Survival Instincts PV Val

Valentin lurked at the rim of the forest, clad in white-and-black winter camouflage as he scanned the treeline. He could easily be mistaken for a birch tree watching over the frosty expanse with its many eyes. This time of year was the best for scouting new recruits for the quidditch team, and so the captain came to the annual survivalism gauntlet as a hidden spectator specifically to observe. He knew that waves of graduations would soon begin eroding the strength of his team, but Valentin took it as his duty to ensure the enduring ascension of Durmstrang. Val in particular needed to find a new protégé to ensure that the technique, knowledge, and experience he had been carefully forging throughout his career as first-string seeker and captain would be passed on for Durmstrang’s future. He needed to find the right person to carry forward an immortality for this gift crafted of blood, sweat, and tears… and not just anyone would do.

Analyzing how incoming students behaved under pressure and the nature of their individual talents, Valentin’s favorite part was seeing each one’s learning style when thrust into the Institute’s rugged sink-or-swim training. This year one student had particularly caught the seeker’s eye during the trials – a curly-haired frail boy with an uncanny thousand-meter stare whose speed and reaction time would have defied the expectations of one eager to write him off as an easy victim. No, there was something special about this one. An inkling Valentin couldn’t explain insisted that this one was no prey, but rather, a predator – if an unassuming one. There was something behind that unmoving gaze that Valentin had to understand, not only if he was to bring his team the mysterious strengths he felt latent in the scrawny child, but also because he needed to learn what this was.

Sneaking along behind the trees as he drew near, Valentin observed the boy pulling out a piece of wood and beginning to whittle it. A sentimental note hummed through the albino’s heart as he thought of his co-captain, and for a moment he tried to visualize how Romeo would see this boy. Then, shaking his head of white hair to dislodge the thought from his mind, Valentin reached into his back pocket to withdraw a black velvet pouch. His long, spindly seeker fingers hunted through the interior of the bag until coming away with a gentle hold on the thorax of a magic moth. This was one from Schnell’s personal colony, which he raised specifically for purposes like these. Crouched behind a low thorny shrubbery, Valentin remained well obscured by twists of wild black tanglewood. Lifting his hand slightly above the fray, a slight puff of air from his pink lips sent the seeker’s enchanted moth batting Semyon’s way with languid, dreamy flops of its gigantic wings. Valentin would then watch as the dusty green insect flew in slow arcs of rising and falling, wafting slightly in any passing breeze but still weighty enough to come in directly behind Senya’s head and begin passing over his right shoulder.

A ghostly touch to the rough yet smooth texture of the wood, whittling away at it slowly and little fingers, dexterous as they are, fiddled with the blade and the piece of nature within his hold. Parts of it were fragile, brittle rather, where the blade had run over the wood enough times to shave it off in ribbons, starting to form delicate wings of a dragonfly. He had been working on it the past days and the object was already beginning to take form. It was a small piece of wood, a charm would be what the result might be and Semyon would use cord or leather bands to finalize it, once he was satisfied with its feel.

There was an absolute and eerie silence around the boy, not even the scrape of the blade at work was more than a whisper that was swallowed by the atmosphere before it could reach human ears. Semyon welcomed said silence, did not mind it in the slightest as his unblinking eyes and brisk hands continued their work. The boy however would remain alert even as he busied himself and allowed himself to accept the new surroundings as the place that would house him while away from the forest that raised him. The forest here seemed kind to him, regardless of their harshness, but Semyon was no fool and knew to listen to the nature that surrounded him and in turn nature seemed to accept him too. He saw nature as it was, cruel, kind, beautiful and he accepted it wholeheartedly.

It was when a whir, a soft murmur of clicks and cogs reached him, paired with a soft glow as a mechanical wonder made its presence known to the ghost. Lips pressed together, muddy eyes followed the machine as it flew and whirred around him, tracking them without so much as turning his head to follow its movement, almost more anticipating where it would be rather than looking for it. His gaze, many found it eerie and he would neither mind or care. His right eye a striking blend of mud and forest leaves, dull in a way as was his other mud colored eye. Yet the mechanical moth gave off a soft glow that would bathe his skin and reflect in his eyes with an otherworldly light.

It was however not the mechanical moth that ultimately made his hand stop their practiced movements, halting the blade just as it kissed the lumber, ready to shave off another piece. It was however not a fresh realization that there was someone else, there was rarely a moment of complete silence even in the embrace of a forest. Rather was it that the gaze lingered, much like Semyon's gaze was quick to linger. So he paused remembering the shrubbery from when he approached the edge of forest, dry thorny branches would rake and tangle, tear at the clothes of careless. But Semyon without a turn of his head or trying to perceive the intruder actively, was keenly aware that this was no one careless. The dry wood beneath feet had not crunched and no pebble had rolled from a sole's impact. Aside from the whirr of the moth, a soothing hum it was. yet making it painstakingly obvious it would have an owner close-by, the hidden figure would not have escaped the Russian's perception, few ever could.

But Semyon did not call out, his gaze on the magical moth as it fluttered around, yet never quite following its movements as his face wouldn't turn with it whenever it moved out of his sight, yet the little clicks however faint they were, always alerted him of its presence. The boy sat and waited, allowing himself to be watched, allowing the moth to flutter around him even, aware of the presence of each and yet not allowing said awareness to become obvious. As now it was Semyon who was stalking the other's movements, intently aware of each rustle of wind, ears sharpened to perceive even a sound of shrubbery being brushed away. It was the other who was being watched by the little dragonfly and that was being done without the use of his eyes, as he would not turn or even acknowledge the other presence further unless they approached. Their wish had been to remain hidden and Semyon would prefer the veil of shadows too if he had that choice.

Valentin’s white eyelashes fluttered as he realized that the child before him was whittling the form of a dragonfly out of wood. It reminded him of Romeo, of course, who was the only other person Val had seen doing such an activity. He knew that Greta was a wandmaker as well, but it was Romeo he’d spent the winter break learning new woodworking skills from. They’d restored Val’s father’s old broom together, and the seeker had become curious about pursuing experimental broom making as a career. It always seemed so meditative when Romeo was working on a piece, and Val always loved his carvings. That this little wisp of a boy was also a whittler made Val feel immediately fond of him. Perhaps he might even have a knack for brooms, if he had such affinities with wood.

After setting the magic moth loose in Semyon’s direction, Valentin watched the other’s reactions. He’s a watcher. Observant and deliberate with his actions. He doesn’t give away more than he has to. The peace about him – it’s like the forest itself. His differently colored eyes are very pretty, but how sharp are they? Can they spot mine through the tanglewood, even? He’s no fool and clearly knows someone is here, but it’s as if he’s respecting my wish to stay hidden. Well… I have no need to stay here any more. I’ve seen enough to know I need more.

Backing away from the brush and striding out through a cluster of little pine saplings, Valentin emerged into the open. It wasn’t like him to hide. Like the sun finally climbing up above the horizon to begin its flight across the sky, Valentin emerged with a sigh of relief. Enjoying the open snow crunching under his boots, the tall white seeker beamed at Semyon. It was a beautiful day. Val could feel it in his bones. The mechanical moth returned to the tall captain’s hands, which he received gently with open palms and tenting fingers.

Slowly Val approached Semyon next, as if nearing a wild animal that could skitter off into the brush at any movement too sudden. Extending his hands with a slight bow of his head, Valentin’s lip curled upward at one side. He was clearly trying to give the moth to the boy as a gift with all the silent solemnity of a ritual. If Senya took the gift, he would reveal the skin of the seeker’s palms and see that his right hand held a node of branching scars that crept up his inner arm before disappearing beneath his dappled silver-on-white coat sleeve. The network of scars resembled roots, or blood vessels, or lightning itself, wiry in fractals as appeared in many kinds of natural phenomena.

Valentin breathed in and exhaled, turning his eyes up to examine a bluebird just before its shadow crossed over the pair on its way into a spruce bough. Then, turning his intensely purple eyes back to Semyon, Valentin knelt down on one knee to take two feet off of his height so that he could look the other boy directly eye-to-eye.

“How does a dragonfly fly?”

Reducio

Interacting with Senya (@Oonagh Brown ), Mentioning Romeo (@Piérre Marchonné )

There was a whisper to his ears as he whittled away. Light as the breeze that pulled at the dandelions in late spring, not nearly strong enough to shake the seeds apart and send them on their journey. As the leaves rustled faintly and sang to him in the notes of late summers, the faint whine of a twig that had too much weight to carry all of a sudden, threatening to snap under the pressure. He was aware of the gaze that rested on him without even needing to seek out the eyes. He felt no threat of them, nature seemed at peace with the creature that had stalked through the area and so he would rest at ease, continue his whittling for there was no concern that bloomed within him; no threat to his being or peace.

His fingers worked meticulously, chipping away at the fragile wood, smoothing the surface with gentle motions, leaving the shavings to fall on the ground. For as he had taken from the wood for his craft, he would give those soft chips back to the forest. For creatures would find use for them when building their nests, their homes, more so than they would be of further use to him. So he would gladly give them back, knowing it was nature who would appreciate it and allow the cycle of life to continue on.

The shift, the motion of the body belonging to the pair of eyes watching him so intensely was not lost to the little dragonfly. He willed his hands to continue, the only shift was a twitch of his finger, a pause lasting less than a second before he resumed as the crunch of an approach was to be heard. The moth had since made its return to its master he assumed. He felt the hesitation of the approaching boy, somewhat lanky and slim with alabaster hair; a suitable color he felt, the calmness and neutrality in the presence of the approaching figure all but apparent. He would allow the boy to approach, his gaze finding the boy as he halted by him, Semyon's eyes looking through the boy, eerily finding his face but he seemingly gazing at a point behind the boy, rather than finding his eyes. It was perhaps a little off-putting, but for Semyon it felt natural to do so.

He reached for the moth that rested displayed in the other's outstretched hand, momentarily letting his whittling tools rest on the ground for his hands had to be free for this. With one hand he grabbed for the others wrist, holding it lightly as the left one took out the moth. Momentarily his gaze flitted over the web of scars, thin and almost invisible, blending into the paleness of the skin unless one's gaze seek them out. It was however the words of the boy, and the clarity in which he spoke them, that Semyon felt required to hold the boy back from withdrawing his hand just yet. After all he would wish for a reply, and there were limited ways in which he would receive one if he chose not to indulge the odd boy.

The mechanical moth would come to rest with the dragonfly project, as his left hand once more found its way to the other's palm and began to draw his finger over the soft skin with an apparent lack of social care. свободно. He had drawn the letters one after the other, holding the others wrist with gentle but firm pressure as to not allow him to flinch or pull away now as his finger pad flew over the skin of the palm until his message had been delivered. All the way remaining the eerie non-eye contact, where he seemed to gaze through the gaze of the other while both avoiding and capturing too much of the alabaster boys eyes.

As the ghastly boy seemed to peer directly through the captain, Valentin found it intriguing that the other did not look into his eyes. Rather than feeling put off, the seeker thought this must be for the best, for then he could not fault his entrancing purple eyes for working their usual ‘hypnosis.’ If he was to steal this child away for his team, Val wanted him to come of his own will and for his own true calling.

The boy reached towards the moth, leaving his tools on the ground for the moment. Without a word, he fastened a grip around Val’s wrist with one hand as the other took the gift intended for him. Puzzled but charmed, the captain cocked his head in wonder at the need to hold onto him like this. Was it the scars that he wanted time to examine, or was the grab itself an investigation? Whatever the reason, Valentin was happy enough to oblige. The obscure needs of the child were ones he intended to learn, for the frost captain’s recruitment was not a form of conscription but a selection that promised to raise up the other’s potentials in concert with those of others. That the boy was wild in his own way presented a great deal of appeal – too often did players become predictable in the game of quidditch after being brought up under the same conventions. No, what Val wanted was this “natural wildcard.”

As the boy traced his finger freely across Val’s skin, he drew letters one on top of the other. Reading each glyph and combining them in his mind, Valentin understood that this was why he was being held still by his wrist. Perhaps the boy was mute, or simply disinterested in speech, but he would be accommodated either way. Squinting as he put each letter together, Valentin deciphered the term: свободно. It was one of his favorite terms, to be fair, and was in fact Valya’s middle name. In this way, a smile spread across his pearl-skinned face and he tipped his head in a half-bow of gratitude.

“Would you try flying with me?”

Roleplaying as approved Durmstrang iNPC Semyon Viktorovich Reznikov

Reducio

Semyon sat still but his grip on the other figure's wrist was unrelenting yet soft. As the boy, an oxymoron in itself, like the touch of a ghost, a whisper, a reminder of pressure that would manipulate the held arm into the position needed for the ghost to convey his message properly. He was unaware as of yet just how many people were disturbed by this simple action, though he had gotten a taste of the displeasure it brought most students when he first arrived at the Institute. Though that thought was like a wisp, there and gone, as his ways would not change. His mind stoic in its own way, set in its ghostly ways. And frankly, Semyon did not mind his disturbing nature; he was floating with the winds, carried by their stormy embrace rather than torn apart like others would suffer, those less inclined to just go with the flow of things. He reminded himself to blink, just once, when his eyes began to itch, he did so slowly, as if savoring it; his awareness of the moment making it appear weirdly, as his gaze rested on the Quidditch captain.

Each gesture, each pull of a muscle was observed by the younger boy, almost with scrutiny and an untold question. He gently withdrew his hand from the others wrist, the brush of his fingers across the pale skin featherlight in its retreat, like the tickle of a feather. Rather than respond he began to carefully pack his whittling utensils, rolling them up into a sheet of leather and fastening a cord around it, returning them into one of the many satchels he carried around. The pocket knife would separately find its way into his pockets after securing it. The half finished figurine, after brushing off the wood dust, was placed into yet another satchel and secured, before the boy got up with a mechanical fluidity that could appear haunting.

His right hand moved in front of his chest, as if showing the number two with his fingers, the back of his hand facing the Quidditch captain, before turning around and bringing his index finger and thumb together, into the direction of the older seeker. He then cocked his head ever so slightly, eyes questioning the other boy, imitating his earlier actions. Semyon waited.

The ghastliness of the boy only added to the intrigue wriggling its way into thrillseeker Schnell’s heart. Who could tell what this one was capable of, or what whistled through the landscapes of the other’s mind? Such a mysterious creature was surely the best bet for finding that unknown talent the quidditch team needed in a new wildcard. The question was, though, was flying, was quidditch, really for him? If so, in what role? What could be the needs of such a player when considering the complementary abilities of the rest of the team? Would he become an asset, or a frail liability?

From his breast pocket Valentin produced a wand and a broom of only about two inches long. With a simple enlargement charm he expanded what was but a perfunctory school broom, yet one that was maintained in the most loving and scrupulous of ways.

Levitating the broom outwards, Valentin sat down on the back end, which was unusual if he was meant to direct the thing. However, so tall was he by comparison that he could easily see over the top of a much younger front passenger, as well as reach the prow with his raily long arms.

“Please have a seat here.” He felt like the words were unnecessary in every sense except for conveying a sense of politeness and dignity to the one he would be testing.

If Semyon did get onto the broom, Valentin would then kick off and send them up into a low and gentle trajectory, coasting over the rim of the forest. In such a case he would encompass the littler boy entirely with his arms on either side without touching. It was as if wings surrounded Semyon on either side and created a bubble of warmth around him, but then as Valentin got them into a stable angle he let go and pulled back. The brunt of the cold air would then strike Semyon directly, whipping back the curls of his hair, and directing the broom stick would fall under his control. Of course, Valentin could shift his weight at any time to correct for any emerging catastrophic errors, but for now he chose to remain totally neutral, allowing the ghost to find a way for them through the air without any further input from the captain.

Roleplaying as approved Durmstrang iNPC Semyon Viktorovich Reznikov

What an odd creature, the boy wondered as he failed to regard the ghost with any hint of displeasure with their interaction. Most creatures tended to be at least put off by him to some extend, as was in the nature of beings, so he would not actually have minded. He himself regarded others in a peculiar way that suited him more than it would the average somebody. Seeing the world as he did, helped him understand things a little better.

A broom was procured, first it resembled more one that might be of use to a imp rather than person. Tiny, compact and fit for a small pocket, up until the magic that had been put on it to shrink it was reversed. A wonder of magic, a neat trick to carry most with little burden upon oneself, a trick he would like to adopt after internalizing the spells wants. If he were to use it and bring this trick home, his mothers and sibling would soon follow suit in adopting this trick, he was certain of it. They all had a habit of wishing to keep more with them than physics allowed, their hut being a cozy chaos of mismatched tidbits and trinkets with a forest for a backyard.

He was met with an invite, to join the other on a broom, once it had been sized to one that could be shared. He joined the other, without question. As he moved, there was an odd sense that seemed almost surreal, as the boy moved both in a way that was abrupt and mechanic while fluid and elegant at the very same time. It was like watching the embodiment of an oxymoron as it breathed and moved and took place on the broom in front of the older boy.

It did not take long for the other boy to push off the ground as wind and air and the feeling of weightlessness greeted him like an old friend. The rustle of leaves and creaking of trees being left behind, beneath. He would be one with the insects capable of flight, as gravity allowed him some solitude without it, as long as he would not let go of the handle, feeling the air surround him.

Semyon has rolled a nat 20 on this test

He enjoyed the air, and flying, it seemed, came natural to him. Always had, like it would come natural to a caterpillar after metamorphosis.

He would lead the broom through the shrubbery of branches, chasing leaves that danced across the sky and followed a small creek that was flowing through the patch of forest. Reaching out to brush his digits past the water's surface, breaking the tension and causing droplets to splash across his arm. He navigated the forest well, despite its obstacles. Needless to say it was a terrain he felt quite familiar with, having grown up in the forests of Kinerma as his sibling and him raced through the forest's canopy, avoiding tree branches lashing out after them both. A subtle smile, more a miniscule tug at the corner of his lips graced his features, with his face turned away from Valentin, so he would be none the wiser.