial should not even have been a consideration. His heart and his mind both knew, but then again he had always been following his gut, for better or for worse. What do you think, Heliotrope?

'Not today, Valentin,' was all Hans said, pronouncing his name as if it was some sort of otherworldly oddity - and it very well might have been. His tone was otherwise indifferent, not projecting forth any hints of displeasure or uncertainty. His lips pressed together as his coffee eyes swept over the Seeker's appearance of utter purity in his head-to-toe white attire. Those pools of coffee brown allowed for nonchalance to mask deeper feelings, but against Valentin, skilled at reading others, it might as well have been a lost battle. Accepting his broom with a chuckle of his own, hidden in laughter was an ambiguous blend of emotions, wholly different from the sounds of joy moments before. His mind and heart had most urged for him to say otherwise, but in his gut was a resounding "no".

Not in my lifetime. They were the words that had been left unspoken. Valentin's allure was undoubtable, but so was Hans' wild desire for freedom and independence, which to him this offer seemed to be a direct contradiction of. His upperclassman could raise him to higher heights but at what cost? Pain might have been all too bearable, but what else would he be taxed for from this boy he only knew through reputation? Success was loosely defined and while the strive for greatness must have been in everyone, he was still brimming with an naivety that allowed arrogance to govern his emotions. So be it if pre-teenage spunk was getting the better of him, but fire was already trying its hardest to burn him down. The only flame that could ever succeed would be his own.

Offering the Seeker one final grin, kept purposefully elusive, Hans flicked a feigned salute at the Hell-Chaser. Mounting and shooting into the skies once more with all thoughts of his medical needs behind him, no further words had been uttered. The wind whipping his hair against his face, his smile, now completely unburdened, stretched into a grin. After all, this invincible Icarus did not require a Daedalus to soar.

@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood | thread exited