Surface Pressure PV

Durmstrang Institute's

¤ | Ω | ¤ Romeo Giovanni Marchonné

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

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

Valetin Schnelll
@Aida Mórsgor-Ama Ellwood

Give it to your brother, it doesn't hurt, and see if he can handle every family burden.
Watch as he buckles and bends but never Breaks!
No Mistakes!

A palpable silence filled the room, a silence that made me shift back and forth with discomfort and cross my arms quietly as Valetin clambered off of me and brushed the broken plastic of the water bottle. I didn't know how others would find themselves reacting to my words or actions. Perhaps it didn't make sense to many of them. Perhaps it didn't need to make sense. Maybe it could have just been sacred to me and me alone. In the end, maybe it was better if not many people knew the true intentions.

I gingerly tested knuckles with the opposite hand, feeling the slight twinges of bruising and damage put upon them. The feelings weren't entirely new. I had known them from a younger age as well, though those had been obtained by accidentally crushing my hand when climbing or when Piérre had stepped on them without thinking. God, how many antics had we gotten into when we were young? How many times should we have ended up in a hospital or even in the morgue with all the stupid things we did; from climbing and falling from trees, to swimming and almost drowning in rivers and oceans, to just being stupid kids and getting into all out brawls at schools when the kids were more than a few inches taller than both of us?

I was clever in combat; sometimes too clever for my own good. I could knock people down fast and then jump on them before they could react and fight back. I didn't let them go until they took back whatever they had said about us, or about my brother and his strangely piqued ears. I didn't let them go until they had meant what they said. And I always knew if they were telling lies to my face. I knew when they did and I didn't appreciate it.

I let them know my anger through my hard hands guided by wit first and my razor tongue guided by diplomacy later.

Better together. Nobody would be better. Were the claims. But were they true, really? So many Durmstrang students here were strong and brutish, perfect grunts to be ordered around and instructed to knock anyone from their brooms. Hell, some of them could break brooms, something that I couldn't do. If that wasn't a testament to their might, I don't know what was. Surely those with that bone-crushing ability were better off being a Beater than I.

I just wanted to graduate and do something, anything, with my life. Something that I wanted to do. Something I wasn't quite sure of yet.

But... I did miss Quidditch, especially as a teambuilding sport. I missed being useful. I missed having fun, real fun in my sport.

"I miss the team too." I reply softly, wincing before releasing my hand from pinching my knuckles. "I... Don't know who I am to argue. If you want me back; if the team wants me back... I'd be happy to be back as well." A faint smile. "I'd like to help Durmstrang take back gold this year, like we deserve."

As... A Beater... Not a Keeper who blatched anymore. A real, true Beater.

But my attention is more upon Valetin and his sentiments towards the way I have treated my hands. The way that I press my body's limits and see just how far I can push myself before going too far. The way he talks... As is he thinks that it is his place to be made into a punching bag. To take his eyes, those prized tools of a Seeker to see myself better.

He gives and gives, as if expecting others to keep taking and taking without shame of what they have claimed for themselves. I know this path. You give and give... And soon you have nothing left to call your own. You become a shade of your former self, instead of striking out on your own and blazing a destiny for yourself.

Where do you draw the line?

"There was no excuse for me to hit you, Valetin. It was wrong on my behalf. I lashed out when I shouldn't have. I was not able to properly express myself like I should have. Like I know I am capable of." I crease my brow as my voice turns stern, informative. "If I am not allowed to break my hands, you are not allowed to break your body if you can help it. If I had hit you hard enough... If I had hit your head too hard..." I didn't want to think about it.

Valetin offers to heal my hands.

"Truth be told... I don't know the bandaging charm. Or the minor healing charm... I've been using Muggle methods so far... For... Just about everything." I nod to my rucksack and the A&D that is nearby alongside sport wrapping tape. "If you want to use magic... By all means go ahead. I'm still having a hard time coping with the fact that it can do all the things that it does. I'm so used to scars and scratches... It almost seems more natural to let it heal on its own, you know?" I chuckle quietly, extending both hands and turning them slowly so that Valetin can inspect them better.

"If the team will have me back, I will come back with joy. One more home never hurt anyone, I suppose. It just requires a bit more love to maintain..."

Who am I reassuring? Myself or maybe my brother across the strait in England? Just a bit more patience. More determination...

More faith.

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 had hurt someone, Valya understood. He’d hurt someone and, in so doing, he hurt in turn. The boy had gone out of his way to explain this to Valentin out loud-- why he was breaking himself down this way. Whom, how, and why… these were still unclear, but Val had been much more of a coward. He knew he hadn’t explained his side even half as completely. He held himself back, stopped himself from saying what he needed, self-justifying that it was out of consideration although secretly fearful inside. He hid behind his team’s needs, concealing his own.

On that day which lost Valya everything, he was abandoned by his wingman. Yet, Valentin didn’t bring up that pain. Not to anyone. It would have been destructive to blame another when Valentin was to blame for not being strong enough to carry the weight alone. It wasn’t like sharing his pain was going to bring his lost friends back onto the team, nor should it. Instead, Valya justified it as more productive to blame himself for the team’s collapse than to openly admit his fear of abandonment and fundamental isolation. Yet, this very terror was what made Val’s decision: if he was going to be alone, he wanted it to be of his own choosing. Ever since that day, Valentin had made himself alone, no matter how many people he loved and continued to bleed for.

On some level, Valya sensed that he had created his own self-fulfilling prophecy. However, it wasn’t as if anyone bothered to ask him how he felt. He was the Frost Captain, the White Immortal, the one everyone could count on no matter how bad things got. Of course he was fine. He had to be. Valya’s people needed a polestar in the midst of chaos, and he needed to give them that, too. Still, subtle cracks crept into the iceman, ever-so-silently accumulating under his unreasonable self-imposed burdens.

Valentin hadn’t always been so thin. For Val’s friends, it was important to focus on the pressing issues of any given day, so it became easy to neglect slow-moving change as it slid under the radar. Val was fully aware of his self-destruction, though, as he had to live with himself every day when he couldn’t bear the smell of food. It got to the point that the simple thought of eating made him feel sick. Last year, when Val crashed face-first into the dust, Yefim had a talk with him… but the distance between them grew too great for Valentin to maintain good eating habits for long. It kept feeling like Yefim was just using him. What love could Yefim have, so in love with himself, that was any greater than a craftsman’s love for his tool? Unwilling to be held together in the capacity of a tool, Valentin shackled himself with guilt over not eating despite his previous declaration to Yefim that he would do better. Besides, Valentin never got the punishment he so longed for to clear his conscience after failing on that doomsday in London.

Mikael came the closest to delivering Valentin the justice he so craved, but even then, Valentin gave into bloodlust and won their duel anyway. He simply refused to cheapen the ritual, which would have ruined its entire point. Mikael hadn’t been strong enough to best Val, who needed to be completely and utterly thrashed. Yet, this was back when Valentin still allowed himself to use magic, so it was hardly fair. Magic. Horrible, fucking magic. For as much as Valentin wanted to win, he hated himself for being so good at spellcasting and the strategy it required. It set him apart, gave him dangerous power over others. Valentin never forgave himself for what happened to Misha’s mind. It was already dangerous enough that the quidditch team put Valentin into a position of power, surely ignorant of the colddrake inside him. How could Valya allow himself to use magic in such a position when he could dictate the very future of a person’s mind? The power to overwhelmingly control another was the inverted road to total solitude: opposite of being isolated, total dominance would destroy the very “other” he wanted to be together with. Yet, the seeker could not deny how beautiful frozen Misha was as he burned within Valya's grasp. The amethyst shone through Valentin’s eyes no matter how much he tried to keep the beast locked behind his inner fortifications.

In the end, when no one else could punish him, what could Val do but punish himself? Even after all this time, the very act of eating revolted Valentin like willingly consuming injustice. By now he knew all the tricks he used to justify his choice to himself, and such contrived rationalizations ceased to be necessary.

Val didn’t know the last time he’d looked into a mirror, for the last time he’d looked, he came to understand that the state of his body also reflected his attitude towards everything else that mattered. Where was his limit, the point at which he could no longer raise his people up because he had taken too little for himself, too many times? The hell-chaser got a bitter thrill out of it. He’d always lived to push his limits, to push the limits of others. Still, he would have stopped it all long ago if he’d thought someone genuinely loved him beyond his undeniable utility. If love was only people mutually using each other, then Valentin would forever be alone, just like everyone else in existence. As it was, Val consoled himself with his game and its payoff of tasting some modicum of justice.

It was just that… during this fight with Romeo… the game broke. It stopped being about Val at the very instant that it started. He’d thought that he might get fair retribution if he just stripped himself of magic, but then, once it was Romeo he bled with, Valentin’s objective changed.

Romeo may not have had a variety of abilities some would-be beaters had, like the ability to destroy brooms mid-game, but for Val, Romeo was never only his muscle. There was also the brilliance of Rome’s tactical mind, the soul and intensity of his dedication, and his careful and enduring stability… Valya could never understand why others weren’t more openly impressed by the beauty of Romeo’s mind. Yet, even as a captain choosing between applicants, the game broke. The premise was fundamentally flawed-- indeed, there was utility in the team taking Romeo on for his brawn and his brains. The total benefit of welcoming Romeo far outshone all other applicants. However… Valentin didn’t actually care about the game anymore. Valentin’s objective changed.

In exchanging blows, in asking Romeo to come home, in the sacred act of trying to give his keen eyes to Romeo so that the boy might liberate himself from his demons, Valentin came to want something entirely different from this fight. At the end of it all, Valya wanted Romeo to hit him because he wanted to perfectly know and feel the other: what Romeo knew, what Romeo felt, what Romeo was. The curious seeker-strategist naturally wanted to know and feel everything about the boy, much as he wanted to know and feel everything in the universe, but this will was different, shaped similarly but snaking through another plane of existence entirely. Valya didn’t know what to call it. He’d never felt this way before. What he did know was that he wanted more, and he wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted before. Not the snitch, not the cheers of the audience or the praise of his parents, and not the high of his greatest thrills-- none of these could compare to the immutable melody beckoning him to experience everything that made up Romeo.

"There was no excuse for me to hit you, Valetin. It was wrong on my behalf. I lashed out when I shouldn't have. I was not able to properly express myself like I should have. Like I know I am capable of."

Valentin stood completely still, listening. A distant voice in the back of his mind remarked to Valentin how his pants had dried out over the course of the fight. It was so surreal to hear himself think, he thought.

"If I am not allowed to break my hands, you are not allowed to break your body if you can help it… Truth be told... I don't know the bandaging charm. Or the minor healing charm... I've been using Muggle methods so far... For... Just about everything." Romeo nodded to his bag. Not using magic, considered Val again. "If you want to use magic... By all means go ahead. I'm still having a hard time coping with the fact that it can do all the things that it does. I'm so used to scars and scratches... It almost seems more natural to let it heal on its own, you know?" The boy laughed, and it was beautiful. "If the team will have me back, I will come back with joy. One more home never hurt anyone, I suppose. It just requires a bit more love to maintain..."

The melody in Valentin’s head grew louder. White eyelashes closing, Valentin felt through proprioception where his wand was, yeeted unceremoniously into the farthest corner of the room. He’d thrown it there for a reason. Opening his eyes once more, Valentin observed the boy's hands stretched out before him.

“Would you teach me how to do it the muggle way, please?” asked Valentin. There was so much he wanted to say to Romeo. Walking over to the bag as the boy had indicated, Valentin gathered the supplies Romeo was using earlier. Pain clenching in his chest, Valentin regretted that the fight was over. For once, he truly wanted to ask someone to help free him of his own demons. Valya didn't know how to explain why this was, other than to say that Romeo was not simply a “someone.”

“...And if you have time next week, could you show me some things about how to fight?"

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

¤ | Ω | ¤

Nec Temere, Nec Timide. Durmstrang Institute's

Romeo Giovanni Marchonné

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

| Faint scar on left eye & mangled right ear | \ Fingerless Glove on Right hand / | Lichtenberg figure on right arm and down back |

Give it to your brother and never wonder
if the same pressure would have pulled you under.
Who am I if I don't have what it takes?

No cracks... no breaks. No mistakes.
No pressure.

Valetin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

Was that it? Was I truly reunited with the rest of Durmstrang's Quidditch team at last? It had been so simple, so unceremonious. I hadn't been a part of them... and now I was once again.

Well.. I may as well pull out my Moontrimmer again, work on some maneuvers. Pick out a bat... Get to know the rest of the team. The new team, the new members and the old member that had stayed through thick and thin unlike me. Maybe they would be graceful in my reappearance, maybe they would be less than thrilled. Either way, I would be more than excited to be back in my element of proper teamwork and not simply the mindless autonomy of broomracing. I always did seem to work better when in a team as opposed to when I was forced to fight alone.

This confrontation with Val and my internal thoughts had proven that to be more than true. It felt better to fight with than against, alongside as opposed to opposing.

Everything was here... I just had to reach out and take it willingly. Though tired, I was at least able to see clearly enough now that my actions, while violent, had not been entirely empty of significance or emotional need. My mind was clearing, reformulating, thinking...

Val turned the question back at me as he asked how to take care of injuries with Muggle means. Oh... yes... he was likely not doing very well. I... even when I did pull punches, it was likely that my blows often caused bruises and minor bleeding, if not sprains or fractures if landed properly. Even if the nurses could do better in the long run, surely it didn't hurt for me to treat a fellow teammate and old friend that wanted another skill in their arsenal. "Oh! Yes. Bring the whole duffle, please!" I call after him, collecting it from him on his return.

Wand; put it aside. I don't know any beneficial spells in this case. Textbooks, gently tuck them aside. Never mind the quills and small inkpots... lucky that they don't tip over randomly throughout the course of the day, and of course, my rolls of bandages and the muggle A&D... hydrocortisone, a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, as well as a few butterfly bandages and normal sized bandages for wounds that were actually opened but did not bleed enough to merit a bandage roll.

I crouch down by all of these to organize them before sitting down and offering a spot for Val to sit down beside me. As I unscrew the A&D, I look Val over, the bruises and the bumps that I had inflicted on him. Grimacing a bit at the condition I put him in, yet almost a little proud of the damage that I had done, I assess which injury I should treat first. I decide to focus on the ones around his face and neck first, so I turn to gauze and hydrogen peroxide. Tipping a bit on the gauze, I give Valetin fair warning before beginning my medicinal procedures. "This is probably going to sting more than you expect. Muggle medicine is not painless." I dab at the open cuts on Val's face and neck carefully, in case he gets finicky about his throat, listening as the chemical compound begins to hiss at its contact with biological component. "I use Hydrogen peroxide here for wounds that aren't bleeding, but need to be disinfected. Considering that you're sweating and stuff... not a bad time to use this. The hissing and stinging, as well as the little white bubbles mean that it's doing its work. Don't... touch it." I fix him with a stern look as I daub a fresh gauze with hydrogen peroxide on the cuts. "You may have to douse or daub this stuff more than once to clean out a cut entirely... stop using it when the fizzing comes to a plateau, and then..."

I pull out and begin to unscrew the Neosporin. Squeezing a bit of it on my finger, I dab it lightly on Val's cuts. It too would sting a bit, but far less than the hydrogen peroxide. "I prefer to use Neosporin myself for small cuts like these, though you can use the A&D as well." I jerk my head to the tub of A&D that is still unscrewed. "Feel free to put some on your knuckles and hands, or anywhere where your skin is dry and cracks. It's an excellent moisturizer." I say softly as I am finally content with my application of the Neosporin.

Wiping the remains on my pants, I then turn my attention towards a facial band-aid, a small butterfly one that was used specifically for small cuts that simply needed to be pushed together in order to form a proper scab as opposed to entirely covered. "I'll put these butterfly strips on the little cuts on your face here..." one on each side of the center of the cut. For the larger ones, I used the full sized bandages, mostly to tend to the ones that came from Val's unpleasant conversation with the floor. "These bigger ones are for larger cuts that need to be covered entirely so that they don't get infected. Infections are no fun."

Ignoring the ache in my own shoulders and side as I focus on Val's side, I use a bit more of the A&D to ensure that I covered any spots that he may have missed from his own attempts at application, and then took his hands in my own. They were so small compared to mine. Thinner, not meant for rough punishment... yet here they were, red and torn from combat. I hum a bit to myself in amusement as I spread a bit more A&D on his knuckles. They were bruising, and it would likely hurt to be manipulated the way that I was rubbing and putting slight pressure on them, but I stay strong and unbiased towards any potential complaints, and finally begin to wrap a clean, fresh cloth bandage around them; tight enough that they would not slip off easily, but loose enough that they would not cut off circulation. Round and around I wrapped it, making sure that the knuckles were well wrapped and that there would be no way that outside germs and damages could reach the open cuts. It would bleed through a little, but not too terribly enough to be of particular concern...

Still, as I looked over his hands and then observed his entire self, the battery and the bruises...

"Hey... even though I treated you with the basics... it would behoove you to go to the hospital wing... just so that they can treat you for anything I missed... or inflicted... on you, okay?" I request softly. It was my fault we ended up in this situation... I didn't want anything serious to come from potential complications. A nurse was far better than I was in this situation, and more trained for situations like these that likely came up more than frequently in a military school like Durmstrang.

Packing up my things... I stop before standing and intending to make my exit. I had to get back to my dorm, to meet up with the younger students there and make sure that they didn't need help with schoolwork, ensure that they had eaten... Make sure that they were taking proper care of themselves.

That I was taking proper care of myself.

"Valetin... Thank you." I say at last, readjusting my bag over both shoulders in preparation for the short hike ahead of me. I glance at the ground for a moment before nodding with a close-lipped smile. "I... needed that. And I hope that I can be of use to the team in whatever way you need me to be. This... this is the year we win."

I wasn't sure what else to say, so I stand by awkwardly for a few seconds more before nodding quickly and then gently backing away and out of the gym to go on with the rest of my day, a weight lifted from both my head and my heart, even if I didn't realize it yet.

Romeo Exits (Unless Stopped)

Reducio

Stats:

Ω Stamina 726/900 | 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

Valentin listened closely, absorbing not only Romeo’s explanations but also the technique he demonstrated with practiced hands. It all took quite a bit longer than magic and seemed less thorough, but Val couldn’t deny the appeal of knowing multiple methods. It was even charming, the crude burning of his chemical treatment and the pre-formed bandages that fit awkwardly compared to magical ones tailored on the spot to a wound’s shape and size. Not only did it give Valentin a whole realm of new things to learn, but this felt more challenging, gritty, and hands-on. It was like sleeping rough under the sky instead of cooped up in a climate-controlled box. The elegance of wand gestures and incantations now struck the mage as cold and remote compared to rubbing salve directly into a wound. Within moments Valya came to love the gruff physicality of it all-- indeed, was this not the other side of the coin of physical violence? Val enjoyed it for all the same reasons, and the Italian was right: muggle healing hurt quite a bit more than magic's. It made him giggle. The boy had spent his whole life getting hurt in stunts and quidditch, let alone his more recent involvement in Yefim’s brawls, so for Val, pain was but another beautiful color in the palette of his life experience. Truth be told, this was all terribly fun for the White Immortal.

Once Romeo finished treating Valentin, he began packing up as if he had not taken damage himself. With bandaged hands on his hips, Valya looked back with a sassy, crooked grin.

“Afraid to let the novice try it on you, perhaps? I need to do it myself if I’m to properly learn, please. Don’t forget I’m the one who offered twice already today.” If Romeo allowed it, Valentin went about practicing what Romeo had taught him by attempting to patch him up in return… the muggle way. The seeker’s musician hands may have been less perfect for punching, but their nimbleness and precision recalled years of developing a thief’s light touch. As a sportsman, too, Val held well-developed fine and gross motor control, knowing the value of applying enough pressure without overgripping a target. All in all, muggle healing came to him naturally because Valentin had always been a deeply physical creature from the beginning. He just hoped he did a good enough job for Romeo to improve his situation. It was strange not seeing fast results, so it was deeply uncomfortable not having a better grasp of his efforts’ outcome.

“I can get a check-up in the clinic as you ask, but certainly you’ll be needing one, too, please.”

As Romeo thanked the white seeker, Valentin half-grinned back.

“I should be thanking you,” he sighed. Romeo did seem to be doing better, and so Val was happy. As the martial artist left to go take on the rest of his day, Valentin watched him go until he disappeared. Alone once more, Valentin went to the corner of the room to retrieve his little white conductor’s wand. Sad for the well-meaning stick, Valentin brushed it clean with his pants before stowing it back in his bag. What would the world be like without magic in it at all, he wondered. Would it change peoples’ basic nature?

After putting his shirt back on, Valentin stooped to take up his duffle bag when he noticed Romeo’s bent-up water bottle hiding behind a sandbag. Taking its wreckage into his hands, the boy stroked its warped, well-meaning form. It had almost been forgotten and left behind. Slipping the bottle into his bag, Valentin scanned the area again. A new fullness warmed him from inside, as if he had done well in answering his calling today. Still, the bottle’s form lingered in his mind. This had all been possible because the two had opened up enough to conduct the ritual. Sealing his bag, Valentin turned to leave.

This can’t be the end, he decided. I can do this for him, and I want him to do this for me. I have to clean the poison out of me now. It's been like this for too long already. I just... wish I knew how. I do feel a bit better now. Maybe... just maybe there's something to the muggle method after all. He tried to heal me, but why? Was it because I asked him to teach me, or does he truly see me and wish for me to heal? One way or another... I will try it this way, and next time... I'll open up a little more.

Valentin exits.
End of thread.