7 Jan 2021, 07:14
Boiling Point
Backdated: 10/13/2020
Mikael walked into the Hogwarts library with ease. The size of the room held a sort of grandeur that only a mountain could compare to. He didn't usually like anything related to Hogwarts, but he had to say he did like their library. Mikael was used to spending his childhood in the library learning whatever useful, and useless, thing his parents threw at him. The boy had become accustomed to the smell of dust and old books. In a way, it had become comforting and even relaxing. Maybe that's why he had asked Niffler to accompany him. Studying alone could be quite lonely, and he put little weight in the idea that Yefim would willingly sit still for an hour or two. That left only Niffler. When he thought about it, he didn't really have many 'friends'.
The boy led the way towards the back of the library wanting to be far away from prying ears and eyes. Mikael quickly chose an empty table illuminated by a nearby window. "We shouldn't be here for that long." he stated. Mikael would rather not waste the entire day away. The boy placed his bag down onto the ground before kicking it underneath the chair he claimed for himself. Mikael would glance towards Niffler briefly before walking away with a purpose. The boy scanned row after row of books before finding the title he had wanted. He quickly gripped the large brown book before making his way back to the table. Mikael took his seat before he placed the book on the table. Opening up the cover revealed the title of the book. 'Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed' Mikael instantly dove into his work though he found his mind wanted to focus on other things. Mainly that of his growing problem with Yefim and Niffler. Mikael's brows furrowed as he thought about how close the two had become in such a short amount of time. He didn't understand his motives for wanting to get close to Yefim. Jealousy pulled in his gut as he snuck a glance at the white-haired boy who sat close by.
Russian (Default) | Norwegian | EnglishMentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood [Valentin "Der Niffler" Schnell],
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood [Yefim Rumyantsev]
Last edited by Percival Rainwood on 26 Jan 2021, 01:23, edited 1 time in total.
PC: Percival Rainwood
10 Jan 2021, 05:41
Boiling Point
Valentin followed Mikael into the library and caught the boy giving a backwards glance at him before going to scan the racks for a book of choice. Valentin wasn’t quite sure what Mikael thought of him, especially since they usually interacted while in the presence of Yefim who had… strong influences on situations. Yet, the fact Mik had invited him to accompany him to the library implied there was still some connection between them despite Mik having quit the quidditch team. Valentin liked this, even if it just meant quietly sitting in the library. Niffler didn’t like to be alone.
After the team had fallen apart Valentin hadn’t had much motivation to study, so it was for the best that he was now being encouraged to study with Mik. Yet, there was something slightly perplexing about having been asked to come, though Valentin brushed off any such impressions as another result of the awkward dissolution of the team. While Valentin had recently grown closer to Yefim, he still regarded anyone from the old team as his personal treasures, so any time with his former team mates was good time… even if it hurt.
Taking Mikael’s cue, Valentin scanned the rows of books for some literature he hoped would get him in the mood for more serious study. In no time Valentin began thumbing through a copy of Flying with the Cannons in the aisle until deciding to commit to reading more. Sitting down across from Mik, Valentin flashed a weak smile. The pale boy knew that studying quidditch more now was not about to put the team back together. Yet, it was the only thing he could stand to do that made him feel slightly less than completely useless.
After rapidly clearing through the first chapter, Valentin felt a pang of nostalgia and put the book facedown (but still open) on the table to not lose his spot. Surely the spine of the book could take it. Valentin’s silvery purple eyes looked up at Mik and then glanced away, trying to not appear like he was staring at him. It wouldn’t do to watch the other boy since that wasn’t about to give some mystical clue as to how to pull the team back together, nor would it make the other boy better persist in Valentin’s life. Staring off into the far corner of the library, Valentin sighed as he wished that Yefim was here to play with.
Interacting: @Percival Rainwood
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood
7 Feb 2021, 07:36
Boiling Point
Mikael soon became aware of the sound of pages being turned stop from Valentin. He finished the sentence he was currently on before bookmarking the page he was on. Mikael then glanced back up towards the boy across from to see that he indeed had stopped reading. The book was now face-first ontop of the wooden table between them. Mikael closed the book with a little more force than necessary. Causing a resounding clap as the two covers smacked closed. The noise echoed in the small area they resided in, and he wondered if an angry librarian had heard. He didn't exactly care who heard. It wasn't like he actually went to this school, and it wasn't like he actually cared about the annoying rules libraries had.Backdated: 10/13/2020
He didn't know exactly what to say to the boy in front of him. Jealousy made him want to snap at the other. To take out his slowly boiling feelings on the helpless boy. Mikael drummed the top of his kneecap with his fingers. It helped center him and keep him from boiling over like a pot of hot water. Mikael's face remained stoic as always as he debated on what to say to the other. "You and Yefim seem to be becoming close." he said simply. The boy picked at the spine of the book in his hand as he waited for the boy to reply.
Russian (Default) | Norwegian | EnglishMentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood [Valentin "Der Niffler" Schnell],
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood [Yefim Rumyantsev]
PC: Percival Rainwood
7 Feb 2021, 09:10
Boiling Point
Valentin turned his head at the clap of Mik’s book snapping shut. Still, Mik looked as stoic as ever, or at least he did until he began his characteristic finger drumming. What was he thinking about, the hex book? Perhaps he didn’t like that Valentin had stopped reading and Mik was silently encouraging him to do some real studying? There was no way for Valentin to know, really; Mik had an excellent poker face, intentionally or not. The thin white niffler struggled to summon some cheer inside himself, hoping he might bring a little enjoyment to Mik.
«Если бы здесь был Ефим, как ты думаешь, он мог бы читать книгу больше 5 минут, не создавая для нас никаких проблем?» ("If Yefim were here, do you think he could read a book for more than 5 minutes without finding some trouble for us to get into?") whispered Valentin with more than a little despair lining his silvery tone. «Я бы хотел, чтобы он был здесь». ("I wish he were here.")
Valentin looked down at the book on the table and sighed. The usually spritely niffler looked like a sinking dirigible, like the air inside him was slowly draining away. The world Valentin’s life revolved around seemed permanently shattered and now all he had left was was watching the pieces drift off slowly into space. With each passing day it seemed Durmstrang's former quidditch teammates were moving on more and more, putting away that old life that Valentin still treasured above all. At this rate Valentin would never see Greta again, despite all the blood, sweat, and tears they had spilled together on the quidditch pitch. The worst would be losing Yefim and Mik. Soon they would grow up, probably find spouses and maybe have kids, and then any talk of quidditch would probably become some frivolity used to fill awkward silences in conversation. It was terrifying: forgetting how quidditch embodied the most essential values a person could strive for... forgetting the importance of friends... forgetting the fun and the thrill of life. With Valentin's friends moving on, everyone he had sped and bled for would disappear beyond the horizon, get jobs, and finally all of those childhood days would appear petty compared to the demands of adult responsibility. If this was growing up, it certainly felt like a slow death.
«Скажите, ты помнишь то время, когда Ефим ...» ("Say, do you remember when Yefim…") began Valentin, reminiscing.
«Если бы здесь был Ефим, как ты думаешь, он мог бы читать книгу больше 5 минут, не создавая для нас никаких проблем?» ("If Yefim were here, do you think he could read a book for more than 5 minutes without finding some trouble for us to get into?") whispered Valentin with more than a little despair lining his silvery tone. «Я бы хотел, чтобы он был здесь». ("I wish he were here.")
Valentin looked down at the book on the table and sighed. The usually spritely niffler looked like a sinking dirigible, like the air inside him was slowly draining away. The world Valentin’s life revolved around seemed permanently shattered and now all he had left was was watching the pieces drift off slowly into space. With each passing day it seemed Durmstrang's former quidditch teammates were moving on more and more, putting away that old life that Valentin still treasured above all. At this rate Valentin would never see Greta again, despite all the blood, sweat, and tears they had spilled together on the quidditch pitch. The worst would be losing Yefim and Mik. Soon they would grow up, probably find spouses and maybe have kids, and then any talk of quidditch would probably become some frivolity used to fill awkward silences in conversation. It was terrifying: forgetting how quidditch embodied the most essential values a person could strive for... forgetting the importance of friends... forgetting the fun and the thrill of life. With Valentin's friends moving on, everyone he had sped and bled for would disappear beyond the horizon, get jobs, and finally all of those childhood days would appear petty compared to the demands of adult responsibility. If this was growing up, it certainly felt like a slow death.
«Скажите, ты помнишь то время, когда Ефим ...» ("Say, do you remember when Yefim…") began Valentin, reminiscing.
Interacting: @Percival Rainwood
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood @Evelynn Decipio
15 Mar 2021, 04:01
Boiling Point
Mikael frowned as Valentin made it clear that he missed their other friend. The other boy spoke with a far-off tone. Sounding so distant, as if he was trapped in remembering the past presence of Yefim. The other spoke as if Yefim was a god reincarnated. In the deepest and darkest recesses of his mind, he would agree. Yefim was above the mortal fools who made up the halls of this drasted building. He wouldn't be surprised if Yefim was even above himself. Not that he minded. He wouldn't mind breathing in every breath of Yefim's as if he spoke scripture. Words that he did not want to share with the white-haired boy in front of him. Though, these were thoughts for another time.
He glanced towards the boy as he watched the other was fawning over Yefim. Could the other boy truly not spend a second without the other? They had only been away from Yefim for a few short hours. Was the other so lost without Yefim there to guide him? In a way, he could understand. Even now he wondered how Yefim would handle this situation. The other boy had a knack at pulling the three of them together. He had a knack for leading, something that Mikael was sure he would never be able to emulate. Mikael could not help but wonder if joining him in the Library was a chore for the other boy. Was being in his presence so horrible? It was entirely possible the other only said yes to get him off his back. Had the other felt obligated. The thought soured his tongue, and his eyebrows furrowed together.
Unable to deal with the boy going off into a tangent again, he decided to shut the other up."Would you just SHUT UP!" he snarled. Standing up he would throw the book down onto the wooden table. A resounding slam echoing in the quiet Library. Narrowing his eyes at the other his eyes dark and furious. "Stop talking about him as if you understand him. I'm the only one who will ever understand him! He's my friend, not yours. Why did I think this would work? When he's nothing more than the ant under my boots." he would sneer. Mikael would round the table glaring at the boy as he did so. His face would grow blank despite the fire deep within his eyes.
Russian (Default) | Norwegian | EnglishMentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood [Valentin "Der Niffler" Schnell],
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood [Yefim Rumyantsev]
PC: Percival Rainwood
3 Apr 2021, 04:14
Boiling Point
"Stop talking about him as if you understand him. I'm the only one who will ever understand him! He's my friend, not yours," snarled Mikael, followed by sneering into a line of Norwegian that Valentin couldn’t begin to fathom. Mik had excluded Valentin from knowing his full range of thoughts with this choice of language, and nothing hurt Valentin like being excluded by a friend. Mikael’s eyes burned in dark fury as his reverberating slam drew the eyes of others in the library. A white-haired witch in the corner began to openly stare at them.
The clap of the book on the desk struck like a lightning bolt in Valentin’s chest. Mikael could often be hard to read, but now it was crystal clear: pain writhed beneath the boy’s normally cool exterior. With Valentin’s friends forever at the center of his universe, now shattered, the pale boy succumbed to the wave of Mik’s outburst. Valentin curled in on himself slightly, clutching his own wiry arm with long white fingers. Was it really the breakup of the team that was causing Mik’s pain, or was it that Valentin had done him wrong? Valentin rolled his neck and he stared up at the ceiling with his violet-silver eyes. Based on Mik’s words, it was Valentin’s fault... and Valentin had to believe what Mik was saying. Mik was his friend, right?
«Только твой друг, а не мой?» (“Not my friend, only yours?") said the white seeker quietly. Mikael was treating him as if he were a thief. Niffler was a thief if there ever was one, but... he never kept anything for himself. Stealing was always just a game, a way of showing his affections. He always returned what he stole. He always shared his own things as if they were already his friends' property, too, even important things like the Silver Arrow... but now someone was demanding the return of a friend, not some shiny McGuffin. This was clearly not a game to Mik, but how was it possible to steal a person?
Valentin's fingernails dug into his arm, scratching painfully on the way down his bicep. Mik and Yef were the last shards of his broken treasure, and now he was being asked by a friend. to... what... give up Yefim? Mik was always invited whenever Valentin was with Yefim, but was Valentin somehow depriving him of Yefim? Mik's gaze scorched Valentin like lava: there must be some truth to his words. Yet, Yef and Mik were the last threads tying Valentin to the planet, and to go on without the uncontrollable sunburst that was Yefim would be like releasing a balloon into the sky to never be recovered again. The very suggestion reeked of death, but his second-best friend's eyes were asking him to stop the pain. Valentin would do anything for his friends, but this...
«Что по этому поводу думает Ефим? Ты учли его чувства? Чего он хочет? Я отдам его тебе, если того пожелает Ефим. Я все отдам своим друзьям, но я не могу украсть себя у Ефима.» ("What does Yefim think about this? Have you considered Yefim's feelings, what he wants? I will give my everything to my friends, but I cannot steal myself from Yefim.") Valentin's mouth contorted in a grimace and he picked up the quidditch book from the table to point it at Yefim. Valentin's long arm shook visibly. He had watched his Durmstrang team crumble after his failure at the summer match, and if he failed now it would only reaffirm Valentin's unworthiness and the futility of trying to keep the team together. Then Valentin's center of gravity would be truly gone and the rules of the universe forever broken.
«Если Ефим хочет, чтобы мы поругались из-за него, пусть будет так, но не думайте, что ты можешь накопить его из корыстных соображений. Я также не буду скрывать его от тебя. Мы должны делать то, что лучше всего для нашего друга.» ("If Yefim wants us to duel over him, then so be it, but don't think you can hoard him for selfish reasons. I will also not hide him away from you. We must do what is best for our friend.") Valentin had seen it before, the way lesser teams would fail due to the selfish actions of a single person... and in the end no one on those teams was happy. Durmstrang had lost its captains along with most of its members, but someone had to speak for the group's happiness. Only then could any of them be truly happy... so long as they were actually a team...
As the shaking in Valentin's arm worsened the book slipped from his fingers and fell to floor. The book's yellowed pages bent at sharp angles while the spine of the book split long down a ripped-open crack. Were they still a team... somehow? What even was Valentin to them? An overeager tag-along? A toy to be left to the fading memories of childhood? A failure?
Was Valentin anything anymore?
The clap of the book on the desk struck like a lightning bolt in Valentin’s chest. Mikael could often be hard to read, but now it was crystal clear: pain writhed beneath the boy’s normally cool exterior. With Valentin’s friends forever at the center of his universe, now shattered, the pale boy succumbed to the wave of Mik’s outburst. Valentin curled in on himself slightly, clutching his own wiry arm with long white fingers. Was it really the breakup of the team that was causing Mik’s pain, or was it that Valentin had done him wrong? Valentin rolled his neck and he stared up at the ceiling with his violet-silver eyes. Based on Mik’s words, it was Valentin’s fault... and Valentin had to believe what Mik was saying. Mik was his friend, right?
«Только твой друг, а не мой?» (“Not my friend, only yours?") said the white seeker quietly. Mikael was treating him as if he were a thief. Niffler was a thief if there ever was one, but... he never kept anything for himself. Stealing was always just a game, a way of showing his affections. He always returned what he stole. He always shared his own things as if they were already his friends' property, too, even important things like the Silver Arrow... but now someone was demanding the return of a friend, not some shiny McGuffin. This was clearly not a game to Mik, but how was it possible to steal a person?
Valentin's fingernails dug into his arm, scratching painfully on the way down his bicep. Mik and Yef were the last shards of his broken treasure, and now he was being asked by a friend. to... what... give up Yefim? Mik was always invited whenever Valentin was with Yefim, but was Valentin somehow depriving him of Yefim? Mik's gaze scorched Valentin like lava: there must be some truth to his words. Yet, Yef and Mik were the last threads tying Valentin to the planet, and to go on without the uncontrollable sunburst that was Yefim would be like releasing a balloon into the sky to never be recovered again. The very suggestion reeked of death, but his second-best friend's eyes were asking him to stop the pain. Valentin would do anything for his friends, but this...
«Что по этому поводу думает Ефим? Ты учли его чувства? Чего он хочет? Я отдам его тебе, если того пожелает Ефим. Я все отдам своим друзьям, но я не могу украсть себя у Ефима.» ("What does Yefim think about this? Have you considered Yefim's feelings, what he wants? I will give my everything to my friends, but I cannot steal myself from Yefim.") Valentin's mouth contorted in a grimace and he picked up the quidditch book from the table to point it at Yefim. Valentin's long arm shook visibly. He had watched his Durmstrang team crumble after his failure at the summer match, and if he failed now it would only reaffirm Valentin's unworthiness and the futility of trying to keep the team together. Then Valentin's center of gravity would be truly gone and the rules of the universe forever broken.
«Если Ефим хочет, чтобы мы поругались из-за него, пусть будет так, но не думайте, что ты можешь накопить его из корыстных соображений. Я также не буду скрывать его от тебя. Мы должны делать то, что лучше всего для нашего друга.» ("If Yefim wants us to duel over him, then so be it, but don't think you can hoard him for selfish reasons. I will also not hide him away from you. We must do what is best for our friend.") Valentin had seen it before, the way lesser teams would fail due to the selfish actions of a single person... and in the end no one on those teams was happy. Durmstrang had lost its captains along with most of its members, but someone had to speak for the group's happiness. Only then could any of them be truly happy... so long as they were actually a team...
As the shaking in Valentin's arm worsened the book slipped from his fingers and fell to floor. The book's yellowed pages bent at sharp angles while the spine of the book split long down a ripped-open crack. Were they still a team... somehow? What even was Valentin to them? An overeager tag-along? A toy to be left to the fading memories of childhood? A failure?
Was Valentin anything anymore?
Mentioning @Flash Holmwood
Interacting with @Percival Rainwood
29 Jun 2021, 06:51
Boiling Point
Mikael hardly noticed that his loud actions had caught the attention of a few onlookers. Everything around him seemed to unfocus except for Valentin. He instead was in such sharp focus it felt like his eyes were straining. The proxy for everything wrong in his life. Blaming the weak for the quiet hallways he was forced to go home to was easier than blaming the parents who occupied separate places. The anger that had been boiling had finally spilled over lighting a flame on the bridge between the two. Smoke twisted up in the night sky the strong scent of ash in the air would surely pull a cough from deep within someone's throat. He wondered if the bridge would be able to withstand the flames of Mikael's anger. Though, a part of him had stopped caring a long time ago. Now only calculating curiosity came forth.
The boy's upheaval in his usual stoic expression had slowly simmered down to a dark and quiet mood. It was like someone had sucked every last ounce of emotion out of his body. Leaving only a barely contained disdain for the white-haired boy only a table length away from him. He wondered if he had touched a nerve. The other seemed to shake like a leaf, and he wondered how much effort the other had to put into his words to keep himself from completely breaking apart. Despite his calm expression, he wasn't too sure how to respond to the other asking if Yefim wanted this. He hadn't exactly thought of what the other boy would have wanted from the two of them. In truth, he had hoped he would have been able to simply scare the other away from his Yefim. It wasn't like the other had been friends with Yefim for that long. Why did he feel entitled to Yefim's time? "You act as if you have been friends with him for years. When we both know that is not the case." he spoke his eyes narrowed and his brow creased.
"If you are wanting to duel over him there is no need to hide behind Yefim. he said coldly. The boy tilted his head up ever so slightly exposing his neck. His eyes tilted down to stare daggers at the white-haired boy. I will gladly duel you if only to prove to Yefim that you are not worthy of his time. he said with a dark finality. A part of him wasn't too sure he would be able to win this said fight, but he refused to back down. He wanted to prove, no he needed to prove that he was better and more worthy of having Yefim as his friend. There was nothing more that he could ever want. As it was all he truly had left to care about.
Russian (Default) | Norwegian | EnglishMentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood [Valentin "Der Niffler" Schnell],
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood [Yefim Rumyantsev]
PC: Percival Rainwood
2 Jul 2021, 05:47
Boiling Point
Godmodding here represents actions agreed upon in advance.
“Some would never get their eyes opened if it were not for a violent shock from the consequences of their own actions.”
George Eliot
“I will gladly duel you if only to prove to Yefim that you are not worthy of his time,” said Mikael, tone dark and final.
So it had come down to this. Valentin loved his friends more than life itself, more than quidditch, more than any worldly desire. Yet, the daggers in Mik’s gaze told the white niffler clearly: Mik would not back down and no amount of talking would change their inevitable fate: someone had to win, and someone had to lose.
Valentin’s throat ached, his chest clutching tight to his frantic beating heart. If Valentin did not fight, he would surely lose Mik’s respect forever… and with Mik and Yefim the only things he valued remaining in his life, Valentin had only one path forward. If he won, he might at least keep Yefim. If he lost… it was still better than the disrespect of not fighting in Yefim’s name. How could Valentin keep them both? Was it impossible? If only Valentin had seen that stupid giant coming, had noticed he had no wingman, then they wouldn’t have lost… It was all his fault. Everyone's pain and abandonment was because he couldn’t pay attention, couldn’t see his destruction coming… but here he was now. The only thing left to do was fight for whatever shreds of his old life he could still defend.
«Я согласен» ("I accept"), spat Valentin in pain.
The hawk-eyed albino knew Mikael's movements and temperament well from dedicated observation in quidditch. Combat was imminent.
Valentin was not accustomed to carrying his wand around, but he had brought it just in case he found a book of broom enchantments he hadn't yet read. Yet, the boy's head had been in the clouds: he didn't even have a broom anymore, not after giving it to that girl... who also rejected him. The Silver Arrow that had been inseparable from him… even that was gone. With a laugh, Valentin realized he had been silly to bring the wand at all, but now… it would find another purpose.
As he pointed his wand directly at Mik, Valentin's breath choked up in his chest. He couldn't utter a word but watched as Mik launched his first spell, smokescreen, but dramatically [critfailed and] shot himself with it, presumably by accident. In some amount of shock, Valentin coughed a little and waited. He wanted to fight the enemy, another team, not Mikael, so Valentin hesitated before launching his own expelliarmus.
The other boy's wand went flying far, and as Mik went to search for it Valentin ran at him with his knuckles balled in a crosspunch. Valentin's aim was true, but the skinny boy did not have much muscle: the blow struck the side of Mik's jaw [-50hp] and skidded off.
Valentin knew his punches were weak compared to his magic, but there was just something in him that wanted the physicality of striking his friend. Magic felt too impersonal. The solidity, the connection, of landing his fist on Mik washed through Valentin with a strange reassurance. It felt good to touch a friend when it might be the last chance he ever had to do so.
Mikael quickly found his wand and Valentin spun to face him, just in time to be smacked by a sneezing spell. Wracked by nasal explosions, Valentin understood now that they were going to actually fight here. Valentin had to really try if either of them was going to get any resolution from this violence.
Setting his arm out steadily, Valentin intoned the words incendio duo, but rocked by an errant sneeze his spell shot off in another direction. A bolt of flame rocketed towards the family lineage books section of the library.
There was no time to watch the aftermath of that as Mik barrelled towards him with the intent to take Valya [Valentin's nickname] down to the ground. The rail-thin seeker was likely to be taken down swiftly in a wrestling match against the much brawnier Mik. Yet, Valentin had trained evasion like a madman ever since his takedown last summer. Diving out of the way, Valya rolled into a squat. If this was to be a physical fight, then so be it. It was what Valya really wanted anyway.
The two boys struck at each other and Valentin missed his haymaker as Mik's jab landed solid, knocking the niffler far [-184 hp] against a sharp table corner. With a scream of pain, Valentin fell to his knees. It was then, through the wash of red clouding his vision, time seemed to freeze.
The shrieking of Valentin's nerve endings drew his perceptions into razor focus. Raising his silver-violet eyes up to meet Mik's, Valya's open mouth streamed crimson across his stark white skin. As if in slow motion, the sound of blood hitting the ground echoed in the sudden silence. The scent of iron filled the air.
As Valentin's eyes drew across Mik's jawline and collarbones, the white seeker could not help but find the scene beautiful. Tragic, perhaps, but gripping? Absolutely. Mik was radiant in his need to fight for Yefim. It was then that Valentin knew that if he was to die now, being destroyed by one of his last remaining friends was one of the only deaths that would satisfy him. Если у меня не будет Ефима и не будет Мика, то пусть это кончится вот так, (If I can't have Yefim and can't have Mik, then let it end like this,) decided Valentin.
Я заслуживаю это (I deserve this.)
@Percival Rainwood @Flash Holmwood
This fight is paused to give a librarian the opportunity to detect it.
4 Jul 2021, 15:35
Boiling Point
Mikael’s eyes narrowed as the white-haired boy uttered those two words. He began to wonder who would come out on top of this fight. Such a violent display of anger and hidden anguish. Barely contained behind glowering glares. The boy felt the jagged bumps and grooves of his wand. It had been far too long since he had felt the need to dawn his wand. Especially against what one would consider a previous ally. Mikael brought up his wand quickly to fire a smokescreen spell. If he could just stop the other from moving so much he would be in a good place.
"Fumos!" He called out as clearly as possible. Mikael let out a croaking cough as smoke filled his nose. His right hand came up to cover his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. Eyes burning from the sting of the smokey air around him. His spell had backfired quite horribly. Embarrassment pooled in his gut as he tried to recollect himself. Mikael’s grip on his wand relaxed ever so slightly before he felt the wand rip from his hand. His eyes widened as he heard the sound of his wand clatter against the stone flooring.
A grunt escaped his teeth as he felt his jaw get hit harshly. Pain reverberated up across the jawbone and down his neck. A metallic taste hit his tongue, and it took him a laughable amount of time to realize that he had split his lip. The boy quickly ducked moving after the sound to find his lost possession. It did not take him long to find his wand that had been thoroughly discarded to the ground. Quickly he latched onto the wand like a child seeking out its comfort object during a storm. It was a desolate action. Sought out by instinct to somehow alleviate the feeling of helplessness. The boy quickly raised his wand. "Sternius!" He called out loudly. A green light quickly shot out of his wand towards Valentin's face.
The boy hardly had a chance to feel proud of finally succeeding in a spell. His eyes widened as he heard the incantation for incendio duo being cast. Mikael quickly ducked the spell though it seemed he hadn't needed to as the boy missed him completely. A glower crossed his features as he realized the other had just tried to burn him. Sure he had shot first, but his spells had been far from long-lasting. "VALENTINE." he snarled as he charged towards the boy intent on tackling him to the floor. Though, instead of malleable flesh beneath him, he hit the solid wood of the table. Mikael grunted as the breath was knocked out of him. He could not help but feel as if he were instead making himself a fool. Had he truly lost his edge in the comfort of a group? The idea only brought a sense of hate that broiled just below the surface of his skin. Alighting his nerves as if he were burning from the inside out. Mikael raised his fist hitting the other boy square in the face. The other's scream almost felt like music to his ears. It was light and made his heart jump with anticipation. It excited him to know he had been the one to pull such a sound from the other's cracked lips.
His breath came out in small pants. Though, it wasn't so much from tiredness but rather from anger. His eyes burned as he glared into the other boy's eyes. His normally light blue eyes were dark with emotion as they watched one another. Their blood mixed together tinging the air in a sharp metallic smell. Such an overpowering smell that seemed to encompass the world around them. There was nothing more than a raw hidden pain hidden under the surface of their flesh. He wondered who had put that pain there. Who had ruined them so much? It broke him as much as it angered him. The need to finish a war between two allies and it was all for Yefim.
He wondered if the other was here would he laugh or cry? Mikael wasn't too sure which one would the other choose, but in his mind, he couldn't help but think the other would choose both. To laugh as tears streamed down his face as he watched their group split apart at the seams. Mikael was sure that if the other was here he would laugh and cry along with him. To bathe in the sense of loss and gain. To win, but to lose just as much. His feelings felt as if they were being laid bare in front of Valentine. He wondered when it had become Valentine instead of Niffler. Mikael wasn't too sure why he had decided now to be sentimental. The boy's eyes hardened as he slowly pushed himself straight from his leaned posture against the wooden table.
Mikael slowly moved his hand up wiping at the blood that dripped down his chin. Looking down he noted vaguely how the red contrasted against his pale skin. Like fresh spilled blood upon snow. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly taking in the view of blood marking the other's skin before his gaze flickered back up towards Valentine's. It was like a sacrifice to their Yefim. Maybe if they continued to fight like cornered animals would Yefim be content? The boy licked at his lip feeling a stinging sensation spread across the entirety of his bottom lip. "We bleed the same ruby red into the sacrificial bowl. Don't you agree?" he said after a long pause. His voice was quiet but rang clear.
Post Inspired by: Inside by Mother MotherRussian (Default) | Norwegian | EnglishMentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood [Valentin "Der Niffler" Schnell],
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood [Yefim Rumyantsev]
PC: Percival Rainwood
24 Aug 2021, 06:40
Boiling Point
Valentin cocked his head to the side. Mik’s words hit like poetry too pure for the grungy everyday world. The duel may have been over Yefim, but it was moments like this that made Mik a diamond in the rough to the white seeker. The world didn’t deserve such a fine soul, he thought.
«Такой же» (“The same,”) whispered thin Valentin, narrowly able to contain his emotions. The fight was no longer just about Yefim or maintaining the group. Now he wanted, no, needed to earn Mikael’s respect. Even if it meant cutting himself to ribbons in the duel, Valentin had to show himself to be just as pure.
Drawing his pale hand across his bloody jaw, brilliant scarlet waterfalled off Valentin’s slender fingertips. Looking down at the wand in his other hand, Valentin wondered what infinite power would even be worth in a world where a man’s best was never enough. It had to be enough. He had to be enough.
The fans could not understand what the team really went through out there. For all the screaming and the fawning, the fans did not bleed for them. The fans did not shatter themselves against the earth for victory; how could they? They were not one of them. However much they might wish to be, the fans would never truly understand on the level of Mikael, of Yefim. Girls, boys, and in-betweens regularly threw themselves at Valentin in the hopes of some fleeting flash of recognition, as was the fate of a seasoned seeker, but they were forever fans. Still, deep down, Valentin feared that he was fundamentally no different from them. Tagging along with Yefim doing whatever crazy scheme the other cooked up, defending him against the world no matter how many times Yefim started it… Was Valentin simply tolerated, accepted as a quaint feature of the game of life, or at best casually used as a tool? Did the other boys see him as no better than a fan?
Valentin looked deeply into Mikael’s eyes. After years of training and sacrifice, rising before dawn and enduring countless hospital recoveries, and forcing himself to continue even now that he was alone out there, Valentin knew he had grown strong. His life energy channeled, all of it, into becoming strength for his people. Every match was a fight to raise up the team and escape the shadows of being just another blurred face in crowded stands. The seeker wanted the sacred bond that was born from the tears and mending bones of shared purpose in life… but Mik had quit the team. Yefim had quit the team. Each cold morning on the pitch, Valentin stood in a graveyard. He had thought of quitting, too, throwing away all the quidditch fame and his career, if only he could maintain an intense connection with those who were most important to him, but... he could not follow them. If Valentin followed, he knew he would forever be no more than a fan, defeating his entire purpose. No, if he was to be with the group, Valentin had to be valued on his own terms. It was a test of himself. Was Valentin enough to be loved even without his position of privilege as a teammate?
With the albino’s silver-violet irises interlocked with Mik’s gaze, the rest of the world didn't exist. Time was frozen. Mikael’s rage burned, heat wafting from dark blue-grey eyes. If only Valentin could understand the source of Mikael’s fury. If only Valentin could vanquish whatever foe festered such ire in the other. If only Valentin could earn the other’s trust enough that he could cease to be the “other” that had to be kept at a distance.
What was this really about, wondered Valentin. He had no intention of stealing Yefim away from the other boy, but only to draw them all closer together. It must have been that he could not be trusted with the task, some outsider, and why should he be after Valentin had catastrophically failed them all in his fall to Earth? The crunch of his bones shattering against the stadium dirt shuddered through Valentin's memory. Failure. Destruction. Lunging forward, the seeker now only wished to be consumed by the flames in Mik’s eyes.
Тогда уничтожь меня, и я разорвусь на тебя, чтобы показать тебе свое последнее желание, когда перейду на другую сторону. (Destroy me, then, and I will tear at you to show my last wish as I pass through to the other side.)
Valentin flew towards Mik in an attempt to take him down.
«Такой же» (“The same,”) whispered thin Valentin, narrowly able to contain his emotions. The fight was no longer just about Yefim or maintaining the group. Now he wanted, no, needed to earn Mikael’s respect. Even if it meant cutting himself to ribbons in the duel, Valentin had to show himself to be just as pure.
Drawing his pale hand across his bloody jaw, brilliant scarlet waterfalled off Valentin’s slender fingertips. Looking down at the wand in his other hand, Valentin wondered what infinite power would even be worth in a world where a man’s best was never enough. It had to be enough. He had to be enough.
The fans could not understand what the team really went through out there. For all the screaming and the fawning, the fans did not bleed for them. The fans did not shatter themselves against the earth for victory; how could they? They were not one of them. However much they might wish to be, the fans would never truly understand on the level of Mikael, of Yefim. Girls, boys, and in-betweens regularly threw themselves at Valentin in the hopes of some fleeting flash of recognition, as was the fate of a seasoned seeker, but they were forever fans. Still, deep down, Valentin feared that he was fundamentally no different from them. Tagging along with Yefim doing whatever crazy scheme the other cooked up, defending him against the world no matter how many times Yefim started it… Was Valentin simply tolerated, accepted as a quaint feature of the game of life, or at best casually used as a tool? Did the other boys see him as no better than a fan?
Valentin looked deeply into Mikael’s eyes. After years of training and sacrifice, rising before dawn and enduring countless hospital recoveries, and forcing himself to continue even now that he was alone out there, Valentin knew he had grown strong. His life energy channeled, all of it, into becoming strength for his people. Every match was a fight to raise up the team and escape the shadows of being just another blurred face in crowded stands. The seeker wanted the sacred bond that was born from the tears and mending bones of shared purpose in life… but Mik had quit the team. Yefim had quit the team. Each cold morning on the pitch, Valentin stood in a graveyard. He had thought of quitting, too, throwing away all the quidditch fame and his career, if only he could maintain an intense connection with those who were most important to him, but... he could not follow them. If Valentin followed, he knew he would forever be no more than a fan, defeating his entire purpose. No, if he was to be with the group, Valentin had to be valued on his own terms. It was a test of himself. Was Valentin enough to be loved even without his position of privilege as a teammate?
With the albino’s silver-violet irises interlocked with Mik’s gaze, the rest of the world didn't exist. Time was frozen. Mikael’s rage burned, heat wafting from dark blue-grey eyes. If only Valentin could understand the source of Mikael’s fury. If only Valentin could vanquish whatever foe festered such ire in the other. If only Valentin could earn the other’s trust enough that he could cease to be the “other” that had to be kept at a distance.
What was this really about, wondered Valentin. He had no intention of stealing Yefim away from the other boy, but only to draw them all closer together. It must have been that he could not be trusted with the task, some outsider, and why should he be after Valentin had catastrophically failed them all in his fall to Earth? The crunch of his bones shattering against the stadium dirt shuddered through Valentin's memory. Failure. Destruction. Lunging forward, the seeker now only wished to be consumed by the flames in Mik’s eyes.
Тогда уничтожь меня, и я разорвусь на тебя, чтобы показать тебе свое последнее желание, когда перейду на другую сторону. (Destroy me, then, and I will tear at you to show my last wish as I pass through to the other side.)
Valentin flew towards Mik in an attempt to take him down.
Interacting: @Percival Rainwood
Mentioning: @Flash Holmwood
Note: You don't need to roll for the encounter unless you wish to. Please have whatever you want happen, including what happens to Valentin at this moment.