What Dreams May Come Pv Fin

“Everyone's hell is different. It's not all fire and pain. The real hell is your life gone wrong.”
– What Dreams May Come

Valentin knew nothing of the jester’s plans after waving away his concerns about “Romeo’s” correspondence as the product of stress amplifying his co-captain’s forgetfulness and finer oddities. Did the Hell-Chaser have more than a little to do with the stress in Romeo’s life? Well… there was only so much he could do to try to make up for the events of last Christmas and the added burden of co-champion strategizing. After a point, all Val could do was take a walk to give Romeo some time to himself, away from their shared duties and study sessions. That their time together was now focused almost entirely on such objectives was the product of Valentin’s avoidance of more sentimental moments with him since last October, out of respect.

Now, walking through the courtyard alone, Valentin forced himself to slow down. The distant thunder was calling to his deepest self to pay attention. He knew couldn’t run from the thoughts forever, filling his time with work or speed flying that forced every neuron’s dedication to not wiping out. At some point it felt like a lie to not let himself think about how he had almost died again, nearly dragging Romeo and Ginyami to the grave along with him. I guess Ginyami was right. I just don’t learn, do I. Sighing, Valentin shoved his cold fingers into his gray tweed pant pockets. His nose flared from the characteristic ionized air of the approaching storm, but it still smelled different here: both familiar and new. Scotland in the spring smelled rather different than in the summer, just he found the storm air dustier during London Stadium’s summer championship last year. Valya memorized such air signatures everywhere he went as an instinctive part of his meditative flying, now replaced with contemplative walking. By the humid chill of air alone Valentin could detect a river beneath tree canopies, as well as such small distinctions as how running water’s whisper differed from wind flowing through leaves, even through reverberation from canyon walls. Thunderstorms were Valya’s favorite time to fly, which was precisely why he couldn’t tempt himself now. The buzzing tension was already raising the hairs on the back of his neck with excitement. Valentin walked a bit faster, putting distance between himself and not only his broom, but someone even more dangerous.

It was then that Val stumbled upon Piérre on the edge of a fountain, laying so perfectly still that the seeker slowed into quiet footsteps. The peace of the moment struck Valentin as exquisite, so he stopped for a moment simply to look. Only the jester’s skin, still flushed with the warm tone of the living, gave any indication that he was not dead – or at least hadn’t been for long. Smiling softly as his eyelids half closed, Valentin stepped forward again and took a seat on the rim of the fountain beside the boy. Drawing his wand, the seeker’s argentium eyes automatically scanned him for injury but, not finding any, instead drew a balloon-like gesture in the air [1d20:10+15=25] and breathed the intonation, Orchideous.

An ample bouquet filled Valentin’s left hand and, stowing his wand, he began picking out individual columbine flowers of red and purple with short stems and tucking them into Piérre’s brown curls. The brilliant petals curved like miniature court jester hats fit for a fairy, and rounding out the colors, Valya placed miniature 100-petal roses of pastel pink in a crown across his brow. The majority of the rest of the bouquet burst with intensely fragrant, pure white Easter lilies, which he pressed inside of the boy’s elbow. It would have been a shame, thought Valya, to kill live flowers from nearby for such a purpose.

Looking down at his now empty hands, Valentin’s smile eased. Piérre was still warm to the touch.

“I never got a chance to properly tell you, did I? Even if you weren’t Romeo’s brother, I’d still think you’re really special.”

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect

It was the sounds, the quietness of the area around him letting him pick up on even the most minute shifts and steps, that alluded to Piérre that there was someone drawing close to where he was; the ghostly, repetitive clicking that gave herald to shoes upon cobble. Where there were shoes, there were people in them (usually). Further testament to this fact was the palpably present entity that the boy could sense even with his eyes shut, an almost chilly yet warm presence that drew close and seemed to stand over him for a moment before shifting and taking its place by his side, seating themselves near where the boy lay. Despite feeling the human presence by his side, Piérre made not a movement nor a shift in his expression to indicate that he was indeed playing dead. Indeed, only his still warm self and the color in his cheeks continued to be the only claims that his heart continued to beat and that his mind continued to think.

The boy couldn't help his left ear piquing a bit when he heard the incantation of the flower-conjuring spell; it was wired into him to hear and perceive the environment around him without thinking. Without his eyes he instead had to rely on the use of his other senses, and this was something enlightening indeed. The way that the sounds of some insects the buzzed in and around the Courtyard, perhaps sensing the incoming nimbuses that would harken to a tumultuous storm... or maybe it would simply be a relaxing thunder most ideal for sleeping. Either way, Piérre focused more on the deep bass crescendos and decrescendos that came and went in the distance that slowly came closer and closer... felt himself almost melting into the stone beneath him, as he became aware of careful, thin fingers threading stems into his hair; yes, he could tell that they were stems as they brushed his ears and his cheeks, knew that they were flowers because of the particularly sweet-smelling bunch that was gently tucked into the crook of his elbow over his chest.

Lilies. He knew that smell well. They had many Alpine Lilies and Lily of the Valley in Italy. In fact, Lilies were the national flower of his home country. It was a smell that seemed to exude from many households that enjoyed a pleasant flower spread, and they were most certainly to be found in any respecting flowershop with pinkish and orangish petals extended outwards and to the closest source of light that they could get their leaves on. Such an expansive genus, that one; resilient yet gorgeous, and needed so little care to maintain. They grew not terribly unlike wildflowers if allowed to in a garden, and they would return year after year as gorgeous annuals. Every year. Without failure, they grew. Sometimes they would even get confused if the spring and the autumn were too similar, instead of blooming only in the spring and releasing their seeds then, they would try to grow in the autumn too, fighting so hard to beat out the cold snap that winter would undoubtedly try to throw its way... not that in Italy the "cold snap" was that intense to begin with... but it could certainly stop flowers that relied on humid and warm summers.

Feeling the placement of a full flower crown on his head, Piérre also became aware of the quiet words of Valentin Schnell. Ah, so it was he who had found Piérre. The words that the strange Durmstrang albino spoke were somewhat strange to Piérre. He had never really heard anyone say something of that sort to him before; at least not directly to his face (living or dead, he supposed). The kindest thing that he had heard most people say of him was that he had brightened their day a bit or that he had gotten to visibly and audibly hear them laugh at his antics...

And at his worst... well... he had received more than a few threats that he would be set on fire if the person would be given the opportunity. Generally, Piérre had found that on average he was more disliked than he was liked. Sure, that made him a little sad to hear as he was broken down just a little more than he was before, but at the same time he refused to let that sort of thing get him down. He couldn't afford it if his job was to make everyone else happier or more apt to find the good in their situation. In their case there would always be someone worse off; Piérre was there to fill the role as someone mostly despised by much of the more 'regal' student body. His pain was their pleasure.

He had discovered that much at many of the balls that he had attended in his earlier years of schooling involving a now-deceased Vladimir Athenatos (as well as Victor Moore) and a strange figure Marion-- alias MJ-- Davenport. And yet the Jester had stayed silent in regards to his story. He didn't know the entire tale.

Perhaps he was never supposed to. Perhaps it would be for the better.

And perhaps it would be better if Piérre stayed like this; the still and quiet corpse. At least now he could listen to the truths and the lies of everyone who had claimed to care about him. Then he would know who really cared enough about him to come back and remember him if he did pass, and he would be there to laugh at those who came only for condolences with their empty words and actions; the masks that they wore they didn't even attempt to maintain in the slightest. In the end, a man who was dead was the only man that was loved.

Only in the presence of the dead man would a person confess their true feelings of the man.

So he listened, as the faintest mist began to fall down on his hair and his face; the first inklings of rain making itself known. Would it become rain? Perhaps. Perhaps it would simply be cold and wet, misty and the kind of precipitation that chilled you to the bone simply to stand in it. Piérre didn't mind. Even the cold was part of his observations, his practice of sitting like this still and silent... clinging onto every word that Valentin could and would speak in the presence of the dead man.

In the presence of the dead man, how would Valentin speak?

Reducio

Hasht-Bihisht Poem

Serendipity: a word derived from the fairy tale, The Three Princes of Serendip originally published in Venice in 1557, comes from a Persian poem from ~1302. To find something good by faculty or by chance without trying to is serendipity – but who can attain it? In the tale, the princes were lavished with rewards and appointed to be the emperor’s advisors because of the wisdom of deductions they made along their journey. Had they not adventured nor shown interest in the mystery of a lost camel, perhaps nothing much would have happened to them. When opportunity knocked, it came in the form of almost being put to death due to a misunderstanding. Yet, through a combination of their actions and luck, they turned their situation around. Without opportunity, even the most valiant heroes can die, and without will, that same opportunity cannot be grasped.

How could a mere boy, though, know the true extent of the opportunities that surround him? To see all the possibilities requires not only great perception, but leaps of imagination, and Valentin was no omniscient god. Every time he blinded himself with unwillingness to consider what might be possible and good, he moved a step deeper into the hell of willful ignorance. How many stories and beliefs had he told himself that were, in fact, untrue? Were myths and lies and fortunetelling not useful for creative open mindedness, despite the danger of believing? Some days, Valya felt like a boy dying of cold who reached for a burning brand in desperation to warm himself. Some opportunities were dangerous, even the ones needed most – especially those one needs most and flails for, out of control, through the dark. Was it better to live like Mikael, instead, devoid of emotion and barely reaching for anything at all?

Valentin turned back to the motionless form of Piérre who lay corpselike and passive to the goings-on of the world. What was happening inside the young Italian, or inside Mikael at such moments? Was Piérre welcoming the full force of reality’s sensations with grace on this stormy spring morning, or did the emptiness haunt him like a nightmarish disease?

The seeker’s scarred hand lowered to languidly smooth the curls of Piérre’s brown hair until the mane circled his head like a casual halo. A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and Valentin recalled the time lightning struck him down by Durmstrang’s lakeside. When he fell, wide awake, he felt every sensation intensely… even as the rush of death came over him. Every jab of pain, every whip of wind, and every caw of the crows was as music to him, welcomed as final moments to savor the divine treasure of feeling alive. Completely shattered at the pier, Valentin became as blind and passive as an infant that day, leaving his ability to feel as the only indication he was still alive. As far as places to die, Valentin’s sacred temple of Durmstrang’s wilderness was suitable, for it was where he went when troubled and so spent countless hours in meditative flight across the land and water.

If even pleasant circumstance tormented Mikael, Valentin was the black-haired boy’s mirror image, revelling in all of existence no matter how excruciating. The seeker’s heart was humbled to even feel a portion of the universe’s expanse at all. It was thus that, even without the urge to grow stronger in the service of those he loved, existence itself beckoned to Valentin to push the limits of what he could perceive and become. He felt he owed it to reality’s greatness to at least try to understand and greet its majesty with his fullest heart, even if his life would remain finite and humble in the end.

Just so, Piérre was not just Romeo’s brother, and Valentin studied him in his own right from their fleeting interactions over the years.

“Every day, people are in such a rush. I am perhaps the worst at this. There is just so much wonder and opportunity to life, I feel I have to go fast to try to experience even a bit more of it. This is how years go by without telling people how I really feel about them. All the time, people’s lives end without even knowing each other like that, and with that speed comes the tragedy of dying alone. People are so oblivious to the truths of one another. I’ve watched you, Piérre, and tried to watch over you when I can… but we’ve never really taken the time to talk like this. I wish I knew your unspoken words, just as I should take the time to offer you mine.”

With the side of his finger, Valya stroked the flats of Piérre’s right temple as he observed the curl of his dark eyelashes.

“I’ve heard some things about you from your brother, as well, and I’ve thought about it sometimes. In a way, what you do is like Yefim’s work. The chaos he causes liberates people from small mindedness, but you… I think you have a lighter hand. I don’t know what your intention is in being such a joker, but in the end… I like to think your pranks have the power to heal what magic can’t reach, if only others would allow themselves the opportunity. How much serendipity surrounds us every day that we are too afraid to welcome?” With a sigh, Valentin faced forward again and sank his weight into his knees through his forearms. “I just have to wonder, though, after all the self-deprecation and sacrifice, who heals the jester?”

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect

In this moment, perhaps Piérre felt the most aware that he had ever felt. It was not terribly unlike the time that he had been impaled on a branch last year when he had served as a flesh shield to prevent a kid from being hurt by a fall that they had shared together. Kim Sato. The way that the cool breeze over his body was so similar to the warmer wind that had come from the process of the fall and the subsequent feeling of senselessness that had come from laying there stunned and confused for a moment; just seconds of bliss before the world slowly came back into focus with a faint pang of pain that only increased like heartbeat's every pulse. And yet, such pain felt so insignificant when there was an entire world that kept pushing in and stronger than it. How could it feel significant, when there was so much more around him to feel and to sense; how could he waste time on feeling pain when there were better things for his attention to focus on instead.

Such as how Valentin poured out his heart before him now, as Piérre felt the whispering of fingers in the slight curls of his hair by his ears; soft, careful, and delicate. Almost like the breath of wind itself. The wind in the immediate area was whipping up ever so slightly, and now there was a faint misting becoming present; a gentle precipitation that would begin to turn the cobble around the fountain dark. It would not be enough to evoke ripples on the surface of the fountain's pool, but it would quickly appear as if the rain had finally come in the form of a gentle yet freezing sprinkle.

Despite himself, the boy found himself turning his head slightly into the touch, the most pressing tactile sensation that he was aware of at the moment. Yefim, Durmstrang's former Champion... Piérre had not had much exposure to him, nor had he really religiously followed the news reports on the Hexwizard tournament concerning the boy. From what he had seen in the one chess event alone, Piérre assumed that the boy was most certainly a firebrand of some renown... but what kind of firebrand, what kind of chaos that Valentin claimed that he had a specialization in. Truthfully, the Jester never expected to have any allies in his fight, or rather it would be more specific to say that he never expected to have anyone else even so much as minutely stand with his cause... if the cause they were standing for was really the same as Piérre's own to begin with.

Valentin sighed and Piérre sensed him shifting ever so slightly. After a moment, his right eye opened and observed the way that the pale boy sat slumped over with his forearms on his knees. Not shifting at all, the boy continued to breathe quietly to himself, observing how rain kept falling bit by bit, fattening a touch before thinning out and returning into its former mist-like state. At one point during the last few moments of silence before he spoke, a raindrop hit him right in his eye and caused him to blink quickly with a small, unconscious twitch of a reaction. "Why do you keep rushing, Valentin?" He asked out of genuine curiosity. Sure, it was fun to go fast (Piérre himself had a nasty habit of sometimes rushing through a lot of things that he did in homework or in his sporting events; he simply just wanted thing to happen sooner rather than later if possible) but Piérre at least knew why he wanted to go fast. If you do everything, you just do things. Just things aren't fun if you can't savor them long enough to enjoy them." The boys finger's twined with one another over his chest lightly as he turned his head back to the skies and closed his eyes again. A small smile graced his features as he let out an almost contented sigh. "Maybe it's just me, coming from wine country... but letting something age can be so pleasant sometimes; watching it develop and percolate, and knowing that one day it'll be the best damn wine anyone's ever tasted... even if you yourself don't get to have it. Wine as a time capsule... now isn't that kind of a funny thought...?"

He opened his eyes again and focused on Valentin's back. "I also rush a lot... I talk fast and I jump around from topic and activity even faster." Another raindrop caused him to close his eyes again in another flinch reaction. "But I've spent so long just jumping from place to place that I just don't have time to sit still otherwise I'll get left behind... so I guess I try to take people with me if I think they're sinking in the mud as well. Maybe it's the least I can do for them, to at least give someone a moment of sunlight. Maybe if I give enough sunlight, I'll be able to slow down enough to relish the small things; the way the ozone smells, the way that this stone feels beneath me, the wind crosshatching through the Courtyard... how these blasted raindrops keep getting in my eyes, my God!" Piérre rubbed his eyes as yet another fat precipitation made its home squarely on the cornea of his eye before pulling up the lilies to his face and taking in their scent as well. "I'm curious as to if I'll ever run out of energy." He mused quietly as he continued to breathe in the sweet smell. "Is that what death is? The moment that the body can't match the amount of energy the soul has?" He paused, mulling it over. "Or is it the other way around...?"

Green eyes flicked back to Valentin. Certainly the boy had no idea what would be waiting for him in a few days... neither did Romeo. He had been so careful, or at least he had tried to be. He had put so much energy into the moment that it would all come together... a moment that would be the culmination of so much time and planning, and such a grandiose display of sheer energy would be given to both of these individuals... and a question, of course, would likely come to the surface when everything was said and done. Piérre hoped at the least that Romeo would begin to at least try and think; he was good at that. Ultimately, beyond the prank and the intent; Piérre was simply giving energy. Energy and energy... he did want Romeo to keep up with him. He couldn't risk losing one of the only stable things that he had in his world, something that kept getting shaken up and disturbed but yet never could seem to be uprooted or fully destroyed. Piérre wanted to make sure that Romeo was with him, that Piérre could never lose him or let him go so easily. He owed that much to his brother; companionship and never-ending desire for his happiness in particular.

Piérre squinted as he slightly scrunched his face and lips into a 'curious' expression. "What do you think Death is like, Valentin? You're like me; always getting yourself hurt and bouncing back from it with an almost irritating smile and a wave. What do you think that moment will be like; when you can't bounce back in time? And what would you prefer it to be: sudden and swift, or slow and succinct, or maybe simply a careful fading away surrounded by your loved ones?"

A small, almost cheeky, smile.

"What is Death to you?"

Quiet sounds percolated into Val’s mind as Piérre began to stir under the fatter drops of rain.

"Why do you keep rushing, Valentin?" he asked, but the seeker did not yet have a reply. Rather, he listened to Piérre’s explanations about savoring the slower developments of life, as well as his admission to having to hurry often because of his life spent jumping from place to place.

"I'm curious as to if I'll ever run out of energy. Is that what death is? … What is Death to you?"

Valentin’s nose flared and he stood up abruptly. He still hadn’t said a word as he let the other’s words percolate, but he knew the atmosphere like his own domain. Flicking open the silver dragon brooch at his throat, Valentin slipped off his red summer cape in a broad sweep to cover Piérre, only a split second before a heavy downpour broke out. Certainly the horizontal boy had brought his own cloak, but if this Italian were anything like his easily-chilled brother, Valentin knew the quidditch-grade waterproofing enchantments he’d put on his own cape could prove pleasant. A bright flash… one… two… three… invoked a grumble of thunder that shook the stone beneath them. Each droplet fell in a rush of tiny plinks, fluidly like the swathes of keys struck by a master pianist, and the symphony of a storm sank into Valentin’s humming state of alertness. His remaining garments sank in close to his body, heavy with cold water, as if trying to chase the warmth.

“My father loved wine. He went on tours of vineyards across Europe, even taking us to Italy. He used to read to me when he drank – read all kinds of things. Maybe I can remember some of it.” Curling and uncurling his fingers, Valentin took a deep breath of dank, ionized air. “‘To die, to sleep,’” echoed Hugo’s English words from Valya’s mouth. “‘To sleep – perchance to dream… For in that sleep of death what dreams may come? … For who would bear the whips and scorns of time … the pangs of despised love… when he himself might his quietus make?’” Although he remembered only snippets, Valentin summoned the meaning that tumbled from the lips of predecessor to predecessor and now from his own at the end of the line. “‘Who would… grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death… the undiscovered country… makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.’” Taking another slow, expansive breath, Valentin crossed his arms and closed his eyes as he composed his own continuation.

“Could one not brave the peril of loving the strife in its own right, darker strokes of a grander tapestry of existence than our mortal bodies can bear? Must we preoccupy ourselves with dreams of a hereafter rather than embrace this life while we still have this fleeting moment? Whatever death may be, to rush away from the fullness of this world – pain and all – is to close oneself off from the magnificence that surrounds us. You ask me, why am I in such a hurry? It is neither to escape suffering nor with the arrogance that I can do everything. There is a horizon past which I do not see, but such greatness still expands beyond it. I don’t know how, but I must transcend that line where the curve of the earth and sea falls away from me. However small I am in the universe, no matter how frail, I cannot cease from seeking the unity of my mind and heart with it all. I need to understand and feel and embody such divinity because I am alive. To cease from all my trying is true death. To accept the limitation of being fundamentally alone is to blind myself and reject everything that sustains me. There is such continuity between us all that we hide ourselves from, out of fear of being hurt and for fear that we also cause suffering. It is dangerous, I know, that I no longer fear pain and the limits others would presume to impose on reality. Yet, I have faith that love will guide me, and so prevent me from destroying life however I press, naïvely, at the edges of what is possible. If I speed myself through each day, it is because I am trying to surrender myself to something so much greater than me. How would I prefer to die, if I must? With unmatched unification, whatever form that truly takes.”

Reaching his arms up to the sky, Valentin opened his eyes to the curtains of rain. As cold as he was, the seeker’s warm smile welcomed the storm. A flicker of light high above preceded a burst of light… one… and the clap of thunder close in time. There was once a moment, no, twice, when the light and the sound were one around Valentin, when the coursing power of the heavens ran through him. It once wrested Valya’s spirit from Death itself, like the brief moment of unity before it. Now, lightning struck a tall pine 21 meters away, and its roar reverberated through the boys’ very bones.

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect

Valentin stood suddenly and Piérre's eyes flicked to amethyst ones intently with a heightening glitter of curiosity in his emerald green. Oh, had he managed to touch something of interest? How curious... The rain seemed to respond to the whims of the conversation right as Valentin managed to throw his scarlet cloak over the boy's 'corpse', a downpour typical of Highland Scotland making itself apparent as Valentin's words began to spill in turn. As lightning struck close, Piérre froze and had blackness flutter in his sights as the blinding light left his vision. They were still relatively low to the ground... still it would not be a terrible idea to find safety sooner rather than later.

Piérre looked to the skies again, cozying into the warm cloak and the Ravenclaw inseam that he wore by burying his nose into the fabrics and closing his eyes again while he listened to the rolling of thunder. Many of Valentin's words, while beautiful, did seem to fly well over the boy's head... such beautiful words, while beautiful, were such that the simple boy simply didn't easily comprehend. Yet, he could understand the underlying message; unity with everything, and to be a part of everything when the time came for such to occur. "You rush because you want to know everything before everything comes to get you back?" He presumed presumptuously, opening his eyes again and trying to make eye contact with Valentin so that he could also gauge the reactions of the boy. "So you're feeling just as untethered as I am." He stated plainly. "I want to see everything and do everything before I go. I don't think I can do that if I'm just sitting around in one place forever." He creased his brow. "Yet I can't stop the strange feeling that one day I'll crash..." That he would break and shatter into a million little pieces that would never be able to be put back together again. Broken forever, yet somehow still there.

"Then keep flying. When you find your unity, if unity is your desire, don't leave it. I know my ultimate one, even if it's difficult to spot sometimes." He smiled softly. "But I'll flitter-flutter here and there and everywhere, at least until someone can snatch me out of the sky and convince me to stay." How strange of a thought... Piérre's brow creased. "Do you suppose that is a good thing? To have to be snatched in order to be convinced to stay? Should I have to be convinced, or is that a sign that I'm too closed-off to others that I have to be approached like a nervous animal in order to be better known?" Piérre paused for a second before he sighed. "Maybe I'll be better off alone. But if I'm alone, then will that mean that I face the End alone too?"

In the school, the boy was only as well known as his nonsenses and his tricks. He would be the first to say that among everyone that he had met and everyone that he had interacted with, many of his first relationships had fallen away and he was struggling to form new ones at every turn. He was a nuisance to many, almost as bad as Peeves himself. Just how many people knew who Piérre was? How many actually knew him for anything beyond his tricks or his air of incognito that trailed in his path as the boy without a well-confirmed house or who had a cat that liked to lay about his shoulders?

These childhood relationships would not be forever, of course, but if such trends continued throughout his life then would he indeed grow old unknown and unremarkable beyond the small attempts of good that he sewed throughout the world with the rest of his dreams and his desires? What was it like, he found himself curious, to be something so generally known but never personally known, that when it would vanish it would be seen as a temporary tragedy before the world eventually moved on without it. After a few years, would they remember it? Would anyone else speak of it in the future? Would it be recorded in history? Or was it that the name or the thing would simply fade away into the annals, fleeting as a shadow at high noon as light split the tree branches and scattered to the ground.

The raindrops turned stinging as it shifted from rain to sleet, though Piérre's keen eyes spotted some of the ice indecisively slipping between the phases of snow and precipitate. The grey clouds overhead, the way that the thinner bits of ice and snow lazily slipped through the sky and towards its chosen place on the ground. He had never seen snow before coming to London. "I like this weather. Even if it is cold." He said suddenly, oddly switching the subject. "Italy doesn't get snow, really. At least not snow that sticks around for longer than the early morning. Snow is so pretty. You know what?"

Piérre stopped himself, pointing to the skies for a moment before tucking his hand in again. "If I did die, you know... someday." He smiled, considering for a moment what those last moments could be like. Perhaps he would reach the far end of the wizarding world's age expectancy... would he have kids? Grandkids? What about his brother? Maybe he would be an uncle. A cool uncle, maybe... "This is how I'd want it to be."

Despite himself, there was a smile; a big, broad smile as he considered his mortality. "Maybe not here, but something like this; just here staring up at the open sky with a little bit of snow on me. Comfortable but not too comfortable... maybe some family... Knowing that it's so funny that I finally was bound down by the earth that I'm on; that that will be its victory that can live in its earth memory for as long as it cares to remember me. If it can remember, that is. That it was here that I was finally caught."

Another low growl of thunder. So strange... sleet and rain and bits of snow, all gathered together under the rumbling of thunder that was not terribly unlike his persistent experiences with the Metelojinx charm in his dueling matches. Present and mildly terrifying, but oh so calming as well as the thunder heightened and lessened in its intensity. There was a reason Piérre slept better during thunderstorms than any other time. The sound alone was so relaxing... "Maybe we could watch the lightning from the owlery or something... I still have around an hour before Transfiguration."

"You rush because you want to know everything before everything comes to get you back?" asked Piérre, gaining eye contact with Valentin. "So you're feeling just as untethered as I am."

“It seems so. I suppose I’m afraid it won’t happen otherwise, since even though I began passing through that otherworldly veil, your brother pulled me back before I could really understand what was beyond the river of souls. I am untethered indeed, adrift like a lost wind alone in the sky. It’s not what I want. I want a home, but… I just don’t have one. Durmstrang means the world to me, but it’s not the same as having…” Shaking his head, Valentin chided himself for thinking such childish thoughts. Wasn’t true love a silly fairy tale? How could he let himself breathe such fantasies aloud? “One day I will probably crash too hard to recover, too, if I fail to find a way to eternal life. It’s not me that I want it for mind you, but rather…” Again he shook his head. What was he babbling on about now? He must have sounded stark raving mad.

"Then keep flying. When you find your unity, if unity is your desire, don't leave it."

“I don’t want to leave it. I just can’t stay where I’m not bade. Please, I want you to know. I want so much to tell you everything… but what hope is there for me? The home I want is locked and barred. I strive, and I struggle, and still I am alone and apart from that unity. Moments of great conjunction flicker into my life and disappear before I can do anything about it. It’s tearing me up, Piérre, but there’s just nothing else so worth fighting for. Surely this is what will kill me in the end.” Shaking his head in exasperation, Valentin sighed.

“But you, Piérre, surely there is hope for you. It’s not wrong to want to be snatched, but if no one knows this then all kinds of people will respectfully pass you by trying to give you space. Think also of the others who want to be snatched back. All those people who could be wonderful will drift past in the stream because they simply didn’t know what you needed, however much they might have liked to give it to you. It’s not wrong to need convincing, nor to easily startle either. None of it is wrong. There is simply a price for it, and that is all the lost opportunities that passed away because people didn’t know the truth. I don’t think you’re better off alone. Being alone is… not something I would recommend to you, especially facing the end that way. Don’t… no, just don’t do it. I can’t think of a worse tragedy than being alone in life and death. You can at least have me there for you. If you want it, you can choose not to be alone because I’ll be there for you. You don’t have to die alone, either, if you want me by your side. It’s just… how will I know what is best for you if you don’t tell me, or others, that you want them to stick with you?”

Breathing in a long draw of storm air, Valentin closed his eyes.

“I would rather have you stay in my life, at least. Now, I’ve said that, and so it becomes your turn to tell me when you want me around. If you’re ever going into danger, at least, I hope you’ll call on me. If you would have it, I won’t let you die alone, either. I don’t mean physically, either. A person can stand in a crowd and be totally alone. I watch you, Piérre. That’s what I do, is learn people, and connect with the ones I choose -- and who choose me back. You don’t have to stay alone if you don’t want to be. At minimum, I am here, if not Romeo, if not someone new.” Watching Piérre admiring the snow, Valentin thought the scene to be profoundly beautiful.

"If I did die, you know... someday. This is how I'd want it to be… Maybe not here, but something like this; just here staring up at the open sky with a little bit of snow on me. Comfortable but not too comfortable... maybe some family... Knowing that it's so funny that I finally was bound down by the earth that I'm on; that that will be its victory that can live in its earth memory for as long as it cares to remember me. If it can remember, that is. That it was here that I was finally caught."

“It’s presumptuous of me, but I’ll say it anyway. I, at least, want you to stay in my life, and to stop you from dying fundamentally alone. If you'll be the snidget, I'll catch you, but then it's up to you if you want to stay. If there’s something I can do to prevent you being alone, then I want to do it. You’re right, though. Let’s get inside and dried off a bit so that we can meet our next challenge without shivering.”

Presumably leaving thread with Piérre when he's ready.

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Ravenclaw

Calming Presence in Effect

Oh... well wasn't this a story that the boy had never heard on behalf of his brother? Green eyes widening slightly, Piérre blinked in surprise once as he realized the implications of the words that Valentin spoke. Romeo had... Romeo had saved Valentin's life? As quickly as his face brightened at the thought of his sibling continuing to enact heroics, the boy's face darkened ever so slightly. How come Romeo had never told him about this thing that he had done? How come Romeo never told him about anything that he did? "Pfft, well, leave it to Romeo to be all heroic. Heroically suicidal, I always say." His voice was a little bit dark with... could it be envy? Jealousy? "At least he has guts, though. Has the ability to have guts, and uses them when they're called for." Something that the lither of the twins didn't feel that he had, yet had somehow been ascribed by nature of the Scarlet House.

But even in a slightly sullen state, the boy couldn't help but smile giddily as Valentin cut himself short of finishing his thoughts on immortality. Who was it that the albino wanted to gift such an ability to? Perhaps... someone worth spending the rest of one's life with? Perhaps someone like the one that Piérre was going to set Valentin up with in just a matter of a few days with a little trick that he carried up his sleeve? Ah well, but he wouldn't try to push any harder. He knew all about people getting flustered when they were called out and how much they wanted to immediately cut the conversation when they felt like too much was being exposed.

The boy didn't have any exceptional responses for Valentin's griefs, indeed, what did Piérre himself know of 'love' or of anything related to the romantics that came with it? He knew certainly about what it felt like to want something, to want to do anything to get what it was you desired... but in the end Piérre himself often came to realize that many of his personal desires were fleeting at best and downright meaningless at worst. He simply seemed to exist in the world condemned to movement and give as well as take, seemingly trying to find something, anything worth taking hold of and never letting go. Something that didn't fade in significance as time wore on, especially since so much had followed that exact fading from interest or from significance from the time that he was a child. "It's a good thing to die in pursuit of." Was all he really musingly remarked whilst he twiddled his thumbs. His eyes would return to the albino, twinkling a little at the thought of the Durmstrang seeker sticking with him to the end. "... If you want to be there, I won't stop you." A small, giddy smile. "But only if you want, because I have no idea where I'll be or what'll have happened." Unpredicted, perhaps. Wouldn't that be entertaining? Certainly nothing planned; that was not the way that Piérre rolled. Predictability was boring, and that was not the way that Piérre wanted himself to go out. Like a firework, or not at all.

At the remark that Piérre was being watched by Valentin in the crowd, the Britalian couldn't help but spout back as well. "I watch you as well." Even if Valentin may not have noticed... "I watch everyone, though I suppose I don't figure myself worthy to choose like you can." The boy confessed. "They come and go so quickly... sometimes I fear being able to stay because I don't know when I'll leave... or when they'll leave too." Even Romeo, like he had proven in their very first years. "Because I can't stop them, and I don't know if I can stop myself."

Ah to be a snidget, fluttering here and there with all the rapidity of an untempered flicker of lightning with hardly a zap to its name. What would it be like to find a pair of warm hands that you could feel safe inside; just confined enough to feel like you have a home but free enough that you didn't feel trapped whenever you wanted to strike out and flutter about again? The thrill of being caught, knowing that you had just barely managed to escape with only tailfeathers left in the hands who pursued you... and yet curious as to if those same hands would try to catch you again. Curious because there remained that curious flicker of belief that if they loved you enough they would try again and again to catch you no matter how many times they failed, because they wanted only to hold you and keep you to themselves at least once. To know that once--and perhaps only once--you knew who they were too, and perhaps that you loved them back as well.

"Dead men don't care how they look after they've said their piece... but if I'm still alive I guess I should try my best to care at least a little bit, shouldn't I." The boy teased, extending his arms and wiggling his fingers in an indication that he wanted to have Valentin help to pull him up from his laying position. With a hop and a bounce, Piérre brushed himself down after he got to his feet and then with a sigh and a nod, the two of them would re-enter the castle. After all, there was still at least a half a day of classes before them... and an entire life to live beyond those hours as well.

Piérre Exits the Thread