Metamorphosis Fin

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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, Bite Scar on Forearm / | Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

Trigger Warning: Blood, Violence & Strong Language

My fully balled fist crossed my brother's face with a sickening sound of flesh and bone on flesh and bone, and I watched as he recoiled just like so many others did in response to such a powerful blow. An arc of red flew from his face and across the wall adjacent, and I got to see the results of my handiwork as he, trembling, raised his face to look back at me with all the shame of a sorry puppy caught chewing on shoes. His nose was bent again; it had been before for a few years, likely from another breakage, and blood was beginning to run down his lips. There came sniffling and the subsequent light choking on the taste of blood, I was certain. His one hand was curled into my arm, the other hovering in the air, unsure of where to flee to.

As his lips struggled to form any coherent words, my fist came forward again, boxing him against the temple and incurring another sharp yelp as the once uncertain hand now fluttered to where I had struck, his head lowering as he tried to feebly protect himself from further blows. At his attempts to turtle inwards, I took advantage of the fact that he was taking no actions to fight back and began to capitalize upon the thrill of power that I was exerting over my essentially helpless twin. My next strike was for his chest, pummeling him over and over again despite the sounds of cracking bone and the pathetically desperate incoherent complaints. If I did well enough, he would hardly be able to whimper, let alone speak.

"You shut the FUCK up!" I snarled into his face, slamming him up against the wall again so that I forced him to look me right in the eyes. My teeth were gritted and my stance was designed to incur harm on the one that I had pinned to the wall like a cat sitting on a mouse's tail. I shook him a few times, watching as his unfocused eyes rolled senselessly and his head hit the wall several times. "You shut the FUCK up and you take this like a man! Don't pretend that you could play this off, that you could play me off like anyone else you've fucked with!" I shook him again, which caused his eyes to flick to me in sheer panic. Good. Now he knows exactly who's in charge. I can feel him trembling under my hands; he's so helpless. One right move and I could simply break him. I can break him. And I think, for once in his miserable life, he has done that. He has made me angry enough that I will throttle him within an inch of his life and leave him a pathetic, sniveling mess on the ground. "You know full well what you did! I have no fucking idea where you got the goddamn amortentia to do it, but you drugged me and Valentin and you know it." Piérre's gaze was only just barely holding my own steady, his mouth slightly agape and gasping for breath. “You wholly deserve it, you slimy son of a bitch, and you know it.” I snarled in his face again.

Ramming him up against the wall again to his sharp yelp, I take a fistful of his forelocks and yank his head back so he has no choice but to look me right in the eyes, to answer to this titan whether he liked it or not. “What now? Now you’re too scared to run your mouth? Now you’re too tonguetied to be clever? Have I finally discovered the one thing that is fully capable of scaring the shit out of you?!” I shouted at him with so much force that I could feel my face growing red from sheer rage as spittle flew from my mouth. “Does it take me getting THIS pissed off to finally remind you that I am a person NOT to be FUCKED WITH?!”

“Rom-Romeo, I_ GA-HAH” I silenced the starts of his complaints with another gut punch intended to wind and leave quite a serious bruising if I applied enough force. Still, his impetuousness got something out; “Romeo, please, I swear I have a good reason. I swear, I swear…”

“You better. You better!” I taunted back at him at the expense of his being able to argue back. “I’d looooooooooove to hear it, please. PLEASE, enlighten me!” I throw him to the ground, backing up a pace or two as I flourished my arms. Glaring down at him, I continued to bare my teeth like a wolf looking upon a crippled lamb. “Explain to me, then! Why the fuck you felt the need to drug both Valentin and I? Not enough to drug him and I, not enough to drug him but to use the one damn potion that fucks with our heads the most?!”

I continued to glare down at Piérre, feeling the heat prickling my entire body finally catch up with me; my hands clenched a bit tighter, my jaw was tiring from being clenched so tightly, my biceps were tight and my chest taught with the trembling rage that seethed from me like the very pyroclasts of Vesuvio visiting upon that unfortunate ancient Pompeii. Slow and meticulous, but it would be the choking ash that was the most lethal of the disasters to come. As he dragged himself up against the wall, shakily trying to wipe his nose and somehow control the bleeding, I leaned over him and pressed both full palms on the wall over him, effectively cornering him unless he wanted to try to scamper between my legs or duck around me on either side. Such movements would be fruitless, and I knew for a fact that he knew such a thing. Continuing to pierce him with a wrathful blue gaze, I demanded him to speak up once again. “Huh?! Do you want to speak up? To talk to me?!”

His voice was shivering as he slowly looked back up to me, shaking his head slowly. “I… I wanted to help you see… I wanted to get you to finally understand just how much Vale–” I cut him off with a swift kick to the stomach that caused him to double over with a groan and then curl up tightly on the ground as if by reverting into the fetal position he’d somehow be spared from my wrath concerning his sheer foolishness in daring to so much as speak Valentin’s name. To clear up his confusion I was certain to add. “Keep his name out of your mouth.”

“WILL YOU LET ME SPEAK?!” Came a desperate scream from my brother as he tried to peer out of his ‘safe’ defensive curl. Piérre’s green eyes were full of angry tears as he did his best to level his sights at me with defiance. The corner of his lip was slightly curled to bare bloodied teeth, even as one hand cupped beneath his nose to collect the crimson dripping from his nostrils. Even I had to admire just how tenacious he was, had to admire just how much guts he had to pull this long-con of a deception; the pains he had taken to make this occur, the things he had done to deceive both me and Valentin alike.

It was impressive, but so damn foolish of him. I didn’t make any further movement towards hurting or hindering him, which must have caused Piérre to realize that I was letting him speak… for now. “I wanted you to finally see just how much he loved you. You’re so cold… distant. You wear your heart on your sleeve, but you cover it with a jacket.” I narrowed my eyes, which caused a small hesitation in my brother’s words before he continued tentatively. “You aren’t fooling anyone. You know just as much as I what love looks like.” His emerald eyes glittered, as if trying to will me to understand. “But you’ve been leading him on. I can see it, how you don’t act on anything but stand there awkwardly as if perhaps by pretending it didn’t affect you that it’ll just go away. Nothing goes away if you ignore it.” Another tiny bloody smile. “We both know that.”

So saying, he shakily pressed himself against the wall, limbs shaking as he tried to support himself as best as possible. My eyes never leave his; I’m still listening. He’s lucky that I’m still finding the patience to listen to him instead of simply cleaning out his clock and then taking my leave. “So, I figured that if you were just going to ignore the obvious signs, if you were going to just keep pretending and hiding your feelings with the brave stoicism you always wear… I would give you a little push in the right direction.”

My fist slowly curls on the wall, and I watch Piérre recoil as his green eyes followed my movements, his smile completely gone. “Just… a little push.” The eyes glittered. “Just a little one, just so that you knew too.”

Brows furrowed as I closed my eyes, I let the words of my brother roll over me even as the crowd surrounding us slowly began tittering among themselves at the sight of this menacing student beating a younger child bloody. With finality, I glared at my brother again. "Your mistake was assuming that I needed that push to begin with." I whispered down to him. "As if you thought that I didn't already know all of this." I murmured to him, tilting my head a little to the side. "Of course I know, you son of a bitch. Of course I knew. You've done nothing but fuck me up, screw over the relationship that I had already. I already knew. I already knew." I reiterated as his eyes reflected a look of confusion before recrystallizing into yet another look of seeming understanding.

He was a clever one... he caught onto things quickly when set straight, usually. And now he was beginning to see the error of his ways, he was starting to see where he had gone wrong in his most clever of plans. "I'm not stupid either. You know that too." I mustered as much anger into my voice as possible. I was still trying to send a message, even if the worst of my rage had overthrown itself. "You know why it can never be. You know, better than anyone else here, why I shouldn't and why you shouldn't have even tried to begin with." As much as it hurt, as much as I wanted...

Piérre's eyes were downturned, as if trying to search for something on the ground like a crow trying to avoid eye contact with something that it had just stolen from. I knew that look well. I knew a lot of my brother's body language excessively well. But I also knew how much he liked to act, to pretend and to avoid drawing attention so that he could slip his way out of a sticky situation at any given moment at time. I knew exactly when he was trying to play that particular long-con at any given moment in time. If I didn't do something to prove to him that such a con would not work in this situation, then he would never learn. He would never remember for the future.

"And you know why I'm going to continue making you regret doing this to me and Valentin." My voice turned growled cold again. "Because there's one teacher that enforces learning above all others."

I brought one hand off the wall, trailing it to my brother's uniform collar. Where once my eyes were blazing blue, now they were misty and cold, devoid of wrath except for in the pits of my thoughts. Yes, this was a lesson, wasn't it? This was a warning. Just like it had been for Edward back at summer camp when the Horde had released their warnings on him for daring to harm one of our own. Now I was the one issuing the warning. I was the one that passed judgement on my brother in this moment, having weighed him and found him lacking. Piérre realized it too, as he stiffened up and fixed my hand with wide, frightened eyes; one of them, his right, was beginning to hematoma, coalescing into a fine black eye that would soon likely turn shiny with puffiness. He shook his head wildly as my hand snatched him by the collar again.

"Romeo... pl-please, we don't have to do thi--!"

Another attempt to wriggle his way out of justice. The worst part is that I knew that simply by knowing who my brother was and how he tried so hard to evade and negotiate every trial with a slippery tongue and the manipulation of emotion. Just like most everything else that had led to conflict between us, even now Piérre was trying to turn me against myself, preying on my insecurities and my brotherhood with him in an attempt to lessen his punishment. He knew the formula well, he knew who he was trying to harm well. He had done a very, very good job; I would give him credit where it was due. But now, at my mercy, he was in my wheelhouse; the thing that I excelled in even as much as I reviled it.

I was a master at delivering pain, whether to my enemies...

Or as it recently seemed to be; to my own friends.

There were a few gasps of shock and surprise from around us, I was sure of that much. Of course there would be, as I held Piérre up and continued to pummel him in whatever square inch of his body I could pin him down long enough to strike. After around three square hits, he stopped struggling, obviously in possession of no more strength to resist and more focused instead of trying to mute his own yelps. Frankly, that made the rest of if much easier; no more guilt in having someone fight me back. It was just me and a punching bag in possession of flesh and bone at this point, me turning my knuckles red with my own progression of bruising and with the blood of my twin.

I don't even realize that I'm on my knees on the ground until I slam my fist down on his back in a way that causes the delicate vertebrae in his upper back to crack aloud with discomfort at the blow before leaning over him on my hands and panting heavily at the effort it took to break my brother down piece by piece. Sweating, shaking, I raise my hand once more before letting it fall back with its fellow on the ground. It wasn't that I didn't have the strength to keep going. I could keep fighting, keep letting my blows fall until there was nothing left of my brother but his stubborn will to live.

But this was enough.

Legs shaking, I got to my feet once again, almost pitching forward as I never looked away from the curled up ball before me. Completely armadillo-like in protection, Piérre hand taken his head into both hands, protecting his neck as he brought his knees to his chest; he was curled into an almost uncomfortable-looking position that would likely take some time to encourage himself out of. I don't know how much damage I've done, and I don't want to stick around to find out. Piérre will be taken care of, by someone or another. I simply didn't want to see his face at all until he was ready to apologize and I was ready to face him.

Why did our relationship have to be like this? Why did he always feel the need to push the envelope with me, to test my boundaries until I snapped at him like this? Was he trying to achieve a death wish of his that I knew nothing about? He always took it upon himself to target the things that I cared about most, that he knew damn well were my 'weak spots', as if he thought that somehow he could poke the bear and not get bit in the process.

Well, I was alright with being poked. So long as Valentin was kept out of it. He didn't deserve any of this; the position I put our relationship in, the position that I put him in, the way that I simultaneously led him on but refused to give him away to anyone else. I was a gatekeeper, wasn't I? I was preventing him from having what he wanted most. Ginyami had not been entirely wrong just last week at the Hogwarts Spring Festival when I had finally up and revealed everything that had run through my mind at that point.

Was I denying Valentin happiness solely based on my greed in trying to adhere to what I believed? Surely my feelings for him were known to the very God I praised, that I tried so hard to live in a way in which to exult. If there was such a way that I could have both, if there was some way I could somehow red in between the lines to find a way to make both halves reconcile, I would search high and low and try to come to terms with everything in order to make it a reality. Just like magic, which I used only to help and to benefit and to be thankful for what I was, because I knew that for what I was it was natural and not something that I had bargained for or had attempted to pursue on my own desires. This too, this too...

And oh my God... what had I wrought at the work of my own hands? My own brother, though he was so flawed in his thoughts, had still tried to do what he thought was best, trying to force me to see something that I had denied even though I knew that it was wrong to desire it. He had brought it to my attention, had tried to force me to see it, and now here he was at my feet as a shattered individual. Someone that I had broken in the throes of my own wrath. Wrath for what reason; because he was right or because he had dared to test me? If it was because he had dared to test me and that I had lashed out, then I truly had no control over myself and was wrong to having dared to lay a hand on him... if it was simply because he was right...

Damn me.

Damn me!

Stumbling out of the circle that had formed, I pushed people out of the way as I stumbled down the corridors. I had to get out of here. I had to leave. Only the thrill of adrenaline, even as shaky as it made my limbs, was what kept me strong and yet in a daze as I ran my hand on the wall for support. If someone tried to wrangle out of me my role in this event, though it would make me sick to my stomach, I would lie. I would have nothing to do with this; wasn't the conflict that I felt from all of this enough guilt without trying to admit to my wrong here? And surely Piérre had known what he was doing... my brother... He somehow always seemed to know what he was doing, even if it made no sense in the slightest.

But perhaps, for once, I had muted him entirely... or perhaps he had managed to mute me.

Which way did I go now? Where could I go? Was any direction the right direction, and which way did I turn at the fork in the road? That storm, that all-devouring storm that had been quiet for a year now once again kicked up with all the rage that had lain there silently. That strength that had grown only still kept growing, ready to lash out. Months of rehearsal and patience, all of it thrown to the wind in just a moment.

Tempests... Tempests left destruction in their wake, didn't they. Was that what I was becoming? A shield sharpened instead into a blade? No longer to weather, but to cut? And if to cut, how many to harm? How many more would come? Could the blade potentially return to its shield, and was that what was needed now? What could I do now?

What do I do?

Romeo Exeunt

Reducio

Stats:

Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 8 | Strength 15 Ω
Ω Accuracy 15 | Wisdom 9 | ArcPower 0 Ω

Abilities:

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

Valentin was just descending from the owlery when he began hearing sounds of a commotion further down a hallway. A familiar footfall instantly drew Valya’s attention and pulled him in like a homing missile. At first he assumed that it was Romeo trying to get to the side of someone to heal them after yet another dangerous incident had gone down at Hogwarts. Valentin began to run, drawing his wand to prepare himself for helping his co-captain with scene triage, a potential fight, and fixing up whomever had just gotten wrecked by the most recent hagdoll, slug parasite, or pigheaded bully. Yet, when Valentin nearly ran into Romeo as he pushed his way out of the crowd, confusion wondered why the healer was going the other way. Maybe things were so bad that Romeo himself had to leave the scene to find the right kind of help, or maybe things were just so out of hand that even the colossus had decided to get out of dodge to minimize absolute damage. Yet, when Valentin found him, Romeo’s demeanor only imparted cognitive dissonance and more concern.

«Это твоя кровь?» “Is this your blood?” asked Val in Russian, first needing to know if Romeo was wounded. Certainly the beater was smeared with carnage.

Soon, however, Valentin realized that the situation was not resolved. After ascertaining that Romeo was not having a medical crisis himself, Valentin’s amethyst eyes pierced Romeo’s with a demand to know, but his voice commanded with confidence. «Я позабочусь об этом. Идти.» “I’ll take care of this. Go.”

Bolting down the hall, Valentin was not the first on the scene, but at least he was fast enough to not be too late. It was Piérre, and he was still alive.

Arriving at the broken heap that was Romeo’s twin brother, Valentin pushed his way to the front. Six feet tall and older than most in attendance, Durmstrang’s champion and famed quidditch captain would not fail to make space.

“Please,” he said to the oldest person in the vicinity who didn’t seem to be enjoying the carnage. “Go immediately to the clinic and ask them to send medical help.” Kneeling down beside the broken brunette, Valentin then began the usual procedure of damage control, checking first for hemorrhagic bleeding and then the boy’s vitals. “Piérre, can you hear me? Do you know where you are? What happened?”

In his heart, Valentin knew. He knew, but he was not yet ready to admit it. He wasn’t even ready to accept that it was this pile of blood and bone that had done things to him and his most beloved, instead dissociating himself from the entire situation. Piérre had to come first. Right now, there was great pain, and that was all a pain-eater such as Valentin could understand.

Levelling his wand at the worst of the jester’s wounds, Valentin’s hand twitched. This was his manipulator. It didn’t matter, did it? Romeo’s eyes… it was personal, because Romeo… Romeo wanted…

“There there, little bird,” warbled Valentin, not knowing what he was saying nor why. If he was really to help shoulder some of the burden of the twin’s lives, shouldn’t he side with what Romeo was trying to accomplish? What about Piérre? What would either of them want of this after the flames of wrath died down? Valentin could feel himself wanting to combine with Romeo’s will, as he always had, even with his brother’s, but… was he nothing, himself? Didn’t he stand alone even now? Wasn’t everyone fundamentally alone?

Unconsciously, arcane power began to flow into Valentin’s wand. He could finish the job that Romeo had started. He could also undo it. Who was Valentin? What did loyalty mean when a person like Romeo could so easily change his mind?

“Episkey,” whispered Val, feeling himself dissolve. He didn’t know whom he was anymore, if anyone, but the waves of pain coming off Piérre might as well have been his entire existence. Valentin would eat the boy’s pain away. All of it. It was the colddrake’s for the taking now.

Abilities: Keen Eye - Charmer - Evasive Maneuvers - Fearless
Statistics: STA 8 - EVA 15 - STR 3 - WIS 15 - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Blanket godmod permission for Val is granted to Piérre M.

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Hufflepuff

Calming Presence in Effect

There was a small sparkle of electricity running up and down his spine as Piérre felt his entire body crumple into a small ball in an attempt to ward off the worst of his brother's blows. Oh how Romeo was such a brilliant fighter, oh how lovely were his merciless bodyblows and the worst of his strikes; even Piérre himself had to have fleeting admiration as he felt bruises and welts forming across his body and the first crimson trickled from his (again) broken nose. It was easier to close his eyes and let the black eye swell slowly, to try and reassess his situation as everything screamed in pain and told him to just lay there and slip off to avoid further harm. The sound of Romeo's footsteps receding came only in the form of the subtle vibrations in the ground, vibrations that Piérre could feel quite well thanks to the fact that his cheek was pressed to the ground. His brother was retreating, and that left Piérre quite unsure of what it was that he could do now.

Well... perhaps he could start by trying to uncurl and get out of here. Get out of here before someone tried to be 'helpful' and tried to call the nurse over so that he could get sent to that infernal Hospital Wing. With people rising up on all sides, this would likely not be easy... but surely he had to try, right?

Stirring as much as he dared and trying to ignore the rebuttals that his own limbs threw back in his teeth as he shifted and pressed himself up against the wall to reassess and to force his eyes to refocus on his surroundings, Piérre became aware of a pale light that was drawing closer and closer to him with a gentleness as if it were being carried on a pale nimbus. The boy felt hands on him, checking his bruising no doubt and assessing the bleeding from his lip and nose. His hands were balled up and covered in his own blood, though they were not damaged; he had not tried to fight against his brother's brutish strength that had had the obvious superiority over himself.

The pale nimbus, that voice... oh yes... of course. Valentin Schnell the albino. That would make sense, wouldn't it. At the first words spoken directly to him, Piérre's single and unswollen eye fixed into Valentin's amaranthine ones and split lips parted to reveal teeth gleaming with red trenches in their gaps. One of the Jester's hands clapped onto Valentin's shoulder. Oh how perfect this situation was; oh how poetic indeed. Deliciously deliriously drunk upon the fumes of senselessness so easily disguised as being totally impaired with injury, Piérre felt his mind continuing to sew and piece together bits and parcels of thought and cunning. Oh he could not have asked for a better rescuer, could not have asked for a better situation than this one that he found himself presently in. What strange dichotomies of their meetings.

"Valentinnnn...!" He slurred ever so slightly as if he was meeting another friend while being under the influence. "Iiiiiiihhve been throuuuuugh the wringer, my friiiiiiiend!" He trilled loudly and with a sharp laugh that caused him to throw his head back and caused a lightning bolt of pain to flash through his skull as he aggravated the blows to the head that he had sustained from Romeo. This pain only caused him to laugh louder at the madness of it all, the perfect destruction that he knew that he had been the victim of. Nay... not the victim; that he had been the perfect proof of. The perfect proof of what his brother could be capable of when driven to the brink, Piérre was living symbolism of the strength and the power of his twin without bounds.

"Romeo is very strooong Val. Didja know it? Huh? Huh!?" The boy demanded, his grin getting a little wider and wider with the excitement of the moment. "He shoooowed me. He reaaaaaaaaaally did! HEY!" Piérre shouted to the ogling crowd, inviting them with his other arm as he fell against the wall fully. "HEY! Why not join in on the action, huh?!" He laughed again, a sound that was likely seen as more than a little unnerving due to the current shape that he was in. "I know for a FACT that I've fuuuuuuuuucked up one or two of your days from those among us here!" Another cackle. "Aaaaaaaaaaaand none so much as dear Valentin Schnell here! Is that right, pale seeker?!" Piérre took the seeker's face in both hands, his fingers curling ever so slightly into the pale hair and taking care to ensure that the gap of his fingers neatly held the boy's ears.

Grinning broadly as returned his gaze to those pale eyes, Piérre realized that he was looking into the mesmerizing eyes that his brother must have looked into during his first kiss with the hell-chaser. What was it in particular he had seen, the boy wondered? What was it that Romeo had felt in that moment, that moment before he knew that he was going to be kissed by the boy who loved him so deeply that he would move earth and sky for him? Did Romeo feel the exact same way? What was it that he had seen, that he had smelled, that he had felt?

"At least tell me he was a good kisser, Valentin." Piérre said softly, never wavering. "After everything I did to you and him, at least tell me that you were happy, just for a moment? Just for a millisecond? That I could see it for a second, perhaps feel that all of this is worth it..." He became aware of the spell that was about to be cast on him to fix the surface wounds that he had. He could also sense the faintest apprehension that came from the seeker in the moment despite how perfect the spell had been [DC chosen 22: 1d20[20]+15 = 35 Critical Success, +170 HP healed], that brief moment of hesitation that betrayed the fact that Valentin did in fact not want to do what it was that he was trying to do.

Oh how interesting, oh how intriguing. Perhaps what was best was to twist the knife a little further. Piérre expected no forgiveness; indeed, he did not deserve it in the slightest, as a matter of fact. Instead, perhaps he could do a bit better, to make his circumstance that much more damning. Romeo had had his justice.

It was high time for Valentin to have his, he felt. Let it all out, now that he was at his weakest. Now that the Jester had fallen so far from the grace of the King's Court. This was the moment for the betrayed to have its rightful price paid him, this was the moment for revenge and reminding to take place. This was the moment for Piérre to learn his lesson and to learn it well; to be chastised with tooth and claw and fist. Broken and bruised, perhaps, but what more could he learn from this madness of punishment as he felt the blood beginning to clot. If he did this right it would all begin to spill all over again like a chalice overflowing with rich red wine fresh from the press of the grapes of wrath.

"Was he a good kisser, Valentin? Or am I a better one, perhaps?" With a jerk, Piérre forced Valentin's head to himself, pressing his lips to the albino's own and trying to hold him there for as long as he could as the boy's blood mingled between them. His fat lip was not a distraction to Piérre, as he viciously took what he knew full well Valentin would be loathe to have taken from him. Something, anything to ignite the fire. Anything to bring about the rage that would also consume Piérre himself; this was the next step, the necessary moment, the catalyst to everything that would come next and that which would devour them both. The jester's tongue ran across Valentin's teeth once, but this was as far as his affections would dare linger.

If Valentin pulled away in horror (and to be fair even if he didn't), the Jester would laugh and laugh even more, cackling with all the madness of a good king driven to the brink by the circumstances of the failing of his rule. Throwing his arms away as he collapsed once again with the force of his giggles, Piérre welcomed whatever hissing and shouting came his way from those around him. "Yes! Yes! I am the mad one! I'm craaaaaaaaaaazy! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Delirious with senselessness, of that intoxicating notion of being completely free and blameless of one's actions simply thanks to the situation; sanity thrown to the wind at least for the time being as he attempted to free the chains that bound down all who had the human rationality to remain bound to their modesties and morals, Piérre was the lord of all those who relinquished even for a moment their own mind in lieu of seeing something beyond themselves and beyond the moment in which they bound themselves to. His brother, his own beloved Romeo; he was the greatest Knave among them, that Jack of Spades obsessed with retribution and loyalty to the things he swore himself to. How terrifying his wrath when he permitted his lance to draw blood freely and yet how lovely the vengeance came.

Valentin, that Jack of Hearts; oh what vengeance would he have in store for Piérre? What depths of retribution would he bestow upon the Jester? A beautiful rage, Piérre was sure, a gorgeous fury that would not be quenched until Piérre had paid his price in due. Forget the tarts, Piérre had stolen the sugar and the prized spiced pie. One green eye widened with excitement and anticipation of whatever it was that would come for him now, the other one just barely able to be opened through the black eye, the boy sniffed once and breathed heavily in wait. His arms were still flung away from his body, he cared not even enough to defend himself anymore. This was the moment for the both of them.

"You don't want to forgive me. I don't expect you to. I deserve everything that you want to do to me. I drugged you. I drugged you and Romeo and I watched from the background, hidden beneath an invisibility cloak." Everything tumbled from him in quick succession, a revelation that he proudly revealed to the pale albino and the creature that was roiling within. "I, Pierluigi Martini, I the master of tricks; I the Machiavellian Ass that I am!" His gaze flicked to those watching among the menagerie. "I the Great Jester, the Mad Harlequin, the Irrational Boy!" Titles of haughtiness from his lips, ones that while he did not believe in for himself others likely would willingly glom onto and continue to curse his name via them.

The sinuous body of the creature with Piérre's face flickered in his mind's eye for a moment, the twisted grin that it wore and the eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. How it leered and how it drew close in its attempts to claim the Jester. Oh... how we were never different after all, dear boggart of his. That Twisted Jester of a being... oh how he knew that he and it were always one in the same from the very start; for why else would he flee from it to begin with? Wasn't this what he was capable of all along? Wasn't this what he could do to those with weaker wills and without a mind of themselves? Strike down the shepherd, don his clothes, and lead the sheep. "Avenge yourselves!" He cried with jubilee, feeling his voice starting to grow raw as his body trembled in anticipation of further blows.

"Because let's be honest! At this point I deserve it!"

Hearing Piérre’s slurred maniacal words, Valentin knew the jester to be drunk on pain. It was a state Val knew better than any other intoxication in all Heaven and Earth. The brunette below him jerked and laughed and trilled, hysterical, egging the 6-foot tall champion on. Piérre wanted it, wanted the pain and destruction, and Valentin did not have to ask why.

"Do I scare you?" Mikael once asked, mere moments before beating Valya to within his last gasp of life.

“Hit me,” Val welcomed Mik. “Your mother is dead, just like mine. I am the grimy truth of the world. If I am wrong, then show me how wrong I am.” With a dangerous smirk and cock of his head, the seeker invited Mikael to let his demons out to descend upon his light. “Our mothers can't come back for us. They are dead forever.” The door to Mikael’s release slid open and, while it proved no final cure to the voidling’s woes, through his blood sacrifice Valentin soaked in every drop of Mikael’s tears until there were no more. In the end, Valya’s nearly dead body still shambled back to cradle the darkness in his arms.

That evening with Mikael bore the scent of dust and blood, but there was another time, even before that… when everything lay pungent with the slick of dried lake water and the stagnant sweat of the sparring gym. Looking down into Piérre’s green eyes now, Valentin could almost hear the memory aloud when the destroyed water bottle hit the ground after falling from Romeo’s crushing hand. Even then, Romeo had left without it. Here Piérre lay, just as abandoned. Back in that sparring room, Valentin gave Romeo his invitation, too. Stripping his own soaked shirt off, the seeker knew exactly what to say.

“Why did you leave?” Valya’s amethyst eyes cut deep into the heart to initiate the bleed. “Everything has been shit since that day. Did you even try to say goodbye?” Calling upon his own anger to fuel the fire, Valentin began the ritual that he first learned from Mikael long before, on the day he scarred the Norwegian forever. “You didn't stick with us when things got bad. I guess we just don't matter to you." The blood-letting of that day, too, failed to defuse the source of Romeo’s agony… but perhaps it gave him just a bit more strength to work through the problem. Valentin left that crimson-spattered room alone, a broken bottle in hand, but for those brief moments dancing through violent strokes, there were no walls between Romeo’s pain and Valya, just as there was nothing to stop Mikael from pouring his agony down upon him once the flood gates lay open. On all three occasions Valentin walked the same road as Piérre did now, and each time, that choice could have killed him.

"I know for a FACT that I've fuuuuuuuuucked up one or two of your days from those among us here!" cackled Piérre. "Aaaaaaaaaaaand none so much as dear Valentin Schnell here! Is that right, pale seeker?! At least tell me he was a good kisser, Valentin. After everything I did to you and him, at least tell me that you were happy, just for a moment? Just for a millisecond? That I could see it for a second, perhaps feel that all of this is worth it..."

Val’s icy stare pierced through the black pinpoints of the jester’s gaze. Piérre’s was not just a desperate invitation, deftly opening the door as Valya always had, but in fact presented a challenge. The Frost Captain, the white king, the champion whose gaze had oh-so-recently sworn, fuck with Romeo and I will make you suffer dearly… Valentin plumbed the depths of the green-eyed boy with his unrelenting amethyst-chip gaze boring down upon him. Here Pierluigi was, the perpetrator of Romeo’s agony, in the flesh. The fact that the larger twin reacted to his amortentia by bringing Piérre to the last horizon of living… if this was not evidence of Romeo’s unwillingness to answer Valentin’s wish for union, then what was? If that day had been consensual, the littler brother would surely not be in such a state. Instead Piérre lay bare as living, or perhaps dying, evidence that Romeo would not proceed to love Valentin back. Beautifully illustrated with red streams across the brown-haired boy’s elfish features, the embodiment of Valentin’s shattered dreams asked for more punishment. The hell-chaser, of all people, felt Piérre’s fervid plea as acutely as if all the blood were, in fact, Valentin’s own. There was no leap to make, for Valentin was already there: they were the same, and in fact, Piérre symbolized the person Valentin wanted to hurt the most. Val could not ask for a more perfect opportunity to take his own turn. Yet, one last wall of ice held the Frost Captain back.

What was Romeo’s true will? Had he not regretted what he’d done to Piérre on that day Romeo lost a chunk of his ear? Surely, Valentin was the last hope for rescuing his co-captain from soul-crushing, lifelong regret for ending his own twin’s life. If Val finished the job for him, there was simply no turning back the page. There could be no lessons learned that could undo Piérre’s destruction, and any more damage done could easily push the littler boy past that otherworldly veil. Even though Valentin’s soul deeply understood Piérre’s wish to be utterly demolished, and through that compassion wished to give Piérre what he himself had so often courted, there was still the matter of Romeo and what he would feel tomorrow once the red finished seeping out from everyone’s eyes.

Hesitation twitched in Valentin’s arm, as he did not know where his loyalties lay. By reducing his brother to such a state, Romeo’s actions demonstrated to Valentin that the lonesome seeker was indeed still alone and unreciprocated. After all, even when still under the sway of amortentia, embarrassment and apologies and regret soured Romeo’s expression mere moments after Valentin’s second, more complete, drugged declaration of love. As for Piérre… well…

“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…?” This was Valentin’s offer when the jester played dead before, beneath another April storm. Finishing Romeo’s work off would indeed be one way to help Piérre not die alone, for who else could possibly understand the boy’s yearning to be punished better than Valentin?

"If I did die, you know... someday… This is how I'd want it to be."

Who could possibly be better positioned to grant the jester’s wish? Wasn’t Valentin’s entire being consumed by the urge to fulfill the deepest longings in the hearts of his loved ones? Whatever a person wished was not up to the colddrake, for the flowstar’s power was only in fulfilling desire, should it bring calamity or not. Was this not why people so feared Valentin’s lineage? If anyone, surely the colddrake’s loyalties lay with the one with the purest, most passionate wish. Only one brave enough to grab the comet by the tail with the intensity to hold on no matter what – only such a person could endure the wishfire’s manifestations. It was not a trivial magic, to grant one’s heart’s desire, and such sorcery required the wisher’s devotion in order to not let it fade to black.

Clearly Piérre wanted a few things. He wanted to be absolutely, thoroughly, mercilessly decimated. So, too, did he wish to hear that Valentin was at least happy for the briefest moment as a result of the joker’s trick. Today, Valentin would grant the only one of these wishes that was possible. Yet, had Valentin no mind of his own? The voice of Val’s father, Hugo, rang in his ears beneath Piérre’s hands.

You are not a beast but a Man.

Shaking his head as arcane power swelled uncertain through his arm, only half of Valentin agreed. Recent times served to remind Valya that, for as simple and human flowed Hugo’s bloodline, Zinoviya’s was riddled with non-human elements. The emergence of Val’s abilities with Parseltongue only provided irrefutable evidence of what he already knew. Valentin carried not just the legacy of his commanding, strategic father, but also his mother’s blood with its mysterious ties to veela priestesses and serpent speakers. Within one final rung of their genetic ladder descended Valya, part human, part beast – part king, and part colddrake. What did Valentin, himself, think about all this, regardless of Romeo’s and Piérre’s wishes?

“Episkey.” The king’s place, after all, was to preserve his people. For all the tumult along his decision of whose wish to grant, the only one that resonated clearly enough to manifest was Valentin’s own. Heart surging with the need to heal Piérre and burn his pain away, Valentin’s finest healing spell flowed into the boy below him. [Nat 20 with Max WDC] While Valya's magic flooded the broken jester with warmth and restoration, the momentary hesitation in questioning his divided loyalties was enough to trigger further action from Piérre.

"Was he a good kisser, Valentin? Or am I a better one, perhaps?" Lurching forward, the pointy-eared boy pulled Valya’s face into his, pressing a kiss into the seeker’s pink mouth. Blood sluiced across Val’s taste buds as his amethyst eyes rolled into the back of his head. It was like drinking raw, undiluted pain, and Piérre held Valentin there at length. The split in the other’s lip sculpted the feel of the other’s kiss, and as the jester’s tongue raked across Valentin’s teeth, a splash of assassin-red blush across the seeker’s cheeks marked the moment the joker overthrew the king.

Indeed, kissing was one of the treasures Valentin always sought to hold in reserve for a single mate with unfailing devotion. Piérre had seen it before – the albino’s shyness at spin-the-bottle, as well as his reaction to Amina’s unexpected attack, let alone Val’s overall resistance to kissing people despite the far-flying love he held for so many. It was the line he’d drawn for himself denoting where his top loyalty would lie… and yet, for all his efforts, Valentin still found himself not only alone, but having shared kisses with more people than he’d ever intended. If there was a single, most effective way to depose Durmstrang’s white king, Piérre had certainly found it.

Valentin did not struggle. A hiss at the back of his mind told him, instead, that it was time to devour this boy. Was it not fair, after others had freed all their violent pain upon Valentin when he invoked blood ritual, that the seeker would now relent to his ever-burning desire for catharsis? Piérre’s execution of the rite could be called nothing but flawless. As the jester drew his lips away, Valentin felt his own mind crack a little to the music of the boy’s manic laughter. The littler Italian then threw himself to the ground and warbled on.

"Yes! Yes! I am the mad one! I'm craaaaaaaaaaazy! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Staring, transfixed by the melodic strains of Piérre’s voice, Valentin’s head tilted to the side as words slid from his tongue as if from another realm.

“But you’re not mad at all. This makes more sense than anything. This makes more sssense than me.” Despite swallowing, the metallic taste of blood still lined Valentin’s mouth, and no logic could have convinced him that it wasn’t his very own. Was the absolute liberation of the joker at this very moment not precisely the same as Romeo’s detention dance, which had so enraptured Valentin last year? No king could ever supersede such an immaculate moment when the soul no longer gave a damn about anything but its truth. Val bowed his head with respect, as there was no distinction between whose pain was whose as Piérre dove deeper into the embrace of hysteria. Did the joker remember what Val said that day in the rain?

“In a way, what you do is like Yefim’s work. The chaos he causes liberates people from small mindedness, but you… 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?”

For as wrong as everything had gone, devastating Romeo and unraveling the hard-won threads of his and Val’s relationship, Valentin admired Piérre’s star-crossed attempts to free them all. Here, writhing in his own blood on the floor, the court jester cried out in sincere self-destructive agony after trying so hard to help his brother and Val. For a moment, all Valentin could do was stare at the beauty before him. Piérre tried to give them the magic of serendipity, if only his recipients would make use of it. Valentin licked the smear from his lips and took a step forward.

“I wonder, after all the self-deprecation and sacrifice, who heals the jester?” Valentin asked in an echo through time. Piérre would be right, of course. Working such unblemished sorcery had predictable results: the colddrake within Valentin now freed would not relent until its hunger was satiated.

"You don't want to forgive me. I don't expect you to. I deserve everything that you want to do to me. I drugged you. I drugged you and Romeo and I watched from the background, hidden beneath an invisibility cloak. I, Pierluigi Martini, I the master of tricks; I the Machiavellian Ass that I am! I the Great Jester, the Mad Harlequin, the Irrational Boy! Avenge yourselves! Because let's be honest! At this point I deserve it!"

Valentin’s long legs drew him quickly to tower over the defenseless, scarlet-soaked boy, and his amaranthine gaze seared down into Piérre’s essence. Rolling his shoulder once, the champion was in easy range to strike however he so chose.

“I won’t forgive you, Piérre. I know were trying to help us, but you did it in the wrong way, a cruel and manipulative way, and so it backfired. You hurt Romeo very badly, and I don’t know how he will recover from the self-doubt your actions seeded in him. You took from him the freedom of using his first kiss however he chose. For that moment, you stripped away the choice that makes Romeo a person. Listen to me, and listen very closely. I won’t forgive you, and this is because there is nothing to forgive. You screwed up and you hurt your brother terribly, but you wanted to bring him happiness. The only punishment the Frost Captain gives for failed attempts in quidditch is more practice, and his co-captain knows that. As for me… I will take my vengeance for what you have done, and I won’t stop until I’m satisfied.”

Inspecting Piérre’s wounds with his keen eyes, the colddrake picked out his weak points and where he was still damaged after Valentin’s maxed-out healing spell. Then, after a small stretch of his back, the seeker descended as swiftly as in a blatch. Unguarded, Piérre could maintain no effective defense as Valentin’s hands fell upon him.

“SUFFER NOW THE WRATH OF THE ŞÜRÄLE!!” roared Val, fingers diving for the boy’s underarms and sides, inflicting the most merciless tickling he’d ever unleashed. He didn’t need a stupid spell to do it. Valentin was always the physical type. Swerving from target to target to ensure maximum tickle torture while avoiding any severe residual wounds, the ravenous tickle monster that was Val would not heed any protests nor dampen the intensity of his justice. Only when Piérre made a satisfyingly weird enough sound would the albino beast stop. Scooping up the joker in both arms and squeezing with his legs, Val embraced the boy with an overwhelming, remorseless squeeze. There could be no escape, as Valentin had trained with Romeo as a sparring partner and was well acquainted with how to accurately maneuver himself. Besides, he had studied Piérre and his tendencies. The jester, deposing the king, had unleashed the unrestrained wish in Valentin’s heart.

“You asked me, Piérre, who was the better kisser, you or Romeo. It was you. Yours was given freely, and how beautiful it was. When Romeo did not choose to give his willingly, you defeated the entire purpose of him kissing me. Whatever I thought was happiness at the time was not real, and two spirits can only unify by their own choice. I saw it on his face when he realized it was amortentia. He was embarassed, regretful, pained. I could never be happy about such kisses after that, knowing that this was not his true will. I should have known there was a reason he wouldn’t verbally accept my offer. Yet, look at you. Your kiss was not only of your own will, but in the most liberated state I’ve ever seen you. Now that is what I call a real kiss.” Squeezing the boy again and rocking back and forth, Valentin then leaned in to plant a kiss on Piérre’s cheek. “Thank you for trying to help. Please never do it in such a manipulative way again.”

Abilities: Keen Eye - Charmer - Evasive Maneuvers - Fearless
Statistics: STA 8 - EVA 15 - STR 3 - WIS 15 - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Blanket godmod permission for Val is granted to Piérre M.
Şüräle: tickle monster from Tatar folklore

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Hufflepuff

Calming Presence in Effect

In the end it was a performance, intended to satiate the needs and desires of the crowd rather than reflect the true heart and beliefs of the Jester himself. It was supposed to be the moment in which the floodgates were opened, the very second that everything came undone and was released like hounds upon a stag; to tear it down and to slaughter it for their master. Ultimately the thing that Piérre served as was the catalyst that would begin the breaking down process; the thing that would result in everything coming together and converging on him, the intended focus of their ire. How brilliant it was to be ensnared by those he had ensnared; a proof that they had begun to open their eyes and realize that they had been so blind before, how this moment was a lesson taught and learned.

In a sense, he both made sense and yet made no sense whatsoever. Valentin realized this, as he seemed to hiss out his words. Piérre only fixed him with a look, watching and waiting. Good. He made sense; if he made sense, then his message was clear enough for Valentin to understand what it was that Piérre anticipated would happen. He understood what the Jester's purpose was, what Piérre wanted to have happen. Who heals the Jester?

Piérre couldn't say. Indeed; he didn't know. Perhaps they weren't supposed to be, to silently carry the burden. Self-deprecation was simply in Piérre's bones, in the end. How else was he supposed to survive, if he was not acting as the fool; if he could not act the fool or could not somehow use his own nature to deflect and to preserve. His heart had been broken over and over again, his fragile world ripped to shreds and then tentatively stitched back together only to be torn again. So, why not use that which was broken; make that shattered piece the envy of those who lusted for their most beautiful riches. Take something dull and hidden and dark and mundane: make it a work of art itself.

As such, the boy watched as Valentin stalked for a second, seemingly watching or at least observing for an entrance that Piérre welcomed with open arms and without a struggle that he would give. Was he frightened? No more than he usually was with everything around him; a coward by nature most concerned with self-preservation at the cost of others if need be, motivated only by the bravery that came from a fool's bravado, Piérre was someone who crumbled but did not bow and only swayed impassively when adversity came his way. What was one more disaster, after all? What was one more curse? Just an additional story, just another tale to tell when everything was said and done.

Whenever it was that everything was said and done, that was. Stories had a nasty way of continuing on and on even when everyone wanted them to end, after all...

Yes, list Piérre's own sins. Make the boy hear of that which he had done as well; make him confess to the things he had performed, the strings that he had pulled so that he could make these events transpire in the first place. Romeo had in the end simply been another puppet of Piérre himself; his brother, while kind and gentle and so noble of heart and intention, was helpless when underneath the hand of the master and prone to even the worst courses of actions if pushed over the edge. This outburst by his brother had proven this without a shadow of a doubt. Piérre wanted to know desperately what Valentin would do... and the response was not what he had expected at all.

With a lunge and a war cry in a language the Britalian did not understand, Valentin was upon him and viciously began to dig his fingers under Piérre's arms and niggling their way into the gaps of his ribs. With a sharp yelp as he found himself all tangled up in the other boy's long limbs and gangly body. The aggravation of his tender sides was certainly a little painful, considering that the bruises were only just starting to bloom across his skin beneath his Hufflepuff robes, but Piérre quickly came to the realization that he was being tickled by Valentin instead of being made to feel blows and instruments of pain. As this realization came to him, Piérre felt his grinning fade and a swoon of frozen chill flush through his chest instead. He let himself be jostled by Valentin in the course of the tickle attack, feeling hot tears beginning to well up in both of his eyes as a hard lump formed in his throat and closed up his trachea.

For as odd as it was, for as strange as one may deem it for one of his nature, Piérre was in fact so very highly resistant to tickling. It simply... he simply didn't really feel it as much as he felt the pressure of the person's fingers on him and the silliness of the situation in which such action would transpire. Here there was no such humor, however; here there was no joy to be found for the Jester at this moment. He had harmed people, if not by actions or by aggression, but by the things that Valentin had said indeed. He was the manipulator at heart; he had to understand and to cause things to revolve in a beautiful pirouette that he could wind and watch and then change the tune of whenever he pleased.

But... unlike so many other things that had been done for the sake of business or for personal gain in some way, the things that he had done to Romeo and Valentin had been done with nothing but good intentions at heart. He had wanted so much for his brother, he had wanted so much for him, to prove that he could still be a part of his life even when they were so far away and drifting apart every year. Maybe, perhaps if he could have helped his brother find love (in fact if he could have proven that Romeo--whom Piérre had always known to have believed himself unlovable outside that of a protective figure--did have someone who loved him for more than just a guardian), then perhaps Piérre could have felt the satisfaction of having done something good before he and his brother drifted apart altogether. Piérre really had believed that if they had never found out about the Amortentia... perhaps it would have been a total success.

The first tear fell off of Piérre's cheek and his cheeks began to bloom with red stress as the pent up heat and twisting in him bubbled a little further to the surface. Curling his fingers into the ground, Piérre pressed his forehead into Valentin's shoulder at the clavicle against his neck, his shoulders slumping as all remnant tension oozed away and the boy turned himself over instead to the despair of tears. Valentin held him tight and Piérre didn't try to leave. It would be useless, after all. Not that he felt he could move well enough to break the grip, but on top of that he wasn't done here. He hadn't finished what he had started; he hadn't done well enough to allow himself to take his leave. He could not leave; he was simply not allowed to.

"That shouldn't be true." Piérre said softly, still not lifting his head even as Valentin kissed him on his cheek. The very action burned the boy, adding insult to injury. "I don't love you like he does." He said coldly. The reason for his actions, the reasons for the things that he had done; of course he had seen Romeo's reaction. He had seen everything; that was simply what he did out of nothing else but force of habit. "He did this, he did all of this, because I knew. I knew." Repeating the words that his own brother had said to him moments before transforming Piérre's world into pain and physical agony.

Tentatively the boy raised his head, his eye red and filled with emotional tears now instead of pained ones. "He was angry because I hurt you. Not because of what I did to him. Believe me, if he could have worked his will he would have taken both doses of Amortentia without a moment's hesitation if it meant that you would be safe." The chivalrous white knight that he was. "You may have watched him for years, but I've known him my entire life. He's known nothing else but protection and the pursuit of protection by means of his hands and his words." Those memories were a part of Piérre's more core memories; those childhood years, especially when Romeo and he had been briefly taken temporarily into the adoption system until Mathilda had taken them in. Romeo had been forced to grow up, to grow up far too quickly and to shed his child skin to reveal steel and iron slicked with blood and sinew. "I've dragged him down for so long; I've been his ball and chain... I blamed him whenever things went wrong. I hated him when he left me, and I missed him; I miss him so much and the way that he used to be when we were kids."

Days of running through the woods and splashing in cricks... picking up stones and shiny things and hiding them in the holes in trees. Imagining that underneath the roots of a gnarled old ancient there lay a rabbit hole that led to Wonderland, and that if they dug down far enough they would fall right in, have tea with the Mad Hatter or meet the Red Queen and the White Knight, and still be home for dinner. Times when Romeo smiled more because it was just them and there was nobody to torment him or Piérre. Romeo loved to sit in lower branches even as Piérre got himself stuck in the higher ones, but sometimes they found a happy medium and got to watch the sun start to lower in the skies before they had to get back to their parents. Romeo smiled so much back then; there had been no frost in his eyes, no glassy glaze whenever he hid his inner thoughts or when he had to set his face like flint in order to be taken seriously. There had been no need to be taken seriously; there had been nothing to lose. Not then. Not at that point in their lives so far behind them now.

"I have never seen him so relaxed, so finally free as he used to be... as when he's around you now." Piérre shuddered before closing his eyes again. "I could never make him that happy... and I did try! I tried so hard!" Larger tears began to fall. "I've drug him down so long... so, so long... And I know that there are other reasons why Romeo probably tried to hide or to push you away... I know why as well." Of course there were other reasons as a God-fearing person that he was. "But..." How could he say this? "I just want him to be happy; and I see that when he's with you." There was no way to cloak that truth. "Romeo never made friends well... and when he did I saw him fall hard in the hopes that he could best serve them in whatever way that he could; he protected them like he used to protect me. He still does."

Piérre smiled bitterly, indicating to his own currently ruined features. "If he did this to me, the one that he used to protect most and was willing to lay down his life for, imagine how much he must love you; you who he did this to me over." Emerald eye gleamed with the hope that Valentin would still continue to understand. When his actions had failed, he fell on his words; unlike Romeo, Piérre was an impressive orator if he could be brought to be convicted of what he believed in. "I think--no--I know that he loves you more than anything else in this world right now." And all the things that stood in the way... "He's trapped between what he loves and what he believes out of the fear of something so far beyond himself; just like me."

Could there ever be a way?

"He will love you forever." Piérre lowered his head again, his hands snaking beneath Valentin's arms and around his back to hold him in a returned hug by the shoulders. "And I want to make sure that he's happy... and I want you happy too; even if it's so hard to figure out what that happiness will end up being in the end." Piérre buried his face in Valentin's neck again. Everything hurt. Inside and out, everything hurt. "I can't stop. Being 'manipulative'. Is it so wrong to want someone to find happiness so much that you pull strings here and there to make their dreams reality? The world and their dreams can become real and one in the same; they don't have to know that someone was helping them along. Isn't that God in action? He's there even when nobody believes in him or knows he's there." A shuddering sigh. "I don't want to be God. I'm not a god. But I want to help. I want to be the little whisper and the call to action and the perfect storm that brings everything together until I'm not needed anymore."

The phenomenon of the Nowhere Man. "Until I finally disappear, and nobody has to remember my name if they don't want to. Not you or even Romeo. So long as the things I leave behind are good."

Once Piérre melted in sadness into Val’s arms, the Frost Captain knew he just wasn't capable of giving the jester what he wanted. It hurt like hell to deprive him of catharsis because it would have been just as agonizing to Val in that position. Still, Valentin hoped he could still give the smaller gemellino what he needed in some healthier way. Ultimately, however beautifully the jester had deposed the king and opened a profound connection between them, there was only one person who could unlock Val in the way Piérre was trying to do.

"That shouldn't be true," said Piérre. "I don't love you like he does."

“You’re right that it shouldn’t be so, but what I said is true. That kiss was not of Romeo's own will and I’m certain that neither of us want that kind, or any kind, of fake love. I’d rather suffer alone all my life than delude myself with sick illusions. You took his freedom, his self-determination away. If he was mad that you took mine, too, it’s because your brother has such a noble heart. You know how he is, just like I know that you’re special to him and he doesn’t really want to hurt you, either. He is desperately trying to get you to stop doing things that are destructive to both others and yourself. If you pulled this stunt on anyone else, you could easily wind up dead. Your brother’s virtuous spirit has nothing to do with me. Don’t give me this farce that he only hurt you because I’m special. Back at the ball when I was watching him strangle you and Figaro took that piece of his ear, I wasn’t even a speck in his heart.” Shaking his head as a wave of heartache overtook him, Valentin closed his eyes.

“I see no regret in you for manipulating us, but even if I did believe you wouldn’t lie to me, the evidence doesn’t support your claim. Just like Romeo will always be a healer and try to bring me back from the brink of death like any other common fool, he’ll also be a righteous fighter for justice long after I’m a smudge in his memory. He’ll move on like the vagabond he is. I believe it when you say he’ll love me forever, but he doesn’t love me enough to be with me. He only loves me enough to be my friend and I have to respect that he has other priorities he wants more, and that’s perfectly fine. The world doesn’t revolve around me. The most important thing is for him to go find true happiness with someone he doesn’t have to sacrifice his identity to be with. I am not here to change who he fundamentally is, for that would not only be an abuse of my power, but it would desecrate the name of love itself by not accepting him unconditionally. Always I strive to help him grow and attain his dreams and live a healthy, happy life, but never at the cost of his identity and his self-determination. Never.”

Valentin loosened his grip on Piérre in order to get eye contact with the broken jester. “I hear you when you say you are a manipulator and that you think you can’t stop. Just so, it’s not my place to tell you who to be. People can be all kinds of things. If you want to be a manipulator, that’s up to you, but I can’t let you hurt Romeo again. If you even try, I will oppose you. While I won’t stoop to taking away your self-determination, that doesn’t mean I will stand idly by and watch you make Romeo suffer. I understand that you wanted him to be happy, but nothing that you achieved was real. Fake happiness is inherently toxic and it’s only a matter of time until its true cost begins to show. It’s fine if you’re not doing this for fame and you simply want to leave behind a good legacy, but that is not what you are creating. If you keep living this way, your legacy will be built from saccharine lies as fragile as a house of cards.”

Sitting back from Piérre and pulling his knees up to his chest, Valentin pushed a hand through his hair, only to leave a trail of blood against its shimmering snow white. In the end, after Piérre’s attempt to convince Val that Romeo’s violence against his twin was actually a sign of love for Val, the seeker only became more convinced that he was nothing special – indeed Romeo had a justice-loving heart and recurring problems controlling violent impulses against his brother.

Base Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 15 [17] - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Total Stats: STA 11 - EVA 23 - STR 6 - WIS 20 - ARC 4 - ACC 18
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to each stat)

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Hufflepuff

Calming Presence in Effect

Piérre felt nothing else except for bitter disgust as the 'kind yet firm' words of Valentin washed over him. The more the sweet words of the seeker tried to batter against the stubborn and infuriated mind of the battered Britalian, the more the ugly thing inside of him continued to lash out in poisonous rage. As beautiful as his own words could be, as intricate as his schemes were, truly they did hide within their depths a perturbing creation of spider's silk and hanging corpses of the preserved past that spun slowly from strings and were made to be repositioned for the purposes of the next act. Piérre couldn't help himself as he sneered externally at Valentin. "You really have yourself convinced, don't you." His fingers curled a little bit tighter on the ground. "You're just as bad at listening as I am."

Bitter bile rose in his mouth, venom on his lips and poison coating his tongue. "My brother's 'virtue' means nothing if he has nobody to fight for." He shot back. "He doesn't give away his love to just anyone. It surprised even me when I started seeing a new sparkle in his eyes when he looked at you at the Fall Ball, when I saw a newfound fire in his eyes as he killed that Hag Doll and then how easily he let you guide him away." A devilish curl to the corner of his mouth. "And then oh how much more he let himself get carried away. Even if I hadn't taken the little extra step, the little push that I decided was necessary, he would have snogged you anyways. He would have warmed up eventually; my sin was lighting the fires under both of your asses first and then getting caught for it in the end. It was never my intention to take away his 'self-determination'. More like 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', if you would." Came the snarl from what was usually a rather pretty face even through the blood and the tears.

"Romeo's not the vagabond." Under his breath, but that was all he elaborated. "And if you just up and give him up, you will break his heart." Was it a threat, or was it an insight? "And I refuse to let you break my brother's heart, just like you refuse to let me manipulate it. Break his heart and I will make you afraid to look over your shoulder." Stooping to threats was never something that Piérre liked to do, it was something he knew was the bottom of the barrel for the purposes of negotiations and persuasions, but he began to feel that he was running out of all other options. Even if it was impossible to believe that a young boy the likes of him would be able to make good on his threat, it wasn't something that he was necessarily exaggerating. He was fully capable of forming connections, of finding means and ends; though he would not do anything 'dramatic' for lack of a better word... it wasn't entirely a lie to say that he wouldn't try to find some way to always have eyes on the albino. Eyes for better or for worse. "Because I will find a way. The world doesn't revolve around you, this much is true. So why do you keep thinking you can play the hero and never suffer repercussions from anyone else encroaching on your story?"

The veil was completely gone, the deepest depths of the need to exacerbate wounds and to reveal the soft and tender inner skin to be further agitated and pained now obviously clear. "Fearless Hell-chaser. Fearless except in the realms of Love and War, because your heart bleeds so much and your kindness will kill you someday; just like it will me." He wasn't even fighting his own stance anymore. "Nobody wins here. Nobody can. There is no victory when everyone is dead. So, let's oppose one another. Let's see who wins, who bleeds out last."

And then a thought. A terrible, beautiful thought and a question that came with it. "Why are you so obsessed with this, anyways, Valentin?" Piérre tipped his head, the curious smile returning once more without conscious prompt from the one offering it. "And what about this... 'my power'... you claim to have?" He traced air quotes in the air at the strange words that stuck out to the boy's ears. Despite himself, the ruined boy grasped once more for a position of power, clambering for some level of assertion that was still his to possess. "What? Do you think you have authority over the matters of love?" A gleam of viciousness. "Do you really not want the world to revolve around you?"

No more logic. No more proper conversation. Only knives, and only a reversion to childish argumentative tactics. For how much longer, though? Already the adrenaline was fading, and lethargy was washing over the boy. There was not much more to give. He had to get out of here soon. Soon, and before the nurse or any of its lackies decided to take advantage of Piérre's weakened state.

Piérre sneered, bile lining his words as they lashed out, but Valentin only smiled ever hungrier. Did the jester not know that this was exactly what the hell-chaser wanted? The only problem was that Piérre’s attacks were not yet sharp enough to satisfy.

“Indeed, your brother needs someone to fight for, just as he needs someone to heal. Those are simply his roles in life. You’re also right that he doesn’t give his love to just anyone, and that includes not giving it to me. At least, he would fight to protect me just as surely as he would any innocent, but it's little more than that. Surely you see that you’re being quite the opposite of Romeo, the defender. You preyed upon Romeo’s innocence. Whatever your intentions, your manipulation still took away Romeo’s power to choose for himself. You say he didn’t need an extra push, but now we’ll never know because the situation has already been tampered with. Lord, what fools these mortals be, indeed! You invoke Shakespeare but miss the point of what a hell it is for someone else to determine whom you can love. A dream is not real, and when people are deluded into thinking something is love when it is not, the relationship is doomed to fail. Only true love conquers all. You’re just making my points for me at this point, so if you really mean to hurt me, you’ll have to do better than that.” Valentin’s voice lilted, making no secret of his amusement.

“How typical it is for you to point at me for the breaking of Romeo’s heart when you’re the one who drugged us with amortentia. Victim blaming is the oldest trick in the book. Try to be original, would you? If you’d toy with me, at least show the respect of offering a worthy challenge. You claim that you’d make me afraid to look over my shoulder, but from what I’ve seen so far… well, try training for another hundred years.” Piérre was not done, however.

"I will find a way. The world doesn't revolve around you, this much is true. So why do you keep thinking you can play the hero and never suffer repercussions from anyone else encroaching on your story? Fearless Hell-chaser. Fearless except in the realms of Love and War, because your heart bleeds so much and your kindness will kill you someday; just like it will me. Nobody wins here. Nobody can. There is no victory when everyone is dead. So, let's oppose one another. Let's see who wins, who bleeds out last. Why are you so obsessed with this, anyways, Valentin? And what about this... 'my power'... you claim to have? What? Do you think you have authority over the matters of love?" The boy’s eyes gleamed with viciousness. "Do you really not want the world to revolve around you?"

“People encroaching on my story is exactly what I want, Piérre, however much I suffer because of it. Living a solipsistic life alone terrifies me far more than cutting my hand on the thorny rose of love. Can’t you see that I’d sooner paint that canvas with my own blood than leave it forever blank?” Extending his pale fingers out like sprigs of aspen, Valentin observed the dark red sunk into his nailbeds from grappling with the jester’s wounds. “Whatever authority I may have in love or war is not really mine anyway. All crowns are borrowed. It’d be delusion to think that ‘my power’ really comes from me, see. If people keep me as captain, champion, or lover it is because it suits them. The arrogance of a king thinking of himself as the source of true power dooms him to failure by ignoring the truth: he is but one small piece on a grander chess board that will host countless revolving kings in innumerable games down through the ages. If a king has any power, it is only because of the pieces around him. I may offer some skills and influence over people, but for arrogance to make me lose touch with the reality of those people is the eternal danger. Don’t you see, Piérre? When you manipulate and create the false appearance of, say, love… whatever illusions are gained will crumble just as surely as the reign of a king without the support of his people. You ask if I don’t really want the world to revolve around me, but the king can only play his role if he serves his people. While the sun may sit at the center, its value lies not in sitting there, but in shining light and warmth upon its domain. If my position affords me the leverage to help people more, then all the better, but let’s not forget why the word ‘king’ acquired meaning in the first place. If I am so obsessed over the matter of love, it is because I wish to serve its cause more than any other. I hope only to be worthy of its grace. Indeed, it’s entirely possible that this will be the death of me, but I’d trade immortality for the mere possibility of true love – and in a heartbeat.”

Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

House Colours: Hufflepuff

Calming Presence in Effect

"Then Romeo hurts only himself, and if you do love him he hurts you too. At the least he now feels a similar pain to what he has inflicted on you with all the mental acrobatics he forces you to endure at his side. Even the blind can see it." Piérre finally retorted softly, relaxing a bit as he finally allowed himself to slump against the corridor wall at last; weak and exhausted. Dull pain continued to throb, agonies now turning numb and transforming into the bone-deep injuries that would be slow to heal by the work of his solo hands. "Because he's lying to himself, and to you, and to me as well, no matter how valiant his reason may be. And I will be his antagonist so long as he becomes better for it, just as I am everyone else's. My brother is no higher in status compared to anyone else that I mock, cheat, deride, or thieve from. All have lessons they must learn... including me." A weak smile, which turned into a grimace as his nose suddenly burned from the action. "I am no better than the ones that I scam... And I am thankful for it. Foolish mortal I am."

A bloody smile. "Every breath is one lesser for both of us. For all of us. Perhaps one day I will have lived for a century; perhaps you will too. I accept my actions, and I apologize for my oversight in assuming that you wouldn't drink of Romeo's glass. This was my fault... though I did notice something interesting that happened afterwards... or rather, what didn't happen afterwards. But if you request it, my King, by all means I shall improve my jests and my insults. Anything for you."

Piérre wiped the back of his hand across his face, smearing the blood of his broken nose onto his fingers and then to the tips of his fingers. With a single index finger, he smeared his own blood between the albino's eyes and down to the tip of Valentin's nose. Still smiling ever so slightly, the Jester nodded slowly. "Then let the pawn and the king return to the same box, and let my blood mingle with yours on the canvas as well." He blinked once slowly with a deep breath, feeling the throb behind his eyes. "For a king is doomed to die without the pawn, and the pawn can only becomes great when it has someone to humble, match, and then surpass the power of someday. Our roles are different, but our messages complimentary. Seekers of immortality and mortality seeking eternal legacy intertwined."

Who heals the Jester?

"There can be no time to waste in order to be healed when there is so much work left to do. Have pride enough to allow yourself to be healed, and you lose everything you were, everything you learned, everything you can teach; being healed and whole becomes your only obsession. So... nobody will heal the Jester, for the Jester cannot afford to be healed so long as he carries the wounds of others in his heart and on his body."

Green eyes flicked around, watching for anyone who would dare to take him away. "You had better go before this gets unwanted attention. Before I get unwanted attention." He was watching for a very specific individual, a group of individuals, really. Before Valentin pulled away, Piérre grabbed his wrist, a small sparkle of curiosity suddenly glinting for a moment more. "But you have not answered my question, Valentin." He whispered, his words for the boy alone. "Perhaps later you will answer me directly, of this power you spoke so quickly of and then hid away so quickly."

He would need a few more minutes to recuperate if he could, but if he couldn't--if they came for him too quickly--the boy would be gone before they would place eyes on the yellow-clad student. The only thing left behind was a disturbing series of crimson smears on the wall and ground where he had once sat, which could and most likely would be cleaned most easily with the help of a Scourgify charm.

Piérre Exits the Thread; Metamorphosis Complete...?