The Silence Between War Drums PV — M. BASKAKOVA

Viktoriya's fingers were twitching inside her coal leathered gloves, eager to wrap themselves around the cool, familiar hilt of her sword. Or to meet the face of this obnoxious cockroach who was stubbornly standing in her way. The maddening, obsequious slug-like smile curving his lips truly appeared to beg the young girl's fist to erase it, and the way he was slightly leaning into her made her physically recoil. Other than his smackable attitude, his entire appearance screamed a painful need for attention while claiming to be different from the rest. From his unruly, unbelievably long hair to the muggle-like clothes he presented, everything in his presence seemed to be designed to ignite the girl's fury. Though it usually take little to spark a flame, and preventing her from sparring was enough. Still, Viktoriya ranked him among the things she enjoyed as much as twirling to an opera aria, arm in arm with a handsome young man. Which is 'I would rather stake a blade through my heart this instance than to every think of doing such a thing again', the silver haired thought while crushing a bug under her heeled boots. A cockroach, it seemed. The irony drew a smirk at the corner of her lips, before his voice raising in the air made it drop faster than lightning.

There were a few things that needed to be addressed. First ; and that would go unmentioned for the simple and unique reason that she deemed everyone around her as morons, therefore being condescendant was impossible if their brain was the size of a half-smashed pea ; his tone sufficed for her eyes to narrow, for her nose to twitch in displeasure and for an arrogant spark to ignite in her crystal-clear gaze. Cocking her chin up, she simply nodded slowly in return, not bothering to return the courtesy, "Baskakova." Second, and that matter would indeed be voiced - "You do know using the third person when speaking of oneself is simply... ludicrous ?" Little she knew about this rising house, yet they could not possibly still believed it old fashioned and elegant to speak in such a way ? Or was the rest of russia's wizarding society as daft as she had expected, upon seeing her brother returning from his 'social gatherings' barely holding straight on his own ?

The simple thought of it brought back a bitter aftertaste of something rotten, that she immediately brushed away. The wound was still raw, and though it did not affected her psyche she still felt those odd physical symptoms, similar to the numerous injuries she had had over her years of training. Training. Loathing this - Melor, was it ? - every second a little more, she sucked in a breath and regarded him with impatience, eager for him to state whatever business he was here to address.

A glimmer in his eyes, one she had seen far too many times, caused her back to straighten slightly, as her eyes turned into slits. And there it was. No matter how many times she had to endure the jabs and disguised mockery at the endless 'parties' thrown by her brother, in which she was forced to doll up and play pretty, no matter how many fights she had to win to prove she was more than dresses and silk - it still lit up her veins with lava. Flames raged within her sky-blue, red tainted gaze, as she took a step closer, cocking her head. "You would be wise to watch your tongue," she hissed at his face, resting her hand on the dagger strapped to her corset, hanging low on her thigh, "or it might end up severed from the rest of your pretentious body."

The seemingly innate idioty of this fatuous insect stretched beyond the very concept of time, and the young heiress was truly fascinated by how insipid his every word was, no matter how desperately hard he tried to appear to have even a modicus of intellect. Staring at him like one would contemplate a particularly stupid child, she simply huffed, confused at what amusement he managed to find in his own words. Void of any sense of humour and drinking his every own words. Splendid.

"My oh my, he wonders where you learned such big words... let alone speak at all," he uttered as though his reflection equalled some long-deceased philosopher - when it would have most likely made Platon shiver in his decaying grave. Eyes narrowing slightly, she stayed baffled at the nonsense he was able to speak, glaring at him for a few second. "Your own ability to speak does not make you possess even a hint of wits, so please, spare my ears from further scorching due to a vain attempt at sounding intelligent." And why was he stroking his chin like that ? A rash ?

He then altogether stayed silent for a good minute, so much Viktoriya had began to wonder if he truly had a brain decease that prevented him from functioning correctly when he opened the cavity that served as a mouth to prattle even more idiocies. He laughed. At her face. Many had gotten permanent inconveniences from the mere thought of it, and he fucking dared to-

Relaxing each whitening knuckled that had tightly wrapped around the hilt of the silver dagger strapped to her corset, she forced herself to breathe through her nose, feeling the looming presence of her father in the manor. Attacking one of his guests was a great way to cause conflicts within the alliances he was here to consolidate, and no matter how irritating this dull-minded moron was, his family had means they might need should the Kovalyovs decide to truly turn weapons and means against their House. Though it would truly feel so rewarding to succumb to her urges, and he made it terribly tempting. Control, discipline, obedience, she innerly mocked, Mstislav's words wrapping tightly around her throats. No slip ups. Not now.

"Is your life truly this dull you find in yourself the urge to try and bother those who actually matter," she hissed, taking a step closer, "or are you simply trying to earn your father's attention through obtuse insults ?" Scoffing at how he diminished the truthfulness of the blade hanging low on her thigh, she slowly tilted her head, a smile spreading across her lips, revealing abnormally long and sharp fangs. Running her tongue across one of them, she purred, "Would you like to see how real that 'toy' is ?"

She listened to the unending following list of insult with a straight face, letting every single one fly way above her silver head. Not only she didn't care for a obsequious slug's opinion, but she very well knew he just threw what would normally rile up idiotic aristocrats who thinks themselves above the rest of the world, and actually take those words at heart. She, on the other hand, knew her person was above all else, and if anything the person he had just described was a better description of her late brother than herself. Which is why, upon hearing his tongue tire, her smirk only spread and she glared at him with a knowing look.

"Are you finished ? Or do they usually run away crying at this point and you never bothered to find even less creative attacks ? Though I'll give you this, it must be quite hard to find, given the base level."