22 Jan 2020, 17:46
The Snake and the Lion
@Rafael D'Spacito
That hand descended with the bloody blade and-
Selim's eyes snapped open and he stifled a scream. Cold sweat drenched his form and his frame trembled with adrenaline and fear.
Wildly, he looked around, discovering he wasn't in his dorms. His panic spiked as scenarios ran through his head, and his muscles coiled, ready to fight for his life. That was, until he remembered how he got here.
His surroundings were dimly-lit, candles flickering in the darkness of the empty halls only a few feet outside the open door of the dark classroom {He swore he had closed that...}, and the damp smell of the dungeons that he was so used to was nowhere to be noted.
Yes, he recalled having been exhausted near the end of the school day, and deciding that he really wasn't ready to see any of his dormmates after the Paint Fiasco, he went off to find a quiet, out-of-the way spot in the school.
He ended up finding it, an empty classroom that looked like it wasn't used for any subject taught. The desks were all piled up and gathering dust in the corner, and a chalkboard sitting at the front. Selim had decided to wedge himself under the desks and against the wall, away from prying eyes.
After taking a few deep, trembling breaths, he evened out his breathing, and the chill of the sweat and cold atmosphere seeped into his sore bones. Finally, he recomposed himself, only a slight tremor in his hand betraying the nightmarish memory he relived during his sleep.
Twisting around, he grabbed the book bag he had used as a pillow, and crawled out from under the desks. Taking fulls stock of his surroundings once more, he deduced that it was, in fact, nighttime, maybe even curfew. A bit of surprised showed in his face as he realized this, and he suddenly became a lot more wary of his environment. While Selim didn't really care if he got detention or not, he still would rather not be caught simply because of his own carelessness by patrols.
Idly, he wondered how much sleep prefects and teachers really got if they patrolled the grounds every night... they most likely had shifts, but still, the idea seemed exhausting.
Slinging his satchel over his shoulder, Selim looked around once more, before creeping towards the doorway of the abandoned classroom, using the skills that were taught to him by his clan.
Stealth skills and combat skills were essential to the missions that members were sent on, along with the fact that their ancestors were technically ninja and samurai, so tradition held strong. Really, sometimes his clan's history even made him see it as unbelievable, something from fantasy... but then again, he was in a wizard school where kids learned how to duel with magic, fly on brooms, and transform objects into living creatures, and living creatures into objects. So... was it really that unthinkable?
He shook his distracting thoughts off, focusing fully on not being seen, on lowering his presence. Breathing slowly until his heartbeat was lower, and narrowing his slit eyes (he should make sure they weren't out of place from his sleep later... they were a bit irritated), he focused on his sense of hearing to make sure he didn't miss any footsteps.
Then, he moved, keeping to the shadows, and dodging under paintings. He paused every once in a while to reorient himself and keep an ear out for approaching humans. Steadily though, he realized he was basically completely lost.
'Curse this excessive castle, why would a school even need this much bloody space?' he hissed internally, frustrated.
He paused once more in the shadow of one of the suits of armor, looking around and gathering his bearings, while keeping his breathing quiet and level. He was hyper-aware of every noise made in the dark, sinking deeper into the shadows whenever he did hear something, and waiting there to make sure it wasn't a patrol.
Honestly, he was beginning to actually feel like a ninja, sneaking in the shadows, aware of every move, it almost felt natural to do so, and not the 'pounded into my brain until it feels natural' kind of natural. It was the kind of natural that pounded through one's veins, unseen until triggered...
Again, he pulled himself out of his musings, hearing a sound and freezing, keeping perfectly still in the shadows. Silently, he thanked Kami that he was wearing black school robes with green edging. Red or yellow edging would've seemed too bright.
After a few moments of complete silence, he moved on, starting to become desperate, in a way, as everything just became more unfamiliar.
What floor was he on?
He paused as he reached the end off the hall. Before him many staircases were now spanning a rather large gap, and faintly, in other halls and on staircases further above, he some moving lights, some patrols, he assumed.
Waiting until the lights had passed, and calculating to find out if he would be out of view, he ran up his staircase with soundless footsteps, crouching low. There were no staircases going down further then the floor he had just left, and he couldn't stay in one spot and risk being found, so he had to keep moving and survive the night without being spotted.
Idly, he made up the mental excuse that this was training, seeing as how he full well knew that he could probably reason with a professor or prefect about how he ended up out of his house past curfew, and most likely ask them to help him find his way back to Slytherin.
Yes, he preferred 'training' his skills. Besides, his parents would be more angry by the fact that he got caught then that he was out past curfew to begin with.
After climbing up the steps as quickly and as quietly as possible, Selim finally reached whatever floor it lead to. Swiftly, he darted behind the doorway, peeking out beyond it to see another light just emerge from one of the openings below him. The stairs also began to shift again.
Using the noise to his advantage, he dashed down the halls, staying in the shadows, keeping his steps quiet and light.
His eyes raked the hallway, seeing a few passages breaking off a few feet ahead, and yet another door, to Charms, firmly closed. Smirking at the sight, he plotted out a way back to the dungeons.
After another pause, another listen hear any approaching footsteps, he snuck towards one of the branches, and moved down that passage, taking turns with ease as he figured out where to go.
Deciding he needed a break, Selim turned away from his path and into a passageway he knew lead to a dead end. It did, it was short, more like a pocket, with a door leading to the trophy rooms. He didn't know how often the room was patrolled, all he knew was that it was left unlocked, even after curfew.
He entered the room, looking around with an unimpressed gaze. Many gleaming awards lined the area, and there was a convenient list of head Boys and Girls hanging on the wall. This was also where the awards for that boy, Harry Potter, and his friend(s), were held.
His unimpressed gaze shifted to a blank face as he heard something within the room. Quickly, he snuck into the shadows, posed and ready if there need be an attack.
He eased though, when he saw a student instead, seemingly first year, well built, and wearing Gryffindor colors.
When the boy passed, Selim stepped out of the shadows, ending up behind the Gryffindor.
"My, my, didn't think I'd find anyone else in here, especially a Gryffindor." He spoke, voice low, quiet, but clear enough to be heard with it's sly undertone.
He stood in the light of the trophies, pale skin seeming to glow slightly, but his lumanouse, snake-like eyes were well seen in the dim. They always seemed to glow when it was dark, a trick of the light, but still good for intimidation tactics.
Idly, he noted that his contacts seemed to have settled again while he was skulking around the corridors.
That hand descended with the bloody blade and-
Selim's eyes snapped open and he stifled a scream. Cold sweat drenched his form and his frame trembled with adrenaline and fear.
Wildly, he looked around, discovering he wasn't in his dorms. His panic spiked as scenarios ran through his head, and his muscles coiled, ready to fight for his life. That was, until he remembered how he got here.
His surroundings were dimly-lit, candles flickering in the darkness of the empty halls only a few feet outside the open door of the dark classroom {He swore he had closed that...}, and the damp smell of the dungeons that he was so used to was nowhere to be noted.
Yes, he recalled having been exhausted near the end of the school day, and deciding that he really wasn't ready to see any of his dormmates after the Paint Fiasco, he went off to find a quiet, out-of-the way spot in the school.
He ended up finding it, an empty classroom that looked like it wasn't used for any subject taught. The desks were all piled up and gathering dust in the corner, and a chalkboard sitting at the front. Selim had decided to wedge himself under the desks and against the wall, away from prying eyes.
After taking a few deep, trembling breaths, he evened out his breathing, and the chill of the sweat and cold atmosphere seeped into his sore bones. Finally, he recomposed himself, only a slight tremor in his hand betraying the nightmarish memory he relived during his sleep.
Twisting around, he grabbed the book bag he had used as a pillow, and crawled out from under the desks. Taking fulls stock of his surroundings once more, he deduced that it was, in fact, nighttime, maybe even curfew. A bit of surprised showed in his face as he realized this, and he suddenly became a lot more wary of his environment. While Selim didn't really care if he got detention or not, he still would rather not be caught simply because of his own carelessness by patrols.
Idly, he wondered how much sleep prefects and teachers really got if they patrolled the grounds every night... they most likely had shifts, but still, the idea seemed exhausting.
Slinging his satchel over his shoulder, Selim looked around once more, before creeping towards the doorway of the abandoned classroom, using the skills that were taught to him by his clan.
Stealth skills and combat skills were essential to the missions that members were sent on, along with the fact that their ancestors were technically ninja and samurai, so tradition held strong. Really, sometimes his clan's history even made him see it as unbelievable, something from fantasy... but then again, he was in a wizard school where kids learned how to duel with magic, fly on brooms, and transform objects into living creatures, and living creatures into objects. So... was it really that unthinkable?
He shook his distracting thoughts off, focusing fully on not being seen, on lowering his presence. Breathing slowly until his heartbeat was lower, and narrowing his slit eyes (he should make sure they weren't out of place from his sleep later... they were a bit irritated), he focused on his sense of hearing to make sure he didn't miss any footsteps.
Then, he moved, keeping to the shadows, and dodging under paintings. He paused every once in a while to reorient himself and keep an ear out for approaching humans. Steadily though, he realized he was basically completely lost.
'Curse this excessive castle, why would a school even need this much bloody space?' he hissed internally, frustrated.
He paused once more in the shadow of one of the suits of armor, looking around and gathering his bearings, while keeping his breathing quiet and level. He was hyper-aware of every noise made in the dark, sinking deeper into the shadows whenever he did hear something, and waiting there to make sure it wasn't a patrol.
Honestly, he was beginning to actually feel like a ninja, sneaking in the shadows, aware of every move, it almost felt natural to do so, and not the 'pounded into my brain until it feels natural' kind of natural. It was the kind of natural that pounded through one's veins, unseen until triggered...
Again, he pulled himself out of his musings, hearing a sound and freezing, keeping perfectly still in the shadows. Silently, he thanked Kami that he was wearing black school robes with green edging. Red or yellow edging would've seemed too bright.
After a few moments of complete silence, he moved on, starting to become desperate, in a way, as everything just became more unfamiliar.
What floor was he on?
He paused as he reached the end off the hall. Before him many staircases were now spanning a rather large gap, and faintly, in other halls and on staircases further above, he some moving lights, some patrols, he assumed.
Waiting until the lights had passed, and calculating to find out if he would be out of view, he ran up his staircase with soundless footsteps, crouching low. There were no staircases going down further then the floor he had just left, and he couldn't stay in one spot and risk being found, so he had to keep moving and survive the night without being spotted.
Idly, he made up the mental excuse that this was training, seeing as how he full well knew that he could probably reason with a professor or prefect about how he ended up out of his house past curfew, and most likely ask them to help him find his way back to Slytherin.
Yes, he preferred 'training' his skills. Besides, his parents would be more angry by the fact that he got caught then that he was out past curfew to begin with.
After climbing up the steps as quickly and as quietly as possible, Selim finally reached whatever floor it lead to. Swiftly, he darted behind the doorway, peeking out beyond it to see another light just emerge from one of the openings below him. The stairs also began to shift again.
Using the noise to his advantage, he dashed down the halls, staying in the shadows, keeping his steps quiet and light.
His eyes raked the hallway, seeing a few passages breaking off a few feet ahead, and yet another door, to Charms, firmly closed. Smirking at the sight, he plotted out a way back to the dungeons.
After another pause, another listen hear any approaching footsteps, he snuck towards one of the branches, and moved down that passage, taking turns with ease as he figured out where to go.
Deciding he needed a break, Selim turned away from his path and into a passageway he knew lead to a dead end. It did, it was short, more like a pocket, with a door leading to the trophy rooms. He didn't know how often the room was patrolled, all he knew was that it was left unlocked, even after curfew.
He entered the room, looking around with an unimpressed gaze. Many gleaming awards lined the area, and there was a convenient list of head Boys and Girls hanging on the wall. This was also where the awards for that boy, Harry Potter, and his friend(s), were held.
His unimpressed gaze shifted to a blank face as he heard something within the room. Quickly, he snuck into the shadows, posed and ready if there need be an attack.
He eased though, when he saw a student instead, seemingly first year, well built, and wearing Gryffindor colors.
When the boy passed, Selim stepped out of the shadows, ending up behind the Gryffindor.
"My, my, didn't think I'd find anyone else in here, especially a Gryffindor." He spoke, voice low, quiet, but clear enough to be heard with it's sly undertone.
He stood in the light of the trophies, pale skin seeming to glow slightly, but his lumanouse, snake-like eyes were well seen in the dim. They always seemed to glow when it was dark, a trick of the light, but still good for intimidation tactics.
Idly, he noted that his contacts seemed to have settled again while he was skulking around the corridors.
"False Face must Hide what the Heart Doth Know." -Macbeth
S.F
28 Jan 2020, 21:05
The Snake and the Lion
@Selim Faust
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael wasn’t really sure what prompted him to wear Gryffindor colors this late at night.
Usually he was more careful – it didn’t matter if you got caught or not when wearing your house on your sleeve. All it took was a glance from a teacher, and your house lost Merlin knows how many points. Which was always nice when Slytherin was somehow stealing your house points, he supposed. Except it wasn’t, because Gryffindor had been holding the lead for the last three months. Anything less than a win would result in the de-throning of the lion house. And that simply would not do.
Also, Gryffindor colors were rather bright, radiant, bold, unlike some of the colors of the other houses. Which was all fine and dandy, because who couldn’t admire boldness? The fact of the matter was, while this boldness was rather spectacular in classes, it made for a rather ruddy color when sneaking out. Dark colors suited the shadows more, as they made a person meld to the shadows, much like a phantom, unseen and unnoticed.
And Raf would know – he made a habit of sneaking out most nights, sleuthing through the corridors as a thief would. Usually he did well to wear inconspicuous colors, dark enough to blend into the shadows. [He considered wearing Slytherin robes once, for the sake of losing the house some points. He ultimately decided against it, however, vouching to not dishonor himself in such a way.] But, on this particular night, he had woken up at 12, his brow sweating and his chest heaving. Another nightmare, something that had been a bit more common these days.
The small Gryffindor, in turn, had made a split-second decision to do a bit more recon on the Potter trial. The trophies, in particular, as they held several pictures and trophies belonging to one Harold Potter. At least, that’s what he told himself. The real reason had nothing to do with the trial and everything to do with his hero – for years, the young Gryffindor had looked up to The Boy Who Lived, listening to second-hand tales of his daring adventures and reading his endeavors in the history books. Just looking upon his pictures brought the first year an ounce of solace, as he found another person a lot like him – a bit rebellious, misguided, danger-prone and angry at times, but also brave, courageous, and powerful, though only being a mere boy. At least, he hoped he could find similarities in the two of them. The man was positively inspiring.
This particular late – night venture hadn’t been the first. On the contrary, he’d found himself ‘researching’ in the trophy room many a time, sitting Indian-Style in front of the Trophies, or just pacing the length of the small room. Perhaps it was his way of coping with his fears, looking upon his mentor. Sure, he was a lot more courageous and confident than many at the school, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t fear many things. One of his biggest fears, in fact, was the unknown – the things he couldn’t see were always the things that got under his skin the most.
On this particular night, that fear had taken the form of a particular Slytherin.
The Gryffindor had been silently pacing the length of the trophy room, his eyes brushing upon the countless trophies. The small room had always exuded a sense of victory, he had noticed, all the glittering trophies echoing a sense of pride from generations ago. The aura of the room always seemed to boost his pride in the slightest, especially looking upon the past Quidditch Teams and Triwizard winners. His attention was utterly taken, his eyes scanning the scenes similar to a child on Christmas day, complete with a curious look to his eyes, always seeking answers. His focus was so intact that he hadn’t at all noticed the Slytherin sneaking up behind him
"My, my, didn't think I'd find anyone else in here, especially a Gryffindor."
At the sound of the boy’s voice, the young Gryffindor jumped in his own skin, his heart suddenly racing faster than would be healthy. Before he could realize what he was doing, assess the situation, or even stop himself, his mind went into attack mode, his hand flying backwards in a well-executed backhand, headed straight for the other boy’s nose. If not prevented, his first two knuckles would hit the other boy square-on, possibly breaking his nose and setting him off-balance.
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael wasn’t really sure what prompted him to wear Gryffindor colors this late at night.
Usually he was more careful – it didn’t matter if you got caught or not when wearing your house on your sleeve. All it took was a glance from a teacher, and your house lost Merlin knows how many points. Which was always nice when Slytherin was somehow stealing your house points, he supposed. Except it wasn’t, because Gryffindor had been holding the lead for the last three months. Anything less than a win would result in the de-throning of the lion house. And that simply would not do.
Also, Gryffindor colors were rather bright, radiant, bold, unlike some of the colors of the other houses. Which was all fine and dandy, because who couldn’t admire boldness? The fact of the matter was, while this boldness was rather spectacular in classes, it made for a rather ruddy color when sneaking out. Dark colors suited the shadows more, as they made a person meld to the shadows, much like a phantom, unseen and unnoticed.
And Raf would know – he made a habit of sneaking out most nights, sleuthing through the corridors as a thief would. Usually he did well to wear inconspicuous colors, dark enough to blend into the shadows. [He considered wearing Slytherin robes once, for the sake of losing the house some points. He ultimately decided against it, however, vouching to not dishonor himself in such a way.] But, on this particular night, he had woken up at 12, his brow sweating and his chest heaving. Another nightmare, something that had been a bit more common these days.
The small Gryffindor, in turn, had made a split-second decision to do a bit more recon on the Potter trial. The trophies, in particular, as they held several pictures and trophies belonging to one Harold Potter. At least, that’s what he told himself. The real reason had nothing to do with the trial and everything to do with his hero – for years, the young Gryffindor had looked up to The Boy Who Lived, listening to second-hand tales of his daring adventures and reading his endeavors in the history books. Just looking upon his pictures brought the first year an ounce of solace, as he found another person a lot like him – a bit rebellious, misguided, danger-prone and angry at times, but also brave, courageous, and powerful, though only being a mere boy. At least, he hoped he could find similarities in the two of them. The man was positively inspiring.
This particular late – night venture hadn’t been the first. On the contrary, he’d found himself ‘researching’ in the trophy room many a time, sitting Indian-Style in front of the Trophies, or just pacing the length of the small room. Perhaps it was his way of coping with his fears, looking upon his mentor. Sure, he was a lot more courageous and confident than many at the school, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t fear many things. One of his biggest fears, in fact, was the unknown – the things he couldn’t see were always the things that got under his skin the most.
On this particular night, that fear had taken the form of a particular Slytherin.
The Gryffindor had been silently pacing the length of the trophy room, his eyes brushing upon the countless trophies. The small room had always exuded a sense of victory, he had noticed, all the glittering trophies echoing a sense of pride from generations ago. The aura of the room always seemed to boost his pride in the slightest, especially looking upon the past Quidditch Teams and Triwizard winners. His attention was utterly taken, his eyes scanning the scenes similar to a child on Christmas day, complete with a curious look to his eyes, always seeking answers. His focus was so intact that he hadn’t at all noticed the Slytherin sneaking up behind him
"My, my, didn't think I'd find anyone else in here, especially a Gryffindor."
At the sound of the boy’s voice, the young Gryffindor jumped in his own skin, his heart suddenly racing faster than would be healthy. Before he could realize what he was doing, assess the situation, or even stop himself, his mind went into attack mode, his hand flying backwards in a well-executed backhand, headed straight for the other boy’s nose. If not prevented, his first two knuckles would hit the other boy square-on, possibly breaking his nose and setting him off-balance.
Reducio
[/font]
OOC: Apologize for the lazy post. Better ones to come!
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
29 Jan 2020, 00:14
The Snake and the Lion
@Rafael D'Spacito
Selim saw the Gryffindor boy's muscles tense, he saw him startle, and he saw the hand about to nail him square in the face.
His training kicked, in, and with ease, took a quick step to the side, the fingers of the boy missing his nose by a calculated five centimeters.
This Gryffindor kid was lucky, Selim had almost decided to simply grab the arm pulling it to put him off balance, and kick out the boy's legs, using his momentum against him. It would've ended up with the larger boy on the ground with the air knocked out of him.
He decided to go with the less extreme course though and just step to the side just enough to let the backhand continue to sail by.
Heart was beating slightly faster with adrenaline, he felt a thrill run through him, but on the outside his face only held wry amusement. He looked at the burly Gryffindor with a raised brow and small, amused smile.
"What an interesting way to say hello to someone. Is that form of greeting from some culture I didn't know about?" His voice was playful as he said this, the reaction to his sudden appearance was very amusing to him. Honestly, he never got to use his stealth skills properly against anyone in his clan, all of them knew how detect people hiding their presence.
So he was going to take full advantage of the skill in a school full of children who weren't trained in the ninja arts. Honestly, all the reactions he got when he used it were always humorous. Who knew scaring the shit out of people was so funny?
"Well it's lovely to meet you as well, Gryffindor." He spoke again, saying the sentence as if the backhand had been a greeting and not something meant to break his nose. "I must say, while that backhand had no form whatsoever, the strength behind it was very impressive for an eleven-year old." He chuckled, but the complement was sincere. Selim hadn't sensed strength like that in another child their age since having sparring classes back at the compound.
Seems this Gryffindor actually had bite behind his bark, unlike a lot of them. Perhaps there might be some merit to sparring with him?
He studied the boy with a curious eye, gauging his abilities through what he could see of his build.
No, unless the Gryffindor secretly had an actual fighting style he was hiding and not just blind brawling skills, Selim could use all his impressive brawn against him and have him on the ground in moments.... if he went all-out, that is. So it would only possibly be an evenly-matched fight if Selim cut his abilities down to a trainee level of Jiu jitsu. Even if he used his less-trained martial art skills, he would still have a massive upper hand.
He let out a sigh that sounded vaguely disappointed. Seems he wouldn't find a sparring partner any time soon.
There wasn't a trace of Selim's internal disenchantment on his face as he tilted his head, "So, any reason you're up past curfew and staring at the trophies? I mean, they are quite shiny, for rewards given to children and people who have long since died or grown old and wrinkly." He gazed at a trophy in the case nearest to him. He could see his own reflection in the polish. Idly, he wondered if these relics of the past were cleaned using magic, or by the almost-enslaved house elves that provided them with lovely food.
Their sushi-making skills were quite admirable... his stomach gurgled a bit at the thought.
Oh, he forgot, he missed supper... well, he had a backup bento in his book bag, so it was of no consequence.
Selim glanced at the Gryffindor's reflection in the clean glass of the cases, wondering. The boy looked like he had rolled out of bed recently.
He supposed he'd find out why he was up. The Gryffindor was a slight curiosity that he wanted to puzzle out in the moment.
He wasn't sure if he'd have the same interest in him tomorrow, but currently, that didn't matter.
Selim never passed up on a puzzle.
Selim saw the Gryffindor boy's muscles tense, he saw him startle, and he saw the hand about to nail him square in the face.
His training kicked, in, and with ease, took a quick step to the side, the fingers of the boy missing his nose by a calculated five centimeters.
This Gryffindor kid was lucky, Selim had almost decided to simply grab the arm pulling it to put him off balance, and kick out the boy's legs, using his momentum against him. It would've ended up with the larger boy on the ground with the air knocked out of him.
He decided to go with the less extreme course though and just step to the side just enough to let the backhand continue to sail by.
Heart was beating slightly faster with adrenaline, he felt a thrill run through him, but on the outside his face only held wry amusement. He looked at the burly Gryffindor with a raised brow and small, amused smile.
"What an interesting way to say hello to someone. Is that form of greeting from some culture I didn't know about?" His voice was playful as he said this, the reaction to his sudden appearance was very amusing to him. Honestly, he never got to use his stealth skills properly against anyone in his clan, all of them knew how detect people hiding their presence.
So he was going to take full advantage of the skill in a school full of children who weren't trained in the ninja arts. Honestly, all the reactions he got when he used it were always humorous. Who knew scaring the shit out of people was so funny?
"Well it's lovely to meet you as well, Gryffindor." He spoke again, saying the sentence as if the backhand had been a greeting and not something meant to break his nose. "I must say, while that backhand had no form whatsoever, the strength behind it was very impressive for an eleven-year old." He chuckled, but the complement was sincere. Selim hadn't sensed strength like that in another child their age since having sparring classes back at the compound.
Seems this Gryffindor actually had bite behind his bark, unlike a lot of them. Perhaps there might be some merit to sparring with him?
He studied the boy with a curious eye, gauging his abilities through what he could see of his build.
No, unless the Gryffindor secretly had an actual fighting style he was hiding and not just blind brawling skills, Selim could use all his impressive brawn against him and have him on the ground in moments.... if he went all-out, that is. So it would only possibly be an evenly-matched fight if Selim cut his abilities down to a trainee level of Jiu jitsu. Even if he used his less-trained martial art skills, he would still have a massive upper hand.
He let out a sigh that sounded vaguely disappointed. Seems he wouldn't find a sparring partner any time soon.
There wasn't a trace of Selim's internal disenchantment on his face as he tilted his head, "So, any reason you're up past curfew and staring at the trophies? I mean, they are quite shiny, for rewards given to children and people who have long since died or grown old and wrinkly." He gazed at a trophy in the case nearest to him. He could see his own reflection in the polish. Idly, he wondered if these relics of the past were cleaned using magic, or by the almost-enslaved house elves that provided them with lovely food.
Their sushi-making skills were quite admirable... his stomach gurgled a bit at the thought.
Oh, he forgot, he missed supper... well, he had a backup bento in his book bag, so it was of no consequence.
Selim glanced at the Gryffindor's reflection in the clean glass of the cases, wondering. The boy looked like he had rolled out of bed recently.
He supposed he'd find out why he was up. The Gryffindor was a slight curiosity that he wanted to puzzle out in the moment.
He wasn't sure if he'd have the same interest in him tomorrow, but currently, that didn't matter.
Selim never passed up on a puzzle.
Stats:
Reducio____ ____ ____
/35
Stamina: 4
Evasion: 9
Strength: 3
Wisdom: 7
ArcPower: 3
Accuracy: 9
____ ____ ____
Last edited by Selim Faust on 10 Feb 2020, 22:20, edited 1 time in total.
"False Face must Hide what the Heart Doth Know." -Macbeth
S.F
10 Feb 2020, 20:48
The Snake and the Lion
@Selim Faust
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael’s unconscious countermeasures had been executed seamlessly as he swung his fist out in a complete motion, his balance steady and firm, and his aim true as he…. missed his mark?
How the hell did he miss his mark?
It was definitely a strange occurrence, as Rafael had quite the impressive track record with aim. He’d been honing his skill since he was only seven years old, playing on the Northlands Football team as their top scorer. Or maybe, it’d been earlier – Rafael had these memories, like phantoms in his mind, blurs of scenarios that may or may have not happened. He wouldn’t have remembered all that well, but he’d actually been practicing his aim since he could walk, his dad putting the football in front of his feet and prodding him on gently. Perhaps this is what gave him his spectacular instincts, or perhaps it was his determination to win. Whatever it was, it had made him quite skilled in making his mark. So much so, that upon playing his first Quidditch Game, he had made the first score in the match – the first goal he'd ever attempted.
Now, as his eyes scrutinized the boy in front of him, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed in his skill – and slightly alarmed. There was no reason for him to miss, even if it were dark and quiet. The shadow had been right in front of him, right there. So, why had he missed? He would have to know why, costs be damned. The mystery would continue to make his skin crawl throughout their interaction, as his mind would be forced to wander to why his aim could have possibly missed.
He almost couldn’t register the confusion, though, over the own pounding of his heart. If there was one reason for him to miss his mark, it would be the fear – though the shadowy figure wouldn’t know, he’d chosen the only act that would throw the brave-hearted Gryffindor off his game. The jump scares. Rafael been trained during his days on the streets to watch his back, as everyone had knives in their pockets and hands that tended to be particularly sticky. As a result, he’d become particularly jumpy and fearful of that he couldn’t see. Now, his surprise was turning into anger – his face heating up into red, his teeth gritting in anger, he sent the full ferocity of his Gryffindor gaze onto the figure in the shadows, his countenance boiling with his enmity. No one could sneak up on him like that, not unless they knew him well. And he would certainly pay for such an act, one way or another.
[Or, maybe not.]
His eyes focused on the shadowy figure in front of him, his pupils scanning for any semblance to someone he might know. In the darkness, the boy could barely make out the face of a boy – black choppy hair, slitted amber eyes, shorter than him. Nine inches difference, to be exact – perhaps he missed due to his adversary being a midget. Or, maybe for other reasons. And, though Raf couldn’t make out the other boy’s robes in the darkness, he had a feeling regarding the boy's faction. And the feeling was green.
"What an interesting way to say hello to someone. Is that form of greeting from some culture I didn't know about?"
"You're one to talk," the Gryffindor snapped right back at the boy, his dangerous spirit radiating off him in waves. "You like sneaking up on people in the middle of the bloody night? What culture is that from?” His words were quick, harsh, fiersome… definitely not the tone of a friend, surely. “Jesus…" he retracted his arm, his eyes coming to rest on his flexing fingers, a quick look of contemplation crossing his features. Perhaps the boy had some truth to his words – he had overacted, in a way. But, his reflexes couldn’t possibly be his fault. No, the ‘Slytherin’ boy would have Aurelia Notresvace to thank for that. The girl had attacked him in the dead of night, first with a knife and then with her own hands. If his street instincts hadn’t given him an edge, the monster hunter’s antics did. He checked the boy’s clothing for any bulges in his pockets, and knives or potions – only to draw up nothing. Thankfully.
He’d been so rapt in his inward pat-down, that he had nearly missed the boy’s next words. At the sound of the boy’s voice again, his eyes flew back up, an eyebrow raising in confusion. “What are you going on about?” he sneered once more, shaking his head incredulously. “Form?” Yeah, he hadn’t had form – he had reflexes. He wasn’t a freaking martial artist, he was just a kid with two fists! He looked upon the Slytherin boy, a venomous look about him as he stared into the soul of the other boy, surely breaking anything his eyes would find in there. “What do you know about form?” [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael’s unconscious countermeasures had been executed seamlessly as he swung his fist out in a complete motion, his balance steady and firm, and his aim true as he…. missed his mark?
How the hell did he miss his mark?
It was definitely a strange occurrence, as Rafael had quite the impressive track record with aim. He’d been honing his skill since he was only seven years old, playing on the Northlands Football team as their top scorer. Or maybe, it’d been earlier – Rafael had these memories, like phantoms in his mind, blurs of scenarios that may or may have not happened. He wouldn’t have remembered all that well, but he’d actually been practicing his aim since he could walk, his dad putting the football in front of his feet and prodding him on gently. Perhaps this is what gave him his spectacular instincts, or perhaps it was his determination to win. Whatever it was, it had made him quite skilled in making his mark. So much so, that upon playing his first Quidditch Game, he had made the first score in the match – the first goal he'd ever attempted.
Now, as his eyes scrutinized the boy in front of him, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed in his skill – and slightly alarmed. There was no reason for him to miss, even if it were dark and quiet. The shadow had been right in front of him, right there. So, why had he missed? He would have to know why, costs be damned. The mystery would continue to make his skin crawl throughout their interaction, as his mind would be forced to wander to why his aim could have possibly missed.
He almost couldn’t register the confusion, though, over the own pounding of his heart. If there was one reason for him to miss his mark, it would be the fear – though the shadowy figure wouldn’t know, he’d chosen the only act that would throw the brave-hearted Gryffindor off his game. The jump scares. Rafael been trained during his days on the streets to watch his back, as everyone had knives in their pockets and hands that tended to be particularly sticky. As a result, he’d become particularly jumpy and fearful of that he couldn’t see. Now, his surprise was turning into anger – his face heating up into red, his teeth gritting in anger, he sent the full ferocity of his Gryffindor gaze onto the figure in the shadows, his countenance boiling with his enmity. No one could sneak up on him like that, not unless they knew him well. And he would certainly pay for such an act, one way or another.
[Or, maybe not.]
His eyes focused on the shadowy figure in front of him, his pupils scanning for any semblance to someone he might know. In the darkness, the boy could barely make out the face of a boy – black choppy hair, slitted amber eyes, shorter than him. Nine inches difference, to be exact – perhaps he missed due to his adversary being a midget. Or, maybe for other reasons. And, though Raf couldn’t make out the other boy’s robes in the darkness, he had a feeling regarding the boy's faction. And the feeling was green.
"What an interesting way to say hello to someone. Is that form of greeting from some culture I didn't know about?"
"You're one to talk," the Gryffindor snapped right back at the boy, his dangerous spirit radiating off him in waves. "You like sneaking up on people in the middle of the bloody night? What culture is that from?” His words were quick, harsh, fiersome… definitely not the tone of a friend, surely. “Jesus…" he retracted his arm, his eyes coming to rest on his flexing fingers, a quick look of contemplation crossing his features. Perhaps the boy had some truth to his words – he had overacted, in a way. But, his reflexes couldn’t possibly be his fault. No, the ‘Slytherin’ boy would have Aurelia Notresvace to thank for that. The girl had attacked him in the dead of night, first with a knife and then with her own hands. If his street instincts hadn’t given him an edge, the monster hunter’s antics did. He checked the boy’s clothing for any bulges in his pockets, and knives or potions – only to draw up nothing. Thankfully.
He’d been so rapt in his inward pat-down, that he had nearly missed the boy’s next words. At the sound of the boy’s voice again, his eyes flew back up, an eyebrow raising in confusion. “What are you going on about?” he sneered once more, shaking his head incredulously. “Form?” Yeah, he hadn’t had form – he had reflexes. He wasn’t a freaking martial artist, he was just a kid with two fists! He looked upon the Slytherin boy, a venomous look about him as he stared into the soul of the other boy, surely breaking anything his eyes would find in there. “What do you know about form?” [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
10 Feb 2020, 22:49
The Snake and the Lion
@Rafael D'Spacito
___ ___ ___
The Gryffindor seemed confused upon missing his mark.
Turning, he felt the older boy scrutinize him, possibly looking for a reason as to why he missed, Selim let him do so, hands behind his back. He didn't wan to seem like a threat to the Gryffindor, and, honestly, if they got in a fight with simply brute strength, he knew full well the much taller, and much more obviously muscular boy would win.
This was the reason Selim tried to train his evasion tactics, his speed, his agility. He knew, due to his short stature, that he'd never be able to win against larger foes with just brawn (And there were many people larger then himself). So he took precautions. Sadly they didn't do much against what happened in the 'Event'.
Well, Selim knew that he wouldn't do very well against someone with magic, seeing as how his wand prevented him from being able to use it efficiently. He still had to figure out how to fix that particular issue...
After his wry comment, he knew that he had aggravated him simply from the tone of the other boy's tone of voice as he responded snappishly. "You're one to talk," Something a tad dangerous radiated off him in waves. Selim tensed, but it would be imperceptible in the shadows and under his robes. "You like sneaking up on people in the middle of the bloody night? What culture is that from?” His words were quick, harsh, and definitely agitated. “Jesus…"
The Gryffindor retracted his arm, and Selim tilted his head, "No, I mostly do it for amusement, though sometimes it's just instinctual..." He hummed, loosening his posture and letting his hands fall to his sides.
Often Selim just couldn't help being silent on his feet. The skill had been pounded into him, like etiquette had been. He was used to the older clan members knowing he was there, they had different ways of knowing he was behind them beyond just hearing.
Apparently outsiders didn't have the same skills.
After Selim's complement he saw that the boy hadn't really been paying attention, he had been scanning him, probably for weapons. Selim cocked a brow, so, this Gryffindor was just as wary as himself... he wonder what made the boy so distrustful.
Something to think on later, he supposed.
"What are you going on about? Form?" The taller boy sneered, "What do you know about form?"
Selim chuckled, still seeming completely relaxed. His heart had calmed a long while ago. "Well, seeing as how I was trained to use hand-to-hand and evasive skills, I'd say quite a lot." He shrugged, "Sometimes I implement that training instinctively. Specifically I use stealth quite often, sometimes without knowing it." He rose his brow once more, "Does that answer your questions?" His tone hinted that perhaps the Gryffindor was puzzling over something more than just his spoken inquiry. Though Selim didn't really know what exactly those internal questions may be.
___ ___ ___
The Gryffindor seemed confused upon missing his mark.
Turning, he felt the older boy scrutinize him, possibly looking for a reason as to why he missed, Selim let him do so, hands behind his back. He didn't wan to seem like a threat to the Gryffindor, and, honestly, if they got in a fight with simply brute strength, he knew full well the much taller, and much more obviously muscular boy would win.
This was the reason Selim tried to train his evasion tactics, his speed, his agility. He knew, due to his short stature, that he'd never be able to win against larger foes with just brawn (And there were many people larger then himself). So he took precautions. Sadly they didn't do much against what happened in the 'Event'.
Well, Selim knew that he wouldn't do very well against someone with magic, seeing as how his wand prevented him from being able to use it efficiently. He still had to figure out how to fix that particular issue...
After his wry comment, he knew that he had aggravated him simply from the tone of the other boy's tone of voice as he responded snappishly. "You're one to talk," Something a tad dangerous radiated off him in waves. Selim tensed, but it would be imperceptible in the shadows and under his robes. "You like sneaking up on people in the middle of the bloody night? What culture is that from?” His words were quick, harsh, and definitely agitated. “Jesus…"
The Gryffindor retracted his arm, and Selim tilted his head, "No, I mostly do it for amusement, though sometimes it's just instinctual..." He hummed, loosening his posture and letting his hands fall to his sides.
Often Selim just couldn't help being silent on his feet. The skill had been pounded into him, like etiquette had been. He was used to the older clan members knowing he was there, they had different ways of knowing he was behind them beyond just hearing.
Apparently outsiders didn't have the same skills.
After Selim's complement he saw that the boy hadn't really been paying attention, he had been scanning him, probably for weapons. Selim cocked a brow, so, this Gryffindor was just as wary as himself... he wonder what made the boy so distrustful.
Something to think on later, he supposed.
"What are you going on about? Form?" The taller boy sneered, "What do you know about form?"
Selim chuckled, still seeming completely relaxed. His heart had calmed a long while ago. "Well, seeing as how I was trained to use hand-to-hand and evasive skills, I'd say quite a lot." He shrugged, "Sometimes I implement that training instinctively. Specifically I use stealth quite often, sometimes without knowing it." He rose his brow once more, "Does that answer your questions?" His tone hinted that perhaps the Gryffindor was puzzling over something more than just his spoken inquiry. Though Selim didn't really know what exactly those internal questions may be.
Last edited by Selim Faust on 19 Feb 2020, 18:38, edited 1 time in total.
"False Face must Hide what the Heart Doth Know." -Macbeth
S.F
19 Feb 2020, 17:00
The Snake and the Lion
@Selim Faust
[font=Segoe Print]"No. I mostly do it for amusement, though sometimes it's just instinctual..."
There was something off about the Slytherin boy, something that Rafael couldn’t exactly put his finger on. Perhaps it was his slitted pupils, his dark complexion, the way he seemed perfectly comfortable among the shadows, the whole look giving him an unsettling air, leaving the young Gryffindor’s intuition fighting for a say. Or, it quite possibly could have all been in his head, his wild imagination brewing up bizarre obscenities once again, due to lack of sleep, the time of night, or the adrenaline still lingering in his veins, spurring his heart on. There was just something about the whole scenario that left the boy a little breathless in anticipation, a feeling of dread creeping down his neck like a spider, sending chills down his spine. His gut was trying to tell him something, he could hear it. The Slytherin was danger, trouble if he’d ever seen it. Raf should have been leaving by now, walking away from the boy’s unsettling nature and strangely sadistic words…
Though, for some strange reason, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away just yet. He suspected his curiosity had something to do with it, burning within his being, a dangerous and ferocious energy that almost always ended in trouble. He was interested, puzzled by the boy in a purely vigorous sort of way, his mind already cooking up scenarios in which the boy could have possibly have held the grounds to say the words he did. His lip unconsciously tucked themselves between his teeth, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if scrutinizing the Slytherin with careful eyes. He knew better than just to speak out, show his cards. It was certainly a ruddy way to get answers – then again, he’d long since found another, more simple way to uncover the truth. Though, something told the young Gryffindor that the method in question would in no way work on the other boy – the young Gryffindor had long ago learned how to sniff out a lie. He knew better than to think that the boy way trying to pull a fast n on him.
No, he would have to use more diplomatic methods if he hoped for a straight answer. His face now wore a wry look, a bright sort of smile covering the expanses of his face like a flashlight, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head in confusion. The smile didn’t meet his eyes, instead his pupils containing a look of incredulity towards the Slytherin. "Um, yeah, that’s… great,” he said aloud, his voice full of an almost mocking indifference. His eyes met the other boy’s, maintaining contact like a true fighter would. “Who are you, again?" [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]"No. I mostly do it for amusement, though sometimes it's just instinctual..."
There was something off about the Slytherin boy, something that Rafael couldn’t exactly put his finger on. Perhaps it was his slitted pupils, his dark complexion, the way he seemed perfectly comfortable among the shadows, the whole look giving him an unsettling air, leaving the young Gryffindor’s intuition fighting for a say. Or, it quite possibly could have all been in his head, his wild imagination brewing up bizarre obscenities once again, due to lack of sleep, the time of night, or the adrenaline still lingering in his veins, spurring his heart on. There was just something about the whole scenario that left the boy a little breathless in anticipation, a feeling of dread creeping down his neck like a spider, sending chills down his spine. His gut was trying to tell him something, he could hear it. The Slytherin was danger, trouble if he’d ever seen it. Raf should have been leaving by now, walking away from the boy’s unsettling nature and strangely sadistic words…
Though, for some strange reason, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away just yet. He suspected his curiosity had something to do with it, burning within his being, a dangerous and ferocious energy that almost always ended in trouble. He was interested, puzzled by the boy in a purely vigorous sort of way, his mind already cooking up scenarios in which the boy could have possibly have held the grounds to say the words he did. His lip unconsciously tucked themselves between his teeth, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if scrutinizing the Slytherin with careful eyes. He knew better than just to speak out, show his cards. It was certainly a ruddy way to get answers – then again, he’d long since found another, more simple way to uncover the truth. Though, something told the young Gryffindor that the method in question would in no way work on the other boy – the young Gryffindor had long ago learned how to sniff out a lie. He knew better than to think that the boy way trying to pull a fast n on him.
No, he would have to use more diplomatic methods if he hoped for a straight answer. His face now wore a wry look, a bright sort of smile covering the expanses of his face like a flashlight, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head in confusion. The smile didn’t meet his eyes, instead his pupils containing a look of incredulity towards the Slytherin. "Um, yeah, that’s… great,” he said aloud, his voice full of an almost mocking indifference. His eyes met the other boy’s, maintaining contact like a true fighter would. “Who are you, again?" [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
24 Feb 2020, 16:24
The Snake and the Lion
@Rafael D'Spacito
___ ___ ___
Selim watched the large gryffindor study him, as if trying to puzzle him out. It was mildly amusing to see him try to, but he knew well enough that even the most unlikely of people could, quite possibly, surprise him.
So he kept his pride in check, the trait beat into him by his parents and proven when he was placed in Slytherin. Instead, he kept a wary air about him, scrutinizing the future words of the Gryffindor much more then he would've, had the Lion not shown how dangerous he can be. How could he not be dangerous? The boy had seemed to radiate dangerous waves of energy, something he had only experienced from his father when he got upset.
He remembered the cold fire he had seen in the Clan Head's eyes, the killing intent rolling off him in waves after Selim had stepped out of line and spoken against him. Those eyes...
A shiver ran down his spine.
His attention focused back on the boy in front of him when he spoke once more.
"Um, yeah, that’s… great,” The Gryffindor spoke, his tone full of apathy that could have been taken has mocking, if Selim had cared about such things. “Who are you, again?"
He blinked at the burly boy's words, a small, apologetic smile curling up his features. "Ah, yes, terribly sorry for not introducing myself sooner." His head tilted down in a nod of greeting, deciding it best not to shake hands with the Lion. "My name is Selim Faust, pleasure to meet you." His tone was polite as he spoke. He didn't bother asking for the other boy's name in return, knowing that his family's culture was more picky about such things then the English.
Selim straightened, staring steadily into the boy's eyes, his own not showing a hint of any emotion except the chill of civility, and the slightest glint of curiosity.
"I would ask why you're out so late, but going by my last attempt, you don't seem like one who enjoys idle chatter... unless I've misinterpreted you're lack of response." His head tilted slightly to the side voice cool, holding no emotion except passive amusement.
It seemed the Gryffindor had regained his wits. It was hard to interpret what he was feeling due to the darkness of the room around them, but Selim only assumed he had become more guarded then before. The Lion hadn't responded much to anything he'd said previously. His words were sparse, and unforthcoming, admittedly, a good tactic against people like him, who use words and careless speaking as a way to dig into the cracks of others' thinking.
He supposed he'd have to ask more calculated questions if he wanted to figure this boy out.
Well, it wouldn't be much of a loss if he failed, it's not like he cared much about the Gryffindor across from him.
___ ___ ___
Selim watched the large gryffindor study him, as if trying to puzzle him out. It was mildly amusing to see him try to, but he knew well enough that even the most unlikely of people could, quite possibly, surprise him.
So he kept his pride in check, the trait beat into him by his parents and proven when he was placed in Slytherin. Instead, he kept a wary air about him, scrutinizing the future words of the Gryffindor much more then he would've, had the Lion not shown how dangerous he can be. How could he not be dangerous? The boy had seemed to radiate dangerous waves of energy, something he had only experienced from his father when he got upset.
He remembered the cold fire he had seen in the Clan Head's eyes, the killing intent rolling off him in waves after Selim had stepped out of line and spoken against him. Those eyes...
A shiver ran down his spine.
His attention focused back on the boy in front of him when he spoke once more.
"Um, yeah, that’s… great,” The Gryffindor spoke, his tone full of apathy that could have been taken has mocking, if Selim had cared about such things. “Who are you, again?"
He blinked at the burly boy's words, a small, apologetic smile curling up his features. "Ah, yes, terribly sorry for not introducing myself sooner." His head tilted down in a nod of greeting, deciding it best not to shake hands with the Lion. "My name is Selim Faust, pleasure to meet you." His tone was polite as he spoke. He didn't bother asking for the other boy's name in return, knowing that his family's culture was more picky about such things then the English.
Selim straightened, staring steadily into the boy's eyes, his own not showing a hint of any emotion except the chill of civility, and the slightest glint of curiosity.
"I would ask why you're out so late, but going by my last attempt, you don't seem like one who enjoys idle chatter... unless I've misinterpreted you're lack of response." His head tilted slightly to the side voice cool, holding no emotion except passive amusement.
It seemed the Gryffindor had regained his wits. It was hard to interpret what he was feeling due to the darkness of the room around them, but Selim only assumed he had become more guarded then before. The Lion hadn't responded much to anything he'd said previously. His words were sparse, and unforthcoming, admittedly, a good tactic against people like him, who use words and careless speaking as a way to dig into the cracks of others' thinking.
He supposed he'd have to ask more calculated questions if he wanted to figure this boy out.
Well, it wouldn't be much of a loss if he failed, it's not like he cared much about the Gryffindor across from him.
"False Face must Hide what the Heart Doth Know." -Macbeth
S.F
3 Mar 2020, 16:23
The Snake and the Lion
@Selim Faust
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael found the situation rather funny, he would have to admit, because strangely enough, the look that graced the snake’s features after his not-so-subtle prod was starkly contradictory to what he had expected – instead of anger, or fear, or even aggravation towards such a prickly reaction, the mysterious boy had opted for an almost remorseful look, as if he were the one in the wrong. Which contritely frustrated Raf, in a way that would be difficult to explain by any means – why wouldn’t the guy just get angry, already? The boy’s curiosity was getting the better of him once again, pushing him to find the truth about the Slytherin boy. Though, deep down, he knew better than to expect such a reaction from someone who had obviously demonstrated a great deal of level-headedness. If not when I attempted my attack, why would he attack me now? A bigger mystery, an inquiry he would be forced to solve.
"Ah, yes, terribly sorry for not introducing myself sooner,” the Slytherin chided, nodding in the direction of the Thunderbird. "My name is Selim Faust, pleasure to meet you."
It was hard to keep a straight face in the midst of such an obviously tense situation. But Rafael would nonetheless put his best foot forward, plastering a gentle grin on his face. “Yeah, whatever,” the boy responded, his voice still carrying an unconcerned edge, his hands tucking into the pockets of his robes. “I’m Rafael. Rafa.” There was something awkward about the way his words sounded – he suspected it had everything to do with the Slytherin’s graciously detailed introduction, shadowing his measly own. Though, he tried to pay no mind to that small fact at the moment, as his attention had been raptly taken by the Slytherin’s – Selim’s – gaze, cool and unsettling, slitted pupils staring into his own. A show of manliness, surely – but two could play at that game. Rafael found that his gaze grew ever-sharper, his eyes easily maintaining eye-contact with the boy opposite to him. Kindly enough to not come across hostile, while sharp enough to maintain a fearless face. An act, skillfully so, perhaps even enough to fool the sharp Slytherin boy.
"I would ask why you're out so late, but going by my last attempt, you don't seem like one who enjoys idle chatter... unless I've misinterpreted you're lack of response."
At the Slytherin’s words, the Gryffindor boy scoffed, a sharp smile spreading across his features. “Forgive my lack of response,” he answered smoothly, his smile only growing brighter. “I was up looking for something or other. Answers, if you will.” He lifted is chin up, regarding the Slytherin with a strong sort of disregard. Condescension, but purposefully so – a test, to see how the boy would react. “What’s your cause, then?” he prodded. Then, with a superficially playful tone, “Or, do you enjoy jumping people in the dead of night?” [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael found the situation rather funny, he would have to admit, because strangely enough, the look that graced the snake’s features after his not-so-subtle prod was starkly contradictory to what he had expected – instead of anger, or fear, or even aggravation towards such a prickly reaction, the mysterious boy had opted for an almost remorseful look, as if he were the one in the wrong. Which contritely frustrated Raf, in a way that would be difficult to explain by any means – why wouldn’t the guy just get angry, already? The boy’s curiosity was getting the better of him once again, pushing him to find the truth about the Slytherin boy. Though, deep down, he knew better than to expect such a reaction from someone who had obviously demonstrated a great deal of level-headedness. If not when I attempted my attack, why would he attack me now? A bigger mystery, an inquiry he would be forced to solve.
"Ah, yes, terribly sorry for not introducing myself sooner,” the Slytherin chided, nodding in the direction of the Thunderbird. "My name is Selim Faust, pleasure to meet you."
It was hard to keep a straight face in the midst of such an obviously tense situation. But Rafael would nonetheless put his best foot forward, plastering a gentle grin on his face. “Yeah, whatever,” the boy responded, his voice still carrying an unconcerned edge, his hands tucking into the pockets of his robes. “I’m Rafael. Rafa.” There was something awkward about the way his words sounded – he suspected it had everything to do with the Slytherin’s graciously detailed introduction, shadowing his measly own. Though, he tried to pay no mind to that small fact at the moment, as his attention had been raptly taken by the Slytherin’s – Selim’s – gaze, cool and unsettling, slitted pupils staring into his own. A show of manliness, surely – but two could play at that game. Rafael found that his gaze grew ever-sharper, his eyes easily maintaining eye-contact with the boy opposite to him. Kindly enough to not come across hostile, while sharp enough to maintain a fearless face. An act, skillfully so, perhaps even enough to fool the sharp Slytherin boy.
"I would ask why you're out so late, but going by my last attempt, you don't seem like one who enjoys idle chatter... unless I've misinterpreted you're lack of response."
At the Slytherin’s words, the Gryffindor boy scoffed, a sharp smile spreading across his features. “Forgive my lack of response,” he answered smoothly, his smile only growing brighter. “I was up looking for something or other. Answers, if you will.” He lifted is chin up, regarding the Slytherin with a strong sort of disregard. Condescension, but purposefully so – a test, to see how the boy would react. “What’s your cause, then?” he prodded. Then, with a superficially playful tone, “Or, do you enjoy jumping people in the dead of night?” [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
10 Mar 2020, 01:29
The Snake and the Lion
@Rafael D'Spacito
___ ___ ___
Selim smiled politely as he learned the large Gryffindor's name. His introduction was not flamboyant or stiff, admittedly a bit refreshing after growing up among people who always acted so stiflingly civil with him. False faces, false smiles, false emotions. That's all he knew, and he mirrored such things that surrounded him in his 'childhood'. A replica, but marred by scars.
A coolness filled him as these thoughts came and his facade became the slightest bit colder in response.
He saw as the boy in front of him met his eyes, not hostile, but not meek. Inwardly, he scoffed, such a show of fearlessness reminded him of nothing more then a peacock flaring it's tail feathers in competition. Delusions of having to prove one's self to another.
The idea left a sour taste in his mouth as the familiarity of such an action to his own show he has to put on back at the compound. He knew from experience that proving yourself to someone left nothing in return but hollow hopes, and fruitless rewards. Empty, meaningless... but for Selim it was necessary, pounded into him until he knew nothing more then to try and show himself to be a competent heir.
Pathetic.
None of these thoughts showed on his face, and he listened to the Gryffindor's response to his observation with nothing more than a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Forgive my lack of response,” the Gryffindor answered in a level tone, though his grin seemed to grow. “I was up looking for something or other. Answers, if you will.” The Peacock lifted his chin up in obvious condensation. Selim's reaction went nothing beyond a small smirk with a glint of amusement shining in his amber eyes.
He couldn't help but think of a kitten trying to bare it's claws and act tough.
Of course, he knew that this burly lion could probably do some serious damage if he had the chance, but honestly, after dealing with what he had in his life, and sparring his own father, he didn't think this boy could really measure up to his usual sparring partners.
And there was nothing the Peacock had done to earn any respect from him beyond the usual civilities.
The boy went on, prodding, hiding it behind his smile that seemed the slightest bit strained.“What’s your cause, then?” he spoke with a superficially playful tone, “Or, do you enjoy jumping people in the dead of night?”
Selim cocked his head to the side, smirk fading to a smile, feigning sheepishness with skill born from years of refining his masks. "Ahh... that." He rubbed the back of his head, casting his eyes to the side. "I may have fallen asleep during one of the breaks and slept right past curfew" His smile eased, and he straightened back to his casual posture. "I don't get much sleep, if any, so I often fall asleep during the day unaware." Casting his gaze around, his expression shifted into a frown, "I was trying to find my way back to the dungeons to the Slytherin common room, but those damn staircases kept turning me around... bothersome school."
Really, did they have to make the architecture of this annoying castle so hard to navigate? What were they trying to do, get their students lost so they could kidnap them or something?
...Ok so maybe that was a bit of an over-exaggeration to most, but Selim saw danger everywhere, constantly... he was just good at hiding his paranoia.
His gaze shifted back to the Peacock, a glint of intrigue shining in them, "So you're looking for answers... in the trophy room?"
He looked at the trophies nearby, eyes catching sight of the name 'Harry Potter'. His gaze darkened a bit with negative feelings he didn't actually have towards the name. "I don't think looking for answers here would help much, seeing as how some of these trophies now belong to convicted criminals."
The irony of that statement amused him in a morbid way. Images of screaming children and red blood flashed over his vision, falsely seen in his reflection in the glass. A shiver ran down his spine, echos of the horror he felt during that day sending a chill through his bones.
He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
Honestly, who was he to say such things when his family has murdered?
Eyes shifting away, he looked into the shadows that seemed to shift with phantoms of his past. His urge to return to his dorm grew past his curiosity towards this peacock... even though he knew that those phantoms wouldn't leave him even there.
They never left him. His past was a constant, unwanted companion that loomed over his shoulder.
___ ___ ___
Selim smiled politely as he learned the large Gryffindor's name. His introduction was not flamboyant or stiff, admittedly a bit refreshing after growing up among people who always acted so stiflingly civil with him. False faces, false smiles, false emotions. That's all he knew, and he mirrored such things that surrounded him in his 'childhood'. A replica, but marred by scars.
A coolness filled him as these thoughts came and his facade became the slightest bit colder in response.
He saw as the boy in front of him met his eyes, not hostile, but not meek. Inwardly, he scoffed, such a show of fearlessness reminded him of nothing more then a peacock flaring it's tail feathers in competition. Delusions of having to prove one's self to another.
The idea left a sour taste in his mouth as the familiarity of such an action to his own show he has to put on back at the compound. He knew from experience that proving yourself to someone left nothing in return but hollow hopes, and fruitless rewards. Empty, meaningless... but for Selim it was necessary, pounded into him until he knew nothing more then to try and show himself to be a competent heir.
Pathetic.
None of these thoughts showed on his face, and he listened to the Gryffindor's response to his observation with nothing more than a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Forgive my lack of response,” the Gryffindor answered in a level tone, though his grin seemed to grow. “I was up looking for something or other. Answers, if you will.” The Peacock lifted his chin up in obvious condensation. Selim's reaction went nothing beyond a small smirk with a glint of amusement shining in his amber eyes.
He couldn't help but think of a kitten trying to bare it's claws and act tough.
Of course, he knew that this burly lion could probably do some serious damage if he had the chance, but honestly, after dealing with what he had in his life, and sparring his own father, he didn't think this boy could really measure up to his usual sparring partners.
And there was nothing the Peacock had done to earn any respect from him beyond the usual civilities.
The boy went on, prodding, hiding it behind his smile that seemed the slightest bit strained.“What’s your cause, then?” he spoke with a superficially playful tone, “Or, do you enjoy jumping people in the dead of night?”
Selim cocked his head to the side, smirk fading to a smile, feigning sheepishness with skill born from years of refining his masks. "Ahh... that." He rubbed the back of his head, casting his eyes to the side. "I may have fallen asleep during one of the breaks and slept right past curfew" His smile eased, and he straightened back to his casual posture. "I don't get much sleep, if any, so I often fall asleep during the day unaware." Casting his gaze around, his expression shifted into a frown, "I was trying to find my way back to the dungeons to the Slytherin common room, but those damn staircases kept turning me around... bothersome school."
Really, did they have to make the architecture of this annoying castle so hard to navigate? What were they trying to do, get their students lost so they could kidnap them or something?
...Ok so maybe that was a bit of an over-exaggeration to most, but Selim saw danger everywhere, constantly... he was just good at hiding his paranoia.
His gaze shifted back to the Peacock, a glint of intrigue shining in them, "So you're looking for answers... in the trophy room?"
He looked at the trophies nearby, eyes catching sight of the name 'Harry Potter'. His gaze darkened a bit with negative feelings he didn't actually have towards the name. "I don't think looking for answers here would help much, seeing as how some of these trophies now belong to convicted criminals."
The irony of that statement amused him in a morbid way. Images of screaming children and red blood flashed over his vision, falsely seen in his reflection in the glass. A shiver ran down his spine, echos of the horror he felt during that day sending a chill through his bones.
He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
Honestly, who was he to say such things when his family has murdered?
Eyes shifting away, he looked into the shadows that seemed to shift with phantoms of his past. His urge to return to his dorm grew past his curiosity towards this peacock... even though he knew that those phantoms wouldn't leave him even there.
They never left him. His past was a constant, unwanted companion that loomed over his shoulder.
"False Face must Hide what the Heart Doth Know." -Macbeth
S.F
29 Apr 2020, 21:54
The Snake and the Lion
╔══════════════☩══♛══☩══════════════╗Interacting With: @Selim Faust
Mentioning: N/A╚═══════════════☩══✦══☩══════════════╝
[font=Segoe Print][font=Segoe Print]"I may have fallen asleep during one of the breaks and slept right past curfew."
At the very indication of such an absurd concept, a snicker escaped the lips of the Gryffindor boy, his eyebrow raising in disbelief as he considered the words of the snake child across from him. And here he was, assuming that the child across from him held some semblance of competence. A shame that his brilliance was only feigned through carefully-placed words and a unsettling exterior. The boy cocked his head, a bright grin snaking its was onto his face, a glint of mischief alight in his eye as he contemplated the situation at hand, the extent of the boy’s words, his power over the events playing out before their collective eyes. Was it that such disturbing truths were feigned? Was he truly as well-versed in fighting as he made himself out to be? Would the Gryffindor ever know?
However, such thoughts would be shortly interrupted by the boy’s next words. "So you're looking for answers... in the trophy room?"
There was something about the way that the Slytherin spoke, a slightly criticizing edge to the boy’s tone, that set the Gryffindor child’s irritability levels soaring, spiders crawling up his spine and nagging at something in the back of his subconscious. Such prods would not be tolerated – the young Captain’s temper flared, his nostrils flaring and gaze sharpening as his voice resounded in the air, pointed and unforgiving. “Yes,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing in irritability as a sneer manifested itself across his features. “Why, snake, is that a problem?” He shrugged, the words rolling off his tongue. “At least I’m looking for answers. What do you know about anything? What’s going on in this bloody school?”
“At least I’m not pathetic enough to sleep past curfew,” he continued sharply. “Couldn’t sleep, huh? Having nightmares? Mommy’s not here to tuck you in? Bloody wake up. Nightmares are for pussies.” He swallowed absently, his gaze wavering in the very slightest, a tic that would be hard to discern unless the boy across from him had keen eyes. His own nightmares were justified, goddammit. What could the other boy possibly have plaguing his mind, really? Was he scared of his own shadow? The dark? Mean kids at school? Wow, this kid just sent his aggravation levels soaring. The sooner his acquaintance was dealt with, the better. He had better things to do, than banter with some pathetic wannabe Gryffindor.
He would make quick work to address the boy’s last comment, before leaving him to his own devices. “They’re not criminals,” he countered snarkily, eyes flickering back to the trophies with an air of disdain. “Anyone with two eyes and a brain could tell that much. Of course, you wouldn’t know what that’s like, I assume. What’s incompetence like? Hiding behind house colors and an ugly face to scare off your enemies?” He jutted his chin towards a Slytherin, an evil grin appearing on his features. “Life must suck for you. Not that I can really sympathize.”
With that, he would turn, pulling the hood of his robes over his head and shoving his hood in his pocket. He needed sleep, goddammit, he had classes tomorrow! “It was a pleasure meeting you, snake,” he growled, the words sounding more like an insult than any compliment. It was then that he would exit the scene, leaving the boy to his own devices. [/font]
[/font][font=Segoe Print]Rafael leaves the thread, unless stopped.
[/font]OOC • If you don't want it to end like this, feel free to tackle my child and punish him to your heart's desire.
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.