5 Feb 2024, 03:24
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
¤ | Ω | ¤
"Italiano. Italian."
"Russian."
\ Fingerless Glove on Right Hand, Bite Scar on Forearm /
| Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodIt was almost with a laugh that was silent and echoed more in the atmosphere of the fairgrounds than in the ears of any that could hear the way that the decidedly out-of-place mysterious stranger vanished into smoke. 'For Romeo' were his desires, eh? A taunting cockerel's cry of mischief and distain that would resonate and sew dissonance among the laughs of pleasure and joy from others partaking in their revelries, a call that was that of derision and sheer amusement as opposed to pleasantry and camaraderie. For Valentin himself, it would be almost as if the wind itself had hissed its taunts directly into his ear as the smell of a storm whipping itself into a frenzy overhead intensified further and further, building into a crescendo that could not be ignored or put aside for even an instance of ignorance.
The first peal of thunder rolled, rolled as he plunged headfirst into the roiling crowd in pursuit of that man that he had seen only moments earlier. He surely could not have gotten far, could not have vanished so easily into thin air like so many magicians found themselves apt to do. Surely such a trick was impossible in the throng of goers, which closed in and around yet undulated like the parted waves of a Red Sea consisting of human bodies and limbs. Yet, as Valentin stormed and sought for that which should have been so simple to find with keen eyes and lithe form, he found himself sadly disappointed [KE10: d10(2), Wisdom: d20(5)+17 = 22] as the more he twisted and turned, the more that movement and colors so similar to the ones that he had seen only moments prior began to confuse and swirl. Once he may have believed to have spotted the man in the form of a puppetmaster who was playing Punch and Judy at a popup for a bunch of little kids between the ages of two and six.
He spoke in Norwegian very quickly, with a wide smile on his face as he bantered back and forth with the beloved raggedy puppets before Punch gave Judy a smack to the delight of the children. When Judy tried to hit Punch back, she struck the man instead, which led to even more raucous laughter even among the adults supervising their young ones. But alas, this was not the man that Valentin had seen earlier, from whom he had recognized the picture in the book or the sense of unease that had washed over him for even the briefest of moments.
"Valya! Val!" At last Romeo would come up from behind, trying his best to not push others around him too much in order to cut through the crowd. "Don't run off on me like that! We don't know this area and..." The larger boy stalled a bit as he beheld the Punch and Judy display, now being enhanced with the help of vibrant streamers and reddish glitter in the place of what was likely supposed to be illustrations of less savory depictions of adult violence. The two were bravely facing off against a large creature that had curly horns and a decidedly Krampus-esque appearance, going back and forth and taking turns bashing it on the head. "and..." Words utterly failed me.
The sky split with another cry of thunder and a flashing gleam of lightning, causing my eyes to flick upwards as the first heavy sheet of rain blew across the grounds, rain that incurred the first of the flurry of movement that would lead to the packing of stalls and the defending of foodstuffs. "And something terrible could have... happened..." I murmured. Shielding my face with a hand as another bluster of rain came down, I glanced about in the now increasing mess. "Delightful..." Fixed my attention back on Valentin. "What in the world was that all about? Was it something I said? Did?"
"SISTE SAMTALE FOR DE HJERTESTOPPENDE FORESTILLINGENE UNDER DEN STORE TOPPEN! KOM INN, KOM INN FRA REGN OG VÆR! HALV AV OPPTAK FOR SKJERMINGSFORMÅL!" LAST CALL FOR THE HEART-STOPPING PERFORMANCES BENEATH THE BIG TOP! COME IN, COME IN FROM THE RAIN AND WEATHER! HALF OFF ADMISSION FOR SHELTERING PURPOSES! The crier passed by one more time, having to roar above the wind and the thunder for the purposes of ensuring his message was received by those who could understand him, angling his baton towards the open entrance of the largest tent that glowed marigold and warm with light. He didn't seem to want to stick around for long, though, as he pulled his overcoat tighter around himself and cocked his hat over his eyes to shut out the rain before turning and rushing off to spread the message further out before likely seeking shelter for himself.
"In there, huh?" I murmured again, starting to feel the crowd pushing around once again, this time jostling towards the light and the warmth. I took hold of Valentin, not wanting for us to be separated from one another again. The continued heightened sense of unease was not fading away from my periphery, but if we were to be pushed into the belly of the beast we had to stay together. It was seeming like we were having less and less of a choice the more we kept being tangled in the ground that was pushing us and pushing us into the unknown. I tried to meet eyes with Valentin once again. "I guess we're going in there...!" A particularly strong push finally carried us on the wave of people into the folds of the decorative tent.
No sooner had we passed the threshold that the pressure of those around us almost seemed to instantly vanish as people disseminated themselves throughout the area inside. Getting my bearings as quickly as I could, I tried to make as quick of a sense of the area. Almost immediately I realized... the interior was much larger than it had first appeared on the outside. Deceptively so, perhaps almost seamlessly so, it became so obvious to me that this area was not a muggle tent but rather the extended interior of a wizarding tent masquerading as a naturally large muggle counterpart.
Flabbergasted, my mouth fell open ever so slightly. "Oh my God..." I whispered to Val. "The Statute would have a field day with this thing if it was ever found out..." Oh but this was only the tip of the iceberg as I beheld some nearby stands on the outer ring that went around and around the central ring which held raised risers for seating and glimpses of a trapeze and a tightrope. Each had what looked to be an owner who was handling a few live mundane creatures ranging from hawks to snakes, and even some deformed farm animals (though some among these, including a two-headed cow, were dead rather than living and some were small enough to be preserved in formaldehyde-filled jars). There was even a mockery of the infamed Fiji mermaid, and several other fantastical creatures that were obviously man-made... though even I had to admit that some did a more than rather impressive job of capturing the real thing... Perhaps there had been more wizarding influence to them than what would have first met the eye to an average muggle.
"Either this is just a very good impression of a mermaid... or someone had a magical hand in designing it." I nodded towards the faux mermaid.
Passing by a concession stand, the scent of popcorn filled the air. Many of the bags were on the edge of the counter, and I was reminded of--well--the fact that Val had said that he had never had popcorn before. It was right there... and there were quite a few of the bags of popcorn that were almost falling off the edge, and there simply was so much commotion, that for some reason it occurred to me that it was a target that could be relatively easy to pick from.
I was not my brother, I knew full well what his track record was with this sort of thing; he showed me his little thieved baubles and trinkets all the time... and while I did tell him again and again not to act that way... Well... I did admit that he was very good at it, and that in this case... it was just a little thing that could maybe just... just not be noticed. It wasn't for me after all.
But all the same... My fingers still snuck for the bag, hooking it lightly with a finger... only to have it suddenly fall and scatter [Slight of Hand: d20(1) + ([9 + 21]/2) = 16 Critical Failure] across the ground. Eyes widening in shock, the vendor's eyes also seemed to gravitate towards the confusion even with the disorder happening all around. "Oh... shit."
"Tyv! Thief!" He cried, pointing towards me. "Hey, stopp tyven! Hey, stop thief!"
Stumbling back, I didn't try to explain. I was certainly in the wrong, and I knew it. I simply tried to run, to get away. Which, to be fair, I did. What a foolish thing I had done... stupid stupid thing I had done. In what world had I thought that that was a good idea? What kind of idiot was I to think that I could have... ach forget it!
While miffed, the vendor seemed more frustrated with having to clean up rather than the fact that someone had tried to steal from him. It was swept up and put away quickly, and then he resumed his business as if nothing had happened to begin with. Out of mind, out of immediate memory.
I picked my way through the stands, trying to pick a place in the stands for both Valentin and myself, preferably far away from the little incident that I had caused behind me... trying to hide away from the very situation I had created. I didn't want to think about that. It was stupid... very very stupid of me... what in the world had I been thinking that that would be something even remotely alright to do such a selfish and unintelligent thing. Stupid, stupid...
When I found one, I sat down defeatedly and buried my face in my hands. Idiot, idiot, idiot... All around, people started to settle in and down, murmuring among themselves and trying to make themselves comfortable before the show began. Hopefully Valentin would also show up and find me too... and when he did I wasn't sure if I would be able to meet his eyes out of shame other than mouthing a very, very feeble. 'Sorry. That was stupid of me...'
Eventually, the lights faded down, as well as the voices of all those about us turning into quiet whispers... the show was about to start, perhaps?
Chin still in my hands, I watched the center of the ring as there were humanoid movements within it. A few seconds of moving, gestures shared between them before all of them but one scampered away and out of sight, and only one was left standing all alone in shadow. Despite myself, a chill ran through my body once again. This came unprovoked, seemingly without reason... a chill that was confusing to me until the words came. Words that floated through the air like a siren's song both soft and deadly.
"Mine damer og herrer, utlevere av de handlinger som jeg har anskaffet for deg... Vi har kommet tilbake igjen for din glede og for din ærefrykt, for din applaus og for ditt sjokk. Ladies and gentlemen, purveyors of the acts that I have procured for you... We have returned once again for your pleasure and for your awe, for your applause and for your shock." If there was such a thing as a human voice carrying the tambor of a snake, this was the voice that portrayed it best, a sinuous and rolling voice that accented their consonants with snaps and extended their vowels with an almost sensual pleasure. Romantically it played with the sentence structure it produced, coyly it danced and seemed to almost attack the senses with a venom that was both sweet and acidic.
"For de som kommer tilbake, velkommen tilbake til denne fantastiske og umulige verden. For de som er nye i huset vårt, vet at du nå er vår enten du skjønner det ennå eller ikke. Vårt fangebundne publikum, våre begeistrede lånere; jeg har tryllet for deg kremen av avlingen, de mest fantastiske tingene jeg har kommet til å eie ennå! Monstre og mennesker, dyr og vesener! Alt her under dette buede taket, dette stoffsløret mellom virkelighet og fantasi! For those returning, welcome back to this fantastical and impossible world. For those new to our house, know that you are now ours whether you realize it yet or not. Our captive-bound audience, our enthralled patrons; I have conjured for you the cream of the crop, the most fantastical things I have come to possess yet! Monsters and men, beasts and beings! All here beneath this arched roof, this fabric veil between reality and fantasy!" It continued, slipping off into quiet musing and letting its words hover in the air without resolution. Silence reigned once again, the tension crescendoing as the thunder outside rolled with a flash of lightning that invoked an 'ooh!' in the crowd and illuminated the shape of the single figure standing in the ring. The silhouette of a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat in which a golden feather glowed orange as flame, standing with his hands clasped before him and slightly leaned forward as if to leap upon the crowd at a moment's notice. A certain leering gesture, slightly off-putting but dominant, demanding attention and attachment. The center of the attention, the center of the show that he seemed to be responsible for putting on.
"Vel... ikke la meg holde tilbake forestillingen. Jeg er proktoren. Vi har Et Helvete av et show i kveld, en som vil få Djevelen selv til å skjelve i frykt. Mine damer og herrer... tillat meg å presentere for deg: Den Jublende Basaren! Well... don't let me hold back the performance. Indeed, I am the proctor. We have a Hell of a show tonight, one that'll cause the Devil himself to quiver in fear. Ladies and gentlemen... allow me to present to you: the Jubilant Bazaar!"
Lights exploded to life, color and reflective surfaces gleamed with refracted hues and prismatic apparitions. Acrobats swung from overhead on their ropes only to be caught by other aerialists that were tangled tightly in silks by their legs and their torsos like flies in a spider's web. On the ground, in the ring, Russian wheels turned and were manipulated by the forces of the people who were in their centers. Acrobats only on foot dashed in and around these wheels, jumping over them and somersaulting only to get quickly to their feet and leap over another. Some juggled, some performed duo tricks, and some others performed feats of balance with a whole collective. Meanwhile a tightropist balanced high on a wire overhead, with a pole in both arms; on either arm of which a person stood with their arms crossed in total confidence of the one that was carrying them. A twinned feat of strength and balance that looked impossible at first glance... before I came to realize that perhaps there was more than simply training in this realm than what first met the eye. Like the uncanny valley, this was uncanny art--something that didn't check out the longer that you watched the impossible, even in the context of a circus' performance.
Faster and faster these acts culminated together, folding and refolding on themselves as the figure on the pedestal in the very middle of the ring only remedially interacted with the performers: tossing items up for the silks to juggle, pointing directions out for the wheels and directing foot-acrobats into their next feat. It was almost eerie, how they seemed to avoid him unless he directly interacted with them, unless he told them to go somewhere or to do something with a nonverbal command. From the center he manipulated everything, and yet remained as like an island in it all; untouchable and solitary from the otherwise vibrant performance as he snapped the black leather bullwhip every now and again to cut through the wailing celebratory carnival music that echoed through the air alongside the captivated gasps and 'oohs' and 'aahh's of the audience.
The culmination was sudden but perfectly in time with the end of the music in a bravo of crescendo, all acts freezing in a sudden daredevil poise as the ringmaster threw his arms out in recognition of the audience's cries of awe and appreciation. A broad smile seemed to glow across his face, the black patch on his left eye dark against otherwise light and bright complexion. It was very nearly a standing ovation, and as actors and acrobats began to dash off and prepare for the next act, he bowed once and then twice before attempting to regain their attentions with an idle waving of the bullwhip. Slow to die down, he only embraced the continued cheers with a wave of a black leather-gloved hand.
With a subtle motion, the butt of the bullwhip was pressed to his throat as his lips moved quietly. In a loud yet controlled voice, he gestured to the audience as his voice carried strongly even through the rest of the raucous cries. "Takk skal du ha! Takk skal du ha! Vær så snill! Thank you! Thank you! Please!" A laugh from him floated high and delighted, but with an edge of assertion upon it all the same. "Jeg forsikrer deg, det er mer som kommer! Lagre jubel for dem også! Haha! I assure you, there is more to come! Save your cheers for them as well!"
Eventually the cheers died down and excited murmurs took hold instead. Removing the butt of the whip from his throat, his lips moved silently again before his voice--quieter but still powerfully supported--went on. "Det dere alle har vært vitne til her er bare en smakebit på hva som kommer! Vi har så mye mer å vise deg hvis du vil tillate oss, og nok en gang... vi er så glade for ditt selskap og din patronage. What you have all witnessed here is but a taste of what is to come! We have so much more to show to you if you will allow us, and once again... we are so pleased for your company and your patronage." The ringmaster bowed deeply, sweeping his leg behind him and gently removing the fire-plumed hat from his head in order to press it to his breast respectfully.
I leaned to Valentin. "I'm not a betting man, but I think I would win if I said that his wand is inside that whip's handle." I pointed to it, how carefully the man handled the equipment, how his hands held the handle and curled the leather about it. "Voice Amplification Charm."
The ringmaster smiled once more as he turned his face upwards, gesturing towards a group of individuals outside of the ring's range. This group was made up more of animal handlers and a small collection of physical comedians who were already engaging in their pranks and pratfalls... If what the man had said was true, perhaps we would be sitting here for a while yet.ReducioStats:
Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 8 | Strength 17 Ω
Ω Accuracy 18 | Wisdom 10 | ArcPower 0 ΩAbilities:
Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Ω Muggle Condition Ω
13 Feb 2024, 02:01
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
Romeo easily caught up with Valentin, who had merged into the crowd only to lose himself in the twisting colors and smells and shapes of the crowd. Val's violet eyes, usually keener than any others around him, glazed over with inability to focus. He became instead acutely aware that everyone had mouths, some lined with plump lips and others small and thin and others yet in barrages of browns and pinks and reds. Why was it that the mouths all seemed to be speaking to him, beckoning him in every direction in every possible language, when he was only one more face in the crowd?
"Valya! Val! Don't run off on me like that! We don't know this area and… something terrible could have... happened..." A scent like Roman chamomile wove through the air. Valentin slowed his steps as the torrent of people swept the pair like a river towards the tent opening. Dazed, Valentin’s scarred hand rose to his brow and came away with beads of sweat. His mind wasn’t as sharp as he expected, but the observation only mushed through his head in a half-baked ooze. Romeo took hold of the now ailing seeker to keep from being separated in the thrall of the crowd, which was a lucky thing indeed, for Valentin might have succumbed to trampling in such a broken state of mind. As the crowd thinned, a sliver of lucidity slipped into the captain’s mind just long enough for Romeo’s words to percolate.
"Oh my God... The Statute would have a field day with this thing if it was ever found out..." So there was magic here indeed, Valentin understood, but the memory of an oak tree’s resinous fragrance and a scatter of wildflowers tugged at his mind. A warm, buttery smell was pulling him into a vision of the past but Valentin could not have recognized it as popcorn, which he had never experienced before.
Swirls of spectacle swam all around the pair, fin and feather and a two-headed cow, but as his consciousness fuzzed over once more, nothing made sense except for the strange voices that Valentin did not realize were coming from the serpents on display. None of it seemed real. Isn’t it the ancestors again, speaking to me…? he wondered. A deep sickness throbbed inside the boy’s gut as if longing for a sumptuous meal while knowing that everything within reach could be poisoned. No longer was this a circus and the location of the boys' mission, not in Valentin’s head. The big top was instead an overload of sensation pouring down his throat and nose and seeping into his ears. The word could have been “overwhelming” but the only way Valentin knew how to cope was to shut up his mind and drink it all in.
Automatically, as in a quidditch maneuver, Valentin flanked Romeo’s side as he moved about the tent. The usually pale boy would seem particularly white-fleshed except for red-hot flushing across his sweat-sheen cheeks. Like in a dream, Valentin watched as Romeo’s hand reached out to sneak a bag of the alarmingly attractive yellow-white puffs of buttered popcorn. Of course he wanted it. Wasn’t that a beautiful time? The lack of finesse in the boy’s thieving failed to register with Valentin, who was skilled enough at lifting people’s shiny objects that it didn’t even seem like an attempt at stealing. Surely that stuff was free-for-all, like at a community or household banquet. People shared such splendor, did they not? Shouldn’t Valentin also just take the warmth that so called to him?
The vendor did not appreciate Romeo’s poor attempt at thieving, but through the cognates and situational context, Valentin understood the merchant’s protests very well. Romeo turned to run, and Valentin realized what had just happened. Whatever place they were in now, Romeo had wanted that seductive buttery taste, and now he was escaping because he was not allowed to have it. No matter how sick Valentin was, however, old reflexes could only die hard. Pressing a whole fistful of galleons into the (muggle?) merchant’s hands, Valentin growled with anger and took a bag of the strange substance off the cart. Hissing unintelligibly with melodic tones no muggle could hope to recognize, Valentin swerved away into a run to catch up to his co-captain. So tall and with hair so ruddy, Romeo’s position would not be hard for Valentin to recover. Yet, his heart sank as Romeo buried his head into his giant calloused hands. Leaning down in an effort to catch hold of the boy’s telltale cerulean eyes, Valentin finally spoke after long moments of silence.
"Others did this to you. Society. People with their selfishness, not wanting to share the color and bounty of the world. It is better that you tried to take it, because now I know what to give to you. It is right and good to crave that warmth, that savory taste. You are alive and no one can righteously judge you for your hunger." Extending the bag towards Romeo, Valentin wanted to cry. He’d always wanted Romeo to feel full and warm. It was the structure around them that told Romeo that he was not allowed to have what he wanted, and the seeker just couldn’t stand it.
"Please don’t be afraid. I see how you are, and it’s okay. You can find a way to have what you truly want, and I can help you claim it, if only you would accept it."
The lights began to dim, and as Valentin finally sat down, reality crackled sharply back to life. Ah yes, they had come to this place in search of Romeo’s father. Romeo’s…
"Mine damer og herrer, utlevere av de handlinger som jeg har anskaffet for deg... Vi har kommet tilbake igjen for din glede og for din ærefrykt, for din applaus og for ditt sjokk. Ladies and gentlemen, purveyors of the acts that I have procured for you... We have returned once again for your pleasure and for your awe, for your applause and for your shock."
The seeker’s eyes shot towards center stage, a falcon sensing the flickering movements of his prey. An array of what should have been dazzling displays erupted around them on the ringmaster’s cue, but Valentin could only track the man’s movements and observe the finer details of his mannerisms. This one. This was the target. This one was what everything was for, and it was this one’s abandonment that had left Romeo in the state he was in now… after a lifetime of what must have been a hand-to-mouth existence where theft was a necessary part of survival… or so Valentin concluded.
"I'm not a betting man, but I think I would win if I said that his wand is inside that whip's handle," observed Romeo. "Voice Amplification Charm." The cleverness of the remark brought a smile to Valentin’s cheeks. Of course, this was his co-captain, one of Durmstrang’s best. This was why they worked together so well, one of countless reasons.
"That’s him, Romeva. He’s the one. Hold me down before I can fly over there to bind him to a chair right in the middle of everything." Valentin’s intention was to make a joke. Indeed, the niffler used to be quite the humorous one, before… before everything… but now his voice was so serious that only familiarity could convey anything through the focused tone of his deeper intent. Valentin needed to bring the man to Romeo. Nothing else mattered. This was for Romeo, for Romeo, for Romeo.
Staring point-blank into the ringmaster’s pupils, Valentin gave no poker face. He needed to be face-to-face, up close, alone with the man and his son where no one could interfere. The throng around them scarcely registered to the champion anymore, for his entire existence was as simplified as a vector that had once more found the golden glint of its sky.
Basic Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 15 [17] - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Stats on Broom: STA 11 - EVA 23 - STR 6 - WIS 20 - ARC 4 - ACC 18
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
All dialogue in Russian unless specified otherwise.
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to each stat)
Ency/Trunk: viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17006#p269554
Godmods of Romeo’s and Valentin’s characters are consensual throughout this and other threads
Action: Looking ill, "buying" a popcorn with presumably the wrong currency in excessive amounts, and staring hard enough that laser beams could shoot out
8 Apr 2024, 20:18
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
¤ | Ω | ¤
"Italiano. Italian."
"Russian."
\ Fingerless Glove on Right Hand, Bite Scar on Forearm /
| Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodThe poor vendor running the popcorn stand would indeed fix the albino Tartar with a look of confusion, but at least it would be after the boy had paid him for the popcorn in the strange currencies and there would be no attempt of his to pursue the boy afterwards. Little would he know that at a later time a wizarding counterpart would recognize the coins and would very quickly and politely help to exchange them in a careful yet honest manner. Sure, the amount of money that Valentin had given to the gentleman was a bit skewed, much like paying 30% more than what the item was worth, but at least there had been an attempt at payment; a repayment for the troubles that young wizards were apt to incur thanks to their wandering and shenanigans among decidedly muggle-cloaked environments.
Romeo would smile as Valentin offered his piece, offered the bag that he had tried to steal, but that did not change the thoughts of shame at having attempted to steal the item to begin with. Even if such desires were craved, had been wanted, it did not change the wrongness of the means by which he had tried to achieve satiation of those desires. "I would love to accept it, so long as I can accept it in the right way, Valentin." I tentatively took a few kernels. "Thieving, while direct, is not that way. Even if I had wanted to give it to you to begin with." Though my brother may have thought to disagree with me on that topic, I was--as I had never been--my brother. But, even now, Valentin had brought something to me and not I to him. It seemed to be the eternal curse, that cruel turnabout of how I thought that it should rightly be: that I be able to repay Valentin for even a fragment of the things that he had given to me--companionship, love, gifts, chances... so many chances... "If I had only been able to give something to you to begin with." A bit of an edge of a grouse in my voice... but it did not change the truth or the conviction behind them. I nodded to the bag lightly, trying to summon a feeble smile to my face to clear the air of tenseness that held itself taught in my chest and wired itself into my shoulders in natural anxiety. "It was supposed to be for you anyways. Please, try some. This is popcorn."
Meanwhile, the man in the center of the stage's eye continued to flash about the crowd as a broad smile continued to gleam. Pacing about the circle so as to engage with all sides, the confidence of his poise and the calmness of his stride alluded to a distinguishedness and a pride that came with familiarity with the light, with the sights, with the knowledge that he was being looked upon by thousands of eyes all at once. As if to drink up the limelight like a lemon sour martini, the man's laugher echoed in the vicinity like a rich wave of color and harmony--a rolling sound like that of the thunder outside, a spinning of dissonance seconds before resolution, a crashing of the waves of the sea as it smote the ship against the outcrop of dragonglass stone.
"... så frykt ikke hvis vi er et hår bak vår tidsplan... vi ser alltid ut til å finne en måte å underholde selv i forsinkelsene våre. Å prøve å holde denne gruppen sammen er som å prøve å gjete nisser til tider, aha? ... so fear not if we are a hair behind our schedule... we always seem to find a way to entertain even in our delays. Trying to keep this group together is like trying to herd pixies at times, aha?" There came a ripple of laughter from the crowd as well as some elbowing and crooked half-smiles from some of the acrobats on the sidelines as they appeared to be getting ready a set of silks and ropes for the next act. They were rushing lightly back and forth, but one cupped her hand to her mouth and called back to the Ringmaster. "Fairy dust må bli gjort en gang! The Fairy Dust has to get made sometime!"
As the crowd entered a new bout of light laughter, the Ringmaster only smiled wider and tipped his head towards the roof of the tent. After letting the amusement die down a hair, he adjusted his leather gloves and seemed unwilling to let his voice not be the last one heard. "Du gjør ikke nok allerede, min kjære? You don't make enough already, my dear?" He quipped in turn, leaning in her direction slightly and putting his free hand on his hip. He tapped his chin with the butt of the bullwhip almost coyly. "Eller er det mer beslektet med oppdrett, og du må ristes ut innimellom for din egen helse? Or is it more akin to husbandry and you have to be shaken out every once in a while for your own health?" His eye closed slowly and then opened again in what could probably only be presumed to be the single-eyed version of a 'wink'. Straightening up again to the mock insult of the acrobat and the continued chortling of his audience, he waved a hand and then continued to address the audience no longer distracted.
I too, tried to gently put a hand on Valentin's leg, trying to physically remind him to keep his seat despite his words. I was also leaning in intently, trying to observe him, trying to understand him. "He does look it, doesn't he... maybe we can track him down afterwards. Unless, of course, we want to participate in the performance too, hm?" I did feel a brightness in my eyes as I took the jest in turn. "Physical combat as a performance isn't too out of the ordinary for these sorts of places, after all."
"Vel, mens vi venter på at noen flere dødballer skal settes sammen til de neste handlingene: som noen av dere kanskje vet om du følger vår lille campingvogn, jeg har tilfeldigvis min egen forestilling Well as we wait for a few more set pieces to be put together for the next few acts: as some of you may know if you follow our little caravan, I happen to have my own performance." As the Ringmaster said this, the bullwhip uncoiled quickly and snapped against the ground with a light KRACK! at the most minute command of his wrist. "Så, jeg vil slutte å kaste bort tid på min unødvendige prattle og i stedet fokusere på å ikke brenne meg selv fordi, som alle gode ting, dette innebærer brann. So, I'll stop wasting time on my needless prattle and instead focus on not burning myself because, like all good things, this involves fire." The whip drug on the ground for a minute as the crowd shifted a bit, and the Ringmaster seemed to be making some final adjustments to his couture. Black leather, a bit open at the chest and bare on the arms, and black leather pants, all gleaming with a few golden accents. Removing his hat, the man tossed it like a discus to the side to be caught by another performer and set aside. He angled his chin back up at the crowd as he spoke one more time while re-coiling the whip. "For hvorfor skal utøverne mine ha det gøy? Because why should my performers have all the fun?" The flaming and faintly glittering makeup caught the light now that it had no brim to shelter under, his sun-gold hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck to keep it out of the way.
The bullwhip was held coiled in one hand before it was dipped lightly into a bucket and then withdrawn soaked with something. "Nå er the art of the fire dance en forestilling som kan dateres tilbake til en gang som jeg ikke bryr meg om fra folk som for lengst er døde. Jeg sier dette ikke ut av respektløshet, men fordi jeg staller for tiden akkurat nå forbereder pisken for øyeblikket. Now the art of the fire dance is a performance that can date back to sometime that I don't care about from people who are long since dead. I say this not out of disrespect but because I'm stalling for time right now preparing the whip at the moment." Another whisper of laughter as the man shook the implement out lightly and looked it over once. "Jeg er personlig selvlært. Faktisk, dette var min handling da jeg først ble med på mitt første sirkus om... for lenge siden som jeg ikke vil avsløre av forfengelighet. I am, personally, self-taught. In fact, this was my act when I first joined my first circus about... a length of time ago that I'll not reveal out of vanity."
Some silks had been cast out into the center ring, and the Ringmaster's hand carefully took one, knotting it about his arm and tugging at it once. Seemingly satisfied with its strength, he turned a slow circle and ran a hand down the cord of the whip proper, lightly squeegeeing any unnecessary liquid from it as the smile never faded. The whip flicked once as his lips moved but the words were too quiet to hear. As if on cue, the entire whip burst into golden orange flame in a swirl of light and roaring. My eyes only narrowed ever so slightly. "He's not even trying to hide it. That's brazen."
The Ringmaster only calmly drug the whip around him on the ground, leaving tongues of flame to snuff themselves in the sand. Akk, dette er den enkle delen. La oss se hvor dårlig jeg brenner meg denne gangen, skal vi? Alas, this is the easy part. Let's see how badly I burn myself this time, shall we?" So saying, his free hand took the silver whisky hip flask and he downed a bit of it before the lights slowly dimmed to allow the fire to glow even more than it would have previously. Performers continued to move pieces around the area, but the glow of the whip in the Ringmaster's hand as it twirled suddenly through the air with a loud KRACK and a bloom of a golden fire of sparks yet again called attention away from them and to the spinning arc of orange and red that glowed low yet brilliantly like a cat's eyes mimicking coals.
Deep thrumming music began to play, a harried dance of a song with fast moving eighths and sixteenths that began to quickly be reflected in the footwork of the Ringmaster as his feet kicked up the white sand of the ground and began to form a small fog of dust and ash about him. Through the white cloud the fire had a strange and distorted bend to its light, and every once in a while the whip would slice through the meandering clouds and twist into a spiral of light and flame. About his body it danced seemingly like a snake of pure elemental power, as he had somehow procured a second whip from somewhere I had not seen and began to twine both of them around and around each other and himself like a double-helix of fog, fire, and rhythmic movements that carried him like a whirling dervish--like an Ezekiel's wheel--about the entire inner ring with the tail of orange never quite seeming to be able to catch him in time. Long legged, he covered ground as if he were floating as opposed to striding, a dancer's motions only slightly more athletic than would have been expected as he threw one string of fire and caught it in the other hand, then the other to catch it with the opposite.
In one smooth motion, both whips were placed into one hand as the man caught himself on a hanging silk with the other arm. Tangling his lower leg and upper body in it almost immediately, he was foisted into the air and began to transition the art from the earth into that of an aerial performance. Flames licked at the silks but did not catch them ablaze--more magic, I was certain of that much--as a complex string of tanglings and releasings caused the Ringmaster to alternatively fall and climb the scaffoldings while never losing his 'footing' as he was bound by only one ankle to safety from falling at least twenty feet if not more. Now the flames appeared cocoon-like in nature, as the bullwhips alternatively 'hugged' against his body and recoiled before spinning in arcs that left behind impressions in the spotting of one's eye from the sudden light like that of a flower or spirals. Through it all, that face was cast in light and shadow, a leering smile and a dark slant of inscrutableness that made that blue eye gleam unfathomably. Without the use of his arms, he tangled his torso and brought himself upright again, 'climbing' the silk with nothing but the alternative flipping of his entire body--upright, legs up, upright, legs up--until he had reached the ceiling.
Spinning slowly there like a corpse, he angled his head down and shouted to the audience. "Nå er dette den morsomme delen! Now this is the fun part!"
"... he's not." I finally murmured as my hands both tightened ever so slightly, though I knew that it was very likely that he would. Despite myself, I was finding myself at the edge of my seat in watching this act. Of course he probably would, he'd probably practiced such a thing before and that much was obvious, but still.
There was a pause, a small moment of what was likely mental and physical preparation for the trick that the Ringmaster was going to attempt next. The silks swayed ever so slightly as there was the smallest flick of the two whips, ensuring they remained out of the way and he took another swig from the canteen after briefly shifting both whips to one hand. After it was replaced, there was a minute angling of the heeled boot...
And as the music suddenly rose into a frenzied series of runs the silks began to suddenly unravel the Ringmaster from the ceiling, spinning him around and around along with the whips that spun in tandem in a wide fiery circle as brilliant gouts of flame wildly spewed from what the comparatively tiny whip flames; the classic trick of a firebreather's bout, it would seem, as the Ringmaster 'breathed' fire. Yet, both boys would notice that something seemed a little 'off' about the way that the fire that was 'breathed' from the whips. [Perception Check; Valentin KE[55] & d20[3] + 17 = 20, Romeo d20[9] + 10 = 19]. It would almost appear as if the flames were not coming from the whips themselves in origin... but from the head--or lips, rather--of the Ringmaster himself. Faster and faster his body plummeted towards the ground, haloed by the blonde ponytail that whipped just a hair behind the rest of the form, like a spinning firework hurtling towards the ground--sparks flying, momentum increasing...
Until with a jerk of his leg in a suddenly formed tangle he caught himself only a few feet from hitting the ground, suspending himself above the ground as the whips hissed across the ground and kicked up a brand new cloud of white to cloud the vicinity. Slowly his body hung suspended once more, dragging the tails of the whips along with him until a small double-spiral appeared to form, by now only barely licking with dampened flames from the work they had already done. The music ended at last.
After a moment of 'held breath', the Ringmaster finally got his legs beneath him again and unwound the silks from his form, spinning out of them and then spinning the whips together a few times before plunging them into a different bucket as he received an arguably well-deserved applause. The lights rose again, and by the time they were back to full strength once more, the Ringmaster had handed off the spare whip and was now working in the process of coiling the first one up again, squeegeeing it again and cracking it a few times on the ground for good measure. A knowing smile was now on his face, and he did not even lift his eyes to the audience, seemingly pleased enough to simply let the applause do its own work for him as the rest of the performers made finishing touches on the next act's preparations.
When there was a natural lull, he finally spoke up again. "Ikke prøv den hjemme, barn. Don't try that one at home, kids." He announced, incurring a small murmur of laugher for it. "Antall ganger jeg nesten har brukket nakken på den ene er sannsynligvis i de høye tosifrene nå. The amount of times I've almost broken my neck on that one is probably in the high double digits by now." The whip was finally fully coiled, to be replaced on his hip again. The performer who had caught his hat now returned it to him, and that orange plume seemed to pulse once with the same orange fire as that of the whips as the Ringmaster took it with a hair of edginess. It was returned to his crown with a twist of his wrist. "Takk. Thank you."
"Og nå! For vår neste forestilling! Samlet fra de fjerne delene og kysten av... And now! For our next performance! Gathered from the far reaches and the coastal shores of..."
The show continued in this way, though my eyes never departed that one roving blue eye as it traced about and seemed in some way to be searching in turn. It never lingered one place for long, never stared for an extended duration, but eerily seemed to sweep about nevertheless. There were more silk artists, a few strange looking individuals: I suspected that at least a few had to be magical folk in origin--such as the one that stretched his skin to an unusual and absurd extent, a gentleman who seemed to soothe a raring trio of large hooded snakes (Valentin, whether he would realize it or not, would actually hear faint but mostly indistinguishable correspondence in the language of the tongue of serpents), and a pair of (likely) twin women whose movements were both almost predatory in nature one with a rougher-kempt appearance and lupine eyes and the other a frail thing with near-translucent pale skin and an air of menace that chilled even the lanterns' flames into mild submission--but also several muggles besides those of 'freak'-like appearance that seemed to be dedicated to the arts as well. Those muggles among the peppered wizarding folks were jugglers, firebreathers and dancers like the Ringmaster, trapeezists, slapstick comedians and clowns, as well as contortionists--these too had their wizarding counterparts among them... but I would be the first to admit that it was difficult to tell them apart even with the experience of magic in the back of my mind serving as a scale of judgement in determining an act mundane or magical. In the center of it all was the Ringmaster himself--Gitano Luca Vero, if suspicions could be assuaged and proven. He never seemed able to stay far away from the rest of the acts, calling attention to them--and himself in turn--and announcing the next show even as the previous one had stepped off.
At the last show, after his announcement "Mine damer og Herrer, takk igjen for din beskyttelse og utforskning med oss inn i nysgjerrighetene og nysgjerrigheten i denne verden og den usynlige verden begge deler. Nå som denne siste forestillingen nærmer seg sin uunngåelige slutt, håper vi alle å se dere igjen snart... og håper at du ikke lar oss vente. Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you again for your patronage and exploration with us into the curios and the curious of this world and the unseen world both. As this final performance shall draw to its inevitable close, we all hope to see you again soon... and hope that you will not keep us waiting.", he offered a deep and gracious bow... and then stepped out of the light, vanishing into the shadows on the sides to be replaced by a swarm of performers prepared for their final act. Just as strangely as he had appeared at the beginning of the performance, just as strangely and as suddenly had he now departed from it.
My eyes flicked to Valentin, gauging his reaction. I wasn't going to suggest the idea I had in mind, but I had just realized that my hand was still on his leg, still there as if to remind him not to leap out of his seat as he had said earlier before the majority of the performances. I took my hand away--perhaps a signal in and of itself. 'Shall we?'ReducioStats:
Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 8 | Strength 17 Ω
Ω Accuracy 18 | Wisdom 10 | ArcPower 0 ΩAbilities:
Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Ω Muggle Condition Ω
11 Apr 2024, 22:48
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
Still rather delirious from the swirl of stimuli and an unexplained feverish haze, Valentin looked into Romeo’s blue eyes as the other boy spoke about his act of stealing.
"If I had only been able to give something to you to begin with," mourned Romeo, indicating the popcorn with a nod and an attempted smile.
"Romeva…" Valentin’s lips remained parted as if to continue, but emotion caught the back of his throat. Lowering his eyelids, he couldn’t just tell Romeo all over again. Every moment with his co-captain was a gift, and the redhead’s sheer presence close by was already a bounty of beautiful moments. Just spending time together was the effortless treasure Val most craved. Yet, the seeker wanted more. He was a dreamer, to be sure, and committed to bringing out the fullest potential in people and situations. No words could follow because they would inevitably be asking for more from Romeo, more of Romeo.
The buttery smell from the warm bag invited Valentin closer, but for more than its culinary merits. This was the scent of this unique time together, while evocative of previous times shared. Valentin could have eaten the whole bag simply for sheer love of the moment, compelled by the pleasure of shared purpose in their mission and the dazzling stimulation of the circus’s spectacles. Inadvertently, it seemed, Romeo had taken Val out on quite the pleasant jaunt after all. The muggle world was still a bit exotic—even mysterious—to Valentin, and the popcorn offered up that intriguing world he associated primarily with Romeo. Plucking one of the exploded kernels from the bag, Val considered the popcorn’s shape before bringing it to his tongue. Just as it was visually, its texture and geometry was unlike anything he’d tried before. The slightly sweet, savory flavor was indeed reminiscent of butterbeer, but with structure. Swallowing as it melted down his throat, Valentin smiled as if he had gotten away with something. Certainly the dogmatic pureblood world, including the eternally demanding Sergei, would not have approved of this behavior. Muggle food might as well have been dog food to them, but for Valentin, this was better than being given even the most precious magical bauble. Reaching for another kernel, and then another, Valentin inadvertently leaned against the tall boy’s shoulder. The contour of Romeo’s massive hand came to rest on Valentin’s leg, like a daydream bird folding into the comfort of its nest. A pulse of adrenaline ran through the current of the seeker’s blood, but everything felt too phantasmagorical for Val to register why. For this moment, breathing out slowly, Valentin only knew he finally felt content.
As lavender eyes lazily blinked, the show continued on before the pair. The Ringmaster’s smile and uncanny one-eyed wink spoke of ease in the spotlight, as if this was only the most natural place for him to be. Slowly Val’s eyelids closed as he began to focus again on the unusual language, and a familiar comforting scent beginning to permeate his awareness along with that of salt and butter. Only with the crack of the Ringmaster’s whip would Valentin’s keen gaze flutter back into momentary focus to trace the flash of a metallic flask. Romeo had said something about participating in the performance, he recalled. It sounded fun, but very little could convince Valentin to move away right now. Unknowingly, he was completely captive to what could have been a muggle’s spell. Valentin smiled serenely at what he supposed was the suggestion of sparring, and breathing in deeply, felt as weightless as if he were flying. Wouldn’t it be great, his reflexes murmured. Maybe this was the perfect excuse for their love of martial arts to be put to use, and peaceably, for the mission.
Valya’s eyes dropped to watch the gleam of the silver flask once more, lovely in its argent sheen and shimmer. Soon its contents transformed into a breath of fire from the Ringmaster’s lips, and along with the length of arcing flames whipping from his hand, the display transfixed the captain’s amethyst stare. It did seem magically loaded indeed, but Valentin was too absorbed to do much with that observation. After all the hours of training at sports, strategizing for Hexiwizard, and grinding for classes, Val rarely got the opportunity to just sit and enjoy a fine show. To spend such a time with his closest friend was even more extraordinarily sublime. It’s not like I’m about to let Romeo’s father get away or anything, simmered Valentin’s mind as he buried his bunny nose into the large bicep beside him. Once the act is over we can move again.
Thrumming music began, and as it rhythmically pulled the snowy boy’s attention back to the stage, Valentin wondered if that wasn’t the product of a spell as well. A second whip came into view as a new performance formed in the style of a burning double helix, pulling Valya once more into an unblinking stare. He couldn’t help thinking of the spinning dervishes of his homeland in Kazan, and with a wistful stab of his heart, Valentin’s hand unconsciously spread over Romeo’s on his thigh. Tangles of silk and acrobatic formations wove a dance Valentin had never seen before, and with a short inward breath followed by a sigh of recognition, the corners of Valentin’s Turkic eyes curled upwards with his smile. There was a fluidity in this burning dance that he had also seen in Romeo, in quidditch, and on that day his co-captain appeared at detention. It was the languid grace he knew from Romeo’s martial arts, and while the details of the Ringmaster and the Italian beater retained individuality, Valentin could see it. After all, the captain’s keen eye spent countless hours each year watching people move in the study of quidditch, and with no insubstantial part committed to observing—even watching over— Number 4. Valentin knew such movements better than even his best languages. This was Romeo’s father. They had found him.
At the dance’s end, the Ringmaster’s momentum halted as it caught on a knot of silk, compelling the seeker’s hand to squeeze another. By this point, if that large, meaty hand weren’t there, Valentin would indeed have shot down to the rim of the arena to ensure the eye-patched figure could not escape. Biting his lip for patience, the falcon instead sat on the edge of his seat as the Ringmaster made his concluding remarks. Strange sounds like voices hissed in the back of Val’s mind, and with the rising tempo of his pulse, he could almost swear he was hearing his ancestors. Excitement burning in his eyes, Valentin’s gaze shot back into Romeo’s. The iridescent purples and silvers of his irises gleamed as if begging for them to pursue him together, resembling an child’s pure and utterly determined wish.
Romeo’s hand then pulled away, and although a twinge of disappointment passed over Valya’s face like the shadow of a momentary cloud, his radiant need to chase their shared snitch soon overtook him.
“Let’s go!”
Of course Valentin didn’t need to say it. The words were, rather, a vessel for the raw passion of a ‘thank you.’ He was happy, as happy as Romeo had seen only long ago when the White Niffler hunted the skies with #4 with little worry, back when Valentin still had hopes for a future between them.
“I’ll do anything, everything to make this happen for you. I promise.” Candidly, and with the slightest of grins, Valentin’s eyes skimmed over the pink shades of Romeo’s lips, but with lightning speed they shot back into the distance in pursuit of where the Ringmaster must have gone. He intended to dash quickly in that direction if Romeo would let him.
Basic Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 17 - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Stats on Broom: STA 11 - EVA 23 - STR 6 - WIS 20 - ARC 4 - ACC 18
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
All dialogue in Russian unless specified otherwise.
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to each stat)
Ency/Trunk: viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17006#p269554
Godmods of Romeo’s and Valentin’s characters are consensual throughout this and other threads
Action: Observation check of… where the Ringmaster went! … with aims of moving in that direction as soon as convenient
5 May 2024, 00:52
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
¤ | Ω | ¤
"Italiano. Italian."
"Russian."
\ Fingerless Glove on Right Hand, Bite Scar on Forearm /
| Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodMy lips turned upwards in a mixture of amusement and determination as Valentin's words spoke to a rousing of action. Well... "I know." I said truthfully before pinking a bit in the ears. "So let's not make this a solo venture." A raising of my brow and an assuring nod accompanied my words. "Well alright then. Let's go before the crowd tries to carry us somewhere else." Valentin was quicker than myself--I had to not only stand but politely pardon my way past other watchers as I tried to make my way to the widening area of the walkway as quickly but as carefully as possible.
When I finally did get to that place, I sped down the pathway as close to Valentin's heels as I could manage yet still managed to fall behind compared to his light and quick footfalls. Still, I didn't mind. It was rare that I would be able to catch Valentin, but I would be able to at least follow behind him with consistent endurance, the veil he could fall back into and the net that would intercept his fall--should he fall...
Valentin managed to breach the outdoors first, and without even having to look about noticed the man who had stationed himself near the performers' entrance as the rain now began to swirl about and hurtle itself down in thick sheets. The man appeared to be half-laying over a crate, smoking another cigarette: the silver lighter was on the crate, being spun by an idle leather and fingerlessly gloved hand. His brow was creased in what seemed to be either deep thought or some kind of distant and simmering frustration. As the boy came closer to him, words would begin to seep through the air in a familiar language, even if he was not fully fluent in it.
It was a language that I was commonly known to speak, a language that spoke in particular to my ancestry.
"Mi aspetto la perfezione e niente di meno. Ne abbiamo gia ' parlato. I expect perfection and nothing less. We have been over this before." Came the venomous spit in Italian tongue, the tenseness in his shoulders from behind obvious as pale white smoke curled over his shoulder and dissipated into the air. "Ormai sarebbe stato ovvio, pensai. Forse mi aspetto troppo. It would have been obvious by now, I thought. Perhaps I'm just expecting too much."
There was a pause--a deliberation. A heavy cloud of smoke blew outwards--a smoker's habit. Bu this time I had managed to catch up, had managed to just barely make out the aforementioned sentences as Valentin came within range of touch.
"Non avrei dovuto aspettarmi di più da un gruppo di... hm? I should have not expected more from a group of... hm?"
The words as I was starting to draw close were cut off seemingly by the man himself, whose attention almost instantaneously departed from looking out over the landscape and instead turned instead to Valentin and I. As if he were suddenly aware of our approach, as if he had either sensed or heard us--he leaned against the boxes facing us again, arms lightly crossed and cigarette rolling slightly in the corner of his mouth. The eye closed slowly once before opening again, and the head tipped in intrigue.The singular blue eye would fix upon one of Valentin's violet ones wordlessly, the pupil in it seeming to shiver for a moment as it flicked in consideration before softening into a look of almost disappointed amusement and then gleaming into an almost immediate brightness that was quickly accompanied by a curling of the corner of his lips and a removing of the cigarette. He made not even so much as a twitch or a start of surprise if Valentin chose to approach him, as rainwater only slithered in small rivulets from slightly dripping blonde hair down a prominently defined neck.
There was just that single blue eye, that staring and unwavering gaze. A thin string of smoke slithered from gently pursed lips, filling the air with nicotine and chemical burning. A single low humming laugh came from him, more of a stiff 'humph' than a exclamation of delight. "Non sono mai libero da queste persone, vero... Italian -- Never free from these people, am I..." Came the murmured words that seemed to be mostly under his own breath before he tipped his head in curiosity. The eye narrowed a bit before the man shrugged and then stretched a bit, turning away towards his former stance. "Du bør gå og se resten av forestillingen. Det er de... ganske bra. Norwegian -- You should go and see the rest of the performance. They are... quite good." The fingers returned the cigarette to his lips, and he sucked on it slowly while appearing to look out over the rain now falling in steady sheets over the fairgrounds. Most of the shops and popups had been taken down or at least weather-proofed, the small rides had been made to slow and come to a stop. Straggling performers were making their way back and forth, and patrons were either covering their heads and searching for cover or making their way out of the area.
My brow creased at the persona being presented now, my arms crossing lightly over my chest as I beheld the sheer arrogance of the man. As if to recognize his stance, the man only barked a small laugh and muttered again. "Aha. Naturalmente, naturalmente. Non come se tu potessi capirmi. Naturally, of course. Not as if you can understand me." There was an air of cheek in his words, a smugness that was light--as if he really did believe his words were indecipherable to us... well, perhaps more likely to myself. I understood Valentin was a swift language-learner, but even with the assistance of Latin the fluency of the tongue being used indicated that of a native speaker--some delicacies of that language were preserved for those who intimately knew it.
"Quindi non ti dispiacera 'quando ti chiamero' idiota in faccia e poi usciro ' con calma, eh? So you won't mind when I call you an idiot to your face and then calmly make my exit, hm?" The man shifted again, straightened, and seemed to make ready to depart, all without looking at us even once. The tone was still bright, still energetic as if to present a disturbing dichotomy between the words being said and the way in which he said it... and...
Where had I heard this seemingly exact sequencing of words before...?
"Sono troppo occupato per occuparmene adesso. Questo non vale la pena il mio tempo. I'm too busy to be dealing with this right now. This is not worth my time." He remarked shortly.
"Ehi tu! Che ne dici se me lo dici in faccia con il tono con cui intendi dirlo? Hey you! How about you say it to my face in the tone you mean to say it in?"
The words left my mouth before I had time to retrieve them back to my lips and to subsequently swallow them down. My eyes lit up slightly with inflamed and newly rediscovered wrath at the slight.
My words did not go unnoticed, and the man stopped as soon as his foot hit the ground in the first step. The head tilted, and then he slowly turned on the balls of his feet, meeting my eyes with his one again as his chin lifted to appraise me and my height in comparison to his inferior one. He was quiet for a second before his lips curled lightly upwards and the eye glittered with amusement. "Me lo chiedevo. I wondered." He said softly as he appraised me now, his attention gone completely away from Valentin altogether. His heels clicked lightly together as he shifted his weight to one side and settled into a casual contrapposto. Now teeth began to flash through those lips, a baring that looked both friendly and hungry in the same moment in an almost unnerving way. His voice slipped softly into a purr. "Non può essere locale, certamente. Non ti ho mai vista... e ho visto molte persone ai miei tempi. Can't be local, certainly. I've never seen you... and I've seen a good many people in my time."
The fixation of the eye on me, the deepness of it and yet the total shallowness of it--it seemed to absorb all light but not retain any in the same moment. It pierced yet did not take for itself. It was... soulless. Unnerving. Words on the tip of my tongue dissolved as the pupil flicked to Valentin once and then returned back to me, crinkling at the corner slightly with amusement. "Cosa ti porta così a nord, italiano? Come ti chiami? What brings you so far north, Italian? What is your name?"
A shiver of cold ran through me, as I not only recalled where I thought I had heard this conversation before--in a delirious dream no less--but as the ice cold trickle of phantasmal water seemed to run down my spine once more. A prickling of an invasive and insidious presence.
My tongue cleaved to my palate for a moment before I finally dryly spoke from the script that was retained somewhere in my memory, like a case of deja vu come to fruition. My voice was no louder than a whisper. "Potrei chiederti la stessa cosa. Come vi chiamate? I could ask you the same thing. What is your name?"
The cigarette was moved so as to held between his teeth lightly before he lightly put his arms behind his back, straightening and taking a single step closer. His breast was held puffed and proud, his chin raised. He didn't look at all abashed by a difference in our postures and height... he seemed to fill his own space to the same capacity as I filled my own, a psychological trick in which he was just as large as I was in presence even if not in form. His smile creeped a little wider. "Hm. Beh, l'ho chiesto prima a te... ma suppongo che il cliente abbia sempre ragione alla fine, non è vero. Well, I did ask you first... but I suppose the customer is always right in the end, aren't they." That wandering eye flickered to Valentin again before fixating on me. Back and forth his glances seemed to alternate, as if unsure on whom it was that that predatory obsession would attach itself to more firmly.
After a beat of consideration, he shrugged, drawing another deep breath of the white stick and then removing it. "Ottimamente. Posso vedere che stai aspettando con il fiato sospeso, anche se sono incuriosito sul perché considerando che il mio nome è intonacato un po ' ovunque da queste parti ormai. Very well. I can see you are waiting with baited breath, though I'm intrigued as to why considering my name is plastered just about everywhere around here by now." An exhale caused the smoke to run through his lips again, curling on either side of his face. It curled through his teeth, twining and spinning through the air like sinuous creatures with lives of their own before they silently wailed into nothingness.
"Anche se sospetto che tu sappia gia ' il mio nome. Che c'e', ragazzo? Though I suspect you already know my name. What is it, boy?" The smile turned smug as the tongue dripped the words like a venom, the eye softening in a relaxed way that implied self-assurance. The eye glanced back to Valentin again, and this time seemed loathe to depart--he was now fully fixated on the albino. "... Compagnia interessante che tieni. ... Interesting company you keep." He mused, and the brow over the whole eye raised. "Compagnia davvero interessante... Very interesting company indeed..."
Despite myself I felt my hands curl at my sides at the sight of that smile, a look I felt that I had seen one too many times in recent years for my comfort. It was a look of insincerity... or worse that of one that realized they had a piece of meat pinned down right where they wanted it. "Gitano Luca Vero." I finally spat back, trying to force his attention back to me. "Il tuo nome è Gitano Luca Vero della famiglia Vero Purosangue. Il figlio maggiore a quello, e uno con un... patchwork storia. Your name is Gitano Luca Vero of the Pureblooded Vero family. The eldest son at that, and one with a... patchwork history." I remarked coldly. Two could play at this game.
But even as I spoke, the man held up a hand, rudely beckoning my silence. The eye did not move from Valentin. "Tacere. Non sto parlando con te. Voglio sentire ciò che il vostro... amico... devo dirlo. Hush. I'm not speaking to you. I want to hear what your... friend... has to say." His smile flashed teeth again, and a low but amused chuckle came from him as he leaned against the crates again. "Diglielo. Chiediglielo. Come mi chiamo, ragazzo? Tell him. Ask him. What is my name, boy?"
Cheeks suddenly flushing with color, I briefly considered casting out a hand before thinking better of it and then quietly speaking to Valentin in our own mutual tongue. "Valentin, he's asking you what his name is." I finally spoke stubbornly. "I don't like this."
"E, mentre ci siamo... come si chiama? Anche il tuo nome, se può fornirlo senza... And, while we're at it... what is his name? Your name too, if he can provide it without..." The man's nose wrinkled ever so slightly with a small scrunching expression, and then he leaned back again, tipping his head to the crate with bored amusement.
I grit my teeth. "He wants our names too."
"Oppure potresti. Sembra che tu abbia un altro... natura composta. Non andrai a sgorgarmi addosso. Or you could. You seem to have a more... composed nature. You won't go gushing on me." A hum. "Che barriera linguistica interessante... Molto interessante. What an interesting language barrier... How very interesting." The cigarette was replaced again, the need evidently close to something like addiction very obvious. Words seemed to be trembling somewhere in the air, but whatever they were the man didn't speak them, as if an invisible hand held verbal cards to his chest.ReducioStats:
Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 8 | Strength 17 Ω
Ω Accuracy 18 | Wisdom 10 | ArcPower 0 ΩAbilities:
Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Ω Muggle Condition Ω
12 May 2024, 08:33
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
Valentin was no skilled manipulator, but he could sustain a marble-smooth poker face well enough to not tip the hand of the quidditch team when under pressure. Still, even the Frost Captain gave off tells about certain thoughts and feelings without necessitating legilimency. Standing a little too close to Romeo, even by Italian standards, and holding eye contact with him for just a bit too long, Valentin clearly had some kind of intense attachment to the other boy that was readable upon close observation. Really, Romeo was Valentin’s greatest weakness in more ways than one, as he was almost always the root cause when Valentin gave off a tell.
As the ringmaster began to talk, however, Valentin’s eyes stared right back as frigid as a frozen lake surface. The other spun what could easily have been gibberish, and Val made no indication of understanding it. Without specifically reading the boy’s mind, the other could easily overlook that Valentin understood the gist of such Italian after several years of private tutoring. Why would some strangely all-white Turk even study Italian during his teen years when he could be getting up to a great deal of hijinks rather than hitting the books again after school? Staying absolutely quiet, Valentin let Romeo take on the conversational exchange. There was no reason to reveal the depth of the seeker’s linguistic talents until it was actually necessary, and Valentin could not grasp the finer nuances of the conversation the way a native speaker could anyway. Each in the pair was used to falling back when it was the other’s turn to play to his unique strengths, and this was no exception. To channel his nearly-boiling energy into something else to distract himself from responding, Valentin focused on the refractions and reflections of light across the rain drops rolling down the ringmaster’s face. A small wince of pained enjoyment flickered over the seeker’s face as he recalled how similar the other’s neckline was to Romeo’s. Certainly Valentin had a thing about necks, but it was specifically that this moment reminded him of Romeo’s in the rain of the summer quidditch championship last year. It was this kind of emotionally volatile memory that was enough to pull unintentional physical communication from the captain, and only because the ringmaster and Romeo had such striking physical similarities.
In a flash as brief as lightning’s, the flicker across Valentin’s face came and went. Only someone with a truly invasive mind would have the guile to imagine how to use such a subtle signal’s implications against them. Stretching his neck as he tilted his head to either side, Val continued to listen without a word but now fixed his eyes on the ripples over a puddle in the far distance. Even as the ringmaster was turning away and Romeo’s reply stopped him in his tracks, Valentin continued staring at the puddle. From his peripheral vision the seeker still noticed the blonde’s casual contrapposto, but not in sufficient detail to think about it further."...call my name..." Valentin had offered, and as blood lust verging on madness began to overtake rain-soaked Romeo during the match, it was that rippling, exquisitely defined neck that roared his name out of need:
"VALENTIN!"
The smell of smoke sent a twinge through Valentin’s bunny nose, and for as much as the cigarette accentuated the other’s showmanship, Val’s eyes rolled ever-so-slightly with distaste. He considered healthy lifestyle choices attractive, as he already had enough of a dangerous (and potentially self-destructive) thrillseeker personality as it was. Furthermore, the cloud of smoke permeating the air around the ringmaster was, to Valentin, an indication that the man had little care for polluting what was around him. Feeling the single blue eye lock onto him with sudden steadiness, Valentin noticed the curling of Romeo’s hands beside him. The seeker’s gut clenched as if knowing a bludger was oncoming, reacting instinctively to his co-captain’s motions. For years now the captain had been studying the other’s body language, more intensively than anyone else’s, even as Valentin made it his personal specialty to read such signs in quidditch and beyond. What it was that made Valentin such “interesting company” to the blonde was beyond Val’s ego to grasp, but whatever the implication, it certainly seemed to put Romeo on edge. Perhaps there was a nuance to the Italian that he didn’t grasp, Valentin considered, but he couldn’t help feeling a sick curiosity about what was behind such statements. Staying quiet, however, Val absorbed the coldness from Romeo’s tone of voice replying to the question of who the other was. Regardless, the ringmaster was not satisfied.
"Tacere. Non sto parlando con te. Voglio sentire ciò che il vostro... amico... devo dirlo. Hush. I'm not speaking to you. I want to hear what your... friend... has to say."
Valentin had returned his gaze to the last vendor to close up their tent at the edge of the encampment and disappear. It felt like it was only the three of them left, now, who were crazy enough to continue despite the weather. For a moment Valentin reminisced about the delectable allure of, what was it – popcorn –? Yes, that was the word… Oh yes, Valentin knew the man was speaking about him, looking him over with spurious intent, and that was exactly why he decided to think about something else at this particular moment. If only he could give Romeo a lot of that buttered muggle treat. If only he could make Romeo happy like that.
"Diglielo. Chiediglielo. Come mi chiamo, ragazzo? Tell him. Ask him. What is my name, boy?"
Romeo translated, which served to communicate other points more than what Valentin already understood. Taking that as his cue to join the conversation, Val knew that every word he spoke could be as risky as taking another step into a mine field. This was not the quaint family reunion that Val wanted for Romeo, but that naïve hope could only lay dead and buried now. The air was thick with danger, and even worse, Valentin knew that he loved it. If this was to be a dance with the devil for Romeo’s sake, Valya would revel in every second of it.
Turning his uncanny, vibrant eyes back to the ringmaster’s, Valentin locked onto the other with his characteristic soul-piercing stare. People often remarked that the seeker could see down into the very bottom of people with such a look, but this man was not “most people.” Crowsfeet gathered at the corners of the Tatar’s eyes, amused, as he stared into the man’s single dark pupil. For as reflection-less as the blonde’s gaze was, it still did not feel like the warped void inside of Mikael. After seeing the remote flicker of gold within the deathly expanse of emptiness inside his fellow Durmstrang, Val had vowed to pursue that holy glint through even the darkest of nights. It was not just Mikael who carried the sacred, after all, and again Valentin would search for it here within the blackbody pinpoint of the ringmaster’s eye. In the inkiest of skies the seeker burned the brightest in his hunt, and the more insistent his hunger became. For as soulless as this man’s eye may have seemed to a casual onlooker, Valentin was one to hunt until he found what others could not, then grasp what others dared not dream of apprehending.
Crawling out from the hole in Valya’s celestial irises, all ringed with amethyst and mithril, a ravenous yearning was not seen, but felt down to one’s very marrow. If looked into for long enough, the colors of Valya’s eyes would almost seem to sing, drawing one into their center as if in a charmingly hypnotic vortex. These colddrake eyes were more than a simple predator’s, however, and it would take more than a casual look to find what formed the core of the spirit within. Certainly the eyes invited more than a passing glance, but at what cost? What did he want?
“Il tuo nome è Gitano Luca Vero,” “Your name is Gitano Luca Vero,” replied Valentin, laying down his metaphorical card. “Il mio nome è Valentin Azat Schnell, l'ultimo della mia specie, ma a chi importa degli avvertimenti dei vecchi antenati morti? Lo spettacolo è più facile da digerire per le persone che vogliono solo vivere una vita felice. Bella frusta, comunque.” “My name is Valentin Azat Schnell, the last of my kind, but who cares about the warnings of old dead ancestors? Spectacle is easier to digest for people who just want to live happy lives. Nice whip, by the way.” The seeker’s explanation came on fast in clear, perfect Italian, and it would take a quick mind to hold onto any of its details before they escaped into the blur of memory. Compared to Valentin’s first public demonstration of Italian, his accent had greatly improved and it would be obvious to Romeo that Val had remained devoted to its study over the years. The obsessiveness and natural linguistic talent of the champion laid itself bare here with the fluid (but still clearly non-native) delivery of his reply.
“Non siamo così formali e tesi. Mi sono presentato ed entrambi abbiamo presentato anche te. Perché non mi presenti il mio amico con la stessa cura?” “Let's not be so formal and uptight. I've introduced myself, and we both introduced you, too. Why don't you introduce my friend to me with just as much care?”
Violet eyes narrowing as the blonde took on another cigarette, Valentin made no secret of his disapproval, but the glow of softness behind his gaze showed sympathy for what was surely an addiction. In fact, the warmth of Val’s expression was lined with pain as if he were personally relating to the other. It was now that Valentin stepped forward, away from Romeo’s side, as he came up close to the man… face-to-face, eye-to-eye. The seeker’s beguiling gaze seemed to amplify in close proximity, and a calling beyond hearing pulsated like a heartbeat.
Valentin took a deep breath of the smoke clinging to the other’s clothes and hair. Memorizing the death stick’s fragrance, Valya would surely never forget it, nor whatever was about to transpire within arm’s reach of the palpably dangerous man.
Basic Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 17 - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Stats on Broom: STA 11 - EVA 23 - STR 6 - WIS 20 - ARC 4 - ACC 18
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
All dialogue in Russian unless specified otherwise.
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to each stat)
Ency/Trunk: viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17006#p269554
Godmods of Romeo’s and Valentin’s characters are consensual throughout this and other threads
Action: Replying, then stepping in close to look the ringmaster in the eye
15 Jun 2024, 07:19
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
¤ | Ω | ¤
"Italiano. Italian."
"Russian."
\ Fingerless Glove on Right Hand, Bite Scar on Forearm /
| Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |
For Simplicity's Sake Due to Language Barrier:
"All of my dialogue in this style is spoken in Italian."
"I, Romeo, will reply in this style to indicate Italian."
Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama EllwoodThe blue eye continued to fix itself firmly upon Valentin, though it did for one moment appear to twitch for just a second before resuming its steely watch. Indeed, the abilities of the con-man were persistent without any other otherworldly talents of his--bodily tells were more than noticeable even as Valentin's face went completely calm and placid in an effort to erase what other tells he could from his features. As far as he was concerned, he knew--or at least he could suppose for that little bit in which he was not totally self-assured--everything that he needed to know. There was something off in the way that he smiled, as if trying to fool one into a false sense of security whilst being surprisingly 'gentle' and 'friendly' in the same turn--like the crocodile from its poem as penned by Lewis Carroll:
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!
Except, of course, this man was no 'small' creature by any stretch of the imagination, if pride and performance thus far had had any say on the matter in the slightest. "Small" was likely not even within his own vocabulary, let alone an adjective he would abide someone else to refer to him in any way. As Valentin's eyes rolled ever so slightly and his gut clenched, I too seemed to sense the same. Neither of us, neither of us wanted to be here right now--at this moment, in this moment. Not with this person... When a mind screamed to the body to run, the body is apt to react in the only few consistent ways that it can: in clenches, in shaking, in adrenaline and cortisol rushes intended to cause the mind to waver and the feet to take flight. But here we could be offered no such luxury. Not with the Nile Crocodile before us as such--even if we little fish were wise enough to stay out of reach of gaping jaws.
Or smiles.
And yet the longer that Valentin looked into the single solitary point of darkness in a sea of blue and a calamity of cerulean the more the void seemed to stare back. Where one darkness looked in, the other looked out, a mutual devouring in which one took and took and took from the other, like a parasitic twin star siphoning from its brother all combustible gasses so that it may one day in time unknown and far beyond human imagining expand into a nova that would assure their mutual destructions. Darkness alone was not what was in the eye of the man, that would be misleading. But gold? This was of almost foolhardy hope and imaginings. Perhaps such blue had once been ringed with gold about the pupil, or perhaps with silver or even copper or bronze. Perhaps at some year the most precious of metals had once belonged in that place, within and without and throughout and everywhere, but they were no longer. Or perhaps they were there, but they were not permitted to be seen by any other for the sake of a greed so great that none were permitted to partake in even the sight of their splendour, let alone the sharing of the wealth.
There was great wealth in that eye, wealth that none were permitted to behold. What was to be found was a hard, black diamond. It glittered in the dark and permitted no light through or back. Shattered white light danced, but no spectra formed. White gleam refracted through distorted and uncut edges, perfectly designed to dissociate light and splinter its power. Whatever was forced into it came away broken. Damaged. Irretrievable.
And Valentin's words--words combined with such strange esoteric rite uncast and uncalled... it was enough to impress anyone. To include Gitano himself. "... I see. Thank you. I do try to keep my... equipment in top condition." He leaned back on one leg with the other grinding its heel into the ground lightly, puffing one more time before letting smoke blow harshly through his nose again like a fire dragon of old. "Someone's been teaching him his Italian, hasn't he... Romeo."
The adjustment of the eye to me had not registered until I had looked away from Valentin and back towards the idle ringmaster. I had been too impressed to speak. "I have indeed heard news about you. Both of you. And you..." Fingers with the cigarette swept the air languidly towards Valentin, creating a small circle of smoke about his face as if to frame it to Gitano's eye, "You in particular... The famed inheritor of the Schnell name--last of your name indeed if other indications have not led me astray thus far. Obviously." There was the curl of the smile again as the hand now fluttered to include me in the mix of smoky indication. "But a name and an inheritance that others would drive themselves to kill for is the least of your... inherited gifts, as it were." The eye narrowed again. "No wonder so much speculation and rumor follows you about so viciously. You really do make no attempts to hide any of it anymore, do you. Or..." Gitano's head tilted in falsified mystique. "Was this part of a deeper... ancestral calling as well. A new Dragon rising, even as the world burns."
Valentin stepped forward, but Gitano did not move. Looking upon Valentin still, Gitano spoke. "How in the world did you come to run with his lot, Romeo?" His leather glove crushed the cigarette, letting ashes and smoke fall and tremble through his fingers onto the ground or into the skies. His voice lowered into a whisper. "Or, perhaps you're not here by choice after all. Toted along like a dog on a leash. A boy toy."
"I am none of that." Something twanged lightly in me. "I am his friend. I care about him, and you are vile for suggesting such a thing as you have."
"Valentin, get away from him."
"That's what they all say." Gitano sighed as he stared blinklessly into Valentin's eyes. "Isn't it, little colddrake?" He murmured.
"Colddrake...?" My brows creased. "Colddrake? Now you're speaking nonsense."
A tiny chuckle left him. "No, Romeo... you're just slow as always. Too blind to see what's right... in front... of your own eyes..." He beheld the albino almost like a chemist observing a new compound--like a biologist assessing a new specimen.
"Valentin, get away from him. Now."
"I don't speak English, but I understand enough to understand what you're getting at, Romeo." Gitano's gaze flicked to me. Fury rolled in his eye. "Don't get yourself so worked up. I won't hurt him. I wouldn't dream it." A hand whispered perhaps a hair too close to Valentin's soft duckfluff for comfort. Fingertips whispered by his ear. The voice dropped itself into a purring murmur. "Truth be told... I don't think I could. I would lose too much if I dared. Damaging such a perfect specimen is such poor taste, after all..."
A light hum. "And I wouldn't be able to bear the amount of emotional and mental anguish it could possibly cause you. A friend you are, after all--but nothing more. Nothing more, obviously."
"What he is to me is not your concern. What is your concern is if you dare lay a hand on him." I took a step towards them both, reaching for Valentin as well. I dared not say more, lest I risked revealing too much of my own hand. "Valentin is my friend. I lay down my life for him if need be."
Gitano's brow raised. "Oh? Somehow, I find that an interesting hypothesis to test. Is there anyone else you would say and avow such promises about and to, I wonder?"
For a moment, green eyes and slightly curly hair as well as a bright and laughing smile flickered in my mind. Just as quickly as it came... it departed.
But he must have seen it in my eyes, as his hand withdrew but a centimeter from Valentin. "My my... you don't say..." I hated the sound of his voice... I hated it... hated it... "Why," He chuckled deeply this time, seemingly properly amused. "I couldn't have thought of something better myself. What a present for me."ReducioStats:
Ω Stamina 9 | Evasion 8 | Strength 17 Ω
Ω Accuracy 18 | Wisdom 10 | ArcPower 0 ΩAbilities:
Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Ω Muggle Condition Ω
18 Jun 2024, 22:08
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
If the hard black diamonds of Gitano’s pupils held wealth forbidden to behold, the keen eyes of a Hellchaser could no sooner ignore their dark beguiling than a niffler could forget a solid gold amulet only inches from its nose.
Peering deeper into the strange man’s eyes, Valentin inadvertently took a step forward. It wasn’t as if pinpricks of telltale light often evaded the seeker’s gaze, even at great distance. Rather, instead of an act of trying to see better, it was the mystery itself pulling Valya into its gravitational well. The contortions of broken white therein, refracting in an uncanny way Val had never witnessed before, proved fascinating. The seeker’s other foot came forward next, as if pulled by a marionette’s string, until Valentin was standing unnaturally close to the other – even by Mediterranean standards. So this is Romeo’s father. Let me know him. We came here to know him, did we not? Use me to fulfill this purpose… The smoke exhaling from Gitano’s nose no longer caused Valya to wince while the boy inhaled the poisonous fumes, as if they would help him understand. Romeo had brought Val here to help work through that dilemma that so troubled the Britalian – where he had come from, and therefore who Romeo even was. Such a mission was holy, and Valentin would spare no sacrifice if it meant Romeo could finally be at peace with himself.
"I have indeed heard news about you," spoke the man through a ring of smoke. "Both of you. And you… You in particular... The famed inheritor of the Schnell name--last of your name indeed if other indications have not led me astray thus far. Obviously." As Valentin watched the ringmaster gesture towards Romeo, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t mind being read as the twink he was, nor even being busted for his much-suppressed adoration for his co-captain. However, for a moment Val wondered if he shouldn’t press Gitano so hard that it came back to haunt Romeo somehow. This man was an unknown entity, but his words were already cutting.
Gitano had poked a major sore spot – was he astute enough to know just where to prod, or had it been a lucky shot in the dark? Great discontent from both of Val’s guardians, Leonid and Sergei, lined Val’s home relationships like a mine-strewn road into a war zone. The pair formed a legal block to the teen’s inheritance access and used “that blood money” as a tool to pressure Valentin to conform to a variety of social expectations. Above all, it was their insistence that Valentin produce at least one biological heir which got under his skin the worst. Was it that the pair was fiercely loyal to his parents’ wish for grandchildren, or did the two stand to gain from the arrangement? Either way, Valentin hated to be controlled by something as grotesque as money, and he reviled being so easily emotionally manipulated. With one simple retort, it was as if the ringmaster had lashed with his whip where there was already a barely-contained wound. Yes, other people found Val’s romantic predilections problematic: while homophobia was easy enough for him to dismiss as vapid bigotry, guilting him over the “destruction of his sacred ancestral legacy” proved to be a more effective manipulation tactic than even his wealth.
Biting his lip, Valentin gave off a second minor tell, but it was all he could do to hold his tongue. He was, after all, still a scrappy young Durmstrang boy who loved the challenge of a fight, be it verbal or physical. Telling himself it was neither the time nor place to further expose such sensitive topics, Valentin remained quiet and listened as Gitano continued.
"But a name and an inheritance that others would drive themselves to kill for is the least of your... inherited gifts, as it were."
Val’s breathing slowed as he willed himself to stay calm. He didn’t like for the truly obscene degree of his wealth to be aired out in front of Romeo. Val wanted to be loved for himself, not for his money, and so he had always tried to minimize how wealthy he seemed around his entire team – especially Romeo. That Val continued to indulge others in absurdly expensive gifts was a vice he couldn’t bring himself to quit, but he cringed whenever the media publicly speculated about the monstrous sums attached to his name, let alone when such truths were brought to light in the company of one whose love he sought. Ostentatious shows of wealth were also another point of contention between Val and his legal guardians, as well as why his friend Aida was never invited to the Schnell Estate. Every damn secret Valentin had could escape through that wix’s big mouth if given the opportunity. The problem was that he didn’t really want to hide things about himself, so the dirtiest of Val’s secrets was perhaps that he guarded secrets at all. He felt disgusting, like he was turning into Sergei, whenever he tried to conceal truths about himself… even in the name of a greater good. At least he had been good at keeping quiet about his family lineage out of respect for his late mother, and backlash over rumored associations with “colddrake priestesses” had not troubled him since those problematic days in early childhood.
"No wonder so much speculation and rumor follows you about so viciously. You really do make no attempts to hide any of it anymore, do you. Or… Was this part of a deeper... ancestral calling as well. A new Dragon rising, even as the world burns."
Balling his hands into fists, Valentin willed himself to keep his mouth shut. How…? How did he know? Was he a mind-reader, or did he have connections to those families whose kids mocked and bullied him over prophecies that Valentin would become, like his predecessors, a calamity from the skies? If he knows, how many others know? Have I been exposing everything without even realizing it...? Is there a new rumor that I don't kn--... people don't know about me hearing the voices of my ancestors now, right? They don't know about the contortions in my ravenous belly, surely... No, no, we’re giving him too much credit. This is a colorful flaunting of words that just happens to resemble my situation…
"How in the world did you come to run with his lot, Romeo? Or, perhaps you're not here by choice after all. Toted along like a dog on a leash. A boy toy."
Tension creased the corners of Valentin’s Tatar eyes as a snarl crawled across his lips. A beastly possessiveness rose from his gut into his chest as Valentin’s subconscious echoed with the words: You’re not taking him away from me. Surprised at himself, Val’s eyes flicked back to Romeo. No, Romeo was not a possession. Val didn’t even want possessions. He hated being wealthy, let alone the notion of owning a person for sheer entertainment value. A barely audible rumble vibrated in the back of Val’s throat as he stifled a growling response. If I didn’t want Romeo to be free, if I didn’t want real and true love, I would have captured him by now. The voice ringing through Valentin’s mind shocked him. Was this really him, a voracious monster just holding back a burning hunger in order to obtain something greater? He wasn’t used to hearing himself think this way. Was the presence of this other man triggering something inside of him…?
"I am none of that," replied Romeo. "I am his friend. I care about him, and you are vile for suggesting such a thing as you have. Valentin, get away from him."
Out of reflexive love the amethyst-eyed seeker had a tendency to do whatever Romeo asked, but Valentin found himself rooted in place. I need to help you with your holy mission, Romeo. You wanted to know where you came from, who you are… and now… Valentin had always loved when Romeo told him to do things, but which Romeo should he serve? Was this really only about Romeo anymore, or was there now something that Valentin wanted, needed to learn about himself, too…?
"That's what they all say." Sighed Gitano, unblinking. "Isn't it, little colddrake?"
Valentin’s mouth dropped open, but curled wildly at each corner. A strange delight filled him despite knowing that shit had just gotten real.
"Colddrake...?" Romeo’s voice conveyed his innocence. He didn’t know. "Colddrake? Now you're speaking nonsense." Romeo didn’t know. Valentin thought almost no one knew. Yet, for the first time since the age of five, Valentin felt truly seen. Stifling a laugh of genuine happiness, Val tried to ignore how handsomely similar the other man was to Romeo. Yet, in Gitano’s one cerulean eye, a dark mystery continued to beckon… deliciously dangerous.
"No, Romeo... you're just slow as always. Too blind to see what's right... in front... of your own eyes..."
Valentin’s head tilted slightly to the side. He had to admit it, Romeo had always been exceptionally slow for Val’s taste, and none of Val’s peers could match his own powers of observation [WIS]. Still, that had never stopped Val from loving him. Yet, if Romeo really knew Val, especially those details kept under wraps, maybe Romeo would never…
"Valentin, get away from him. Now."
Leaning backwards in the impulse to do as Romeo asked, Valentin wavered. With one foot lifting as if to step away, Valentin’s lips parted with indecision. Maybe this man knew more about his mother’s heritage. Maybe he knew about his family’s old magic and could help Valentin achieve his dreams of maintaining his ancestral legacy. Maybe he could learn more about Romeo than he’d ever dreamed, too. Wouldn’t that be lovely, learning every last detail of Romeo’s shrouded past?
“Rome…”
"I don't speak English, but I understand enough to understand what you're getting at, Romeo." Fury burned in Gitano’s eye, like a dragon’s warning a foolish adventurer not to try to take his gold. "Don't get yourself so worked up. I won't hurt him. I wouldn't dream it." Soft currents of wind passed across Valentin’s face as the man’s hand moved mere milimeters away. "Truth be told... I don't think I could. I would lose too much if I dared. Damaging such a perfect specimen is such poor taste, after all..." Could this man understand him? Could someone finally know and appreciate everything that made Valentin what he was, monster and all?
"And I wouldn't be able to bear the amount of emotional and mental anguish it could possibly cause you. A friend you are, after all--but nothing more. Nothing more, obviously."
Pain colored Valentin’s eyes. The man wasn’t wrong. Romeo had never tried to be anything more than a friend to Val. It had taken Piérre's drugs to even get a kiss out of him. Surely any other responses he’d gotten from the Italian were the expected result of Valentin’s seductive actions. The charm, the allure he had inherited from his mother… these were surely to blame for all of it. Wasn’t Valentin’s beastly hunger kept only delicately in check with some pretense of decency…? Romeo didn’t really love him back, anyway. Perhaps Romeo really was little more than an unwitting pawn of Val’s crudely shackled amorous temptations. The apple never really fell far from the tree, did it?
"What he is to me is not your concern. What is your concern is if you dare lay a hand on him." Romeo took a step forward, reaching for Valentin. A clenching jolt in the seeker’s gut accompanied his acceptance that Romeo hadn’t said no. It was stupid to hope that Romeo would say anything different, that no, Val was more than just a friend. Of course it was stupid. Romeo didn’t really love Val. This had all been Val’s fault, the fault of his hypnotic ancestors, the fault of all those foolish heroes who hadn’t ended Valentin’s lineage once and for all.
"Valentin is my friend. I lay down my life for him if need be."
You’re a bloody hero, Val thought. Of course you’d lay down your life for me, just like you’d sacrifice yourself for any poor fool on the street. There’s nothing special about me to you. You’re right, I am just your friend. I have been deluding myself for too long, idiotically thinking a cursed inhuman monster like me could ever win true love from you. If you knew the truth about me, maybe your righteous heroism wouldn’t even stoop to giving me what you would afford a common beggar. You’d be right in doing so, too… Why they ever spared me and my lineage is beyond me… There were rules about what to do with male offspring like me. Of course you could never love a boy like me. The destructive power of what I’d be willing to do for you should not even exist.
Despite Romeo’s hand reaching for him, Valentin set his foot back down. Not turning to look at the other, a stabbing pain pulsated through the seeker’s heart. You didn’t want me, never really wanted me. Maybe I can still be of service to you though, dear Romeo, by uncovering what you came here to find. What happens to me as a consequence is of no concern. I will bring you that inner peace you longed for, whatever the cost.
"Oh? Somehow, I find that an interesting hypothesis to test. Is there anyone else you would say and avow such promises about and to, I wonder?" continued Gitano. Valentin knew immediately whom Romeo would think of. There had always been something of an unspoken rivalry between Piérre and Valentin for Romeo’s attentions.
"My my... you don't say..." came the older man’s self-satisfied voice. "Why, I couldn't have thought of something better myself. What a present for me."
Shit, Valentin thought. Shit, shit shit. If only he could offer himself in the other’s place, he wished. Yes, this is the answer. This is the solution to everything.
“I’m a better one… Try me.”
Basic Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 17 - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Stats on Broom: STA 11 - EVA 23 - STR 6 - WIS 20 - ARC 4 - ACC 18
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
Russian; Italian
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to each stat)
Ency/Trunk: viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17006#p269554
Godmods of Romeo’s and Valentin’s characters are consensual throughout this and other threads
Action: Biting off more than he can chew
23 Jun 2024, 03:59
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
¤ | Ω | ¤
"Italiano. Italian."
"Russian."
\ Fingerless Glove on Right Hand, Bite Scar on Forearm /
| Lichtenberg Figure on Right Arm and Down Back |
For Simplicity's Sake Due to Language Barrier:
"All of my dialogue in this style is spoken in Italian."
"I, Romeo, will reply in this style to indicate Italian."
Valentin Schnell
@Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood"You?" Gitano slowly brought himself up to full height just a hair shorter than Valentin but refusing to lift his chin as he fixed amaranthine eyes with the single cerulean from the tops of his eyelids. The brow arced just as much as the curl of his words. "I will admit, I'm easily tempted. I also have a habit of not turning away anything given to me on a silver platter, and I find no disgrace in those who have the hunger to lick such a plate and its cutlery clean." His words dropped into a whisper. "Those who have the hunger to take everything and to leave nothing behind."
I watched Valentin lift his foot as if to step away, but then felt the tension in my chest redouble itself as he only replaced it and offered himself to the man with suddenly chilling dedication. "Out of the question." I hissed.
And then to Gitano himself. "There's more virtue in abstinence than in gorging yourself on what could just as easily be poison." I shot back. "What becomes dangerous is being unable to tell them apart because your greed blinds you to the circumstance in which you dare indulge."
He didn't even so much as look at me. "One can build a tolerance to poisons, and when starved for that which you hunger for one cannot help but feast ravenously at a first given opportunity." A sneering smile formed, a bitter turn of the lips that heralded to a thinly veiled superiority buried deep below. "What is life but a game of masks and poise? But the savage and relentless urge to appear more well-fed than your fellows, and the indulgent necessity to step upon the necks of those that would oppose you or dare to disgrace your name?" His other hand's finger tapped lightly on the butt of the whip. "Some attempt to make these ends more noble by the means by which they achieve them, but even the benevolent have their own savageries. You, Romeo, are simply cowed by the idea that you should simply take what you've been given. Valentin would not be so enamored with what he sees now if you weren't."
His eye glanced back to me from behind an errant tuft of Valentin's hair. "I don't know whether to consider you pathetic or to consider myself impressive. I'm not even trying." Another slow blink, and his eye returned again to Valentin's.
"But alas, this feast is not mine to partake in." There was a dark gleam of a smile in his eye that didn't reach his lips as he dipped his chin ever so slightly. "You, for now, are unattainable to me. I must settle for less than a king's portion, something that I am greatly displeasured by. I may not have abstinence, Romeo, but I have patience." The gloves dared to lightly curl between its fingers fine white hairs. "I know how to resist one good meal in the promise of twice as much at a later time."
I watched his hand, and knew what it would do before he did it. In the same moment as his hand would try to close [Accuracy: d20(15) + 18 - 1 (Charmer) = 32], my own hand would clap down on Valentin's shoulder and I would would pull [Strength: d20(17) + 20 = 37] him away even if he had tried in the slightest to resist [Strength: d20(9) + 3 = 12] my hand. Perhaps I had been a little bit rough, my strength was something that I still often struggled to manage properly, but he was out of the way as Gitano's hand instead knotted into my own hair and pulled away [Evasion: d20(15) + 9 = 24] with a good fistful of it. My scalp stung slightly from the exchange [d50(49) damage], but it wasn't anything worth talking about.
Gitano took a step back, lifting his chin as he did so and tucking both hands behind his back again innocently. The smile had faded. "Personal space, Romeo."
"Personal space? You're one to talk." I tendered the new injury with one hand, drawing it away to observe the slightest red tinge on my fingers. I hissed slightly through my teeth before glaring down at him again. "As far as I'm concerned with the way that you've treated us here, I have every right to do much worse than what you've done to us." I flourished my bloody fingers his way before returning it to my head to lightly staunch it.
"I wouldn't recommend it."
"You're in no position to be making recommendations." I laughed back at him for the first time in this encounter. It was all so ridiculous and rich.
"I am in the perfect place to be making recommendations. The fact you don't realize it only tells you about the strength of my hand, which I intend to keep as it is: held close to my chest." The blue eye narrowed again as a surly frown began to form on the face of the Ringmaster. Despite myself, a chill ran down my spine again with the intensity of its gleam. The unknown depths of it were frigid and foreboding. "I'm done speaking with you unless you have something interesting to say or do. I have a performance to prepare for and papers to file. Wages to hand out, the works."
"Oh I am far from finished speaking to you." My voice stooped into a warning tone. "I want answers out of you, and I'll be damned if I came this far just to deal with this sort of inhospitality and rudeness when I only came to ask questions."
"I told you already, boy, I know who you are." The eye gleamed as the lips turned upwards into a mimicked snarl--the man took a stern step forward, which caused me to take a step back. "And I'm not interested. I'm letting you walk away without embarrassing yourself or getting yourself into more than you can handle. I don't make the same offerings twice." The hand gripped the whip again, tendons of the back of his hand tight through the black leather glove. "But I'll let you have one question before I turn you out or call security to take you out. You had better make it a good one."
There was a lot that I wanted to ask, especially in the few seconds that had been revealed and alluded to alone. The Colddrake, that sat near the top of my mind. The intrigue with Valentin, the seeming obsession with him, something so similar to the encounter I had had with the strange person--a person that I would eventually learn was actually supposed to be an impression of Valentin's own father--at Valentin's own home, this too was something I felt a need to inquire further about and to demand answers to. The chances... was there a possibility that the two of them were connected somehow?
But... as much as I wanted to discover that, right at this moment no less... I couldn't abandon the reason that I had managed to stomach my distaste for Gitano for so long. There was a reason that I had come, that Valentin had come with me--not to be mistreated, not to be abused in this way... there was one reason and there was one reason only.
Narrowing my eyes, I finally asked the question--possibly the wrong one, but I did not want to open a new can of worms or another verbal cavalcade that would deteriorate this encounter more than it already had been. "I did research on you, Gitano. I've checked and crosschecked directories and Pureblood registrations, and I've come to a rare logical conclusion based on what I had and what I can understand." I spoke slowly for the sake of my own comprehension, trying to find the right way to say this. "You're an unsavory sort." Gitano's eye creased ever so slightly in amusement. "You've a checkered past. The way you speak and the way you've conducted yourself here in these few last minutes alone makes me think that you've done a lot more than even a checkered past and hearsay can account for. I think it likely that... you've a few incidents that have resulted in a child sharing some of your physical traits."
He smoothly crossed his arms as the smile slowly seeped back into his visage.
"What I mean to ask is... In the late 2000s, did you have such an affair in Italy?"
There was a sharp snort of laughter that slowly rolled into a thunderous laugh under his breath. After a few seconds of amusing himself, evidently, he rolled his eye and then ran his hand through his hair before returning it to its place on his whip. He shook his hair out of his eyes before rolling his neck and cocking his hips once more. "Hah! I should have guessed you would have asked that. I wouldn't know." I tried to not let any indications flicker through my eyes or posture. "I did travel back to Sicily around that time, but as you say yourself I've never been 'pinned down' anywhere long enough to acknowledge such a thing occurring. Pity. I thought you had a better one swirling around in that head. I shouldn't have been so excited. Well... whatever unasked ones are in there, for what it's worth..." His eye fixed one last time on Valentin. "The answers to those can be found closer than you think." He purred.
"Ta, Schnell. And Marchonné. I hope we never have the unfortunate experience of running across each other ever again. Do enjoy the rest of the circus, though. They'll be more than happy to oblige, I'm sure." With that, he turned on his heel and began to stride away, indigo cloak fluttering behind him as he donned the wide-brimmed hat once more. Into the mist, towards a circle of tents. I didn't speak to call after him. He could contract pneumonia for all I cared about him at this point.
My hands curled, one into my hair and the wound there and the other at my side. I scoffed. "Tch. Prick. I shouldn't have come here. We shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake. Bastard." I turned as well, feeling my shoulders slump ever so slightly as my cheeks began to burn a bit in shame. "Bastard."
I wouldn't admit that anything that he had said was right, at least not aloud, but that did not prevent the sound of his voice from turning itself in my mind like a spinning carousal. Words that I kept pulling apart and putting back together in my mind, in my mind's eye. Nonsense. Words of a colddrake, the way that he spoke of Val, that way that he had looked upon him like he was nothing but a specimen... as if by his gaze he could magnify Niffler under his sights... "Are there any nonmanipulative people in this world that I can meet and simply talk to?" I blurted out before glancing to Valentin suddenly. "Other than you. You've never steered me wrong before. Made me worry for your safety, and mine, but never steered me wrong." I shook my head, removing my hand again and then wiping it on my pants. "Bastard tore a chunk out of my head with that..."ReducioStats:
Ω Stamina 851/900 | Evasion 8 | Strength 17 Ω
Ω Accuracy 18 | Wisdom 10 | ArcPower 0 ΩAbilities:
Ω Obnoxiously Strong | Perfectionist I | Martial Artist | Healing Sage I Ω
Ω Muggle Condition Ω
23 Jun 2024, 08:30
Devil's Tongue, Evil's Eye
"I will admit, I'm easily tempted... and I find no disgrace in those who have the hunger to lick such a plate and its cutlery clean," said Gitano, dropping into a whisper. "Those who have the hunger to take everything and to leave nothing behind."
With Gitano at full height, Valentin stared back from just above, unblinking and grinning. The situation was so dangerous, so amusing, so loaded with purpose on Romeo’s behalf. Val couldn’t help feeling superbly happy. The risk from having his deepest secrets baited in front of Romeo beckoned, offering true relief to Valentin who longed to be forced to tell his co-captain everything. Every. Single. Thing. For all the disrespect Valentin was sad to see Romeo endure from what could have been a loving paternal relationship, Val and Gitano did have something in common. Even if Val was not about impose such explanations on Romeo before it was time, he craved a situation that would pin him down enough to justify the brutal honesty he constantly suppressed. What right did Val have to make Romeo learn about him, though, when Gitano was right – Romeo only intended to be friends. Obviously. Such a notion, of revealing his most personal details, felt selfish when Val so earnestly wanted to help Romeo using what little time they had in life. How this ringmaster knew such privileged knowledge about Valentin’s true nature, however, was a mystery. Little did Val know that his co-captain was already intuiting where to find a key to unlock both of their familial pasts. Still, for as much as Valentin hungered to do anything and everything necessary to break down the barriers between the three of them, Romeo presented the voice of reason.
"Out of the question." "There's more virtue in abstinence than in gorging yourself on what could just as easily be poison. What becomes dangerous is being unable to tell them apart because your greed blinds you to the circumstance in which you dare indulge."
You’re almost right, Romeo, thought Valentin coolly. I know this man is poison, but I’m so madly in love with you that I don’t care what happens to me if it will bring you lasting peace and happiness.
"One can build a tolerance to poisons, and when starved for that which you hunger for one cannot help but feast ravenously at a first given opportunity."
Valentin nodded. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had in his own mind whenever he pushed his flying so hard that he crashed. This was the suspension of disbelief, the fearlessness, and the raw idiocy that were necessary to break limits that had never been breached before. After his crash at the pier, however, the Hell-Chaser had learned that reality has some limits that don’t care about audacity. Thereafter Valentin had been trying to convince Yefim and Mikael that the three of them were not indestructible, even though sometimes the White Immortal still found that hard to believe in such a magical world. Still, these were the last words of Gitano’s that Valentin agreed with. A stream of vicious gloating followed, touting the benefits of deception, selfishness, and growing sick with power. Narrowing his eyes, Valentin’s excitement dimmed. He was not as impressed anymore, and the longer he listened, the more he began to feel sick with self hatred for having indulged the other’s logic for as long as he had. This man didn’t love Romeo. If anything, this man loved the act of hurting Romeo, and nothing could excuse that in Valentin’s eyes. Even if Romeo would only ever be his friend, it didn’t matter. Romeo was still the colddrake’s dearest treasure, and Valentin would not relinquish him to the likes of this pompous toxic asshat.
"Some attempt to make these ends more noble by the means by which they achieve them, but even the benevolent have their own savageries. You, Romeo, are simply cowed by the idea that you should simply take what you've been given. Valentin would not be so enamored with what he sees now if you weren't. I don't know whether to consider you pathetic or to consider myself impressive. I'm not even trying."
Valentin snorted. Concluding there was no way that this creature deserved Romeo more than himself, Valentin decided now only to endure the arrogant blonde to the extent that it served Romeo’s mission. It wasn’t worth hurting Romeo to get closer to his own family’s legacy, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Gitano was not in the mood to humor their curiosity for Romeo’s sake. As tempting as such sacred knowledge was, Valentin still knew where his priorities lay.
Gitano glanced from Romeo back to Valentin as a dark gleam flashed across his singular eye.
"But alas, this feast is not mine to partake in. You, for now, are unattainable to me. I must settle for less than a king's portion, something that I am greatly displeasured by. I may not have abstinence, Romeo, but I have patience." Curling a few of Valentin’s hairs between his gloved fingers, the boundary of personal space between the two was quickly collapsing like a dying star. "I know how to resist one good meal in the promise of twice as much at a later time."
Valentin saw the motion of Gitano’s hand and, like Romeo, knew what it would do. After all, the captain’s eye was trained specifically to interpret bodily movements after years of grueling training regimens. The difference between him and his co-captain, however, was that Romeo was not willing to let it happen for the sake of learning more about his father. Grabbing Valentin and throwing him behind himself, Romeo took on Gitano’s attack instead. Drawing blood and a clump of ruddy hair, the ringmaster’s true nature made itself even clearer. Like a blood rite, however, the wound opened the way for Romeo to ask a single question… to which he received the sort of half-answer Valentin expected. The ringmaster excused himself shortly thereafter, and when he was gone and Romeo turned back to face Valentin, he would find the other staring into that distant exit, wearing the most savage snarl he’d ever seen the albino wear. Gitano had not only harmfully “touched a hair on Romeo’s head,” but had drawn first blood. Wrath stabbed from Valentin’s eyes in the other’s direction despite having patiently held it in throughout the pair’s exchanges. He’d wanted to teach the other never to touch Romeo again, but accepting that the blow was originally intended for himself, Valentin tolerated the progression of the scene… barely.
"Tch. Prick. I shouldn't have come here. We shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake. Bastard." Valentin bit his lip, wondering how much the word’s double meaning stung the other. "Bastard."
"Are there any nonmanipulative people in this world that I can meet and simply talk to? … Other than you. You've never steered me wrong before. Made me worry for your safety, and mine, but never steered me wrong… Bastard tore a chunk out of my head with that..."
Valentin swallowed hard. He hadn’t prevented Romeo from getting hurt. Certainly he wasn’t strong enough to resist the beater, but Val’s unwillingness to dodge Gitano’s hand in the first place also meant he didn’t evade Romeo’s… resulting in Romeo getting hurt. How could this have been prevented? Should he have known this would happen to Romeo and pre-emptively dodge for his sake? Was that even reasonable? Or, even if it was unreasonable, how could he prevent such successful attacks from recurring? Chewing his lip, Valentin didn’t know. He just didn’t know, but Romeo was wiping the blood off onto his pants. Val had always loved the other’s gorgeous hair. He hated himself for not preventing this outcome.
“Romeo…” Valentin tugged on the collar of the other’s shirt, clearly suggesting that he would have a look at his wound. At least Romeo was still alive and hadn’t been snuffed out within the span of a breath. The wound looked worse to Valentin than the tall Italian was letting on. Pulling out his wand, which Valentin still had a dysfunctional relationship with, the seeker’s mind wandered back to the swirling dark and broken distortions of light within Gitano’s eye. Val could feel it, the draconic extremism they had in common. You can trust me though, Romeo. Right, Romeo? Even if I can never have what I want, let me take care of you to the extent you’ll allow. You can trust me…
Pulling Romeo down closer to his level, Valentin aimed his wand at the other’s wound and attempted the exceptionally strong Episkey he could have pulled off in his sleep… but the haunting vision of the ringmaster’s eye was still staring back at him in Valya’s imagination.
In a blast of searing amethyst light, sparks exploded across the bloodied section of Romeo’s hair as Valentin critically failed his spell. Burning the other’s scalp with a blast of freezing cold spell plasma, Valentin’s focus had wandered too far, causing only further harm to Romeo. As Valentin realized the sick irony of what he’d done, he dropped the wand immediately. This was why he hated spellcasting. Its power was ripe for abuse. He never wanted to see that stupid stick again, and he would leave it there, refusing to pick it up no matter what Romeo said. Instead, cheeks blushing with red fury and agony, Valentin grabbed both of the other’s collars this time. Eyes brimming with tears, he wanted to pull the other back down to his level again and plant the most gigantic, passionate kiss of his life squarely on Romeo’s lips. Desperately, wildly he wanted this, but with his hands beginning to shake, Valentin decided he would surely cause even more harm that way. Gitano was right. Obviously. Friends… Nothing more. Val had no right to hurt Romeo anymore with his love. He didn’t even deserve his “special person,” corrupt champion that he was. Romeo didn’t even know how much of a monster Valentin really was. It wouldn’t have been right. It couldn’t be right. Hands slipping from the other’s lapels, Valentin turned away instead and began to sob into his hands."Those who have the hunger to take everything and to leave nothing behind…. Those who have the hunger… the hunger…"
Romeo said we shouldn’t have come. I just wanted you to be happy. I wanted to win you that prize that would make you know where you came from, so that you could live your best life and not feel so lost… Stribog dash me to bits, I love you Romeo, but all I do is hurt you. Yes I made you worry for my safety and yours, and if I don’t stay away from you them my greed could cost you everything. I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I wanted your father to love you. I wanted you to have a big beautiful family, wanted you to have a dad to love when you will never… should never… return my love…
Valentin couldn’t find a reason to staunch the broken dam of tears pouring down his flushed cheeks. Gitano’s words would not leave him. Valentin had been seen for what he was – perhaps not by Romeo yet, but it didn’t matter. To have been seen and acknowledged by someone no different was all it took to accept how dangerous the colddrake’s love really was.
Valentin would be mostly quiet on the long flight back home, grieving over the shattered hopes he’d had for a better victory. They had found Romeo’s father, but at what cost?
Basic Stats: STA 8 - EVA 20 - STR 3 - WIS 17 - ARC 1 - ACC 15
Stats on Broom: STA 11 - EVA 23 - STR 6 - WIS 20 - ARC 4 - ACC 18
Abilities:
Keen Eye / Charmer / Evasive Maneuvers / Fearless / Comprehend Languages: Parseltongue
Russian; Italian
Broom: Silver Arrow (+3 to each stat)
Ency/Trunk: viewtopic.php?f=314&t=17006#p269554
Godmods of Romeo’s and Valentin’s characters are consensual throughout this and other threads
Action: Leaving the thread unless stopped