Thestral PV Nichlas F. What's in an 'O'? Closed

Nichlas would enter the cabin with a pretty fancy design by pushing open the door. He was dressed in a short-sleeved white button up shirt with the first upper buttons opened up and a dark pair of pants (Outfit). He had come back inside after he had been out for some food, to rest, since he still felt a bit sore and fatigued from the race. However as he entered he did not expect to find someone else already occupying the cabin. "Tsk,", he muttered as his hand slid down the door to push it close gently and it did so without a sound, before scanning the room until his eyes landed on the brown haired boy. His mind would go through the list of names for the students within his cabin and would slightly narrow his eyes once he matched the face to a name. "Nicholas McCowan, wasn't it?" he asked as he leaned back against the door nonchalantly, with a calculating look. But the movement made him twitch, as his muscles protested with the unnecessary movement. He was fine for the most part, but he disliked pain and reacted more sensitive to it than one who was used to it might have.

Just to be safe he would adjust his position into standing one again, still staring at the boy with a narrow eyes expression. He had little to no information on the boy, he had not really encountered him before, aside from having to share this living space with him for nearly a whole month now. Like himself the other boy preferred to stick to himself, so he did not see him mingle with the more extroverted folks they shared this place with. What he had however noticed was that the other boy was one who left the cabin early in the morning, possibly to do some sort of activity as could be judged by the attire. Like an aura, the swede was surrounded by some sort of dark energy, and just being exposed to his presence one with a faint heart could be put at unease. He was used to it, carried the presence like a crown that aided him. "Won't you go outside, play with the other kids?" the tall blonde offered, smug. It was no question after all, no order either. He'd rather not be seen in a wounded state by some random kid. For now he would play nice, perhaps the kid would just leave.

Nicholas blinked, the sound of his name drawing him from the recesses of his mind and back to the moment at hand. He’d been quite content and comfortable to let his thoughts go blank and disparate, a rare opportunity and blessing, and just as he had finally thrown off the stressors that seemed to constantly plague his back, he had been joined by another. Perhaps stressor was too harsh a word for whoever the new entrant was, after all, he had done little more than enter the shared cabin. Still, his mood soured somewhat at the thought of having to entertain yet more small talk, he just could not find the energy to be bothered with it. Regardless of his desire to ignore the newcomer, he forced himself to shift his head somewhat, immediately losing the comfort that the earlier position had granted him.

He should have figured that it was one of the foreign students by the accent, Nicholas figured, as he looked at the older boy. He could not place a name to a face, he had barely bothered to remember those of his fellow Hogwarts classmates. Let alone those from whichever school the blonde was from. Still, he knew him by appearance. Tall and well dressed, he appeared every part the dapper gentleman. His expression said otherwise, his narrowed eyes were predatory, the kind that one may expect to find on a beast rather than a boy. Were it any other, perhaps Nicholas may have assumed he was thinking, but there was something as to the older boy’s aura. The Northern Irish boy could not place it, but it was as if the atmosphere of the room had grown thicker, harsher somehow. Even meeting the tall boy’s gaze proved something of a challenge, as if he were looking at someone or something that he was not supposed to. Yet, Nicholas forced himself to gaze into those hazelnut eyes, his own darker brown orbs refusing to back down.

He’d engage in the small talk, after all, the older boy had dropped his name. It was the only polite thing to do.

Then he had the gall to ask him to go outside and play, more than that, he had called him a child. Any desire to engage in small talk, regardless of just how little he wished to actually act upon that desire, died in the womb. Nicholas’s expression changed in a moment, tensing, theoretical hackles raising. Had he seriously come in just to insult him? What kind of git did that?

“Excuse me?” He asked, slowly, measured, as if trying to piece together whether what he had heard had actually been said or not.

“I don’t think so, no,” He added, equally as slow, “I’m quite content where I am. But you’re more than welcome to go outside and play.”

The throwback wasn’t his finest work, hardly the biting riposte to which he had hoped for, but he wasn’t exactly prepared for conversation, let alone confrontation.

Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Tags: @Alan Vanes
Action: You know

Nichlas raised an eyebrow at the boy, a bit amused at the expense of the the younger one, yet there was something predatory about the smile presented on Nichlas' face. "You're excused," he finally said slowly, enjoying the other boy's momentary loss for words. He realized as the other kid, Nicholas, matched the speed of his own voice. It was rather amusing, really, equally so was the boy's retort to what Nicke had previously mentioned. Calling Nichlas a child of all things? He was far older, by a couple of years at least and much more mature, likely. But having to resort to copying someone else's insult to make them their own? Really? Even Nichlas had given the boy more credit than that and was a little bit disappointed in Nicholas' repartee. He had been looking forward to a small battle of wits to calm his nerves and distract from the ache of his muscles.

"Fine, so be it then," he said with a light glower, a scowl perhaps. As he reached his private quarters of the cabin, he'd slid his hand below his fluffed up pillow and pull out a book to read. It was a light read in his mother tongue, rather complex in written language and about the history of magic and how it developed throughout the time of centuries. He would rejoin the brash boy, choosing the seat of an arm chair in the lounging area.

"Try to keep quiet then, if you are capable of such things," he reprimanded ahead of time. Not that he knew of the other boy's personality well, but the fact of his age and the way he presented himself, alarmed the Swedish boy that he was dealing with some sort of trouble maker. They tend to run their mouth and seek trouble purposefully, Nichlas wouldn't put it past their school to encourage such behavior either, having met a bunch of brutes in the time of staying on Hogwarts grounds. Not to speak of the balls they held, which always turned out to be disastrous and a fatal mistake to attend. "Barn...", he muttered with a sigh, as he gave the kid a pointed look, letting him know indirectly it was a word meant for him, despite being in a tongue he likely didn't know, as he flipped the book open to where it had been marked with a tail band. The book seemed to be in peak condition, handled carefully by the boy's slim fingers. The cover, if Nicholas bothered to check, was pretty non-disclosing of the contents within the books, a plain gray binding with Swedish lettering.

His expression did not change, the retort was quick-witted and quicker to come. Really, he should have expected it. Still, he had little desire to enter into an argument, that meant engaging with the foreign boy more than he already was, and that was so painfully trite. All he wanted was a little bit of peace and quiet, not for some tall, blonde interloper to try to bait him into an argument. So he bit his tongue, and looked away from the other boy. Returning to his mindless relaxing with a degree of trepidation.

For a moment, he thought he'd escaped having to tolerate the other boy's presence, when he'd retreated to his room. Yet, in a moment he had returned with a book and taken to seating, Another quippy insult soon to follow. Nicholas grit his teeth, clicking irritably with his tongue, an unconscious notion that he didn't bother to hide. There was only so much he could take, and if the foreigner insisted on pushing further and further against his admittedly short temper than it was almost certain the dam walls would break.

As if prodding for exactly that reaction, the newcomer shot an insult his way, in a tongue that Nicholas did not understand. Yet, it was not entirely foreign to his mind. He had grown up speaking Scots, and the word itself was not entirely divorced from that of the language of his youth. Barn, the word itself sounded dreadfully close to bairn, baby, and his tone and look confirmed precisely what was meant. It was an insult. An insult that the bastard thought Nicholas wouldn't understand. Even if he was wrong with his guess, he wasn't about to miss the tone, not after his preceding insults. It stood to reason that this too, would be one and the same.

Nicholas's head lolled to the side further, his neck lazily supporting it in a decidedly uncomfortable position, brown eyes glaring at the interloper. Whatever he was reading was incomprehensible, its title in the same language that he had no doubt spoken in, he supposed.

"The hell was that?" He asked, the bitter not inescapably present in his voice.

"If you have something to say to me, say it in a language we both understand. Don't be a flamin' coward," Anger rose to the forefront of his words, the frustration clear.

He was annoyed, that much was sure, but he wasn't yet fuming. Hopefully, the dressing down would at least serve to slightly silence the tall boy and Nicholas would need not engage further. It was all so tiring.

Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Tags: @Alan Vanes
Action: Grumpy

Nichlas had hoped he would have kept quiet, but inwardly shook his head. Who was he kidding, he had aimed for exact that reaction, the predatory grin returned as he turned to face the kid with a smug look on his pretty face. "Whatever would you mean? Did you feel addressed? How curious," he spoke slyly, the other doing exactly what he had been asked to, unknowingly react to the word child. But what better judgement could he have expected by a child. But he had to admit the boy had guts, to stand up for himself, to talk back. A bit stupid perhaps, but bold nonetheless. Nicholas McCowan, he would have to remember that face for when he returned to this place again. For sure Ella would wanna come here again, especially since Greta would come here as well, possibly to meet her foreign boy.

At least he now had finally found something that he could view as somewhat entertaining. Nichlas could not exactly explain why, but it was nice to meet people who did not cower away from his mere presence. "You're a Hogwarts student, yeah? Any extra-curricular you fancy?" he would ask, his demeanor while still sardonic, seemed actually interested. He had not seen the boy play any of the sports, but perhaps that meant he was a mere first year at his school. He had no way of telling this kids exact age just from a this bit of interaction. But he seemed young and looked boyish still, so it was a safe bet to presume he had yet to actually start his first school year. His accent was thick as always, like a melody or undertone that accompanied his voice.

It was becoming a habit to roll his eyes, a habit that he had not fostered nor nurtured, but one that had seemingly developed out of necessity to respond to the sheer amount of pretentiousness and idiocy that seemed to permeate through Hogwarts's grounds like a misbegotten miasma. The sly tone in the blonde's voice and his pointed words were enough to draw the reaction forth before Nicholas was even conscious of the fact that his orbs were moving in their sockets. Still, he bit his tongue, deliberately fighting the urge to unleash his temper upon the much older, much taller foreigner. Bide your time before striking, that's what Black had said, and he sure as hell wasn't about to start a conflict he had no chance of winning.

So, instead, he did something relatively intelligent for the first time in his life. He played nice, or as nice as possible for him. With conscious effort, he held his gaze in place, and pivoted so that he was seated and facing the other lad. May as well get this over with, perhaps if he was polite enough then the conversation could be over and done with as quickly as possible.

"Aye," He responded, "From Hogwarts. Nicholas McCowan, by the way," adding his name as an almost afterthought.

"Did dueling last year," He answered the follow up question, his expression and tone betraying nothing, "But I'm thinking I'll probably try out for one of the other teams this year, one of the ones with brooms." He shrugged, before leaning forward ever-so-slightly.

"What about you?" He turned the question back, "Are you on any of the teams from..." he trailed off, painfully aware of how he had failed to actually ask what school the other boy was from, "Sorry, what school are you visiting from?"

He could have hazarded a guess, his accent indicated that he was more likely from Durmstrang than anything else, but he could hardly claim to be able to tell the difference except in that some fell west of the Rhine and some fell east. The boy could be from Koldovstoretz for all he knew, best not to assume.

Nicholas's guard had lowered slightly, his proverbial hackles no longer raised, but his ears remained pinned back. He no longer felt as if he were being circled by a shark, but he was entirely aware of just how quickly that sense of security could shatter.

Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Tags: @Alan Vanes
Action: Talking

There was little Nichlas enjoyed more than stirring up a little trouble with another person, except for maybe being able to be on his own and completely relax. He did enjoy a calm moment in which he did not have to watch his own back. The other boy seemed to bite down his anger, but the Durmstrang student could sense it boil beneath the surface, knowing that the kid would only require a little push to tip over. It was something to be aware of in the situation; play with fire if you may. Something, the swede heard rumors, was quite the popular activity in this school.

He nodded when the boy introduced himself all over, having been aware of it and a smile tugged at his lips. "Nichlas Forsberg, Durmstrang," he offered, like a treat thrown to a dog that had learned a trick. Though he would allow himself to relax on a surface level, letting his back sink into the seat as he crossed his legs while seated, letting his ankle rest on one of his knees. "Seems like you are stepping in my footsteps," the boy muttered thoughtfully, head inclined as he listened to the kid. "I am also a broom racer, so I guess we will be seeing more of each other," Nichlas would give a predatory smile with some blood thirst in the eye. He would get a chance to test the other kid after all, hoping this to be sooner rather than later. He wondered if he was any better than that Theodore kid, who seemed to drool after Greta. He had done his research on the boy since the race and had found his blood to be impure; he was sure he would get Greta into trouble if he kept seeing her, trying to court her. That was it of course, he was just worried about the well-being of his sister's best friend and wary of the courting attempts from the Muggle born. His glance shifted over to his sleeping area, where he would be able to find his broom leaned against a wall, carefully and with the blue ribbon still tied around its handle. A token he had gotten from the girl.

"I used to be a part of Durmstrag Duelling in the year before that, good times" he would add, a feeling of nostalgia swept in as he thought of the chess combat from the previous, which had the grande opening of the Kheanu and himself facing off against each other as queens of their team. It went as far as them agreeing to visit the masquerade ball together. No feelings, except for a sense of competition and that had been lead on as they both appeared to have changed sports to broom racing.

“So it would seem,” Nicholas’s response offered no inclination as to his mental state.

Nichlas, the other Nichlas, appeared to have followed a trajectory much the same as Nicholas’s, a former dueler who had become enamoured with the bloodsport of the sky. Granted, the younger boy had yet to actually join the team, and would merely be trialling once the school year commenced, but it was something at least. More than that, he’d actually verbalised his intentions for the first time, spoken them into the world. That lent a sort of power to the statement, making it difficult to go back on such a promise. If he had any second guesses about his future in sport, then they had to have disappeared now.

Besides, the fact that the other boy was a racer only made Nicholas want to compete in the sport even more. The blood-lust in his eye was not lost on the Hogwarts student, he’d been trying significantly harder over the summer to pick up on such subtle cues, and the animalistic nature of the older boy was clear. He was a predator, all wolfish smirks and threatening auras. Nicholas McCowan may not have held that same ruthless aggression, but he was dangerous all the same, stupidly stubborn and relentless. The conversation may have been civil, cordial with only the faintest hint of an undercurrent of tension, but the wolf and the dog were circling one another, sensing for weakness. Social combat and retorts were not Nicholas’s strong suit, not by a long shot, but he was beginning to feel that he could at least hold his own. At least, to some degree.

Nicholas forced his tensed muscles to relax, lest his intentions be betrayed, and resigned himself to the sort of lazy pose that he so naturally took. His posture was abysmal, the sort that would betray his social class as far lower than it was in actuality. He wasn’t power, nor was he a muggleborn, but his demeanour and apparel seemed to scream to the contrary.

His words, however, lacked his usual fire, his conscious effort to maintain the dance evident, “Well, I look forward to seeing you on the course. Should be fun.” He couldn’t keep the anticipation out his voice with the last word spoken, the desire to send the other boy hurtling to the ground unbidden yet unhidden.

He was just the sort who it would be so enjoyable to see knocked off their high horse.

“I didn’t end up seeing the most recent inter-school race,” Nicholas transitioned, “How’d you go?”

Stats: STA: 12 | EVA: 6 | STR: 8 | WIS: 6 | ARC: 4 | ACC: 6
Abilities: Foulplay | Statistically Relevant
Tags: @Alan Vanes
Action: Just talking

| Outfit | @Nicholas McCowan

The Swede would give a thin-lipped smile, but it seemed less condescending in this very moment, which perhaps could seem like one step into the correct direction. "Indeed," he would utter his agreement once more. He seemed relaxed but was ready to strike at any moment when given the opportunity, two predators probing one another always aware, always ready to strike. There was some tension between the two of them, someone who would enter the room would most likely feel this odd atmosphere only elevated by this terrible presence that surrounded Nichlas.

He could not help but incline his head at the other boy's notion. He just simply agreed in looking forward to the next broom race between the different schools. He wanted to see what the other boy was capable of on an evened playing field and whether his apparent recklessness would get him in trouble fast or whether trouble found him later down the line. "Likewise, it should proof rather interesting, I hope to see you on Hogwarts team next year," he offered, what his thoughts had already predicted. He wouldn't let the other boy win against him when it got that far, he would make sure to stay ahead and if need be, have him plummet to his doom. No one expected anyone to fight their battles fair now, would they?

The mention of the previous broom race made his posture change and his brows furrow as he tsked. "I came in second which is barely any better than being last," he noted and it did somewhat bother him. That Beauxbatons girl had stole the victory from him, namely because she had been a lot more level-headed. If Nichlas hadn't let his emotions get the better of him, he would have likely won this race and proven a far more important fact.

"Though I cannot deny that watching this boy drop was satisfying," he said and there it was once more, that dangerous, predatory smile that would let one know not to fall into his bad graces, "And I'd do it again,". It must be saying a lot about the Swede, to say he would cause someone to fall from a dangerous height out of pettiness. The boy had barely done anything to deserve a spot there. Actually he had done nothing to deserve this at all. After all it had been Greta reaching out to the boy and not the other way around. Greta had gifted him with a token of good luck, just as he had done to Nichlas, but had therefore betrayed the school and own team. Clearly it mustn't be taken personally and was a matter of loyalty. But it didn't come to mind to blame the girl, but rather seek vengeance on the boy who had made an impact on the girl. Nichlas would not even dare to investigate these feelings of hatred and jealousy further, perhaps because he was too stubborn to realize what had actually caused them. He was aware of Greta's feelings toward himself and they flattered him, though the other boy; Theodore Duncain as he had found out, was a threat to what he knew. Not only that but he had recently been made aware that there were many things not okay with this friendship between Greta and that Ilvermorny kid and if he were to dig deeper, he would find out something much more scandalous.

"One of yours had been absolutely defeated when the Whomping Willow had gotten a grasp on them, the girl had lost her lead in one breath as the tree downright sapped the strength and life out of her," he let the boy know, it had been a violent sight, to watch as she was thrown around like a ragdoll. "It has been rather eventful, Beauxbatons had claimed the victory that day, they've gotten lucky, that girl in the lead had narrowly dodged my spell and had her teammate help her to victory," he decided to conclude, with a seemingly disinterested shrug, but it was apparent it bothered him to have lost to such a stupid thing. Nichlas Forsberg was a bad loser, but an even worse winner.