Closed Douse your Fire pv Johannes

threading as Johannes Sauer
speaking in russian unless specified

Fairly well-removed from Durmstrang's convoluted drama of loyalties, the deceptively calm waters of London's relative neutrality made it easy to procrastinate last-minute preparations. The most pressing of these? Packing. Quite possibly the least interesting opponent of their summer break, yet one just as dreaded. If Johannes had been more prepared, perhaps he could have saved himself the trouble earlier in the break. As it was, however, the Hellhound considered the tent less a gathering area and more like a necessary evil. He came and went as he pleased until well after sundown, his independent nature only mitigated by the mandatory curfew. Half-decent nights were only stepping stones to the next important event and near-death crisis. Yet with summer camp coming to its busy, half-welcome end, he no longer had any excuse to ignore the weight of finality. There was a bittersweetness to it all. A spark of denial that preceded the mere idea of leaving. The dawn of his final year was on the horizon. With it came the end of an era— the end of all peace left. He just needed to tie up loose ends first.

Uncharacteristically motivated by the pressing time limit, Johannes ducked into the Crystallofolia tent. The faint, familiar stench of smoke met him under the otherwise sweet smell of blooming flowers and native grasses. How... welcoming. His good mood quickly dropped into an unimpressed acknowledgement as he recognised his unfortunate little tentmate. With only one other wizard at the crime scene, it was an open-and-shut case.

"Resorting to arson now, kid?" Trust in Durmstrang to get into trouble. What kind of school system taught second-years to play with fire? They were barely old enough to watch FSK 12 movies without an adult. "You know, you'd have to have some more passion if you want to kill us all before we leave." Despite the rather depressing nature of his remark, Johannes' flippant snark was a better fit for discussing the weather than addressing possible pyromania. He'd had his own fair share of struck matches and refilled lighters— whatever Hans was doing, it just needed to stay contained. Unwilling to admit defeat and leave, Johannes continued towards his claimed bed.

At least the kid seemed far from visibly homicidal. The lowest bar in existence, yet still a bar nonetheless. Johannes could only half-heartedly guess at Hans' thought process, more concerned with shedding his jacket than doing a wellness check. Forgive him for not feeling particularly threatened— It was difficult to take someone seriously when they couldn't even cast accio. Despite evidence suggesting otherwise, he was neither a babysitter nor a child therapist. If Saltlick wanted to play stupid games, he'd get stupid prizes.

Valentin seemed particularly fond of the Horde's young new charges, but Johannes had always held little regard for their upstart underclassmen. If anything, he generally saw them as rather unimpressive considering their rising reputations. Troublesome even, as all of Durmstrang’s opportunistic children seemed to be. Johannes had been a newly made Hound by Hans' age, though he certainly hadn't gotten mixed up in such drama until later. It was strange... Saltlick had the interesting combination of being disrespectful and surprisingly incompetent yet somehow favoured. Had their standards truly sunk so low? Or had Johannes become so deeply entrenched in his own circle circles that all other competition seemed comparatively subpar?

Whatever brand of romanticised good faith their Kapitan wanted to instil in the next generation, Johannes preferred to avoid seeing the stars getting knocked out of their eyes. Only the strangest and strongest kept their hope in humanity in an environment like Durmstrang's. Despite his disapproval, however, he was not so adverse as to antagonise some kid without cause. It wasn't worth his breath to pick a fight when he had better things to do. Contrary to popular belief, he still had some dignity left.

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

'Resorting to arson now, kid?'

Turning leisurely in a mask of nonchalance as he heard Johannes' unmistakable scorn, Hans raised an indolent brow at the Keeper. Johannes was a person he had associated with distaste- had in fact convinced himself to associate him with distaste. Why would he otherwise? Mockery made up almost the entirety of his remarks. 'Wow, hello to you too, Johannes,' Hans greeted, returning with his own fair share of disdain. He stood up with a half-hearted stretch and walked over to him, gait unbothered to quicken.

In truth there were things Hans needed Johannes to hear that were beyond salty remarks at each other. As much as he toiled to hide vulnerability or at least shrug it off with a jest, he desperately needed it lifted off his chest all the same. Nothing was barring him to back out, to hurl an insult or crack a joke, but Hans' own will was an unbreakable force.

'Hey listen,' Hans said sharply, voice almost urgent and with a sudden seriousness that cut through the air. Listen was all he willed for Johannes to do, if only for a minute. 'Um-,' he started with a steadying breath, peculiar unease washing his cheeks pink, 'I know I've been acting...' He stopped, brows furrowing as words left him, '...Insolent lately.' Pausing to gauge Johannes' reaction as he took the time to compose himself, he admitted, voice hurried, 'I was cocky because I was trying to fit in with you guys but the idea was shit.' Staring at his upperclassman in a rare bout of earnestness, his gaze was steadfast whether it was returned or not. His intense brown eyes seemed to be searching for something more than just forgiveness as he poured out his apology carried by a wave of sincerity, 'I'm sorry.' Looking at him unflinchingly, Hans resisted the urge to laugh it off, to turn away and even continue burning flowers. But no matter his denial, he respected Johannes more than he could ever oppose him, despite their scarce interactions. Hans would like to see the slate cleaned.

He waited in apprehension. Seven nights ago, Nikolai had come to him with an apology of his own, had followed him like a lamb to the slaughter, had implored him with those icy blue glaciers that had melted under a torrent of tears. Hans knew of Nikolai's Durmstrangnian fearlessness, but it must have taken so much more than just that. 'I know what you must think of me,' the German pushed on, unrelenting as he always was. Needless to say, he had not been making an adequate impression of himself since the slug fight. It would not surprise him if Johannes regarded him as incompetent or impertinent; ranging from his broom crash to the race he almost won, his successes weren't exactly impressive. 'But I am trying.' His words were resolute. Hans knew he was trying. Every remark, be it sincere or sarcastic, Hans had taken it to heart. Considering Johannes was fluid in the latter, he had been a generous contributor to his collection. For much longer than just the past month, his efforts had been unseen or at least disregarded, only serving as fuel for the cycle of played up arrogance to fester. He could not allow for more firewood before he had sand on hand. But if only trying was enough.

'Save yourself the trouble and don't start your last year sour,' he said finally with a sigh, voice perfunctory. Drawing his eyes away from Sauer, he turned his back to him with a vague wave of the hand. They were denizens of two utterly different worlds, one where Hans' existence must have been a minor inconvenience to Johannes and one of the complete opposite, where Johannes' recognition happened to be something Hans secretly craved. Somehow with every piece of derisiveness sent Hans' way, he only wanted Johannes' validation more. Raising his head to their flowered ceiling in an attempt to hide any exposing emotions, he swallowed, throat drier than after any speech or race, roisterer seeming to fade away into deafening silence.

@Astrea Soleil Neptune as Johannes Sauer

threading as Johannes Sauer
speaking in russian unless specified

Fairly greeted with all the sarcasm he invited, Johannes paid little attention to Hans' lesson in dramatics as he moved to put away some of his nicer jewellery for the trip home. He was no stranger to strained relations— If anything, the kid was likely the smallest fry in his net of acquaintanceships. With the other earnest to a fault and all the more naive for it, Johannes' sliding scale of danger had never looked so harmless. Accommodating Hans' presence held the same inconvenience as sitting in a room with a spider in the corner, if said spider was armed with a wand and some half-decent remarks. Yet the usual sham of coexistence apparently didn't sit well with Saltlick, whose unnatural seriousness and characteristic apprehension threatened Johannes’ personal bubble. No amount of spikes and silver chains could distract from an unhelpful confrontation, especially considering he'd actively engaged first. The fruits of procrastination had never tasted sourer.

Either overly clever, foolish or a dangerously presumptive combination of the two, Hans had initiated the conversation strategically. A smarter Johannes (one who knew how to hold his tongue) could have simply shut the interaction down before it started. He had not signed up for a heart-to-heart— let alone one so imbued with the Power of Sincerity. They had their roles in Durmstrang's fold. Why bother with further niceties when they were only connected by mutual friends? Vaguely embarrassed in a way only true remorse could endear itself to, Hans’ bright-eyed apology only held water when dipped in foolish assumptions. Cocky was not quite the word he would use to describe the kid, but they could settle for it in place of more... unsavoury terms. Where was this introspection before? Did a month of almost-interactions truly wise someone up to their own incompetence? Had summer camp been so deeply humiliating that it became humbling? Both options seemed equally (read: unsatisfyingly) likely. As the stubborn menace of the Horde's hospitality, Johannes had the privileged position of tolerating their troublesome underclassmen out of group loyalty alone. The mere ridiculousness of playing nice could not be conducive to genuine sympathy.

Yet, despite everything, there was surprising maturity in the other’s self-awareness. The genuine willingness to pull up his big boy pants make amends was... almost disturbing. Unnatural even, to encounter without true familiarity to ease the uncomfortable experience. Knowing very well his own stubbornness, Johannes' heavy-handed judgement felt all the more damning in comparison.

Assumedly bereft of further speech and perhaps unwilling to further outpour his waterfall of pathos, Hans' talk-no-jutsu found its feeble end faced squarely away from Johannes. Succinct, sincere as anything and head tilted carefully upwards as if too good to meet a worthy response. As if barely holding back tears.

Shit, was the kid going to cry? Johannes could handle attitude, could barely handle immaturity but all the intricacies of vulnerability left him floundering. He'd never hear the end of it if word got out that he'd pushed a kid over the emotional edge. Despite contrary evidence, Johannes did have a heart hidden under his bad-boy persona. Perhaps he’d been too harsh— if Valentin saw potential, it surely existed.

Scowling, suddenly self-conscious of his terrible behaviour yet just as unwilling to back down, he scrutinized the other's turned back. “The idea of 'fitting in' really is shit, especially with this group.” Their youngest members likely saw them as the 'popular kids' of Durmstrang's international eye, but Johannes knew better. “Surely you know that now.” Surprisingly cliquey for their rebellious reputations, part of the Horde's intensity resulted from their estrangement from an otherwise (semi)respectable academic society. The delinquent outskirts were a good place to foster camaraderie and drama when no other doors were open. Hans’ masquerade of difference defeated the purpose of it all.

“Still, it's...” He paused, near-physically pained by the mere thought of concession, before biting out the deadpan, delicate truth. “Good that you're self-aware.” That, at the very least, was true. Johannes knew many worse men who would rather kill than admit their faults. Fortunately (with Hans as their apparent extension) the Horde did not have a true excess in undefended arrogance. Saving face was perhaps less important than making enemies of his own friend group. “For that, at least— Well.” Swallowing straight vinegar would probably be easier than meeting his underclassman’s easy eloquence. He was adaptable, but the cost-benefit analysis of making amends was starting to look unbalanced.

“…Apology accepted.”

Entirely dissatisfied with his own weakness and stiltedly inspired by a mulish desire to brush past the matter as quickly as possible, Johannes immediately pushed on to change the subject. “Your friend— Valya's protégé. He seems to like you well enough without acting like a smartass. Figuring out the rest of it surely couldn’t have taken so long.” Only somewhat accusatorily, one could not claim Johannes wasn’t trying. Not his best, but still. There would be no heavy silence to mull on authenticity, not with his continued conflict over his own intentions. His bold underclassman’s blinding ambition would have to be redirected elsewhere. “As long as you don't, like, maim someone without reason, I think you'll do fine with the Horde's approval. If not Valya's, then at least on your own terms.” Either option worked for him, though Johannes’ complete eye-roll emphasised his lack of enthusiasm for the next all-out brawl he’d inevitably be drafted into. At least he’d chosen his allies well.

“You're young enough to make your mistakes. Smart enough to try fixing them, I guess.” There was something almost sweet to this honest observation, as if he’d become less of a minor mini-boss of social disapproval and more of the dysfunctional older brother figure he more often was for some of the Horde. In another universe, perhaps Johannes would have been more resentful about his own lost opportunities. In this one, however, he had known no other life than the one for which he had fought tooth and nail.

Their newest generation of young Durmstrangians acted differently than the usual crop. Gone were the blood feuds and antagonization of yore— no, they seemed to have tasted something sweeter than the usual thrill. Brittle around the edges instead of armoured all over, they were... softer. Morally upright people like Slava and Valentin were watching spring ephemerals bloom in a field of half-melted snow. Johannes, who had thrice-joined with blood between his teeth, could scarcely imagine what the future held for them all. With all of the obvious niches filled, there were only gaps left.

The mere mention of his last year at Durmstrang soured Johannes' tentatively civil mood as swiftly as any missed goal. Yes, his final year was certainly upon them all— he certainly had plenty of evidence dissuading him from forgetting its importance. But who was Hans to advise him on his future? Even if people left the matter alone, Johannes would still have enough worry to last him a lifetime and a half. Perhaps overly bitter and equally grim, he could no longer bear the reminder. The strange contrast between his darker luggage and the floral surroundings seemed suddenly very interesting. “Worry about your own year, not mine.” Johannes stepped away, attempting to rebuild his unbothered mask from scratch and only managing to draw up a pale imitation of it in his haste. “Have you spoken to Felix yet? Is he next on your list?”

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

Out of the many responses Hans had expected, Johannes’ reply was unforeseen but from the rebellious teenager, it was no shock. Though a shitty idea as Johannes agreed, the wrongly perceived necessity to “fit in” had tragically dominated the majority of Hans’ social life. Done with apparent effortless - for then his life had been simple enough that there was nothing some nonchalance and good cheer could’t handle, washing down his colour till it harmonised with the prevalent beige palette had swiftly become a habit. Adapting to each group and changing altogether come the next was no chore but a delightfully one-size-fits-all strategy he employed on almost every step of the way. Until, of course, there came a size he could not fit. Idolisation came next, for when he could not be them, why not admire them? It was a term not as foreign to Hans as he would have preferred, and, begrudgingly, beyond his unsavoury comments on Felix’s leather jackets or God forbid, Johannes’ eyeliner - fine, somedays the goth managed to pull it off without looking too sleep deprived - lied the desire to slip into their unruly ranks as if he had always been there.

In hindsight, having “should have known that by now”, the misstep was an ironic one. It had not been the Horde’s popularity that drawn him to the delinquent group of misfits but the latter trait precisely. Whether aware or not, it was the said “popularity” exactly that he was tired of - as one rightfully would be. Unknowingly Hans had lured himself into his usual endeavours in his attempt at a group he deemed as an escape.

Such thoughts were not beneficial to his deteriorating mood, but Hans reminded himself that if he had been planning to enjoy another hour of relaxation, he would not have initiated the conversation in the first place. After all, would any sane person have found an upperclassman’s scrutiny particularly fun? Unfortunately for the child wet behind the ears, though, “fun” was not the universal definition for everything worth doing.

“ …Apology accepted.”

He was glad, despite the rather… pained manner of delivery. Almost relieved, if only for lack of a better word, when he had expected such a wide range possibilities that acceptance only took up a bare percentage. Pensiveness may have been a habit too costly of effort and prone to emotional burden for Hans to keep up with, but come his rare displays of self-reflection, it would no longer be ostentatiously adorned with shows of brash cockiness. It was reassuring that Johannes, however reluctantly he decided to display himself, reciprocated his rare show of the emotion with the same sincerity. As he turned to face the elder boy once more, he nodded in acknowledgement, the shadow of a smile crept up onto his lips, not fully formed yet but like the self-awareness Johannes praised him on - though “praise” most definitely an overstatement - it was a fine enough foundation.

It came as no surprise, however, that Johannes’ sincerity demanded to be followed by yet another, at least to Hans’ attuned ears, acerbic pronouncement. So he found it in his good favour to view forgiveness as weakness? Although unsatisfactory, his behaviour was understandable considering the numerous times Hans had dismissed earnest talk with some half-hearted and half-sassy jest. Unprivileged with the time to consider his statement, the elder continued. Having never particularly gravitated towards Valentin’s seemingly universal pull, the notion of “his own terms” left him pleased; he had never been much of a lone wolf, but there was sense behind Johannes’ disgruntlement regrading the more or less clique of a group. At his comment on maiming though, Hans’ eyes lit up with humour - which he will reluctantly admit Johannes, albeit darkly, wielded well. About to interject with a remark he would confess as somewhat tongue-in-cheek, it was the fellow Durmstrangnian next words that redirected his focus elsewhere.

“ You're young enough to make your mistakes. Smart enough to try fixing them, I guess.”

The smile playing at Hans gave way. In Johannes’ tone the eager Icarus tasted an aberrant dash of sugar among all his salt. The Keeper’s reputation was one built on his acidic aloofness, but like the acts he weaved so cleverly, reputation was often corrupt in establishment. His words however - and perhaps they were mere words, not made to be overthought - told of a more hopeful story. Since their first encounters he had been desperately seeking approval, evident to the passing eye or not, and finally some semblance of it had been delivered, not wrested through with some ostentatious act but with his best attempt at sincerity. Jaded by being disregarded as no more than some pesky teenage nuisance, their inching relationship - strained and dysfunctional as it may be - held value for the youth. Friendship might not have been a word in Johannes’ dreadful vocabulary and miles away for the both of them, but he was content, for at least he had not scoffed and rolled his eyes at being labelled as young. Running his upperclassman’s words through his mind as if the observation was some mantra, his eyes were steeped in thought. Pressing with suddenly furrowed brows as he willed the dejection out of his tone, Hans asked, “Trying? And to fully make amends, Johannes?”

Gauging with displeasure the sharp turn their delicately established courteousness took, Hans waved the matter away with a vague gesture. “Fair, yeah, yeah, I will.” Having struck a nerve in the boy he never knew was there he was glad that Johannes veered away from the subject entirely. In truth he regarded his impending year with more importance than he would have liked to admit, for with his apology had come the maturity he had never cared to embrace. Naïvety - the odd thing he wore as a guise while simultaneously under the influence of - dissolved too quickly for something as stubborn.

Cautiously as Johannes distanced himself from his younger counterpart, he asked, “I should, shouldn’t I?” Now so accustomed to Johannes’ deadpan sarcasm, for better or for worse, Hans dismissed most of his remarks as sass. Unfortunately for both of them though, he did not have a particular list in mind - their conversation had been more a confused heap of thoughts than some thoroughly reviewed speech. As the familiar yet wholly uninvited tension settled soundly over the duo, he let a laugh cut through with a stark contrast to his upperclassman’s haphazardly established façade of apathy. Comment dry, the young racer said, “I sought you out because somehow I thought you would be more approachable. Probably a lapse of judgement on my part…

“But thank you for the advice.”

@Astrea Soleil Neptune as Johannes Sauer