Death in the Family PV Closed

@Romeo Marchonné

Left alone with thoughts, the Jester could only mull over his predicament in the darkness of a velveteen place between worlds. Oh yes, he was well aware that he was asleep, or at least that he was in the facsimile of slumber. The Jester was aggravatingly self-aware of his subconscious condition.

After all, had he been awake and a part of the waking world, he would not currently have the ability to be floating unsuspended by anything in midair upside down with his legs in a crisscross, looking up from his perspective down upon a grey and black world whose shadows and light did not blend, but stood out starkly from one another as if a floodlight perpetually shown in the area. There was no sun, but a grey horizon whose gradient went from blinding white above him to a featureless black which blended effortlessly into the monochrome landscape all around.

No life except him. No movement but a breeze that barely ruffled his pewter colored hair. Yes, even the Jester himself had turned into a charcoal piece of art, a part of the world around him that could not possibly be real, but in his core he knew it was; its shattered hills and vales, ragged mountains that pierced the pure white with onyx darkness, and deep dark canyons that had not been there the last time the Jester had been consigned here. From that canyon, that unhealed wound that was somehow darker than any other part of this world, the Jester knew the Nightmares came. The Thoughts he did not call upon, the Knowledge that he did not care to speak, and the Creatures that brooded and threatened his every action, word, and movement. Creatures that deserved to Live just as much as himself, even if their sole purpose was to shatter and destroy the Jester from the inside out; the enemies of his enemies who could never be his friends, that his friends could never see.

Just as much a part of him as he was of them.

Ash colored eyes scanned and watched. Observed and conquered. Witnessed in silence as breaths and heartbeats were the only sounds that echoed in his ears. That echoed in the current world. Ruminated and judged. The knowledge that he was no longer meant to learn but teach bubbling first and foremost in his mind.

He saw a rise and fall of empires and Kings in that Place, their reigns cut short by a myriad of nameless and disinteresting ends, the Jester saw himself in it: Catalyst, Teacher, Witness, Sineater, Regality. All the roles that could ever be had, the characters that he could play, he was.

And were looking back up at him from the pitch black earth; thousands of radiant white beings which looked up towards the greyscale boy overhead. Perfect, pale, stark against the darkness.

He saw through their eyes, and they through his.

All of them suspended in a world between worlds.

| π |

There was a fuzzy, cottony taste in his mouth as Piérre slowly felt himself coming to in the warm folds of his own emerald cloak. Sterling silver sleeves covered his arms, along with mild ruffles and formal white silk gloves which covered his hands and fingers. Why had he been wearing these again? Surely he hadn't been too wild at the Midspring Celebration. He was underage after all, as were all the other students.

Unless something terrible had happened, which to be fair happened quite often.

“Mmmmph?” He complained as he furrowed his brow and squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to negotiate a pounding headache which seemed to make the world spin around him.

A blurry red figure gradually made itself known to the boy, seeming to apperate in the midst of his foggy mind, fluttering and billowing.

Lights flashed against the far wall, a lightshow that caused Piérre to squint from time to time again to ward off the worst of the pounding headache that followed each flash.

A strong force was gently taking his shoulder, rubbing it firmly but tentatively. A low sound, a voice, cut through the ringing and pounding, but only just, patchy and unclear in the fuzziness and curiosity of Piérre's new situation.

"--érre... -re you ok---?"

It was a familiar voice, though one that Piérre got the feeling that he didn't want to be hearing at that moment in time.

Flickers of memory flailed their way to the forefront of Piérre's mind, an attempt to piece together how he ended up in this mess to begin with.

Romeo shouldn't have come.

Anger at being ignored one too many times.

Anger.

A fight.

Fingers slipping away from a pair of relentless arms and into a sea of darkness.

Hospital Wing.

Piérre was wide awake now as he sat up suddenly, ignoring the stab of a headache attempting to persuade him to lay back again.

No. Not here. Not this cursed place again. The boy wanted nothing more to do with this source of misfortune and ill will. Even if the mad nurse wasn't here anymore, even if the rumors had finally begin to fade that Piérre had been responsible for pushing Marion Davenport, resulting in a near fatal fall from his broom... Piérre didn't want to be in this place ever again, and the wildness in his emerald eyes expressed this point greatly as he now made out more and more of the red cloak's owner, the memories crashing into him full force as green eyes locked on blue.

“Don't touch me.” Piérre warned quietly, fingers curling harshly into the sheets and threatening to rip at the mattress beneath. “You shouldn't have come here... Shouldn't have brought us here.”

Eyes flicked about wildly, paranoid. Voice and lip quivered as screams of his thoughts and the voices of others echoed in his head. He couldn't move.

And there was Romeo, the newest antagonist that the Jester could see.

“What have you done?”

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

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

@Piérre Marchonné

I sat motionless by my twin's side, nary moving a muscle as I continued to watch the faint glow of firelight outside and listened to the shouts of festivities on the grounds of Hogwarts. I sighed deeply, putting my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, rubbing my eyes with exhaustion and pain from the mildly dripping wound at my ear. I could either wait to see if the nurse came by soon... Or I could try and administer my own help at the risk of snooping about.

In the end, I decided that neither would work in my favor. I would have to use what I had on hand.

So, by pressing the hood of my scarlet cloak tightly to my ear, even as unsanitary and subpar as it was, I applied pressure the muggle way with an improvised bandage. Just enough to stop the bleeding and assist the clotting already taking place, whereafter I would have to have it looked at and likely disinfected so that it could heal properly at the end all be all of things.

Sucking air through my teeth at the stinging, I try to let myself relax and absorb as much calm as I can from the mostly silent room, pierced only by the light breathing of my twin. My heart starts to slow a bit the more composedly I control my breathing and begin to let single thoughts filter through my consciousness instead of the mess of tens at a time. The first thing I knew was that Piérre would be alright. His breathing was stable, his small movements and minor shifts in his laying position giving testament to an at least mildly normal semblance of slumber. He would come to eventually, maybe sooner rather than later.

The second thing I knew for certain was that there was a chance that he would not be alright when he came to, especially if he kept as blameful and angry as he had been at the ball itself. I held nothing against him for the time being, in fact I greatly blamed myself. I had been in the wrong for lashing out in response to a lashing out. I had not been in the right, had had no justification for my actions. I had gotten him hurt; I had gotten myself hurt.

I had deserved it. He hadn't.

It wasn't until a small, sharp breath came from the green cloaked Piérre that I turn to him suddenly, slipping from the bed and kneeling by the bedside in order to be at his eye level. He squeezes his eyes shut, dazed and likely confused at this gradual coming to. Yes... I had expected him to have at least a little bit of a headache thanks to my actions.

With a small, bitter smile, I gently place my hand on his shoulder, rubbing up and down his arm to let him know that I was here for him, with him. Just like we always were in the past. 'See, I wouldn't leave you... Not when you needed me most.'

"Piérre? Are you okay, Piérre?" I whisper to him quietly, trying to take one of his hands in my own. Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe things would be alright, maybe we could see eye to eye and understand one another.

No sooner have I tried to piece together the next words and thoughts I was going to say, but my brother jerks suddenly, yanking his hand from mine and looking about him with an air like that of a madman. Was this... The first time that I had seen genuine terror in his eyes?

His first words rock me ever so slightly, and I pull back from him to let him relieve the obvious tension that seemed to be surrounding him in that moment. Twin telepathy may be a wife's tale... But that didn't mean that it didn't exist. I knew my brother like the back of my hand, or at least I thought I did. I had to let him speak his mind. Explain.

That's what I had wanted, after all: answers.

But Piérre's panicked sentences only leave me more bewildered than when he had been in his total and almost desperate rage. What in Merlin's beard was he talking about? Yes, he had spoken of the terrors of the Hospital Wing his first year... But he had been a child then, as had I. Surely nothing that nightmarish had happened here, even if he had told me all the details he had been able to spare. Even if they had, they weren't here. At least, not anymore.

"Wh- What have I done?" I respond slowly, letting my mins spin out all reasonable explanations. I had several, as it were. "I-I brought you here so that we could talk and you could recover from your little tiff with me earlier." Bluntly honest. I had nothing to withhold. "To be true, I'd like an explanation for what happened back there. Please... Talk to me and don't get too excited." I reach for him again only to have him roll off the bed on the opposite side from me. He glares back and down at me as he gets to his feet, those bottle green eyes as sharp as glass.

Hollow too, as if nothing were behind them.

I can't see Piérre anymore. I can't see my twin.

"Piérre." I switch gears, trying to change my tone from mild hysteria into that of stern concern. I gain my footing slowly, surely, so as not to startle. I don't want to start another fight. "Gemello. I'm here because I worried about you. Please don't do anything to make things worse. I just want to understand. I've been worried sick."

Lights flash on the wall opposite of us, revealing our jet black silhouettes in perfect black and white.

"Just talk to me. I'm listening." I hold both hands up, palms to him. I pose no threat. "Why should I not have come here? Why are you so angry all of a sudden?"

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

Abilities:
Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist | Martial Artist

@Romeo Marchonné

Of course the Strongman leapt to jump to his own defense first. Like he always did. Always trying to retort and make the Jester's words less than what they were supposed to be.

Well, the Jester wasn't going to take that laying down. He leapt to his own defense as well, evading the grasp of the hand that had previously strangled him into submission, rolling of the side of the cot and getting his feet beneath him in order to lock eyes with the opponent's cerulean.

“Excited? Huh. I thought you knew me well enough to know just how excited I can get.”A false smile spread across his features, a strange glittering like hard chips of a green glass bottle evident in his eyes. A humorless laugh escaped him. “That's really all that was to you? Just a little tiff?” He tipped his head, tangling the sheets between his fingers as he never let his gaze slip from the Strongman.

The tenor went low as Piérre came to a sudden, almost frightening realization. “You're smart. You like discovering things that somehow make no sense.” Piérre nodded at his brother, gesturing to him with a twisting wrist. “Lemme tell you something, yeah? I've been knocked out cold at least once every year while I've been in attendance at Hogwarts.” Once, here in the Hospital Wing with the VanCleaf twins... What a terrible parallelism that was being uncovered here in that regard. Twice within the Hogwarts Express due to an attack by S.C.A.R. Thrice, tonight.

Piérre counted off fingers in front of Romeo's face as he spoke. “Once is an accident.
Twice is a coincidence. But three? Three times makes a goddamn pattern, Romeo!” The boy hit his counting hand on the bed, which let out a squeak of complaint. His teeth were bared and his eyes set with harsh judgement.

Despite his anger, though, Piérre couldn't force an angry look to persist on his features, the look of fury melting into the soft throes of anxiety and weariness. He found himself stagger-breathing, his breath catching with every inhalation as he tried to rationalize his predicament and fight his case with the proper means for the ends. His anger was turning into fear, like an animal cornered by a huntsman's pack.

And any animal cornered was a dangerous one.

“Uh-huh. Worried about me. How sweet.” He continued to smile mirthlessly. “Worried about me, were you, when you left? Or when you tried to assure me with hollow words with no action? Please, you're worse than some of leadership around here.” He spoke icily. “Should've thought about that before making up your mind to leave for the northern north and leaving me to the mercies of the devilish things that creep around this school on a daily basis.”

Rumors. That was how the boy learned most of the things happening around the school, admittedly. But even the Jester knew that rumors began with a grain of twisted truth, knotted up just enough that with lithe, determined fingers the truth could be wrested out.

“Mmmmm. You wonder why I'm so angry? Why you shouldn't have come? You have no idea the amount of hell your leaving put me through.” Piérre chuckled as he shook his head, backing away from the cot and sliding his fingers from it to instead cross his arms, rubbing them softly as if afflicted by an invisible chill. He still heard Athentos' shouts of fury, the small damaged boy with a broken jaw calling him all sorts of cruel misnomers, Marion screaming in pain.

Or was that the gurgling of a VanCleaf bleeding to death from a cruel curse? Or maybe the cries of a sugar-crazed student ranting his delusions of Candy Kingdom?

“I guess I envy your safe education. But... I can't leave. Not yet. My job isn't finished here.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I never asked you to come?! Maybe you should have just stayed away!” Piérre smiled towards the ceiling with incredulousness for a second before suddenly spinning on his heel back towards Romeo. He had heard the attempted soft footsteps trying to draw close, and the Jester wanted to make sure that the Strongman didn't try to get on close for comfort.

He snorted with the suddenness of the incoming absurd thought. “Or maybe you're just heroically suicidal.” He tipped his head, putting his chin on his fist; an index finger tapping his cheek thoughtfully. Green eyes appeared to glow in the dark, a cheshire smile catching the sparse light.

Now that was a thought.

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

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

@Piérre Marchonné

Each finger in my face causes my anger to heighten incrementally. It wasn't my fault that he got himself into fights he couldn't handle! It hadn't been his fault when others had taken advantage of him, but these sort of things were his own damn fault, trying to bite off more than he could chew. Making himself 'important' in the lives of others who wanted nothing to do with him. For once, this was a him problem.

Not mine.

He and I glare at one another, with blue splitting through green, my jaw tight and feeling as of I would break my teeth with the force of the strain I felt. I glared with no sympathy in me for the first time in as long as I could remember. Though it had been my fault for getting us expelled... Piérre had been the one responsible for getting me riled up enough to make mw lose my bearings. He always stirred the pot and made problems for no apparent reason, as if he enjoyed doing it, and I was always there trying to cope with the fallout that he made.

Piérre broke my stare first, but I don't cause my gaze to waver even for a second. Even as he continued to rant about the things that were claimed to have happened here, I shook my head slowly, resigning myself to the minute action of crossing my arms and glowering at Piérre. I circle the cot, trying to follow his movements and keep him on my sights. I have no idea what is actually going on his his mind despite his words. For all I know, he could become a threat to himself or to me at any given moment, and I had to be ready to defend.

He spun back to me, his hands quickening their movements in traditional Italian sign language. I stop moving, anticipating a sudden outburst of movement like I had experienced earlier. The ringing in my ear starts up again the longer his voice grates on my hearing.

“I don't need your permission to make my own choice and decide to attend a ball that I was invited to.” I fire back, tightening my grip on my arms. "I came because I was worried. Because I care about you, Gemello. I did it for you. I did everything for you!" My eyes glitter as the sounds of outdoors flutter inwards in a cacophony of celebration, oblivious of the fight happening just overhead. A night breeze turns the air cold and heralds the scent of frosty dew. "You're just so unable to see when you are wrong. You are so goddamn stubborn that you'd rather lose something precious to you than admit when you are mistaken."

"Heroically Suicidal"? What a turn of phrase. He wasn't wrong, as stupid as the accusation was. Truth be told, if he had been in real danger tonight I would have thrown myself onto a bed of nails for him without a second thought.

But was I that desperate to offer protection? How far was I willing to go before realizing that there would be dire consequences for me were I to continue?

"I don't need to take this abuse from you." I spit at last, scoffing to myself. "If you don't want me around, just say so, but I won't let you yank me around like you have me on a chain for your beck and call."

I felt a small twinge in my chest, as I realize my implications. I didn't want these words to be true... But the longer I was unable to make my brother see reason, the more desperate I was becoming to force him to at least see reason. "You need to make a choice, Piérre. I can't make it for you."

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

@Piérre Marchonné

A cats behavior- especially in regard to strangers- revealed a number of things about their keeper, and the sort of relationship sustained between the two. Cats that met the world with unshakable indifference, usually had keepers that were unassertive and kept the feline around to use as a fuzzy paperweight. Often times the indifference was extended to their keepers. These pet owners were generally nice people, but they never had the patience or will to really help others. They stayed around to make themselves look good, but the moment they were required to put in a little bit more effort than usual, they were never anywhere to be found. Much like how they handled their felines.

A friendly cat- or at the very least, a tolerant one- usually had an owner of a similar worldview. They were caring towards their feline companions, and tolerant of interactions outside of that relationship. Figaro's willingness was a surprise. Perhaps a little concerning even. It spoke wonders about the bond between him, and his human. While there had been an air of cautiousness when approached by Xailah, he seemed to take to the girl easily once he knew she was not a threat. He was learning from his person. His tenderness towards found allies was reflective of a keeper that had tried so hard to make the world happy. A person who fell just to make the court rumble with laughter, even if they knew the fall would hurt. Someone who once believed and trusted those placed in his path, only to later be slain by their beckoning hands. Figaro's fierceness towards those that threatened his boy, only secured the belief that the two had a very special connection. The silver bengal and elvish boy were far from being pet and owner. They were family. Brothers.

Better brothers than the young man and his human one. That was for certain. There was nothing Figaro and Piérre could do that would hurt the other- nothing spoken at least. Perhaps it was a good thing there was a language barrier in place. Piérre and Romeo on the other hand... they did not have the luxury of such a barrier. And yet they still lacked an understanding. Or mayhaps they were just unwilling to understand the other in the moment. Some hurtful things were said on this night. The outcome of their verbal (and then physical) exchange only ended in disappointment. On all ends.

Piérre had been reduced to a defenseless state, at the hands of his strongman brother. Both boys were headed off to the hospital wing, following the lead of a student intern, leaving Xailah behind to collect an unknowing Figaro. She stooped for the cat, and he took that as a sign to climb aboard. She hadn't expected him to affix himself around her neck, but understood the intention when she felt his small paws on her shoulder. She treated him as if he was her own feline, allowing his form to melt around her necks nape, a velvet hand positioned on his lower back to keep him from sliding. Figaro was much lighter than Schrödinger, therefore she was not use to the absence of extra weight. But she would get used to it.

With the cat donned, she stood, and eyed the rooms exit. Xailah watched Romeo, his brother, and the intern grow smaller and smaller with each step, their shapes silhouetted by the frame of the door. "I tried to warn him," she muttered. She looked at Figaro and shook her head, her features frowning. "I'm sorry." She was sorry. Sorry the fight hadn't been stopped in time. Sorry that Figaro would never quite understand what had happened, or why it ended the way it did. All he had been trying to do was protect his boy. And now his boy was being carried off by the same young man who had crippled him. Tragic really.

It was hard to determine what exactly to think of the situation. Disappointment was prominent obviously, as well as frustration- and there was some remorse, maybe. Xailah hadn't realized she had subconsciously slipped into autopilot, until she found herself standing in the doorway of the hospital wing. It was the distant sound of hushed voices that woke her. Among them she could pinpoint a (normally) sprightly tone that had been significantly worn down with age, and emotional burden. She could identify it as Piérre.

Oh. He was awake already. Good. Well. Maybe. The lioness stood idly behind a partition not far from the door, listening, while she made record of her visit on a pad of paper. Intern protocols- it was almost second nature at this point. When she was done signing in, she began rummaging around for a spare notepad and quill. There was one in a nearby drawer. Pushing her mask and veil out of her face, so that she could see what she was doing, she moved closer to the curtain that divided her from the voices on the other side. Ears perked, adjusting to better hear them. Breath was held. Released. Hair pulled away from the pale face it wreathed, displeased by the brothers conversation. There was no progress, their discussion had devolved into a game of pointing fingers. Each boy had a reason to be angry, but neither of them were entirely in the right. And none were willing to be the better man, because they believed the other owed them something.

You need to make a choice, Piérre. I can't make it for you.

When those words left Romeo's mouth, Xailah knew she couldn't stay behind the curtain while the brothers continued their game of tug o' war. Adjusting Figaro, so that he could comfortably rest slumped over a shoulder, she stepped out from the partition to make her debut in their scene. She cleared her throat, and looked to the both of them- assuming they acknowledged her presence, and allowed glances to meet. She circled around Piérres cot; the one he should have been laying in, but now only stood near.

"I see you two wasted no time in picking up where you left off. Let's keep our hands away from each other this time, yes?" She pulled a nearby seat up to the bedside opposite of the scuffle. She touched the quill in hand to the notepad in thought, as she carefully observed the boys. Notes. She was making notes- of their injuries so Brumby had a record of what happened, to look over later. "Oh," a dainty hand waved nonchalantly, "don't mind me, pretend I'm not here." A diversion; perhaps to buy Piérre some time, or give Romeo the opportunity to redact something said previously. "You left someone behind by the way." Xailah gestured with her head, towards Figaro who she had juggled between her arms, and the writing materials. The cat was held for a moment to gauge a reaction- specifically any reactions he may have had towards seeing Romeo. He was then gingerly placed at the head of his master's vacant cot.

Romeo Marchonné & @Xailah Alptraum

* Everything in quotation is in Italian unless stated to the contrary
Also... I do not share Piérre's sentiments... And he IC doesn't either, really.
He is very emotional right now and is finding it difficult express himself properly except through verbal attacks.

Despite himself, the Jester hoped that the Strongman would throw a hand towards him. It would give the boy an excuse to use the length of yew and snallygaster that he held clasped close to his chest. He wanted something from the Strongman. He wanted something that he had obsessively possessed of his all through his life until he had been torn away that fateful eleventh year.

He wanted the Strongman's sole attention. The feeling of watchful and protective eyes on him at all times. The sensation of not being alone because there was someone there that would never leave him.

And he had left. Just like so many others had. But the seeming difference between so many others and the Strongman was that the Strongman had the continuing nerve to keep coming back. One occasion with another boy specifically sparked further ire in the boy's mind.

Snorting with laughter as Romeo continued to try and defend himself, the boy suddenly felt a hot bubble of rage pop in his chest as words tumbled from his lips, thoughts that suddenly condensed in his mind and were spoken before he could restrain them. “Ohhhhhhh, why don't you just go and f*** your boyfriend?” He spat venomously. Of course he remembered a boy named 'Hanzo'. Piérre hadn't hated the kid...

Truth be told... He was looking for a scapegoat.

And it seemed that his words had hit their marks, as those bright blue eyes suddenly lit up with both shock and abbhoration.

"Ex-f***ing-scuse me?" That voice boomed at a rather quiet volume. "Wh- and what is that supposed to mean...?!"

“Your boyfriend. Hanzo, wasn't he? Go back to Russia and f*** him!” Piérre snapped again, baring his teeth at his taller twin. “He replaced me just fine, didn't he? Why fix something that's already working for you, right?” Piérre openly withdraw his wand but made no initiative, only turning it in his hands to negate a sudden nervous wave that was swiftly running through him. Fury and fear were running through him in equal measures, and with each step forward he felt the cracking of the length of bridge between the two of them that fragmented more and more the longer that Piérre went on.

Make a choice, huh?

Make a choice?!

The small meowing of a very familiar kitten caused the boy's ear to pique and his head to snap in that direction instinctively. This was followed up by a very light, very specific clearing of a throat, and Piérre watched as the only form of Xailah Alptraum slid from behind a curtain just across from where the Marchonnés had been feuding. Just how much had she heard, Piérre wondered...?

Her words were concise and very very on brand for an individual who seemed to be ever so slightly off in both assessment and action compared to her contemporaries. Breaking away from Italian to speak in a common tongue, Piérre sulked slightly upon hearing that the twins had indeed made good on keeping up the argument in her absence. “Didn't plan on it unless he hits me first.” He retorted grumpily, tapping his wand back into his vest's inner coat pocket and glaring at Romeo narrowly for a moment before paying attention to the Metamorph again.

Was that a notebook? Wh- Huh?

Piérre's brow furrowed a bit, his mouth moving lately a bit as he tried to string together a structure of words that made sense. So far nothing came to mind. At least, not until the Gryffindor prefect mentioned the poor Figaro that had been left behind in the turmoil.

When presented to both twins, Figaro newer quietly again with wide mint eyes on Piérre and a deep purr in his throat. During a tiny window of focus on Romeo, Figaro's tail swished back and forth, curling briefly into Xailah's lap as if to try and hook her wrist before the feline let himself be placed on the cot. No sooner had silvery paws touched the bed did Piérre scoop the kitten up into his arms and hug the feline close to his chest in a quiet symbol of defensiveness and an apparent need for clinginess. As he quietly gasped out. “Figgy!”

Figaro's eyes didn't waver from Romeo, even if they were half-closed, though the general body language of the cat was both calm and contented in Piérre's firm, hugging arms. There was still a chance, at least in the bengal's mind, that Gemello was still a threat to be neutralized if he proved himself even remotely dangerous.

And Piérre's own body language seemed to indicate that he was either going to run away or else finish the fight... There was something unstable there. Paranoid. Like an elastic band who had been stretched far too taught for its elasticity to handle without breaking outright.

A need for closure and, indeed, a decision; no matter the outcome.

Durmstrang Institute's

¤ | Ω | ¤ Romeo Giovanni Marchonné

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

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

Piérre Marchonné & Xailah Alptraum

*All quotations in Italian unless stated otherwise

Surely an answer wasn't supposed to be too much to ask? Even a simple ordering me to go away would have been enough to satisfy me...

But instead, my brother got personal.

I feel from his words, mentally trying to piece together implications and motives for such a low blow. Hanzo and I had been close... But the key words were had been, and we were no in any relation now, let alone that kind of one. He abandoned English, a language was was not as fluent in as motherland Italian, with the sole intent to insult me and Hanzo.

My eyes flare at the words as I take a second to internalize and control the influx of wrath before responding in a low, dangerous rumble. "Ex-f***ing-scuse me?" I growl, my eyes narrowing as I fight the urge to lash out with a precise and crippling punch. "Wh... And what is that, supposed to mean...?!" I challenge. "You'll take that back, if you know what's good for you." I threaten, unsure myself as to if I am being serious or if I am calling my own bluff. I know that with the right punch at the right time and place, my twin can go down like a sack of potatoes. He's not built for combat like I am, at least not in the physical regards.

A charge of palpable electricity is between us in the air, ready to spark. Ready to clash and ignite if need be. By brother's wand twirls around his fingers nimbly, my closed hands on my biceps curl fingernails into my arms.

A small clearing of a throat blissfully prevents either of us from my having to break the silence again, and I watch as the inkily dressed black cat slides from behind a curtain that she must have been hiding behind. That silver and black cat that had been the cause of my recent injury is wrapped about her shoulders, and despite myself, I eye it warily, taking an uncomfortable step away from it to make it harder for it to jump at me and easier of a chance for me to swat it out of the air if it did try.

My brother offers an excuse that I would throw a hand towards him first at the remark that we had continued to fight each other in the alleged prefect's absence. I shake my head and point back at Piérre, my hands moving in haptic movements that indicated betrayal of trust and inflamed denial. "And who came at me with a flying tackle earlier tonight?! Don't start playing innocent, I acted in self defense! Our self-defense." I retorted back in English.

Piérre scoffed, more focused on looking down at the feline that currently had both of its eyes focused on me as if I was the person who had drowned its family in the river. I gingerly touch my ear again and grimace slightly. Yep. Still tender.

Piérre doted on his cat more, seemingly ignoring me for the time being. The prefect seemed content to make a record of our spat... Like some sort of therapist?

"That's not necessary." I laugh hesitantly. "We've..."

I was about to say; "We've fought like this before," but that wasn't true at all. We had previously fought up front and honestly, with no rancor and everything to gain from resolving our issues. Now, I felt that I had everything to lose if I stepped on tbe wrong section of ice. It would creak and shatter beneath me if I dared to take another step.

It wasn't fair.

"Piérre. Hanzo and I... Aren't... Like that." I spoke to him in our language, watching as his eyes flicked slightly but did not raise to mine. "I don't even think... We're friends anymore. We had a row."

Piérre stopped petting his cat.

“Liar.” He hissed in English back to me. He sat down at the foot of the cot, turned away from the prefect. “Liar. Because if you did, then you're a more messed up person than I thought.” His thin fingers twisted in the cat's scruff and tightened there for a second before relaxing.

"I wouldn't lie to you! What could I possibly have to gain from lying!?" I've given up the Italian, now running with my English entirely. I take two large steps towards him, but freeze at the sight of Piérre's hand having slipped the wand out again, the length of yew pointed directly between my eyes. "Gemello..."

His hand shakes.

"Gemello!"

“FLIPENDO!”

Reducio

Wisdom Check (d20[3]+10): 13 (DC 8, success)
π Accuracy (d20[18]+12): 30 (Hit)

Romeo Evasion (d20[3]+7): 10

Romeo takes 150 hp and is knocked backwards

The arcane explosion from my brother's implement strikes home in my chest, knocking the air out of me for a second and causing me to skid backwards a few feet away and doubled over in response to a pain not terribly unlike bruising from an excellent punch. I press my hand to my chest at the point of impact, my own wand vibrating from the impact of a similar twin core daring to defy its counterpart. It rattles, a strange sensation of the pale wood warbling at my side... But I do not draw it in response.

I can't let violence win. Not this time. Not again. Never again.

My brother is silent as I finally draw myself upright again and stay standing where I am around 3 meters away from him. I don't want my face to portray hurt... But I can't take this anymore.

My voice cracks as I beckon for his audience one last time. "Gemello... Please..."

He points his wand at me with both hands, eyes and knuckles white and shaking his head slwoly to cut me off. He speaks slow, quiet English, as if frightened of the words he fights to say, the distinct lapsing into Italian making that fact more than clear. “I ahma not your Gemello. I ha-ve no brother.”

My heart stops.

“He died tonight.”

Stats:

Ω Stamina 650/900 | Evasion 7 | Strength 13 Ω
Ω Accuracy 12 | Wisdom 8 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist Ω