Closed summer camp 23 pv all Durms Pre-game Jitters

Nichlas once again found himself participating in one of those dreadful summer camps organized by the scools. It was a moot point not to go to it at this point as he had spent most of his summers already participating. For the longest of time he had been convincing himself that he only went to keep an eye on his sister but he was long past that. His sister had dropped out and he was still bothering to go there. Now he blamed connections and the sports he participated in, but that was last year. He had grown tired of Broom racing too. It was not challenging and after that Hogwarts lad had challenged him boldly and than gotten cold feet, he had decided the brutishness of the sport was not worth the trouble. He inspected his hand lazily as his gaze wandered across the area of the campgrounds before spying sight of a younger student.

Nichlas narrowed his eyes slightly and found himself walking toward the kid before he even had thought about it much. "Oy, barn," child he addressed the kid with a heavy Swedish accent. "You are a Durmstrang lad, right? What has got you muttering to yourself." The kid seemed young and like a wreck to some extent or at least he seemed lonely and Nichlas had yet to figure out if it was by choice. Right now however the Swede was bored and what better way to battle boredom than to make a new 'friend'. He was however sure he had seen him around at school before, not that it mattered yet but to some extent it meant that Nichlas wouldn't immediately start the conversation with outright hostility. That was unless the boy spoke Swedish or like a certain Gryffindor kid would assume the worst of an unfamiliar word. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as he regarded the little kid in front of him. He was quite tall and thus practically towering over the boy. Nichlas was therefore ready for all sorts of reactions, but assumed that intimidation would have to be most likely. The kid did seem like someone who would back down before things got out of hand, but he had been surprised before so just in case he took out his wand lazily, twirling it between his fingers as his gaze rested on the dark haired kid. The action seemed almost casual, unintentional but Nichlas had a temper and his reputation often exceeded him.

Valentin pushed his way out of Occamy cabin with his hip, fingers burrowing circles into his temples. The team roster that had been so solid after months of extremely selective recruitment was in upheaval again with less than 24 hours remaining before the big game. Chaser #14, Amina, had sustained a major arm injury when courageously trying to catch an out-of-bounds quaffle. A knife-like pressure crackled through Valentin’s skull as he berated himself over and over for not knowing how far to push people, taking the blame upon himself as usual. Irresponsible, reckless, damaging martinet. How could I do this to her? Now the entire team is… No, I have to hold on. The Frost Captain has to fix this. I have to find a way, even at the last possible second. We will recover from this, I will make it so… Spinning around the corner, Valentin could almost hear the fickle words of his father trying to soothe him in German.

„Alles wird gut werden,“ "Everything will be fine." came a voice, but it was not Hugo’s. For a moment Valentin winced, wondering if this was a setup before being attacked again. Hand lowering to his belt, Valentin realized he wasn’t carrying his knife again. Still, the voice was different, younger, not his father’s nor belonging to the imposter that had almost drowned Valentin last December at the manor near Königssee. Much as he wanted for everything to be alright again, the captain couldn’t help but feel a reflexive bout of skepticism before smothering it with forcible optimistic resolve. Indeed, here was Alaric, a perfect example of how the broken team could be healed by finding talented new recruits. „Ich bin keine Verschwendung,“ I am not a waste, continued the beater unaware of Valentin’s approach.

„Im Gegenteil, wir brauchen dich sehr, Alaric.“ On the contrary, we need you very much, Alaric.

Movement from the corner of Valentin’s keen eye drew the seeker to step forward in front of the younger Durmstrang boy who was using the wall for support, but as a tall new boy approached, even this was not the threat Valya’s instincts kept warning him about.

Valentin didn't recognize Nichlas Forsberg, having had little time to follow the careers of broom racers atop his other duties, but the lazy twirl of a wand in the older youth’s hand still caught the seeker’s eye. If the guy had any mind to use it against Alaric, perhaps for the amusement of bullying someone so much smaller than him, Valentin wasn’t about to stand for it. Yet, there was a familiar dark atmosphere about the obvious Swede, and something about it began putting Valentin at ease against his will. He wanted to be careful. Val considered Amina’s cataclysmic crash as proof that he had to be more careful. Still, a slight smirk curled at the corner of Valentin’s mouth. What was this guy's deal, anyway?

Abilities: Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Parseltongue
Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 15 [17] - ARC 1 - ACC 15

Interacting with: @Lucian Mornstern as Alaric, @Alan Vanes as Nichlas
Mentioning: @Ileen Knight as Amina

Someone walked over to him, someone tall. Alaric looked up at him and tried to hide his wide eyes. This boy was really tall and Alaric vaguely remembered seeing himself round school. They haven’t really spoken before but Lar knew that he was on the Quidditch team. He called to him and called him something in a different language. "Was?" Alaric called back to him, wondering why he came over. "Ja, I go to Durmstrang. You attend also?" Alaric replied, not taking his eyes away from the tall boys. He asked why Alaric was muttering to himself. “Großes Spiel morgen. Für mich zumindest," Big game tomorrow. For me at least Alaric said to the boy.

Alaric glanced wearily at the older Durmstrang boy; he got his wand out and started to fiddle with it naturally. While Alaric hadn’t really spoken to him before, he did have a reputation and the way he was handling his wand after showing up randomly to speak to Alaric of all people…

That’s why he could have cried in relief when Valentin’s soothing voice fluttered over in the angelic words of the German language. Familiarity. "Hallo Val, und danke," Alaric didn’t know how else to react to that compliment. Val was in front of him and Alaric, while he didn’t want to admit it, felt safer. "Meine name ist Alaric Leopold Havertz! And Sie?" he felt it be best to be formal and polite when talking to these. He turned to Val, "Завтра большой день. Я немного нервничаю," Tomorrow is a big day. I’m a bit nervous Alaric said to him slowly in his broken Russian. He had a little of a sheepish look to his face as he switched his gaze from the worrying wand to the Captain behind him.

Yet, Alaric was happy to be able to explore his understand yet as he doesn’t talk to any Russian yet. Or at least, he hasn’t had a Russian compadre in a while and so he really needed to work on it.

==

Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky

It was Friday afternoon and Slava was bored. The Quidditch game was tomorrow, and it couldn’t come soon enough. He wanted it to be now. The hours kept away from his favorite sport were dragging on, taunting him. The match was so close and yet so far, and he was left restless, jittery with excitement and anticipation. He hummed to himself, pacing around near the cabins. He had to get out, had to do something, but he didn’t want to overwork himself by practicing too intensely. The thought of what had happened to Amina was strong enough of an incentive to be cautious.

It was a shame she wouldn’t be able to join them on the pitch tomorrow. He felt for her, although he couldn’t understand the depth of her disappointment and anger, having never experienced something similar. But he cared about her a lot, and her presence in the sky would be sorely missed. He wouldn’t be able to cheer her on anymore—instead, they were scrambling to find a replacement. But no one could replace Amina. Even if they could play Quidditch, they wouldn’t measure up to Amina, because she was so much more than just the holder of the Chaser position. She was a teammate, a fun-loving, positive, energetic friend to many of the players, and a significant presence felt nevertheless by those who weren’t as close to her. And now she was relegated to cheering from the stands—worse than just being benched, because at least there was the chance of playing then.

Slava kicked a nearby rock alongside him as he walked, eyes on the ground and hands in his pockets, feeling increasingly upset about this situation they found themselves in. He needed a distraction—something to stop him from dwelling on this, as well as somewhere to redirect his spare energy. He could go for a run or practice gymnastics, maybe. But the disappointment had buried its way into his heart, and no matter what he did, as long as he was alone, it would stay there. He needed to be around people to properly distract himself. Dark eyes scanned the cabin area for possible targets, wondering what exactly he was looking for. New friends? Old friends? Someone to jabber at? Hell, even an argument would do. He just needed something.

His eyes rested on a familiar shock of white hair, watching as Valentin spoke to two other boys who Slava vaguely recognized as other Durmstrang students. That would do. He walked over to the trio that was standing outside the cabin, hearing German and Russian spoken as he approached. “Vaaaalya,” he sang in greeting, throwing an arm around his friend in a half-hug before releasing him. «И… другие,» ”And… others,” he said with a grin. «Что делаешь?» ”What are you doing?” The tallest boy had a very strange aura—there was something hugely off-putting about him, something that almost made him want to turn around and leave. But Slava was Slava, and so he would persist and at least give this a try—there was always the option to escape if joining this group’s conversation was utterly boring or too uncomfortable. Additionally, people weren’t just their first impressions, and he was raised to not judge people harshly. So he wouldn’t.

There were many and few things on the Durmstrang lad's mind at any given moment. Many things that caught his attention and that he simply noticed but few that struck him as memorable or worth considering. He wasn't one to stop to think about things without importance but he did get a read on the people he encountered. A steady gaze, a predator searching for a trickle of blood, a weakness. His sister would have liked to call his demeanor cold and his face often shifted into the face of too calm and distant. When it came to family dinners or times spent getting photographed, his parents knew how to deal with him at this point and who was to say that Nichlas couldn't adapt? Switch to the facade of someone charming, almost cheerful in the unique way Nichlas could find himself to be encouraging.

A new, old face approached the kid mid existential crisis, which is what Nichlas at least would assume what was happening. A face very much known to him, because how couldn't it strike him as familiar? It was the one and only face of Durmstrang, Valentin Schnell. Nichlas had done his homework on the lad what seemed like ages ago. Star pupil of Durmstrang, Champion of their school, Captain of their Quidditch team and what seemed like valiant knight to the desperate for comfort. A smile tugged on Nichlas' face when he considered the new arrival when he felt Valentin's attention on him for a moment. "Hello there, Valentin," he greeted, his smile akin to that of a sharks. Something seemed off about the fair haired boy, he seemed... almost on edge? "I heard you have got a big game tomorrow. Nervous?". The question could almost be taken as genuine curiosity, what with Nichlas already speaking to what appeared to be one of the younger Quidditch players of their school. But if Nichlas was curious about anything it was to figure out how he had stumbled into this situation when all he wanted to do was take a walk in peace. However he did find himself intrigued enough to remain there, after all however way this would go for sure it would at least be entertaining. Alaric seemed to be the younger boy's name and Nichlas after frowning for a second, offered the kid his hand and gave a studied, yet quite pleasant smile that almost seemed docile. "Nichlas, Nichlas Forsberg. A pleasure." Whether this was lie or truth was yet to be seen.

Within few moments Nichlas wondered if he had accidentally walked into some sort of club meeting as yet another kid from the Durmstrang Quidditch roster seemed to find their way to them. With a raised eyebrow he faced Valentin, "Am I interrupting some sort of annual secret meeting of plotting and scheming against the Hogwarts children? Truth to be told I don't know much of your 'skill' and whether it is capable of keeping up, but I would not have expected such worry for a game against... those people,", he said with a hum as he regarded not just Valentin but three members of their school's sport team with a smirk, yet there was a bit of intrigue. What was happening just now? His gaze momentarily found his way back to the kid who had introduced himself as Alaric. What was it with this kid and all this worry about the upcoming game? Was he not yet aware that losing simply wasn't an option and thus not worth worrying about?

Alaric someone else come over and sling their arm around Valentin, "Здравствуйте," hello Alaric greeted them. They were also part of the quidditch team. The really tall dude that had had his wand out spoke to Valetin and Alaric scoffed, "Valentin Schnell, nervous? You're.. how did Lucian say this, briny?" Alaric had meant 'barmy' but he didn't say this, as you can see. "Valentin is probably the one least nervous!" Alaric complemented. He had been at this school three years and defiantly knew of Valentin. Wait, perhaps this tall man had meant Alaric? "Aber ich selbst bin ein wenig nervös," But I am a little nervous myself

The tall boy reached his hand out, which Alaric shook purely out of taught-pureblood-pride, and listened as he introduced himself. "Alaric Leopold Havertz, and it is always a pleasure to meet me, Forsberg," Alaric replied. He may be young but he doesn't appreciate looking small in front of really tall the older years. Well, those he doesn't respect and he has never had an interaction with this Nichlas Fosberg nor was his interaction with him nice. Mans pulled a wand out at him. "More like Hogwarts gremlins. Amount of dirty blood that roams the halls of that school," Alaric said gruffly, unaware of the dramatic irony now in the air.

Alaric listened to him speak those words and nodded briefly to himself. "Those creatures don't stand a chance!" Alaric called, full of confidence for his team. Yet, he doubted his own abilities. It wasn't his team as a whole he was worried for, it was him in general.

He wanted his brother to knock some senses into him. Klaus had this ability of making Alaric want to prove the other boy wrong, even just being back in Klaus' shadow is enough motivation but for once he cant see it. For once he felt like he was making his own path. He didn't feel burdened with showing up his brother or worried he would yet again be cast into the void. That alone cast more of the feeling in his stomach no one likes. "We got this, right?" little did he know how the first round of play would go.

definition of barmy
slang eccentric or foolish.

With Alaric’s admission of being nervous about the upcoming game, Val reached out to squeeze Alaric’s shoulder.

«Ты победишь, Аларик. Конечно, ты новичок в команде, но у тебя есть талант и огонь в глазах. Самое главное, что ты теперь часть семьи, и мы будем правы». там с тобой. Ты так сильно вырастешь из завтрашней игры, и это только первый шаг к более высокой славе. Теперь ты часть большего цикла - я не буду здесь вечно, и Ромео тоже, но мы поможем тебе вырасти. Ты - будете Дурмстранга, и однажды следующему новому охраннику понадобится эта сила от вас, чтобы великое колесо продолжало вращаться. Тем не менее, все всегда начинается с первого матча, и делать ошибки - это нормально. пока ты всегда учишься». “You’ve got this, Alaric. Sure, you’re new to the team, but you have talent and a fire in your eyes. What’s most important is that you’re part of the family now, and we’ll be right there with you. You’re going to grow so much from tomorrow’s game, and this is just the first step towards higher glory. You’re part of a greater cycle now – I won’t be here forever, and neither will Romeo, but we’ll help you grow. You are Durmstrang’s future, and one day the next new guard will need that power back from you to keep the great wheel turning. Still, it always starts with the first match, and it’s okay to make mistakes so long as you are always learning.” Was Val uneasy that his newest wingman might abandon him mid-game like his first did? Certainly tension creased the corners of Valentin’s eyes, but they shone back confidence into Alaric’s nonetheless.

Once Slava appeared on the scene, throwing his arms around Val and chirping the seeker’s name in sparkling sing-song tones, a smile spread across Val’s face as warm as the rays of dawn. Slava had returned to the team relatively recently, but he was part of the old guard that first fought alongside Val in their first international game. The comfort of old familiarity softened the lines of worry over Val’s face as he returned Slava’s embrace.

«О, Аларик и я только что говорили о будущем команды. Хорошо, что есть кто-то настолько надежный, чтобы заменить Арьяна в первой линии. Я не уверен, слышали ли вы, но № 11 снова попал в беду… еще больше усложняет состав после того, как мы уже потеряли Сиэль, а теперь и Амину». “Oh, Alaric and I were just talking about the future of the team. It’s good to have someone so reliable to stand in for Arjan on first-string. I’m not sure if you heard, but #11 got in trouble again… further complicating the roster after we already lost Cielle and now Amina.” Rubbing his temple with two fingers was as much of a complaint as the Frost Captain gave as his headache began to throb again. Looking up as Slava eyed the tall newcomer, the white Turk squinted.

"Hello there, Valentin," said the Swede. Valentin was used to random people knowing him due to his fame, but this was... was this young man really just another face in the crowd?

Scratching the side of his neck and tilting his head to the side, Valentin looked the mysterious boy up and down. There was something familiar about him, a sort of dark energy that whispered of thrills just waiting for their chance to break out, and Val couldn’t help but think of Mikael. Mikael…

«О, я тебя знаю. Ты из Мишиной команды по гонкам на мётлах. Я смотрел твой матч прошлым летом.»“Oh, I do know you. You’re from Misha’s broom racing team. I watched your match last summer.” A gleam of hunger flashed through Valentin’s amethyst eyes as a strange grin crept across his face. For as much as spectating broom racing made Val’s blood boil, just watching still held greater uses. «Nichlas. Nichlas Forsberg,» said the captain in unison when the other boy opened his mouth to speak.

"Am I interrupting some sort of annual secret meeting of plotting and scheming against the Hogwarts children? Truth to be told I don't know much of your 'skill' and whether it is capable of keeping up, but I would not have expected such worry for a game against... those people."

With a subtle roll of his eyes, a new smile flickered over Valentin’s face. Again the captain’s gaze flicked over the other’s demeanor and physique as he continued sizing Nichlas up without any effort to conceal his appraisal. Memories whispered through the black curtains of the seeker’s mind as a murky recollection of Nichlas’s racing talents resurfaced. Yes, a fine sportsman… but how much am I really remembering, and how much is it simply misplaced desire to have Misha come home to the quidditch team? This boy feels… similar, but different. I must know who he is. I must know.

With one step towards Alaric, Valentin extended both arms intending to hold both Alaric and Slava around their shoulders as he looked Nichlas straight in the eyes. Alaric’s defense of Valentin’s confidence warmed the cockles of the captain's heart, and the beater's accidental use of the term “briny” bubbled a suppressed chuckle up into Val’s throat.

"More like Hogwarts gremlins. Amount of dirty blood that roams the halls of that school," Alaric continued. "Those creatures don't stand a chance!"

Although Valentin’s smile faded, he did not release the other boys’ shoulders if they had accepted the gesture. Durmstrang was a stronghold for blood purists, but hardly anyone knew the details of Valentin’s ancestry well enough to criticize the finer points of his pureblood clout and the assumptions it rested upon. Only the rarest, most obsessive fans with the right connections whispered derision for Valentin having non-human and squib genetics in the mix... other than a few traditional enemies of his obscure family line. After all, on the surface, Valentin’s extreme wealth, family fame, and posh upbringing were strong enough signals for any casual onlooker. Yet, with the recent onset of understanding Parseltongue and Romeo uncovering a few long-concealed details about his matrilineal ancestry, a twinge in the corner of Valentin’s eye was as much as his tight stomach knot could express itself.

"We got this, right?" asked Alaric.

«У нас получится, маленький 29-й.» “We’ve got this, little 29er.”

Twenty-nine, a prime number, the quantity of knuts in a sickle, and the atomic identity of copper. The captain’s mind spun in place, unable to know yet how Alaric would influence the future of his team. How well had Valentin read him? How would he act towards the racially diverse Hufflepuff team tomorrow? Would a buried intolerance affect his emotions and cloud his judgment? Would the hot-headed German abandon his defense of their team seeker in a feverish need to bludger someone for being only partially human? Valentin didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. Alaric had only just joined, and there was still a gaping hole in the roster following Amina’s destruction. Val’s keen eye glanced up once more to the tall Swede emanating a dangerously appetizing aura.

«Скажи мне, Никлас. Как к тебе относились гонки на метлах?»“Tell me, Nichlas. How has broom racing been treating you?”

Abilities: Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Parseltongue
Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 15 [17] - ARC 1 - ACC 15

Interacting with: @Lucian Mornstern as Alaric, @Alan Vanes as Nichlas, @Ruby Cazares as Slava
Mentioning: @Ileen Knight as Amina, @Percival Rainwood as Mikael

==

Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky All Slava’s speech in this thread is assumed to be in Russian unless otherwise stated

The younger kid who Slava recognized as the newest member of their team—Alaric—greeted Slava simply. “Hello!” he responded brightly in return. Valentin quickly caught him up on the conversation, eliciting a slight frown from Slava. “Damn it, Arjan,” he said with a laugh, but the fact that the team had been rearranged so much in such short time was really bothering him. Arjan was one of their strongest, even if he wasn’t particularly friendly, and Amina was also talented and someone he considered a close friend. Their loss was a significant problem.

The tallest boy was identified by Valentin as one Nichlas Forsberg, and he had a very different aura to any of the others. It was uncomfortable. Cold. Threatening. “A secret meeting? Really? Is it so out of the question to talk to friends?” He laughed, although it was slightly forced. There was something about Nichlas that made him bristle. “Although if you’d be interested in scheming against the Hogwarts students, I’m sure you’d be welcome. Talking about the upcoming game is hardly worrying over it, after all.”

Slava wasn’t fluent in German, although he had picked up a fair amount of the language from the amount of Germans at Durmstrang who preferred to speak it. He was just about able to follow what Alaric was saying, and he didn’t like it one bit. He frowned deeply, stiffening—Valentin, with his arm on Slava’s shoulder, would surely feel it. “That’s fucking rude of you. They’re people, and you would do well to remember it. Our team doesn’t tend to like those with such piss poor sportsmanship,” he sneered, looking at Alaric with distaste. Racists disgusted him. How could people hate someone based on something out of their control, something determined at birth? It was unfair and cruel, and Slava would never support it, even with its pervasiveness in the halls of Durmstrang.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian

Nichlas was intend to listen to the younger year who seemed all but welcome to this little investigation. Seeming all but eager to spill all his secrets in exchange for someone to care. Nichlas of course had no ill intentions during this instance, but he would be careless to presume shouting his worries at the top of his lung for any passerby to hear was anything but careless and a behavior that tended to be accompanied with swift punishment at Durmstrang Institute. Rumors, especially those of weakness and worth poking fun of, tended to travel fast and spread like fire set to a dried out forest. Oh to be young and careless as this young lad seemed to be. Far was his thoughtlessness from someone who wore their heart on their sleeve; those individuals knew of the pretense to keep their darkness inside and demons at bay, letting people around see but what they wanted them to see... As if on cue his gaze flitted to the newest arrival that he definitely recognized as belonging to the Quidditch team from spectating previous matches. Though he would consider himself a fool if he hadn't guessed it from the context of their little get together. Though, Nichlas could admit, it was to some extent admirable how the young one jumped to Valentin's defense. It gave him more clues about the captain and what sort of leader he seemed to be; the type that inspired and bonded with his team. This clue was stressed by his interactions with the two of his team mates. What with his inspirational quote about Alaric being the team's future. For all Nichlas knew, Valentin was younger than the Swede which meant he had plenty of time to still be a part of his team and remain in the position of captain. Because something in Nichlas made him doubt that Valentin would ever be ready to step away from the sport. He was quite famous at their school which meant he was quite talented too. He wouldn't be in this position of power otherwise, Durmstrang Institute was known to punish the weak and made the strong excel. There was plenty of hierarchy within their school and the system fed into this with their system of towers.

Nichlas further listened to their troubles as Valentin stated the continuous blows the team had to suffer in recent time. The Swede of course had heard of the tragedy of the girl, Amina, getting injured just before this big game. It was a point of gossip among the Durmstrang students and understandably so forced the fair haired boy into a corner. What with already trading Arjan with this younger kid, though Nichlas knew of course age wasn't always a telltale sign of one's capabilities. He himself had been a prodigy in all things duelling from a very young age. He smiled at the captain when he found he had recognized Nichlas after all. Nichlas was and wasn't used to being recognized. Students from his own school tended to know him to some extend. It was quite the simple concept truly what with reputations preceding oneself. The blonde was quite aware of his own reputation and while he wasn't famous such as the captain of their Quidditch team would be, he was quite known for being but a bystander in terms of sports at this point. Nichlas he would assume about himself would have quite a ruthless reputation. He cared about few and those he did care about he had a tendency to try and push them away as he liked his lonesome self. He wasn't one to admit or share weakness, hence why Alaric's admittance of weakness was quite odd for him to witness. He was sure the school would set him straight however, he had little doubt in that. So Nichlas expression had formed into a twisted smile upon the admittance of the captain recognizing him, only for his smile to drop and his gaze to harden upon hearing what had followed the admission. Misha's broom racing team? It was a ridiculous notion as Nichlas refused to consider the team someone else's. He himself had left the team behind and wanted nothing more to do with the idiotic sport. The only reason he had stuck around after being demoted from the team to be but a normal player among a bunch of incapable racers, was for a promise he had made to race against one of Hogwarts own. The kid with whom he had made the promise had then dared to stand him up and Nichlas wouldn't accept anything but cold feet as an excuse. Nichlas had yet to teach the kid a lesson, but had since decided to not worry himself chasing after prey and instead wait for one day to get a chance to encounter the boy again and give him a peace of his mind. Last years broom race had been particularly nasty and the barbaric nature of the sport was simply off putting to the Swede and he had decided to turn his back on the sport that had brought him nothing but misplaced frustrations for an incompetent team. The next smile he gave was a dangerous one, almost flashing his canines resembling but a unspoken warning. He needn't speak it as the frosty smile spoke volumes. Then it almost seemed like a switch was flicked and the almost pleasant facet returned as he regarded Valentin with a calculating gaze.

Welcome was the distraction that Slava brought upon them, picking up on a strand of conversation, a comment made by none other than Nichlas himself. Slava in return gave a laugh, made a joke but Nichlas was no idiot and very much aware of the strain in the boy's voice. Gone was the stress-free cheer that he had blessed both Valentin and Alaric with. Something within him preened at that with weird satisfaction in causing a reaction, like a peacock that would fan out its feathers to boast and show off to predators and prey alike. "It would feel quite rude to scheme against those that already suffer an intellectual disadvantage," he replied sharply but with an ease that made his words flow, as if he had laid them out in advance and weighted the responses that he could receive for them, despite giving the response seemingly no thought. "Similarly rude, I feel, is it, to enter a conversation with strangers without introducing oneself first; Now how may I call you?" It was a dangerous play with fire, a possibly way to antagonize not one but three students from one team that were meant to be that, a team. Quite the dangerous endeavor for Nichlas to feel himself capable of testing those that outnumbered him. But Nichlas felt at ease and to some extent quite comfortable with the position he was given in their encounter. He could poke and watch, investigate and draw out knowledge that perhaps he might never need again, but who was he to turn down the idea of knowledge about individuals that might make it far in the wizarding world. It was hardly a sin to be curious and strive to learn about those around him, even if those around him certainly were likely to only have disappointment to offer him. He was a curious soul, always had been for that matter. Striving to be but anything than perfect and adapting to the way of living that would allow him a lasting reservation at the top of the food chain, because what were people if not animals in a constant battle for dominance. Their entire Institute was built on the premise and promise of 'Survival of the Fittest' and Nichlas was always willing with lazy eagerness that he was what one would call the superior among his peers.

It was then that words spilled form Alaric's mouth, words said in eager carelessness, words that couldn't be excused as an opinion was muttered, that set a trap. A lure so sweet and tempting and yet a sentence that Nichlas perceived as what it inadvertently had to be, a trap. And it snapped shut quickly, a thrum of anger emanating from the newest arrival of their group. A boy Nichlas would later on remember as Slava as he watched the interaction play out. There were the demons, for even those that kept them at bay and wore their heart out on their sleeves, people that read as an open book, anger too was an emotion. And how terrifyingly overwhelming and ugly it could be. A turmoil among members of a team, a talk of sportsmanship and the unfiltered anger that came crashing over Alaric, like a wave that could easily overwhelm him all for but a slip of his tongue. Nichlas' gaze found Valentin's somewhat eager to learn how he would see fit to fix this what one would normally call a disaster of a situation.

The question that had been asked before this mess sprang to Nichlas' mind and with a slow smile he gave a hum. "Well you see, the broom racing sport was never mine to enjoy. And truly a team that had lost not once but twice against those other schools? I felt my talents wasted among their ranks and quickly grew bored of their antics. I quite prefer sports that require a steady hand and quick mind," he replied, in an eerie calm as if unaware to the storm that was brewing around them. Then again it would have been rude of him to leave the star pupil and captain of their Quidditch team hanging without a response to his question. "How is it that you have come to be the Quidditch captain? It was simple conversation and if it was not for the current mood that the young man seemed to be completely unaffected or even ignorant of, this might have been a great way to continue their conversation with a bit of small talk. It was even asked because Nichlas genuinely wanted to know, but Nichlas was no fool and quite aware that the captains priorities would lay but on a specific situation that was happening at the very same time. So what was this, if not a test to see how Valentin would handle the situation of Slava throwing a tantrum and Alaric who Nichlas doubt would let the other kid insult his sportsmanship. What a clever insult that was in the first place, Nichlas had to give the little imp credit, as his smile grew a bit.