11 Oct 2021, 01:20
An Attempt of Contact
@Vladimir Athanatos | October 2nd (Can be changed if necessary)
Opeila was doing it. Late, much too late in her opinion, but she was finally sending Vladimir a letter again. This time one that was hopefully going to turn into a conversation in person, if he agreed to meet her. Things between the two had gone an odd way for sure. From dating to mistrust to risking the own life to save the other. A talk in private was long overdue, at least in Opeila's opinion.
After January, her thoughts regarding Vladimir had taken a whole turn. Had he been involved in an attack on house Slytherin before, hurt her friends and put them all into a ring to fight- something had changed on that one day in January, when she had sat in the snow in only a tshirt, still in pain from the attack, her coat wrapped around Vladimir and prayed he wouldn't die on her.
So on one afternoon, the third year sat down and wrote. Scratched everything and started again.
Her talent in writing letters had not improved one bit over summer. Looking over the rather short note, Opeila didn't feel like it even remotely sufficed but some things were just things that shouldn't be written down. Shouldn't be read by the wrong people possibly. And with Vladimir there were many of those topics.OCTOBER 2ND
Dear Vladimir,
I hope you are doing alright. The year has started a bit bumpy one could say, but I guess it's nothing new to us by now.
I haven't heard anything from or about you since the train crash. Did your wounds heal alright? If you have time, I would like to meet you somewhere to talk in persons rather than sending letter. The letters from February didn't seem to be sufficient for that matter either.
Kind regards,
So Opeila sent away the note with mixed feelings. Was this a good idea?
12 Oct 2021, 11:05
An Attempt of Contact
@Opeila Winters
Soured moods defined the week for a one Vladimir Athanatos. He was coming to terms with a truth he did not want to accept. It was childish, the expectations he had as well as his heel dragging and he knew it. He also knew what he had to so but there was a not-so-small part of him that wanted to be selfish. It was a failing of his, having the option for victory if hr he refused to consider the wants of the other parties involved. He could force his point, make it happen. There was nothing 'wrong ' with that, he merely used the resources at his disposal, he tried his very best... an 'effort' made deserved a prize, afterall who tries but stops only part way?
When an owl arrived, his glower did not lift nor did his hidden animosities fade. He snatched the letter from the taloned claw of the avian messenger and broke the lavender seal. A seal that meant nothing to him in color that represented nothing, at least in terms of the wizarding world. The plant wheat stamp was as far as he knew a muggle symbol -- the need for that intangible 'luck' to bring the fortune of an abundant harvest. An unfortunate population who in their hunger use food to symbolize prosperity and hope as their greatest want is of simple things -- of a meal, a promise for another the next day and so on.
He had no muggle friends.
He would read the contents of the letters and a day that was already miserable became worse as his tight grip on the letter wrinkled the page. He recognized the writer of course as Opeila Winters, of course he knew her as Opeila Seilun, or something similar he was certain. He did not have time for the girls cruel and wicked games as he let a huff of hot air through flared nares. He needed to keep control, there was no such thing as privacy, especially here at Hogwarts.
An inkwell and quill, articles always available to the studious, lanky youth he would write a haphazard reply. The care he usually placed on words would be lost in the message that was sent. His penmanship not as remarkably neat or clean but rather thick lines of ink on a hard-pressed tip of quill against heavy parchment.
Soured moods defined the week for a one Vladimir Athanatos. He was coming to terms with a truth he did not want to accept. It was childish, the expectations he had as well as his heel dragging and he knew it. He also knew what he had to so but there was a not-so-small part of him that wanted to be selfish. It was a failing of his, having the option for victory if hr he refused to consider the wants of the other parties involved. He could force his point, make it happen. There was nothing 'wrong ' with that, he merely used the resources at his disposal, he tried his very best... an 'effort' made deserved a prize, afterall who tries but stops only part way?
When an owl arrived, his glower did not lift nor did his hidden animosities fade. He snatched the letter from the taloned claw of the avian messenger and broke the lavender seal. A seal that meant nothing to him in color that represented nothing, at least in terms of the wizarding world. The plant wheat stamp was as far as he knew a muggle symbol -- the need for that intangible 'luck' to bring the fortune of an abundant harvest. An unfortunate population who in their hunger use food to symbolize prosperity and hope as their greatest want is of simple things -- of a meal, a promise for another the next day and so on.
He had no muggle friends.
He would read the contents of the letters and a day that was already miserable became worse as his tight grip on the letter wrinkled the page. He recognized the writer of course as Opeila Winters, of course he knew her as Opeila Seilun, or something similar he was certain. He did not have time for the girls cruel and wicked games as he let a huff of hot air through flared nares. He needed to keep control, there was no such thing as privacy, especially here at Hogwarts.
An inkwell and quill, articles always available to the studious, lanky youth he would write a haphazard reply. The care he usually placed on words would be lost in the message that was sent. His penmanship not as remarkably neat or clean but rather thick lines of ink on a hard-pressed tip of quill against heavy parchment.
He blamed her for the attack on the Blossom Ball the year before last. He blamed her for the incident that set Victor ablaze. For the intended theft. For the brawl. Not that she was fully to blame, he had partially expected it when she accepted him as her date but he had hoped that the apprehension he felt was just in his head. When she avoided his gift for no discernable reason, it validated his suspicion that whatever it was that they had was not a date. The attack solidified further his assessment and ultimate conclusion. He did not address the letters that Opeila had previously sent, a believed lie he would not attempt to validate as true or otherwise. Yet Opeila would be able to make not of three things from the letter she had jut gotten from the boy. He was in a poor mood, from the penmanship to the language to even the way it was haphazardly folded before it was returned to the owl in response. The second being, he gave Opeila a response, immediately. He did not ignore the letter as she likely presumed with the last several, meaning something was different. The difference of course being that he [igot[/i] this letter unlike the last few that found other hands. Finally, a location was given even if it was not intended for her. Her intrusion would likely be met by ire but he would be outside his common room and outside of class at a rare moment she might be able to profit from.I am uninterested in giving you another opportunity to cause myself or the little I still have harm. Removing myself from the modicum of security Hogwarts staff affords me from the public at large as not something I am willing to forfeit. Besides I have a weekend at Hogsmeade to prepare for the ball.
Vlad
Aamon