Closed CHAOS TENT Horntail Horde

Outfit

Mikael looked at the outside of the tent with a neutral look on his face. It looked like someone had truly taken it a step up from last year. The outside of the tent was decorated quite intricately, and it made him wonder what the inside of the tent would look like. Though compared to last year this year held much more significance than it had ever had before. Mikael was not too sure how he felt about the tournament. In truth, he had never really seen himself participating in it when he was younger, and yet here he was.

To be fair it was not as if he was participating as a champion. Instead, he was here to help Yefim through whatever the trial threw at them. The idea was so tantalizing and yet a bit concerning. Finally, the three of them would be able to work together as a team, but the unknown of what is to come brought a pause within him. It was difficult to know how he should prepare for an unknown battle. Something he would refuse to admit was the fact he had placed a lot of care in strengthing himself in order to prove some worth to this new team of theirs.

His gaze would drift towards his right seeing the blinding white hair of his travel companion. Mikael was still a bit surprised when Valentin wanted to come to his house to pick him up. It had been something that had nagged at the back of his mind. While he had gotten dressed and while he had eaten his morning meal. Mikael was not too sure when the last time someone his age had come to his house. It had to have been a long time ago? Something too vague to know, but it must have happened at some point. Yet now the state of the house was far too gone to pass as respectable.

Mikael could still see the look on the white-haired boy's face when he had opened the door. Standing there trying to disguise the worry for something more manageable. Though, now as he walked into the tent he was unsure if the other would be alright with such knowledge. Mikael did not enjoy seeing the look of concern upon the other boy's face. Unused to someone actually caring about him. He could still feel the feeling of the boy caressing his face trying to bring him to shore. When was the last time someone had handled him with such tender and pure means? Valentin was a blinding white light, and he would be lying if it didn't irk him the other would be going into the tournament alongside them. "Do you think you are ready for the tournament?" he asked the boy breaking the silence.

Interacting with: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood [Valentin]
Mentions: @Flash Holmwood [Yefim]

𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙵𝙸𝚃: Reducio *The t-shirt is plain black.

▪ 𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈 ▪ ▪ FELIX ▪ KOLBECK ▪ ▪ DURMSTRANG iNPC ▪ FOURTH YEAR ▪

𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂: Reducio @Serena Towers as Arjan @Flash Holmwood as Yefim @Evelynn Decipio as Greta @Henry Knight as Charles @Phaedra Stavrou as Lysander

Felix had no plans to skip out on summer camp in England this year, but he wasn't looking forward to spending a month sharing a tent with a bunch of other men. He had a dislike for socializing to begin with, and now he was a part of a some twisted friendship group.

Sure, he liked most of his team mates well enough, but they didn't make up for the few that continued to test his last nerve. Like that weirdo Charles and Lysander. The latter was a friend of Arjan so Felix had instantly disliked him from the start. Charles was simply insufferable but at least he wasn't Arjan, though his continued insistence that Felix somehow had feelings for the walking haircut of a boy was starting to get old.

Also, it wasn't like he hadn't seen his team mates lately... His mother had insisted on inviting them over for some sort of weird 'get to know you' week that turned out to be a boot up. Of course she insisted on finding new ways to torment him. UGH! His life SUCKED! Why did all the bad things always happen to him? He only an asshole most of the time... He had his damn moments.

Whatever, it wasn't like he cared... At least, that was what he told himself as he carried his trunk towards his home for the next month. He had grown over the summer in more ways than one; his once stringy arms had formed firm muscles from the training he would later swear he was forced to endure. Despite being in the best shape of his life, Felix still complained every step of the way and blamed Yefim for making him look like every other basic bitch from their school. PLUS he had to buy all new leather jackets because HIS didn't FIT anymore. To make matters even worse, his mother had forced him to dye his hair back to its natural colour because apparently if he was going to help represent his school and their country, there was no way in hell she was letting him running around looking like he belonged to a muggle punk rock band.

Grumbling to himself about his lack of wardrobe choice this summer, Felix found a bed in the furthest corner, where he thought he might be left alone at least for a little bit, before tossing his trunk onto the bed. He paused, realizing that Greta also had to live here. She was a girl in a tent full of guys, should she not have some semblance of privacy?

With a roll of his eyes, he starting to dig through his trunk for any spare blankets. He tossed them onto the bed and them used his strength to push the frame further away from the others. He spent a few moments casting wingardium leviosa and tying the blankets up to offer the girl a barrier of sorts. If anyone were to glance his way during his efforts they would be met a glare and a short, "What?"

When he was finished with his project, he pulled his trunk off of the bed and tossed it back onto another mattress. Anyone who dared to go near the sheltered bed would be told to fuck off and that it was for Greta. "Merlin, Yefim, why the hell are there weights everywhere?"

Valentin’s eyes, still weighed down from what they had seen at Mikael’s house, scanned the floor and the bunks and the weights and the tent edges, anything other than a pair of living eyes. Val and Mik had entered together, and the white seeker dropped his bag and broom by the entrance without thinking too hard about it. He could feel the presence of others, and there would be no solitude to talk to Mik about it. There was no way he was going to bring this up publicly. Val cared, and wanted Mik to feel safe. It was up to Mik if he wanted to tell anyone else.

A desperate wish to find a high place for himself overtook Valya’s seeker eyes, drawing his gaze back up and around the room for a concerted whirl. The beds all looked the same. They all seemed so empty and normal. Nothing about them spoke to him, not even the added height promised by the top bunks. For a hot minute, Val wanted to climb onto the roof. Was he still lightweight enough to get away with it? Shoving his hands in his pockets, Valentin bit his lip and looked around for Romeo. Why hadn’t the two come together? Valentin’s heart burned.

No, that can’t be the only thing burning, figured the hell-chaser. Throwing himself down into the center of the room, Val extracted a pack of matches from his pocket and struck one. The simple wooden sliver hissed with ignition, and Val held it still in one hand as he perfected the pyramid of fuel in the center of the room’s firepit. He didn’t care if it was summer, nor did he care for the time of day. He just wanted to stare into some proper flames. If people had an issue they could tell him, and he’d put it out.

Within moments, the central firepit was ablaze and Valentin was tucked into some pillows around its northeast corner, staring into the warm, flickering light.

"Do you think you are ready for the tournament?" asked Mik.
"I... will never be ready enough," replied Val honestly. "You?"

Outfit

Mikael blinked vaguely at Valentin's things that had been discarded onto the floor. He was unsure why the boy had decided against claiming a bed right away. He was fairly certain that the beds would fill up quickly. Not that he particularly cared where he slept, but he thought the other might not be so uncaring. The boy would frown slightly before he made a beeline towards the first open bed he saw. Which happened to be a bunk bed to the right.

Standing in front of the bunk beds the boy would look between the two as he silently debated which one to take. The bottom bunk seemed a bit easier to get in and out of, but would leave little shelter from the many pairs of eyes that now occupied this space. After a few short moments, the boy placed his luggage upon the bottom bunk. Not bothering to unpack his things.

Mikael turned making his way over to Valentin as the other lit the pit ablaze. A warm hue filled the room lighting everything in an orange hue, and at the center of it all was Valentin. Valentin's hair looked almost orange with the way the glow casted across his features. It was interesting to study the boy even from a far. Mikael walked over towards the other taking a seat amongst the pillows. Though, unlike Valentin who looked far more comfortable he simply felt out of place. Maybe shadows weren't really meant for the light. Was it unfathomable for a shadow to dream?

The boy turned his gaze towards Valentin unsure about the words that slipped from his lips. An uncertainty that brought nothing but a growing sense of worry. How would he be able to protect both of them? The two lights of his life. To protect the old or to protect the new. It seemed unfathomable to choose. Mikael would raise his hands up to warm them by the fire. As warmth filled into his hands an almost peaceful and empty feeling filled him. "I feel ready, but for what I am unsure. There's not true way of telling if we are ready till we are in the tournament. I've heard these can be bad." he said his brows furrowing ever so slightly. You will be okay though." he muttered with conviction. His words not truly for Valentin. Mostly said to himself and so quiet it would be possible Valentin would not hear over the sharp crackling of the fire.

Interacting with: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

As Mikael took a seat amongst the pillows, Valentin pushed himself up into sitting. Turning his eyes from the flames, Val looked into Mik’s only to see the boy still burning. Squinting and slowly shaking his head in disbelief, Val felt a knife of panic come and go as the phantasm passed. No, no, Mikael wasn’t burning. The scar on the boy’s face had healed much, flickering as it was in the orange light.

“You’re right… Any of us could die here, and it wouldn’t be the first time.” It was no secret that this wizarding tournament had a bodycount, but Valentin hadn’t told Mik yet… hadn’t told him that he’d died. Scooting closer to Mik, Val leaned in for a shoulder bump. “I won’t let you die, Mik… and…” Val paused, turning Mik’s barely-audible words over in his memory. “You will be okay. I won’t let anyone scar you again.” The edge of his words were sharper with meaning than he’d intended, but Val wouldn’t back down. This was how it was, and he wouldn’t bury the truth. “We will hurt in this tournament, I’m sure. We will get injured, surely, but… we’re only going to grow stronger from this in the end. We’re in this together.”

They had all been together for most of the summer, training, braiding and fastening the threads of their bonds with one another. When the instructors at Durmstrang came to him with suggestions about their favorite students, a shine in their eye that spoke of the promise of reputation, Yefim had smiled politely and ignored them. He knew exactly who he wanted. And, well, friends of friends were also allowed. So much more important than grades, appearances, reputation, or acceptability was trust and love. A team was not just a group of people who all wanted to win, it was a cohesive unit. A body, a family. He hadn't doubted that he would choose correctly, but seeing it in action was a joy. Pure chaos, honed.

Walking in with a swagger, Yefim would arrive after a few others, carrying a big slab of meat in one arm, and a spit in the other. The hefty beefy chunk was still currently wrapped in butcher's paper, but it was thick with rich seasoning. It sounded like Mik and Val had started whispering to each other, a more frequent occurrence these days. People were settling in, which was the perfect time for a feast. After all the work they had put into honing their bodies and facing their fears, they deserved a day of celebration. Smiling, humming to himself, Yefim would start setting up the spit over the fire.

"[They are for you, Fel. Lin said you need some extra training.]” Yefim was clearly serious, as everyone in the room was now won't to know. He would insist on their health and fitness, perhaps annoyingly so. ”[I'll spot you, anytime!]”

He would not disturb Niff and Mik, they would talk to him when they wanted to. Yefim was an open book, so they never needed to wonder when it was okay to step in. Instead, he would start to prepare the meat so it could start cooking. It was a terribly expensive amount of food to have, but luckily his mother received it as a gift from a wealthy wizard interested in connecting himself with the Rumyantsev name. There were tons of gifts they received, in fact, but he definitely liked this one the most.

@Percival Rainwood @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood @Winnie Harper

Durmstrang Institute's

¤ | Ω | ¤ Romeo Giovanni Marchonné

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

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

Valetin Schnell, Mikael Halldorson, Felix Kolbeck, & Yefim Rumyantsev
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama Ellwood, @Percival Rainwood, @Winnie Harper, & @Flash Holmwood

Carrying the large trunk in both hands, I set it down for a moment to flex my fingers and return circulation to them before attempting to heft the load over my shoulders and onto my back. Straining a bit, I shift beneath the load once before gingerly making my way through the tents of Chaos' domain. The Horntail Horde was rooming in one of these, an opportunity to bond and get to know one another evident in our champion's desire to room us all together. I knew Yefim better than some other people I knew; we had both been part of Quidditch and Broom Racing at the same time, after all. In neither pursuit had the Durmstrang team been successful thus far... But this year would be different for us, I just knew it.

Yefim himself was a curious person, but then who wasn't? Hardheaded, inscrutable in goals or intents at times, intimidating in demeanor, with a curious god complex, and yet also with strangely warped altruistic intents for those who were underestimated. In a different light, I could be talking about my brother, striking the god complex from description, of course.

I was just returning from scouting the training pitch with mental notes and potential adaptations for our team to get the most out of the remaining days of training that Val and I had set up for them. It was my hope that with this new training and with fresh strategy and players, Durmstrang would bring home gold at last. That being said, I had also caught wind that it was highly likely that for the sake of the game against Hogwarts, Durmstrang was likely going to be hybridized with one of the other foreign schools.

That was a worrying thought to me. We had worked so hard to know how our team was going to interface with each other, and now we were expected to gel with another team? Frustrating... But fine. Fine!

Durmstrang could do it. Unlike other teams or schools, we adapted to our misfortunes and grew from them; we didn't let them shape us or cripple us in an attempt to garner pity. We didn't want or need it.

The striking tent exterior is what tipped me off as to knowing that I belonged there. Depictions of battle and its chaos was certainly a good analogy for the team and what we were liable to do well in. It was our element, after all. Why claim to be something you weren't?

Shifting my load again, I used the handle of the lightning-blessed Moontrimmer to open the tent flap and take a view of my surroundings.

Like most other tents, this one was bigger on the inside, and it had a definitively rustic longhouse feel to it. This was my element. I eyed the brazier in the middle with suspicions. Please... No more fire for the love of God...

Val and Mik were sitting by it. To each I gave a nod, unable to do much more with my encumberment. Felix, a boy I knew if only because of my time among the students a year below me (we had arrived to Durmstrang the same year, after all), was settling into the area. I raised by brows at his short snark. "Oh nothing. Just admiring the bleach job." I quip back, fighting fire with fire. "How are we doing in classes? Excelling where we hope to be?" I throw out disinterestedly as I instinctually selected the bottom bunk closest to the left of the tent front. Dragging the trunk to the bunk's foot, I lean my Moontrimmer against the bunk before taking the key from my satchel and undoing the trunk lock.

Well... Time to settle in, starting with my plaid flannel sheets and sleeping bag comforter. May as well make it home for the time being, anyways.

Stats:

Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 7 | Strength 15 Ω
Ω Accuracy 14 | Wisdom 9 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω

Outfit

Mikael gaze remained upon the growing flames missing the look that would grace Valentin's face as he took notice of the scar that marred the side of his face. Too entranced in the way the flames seemed to try to lick up at the top of the tent. He mutely wondered if the flames could ever truly reach that high, but he found himself highly doubting such a thing. Mikael turned to look towards Valentin as the other began to speak. A frown rested across his features as he thought about it. Quite a few people had died during these tournaments. It was something that so many news articles had dramatically cried about, and yet the games still continued. Maybe the death of a student truly was not that bad. Not when there was possible glory at the end.

The boy's frown deepened slightly as the other promised to keep him safe. It seemed weird to think that the scrawny fragile light in front of him could be possible of such a thing. He was not too sure the other could truly protect him, but it seemed a sentiment the boy was unwilling to let go of. Unsure how to react and not wanting to dash upon the boy's dreams he turned back towards the fire. Though, the boy's next words brought a pause within him. The white-haired boy's word choice seemed purposely picked. His left hand twitched as he controlled the urge to feel the marred skin of his cheek. Mikael turned back towards Valentin unsure how to proceed, but it seemed as if he had to move. To keep up with the whirling thoughts of the white-haired boy. "It doesn't hurt anymore Valentin." he said his tone was flat but not uncaring. A statement of fact that he hoped would sate the other boy's guilt. "We won't need it. Those that are dead were simply just too weak to make it. We are not like that. The three of us are strong together." he said in a determined tone that left little to no room for argument. Mikael refused to believe that they would not come out of this alive. There was no other option for them. For him.

The boy's blueish gray eyes met violet as he turned back towards the boy. "Yes. Together." he said nodding ever so slightly. Mikael turned back away from Valentin in favor of looking about the tent. There seemed to be far more life than there had been before within the tent. The boy's gaze caught the gaze of a brown-haired boy. Mikael was unsure of the other boy's name only knowing him as being in the same grade as him and Valentin. Unused to other students giving him the time of day, Mikael averted his gaze in order to look at what Yefim was doing only a few feet away. He had little to no clue on how Yefim had gone about acquiring and bringing the thing all the way to the campsite. Though, to be fair this was the least weird thing he had watched Yefim decide to do. "What type of meat is it?" he would ask Yefim.

Interacting with: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood
Mentions: @Piérre Marchonné, @Flash Holmwood

It didn’t hurt anymore, said Mik. Maybe that was the problem, thought Val. The shadow of a boy-- did he feel anything anymore? Certainly he seemed more animated now, ever since Val came to accompany him from his house. While Mik meant to alleviate Val’s guilt, his words only reminded him of the true problem he blamed himself for-- Mik’s recurring dissociative episodes and overall plunge into darkness. However much Val tried to convince himself that he hadn’t mentally scarred Mik for life that day in the library, he could find no excuse for why his earlier failure in London was not responsible for opening up the black hole that had been sucking Mikael in ever since. Certainly the recent death of Mik’s mother had a strong effect on the situation, but Mik’s condition predated that tragedy. Val hated that there was nothing he could have done about that, but what really burned were those things he’d had the power to have done right, if only... if only...

What actually did console Val was when Mik seemed more alive. Now, the lovely Norwegian was talking with him, and even showing curiosity over Yefim’s roast. His monotone voice fluctuated more than usual. This tournament was just what Val wanted for Mik: a stimulating environment where they could engage in interesting challenges together. As one of the twin rivers of blood commanded by Yefim, Mik had something important to direct his efforts at-- and at a scale they had never attempted before.

«Ты прав, алтын очкын.»("You’re right, altan ochkyn.*") Valentin had never given up on Mik. He never forgot the glimmer of true inner gold once he’d seen it in Mik’s eyes. The spark may have been tiny in a great sea of black, but Val never did choose what was easy when it came to things that mattered. The brief glimpse Val got of Mik’s blue-grey eyes now, before he turned away again... such moments brought a weak smile back to Val’s alabaster face. «Миша, я хотел тебе кое-что сказать,» ("Misha, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,") said Val, bumping the top of his snowy-haired head against Mik’s shoulder. The seeker opened his mouth again to continue, only to pause as a familiar voice accompanied the sounds of a heavy object being dragged.

Romeo issued a combo of verbal jabs at Felix, and Valentin couldn’t help but look at the Swede’s hairstyle questioningly. The niffler was not in the habit of holding in his curiosity, so Valentin took a good moment to openly examine Felix’s ’do. Yet, Val didn’t have much of an appraisal of his own. It looked good, he supposed. Blinking twice without a word, Val turned his head to the giant of a boy making himself at home near the entrance: Romeo.

Val’s flame-reflecting eyes followed the Italian as he leaned his Moontrimmer against his bunk. That stubborn broom-- loyally sticking it out even after all it had been through. Val tore his gaze away, back at Mikael for a moment, in order to keep himself from being sucked into the bonfire effect that brooms had on him. Yet, only seconds later, Val’s gaze wandered back to watch as Romeo began to unpack. What exactly was in that trunk, wondered the niffler. What kinds of shinies might it hold? The boy kept the key in his satchel. Important information.

Romeo continued making himself at home, pulling out his plaid sheets and sleeping bag to make his bed. Valentin’s mind wandered back to that day he’d returned the boy’s cloak, and he chuckled quietly to himself with a smirk. Maybe Romeo would help Yef cook.

The white seeker didn't bother breaking his gaze away even as he resumed talking to Mikael. «Ага, Миша, теперь, когда у меня снова есть палочка... Я буду защищать тебя своими новыми заклинаниями. Я работаю над этим, снова привыкаю к кастингу...» ("Yeah, Misha, now that I have a wand again... I'll protect you with my new spells. I've been working on it, getting used to casting again...") Valentin regressed, losing his previous topic somewhere between Romeo’s disinterested wordplay and the firelight shifting across his physique.

Val leaned back and began to flick the tassels rimming a black decorative pillow at his side. Romeo’s diamond stud piercing glinted as he moved, drawing Val's gaze along with it. The white seeker also wore a piercing now, in his left ear-- a simple silver hoop. Distracted, Valentin tugged off his summer coat, the red standard-issue Durmstrang garment he already wore every day back when school was still in session. An understated ribbed black tank top did little to conceal the silvery branches of a fractalline scar stretching from the boy’s right palm around his bicep and ending over his right pec. It was the first time he had exposed it in the presence of so many others, but the heat of the fire in the already balmy London summer warmth proved too much for the engrossed seeker. The subtle Lichtenberg figure’s pallor, white on white, was mostly visible by its shine anyway-- it would not be noticed under a fast, disinterested glance.

«Тренировки Фимы сделали нас сильнее. Мы не можем провалиться,» ("Fima's training has made us strong. We can't fail,") said Valentin on autopilot. Squeezing his right hand into the pillow, Valentin shook his head as sleepiness pulled at him. The long hours of setup of the quidditch camp, paired with the reverie of being fireside and surrounded by his dearest loved ones, lulled Valentin's eyes half-shut even as they tracked the figure on the other side of the flames.

*Altan ochkyn (алтын очкын): Tatar word for "golden spark," a term Valentin’s mother used to refer to the snitch when he was younger. "Quit chasing that golden spark for a while and work on something else," she would chide.

@Winnie Harper, @Percival Rainwood, @Flash Holmwood, @Piérre Marchonné