A Very Kolbeck Christmas
"Take the stairs, second floor, first room on the left. Take whatever clothes you want."
"Hmm?" Finnegan held both of the too-tight shoes he'd been given in his hands and wondered how he was going to get his boots back when the teenager showed up. "No thanks." Finnnegan craned his neck too meet the boy's icy, judgemental stare. How could he be judging? He was wearing something that looked like it had gone out of fashion several centuries ago.
Finnegan was just about to hand his shoes (and the stupid tailcoat) along with his resignation to the teenager when the boy turned his head. He followed the teenager's piercing gaze to an even taller young man. Whatever it was these people ate to grow so much, he wanted some.
There was something magnetic about the stranger, a chilling gravity, something inhumane @Vladimir Athanatos and unsettling. All the more reason to leave and return to the cabin in the woods with his sister while their presence had still gone relatively unnoticed. Rose would surely protest, she seemed to be utterly enchanted by her surroundings, but he was the older sibling and if he really put his foot down, she'd come along.
Felix. His head snapped toward the towering white-haired boy who'd just offered him his clothes like he was some beggar. Could it be? Was this the Felix? The one who had broken @George Henry's heart? Surely, there were many people in the world called Felix, but few of this particular description, and fewer still—no doubt—capable of magic.
As if that possibility wasn't enough, he heard a far more familiar name being uttered. "Mr. Athanatos, I was delighted when you accepted my invitation." An Athanatos? Here? The evening held promise indeed, but not the kind he sought. In all his encounters with the various members of the Athanatos family, Finnegan had never revealed anything about his family and had especially avoided ever mentioning his sister. She'd come to Hogwarts too and despite their fierce and frequent sibling rivalries, he did not want her to become involved in anything having to do with Athanatos.
He slipped away from Felix's side, spotted Rose still admiring the sparkling Christmas tree and tugged at her sleeve. "We're leaving now" he hissed. She protested, tried to anyway, he was dragging her along by her arm and bumping his way past the guests with a sense of urgency.
"Finn" Shit. He moved on, pretending not to hear. "Finnegan!" Rose had already made the mistake of looking over her shoulder at whoever was mentioning her brother's name. "What in the name of Merlin's bloody bloomers are you doing here?"
Salinger had always looked like a more grown-up version of Rebecca, though he supposed it was really the other way around. Aly had come first, Rebecca was the clone. It didn't help that both of them were in Ravenclaw. Honestly, at sufficient distance in less than favorable lighting, they were quite difficult to tell apart. "I'm leaving," he answered through gritted teeth and gave another sharp tug at his sister's arm. "We are leaving. See you at sch-"
Rose pulled herself free, her eyes wide as saucers. "Your dress! It's gorgeous, are those real stars? I love your earrings!" Rose Connor was about half a head smaller than her brother but there was enough similarity in their features to peg them as siblings, most notably the upturned nose and the dark-brown hair—yet another sore thumb in the sea of blondes. "Yes you look wonderful Aly," Finnegan butted in, "Rose, Aly; Aly, Rose. Hi, goodbye, merry Christmas, happy new year, we're leaving."
"But Finn!" Rose was being obnoxiously, needlessly loud, stomping one of her little feet and turning faintly red in the face. If she kept this up much longer, she could be drawing all sorts of unwanted attention.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
"Hmm?" Finnegan held both of the too-tight shoes he'd been given in his hands and wondered how he was going to get his boots back when the teenager showed up. "No thanks." Finnnegan craned his neck too meet the boy's icy, judgemental stare. How could he be judging? He was wearing something that looked like it had gone out of fashion several centuries ago.
Finnegan was just about to hand his shoes (and the stupid tailcoat) along with his resignation to the teenager when the boy turned his head. He followed the teenager's piercing gaze to an even taller young man. Whatever it was these people ate to grow so much, he wanted some.
There was something magnetic about the stranger, a chilling gravity, something inhumane @Vladimir Athanatos and unsettling. All the more reason to leave and return to the cabin in the woods with his sister while their presence had still gone relatively unnoticed. Rose would surely protest, she seemed to be utterly enchanted by her surroundings, but he was the older sibling and if he really put his foot down, she'd come along.
Felix. His head snapped toward the towering white-haired boy who'd just offered him his clothes like he was some beggar. Could it be? Was this the Felix? The one who had broken @George Henry's heart? Surely, there were many people in the world called Felix, but few of this particular description, and fewer still—no doubt—capable of magic.
As if that possibility wasn't enough, he heard a far more familiar name being uttered. "Mr. Athanatos, I was delighted when you accepted my invitation." An Athanatos? Here? The evening held promise indeed, but not the kind he sought. In all his encounters with the various members of the Athanatos family, Finnegan had never revealed anything about his family and had especially avoided ever mentioning his sister. She'd come to Hogwarts too and despite their fierce and frequent sibling rivalries, he did not want her to become involved in anything having to do with Athanatos.
He slipped away from Felix's side, spotted Rose still admiring the sparkling Christmas tree and tugged at her sleeve. "We're leaving now" he hissed. She protested, tried to anyway, he was dragging her along by her arm and bumping his way past the guests with a sense of urgency.
"Finn" Shit. He moved on, pretending not to hear. "Finnegan!" Rose had already made the mistake of looking over her shoulder at whoever was mentioning her brother's name. "What in the name of Merlin's bloody bloomers are you doing here?"
Salinger had always looked like a more grown-up version of Rebecca, though he supposed it was really the other way around. Aly had come first, Rebecca was the clone. It didn't help that both of them were in Ravenclaw. Honestly, at sufficient distance in less than favorable lighting, they were quite difficult to tell apart. "I'm leaving," he answered through gritted teeth and gave another sharp tug at his sister's arm. "We are leaving. See you at sch-"
Rose pulled herself free, her eyes wide as saucers. "Your dress! It's gorgeous, are those real stars? I love your earrings!" Rose Connor was about half a head smaller than her brother but there was enough similarity in their features to peg them as siblings, most notably the upturned nose and the dark-brown hair—yet another sore thumb in the sea of blondes. "Yes you look wonderful Aly," Finnegan butted in, "Rose, Aly; Aly, Rose. Hi, goodbye, merry Christmas, happy new year, we're leaving."
"But Finn!" Rose was being obnoxiously, needlessly loud, stomping one of her little feet and turning faintly red in the face. If she kept this up much longer, she could be drawing all sorts of unwanted attention.
Talking to Aly Salinger. Open to interactions.
@Aly Salinger @Vladimir Athanatos @Winnie Harper as Felix Kolbeck.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Vladimir Athanatos had been observing the room. The women were beautiful as they always were, with magic to clear the ravages of acne, to smooth unruly hair, to add a short of glitter to ones already perfectly fine eyes. The men, handsome. The threshold for average was still unnatural. Vladimir had always moved with purpose, each step deliberate, each glance calculated—tonight was no exception.
He made idle small talk. Made sure that he left an impression, that people would remember that an Athanatos was there. So when he saw a vision of a creature, Aly Salinger, standing alongside loud, poorly clothed duo of what he could only assume were house elves with stunted ears and craniums considering their diminutive stature and scrunched-up features.
He approached with a grace that felt almost serpentine, weaving effortlessly through clusters of conversation until he loomed near the trio. He paused long enough to make his presence known, though his voice remained disarmingly soft.
"Miss Salinger," she had never shared her name. His tone warm, yet threaded with something that sent a chill. "Your gown... It's exquisite. An heirloom perhaps? A bold choice." His eyes lingered—not on the fabric, but on her, as if unraveling every thread of her intent. "Stars suit you. Like a constellation given form—untouchable, celestial, yet ominously close."
His gaze flickered briefly to Finnegan Connor and the girl beside him—Rose Conner, his sister, no doubt. Not that any of them shared their connection or name. Yet the universe seemed content to filter her mysteries through this mortal man. Interesting. It was like seeing a poor man’s version of Aly reflected back, their familial resemblance unmistakable even in their awkward retreat. Finn’s attempt to flee amused him. How charmingly transparent. At least he was fully human.
"Leaving so soon?" Vladimir’s voice slowed, deliberate as a snare tightening. "How unfortunate. The evening is just beginning, Mr. Connor," yes Finnegan never shared his name, "and I’d hoped to speak with you."
He turned slightly, as if to address the entire group, though his focus never truly left Finnegan. "I understand the pressures of these gatherings can be... overwhelming. New faces, unfamiliar customs." His lips curved, sharp and precise. "But it would be remiss of me not to extend some hospitality."
Vladimir reached into his coat, withdrawing a black velvet pouch bound with silver string. It was too small to hold anything mundane. "A donation," he said, as though it explained everything. "For your family, Finn. Or perhaps... for your future."
He offered it without hesitation, though the weight of expectation in the gesture was undeniable. A gift that demanded something in return. His eyes, piercing and cold, locked onto Finnegan’s. "Consider it a token of goodwill." [Check your Remembrall for Contents, will require the enlarging spell to properly size]
And then, almost as an afterthought, his attention slid back to Aly. "It’s rare to see someone understand the importance of legacy." His tone softened—not for sincerity, but to lure. "I hope you’ll allow me a dance before the night ends. A dress like that shouldn’t be left idle."
He inclined his head slightly, polite, practiced—a gesture that almost felt reverent. But the gleam in his eyes was anything but. It was the look of a man who could admire beauty and still sharpen the knife meant to destroy it.
Aamon
He made idle small talk. Made sure that he left an impression, that people would remember that an Athanatos was there. So when he saw a vision of a creature, Aly Salinger, standing alongside loud, poorly clothed duo of what he could only assume were house elves with stunted ears and craniums considering their diminutive stature and scrunched-up features.
He approached with a grace that felt almost serpentine, weaving effortlessly through clusters of conversation until he loomed near the trio. He paused long enough to make his presence known, though his voice remained disarmingly soft.
"Miss Salinger," she had never shared her name. His tone warm, yet threaded with something that sent a chill. "Your gown... It's exquisite. An heirloom perhaps? A bold choice." His eyes lingered—not on the fabric, but on her, as if unraveling every thread of her intent. "Stars suit you. Like a constellation given form—untouchable, celestial, yet ominously close."
His gaze flickered briefly to Finnegan Connor and the girl beside him—Rose Conner, his sister, no doubt. Not that any of them shared their connection or name. Yet the universe seemed content to filter her mysteries through this mortal man. Interesting. It was like seeing a poor man’s version of Aly reflected back, their familial resemblance unmistakable even in their awkward retreat. Finn’s attempt to flee amused him. How charmingly transparent. At least he was fully human.
"Leaving so soon?" Vladimir’s voice slowed, deliberate as a snare tightening. "How unfortunate. The evening is just beginning, Mr. Connor," yes Finnegan never shared his name, "and I’d hoped to speak with you."
He turned slightly, as if to address the entire group, though his focus never truly left Finnegan. "I understand the pressures of these gatherings can be... overwhelming. New faces, unfamiliar customs." His lips curved, sharp and precise. "But it would be remiss of me not to extend some hospitality."
Vladimir reached into his coat, withdrawing a black velvet pouch bound with silver string. It was too small to hold anything mundane. "A donation," he said, as though it explained everything. "For your family, Finn. Or perhaps... for your future."
He offered it without hesitation, though the weight of expectation in the gesture was undeniable. A gift that demanded something in return. His eyes, piercing and cold, locked onto Finnegan’s. "Consider it a token of goodwill." [Check your Remembrall for Contents, will require the enlarging spell to properly size]
And then, almost as an afterthought, his attention slid back to Aly. "It’s rare to see someone understand the importance of legacy." His tone softened—not for sincerity, but to lure. "I hope you’ll allow me a dance before the night ends. A dress like that shouldn’t be left idle."
He inclined his head slightly, polite, practiced—a gesture that almost felt reverent. But the gleam in his eyes was anything but. It was the look of a man who could admire beauty and still sharpen the knife meant to destroy it.
Aamon
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Felix’s reaction to Val’s compliment fired off with the expected fireball of caustic humility. Smirking with pleasure to see that Felix hadn’t changed (at least not in this amusing virtue) Valentin felt some grain of sanity still remained in the world. Yet, the other’s exact wording was unexpected:
"What? Are you on something?"
A twitch at the corner of Valentin’s eye, followed by a warp of his mouth, indicated there was something strange to hearing such a comment. Yet, Valentin had no reply as he returned his attention to Mrs. Kolbeck’s typical pureblood response.
"It's nice to see you, Mr. Schnell. I would be insulted by your comments on my decorating skills, if I weren't so intrigued. You say my son has an eye for party planning?"
While raised in a tightly straight-laced pureblood atmosphere himself and well studied in proper behavior and conversation, Valentin was not known to sacrifice the truth of his opinions even in high society. Rather, the speedfreak seeker still had a lack of patience for elaborate discourse. As his quidditch team experienced regularly, the captain was used to doling out harsh truths without sugarcoating and expecting their recipients to use those occasionally sharp statements to help them reach their self-declared goals. This was one of several reasons he was called “the Frost Captain.”
“Madam Kolbeck, while your son is a deeply humble person, I have witnessed only wonders when Felix has been called to serve as party planner. I can appreciate your respectable decorations here, but compared to your son’s latent gift and inherent (if buried) passion for this artform, I must admit Felix’s superiority. I’m certain that you have other strengths of your own, however.” Tipping his head, Val could not summon a smile, but he did at least seem totally genuine.
Once Greta entered the room, however, the entire swing of the event seemed to shift. It was sweet and reassuring to see Felix’s reaction to the girl that both Val and countless other Durms felt highly protective of. After all, Felix was the only one he trusted to be worthy of her, other than Romeo. It was for this reason that Val had dragged Piérre into running that whole Greta-birthday-conspiracy with the crups and Lucky Star show. Even now Val wanted to live vicariously through their happiness and see them fall for each other. It was relaxing to see their interactions now – so relaxing, in fact, that the toll of Val’s sleep deprivation began to show itself more clearly.
Bowing politely and showing himself to a corner near the biggest, brightest window, Valentin put his head down on a table corner and simply began to listen. Newcomers would arrive one after another, and for a moment he wondered if he needed to keep a certain Athanatos away from their precious valkyrie, but it seemed for now that he could rest. The creature seemed far more interested in Miss Salinger. Of course, while Valentin appeared to be mostly out of commission and on defensive standby, what he was really doing was continuing to collect information about various members of quidditch teams and their personal lives. It was just the sort of thing the captain did in his free time. Understanding the mentality of opponent players was always an important part of his game.
@Winnie Harper (Felix)
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Russian [#c83737] ⁎ German [#bb9825] ⁎ Norwegian / Swedish [#6293A7] ⁎ English [bold]
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𝔚hile an initial pause of new arrivals may have been able to be secured for Greta's entrance down the grand stairs, it didn't last for long. Like birds seeking shelter from a flurrying storm, guests began to flock towards the night's hosts to offer their salutations and whatever other flowery words society expected of them for such an occasion. But not before she would get a few precious moments to take in Felix's reaction—the only reaction that mattered in the moment of her descent. The moment his eyes had trained upon her, she could feel the heat rising up her neck. Every step closer became that much more of a challenge, please don't trip, please don't trip, please don't trip, on reverberating on repeat within her thoughts as she closed the distance. It would come as a surprise to nobody if she had made a scene and tumbled down the last of the steps, especially dressed as she was in a gown with so much more volume and requiring so much more maneuvering than she was accustomed to. Fortunately for everyone's sake, she reached the event floor unscathed. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours, though, as she presented herself. For a hideously gut-churning moment, it almost seemed like neither of the Kolbecks would have anything to say to her at all. Not even the warmth of Mrs. Kolbeck's smile could entirely melt the chill of uncertainty that crept insidiously through Greta's core as she waited with baited breath for Felix to say something. Anything. When he finally spoke her name, she released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the blush of her cheeks deepening as he stepped nearer. Despite his halting speech, the heat of his presence banished away any crystallizing worry, the whispering touch of his hand against her arm sending a wave of goosebumps to rise across her skin. Only, something wasn't quite right. As soon as he touched her, he stepped back. And his compliment—as soft as a caress as it might have been—was contradicted by his obvious flinch, as though to even utter the thought caused him pain. Greta found herself reflexively glancing towards Felix's mother, perhaps subconsciously seeking some sort of support or explanation, and soon found herself swept up into the woman's welcoming embrace. Lips quickly upturned into a delighted smile as she replied, "That's so kind of you." She really didn't know what else to say. The Horntails had always felt like family to her, every one of them her brother or sister. But that sense of curated belonging had always remained fairly fixed to her residence while at Durmstrang. Parents were rarely talked about, and she could count on one hand how many of her friends' families she'd had the pleasure to meet. Granted, that would probably change now that she'd been deemed fit for presentation at social functions. Still, the matron's words touched her deeply, resonating with a sense of welcome that felt unexpectedly heartfelt. And to have extended an invitation for her to stay here at their home.. "Wait.." Greta blinked, two and two suddenly and almost violently coming together. "Your home?!" Her head swiveled to take in the distant architecture and decor of the ball room with an entirely new understanding. "You live here?" She almost whispered, unable to stop herself from gaping. "But this is a..." Eyes had pulled back from Lin in search of Felix in that moment, certain that he would rectify what was clearly a misunderstanding because there was no way anyone could possibly be as grumpy as Felix set himself to be on a daily basis if they lived in a castle. Except he wasn't there anymore. "...oh." Her heart sank into the empty space that he'd been occupying only moments before, some part of her alarmed by just how severe the reaction had been. She found him several paces away talking to someone else, though she couldn't quite make out who. They were too short to make out over Felix's taller frame. Her gaze swept then to Valentin, suddenly feeling as transparent as the Niffler looked. But even he, too, had vanished, having swept himself away somewhere when she had been otherwise occupied by the Kolbeck Matron. Without his Seeker skills, she wasn't quite able to find him through the growing throng of people before an arm wrapped itself around her shoulders to redirect her attentions. Turned to be lead back towards the entrance, Greta's attention drew magnetically to the intended target. Tall and handsome and garbed in a suit that fit him so perfectly that one had to question whether it was magically tailored to his form, this 'Mr. Athanatos' personified the exact subtle confidence that Greta's father had insinuated only 'real' purebloods could muster. A chill ran down her spine, though she couldn't quite tell whether it was a drop in temperature or the acting up of nerves that caused it. "It is nice to meet you, Mr. Athanatos," she murmured, doing her best to enunciate her English. A bashful smile accompanied her shallow curtsy, cheeks flushing pink. Having only attended a few social functions, Greta's training had not quite bloomed into the self-assurance that came only once practice had cemented into second-nature. She could only hope she was doing the right things at the right time, and fixed her full focus on the conversation at hand. Something about the young man made her feel like he was a very important person, and the last thing she wanted was some sort of misunderstanding. Which, of course, happened almost immediately as he said something about 'season's finery'? She didn't know those words, though she could agree that the Lady Kolbeck's presence presents under the tree really did add a nice touch to the evening and bobbed her head with that sentiment. He lost her again with 'Seers' and 'manes', though, the Norwegian glancing between the two with a whisper of a smile as she so often did whenever in accompaniment of her parents. You are to be seen, but not heard. It was a familiar sentiment that she practiced then in that moment. She wasn't expecting him to turn his focus back upon her, and didn't know what to do when he did. Their hands touched when he reached out for hers, his fingers curling around her own—gentle despite an obvious strength therein. They were cold, but she didn't mind, returning his gesture with a renewed smile, and feeling maybe perhaps just a little bit guilty. Something like this was how she had hoped Felix would have greeted her, and in that precise moment, the leather-wearing platinum blonde was nowhere in her thoughts. Prone to obliviousness (therein prompting such a prominent protection rection from so many of her peers) and entirely unaware of the young man's infamy, Greta did not feel the same sense of foreboding that so many others did when Athanatos entered the scene. Rather, she found him unexpectedly captivating and was almost lost to thought as she quietly suggested, "You can call me Greta.." The loud clearing of a throat interrupted the moment, the little Norwegian instinctively shrinking back as though scolded. When had Felix returned? Her gaze shifted between he and Athanatos, expression visibly confused. The stranger sure seemed to like presents. She also wasn't quite sure what he meant about circles. There were no circles on the floor. Or any shapes, for that matter. She'd glanced down, just to be sure. Unfortunately, when she'd glanced back up, the man was speaking to her again. "Eh.." Nervous panic balled itself up in her throat, her heart skipping a beat or two and hammering against her chest. It was like that one time one of her professors caught her daydreaming, presenting her with a question in front of the whole class. She'd only heard part of the question and ended up sputtering out a completely ridiculous answer. Only this time, it wasn't so much that she had been off in the clouds as it was that he was speaking with an eloquence and command of a language she just hadn't quite mastered yet. Lips parted as though to speak, then closed, then opened again, though before she could even work out something to say, he started speaking again, this time in a whisper. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, silken words weighing heavy with significance despite a lack of context. Mentally, she kicked herself for not having applied herself more earnestly in her studies, teeth biting at her lip, rendered incapable of doing anything but nod her head. And then he was gone, leaving Greta feeling rather stupified next to Felix. Her attention lingered on the English-speaking young man as he trailed away, watching as he approached a very pretty and vaguely familiar looking brunette @Aly Salinger with a stunning dress that happened to reflect the enchanted ceiling above. Nearby to her was the young serving boy Felix had been talking to. He, too, seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn't quite place why. Somewhere in the back of her mind, gears began turning. For the moment, however, she gradually pulled her attention around to Felix, chancing to glance up at him from below her lashes before fidgeting with her dress. "So..." She didn't want to have to ask, especially not after he'd been so obviously disinterested in her attendance. But she had no other choice. She wasn't about to bother Lady Kolbeck, and nobody else was nearby. So, her voice small and reluctant, Greta inquired, "I can still count on you to translate for me?" |
xxxx |
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| xxxxxx | @Winnie Harper as Felix | @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin | @Vladimir Athanatos | @Aly Salinger | @Finnegan Connor |
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STA 5 ⁎ EVA 20 ⁎ STR 1 ⁎ WIS 12 ⁎ ARC 12 ⁎ ACC 20
CALMING PRESENCE, SPELL SPREAD, PERFECTIONIST, WANDMAKER, FEARLESS, LOVELY CREATURE
CALMING PRESENCE, SPELL SPREAD, PERFECTIONIST, WANDMAKER, FEARLESS, LOVELY CREATURE
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
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│
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▪ FELIX ▪ KOLBECK ▪
▪ DURMSTRANG iNPC ▪ SIXTH YEAR ▪│
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Reducio@Evelynn Decipio as Greta
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood as Valentin
@Vladimir Athanatos
The Swede froze, Valentin's confession of his skill causing his face to heat up. "T-That's... That's not true, don't listen to him! It was just a stupid farewell party for the graduates, it wasn't even that big!"
"Felix, you threw a party?" Her mother looked amused, thrilled even, her lips curving into a wide smile, "Is that so? I suppose my Felix has always had a creative eye. I should have made him help me with the event. I'll have to do so in the future."
He was going to kill Valentin the minute they were alone.
Felix’s stomach churned as the Vladimir kissed his mother’s hand like he was some sort of time traveling old-timey aristocrat. Gross. What the hell was this? Had someone revived a Victorian corpse? He matched the description of a corpse with his pale features.
He couldn't believe his eyes when his mother, A MARRIED WOMAN, blushed at the idiot's words. "My, you're quite charming, aren't you?"
"You bring an air of grandeur to this evening, Mr. Athanatos. Kolbeck Manor feels almost humbled in comparison.” Her tone was smooth and warm, in a way that made her son want to gag. "I don't think my hair has ever been described quite as poetically before."
His gaze drifted to Greta to see her reaction. Ugh, not you too. He wasn't even that impressive. He likely practiced his icy stare and kissy lips in front of a mirror. Just who the hell did this guy think he was, anyway? He thought he could waltz in here with his stupid fucking perfect face, stupid fucking muscular body, and what? Sweep all the ladies off their feet? Please. Besides, if Felix wanted to look that basic he could do it. Easily.
The Swede very well could have been a cat with the way he bristled beneath Vladimir's gaze. It had nothing to do with the unsettling aura that seemed to follow him around like a dark cloud, he hardly noticed such things after spending so much time with Yefim (Fearless ability).
His gaze remained unimpressed, but there was a hint of colour in his cheeks and the tips of his ears when the older boy mentioned 'admirers'. He wanted to bark back, wanted to tell the Shakespearean villain off, but his mother was standing right there and he wanted to avoid her anger. Don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes...
"What can I say? People love to... Tolerate me. I'm sure you know all about admirers." The jerk probably had a fan club the size of Arjan's. Barf.
His jaw tightened when the walking porcelain doll fixed his attention back onto Greta. He knew she likely didn't understand everything he was saying, given her limited ability to speak English. He had no intention of telling her what he was saying either, unless Vladimir was fluent in Russian or Swedish and could translate for her.
"If you're looking for a job as a bodyguard, we've got it handled, thanks." He piped up, already shifting closer to the Norwegian. He ignored the glare that his mother pointed in his direction.
As he leaned down to whisper in Greta's ear, he felt his stomach drop, the sight making him want to squirm. He felt the familiar sting of irritation as the blonde's gaze flickered back over to him. A scowl twitched at his lips.
By the time the snake finally slithered away, Felix felt his shoulders relax. The guy had a way of making it feel like his every word came with a twisted knife in the gut. A possessive protective arm wrapped around Greta's shoulders as he started to lead her away from the crowd, lest his mother had some parade of men waiting for her. He thought his mother's interest in his friend was because she wanted to pair them together, but he had not considered the other option; that Lin was helping Greta's mother by introducing her to eligible men. She deserved so much more than to be trapped as a wife.
"He was being overdramatic. He asked if you were always this well protected." Felix started once they had reached a quiet corner of the ballroom, his arm still around her.
"I don't know what he whispered in your ear." That was going to bother him the rest of the evening, but at least Greta wouldn't be subjected to whatever the pervert wanted to tell her. The thought of him being so close to her made something inside of him boil, made him want to punch something.
The Swede glanced around to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation, before his gaze rest back on the petite blonde. "Come on, does it really matter what he said? You don't want to be around a guy like that anyways." He tried to offered her a smile, but it was forced, "He's probably here to find a wife."
His free hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face. His throat suddenly felt dry. "You... You deserve better than to be locked away in some domestic life." He mumbled, his eyes flickering down to her lips. The thought of kissing her again crossed his mind, he found himself fighting to keep himself from grabbing her to do just that. To claim her as his own in front of his peers. Would strange men would stop pursuing her if they saw how much she meant to him?
He took in a shaking breath. He could feel the doubt settle through him, the constant ache returning, the reminder that he was less of a man and more of a collection of broken pieces. He could not give her the life she wanted, the one she deserved. He swallowed hard before continuing, "or... You know, if that's what you want... That's fine too... I just think you should be with the person you want to be with."
FELIX: English ▪ Swedish ▪ Russian | LINNÉA: English ▪ Swedish
│ │ | │ │ | STA: 10 • EVA: 18 • STR: 8 WIS: 10 • ARC: 8 • ACC: 14 | │ │ | • Perfectionist • Impartial • Fearless • • Evasive Maneuvers • Evasive Maneuvers II • | │ │ | │ │ |
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Before her sharply whispered words had even managed to pass her lips, Finn seemed to be making a break for it, grabbing an even younger girl who looked essentially like a female clone of the third-year boy - Finn has a sister? I didn't know that... - and moving quickly through the crowd. Aly's brows creased from worry at the sight. Where were the pair's parents? Had they even been invited? And, if not, how had they gotten here - or, more importantly, how would they get home? Aly couldn't Apparate, nor did she have her broomstick on her, as she hadn't taken to carrying it around in miniature form like some of her classmates - and Hesper would never assist in getting a pair of stowaways back to their parents, even if one (or both - the girl version of Finn looked too young to be at Hogwarts. or maybe first-year age if that, and Aly had always assumed due to the young Gryffindor's natural ease towards Muggle technologies that he had come from a family of partial or entire non-magical status) were technically under her dominion as an Auror. Luckily, Finn seemed to hear her hisses before he and his probable-sister could vanish into the throng of extravagantly dressed purebloods, and though he didn't immediately come over to her, the sister did, bouncing towards her with all the excitement and long-jump of a frog. As Aly had never seen a live frog, only their dismembered legs down in the Potions storeroom, she hoped that the enthusiastic child in front of her would not meet a similar fate as those she'd handled before.
Though Aly was at first quite taken aback by the outpouring of babble that spewed from the sister's mouth, a warm feeling of familiarity washed over her a half-moment later; not from her similarity to Finn, no, but from her similarity to Aly herself. Overeager, talkative, eyes practically brimming with the sights - yes, this child in front of her was a veritable reflection of the girl the Ravenclaw had been upon arriving at Hogwarts. She hadn't been this thrilled about anything in a very, very long time, and that warmed her to the girl immediately. "Yes - well, and no, they're not real stars but this is an accurate reflection of the sky," she told the child, clearly much to Finn's chagrin (she couldn't blame him - hadn't he been stabbed at one of the last year's fancy balls?), since it was more than obvious that the boy would've rathered being anywhere else in the world than here. "You can touch it, if you like - it's very soft. And thank you! I like your, er, suit." Perhaps not the most authentic of compliments, but then again, the child was wearing... pretty much only the one thing. Hard to find something else to pinpoint.
Aly turned her gaze to the impatient, restless brother, the familiar face in a sea of strangers. Her first words came out almost as a beg, imploring him to not abandon her in this lion's den: "No, stay! What's the rush, Finn? Although - where are your parents?" She cast her gaze over the star-spangled ballroom, seeing no one with the similar dark hair and features of the Connor siblings in front of her (though, speaking of parents, she did notice that Hesper had moved away from her wordlessly and begun to chat with someone on the edge of the ballroom, and breathed a sigh of relief - the last thing Aly needed was her mother getting involved with this). She frowned at the siblings, worry spiking in her chest for them once more. "This isn't like Hogwarts," the sixth-year warned the boy in front of her in a low voice. "You shouldn't be here without an adult you can run to in times of trouble. These people can, and will, eat you alive otherwise."
Speaking of lions, one swanned up right about then - the blond boy, nay, man whose chiseled face had been the object of Aly's attention not five minutes prior. Granted, he was an Eagle, but this sixth-year had no idea of his Hogwarts origins nor of the fact that this particular eagle had sharp teeth and claws of razor, despite her having been warned the previous spring. When one sees a face once in a crowded pitch, no amount of "stay away"s can possibly sear it into a mind quite so sieve-like as Aly's. As such, it was not fear that swept over her at the moment of Vladimir's arrival, but rather nerves, or butterflies of a sort - like seeing a handsome stranger across a room at a ball, only this time the stranger was right in front of her. In English (thank Merlin), he greeted her with her name, and the Ravenclaw's eyes flicked immediately to Hesper, who seemed to still be engaged in conversation with the same person as before. Had she sent him? Told him to offer her lonely, pureblooded daughter a dance? Either way, it raised perhaps not the amount of warning bells or red flags that it should have. He was unsettling, sure, but... almost in a good way. The chill in his tone, the looks he was being thrown like daggers across the room... there was danger in the air, and though Aly was not immune to it per se, she frankly found that she enjoyed the feeling.
The man knew Finn, too, though, which made Aly wonder if perhaps he was from Hogwarts; he did have a British accent, perhaps a bit more western than her own London-adjacent dialect, but then again, she couldn't exactly place him. Deciding that perhaps he was a seventh-year she'd never seen, or mayhap a recent graduate, Aly tried her best to keep her freckled cheeks from flushing pink, though she failed horrifically, as she dipped her head in a greeting as she had seen him do to the pretty Durmstrang girl with the curly updo before. "It is a family heirloom, yes. My grandmother's. I'm told she loved the stars as much as I do. You have an excellent eye, Mr...?" she said, letting the honorific linger on the tip of her tongue as an invitation for him to introduce himself (since clearly, she didn't have to)... until, that is, her curiosity got the best of her. "Do we know each other? I feel as though I've seen you before. Apologies, if we have - I shouldn't have forgotten you." The words passed through her lips as smoothly as a draught, and her blush deepened, this time from embarrassment. Where had that come from? Merlin, it had clearly been a while since she'd passed in these kinds of circles, especially with people who looked as though they'd been carved from marble by the deftest of sculptors. Whereas she was the stars, it seemed more and more with each passing second as if the blond was a black hole: able to suck in anything around him, leaving them unable to escape.
He spoke to Finn for a moment before turning his gaze - piercing, infallible, magnetic - back unto her, and Aly felt herself rise to the occasion, sucking in a breath and pulling her shoulders back as the words of various pureblood adults, mentors from the last few years, echoed in her head: Posture. You aren't a house-elf, Aly. Shoulders back, head high. The ghost of a smile danced over her lips as her posture worked, and he asked her to dance later in the night. Again, she inclined her head just as he had, pleased that she herself had gotten the greeting this time - it seemed to be some mark of reverence on his part. "It's good to meet someone who appreciates this setting as something more than just an opportunity to stand and talk about one's family fortune," she bantered back, feeling a flicker of something in her blood - perhaps the danger aforementioned. Perhaps the sarcasm wouldn't have sat well with many of the attendees tonight, but this one felt... different, somehow. "A dance you'll have from me, then. I didn't dress up to stand round all night, so I would love to accept your kind offer. Consider me honoured."
And she was, even if she shouldn't have been.
✰✰✰
I've come too far to watch some name-dropping sleaze tell me what are my words worth...
@Finnegan Connor & @Vladimir Athanatos
STA 10 | EVA 11 | STR 5 | WIS 17 | ARC 7 | ACC 14
Charmer (in play) • Keeper’s Catch • Paragon of Health (allies: Cassius, Arjan) • Lovely Creature (in play) • Foulplay • Keen Eye
I've come too far to watch some name-dropping sleaze tell me what are my words worth...
@Finnegan Connor & @Vladimir Athanatos
STA 10 | EVA 11 | STR 5 | WIS 17 | ARC 7 | ACC 14
Charmer (in play) • Keeper’s Catch • Paragon of Health (allies: Cassius, Arjan) • Lovely Creature (in play) • Foulplay • Keen Eye
Last edited by Aly Salinger on 23 Dec 2024, 22:23, edited 1 time in total.
| Aly Salinger's ency |
| | |
STA 10 | EVA 14 | STR 5 | WIS 19 | ARC 7 | ACC 18 Charmer • Keeper’s Catch • Paragon of Health • Lovely Creature • Foulplay • Keen Eye who's afraid of little old me? |
| | |
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
The legilimens would work the room. Greta was indeed a lovely name, not as lovely as the woman who bore the name of course. But few names, as powerful as they were, could truly possess and transcribe the brilliance of a young woman in her prime.
Vladimir’s gaze lingered as Aly accepted his invitation, her words carrying the playful air of someone still clinging to the illusion of safety. He inclined his head once more—measured, precise—as if the gesture itself sealed her acceptance like ink drying on parchment.
“Honored?” he echoed softly, the corners of his pale lips curving just so—too slight to be called a smile yet charged with something far heavier. “Then I am undeserving of such high praise.” The words, though dipped in humility, rang hollow—each syllable crafted and deliberate, leaving the impression that Vladimir Athanatos had rarely, if ever, felt undeserving of anything. Being the heir apparent until rather recently to one of the most influential and enigmatic pureblooded wizarding families. His affluence afforded him numerous advantages, muted criticism and all of the opportunities money could buy.
His gloved fingers brushed the edge of his sleeve as if smoothing away imperfections that did not exist. The faint flicker of candlelight danced in his sharp, blue eyes—predatory in their stillness—and yet his voice fell in practiced velvet, cold but entrancing. “It seems,” he began, his gaze resting fully on her now, “we both prefer to look beyond the veil of appearances, to seek out the unseen—the secrets written in the stars and buried beneath the earth.”
He stepped closer—not encroaching, but enough to command the space. “A shared curiosity, then. And curiosity, Miss Salinger, is often the first step to ruin. Or revelation.” The words lingered like smoke, suggestive and sharp-edged, daring her to lean further into the unknown as he extended his gloved hand to her so that she might accompany him onto the dancefloor.
The classical music began to play an ominous melody that seemed to compel the man to the dancefloor. He did not wait for her to take the bait, if she did not resist, he would simply take her delicate hand and lead her away from Finnegan Connor and his younger sister Rose. Instead, his eyes flicked briefly to the shimmering constellation on her dress before returning to her face, softening with a faint glimmer of amusement—or something resembling it. “I trust your grandmother would approve of your attire. A daughter of the stars should always wear her constellations openly.”
The compliment was subtle but pointed, a careful brush against her insecurities disguised as flattery. He did not elaborate further, letting the words settle as he turned his attention briefly to Finnegan and his sister, watching them with the kind of calculating interest that felt less protective and more like an assessment of pawns on a chessboard.
A turn on the floor. He had taken a number of lessons over the years, his steps were deceptively light considering his broad, tall frame that some might have erroneously considered graceless. He had limited opportunity to enjoy the music, the company of another all his years in Hogwarts. A near decade of battles, one after another. It was strange to be free, if even for a moment. “You need not worry for them,” Vladimir said suddenly, returning his gaze to Aly as though he had read her thoughts as the legilimens referred to Finnegan and his sister. “They are well-equipped to navigate this... game, for tonight.” His voice dipped slightly, lower and richer, like the notes of a dirge played far in the distance in reference to the small purse he had handed the boy. “But as for you... I do hope you will tread carefully.”
His eyes lingered on hers again, their depths unreadable. “There are those here who see a girl like you—a girl of stars—and think only of dimming her light.” He tilted his head, studying her reaction, his words poised between concern and something less tangible, something darker as he breathed the strangely perfumed air.
Another turn. “But then again,” he added softly, “perhaps you burn brightly enough to make them look away.”
With that, the song ended and Vladimir stepped back. In his absence a strange chill lingered that she might not have noticed earlier. "My name is Vladimir Athanatos. I thank you for this distinct honor and hope that I may call upon you again," he announced with practiced cordiality, offering her a slight bow before fading into the crowd. The echo of his words trailing after him like a shadow. Athanatos was a name that was well-known in the wizarding world, infamous really. His name was legendary among some circles, not as a man to aspire to become but rather one to avoid. Even as the space between them grew, his presence lingered—an inescapable thread weaving through the fabric of the evening, tightening ever so slightly with each passing moment.
Aamon
Vladimir’s gaze lingered as Aly accepted his invitation, her words carrying the playful air of someone still clinging to the illusion of safety. He inclined his head once more—measured, precise—as if the gesture itself sealed her acceptance like ink drying on parchment.
“Honored?” he echoed softly, the corners of his pale lips curving just so—too slight to be called a smile yet charged with something far heavier. “Then I am undeserving of such high praise.” The words, though dipped in humility, rang hollow—each syllable crafted and deliberate, leaving the impression that Vladimir Athanatos had rarely, if ever, felt undeserving of anything. Being the heir apparent until rather recently to one of the most influential and enigmatic pureblooded wizarding families. His affluence afforded him numerous advantages, muted criticism and all of the opportunities money could buy.
His gloved fingers brushed the edge of his sleeve as if smoothing away imperfections that did not exist. The faint flicker of candlelight danced in his sharp, blue eyes—predatory in their stillness—and yet his voice fell in practiced velvet, cold but entrancing. “It seems,” he began, his gaze resting fully on her now, “we both prefer to look beyond the veil of appearances, to seek out the unseen—the secrets written in the stars and buried beneath the earth.”
He stepped closer—not encroaching, but enough to command the space. “A shared curiosity, then. And curiosity, Miss Salinger, is often the first step to ruin. Or revelation.” The words lingered like smoke, suggestive and sharp-edged, daring her to lean further into the unknown as he extended his gloved hand to her so that she might accompany him onto the dancefloor.
The classical music began to play an ominous melody that seemed to compel the man to the dancefloor. He did not wait for her to take the bait, if she did not resist, he would simply take her delicate hand and lead her away from Finnegan Connor and his younger sister Rose. Instead, his eyes flicked briefly to the shimmering constellation on her dress before returning to her face, softening with a faint glimmer of amusement—or something resembling it. “I trust your grandmother would approve of your attire. A daughter of the stars should always wear her constellations openly.”
The compliment was subtle but pointed, a careful brush against her insecurities disguised as flattery. He did not elaborate further, letting the words settle as he turned his attention briefly to Finnegan and his sister, watching them with the kind of calculating interest that felt less protective and more like an assessment of pawns on a chessboard.
A turn on the floor. He had taken a number of lessons over the years, his steps were deceptively light considering his broad, tall frame that some might have erroneously considered graceless. He had limited opportunity to enjoy the music, the company of another all his years in Hogwarts. A near decade of battles, one after another. It was strange to be free, if even for a moment. “You need not worry for them,” Vladimir said suddenly, returning his gaze to Aly as though he had read her thoughts as the legilimens referred to Finnegan and his sister. “They are well-equipped to navigate this... game, for tonight.” His voice dipped slightly, lower and richer, like the notes of a dirge played far in the distance in reference to the small purse he had handed the boy. “But as for you... I do hope you will tread carefully.”
His eyes lingered on hers again, their depths unreadable. “There are those here who see a girl like you—a girl of stars—and think only of dimming her light.” He tilted his head, studying her reaction, his words poised between concern and something less tangible, something darker as he breathed the strangely perfumed air.
Another turn. “But then again,” he added softly, “perhaps you burn brightly enough to make them look away.”
With that, the song ended and Vladimir stepped back. In his absence a strange chill lingered that she might not have noticed earlier. "My name is Vladimir Athanatos. I thank you for this distinct honor and hope that I may call upon you again," he announced with practiced cordiality, offering her a slight bow before fading into the crowd. The echo of his words trailing after him like a shadow. Athanatos was a name that was well-known in the wizarding world, infamous really. His name was legendary among some circles, not as a man to aspire to become but rather one to avoid. Even as the space between them grew, his presence lingered—an inescapable thread weaving through the fabric of the evening, tightening ever so slightly with each passing moment.
Aamon
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Russian [#c83737] ⁎ German [#bb9825] ⁎ Norwegian / Swedish [#6293A7] ⁎ English [bold]
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𝔈ven as Greta had turned her attention towards Felix in search of translation, his arm was already in the process of sliding around her. A small smile found her lips, though it was curtained with mild confusion. That bemusement only increased as the Kolbeck heir began to steer her away from the entrance. She glanced back one last time over her shoulder, but didn't try to counter his maneuvering. "How is that being overdramatic?" Greta wondered, glancing back up to him before casting her gaze forward to wherever it was he was leading her. "Usually, there are more of you." Her tone was clouded with a hint of annoyance, arms lifting to cross over her arm as though she were some petulant child that he'd led to a quiet corner of the room to deliver a stern talking to. The smile that had briefly lit her expression had since drooped into a pout, shoulders rolling forward against invisible tethers. The way Felix had been so quick to depart after her arrival with barely a few words spoken, yet returning the second she had been introduced to an unfamiliar face spoke for itself. It was always like that with Durmstrang. It had been the core of her frustration at the Mistletoe Spin that summer. Everyone wanted the best for her, and she genuinely believed that, but none of them were willing to let her put herself out there—to risk heartache and sorrow—in the pursuit of it. "He said something about 'The voshing' or 'Davoshun' or something. I didn't know the word. 'Ablaid that cuts both ways,'" she began to recite almost wearily. It really was embarrassing, actually, the way she had to rely on others for something so simple as understanding what someone else was saying. Maybe there was good reason they were so protective. How could she be expected to care for herself if she couldn't even handle a simple conversation.. "'And sometimes, those who...'" She paused for a moment, brows knitting with concentration as she tried to recall what it was that he had said. "'...glametoo protect us...' something about 'gaged' or 'cayched' maybe?" With a small sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and let her hands fall to her side. It was hopeless. He probably wouldn't be able to decipher it, but that only made her ineptitude sting all the worse. "It does matter," she muttered. "I should be able to understand. All of you can speak it as though you were born there." Her hand waved in some vague direction that in her head pointed across the continent towards England. "And why wouldn't I want to be around him? He was more of a gentleman than anyone at Durmstrang has ever been..." She grumped. "Do you know him?" This time, a suspicious look cast itself up at Felix before settling on Mr. Athanatos where he was conversing with the pretty brunette. "What's wrong with being here to find a wife? Isn't that why everyone is here? My mother says these functions are to find a husband. And she seemed very pleased after the summer luncheon in those gardens. Does your mother not host these for you to find a wife?" The brushing of her hair away from her face pulled her gaze back to him. In catching his eyes, anticipation jolted against her rib cage. She never quite knew what to think or say when he looked at her like that and for a moment, her breath caught in her chest. Tension thickened between them, blurring their surroundings from sight. It felt like something was about to happen. Knots stirred in her stomach. His lips parted, his eyes on her own, and for half a second, she thought he might lean in. Instead, he broke the silence, backpedaling on what he'd said earlier. "And how am I supposed to do that—" she asked, hands flopping against her voluminous skirt, "—when none of you let anyone near me? How am I supposed to get to know anyone?" And therein lay the irony—or perhaps cutting perception—of Athanatos' words. Whether she understood his metaphor not, she felt the cage in which she was kept. "It's not like any of the Horntail have asked me out..." she muttered unsubtly, almost more to herself as she lowered with a huff into a chair at a nearby empty table. "I'm just the little sister." Elbows found purchase on the surface of the table for exactly half a second before her mother's nagging voice rang out in her head to sit properly, prompting her to straighten her back, lower her hands to fold upon her lap and take a steadying breath. "But I'm not a little girl anymore." |
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| xxxxxx | @Winnie Harper as Felix | @Vladimir Athanatos |
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STA 5 ⁎ EVA 20 ⁎ STR 1 ⁎ WIS 12 ⁎ ARC 12 ⁎ ACC 20
CALMING PRESENCE, SPELL SPREAD, PERFECTIONIST, WANDMAKER, FEARLESS, LOVELY CREATURE
CALMING PRESENCE, SPELL SPREAD, PERFECTIONIST, WANDMAKER, FEARLESS, LOVELY CREATURE
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
│
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▪ FELIX ▪ KOLBECK ▪
▪ DURMSTRANG iNPC ▪ SIXTH YEAR ▪│
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Reducio@Evelynn Decipio as Greta
Felix would be lying if he said a small part of him didn't enjoy watching Greta get frustrated. She was just too cute for her own good; those huffed out cheeks reminded him of a squirrel. He drew in a sigh, his arm giving her a small squeeze. "I thought we were letting you off easy tonight as well, but he made a comment about it."
His brows furrowed as he tried to piece together what the vampiric slenderman had told her, "Devotion is a blade that cuts both ways?" He guessed, though quickly regretted it when he realized the walking cadaver was likely referring to Felix himself.
Ugh. He was all the way on the other side of the room and Felix still couldn't avoid him, "He's saying some bullshit about those who claim to protect us have... I don't know, caught us?" He hadn't wanted to translate the rest, but it seemed important to the Norwegian, so he reluctantly told her.
His jaw tightened as her words hit him, frustration flashing across his face. If she were anyone else the Swede might have started to swear at her, but Greta was different. "I don't know him, but I know people like him," Arjan and Lysander came to mind, stirring a familiar wave of irritation. "I know enough to see through whatever act he's putting on. It doesn't matter because this guy knows nothing about you and is trying to comment on your life. Doesn't that piss you off, Greta? You should be pissed right now. He has no idea what our relationship is like."
He stopped in his tracks, momentarily speechless when she asked if his mother was trying to find him a wife, "Is that what you think this is? Some sort of market to pair everyone up?" She wasn't entirely wrong; his mother threw these kinds of events as a show of wealth, but there was an underlying mission for each party. Whenever her son was present trying to set him up was a constant threat.
His blue eyes bore into her seafoam green eyes, "Of course she wants me to find a wife, Greta. She told me so at the luncheon. Think about it for a moment. Why else would my mother hand design you a room to stay in at our family home? Why did she hand select several ball gowns and jewels to parade you around in?" He trailed off, his throat feeling dry.
Felix raked a hand through his gelled back hair, loosening the strands as he let out a frustrated laugh. "What are you even talking about? I asked you to attend the Gala with me, or was it that forgettable?"
There was an edge to his voice now. Frustration simmered within him, something within him snapping. In truth, he was tired of being overlooked. He was undeserving of Greta, but the way she looked right through him was painful. How could she not see how much room she took up in his thoughts? "You don't even see it, do you? How much of a problem you are for me daily. You walk this impossibly thin line—between friendship and making me come undone."
He stepped closer, grabbing the back of a chair and dragging the legs against the floor, the deliberate scrapes seemed to punctuate his turmoil as he positioned it next to her. He dropped down next to her, his gaze dark with emotions he'd fought so long to suppress. "The problem is that I don't think of you like a little sister, Greta." Felix admitted, his voice low. His fingers slid up to grip her chin, tilting her head so he could whisper into her ear, "The problem is that if I didn't have the power to control myself, I would end up devouring you."
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear. His voice dropped lower, "The worst part is that once I start, I wouldn’t stop, not until there was nothing left of you that didn’t belong. to. me."
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, eye still burning with a mixture of longing and torment, "You're driving me crazy, and my mother sees it. If I get too close to you, she'll figure out a way to damn you. Force you into spending the rest of your life with me."
Felix's lips twisted into a bitter smile, hollow enough that it did not reach his eyes, "Despite all of this, I don't let anyone near you because I am far too selfish to let you go."
FELIX: English ▪ Swedish ▪ Russian | LINNÉA: English ▪ Swedish
Last edited by Winnie Athanatos on 23 Dec 2024, 10:38, edited 1 time in total.
│ │ | │ │ | STA: 10 • EVA: 18 • STR: 8 WIS: 10 • ARC: 8 • ACC: 14 | │ │ | • Perfectionist • Impartial • Fearless • • Evasive Maneuvers • Evasive Maneuvers II • | │ │ | │ │ |
A Very Kolbeck Christmas
Up close, @Aly Salinger was quite different from the other Ravenclaws her age. Most of them favored order, neat stacks of parchment, carefully arranged quills—perhaps Aly liked those things too, but her untamed curls suggested otherwise. Even now, even in this posh setting, parts of her brown hair frizzed around her face, framing her Salinger green eyes. There was a smell about her too, notes of rose and wood polish mingled with an earthy scent, a tasteful blend. He didn't mean to be smelling her of course, but on ocassions such as these, people tended to douse themselves with exotic fragrances; they wanted to be smelled just as much as they wanted to be seen.
While Rose studied the glittering details of Salinger's dress, Finnegan scanned their surroundings, hoping there would be no one else to recognize them or stop them from leaving. Coming here had been a bad idea and the sooner he could leave and return to being bored in the cabin, the better.
"You can touch it, if you like - it's very soft. And thank you! I like your, er, suit.
His shoulders dropped noticeably at the harmless comment. Though he knew little about Salinger, he knew enough to know she meant no offense. Still, she was the third person in a very short timespan who had seen fit to comment on his appearance. First the woman in charge of the servants, though he had not understood a word she'd said, her fussing had shouted the truth. Then that strange, tall blonde boy, had urged him to go to the second floor and change into something else. And now Salinger too? He wished he was back to wearing his slightly baggy, slightly fraying woolen Christmas jumper, the kind with snowflakes and sleighs and reindeer on them, knitted from red and green wool.
"No, stay! What's the rush, Finn?"
He had been prepared to let her earlier comment slide in favor of just getting the hell out, but she had have her answers, didn't she? He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, sighed deeply and opened his mouth to give her some lame excuse—
"He's scared because we just walked in here and weren't invited and he's afraid we'll get caught and that mam's going to be on his case about it, cause he's supposed to look after me. We're staying in a cabin near the lake, that's me, my mam, my dad, and this idiot-"
Finnegan clasped a hand over her mouth and forcefully pulled her back.
"mmgmgdm mmmf dmmmsd mmmsdfm..." Rose didn't seem the slightest bit deterred and quite simply kept on talking, even though no one could hear what she was saying. When she finally seemed to stop, Finnegan removed his hand.
"Great, now I've got your drool all over me, ugh."
"Your hand tastes like dirt."
"I don't care, we're leaving."
"You can go if you want to."
"Rose, I'm serious!"
"This isn't like Hogwarts. You shouldn't be here without an adult you can run to in times of trouble. These people can, and will, eat you alive otherwise"
"Wicked!" Rose cried out. "Oh, that sounds a bit like Hansel and Gretel." She spun around childishly and looked her disapointing brother over. "You're not fat enough. Well, guess we'll have to eat all the food!"
Finnegan puffed his cheeks, trying to think how he was going to get Rose out of here. He had sticks for arms, dragging her out, especially if she resisted, was going to be a nightmare, and as things stood, she was keen to stay. His thoughts about that particular problem were however roughly pushed aside by the arrival of a tall, ominous figure.
What does it mean to be brave? The absence of fear is the real of fools and madmen. Courage writhes and snakes the same as terror, terror and courage are serpents eating each other's tails, feeding off of each other. How could there be courage if there was nothing to be feared?
So when Finn's hazel eyes met the chill gaze of @Vladimir Athanatos he felt both courageous and afraid at once. Afraid of the man's name, the power it carried, truly carried in the tall, ghostly figure. What was his purpose? How much more did he know? If Vladimir knew his name, did that mean that Aamon had told him? And if Aamon had, the Vladimir would know of his prying, his ceaseless, obsessive prying.
Hoped to speak with him? His heart leapt to his throat. Anyone else hoping to speak with him might be met with a shrug or a curious look, but Vladimir was met with wide-eyed fear and that same fear now clouded his judgement. His mind raced with possibility: what powers did Vladimir Athanatos possess? Could it be that he had orchestrated this very moment? That his family holiday in the middle of nowhere was no accident, but that his presence here was deliberate, purposeful, calculated.
He knew nothing of Vladimir Athanatos, and he feared that the tall, gaunt-faced man knew everything about him. By all rights he should not be standing. He had died, and for the longest time he had been little more than a name printed in ink to Finnegan. Now that he met the ressurected man in the flesh, he was woefully unprepared.
His mind went blank and he was only saved from gawking awkwardly by his oblivious sister.
"Thanks!" She gladly took Vladimir's donation and seemed keen to look what it was, but refrained from doing so until she had jabbed her elbow firmly into her dumbfounded brother's side.
"Ow! I mean... thank you?" He was a fish washed ashore, his mouth opening and closing, a funny display to the onlookers, but in truth he was choking, gasping for air, utterly incapable of saying anything at all. Yet Vladimir would be able to hear that his message had been received if he let his mind expand and brush over Finnegan's thoughts. What does he want from me? the thought would ring clearly. Despite his young age, Finnegan understood perfeclty that this gift was not freely given. Something was expected back. But what?
It was Rose who piped up again. "Oh it's wonderful! Look Finnegan! It's a dress! Oh and this, hmm, this is probably for you! Is there somwhere we can change?"
It could hardly be called an opportunity, but at least answering that question would allow him an excuse to be alone with his sister. "Up the stairs, second floor, first room on the left." He seemed non too enthused about the prospect of changing clothes again. Maybe everyone will finally shut up about how I look...
No one would be making comments now.
Brother and sister returned a solid ten minutes later. They'd argued, almost fought, but Rose had won and persuaded her older brother to stay. A deal had been struck, they'd stay for one more hour, then they would return to their dreary muggle lives.
Rose Connor was beaming, dressed in a gorgeous, shimmering pink dress with dainty ribbons that could compete even with Salinger's star dress with how pretty it was. She too seemed enhanced by it, her smile would seem just that bit brigther, her hair just that bit thicker and with a tasteful sheen. If not for her young age, the other girls present might have felt threatened by the competition she would have posed. Unlike Finn, she was eager for attention and entered with a childish twirl before smiling again and looking around for the now familiar face of Aly Salinger. A little gasp escaped her when she spotted the blue dress with its many pretty stars. She was dancing with the tall, handsome man! How lucky!
Finnegan wore a dapper, princely suit, seemingly perfectly tailored for him. This time it were the men present who could breathe a sigh of relief that he was too young to seriously charm any of the many teenage girls present. Not that such considerations ever stopped him from trying. It would just be a matter of time before he would decide that, while he was here, he might as well make the most of it.
Indeed, when his eyes lazily scanned the room, he found something very charming to gawk at. Something blonde and girl shaped, someone who (at least from a distance) seem like they were that much older. All things considered, that wasn't such a bad thing—older girls were a bit more developed after all. She looks quite lovely It seemed that he wasn't the only one who was swooning over Greta Fransson however. That tall, snarky blonde from before was standing quite close to her, slaking his white hair back with his hand.
"Vad pratar du ens om? Jag bad dig följa med mig till Galan, eller var det så lätt att glömma bort?"
He hid between other guests, far enough to not seem like an intruder, close enough to listen in on the conversation.
"Du ser det inte ens, eller hur? Hur mycket av ett problem du är för mig dagligen. Du balanserar på en omöjligt tunn linje—mellan vänskap och att få mig att tappa fattningen." Was he harassing her? He seemed a bit like a creep, getting ever closer to the poor girl, whispering things into her ear in that strange, gibberish language.
He knew he shouldn't get involved, but the boy seemed to be threatening her, or making her uncomfortable at the very least. Worse, he was stuck here for at least an hour and the girl, well the girl was blonde and in desperate need of better company.
Half-hidden behind the guests, he drew his wand but kept it high up his sleeve, almost invisible to the naked eye while he tried to aim without seeming to be doing anything. A subtle flick accompanied by a muttered "Steleus" was about to provide some light entertainment for the night.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
While Rose studied the glittering details of Salinger's dress, Finnegan scanned their surroundings, hoping there would be no one else to recognize them or stop them from leaving. Coming here had been a bad idea and the sooner he could leave and return to being bored in the cabin, the better.
"You can touch it, if you like - it's very soft. And thank you! I like your, er, suit.
His shoulders dropped noticeably at the harmless comment. Though he knew little about Salinger, he knew enough to know she meant no offense. Still, she was the third person in a very short timespan who had seen fit to comment on his appearance. First the woman in charge of the servants, though he had not understood a word she'd said, her fussing had shouted the truth. Then that strange, tall blonde boy, had urged him to go to the second floor and change into something else. And now Salinger too? He wished he was back to wearing his slightly baggy, slightly fraying woolen Christmas jumper, the kind with snowflakes and sleighs and reindeer on them, knitted from red and green wool.
"No, stay! What's the rush, Finn?"
He had been prepared to let her earlier comment slide in favor of just getting the hell out, but she had have her answers, didn't she? He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, sighed deeply and opened his mouth to give her some lame excuse—
"He's scared because we just walked in here and weren't invited and he's afraid we'll get caught and that mam's going to be on his case about it, cause he's supposed to look after me. We're staying in a cabin near the lake, that's me, my mam, my dad, and this idiot-"
Finnegan clasped a hand over her mouth and forcefully pulled her back.
"mmgmgdm mmmf dmmmsd mmmsdfm..." Rose didn't seem the slightest bit deterred and quite simply kept on talking, even though no one could hear what she was saying. When she finally seemed to stop, Finnegan removed his hand.
"Great, now I've got your drool all over me, ugh."
"Your hand tastes like dirt."
"I don't care, we're leaving."
"You can go if you want to."
"Rose, I'm serious!"
"This isn't like Hogwarts. You shouldn't be here without an adult you can run to in times of trouble. These people can, and will, eat you alive otherwise"
"Wicked!" Rose cried out. "Oh, that sounds a bit like Hansel and Gretel." She spun around childishly and looked her disapointing brother over. "You're not fat enough. Well, guess we'll have to eat all the food!"
Finnegan puffed his cheeks, trying to think how he was going to get Rose out of here. He had sticks for arms, dragging her out, especially if she resisted, was going to be a nightmare, and as things stood, she was keen to stay. His thoughts about that particular problem were however roughly pushed aside by the arrival of a tall, ominous figure.
What does it mean to be brave? The absence of fear is the real of fools and madmen. Courage writhes and snakes the same as terror, terror and courage are serpents eating each other's tails, feeding off of each other. How could there be courage if there was nothing to be feared?
So when Finn's hazel eyes met the chill gaze of @Vladimir Athanatos he felt both courageous and afraid at once. Afraid of the man's name, the power it carried, truly carried in the tall, ghostly figure. What was his purpose? How much more did he know? If Vladimir knew his name, did that mean that Aamon had told him? And if Aamon had, the Vladimir would know of his prying, his ceaseless, obsessive prying.
Hoped to speak with him? His heart leapt to his throat. Anyone else hoping to speak with him might be met with a shrug or a curious look, but Vladimir was met with wide-eyed fear and that same fear now clouded his judgement. His mind raced with possibility: what powers did Vladimir Athanatos possess? Could it be that he had orchestrated this very moment? That his family holiday in the middle of nowhere was no accident, but that his presence here was deliberate, purposeful, calculated.
He knew nothing of Vladimir Athanatos, and he feared that the tall, gaunt-faced man knew everything about him. By all rights he should not be standing. He had died, and for the longest time he had been little more than a name printed in ink to Finnegan. Now that he met the ressurected man in the flesh, he was woefully unprepared.
His mind went blank and he was only saved from gawking awkwardly by his oblivious sister.
"Thanks!" She gladly took Vladimir's donation and seemed keen to look what it was, but refrained from doing so until she had jabbed her elbow firmly into her dumbfounded brother's side.
"Ow! I mean... thank you?" He was a fish washed ashore, his mouth opening and closing, a funny display to the onlookers, but in truth he was choking, gasping for air, utterly incapable of saying anything at all. Yet Vladimir would be able to hear that his message had been received if he let his mind expand and brush over Finnegan's thoughts. What does he want from me? the thought would ring clearly. Despite his young age, Finnegan understood perfeclty that this gift was not freely given. Something was expected back. But what?
It was Rose who piped up again. "Oh it's wonderful! Look Finnegan! It's a dress! Oh and this, hmm, this is probably for you! Is there somwhere we can change?"
It could hardly be called an opportunity, but at least answering that question would allow him an excuse to be alone with his sister. "Up the stairs, second floor, first room on the left." He seemed non too enthused about the prospect of changing clothes again. Maybe everyone will finally shut up about how I look...
---
No one would be making comments now.
Brother and sister returned a solid ten minutes later. They'd argued, almost fought, but Rose had won and persuaded her older brother to stay. A deal had been struck, they'd stay for one more hour, then they would return to their dreary muggle lives.
Rose Connor was beaming, dressed in a gorgeous, shimmering pink dress with dainty ribbons that could compete even with Salinger's star dress with how pretty it was. She too seemed enhanced by it, her smile would seem just that bit brigther, her hair just that bit thicker and with a tasteful sheen. If not for her young age, the other girls present might have felt threatened by the competition she would have posed. Unlike Finn, she was eager for attention and entered with a childish twirl before smiling again and looking around for the now familiar face of Aly Salinger. A little gasp escaped her when she spotted the blue dress with its many pretty stars. She was dancing with the tall, handsome man! How lucky!
Finnegan wore a dapper, princely suit, seemingly perfectly tailored for him. This time it were the men present who could breathe a sigh of relief that he was too young to seriously charm any of the many teenage girls present. Not that such considerations ever stopped him from trying. It would just be a matter of time before he would decide that, while he was here, he might as well make the most of it.
Indeed, when his eyes lazily scanned the room, he found something very charming to gawk at. Something blonde and girl shaped, someone who (at least from a distance) seem like they were that much older. All things considered, that wasn't such a bad thing—older girls were a bit more developed after all. She looks quite lovely It seemed that he wasn't the only one who was swooning over Greta Fransson however. That tall, snarky blonde from before was standing quite close to her, slaking his white hair back with his hand.
"Vad pratar du ens om? Jag bad dig följa med mig till Galan, eller var det så lätt att glömma bort?"
He hid between other guests, far enough to not seem like an intruder, close enough to listen in on the conversation.
"Du ser det inte ens, eller hur? Hur mycket av ett problem du är för mig dagligen. Du balanserar på en omöjligt tunn linje—mellan vänskap och att få mig att tappa fattningen." Was he harassing her? He seemed a bit like a creep, getting ever closer to the poor girl, whispering things into her ear in that strange, gibberish language.
He knew he shouldn't get involved, but the boy seemed to be threatening her, or making her uncomfortable at the very least. Worse, he was stuck here for at least an hour and the girl, well the girl was blonde and in desperate need of better company.
Half-hidden behind the guests, he drew his wand but kept it high up his sleeve, almost invisible to the naked eye while he tried to aim without seeming to be doing anything. A subtle flick accompanied by a muttered "Steleus" was about to provide some light entertainment for the night.
Casting Steleus (Sneezing Hex) on Felix Kolbeck
WDC: 9
[d20 : 8] + 4
In the end, the result was: 12
passed!
Accuracy:
[d20 : 3] + 17
In the end, the result was: 20
Not the greatest roll. Felix can probably dodge it...
@Winnie Harper roll evasion to dodge. Additionally you're of course free to roll Felix's wisdom vs Finn's evasion for an attempt to detect his spellcasting.
Rolls: https://discord.com/channels/4105394207 ... 4320928863
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio