Surface Pressure PV

The lean seeker was thoroughly soaked through, having not stopped running even after plunging into the lake itself.

However fast he had run, it felt like going nowhere, even after an hour of sprints up and down the lakeside path. Desperate to feel pushback and some kind of progress, Valentin veered off the footpath and ran directly into the cold lake. With his improved constitution, his body welcomed the sudden chill without going into shock. Overheating as he was, the splash into the lake refreshed his muscles and began sweeping away layers of sweat. As he waded in up to his chest, Valentin tried to continue running across the bottom against the massive resistance of its waters and mud. Difficult as it was to tread against the slipping silt, Valentin struggled without elegance, losing his foothold often and making more of a ruckus than intended. Still, determined to make it to the other side as fast as he could, Valentin pressed on as awkward as an astronaut running in zero gravity. By the time he reached the edge of the lake nearest the castle, his muscles ached in protest and coldness bit in to numb his fingers and toes. Sloshing out of the lake, Valentin’s thin leather boots clamored onto a pebble-encrusted bank, unfazed in their near-perfect water repellant charms. Afraid to stop lest his thoughts of Mikael resurface, Valentin kept going with no heed to the complaints of his body.

The run back to the castle warmed Valentin back up to a comfortable temperature, yet it did little to evaporate his drenched clothing. The seeker’s target was the red duffel he had left overnight in the training room, wherein lay his towel. The door to the sparring room closed quietly behind Valentin, its sound drowned out by the pounding of fists against a punching bag. Dripping as he was, Valentin stopped in place after crossing the doorway’s threshold. It was Romeo, beating the daylights out of his target.

"... Merda. Shit."

Valentin’s keen eyes saw the small flash of crimson from across the room: Romeo was bleeding. How long had he been at this? Valentin had only just started frequenting the sparring room, investing less time on the pitch and more time into trying to bulk up after countless disappointments in hand-to-hand struggles. Yet, it seemed that the boy’s body was more interested in growing vertically, as he had shot up several inches since his talk with Yefim last August. Stubborn as hell, Valentin was not about to stop trying regardless. What was he supposed to do the next time Yefim got in over his head? Valentin knew he had to take it on himself to get stronger and more skilled, even if all the gods were aligned against his success.

Compared to the lakeside, the room was balmy and gave Valentin a slight headrush, as if he had entered a sauna. Perhaps he had overdone it, he thought. Unconsciously, the boy stepped forward with his hand extending out-- someone had to take care of that bleeding. Closing his silver eyes with a slight swoon, Valentin forced himself to stand up straight. He needed to rehydrate. Opening his eyes again, the boy noticed that Romeo was already on it, re-wrapping his brutalized fists. How were his hands able to take such punishment, wondered Valentin as he looked down at his own long musician’s fingers. In no time, Romeo was back at it again, dancing about the bag with maneuvers Valentin had never learned. Clearly there was a fair bit of strategy to Romeo’s motions, but the seeker felt like he was hearing only half of a conversation by watching from afar. The Italian's ear still looked to be in bad shape. Valentin recalled the moment at the ball he watched Romeo dragging his brother away, ear grotesquely torn by some unknown threat. He felt bad then, that he had no idea what was happening in Romeo’s life. Now mesmerized by the boy’s intensity, nothing else existed for Valentin; not the aching of his muscles nor the gathering puddle at his feet. The scene was magnificent.

Romeo swayed and tipped as if to draw out the opponent’s maneuver, and understanding began to click in Valentin’s quidditch-trained brain. With Romeo's surprise hook out of tempo and a step back, the spokes of the seeker’s mind whirled with effort to understand where he would move next. Unexpectedly, Romeo went in with a ramming charge that landed him against the wall beyond. His fingers gripped into crumbling stone before he spun again to continue the onslaught. It left a momentary opening, observed the seeker, calling to mind the day the Hogwarts half-giant took advantage of Valentin’s momentary lapse of awareness and control. Addled by a wave of exhaustion, Valentin shifted his weight onto his back foot and swept a swathe of hair out of his eyes. Such beautiful feats of strength felt unobtainable to slender Valentin, and he could only look on with awe.

With a crack and a pop, the water bottle in Romeo’s hand gave way to its demise as he crushed it. With a curse, the towering boy cast it aside. Through the fog of Valentin’s exhaustion, a sense of pain and turmoil cut through his nerves: he understood that Romeo was badly hurting. Valentin’s feet advanced two steps before he stopped, frozen, while Romeo pulled off his shirt to wipe the sweat from his neck and back. Valentin just couldn’t get a good angle on his face to read him, focused on the punching bag as Romeo was. Valya could feel it in his voice, though. The seeker had gone to great lengths to memorize Romeo’s mannerisms and vocal idiosyncrasies back when they were team mates. Reading subtle communications back then meant a lot for the success of a game, and Valentin had only become better at it upon becoming captain of Team Hydra and the Durmstrang quidditch team. Yet, this was much more important than any of that. Romeo hurt badly. In his mind’s eye, Valentin recalled the image of Mikael burning, frozen in place. Fingertips brushing his own right temple, Valentin wondered why the thought of it intruded now, at a time like this.

Romeo’s punches accelerated, faster and faster, until landing a final punch that left the bag swinging in a wide oscillation. It was no wonder the boy’s fists bled. With the onslaught coming to a rest, Valentin licked his bow-arced lips in preparation for speech. It had been so long since they’d last spoken… and Romeo was much bigger now. Valentin wasn’t sure if he was the same person he had so treasured during their quidditch days. When Romeo was on the team, Valentin treated the other boy as if they shared a sacred pact-- anything Valentin could do for him, he would. In the sweet orchestra of quidditch battle, the seeker thought of his team as an extension of himself and vice versa in a unified whole. Yet, everything had gone black between Romeo and Valentin since that accursed day. What could he say, now, after all that?

“Hey...” chimed the pale seeker, taking up his red duffle from the corner. Completely forgetting about the towel, Valentin went instead for his wand, which he tucked into his belt at his side before walking up at an angle specifically intended to not startle. Yet, in the state the other boy was in, Valentin would not have been surprised if a spinning backfist lashed out at him from Romeo’s primordial rage. It didn’t matter. Valentin would go to him anyway.

“Let me fix that up, won’t you?” Valentin’s white dove of a hand reached out towards Romeo’s brutalized, possibly broken paws. Valentin was prepared to produce a fine bandaging charm, which he had practiced so well that it was now impossible for him to fail under almost any circumstances [WDC 10 vs WIS 15 with no roll bonus]. Valentin’s soft voice lilted with genuine concern, while only in the deep reaches of his eyes could one see his surging fear for what Romeo was now battling.

Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11
@Piérre Marchonné
Ferula is technically pending trunk update.

"English." "Italiano. Italian." "Russian."

| Faint scar on left eye | | Mangled right ear |

Valetin Schnell
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama Ellwood

I don't ask how hard the work is,
I've got a rough and destructible surface.

When Piérre and I were kids, we liked to go exploring. We spent whole days in the woods when we loved by them, jumping on stumps, crossing fallen logs and scrabbling our ways over rocky outcrops or up trees as high as we could without scaring ourselves. Piérre always had a habit of climbing so far up trees that he couldn't find his way down again, too terrified to even move either of his feet into even the start of a downward decent. He always found the coziest perches right where the tree limbs were just strong enough to hold his weight, but just thin enough that if a breeze came through it would rock the entire crest of the tree where he sat. Being shorter then him back then, my smaller limbs weren't anywhere near as flexible or long enough to negotiate those higher up branches, and if I tried to follow his path, the branches would crack and groan beneath me.

Piérre would look down at me with pure joy in his eye as he would mock me lightheartedly. “Dai, Romeo! Sei davvero così spaventato dalle altezze? Come on, Romeo! Are you really that scared of heights?” He'd close one eye and stick his tongue out at me with his cheeks puffed, the image of a real gargoyle as he made teasing motions with his hands. “Piccolo pazzo! You little crazy! Nya-nya!”

But of course, I was always able to reach the ground. He would end up stuck in those higher branches, looking about him like a squirrel barked up a tree. His tune changed very quickly after that, as I then gently jibed at his misfortunes. "Che c'è, Piérre? Non puoi scendere? What is it, Piérre? Cant you get down?" I'd tap my foot and look up at him with confusion. "Ti sei alzata bene... Hai paura di scendere, grande pazzo? You got up there just fine... Are you scared to come down, you big crazy?" I'd quietly smile up at him, my voice no louder than a whisper at my Tempest-tree bound sibling.

Piérre would bite his lip then, slowly pinking as he tried to find a way down without falling. He would find himself more and more flustered the longer he couldn't find a way, until he sat there in the boughs like an Ariel, confined to rapture in the sylvan cocoon. Sometimes he would cry, sometimes he would laugh in fear... Never would he scream, the sensation of fear something that only added to his zest of life, a new experience that he could enjoy to the fullest. No terror of being hurt, only of being left behind.

So then it was up to me to guide him down footstep by footstep, climbing up to meet him when he got low enough for me to reach him safely and then guiding his hands and feet until we reached the ground together, sharing a laugh and poking at the other's shortcomings before running off again, with Piérre always taking the lead and getting himself into more trouble.

I had always been there for him. If it hadn't been for me, he would have died long before he made it to the school. He almost drowned once in an beachline undertow. I had swum after and fought the current to bring him back. I had beaten the snot out of any bullies who had ever dared to lay a hand on him. In a way it was my fault we never settled down. My fights got us expelled every time I broke an arm or nose; when my scuffles resulted in black eyes, mild concussions, and varying levels of bites scratches. I had never been picky as to the execution of my protections, so long as I made sure that anyone who dared mock, hurt, or otherwise tortured my brother walked away with a little less blood than they had started with.

"I never asked for you to come! Maybe you should have just stayed away."

A soft voice speaking Russian pulls me away from my thoughts, and I shake my head to chase the mists away for the time being. Another student on my left, a very pale, thin boy that I knew, if only by reputation and previous affiliation. Valetin, the seeker and Captain of Team Hydra.

I had left the team after my first year in pursuit of broom racing... A sport that seemed to neglect the extent of my abilities. I was used like a battering ram more often than not, with almost no hope of ever reaching the finish line. The classic Enforcer. Since leaving the Quidditch team, my relationships with most of them had deteriorated into nothing... Hanzo had gone completely silent to me despite our previous closeness... But I didn't blame him.

He probably felt that I had betrayed him in some way.

Just like Piérre probably does now.

I knew Valetin had albinism, a rather rare genetic trait that always made him stick out compared to his contemporaries. That was how I knew about him best. That, and his incredible abilities on the pitch. The snitch was rarely spotted faster, or nabbed quicker than by him, even despite a rather unfortunate losing streak whenever Durmstrang played against Hogwarts. My brother had actually played in the Keeper position against Durmatrang last year in the three-way game on the winning Gryffindor team. Evelynn Decipio. That was the name of their brilliant red-haired Seeker. Valetin and she had gone neck to neck... But she had snatched that elusive goldbug just before he had.

But I hadn't really cared to speak to him in the meanwhile. He had his priorities and his life to live, and I had mine. While I had been unfortunate, my friend group washed away and everchanging (leaving me to drift aimlessly through cliques and odd groups), my presence and skills unknown and meritless, at least he had the positive reputation that I didn't have; a way to be of at least a little renown and respected in the spire's dormitory hierarchy. The fact that he had been selected by Durmstrang's champion as a member of his Hexwizard team had only solidified that matter.

I, on the other hand, despite circumstance, was content to stay in my lesser dorm, with the younger students and those who needed more help with their studies.

It was strange that he was here. Why was he here?

"They are fine." I replied calmly and with little care towards the offer of healing, though I let him inspect my wraps. "Really. I've treated these things before. The Muggle way." I shift my footing, turning in the familiar fashion of looking down at a shorter student. "Builds character." But I am unsure as to if I am reassuring him or myself as his pale hands flutter and turn my own, almost bluish in the air with their lack of pigmentation.

"Stop it! Can't you see he's turning blue?!"

Clenching my hand into a fist, I swiftly but gently twist my hand towards Valetin's thumb, a self-defense motion that twisted an assailant's wrist in a fashion that often forces them to release their target's hand or wrist.

Now I use that trick to free my hand, prevent it from being further scrutinized or my methods of training questioned too much further.

"The Finals in Quidditch are coming up. Team Hydra is looking rather polished... For what few members are remaining..." I regret the blunt words as soon as I say them, even if I had said them as complementary. It was no secret that after my first year the Durmstrang team had fallen into a dilapidated state from its former glory. The team was holding together by threads... Come to think of it, I wasn't entirely sure that it had a full team of first-string players anymore. It had been such a dichotomy from my initial experience with it, when I had been placed as a Keeper despite my considerable strength because they had too many players to pick from.

It seemed that nowadays human resources were scarce.

"This'll be the year Durmstrang wins, yeah?" I try to cover for my misstep quietly, rubbing the back of my hands to try fill the awkward space within this encounter. I remember telling my brother the same thing; both when he expressed his frustrations on being benched... And when his house team had been struggling early on when he had been playing on first string.

God... Had I been this stupidly awkward and stupid with my words with him that night as well? Could things have turned out different if I had said something differently? If I had worded my thoughts better?

Or had the bridge been burned far earlier than then? Had a choice been made even before I had made an idiot of myself?

My hands are beginning to shake as my mind moves faster.

I want to hit something. I'm going to hit something. Very. Very soon.

Stats:
Stamina 9 | Evasion 7 | Strength 13 | Accuracy 12 | Wisdom 8 | ArcPower 0

Abilities:
Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist | Martial Artist

Romeo, clenching his hand into a fist and twisting as if in self-defense, forced the seeker’s hand away. Jagged ice scoured the insides of Valentin’s chest, like a glacier scraping away those traces of life that still struggled to survive at the wind-warped treeline. Physical communication was the most potent way to move Valentin. It was only right, he thought. This was only an expansion of the boy’s isolation, which was already at its peak after the incident at the ball. It’s safer for you this way.

"Team Hydra is looking rather polished... For what few members are remaining… This'll be the year Durmstrang wins, yeah?"

What warmth clung to Valentin’s face fell away, and he fixed his gaze on the door behind him. Silver eyes freezing over, Valentin felt himself cracking. It wouldn’t do for even an ex-team mate to see him this way. A shiver overtook him despite the warmth of the sparring room, and he realized he was still soaked with lakewater.

Valentin didn’t want a Team Hydra. He wanted Team Durmstrang, full of people he loved and who loved him in return. Yet, he hadn’t even stayed close with those Durmstrang players who stuck with the team even when times were hard. Whenever Valya looked at Madhup or Charles, he still saw what damage their loss, his failure, had done to them. Mikael and Yefim were never the same after that day, possessed by some terrible shadow. Valentin resolved to take more of the weight onto himself, to incur less of a burden on others, hoping that this could bring them all back out of the dark, team mates or not. The boundaries of the team never really mattered to him.

“Why did you leave us?” breathed Valentin. It was an accident, and immediately his face twisted in acknowledgment of his mistake. Valentin knew it was his own fault. He’d failed to maintain his connection with Romeo, just as he was now failing to connect beyond the surface with Mik and Yef. The shallowness of the interactions made him sick.

Valentin turned his head from the door back towards Romeo. No. Running away was not the way to heal the rift.

“The muggle way. Builds character,” growled Valentin’s voice from deep in his chest. The face of Mikael burning, frozen in place, stained the seeker’s eyes. The dead void inside of Mik's storm-blue eyes seemed to warp the fabric of reality, as Valentin felt it resonating inside him from any distance… the grey death of a soul.

It’s not just a crutch, thought Valentin as he drew his white conductor’s wand. It divides me from them. It gives me power over them… The spindly length of pale wood lay simply in his hand, the root of Mikael’s destruction as Valentin saw it. It was my power over him that destroyed his mind, my acceptance of his pain. We may be immortal, but now he is forever damaged. Casting the magic-cored branch away into the farthest reaches of the room, Valentin couldn’t see the wand as his friend anymore. It was better when we bled each other into the ruby sacrificial bowl. At least then it was fair, and he could heal from it the normal way.

Hyacinth eyes locked onto Romeo’s cerulean gaze. Valentin wanted it again, the feeling from that day in the library: the meeting of wills. It was obvious that Romeo wanted to unleash his anger, possibly even destroy something. A great conflict was eating at Romeo’s soul, the Nidhogg gnawing at the root of the world tree. Valentin understood now that he had been trying to heal Romeo’s pain the wrong way. With the sickness so deep inside, the only way to prevail was to wrestle with the demons themselves.

Stripping his lake-soaked shirt off his back, Valentin chucked the sopping blob back at his duffle bag. It landed obediently on top, preventing collateral water damage to the training room itself.

“Why did you leave?” pushed Valentin again. This was the right way, but he would be a gentleman about it. He knew the hunger in his eyes would cut crystal clear across the distance that felt so wide despite being only a foot apart. This was an invitation, for Valentin did not wish to control Romeo. The only way this was worth doing was with both boys freely purging their demons.

“Everything has been shit since that day. Did you even try to say goodbye?” The first spark of anger caught in Valentin’s heart. He would use this. He needed to burn away the poison.

“You didn't stick with us when things got bad. I guess we just don't matter to you."

Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11
@Piérre Marchonné

"English." "Italiano. Italian." "Russian."

| Faint scar on left eye | | Mangled right ear |

Valetin Schnell
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama Ellwood

I take what I'm handed, I break what's demanded. But!
Under the Surface, I feel berserk as a tightrope walker in a three ring circus.

Of course my blunt and unthoughtful words had put a very sudden and uncomfortable damper on our first formal meeting in almost three years. I had not intended it... I never intended things like that. I found that when I tried to guard myself most, I made my most thoughtless remarks. I could almost feel the palpable undertone of a bruised ego. Was it a blaming of self or was it a sadness of a shortcoming that I couldn't see?

Why had I left? Admittedly there hadn't really been much to my thought process besides the fact that I had wanted to try out a different sport for a while; just to expand my palate and try something familiar but mildly different. Maybe I had felt that I would have been put to better use there than a simple Keeper that served as a mere body for the team to use for catching, saving, or defending.

But it seemed that my hopes and desire for a more meaningful placement in broom racing had been for naught. I had never crossed the finish line; let alone crossed it in first place. I was next to worthless, always trailing in the back and getting penalized for engaging in fisticuffs or otherwise physical combat with other fliers. I know that I could have been off better up front, even if I had only been defending our lead racer... But admittedly I was not very good with individual events or trying to be a self-sustaining opponent.

Despite being strong on my own... I worked better in a team. I just hadn't seen it yet.

Even as I was about to explain myself, a small laugh giving testament to someone unsure of how to breach the subject, Valetin's words turned cold and pointed, like an icicle being used as a dagger. His gaze had changed from mournful into an expression as hard as flint.

My smile vanishes as I behold this change of demeanor. Had I misspelled? Hit a nerve?

Valetin withdrew his wand, and I find myself tracking his movements carefully. I am without my own pale implement, left only to my physical devices. If he wants to start an arcane tussle, then I am at a sore disadvantage and my have to try and snatch his wand myself to even the scores.

But he wouldn't do something that hasty over something so minor, wouldn't he? Not over something that I had meant as a compliment, as an encouragement and a pat on his back for working with what he had.

And all of a sudden, his wand has flown away, thrown by him to another part of the room which sports a dark black duffel. I followed the trajectory of the implement until the wood settled into its place.

Was this... An invitation?

Half of my mind screams at the other; one calling for violence and the anger that it held deep inside. Something that it wanted to quell by means of fist crushing bone and blood-- mine and someone else's-- that needed to rise to the surface and be released. Permanently.

“What have you done?”

The terrified whisper echoes the sentiment of my other half, the one who didn't want to engage and who would have preferred to stay back and speak softly. I didn't want to suffer the consequences of foolish actions and hasty, desperate ploys. I made too many mistakes. I didn't like making mistakes, especially when the fallout hut others more than myself.

I knew that I could handle pain, as testified by my knuckles and my ear. I didn't want to test others unnecessarily with something that they would not be able to overcome in that moment.

I watch numbly as Valetin throws his shirt to the same duffle. After looking at it for a few seconds, my brow turns firm as my eyes flick to him with something near weariness. My fist continues to tremble at my side, but I do not move an inch. "Valetin. Please do not provoke me." I say softly, shaking my head as I behold his almost emancipated features. His size is not healthy for his age; similar to I, in that I weight a bit more than I should due to my considerable bulk. "Don't make me hurt you."

“Once is an accident... Twice is a coincidence... But three?! Three times makes a goddamn pattern, Romeo!”

I drop my shirt to the ground. This isn't just an invitation. This is a challenge. A mutual challenge. His, and mine.

Valetin heaps abuse on me, adding insult to injury. It wasn't my fault that so many left the team. They had their own agendas. They had their own wants and desires. They wanted to do something for themselves.

I can't control people. It's not my place.

“You didn't even say goodbye!”

"You didn't even say goodbye."

My left hand throws itself out before I can think about it, arcing directly towards the Valetin's side, towards the lower ribs in an attempted shovel hook.

Accuracy (1d20[14]+12): 26 -1 (charmer) = 25
Valetin Auto-dodge (d10): 10 Success!

My rage blinds me as I go for the swing, but my hand does not follow my eye, and with very little effort Val sidesteps the blow. A cry ripples from me as I slip into my native Italian. "Taci! Sta ' zitto! Shut up! Just shut up!" I finish my swing, turning to the side with murder in my eyes. Pink fury is beginning to cloud Valetin's features, turning his hair chestnut, his eyes a dull jade. He slipped out of the way. Like he always does.

Problem is, he's right where I want him. He just doesn't realize it yet.

"Ho fatto tutto per te, bastardo! Tu! I did everything for you, you bastard! You! " In the blink of an eye, my bent leg enters a chambered position, angled towards the recovering person. Without a thought, even as they recover, my foot comes forward, striking him in the gut.

Accuracy (d20[16]+12): 28 - 1 (Charmer) = 27 Success!
Val Auto Evasion (d10): 7 (Failure)
Val Evasion (d20[5]+10): 15

Val is hit for 168 damage and flies backwards from the strike, falling prone a few feet away.

This time, my kick is good, hitting him squarely and knocking him down a few feet away. The satisfying sound of breath being forcefully expelled from his lungs causes that vicious part of me to thrill with sadistic excitement. The part of me I hate so dearly.

But it feels good to have such a release. An invitation... And insult.

Just like old times.

Breathing heavily myself, I storm to the fallen person with heavy footfalls barely containing my fury. Swooping down to him, I hiss with my baritone in Italian again. "Hai mai pensato al peso che ho messo sulle mie dannate spalle? Have you ever thought about the weight I put on my own damn shoulders?" I tip my head, my teeth gritted as my eyes blaze with rising fury. "Tu e le tue dannate buffonate! You and your goddamn antics!" I whisper.

I slam my fist on the ground next to his head, the echo of skin hitting stone echoing freely in the air. "Volevo solo che io e te fossimo felici, dannazione! Posso essere felice e finalmente in grado di diventare qualcuno senza il mio dover essere sempre lì per voi? I just wanted you and I to be happy, dammit! Can I be happy and you finally able to become someone without my having to always be there for you?" My eyes crease as my face twists into a grimace. I look away to hide the glittering that wasn't there before. "E ' chiedere troppo...? Is that too much to ask...?"

Stats:

Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 7 | Strength 13 Ω
Ω Accuracy 12 | Wisdom 8 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist | Martial Artist Ω

Valentin saw Romeo’s shovel hook coming long before it could near his alabaster flesh. Sliding away with a twirl, Valentin taunted him in simple Russian.

“You did it for yourself, then, didn’t you. We…. no… I would have done anything for you, but you left us without a care in the world.”

"Taci! Sta ' zitto! Shut up! Just shut up!"

The anger rising inside Romeo sent a tremor of excitement through “Hell-Chaser” Val. Seething through his Italian, Romeo emanated veritable heat waves of aggression as Val’s smile cracked outwards like a faultline. Was this not exactly what Romeo and Valya had been needing? The thrillseeker already felt his pulse rising, but could Romeo finish the job where Mikael had failed?

"Ho fatto tutto per te, bastardo! I did everything for you, you bastard!"

Valentin didn’t know a lick of Italian, so his brain naturally tried to digest it using his own tongues. Swathes of broken Cyrillic dove under a perceived wave of mutant German, as was more befitting Valentin’s experiences with enraged cursing. It all sounded like Valya’s baritone father in his drunken southern way.

"Tu!" “You!”

"Nein, DU!" “No, YOU!” roared Valentin in a superior imitation of Hugo, even if his voice wasn’t quite as low. “Du hast unser Blut gestohlen. Gestohlen unseren Schweiß und unsere Träume. Du hast sie mitgenommen, als wir in die Hölle fielen. Für dich war wohl alles gut.” “You have stolen our blood. Stolen our sweat, and our dreams. You took them with you as we fell into hell. For you I guess it was all just fine.”

Valentin’s silver eyes flared back at Romeo’s-- those goddamn brilliant blue eyes that radiated like the Mediterranean Sea, surely warm and cozy while the tatters of Valentin’s team froze themselves numb every day in pre-dawn training. Even as Romeo burned alive with rage, the intensity of that blue still beckoned Valentin towards a state of calm. Why should Val stay mad when such a balmy seabreeze could soothe away his cares? Valentin paused, distracted, for a moment too long. From below, Romeo’s leg swept in like an unexpected tide, dashing him against the rocks beneath. Breath cast from his lungs, Valentin gasped and coughed as if drowning. Trying to push himself up, he couldn’t get far before the waves crashed down around him again.

"Hai mai pensato al peso che ho messo sulle mie dannate spalle? Have you ever thought about the weight I put on my own damn shoulders?" Raising himself up just far enough to lock eyes with Romeo over him, Valentin could see that, above the waters, even the shore was burning in his sultry Mediterranean climate. Romeo tipped his head, teeth gritted and eyes blazing with ascending fury.

"Tu e le tue dannate buffonate! You and your goddamn antics!"

Romeo’s massive body sprawled above like a stormy sky before his fist slammed down into the stone beside Valentin’s face. The crunch of stone breaking echoed in the otherwise silent room. For a moment, Valentin became a frightened boy again, recoiling from the other's rage. The pale seeker’s eyes grew large and round with fear as Russian pushed him away from his father’s influence.

“Maybe it was better that you just stayed away!” shivered Valentin. His father was a killer. Wasn’t it Hugo’s arrogance that made Valya’s father think he could get away with it, murder? It wasn’t as if his mother’s Swedish killer didn’t deserve it. The problem was that Hugo would still kill, permanently ending a life, if he felt like it. Maybe Valentin’s life, too, could be smeared away in one moment’s sweltering passion. Romeo could just kill him now. Prone as Valentin was, the Jötunn had every opportunity to demolish the smaller boy in whatever way he desired.

"Volevo solo che io e te fossimo felici, dannazione! Posso essere felice e finalmente in grado di diventare qualcuno senza il mio dover essere sempre lì per voi? I just wanted you and I to be happy, dammit! Can I be happy and you finally able to become someone without my having to always be there for you?"

The change in Romeo’s baritone was what snapped Valentin’s spinning mind back to reality. The Italian’s face warped into a grimace as he looked away. Valentin’s heart crushed in on itself at the sight of the boy’s pain. What happened? The pressure was pulling inwards, into the depths of Romeo where Valentin couldn’t reach, couldn’t help.

"E ' chiedere troppo...? "Is that too much to ask...?" he asked. Valentin’s keen eye could not ignore a gleam flitting away in the boy’s cerulean eyes. He couldn’t let Romeo shrink away now. The demons still festered inside them both, just as Hugo still rotted away, out of reach in some fetid prison. No, that was not okay. Romeo and Val had finally reached each other after years in isolation, and the seeker couldn’t let him go now-- not when it was clear that Romeo’s spirit writhed under the sinew of some scaly wyrm. He couldn’t leave Romeo alone with that.

«Эй, эй Медвежонок...» “Hey, hey now, bear cub,” Valentin beckoned. He wanted to reach out his arms and steal Romeo’s pain away the gentle way, but he suspected that couldn’t possibly work. Surely Valentin meant little to Romeo-- Valentin hadn’t heard a word from him since that wretched day in St. Mungo’s. But I thought of you.

«Значит, Ханзо плохо о тебе заботится,» “Hanzo must not be taking very good care of you,” escaped Val’s hiss. It had always been Valentin’s way to observe his team mates, and the way the boys had interacted, even in London, had not escaped his gaze. Back then, Valentin had stifled any inclination to get closer to Romeo. It was more important that the pair have a chance at happiness than for the seeker to encroach on their space in any capacity. A person only had so much time. Whatever Hanzo had been doing with his, though... this was what had become of Romeo. A short snarl twisted off of Valya’s face as he rolled to the side.

«Ну, он здесь не для того, чтобы помочь тебе сейчас,» “Well, he’s not here to help you now,” growled the seeker. With Romeo turned away [d20 : 13] + 7=20, he failed to evade Valentin’s dauntless attack [d20 : 12] + 11 =23. Sliding in behind the giant, Valentin hooked his right arm taut around Romeo’s neck and wedged it in place with his left in a firm chokehold. He would strangle out the parasite consuming Romeo’s soul without mercy if he had to. Swinging his legs around Romeo’s ribs, Valentin ensured that even if the beast of a boy could tear off part of his grip, another part of the seeker would still be holding on. Burying his face in the back of Romeo’s neck, Valentin steeled himself for certain pain to come. He would not be bucked off nor crushed against the stone without a fight.

Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11
632 HP remaining
@Piérre Marchonné

Durmstrang Institute's

¤ | Ω | ¤ Romeo Giovanni Marchonné

"English." "Italiano. Italian." "Russian."

| Faint scar on left eye | | Mangled right ear |

Valetin Schnell
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama Ellwood

Line up the dominoes, a light wind blows.
You try to stop the tumbling, but on and on it goes!

With a tempest in my chest, I fight both urges to throw up or spit on the ground. Neither would serve me well in the moment in staving off the iron bile that was slowly rising in my stomach. My mind is barely beginning to pound as rationality starts to return to me in the remotest of forms. I should not be fighting. I should not be letting this half of me take over like this.

I have to stop hurting people. I have to stop using hand over words. Just like I have been doing for the past three years. I have words now, eloquent words, better words than the bruises and hematomas spoken by fist and foot.

Those eyes had looked up at me in fear. True fear despite my often soft and quiet nature.

No...

No... Don't fear me...

Understand me!

See how I see! See my hands? They're breaking. I'll break my hands just to shown you that I don't want to cause harm constantly. I'll only hurt once... For you.

Foreign words echoed in my head, words I don't know, just as those who don't understand my native tongue must hear. They seethe with the same rage, the same anger and the same aggrieved pleading. Just as angry at me as I am with them. Well, either me or whomever Val's ire was directed at, that was. Did he need this understanding just as much as I did?

Valetin's soft words throw me off for a moment. Truth be told, I had not thought much of Hanzo in the recent year. We had drifted apart ever since I had taken up broom racing and he duelling, and as much as I had briefly tried to keep connections... We kept drifting further and further away...

I didn't think we had anything in common anymore... And in fact we were too different now to even be considered friends anymore, even for as close as we had used to be. Maybe that was for the better.

And Piérre had mentioned the very same as well... In incredibly distasteful terminology.

But before I can respond to Valetin's observations, his tone turns cold, and it is too late that I feel a pair of thin arms wrap around my neck and a duo of legs cinch around my waist; a double grip intended to maximize a hold on a larger opponent such as myself.

Instinctively, my hands snatch the hands at my throat as my breath catches in the beginnings of a choke. Fate had a funny way of twisting on anyone. Now, it seemed it was my turn to experience the same situation that I had put my brother in.

Except... I was a good deal stronger than the person trying to choke me out.

And I could prove it.

First one foot, then onto my knee, then the other foot, as I slowly get to my feet; ignoring the red that is slowly rising in my face from the initiation of circulation loss. Puffing slightly with the addition of an extra hundred pounds on my back, I stumble forward a few feet and do the only thing that I can think of to extricate myself from this situation.

I deathdrop.

Bracing myself for impact, I fall backwards flat on my back, crushing my aggressor between my spine and the floor. In Val's stunned state, I easily wrench myself away from him and roll off to the side, getting my footing.

I look down at the pale Seeker, whose complexion continues to scintillate between that of my twin and that of his true self. I don't want to fight... I don't... I don't...

So why do I leap recklessly back into the fray, my elbow angled down at the pale perpetrator as my body prepared for a heavy blow to the lightweight that was helplessly prone?

There were no more words to say. No more chances to speak. This was no longer time for words. This was time for action that spoke louder than any words I could ever say.

Not I hate you!

But rather Because I love you.

Seconds from disaster, Schnell weaves out of my way yet again, and unprepared, I am forced to enter a rough roll to try and mitigate the damages that I take from such a reckless landing. My left shoulder screams in complaint as I roll, and for the briefest second I feel a slight 'pop' of readjustment in its socket.

Rolling head over heels once, I land flat on my back, my right hand having taken my left shoulder in defensiveness, my damaged ear ringing from the rattling of my center of gravity these past few seconds. I hiss slightly as I compartmentalize the pain like I always have. There was still work to do, wasn't there?

I had to get to my feet somehow.

I had to keep fighting.

It was what I had been naturally born to do, despite my aspirations for greater goals and future dreams.

In the end, I was just punching bag, or else dealer of punches myself. Despite those around me, none would fight with me if given the choice.

So I had to fight for myself.

And that was just fine for me...

Right?

294 damage to Schnell

Stats:

Ω Stamina 788/900 | Evasion 7 | Strength 13 Ω
Ω Accuracy 12 | Wisdom 8 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist Ω

Valentin clung to Romeo in his choke hold, trying to anticipate the fighter's next move while smothering his pale face in the russet hair at the back of the boy’s neck. Rising strong despite their combined weight, Romeo shifted back their gravity into freefall. Despite the myriad times the seeker had struck the earth, he had never fallen like this. Together in the air, together in their landing, the weight of Romeo’s massive body crushed Valentin against the stone.

Despite the threat of breaking ribs and developing flail chest again, Valentin’s bones had grown reinforced from their many crashes. Just as a boxer strengthens their hand bones through punching, so too was Valentin’s body conditioned for blunt injury. Still, pain exploded through Valya’s torso and his diaphragm seized up with failure to exhale on impact. Valentin’s eyes slurred happily to the side as the stunning force broke his grip enough for Romeo to roll away. On his feet again while Valentin lay prone in recovery, the Italian came rushing back, unrelenting, in a raging elbow dive. The clearly telegraphed strike gave the seeker time to spring to the side and rise onto his own feet, however.

As Romeo crashed into a rough roll with a loud shoulder pop, Valentin considered the tactic of dodging the giant boy until he had destroyed himself. Yet, Romeo’s self-destruction was not Val’s wish. No, he wanted a far greater outcome. The Italian lay on his back, surely in great pain, presenting ample opportunity... but Val's lungs forced him into spasms of coughing blood. Pressing his inner elbow over his mouth, Valentin swallowed the crimson down as best he could. He had to go fast to take advantage of this lull in time, but a wash of black passed over the seeker’s eyes. Valentin paused, trying to force his eyes to focus, losing precious split seconds.

Romeo hissed back at his pain, beginning to recover back towards his relentless, beautiful, unpitying onslaught. Valya could feel Romeo facing him with everything he was, treating him as an equal regardless of the differences in their bodies. He gave Valentin the opportunity to use his tactics and creativity instead of blowing him off like a child. Indeed, Valentin could feel that Romeo was putting everything of himself into this fight, opening himself up without sparing him even his native tongue. Like this, only like this, could they reach any degree of true catharsis together. It was all so rare to Valentin, whose despair over his superficial relationships wracked him ceaselessly.

Val was a creature who showed his genuine self to the world despite the smoke and mirrors conjured by the lies and confusion of so many others. He didn’t find any other type of relationship worthwhile. Yet, as much self-sacrifice as he’d put on himself over the years, meaningful reciprocity always evaded him in the end. A blinding light burned in his eyes on sleepless nights, Valentin’s wish for someone to care enough to truly cross the divide he kept falling into alone. Mikael still swam by himself through the eddies of his black hole even as Val kept trying to pull him out. Yefim’s grand mission channeled the twin rivers of blood that were Mik and Val, and Yef’s eyes rarely looked behind as his friends drove him on towards the attainment of his dreams. Aida, Charles, Greta… everyone else kept casually living out their lives. After all, people fundamentally had to have their own objectives, their own lives. They wouldn’t be alive, wouldn’t have colour, wouldn’t have will and freedom and possibility, if they didn’t focus first on commanding their own lives. Val wouldn’t have it any other way, and yet, the seeker still burned alive with the pain of solitude while surrounded by loved ones.

The damage radiating through Valentin’s chest from Romeo’s deathdrop, the convulsive discord in his gut from the kick in his stomach, the wafts of pain seeping off Romeo… These consoled Valentin with their touch, and he felt alive in this moment. Such thrills reminded him that so much more was possible than he conceived. Pushing the limits was his way of escaping the confines of his weak human body and mind, as if he could free himself into the greater universe… wholeheartedly becoming a part of something greater.

My recurring lust for violence… this is no deathwish, thought Valentin. I just want it to connect… Your rage, your pain, your thoughts. I want these to throttle me like your raw, unrestrained fists. Dance with me here so that I may fully understand you. If it takes a ropebridge of blood to traverse the chasm, then I will gladly pay that cost. It’s just… who would ask the same of me? How will I ever break free of these bonds if no one will strike me with the full weight of their truth, free and unchained? I need you to hit me, I need to feel and know beyond this crude matter, to grasp the fundaments of what moves you… And I need you to want me to hit you, back. Only then can we cease from being alone.

Valentin’s eyes cleared, focusing on the boy before him as new electricity in his veins powered him into a running kick at Romeo’s mangled ear. The Italian artfully avoided Valentin’s amateur maneuver Nat 20 EVA, but the spry snowstorm spun away again, ungraspable like a whirlwind. Valentin dove back at Romeo in a leaping grab for his hair, hoping to pull his bloody ear into a left hook. Hear me, HEAR ME! screamed Valentin’s heart. Yet, the martial artist was not an easy mark and avoided both of Valentin’s spindly hands. Romeo suffered only minor damage from the entire scuffle, mostly from Valentin ricocheting his high-speed bodyweight against an already-bruised rib 62 damage. Too close and without an angle to evade, the only place for Val out of effective range of fist and leg was forward. The seeker whirled in a chaotic arc 17 ACC vs. 9 EVA as he dove again with his arms reaching around Romeo’s neck from the front. This was no repetition of his choke hold: Valentin simply grabbed with his arms and legs and tried to hold on. There was no arm bar, no attempted flip, just… holding on.

“Come back to us!” half-shouted, half-whispered Valentin. “I see you breaking yourself against this dead weight, but why, why, when we can fight side by side again? It’s not the same without you. Be my beater. You have grown so strong… and I remember…” Valentin’s voice corroded with fry. “I miss your mind. Your spirit. Your strategy. Come back……. Come home.”

Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11
338 HP remaining for Val; Romeo takes a devastating 62 damage.
@Piérre Marchonné

Durmstrang Institute's

¤ | Ω | ¤ Romeo Giovanni Marchonné

"English." "Italiano. Italian." "Russian."

| Faint scar on left eye | | Mangled right ear |

Valetin Schnell
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama Ellwood

But wait... If I could shake the crushing weight of expectations,
would that leave some room for joy?
Or Relaxation? Or simple Pleasures...?

Dazed, I let the world seem to spin around me for a few seconds, recollecting my strengths as I reconsider the actions that led to this point. If even one thing on that trail of years had changed even in the slightest-- if a butterfly had fluttered an inch too far to the left or right, up or down-- how different would I be today? How differently would my relationship with by twin be? Would we still be in Hogwarts together? Would we have played Quidditch together or broom raced side by side?

How much trouble would we have gotten into together?

How much happier would Piérre have been? Had I been?

Would I have been?

The light footsteps of an incoming opponent causes me to dilate back into the moment, and without thinking I roll off to the left and onto my hand and knees, clutching my left shoulder to tender it ever so slightly even as Valetin charges for me with all the intensity of a blizzard.

We lock together in a mess of limbs and hands, though I nimbly avert as many of his strikes as possible with an array of right-handed knife hands. At least he is smart enough to go for my weak points, as a deflected hook towards my right ear attests to. Despite my several blocks, however, I am unable to prevent a glancing blow to my ribs, which causes me to tense slightly before disengaging and giving the seeker a bit more ground. I'm watching... Waiting. Observing keenly for the next opening that comes from my haphazard opponent. I sway from side to side slightly, but Valetin is already upon me.

With a jerk, I bring my arms tightly to my chest with fingertips upwards as if in a praying position as Valetin's thin arms wrap around my neck and his legs tangle about my midriff once more. My hands come up harshly, neatly dividing Valetin's chest from mine, but before I throw my arms outwards to shatter the grasp, his words cut the air around us.

"Come back to us!"

I freeze, breathing heavily. The still warm air around us is still somehow cool enough (or maybe I am overheated enough) that my breath puffs before me in a faint cloud of forceful mist. My hands remain locked between us at the wrists, pushing against Val's chest softly; still wary that he might trick me once again. I wouldn't be surprised if he did.

I have a terrible habit of trying to see the best in others regardless of history.

"Breaking, yes. But reforging too." I say softly in return. "I did this to prevent myself from others who didn't deserve to get hurt. That didn't want to get hurt. That I didn't want to get hurt." I fixate on him intently. "Because it's better to break things that can be fixed than things that can't or are more difficult to mend."

Come home.

"Which one? I've had too many." Too many to count. "An old home? Is it willing to take me back, or are there cobwebs that I need to sweep and pests to kill there before I can really call it a home again?" I remember the tatters of the team, trying to ignore the ache in my chest at the thought of coming back. I did miss the game. I miss it more than I ever enjoyed the sensation of broom racing. "Do the rest of them really want me back? Like you said... I abandoned them. Do they really want a deserter on their team?" My own voice, though low, shakes, but I force it into a stern tone.

I press his chest a little harder with the bone of my wrist, feeling his own sternum beneath my touch. So thin. Too thin. Lithe as my twin, but too small. Not healthy. How come? "I didn't want to hurt you. Why would you want me to hurt you?" I finally demand after a moment of quiet.

Silently... I think I already know. That I needed to desperately let these aggressions go. That I needed to let them be known and then let them depart from me like evil spirits. That I needed to kill them, or at least starve them of their cruel pleasures in the form of confronting the root outright. Val saw it with those keen argent eyes.

He had just been directing my own eyes towards them so I could see them more clearly.

But I want to hear it for myself. I want to hear it from him directly.

Stats:

Ω Stamina 726/900 | Evasion 7 | Strength 13 Ω
Ω Accuracy 12 | Wisdom 8 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist Ω

Romeo’s hand pressing against Val’s sternum, the seeker clambered off the tall boy, only to almost step on the corpse of a water bottle. Its warped shell had already expelled its remaining contents across the floor like the exoskeleton of a dead bug. It broke because Romeo was breaking down, its trauma reflecting that of its dealer like an artist’s painting.

"I did this to prevent myself from others who didn't deserve to get hurt. That didn't want to get hurt. That I didn't want to get hurt. Because it's better to break things that can be fixed than things that can't or are more difficult to mend," Romeo had said.

Indeed, what was a water bottle, or a punching bag, which could be fixed readily or… replaced. Valentin grimaced. Romeo was treating his hands like this. At what point would he treat himself as replaceable, too? One beater slot filled with another waitlister, one leaf in a forest, just another boy of many. Valentin shook his head. Romeo was not just one of many. Valentin watched everyone and everything, making friends easily, embracing pleasure and pain alike… but Romeo had always been a man apart. A boy apart. Val had let him go thinking it would be the best for him, assuming he would be cared for-- that Romeo wouldn’t be breaking apart alone.

The Italian-tinted words rang back in Val’s memory. "Like you said... I abandoned them. Do they really want a deserter on their team?"

Why does he seem so alone? What happened with his brother, at that ball…? lunged Valentin’s intuition, far outpacing his cognizant mind. Whom was Romeo afraid of hurting, such that he would break his hands? The cogs turned in Valya’s brain but produced no clear result. He didn’t understand. He wanted to understand. Not just breaking, but reforging. Why was Romeo doing this to himself? Valya had to know. Romeo clearly hurt. He wasn’t being taken care of well enough. Romeo shouldn’t have to do this alone. This wasn’t everything he could be, at his most transcendent. Synergy, care, togetherness made a team more than the sum of its parts, the captain knew. After all, the boundaries which humans imposed on the fabric of the universe were just a convenient construct-- “us” versus “them.” People imposed limits on themselves for self-defense, but Valentin had stepped into the position of captain because he wanted his people to ascend beyond their self-imposed limitations. He wanted them to experience their true greatness and soar, brushing fingertips with the wings of eagles, tasting the bold colors of their dreams coming true. Was that what Romeo was doing here, now, as he broke himself against a dead weight? Was this making his dreams come true?

Valentin reflected on the boy’s words again, searching the lines around Romeo’s eyes. Which home? ‘I’ve had too many,’ considered Val. Cobwebs and pests? How much do you value such a home, if it’s not even worth dealing with such minor threats…? Valentin’s mouth bent with the memory of his own attack.

'Why did you leave?... You didn't stick with us when things got bad. I guess we just don't matter to you,' flew his quicksilver blow. Val couldn't blame Romeo if his team could not realize the boy's dreams, yet...

Romeo’s leaving was a major part of why Val had crashed so hard, and it still bled inside him. Shouldn't Valya still take on the pain for this rare creature nonetheless? The captain, the seeker, the boy could be almost self-destructive in pushing his own limits like this, but fuck it, he thought-- there was no one like Romeo. Their resonance was too strong for Valya to resist. Still, this was bigger than Valentin. Did the team want the Italian back, wondered the captain, shunting his own wishes down violently deep inside. What does the team want? I have to think of them. Squeezing his hands into pulsing fists, all Val could see were those beautiful days when the whole team strove for their dream together, back when they all believed, back when they were of one mind. Surely everyone remembered how Rome’s clever analytical mind, together with his careful and passionate playstyle, not only carried his own weight, but helped uplift their team.

“Yes, I believe we would all welcome you back. The team needs you. We were better together.” Val’s silver voice shuddered at the end as his own feelings raged against their confinement. He didn’t want just any qualified waitlister to fill the slot. Romeo wasn’t just another would-be-beater. “We need you. I have been putting off filling that spot… because Durmstrang deserves better. I understand now. Durmstrang deserves you. No one would be better.” The captain’s mind skimmed through its inventory of possible players and found every face washed out with grey under the brilliance of Romeo’s potential.

Of course they needed Romeo. The question was, did Romeo need them?

"I didn't want to hurt you. Why would you want me to hurt you?"

Hurt me so that I feel your pain. Hurt me because you want me to understand. Hurt me so that we won't be alone anymore. Let me take it because I love you enough to bear the damage without giving up. Because I’m solid enough to survive and keep sustaining you. Because I can take better care of you than whomever is supposedly doing that now, surged Valentin’s spinning impulses. Both of Valentin’s hands pulled themselves through his milky hair until latching on at the back of his head with a frozen tug. What the hell, Valik, you can’t say that. Maybe Val was wrong. Maybe all of this was going cockeyed and he didn't know what he was talking about. Romeo was strong and could take care of himself, and he could have at least one person better than Valentin holding him together even this much. I have been so incredibly arrogant. Still, maybe there was a glittering grain of truth to it all, somewhere...

“Because you deserve better than just a punching bag. Because you don’t have to break your hands to stop this. Because you have another choice. You can choose to have a home.” Valentin’s eyes finished the thought, for he could not allow himself to say it aloud. You can have a home in me. Afraid of his own lilac gaze, Valya pulled his eyes away, down onto the Italian's broad hands. I want you to hurt me because I need your help, too, and I don't know else how to ask for it.

“The team needs you, whether they say it or not.”

The thin white captain released the grip on his scalp and closed his eyes. It hurt. Valya’s head turned to the side. Had their violence really meant anything? Did his words fall empty on disinterested ears? At least it seemed that the beast gnawing away at Romeo’s insides had withdrawn for the time being. Valya couldn’t help but wonder if at least one of the boy’s demons fled, even temporarily, under the seeker’s understanding gaze. Better yet, had Romeo looked them truthfully in the eye and banished them with his own power?

“I wanted you to see the truth about yourself. You will do what you do, but take my eyes if they will help you.”

White eyelashes parted once again and Valentin took a step forward.

“Your hands are broken enough. Won't you let me repair them? Maybe I can't see for shit, and I don't know my own limits, let alone anyone else's... But let me at least try.”

Abilities: Keen Eye, Evasive Maneuvers, Charmer
Stats: STA 8 ★ EVA 10 ★ STR 2 ★ WIS 15 ★ ARC 1 ★ ACC 11
338 HP remaining for Val.
@Piérre Marchonné