All That Glitters PV Nichlas Forsberg Fin

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Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky All speech is in Russian unless otherwise specified

"Du lär dig aldrig, eller hur?" Suddenly faced with the more unfamiliar language of Swedish, Slava was forced to pay more attention in order to try to translate—"you learn … never, or …", so, "you never learn", and the last part was lost on him. He shrugged. What was there to learn? Not to bite off more than he could chew? Not to provoke intimidating people who were more capable than him? Slava had never been good at learning those lessons. His reckless, impulsive nature and his desire to elicit reactions would probably continue to get him in trouble forever.

"Then who 'deserves' your kindness, if it is you who makes the rules on who is deserving on such things? You should make a guide of it and hand it out, so you at least have the pitiful upper ground of 'I told you so'?" “Of course I make the rules on who deserves it, because it’s my kindness. People who are well-intentioned deserve it, people who aren’t fucking creepy and looking for others’ weaknesses. You can go find someone else to fawn over you if that’s what you want,” he responded irritably. Words were increasingly becoming difficult and bothersome, his anger clouding his mind. He currently preferred the language of physicality, because words felt so underwhelming and meaningless compared to the intensity of his feelings.

And then there was this staredown, neither one of them able to concede, Slava continually goading Nichlas on, wondering just how far the other boy would go if pushed enough. There was a strange peace he felt with what he was doing, the act of pushing Nichlas’s wand against his own throat both a challenge and a surrender. There was only this moment, only the intensity and rage, everything else fading away as he dared Nichlas to do something. The Swede smirked, evidently having made a decision, and Slava’s heartbeat felt like it was growing louder, drowning out the distant sounds of people walking to and from the dorms, the silence between the pair caught in this battle even more deafening. "So be it," Nichlas whispered, and Slava’s heart skipped a beat, mentally preparing himself for whatever was to come.

"Scourgify." Soap filled Slava’s mouth, and he immediately spat the initial bubbles at Nichlas, coughing and spitting at the ground as he tried to rid his mouth of the remaining bubbles and the horrible taste. What the fuck? Whatever he expected, it was not that. He stared at Nichlas, utter confusion taking over as the dominant emotion as the rest of his feelings blurred together in a complicated mess. He glanced away, uncertain. "You really shouldn't be swearing as much," Nichlas said, and Slava looked at him in disbelief. “Fuck you,” Slava responded, but his words contained no venom and there was a brief laugh emitted at the absurdity of the situation.

After a slight pause, emotions still too mixed up to sort out, the disgusting taste remaining on his tongue, Slava asked simply, “Why?” His eyes contained only curiosity, the hostility and rage having melted away with that one simple spell. His question was clear—it wasn’t “why shouldn’t I swear” or “why that spell specifically”, as the meaning was quite apparent especially when compounded with Nichlas’s statement. Instead, it was a “why did you do that when you could have done anything”. I was at your mercy, unable to evade whatever you chose to throw at me, and you did that? After all my provocation, all the glitter and swearing, the punch and the challenges, just… the Cleaning Charm?

He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Disappointment, maybe? Gratitude? Newfound appreciation? There was certainly some shame mixed in, given the knowledge that he probably would not have done the same thing had the roles been reversed. He had been violent, he had been as irritating as he could possibly be, he had been rude. And in return, Nichlas had been merciful, shattering any expectation and ignoring the dichotomy of the two choices Slava had presented him with. He had found a third choice. His own path. If Slava thought he had understood even a tiny portion of what this boy in front of him was like, he was proven wrong beyond a doubt and would have to start again from scratch. Clearly, Nichlas was significantly more complicated than Slava had expected. He was full of contradictions, he was still perpetually infuriating and terrifying, and he was so, so strange. But maybe Nichlas Forsberg wasn’t so bad after all.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

Nichlas seized up the other boy in his rant about kindness. There was something so absolutely irritating about Slava that made Nichlas constantly want to hex the kid. To find ways to make things miserable. But for now he had to settle on ruining his Fridays with the promise of tutoring and lessons about anything spell related. The plans and ideas and possibilities were all unfurling like a giant puzzle, each piece unique and yet so fitting. And he deliberately wanted to burn it down in anger with the frustrations that the other boy tended to spark in him. The pure fury at these challenges and audacity to hit him. The throb in his jaw that was already forming an unsightly bruise, the anger at each throb of pain that slowly fueled his desire at retaliation. And it would come, at his command and his desire and not because it was something he had been dared to by the one person he had wanted to destroy in that moment. In retaliation and revenge for the pain and anger, the ultimate test for control. A control he had never relinquished in quite some time, walls he had built carefully, masks he had crafted until they were perfect. Who was Slava to challenge all that, to endanger all that he has built with the promise to find the button that would make him snap. Nichlas would't allow that to happen. He would never lose to Slava because he was him and there was no losing. There was no giving in to blind anger. His anger was calculated, cruel and a master piece of its own. He was unpredictable and Slava would learn all that in time. Their dance had begun and now it was unstoppable, their intentions and ideals would be but a puzzle in the other's mind and two games were at play. A game that Nichlas had invited, but it had been Slava who had accepted, no, challenged this game of theirs. Invited Nichlas right back with an invite that omitted any chance of rejection.

Nichlas was one to take pride in his genius, in his ability to twist things in his favor and to shatter the mold society offered. And so he took pride in proving Slava wrong, Slava who had attempted to press him into a mold, an image he wanted to perceive. He wanted to see Nichlas as cruel, wanted to see him as evil and possibly even insane and perhaps Nichlas was all that and more. But if he was one thing above all else, he was not to be put into a box labeled one way, he was not predictable. He wouldn't lose. If Slava saw him as merciless he would grant him this mercy. A mercy fueled by all the wrong reasons and perhaps a bit of right ones too, if only to break the tension and regain the control over himself. This game of cat and mouse that they both seemed to be playing, Slava with the wrong impression that he too could be the cat. To trap Nichlas with expectations, with options laid out for him. But Nichlas broke the tension and for a moment things seemed almost normal as he glimpsed the side of Slava that he would likely never get to see again.

As Slava spit out foam and bubbles in an almost laughter, a childish defiance in proving Nichlas wrong once more, no matter how silly the situation was. And for just a moment through a crack of honesty true amusement shone in Nichlas' eyes as he regarded Slava with smug pride and equal levels of defiance. "Why?" he asked and Nichlas stared at the boy with his unreadable expression. 'Why indeed,' the thoughts were there before Nichlas could stop them and he raised his chin, taking the pose of someone in complete control of their actions and this aura of distant coldness as his gaze found Slava's, unwilling to give him the victory of avoiding his gaze. The curiosity in Slava, the confusion was so ever present and Nichlas shoved down his own thoughts at the question, his own curiosity. He was ruthless and always had been. He had the option to say many things now, confusing things, cruel things and perhaps even honest things? But he instead decided to play into the smug expression as he almost smiled at Slava dangerously.

"Why?" Perhaps if Nichlas were more willing to question his actions, he would have actually put some thought behind it. But there was almost a willingness to be defiant just for the sake of it. Wasn't that the game they were playing after all? Defiant to the end and yet willing to do anything to cause a reaction from the other? Why then would he actually give in and tell Slava of his intentions, if this game they were playing relied on figuring out such things through reactions alone. And to be honest would mean he had to be letting Slava get a glimpse of the working of his minds, voluntarily at that and to do so would give Slava power over him that he couldn't just simply hand over. He would be a fool to do so. Slava hasn't earned knowledge such as this and Nichlas rejoiced in their mutual challenge and anger too much to make things any easier for the other boy. "Well I wouldn't be a great tutor if I let my student get the best of me, would I? You have to try harder than that," he offered in response, the smirk ever present.

There was something so absolutely wrong with bringing this back up now, just when things had started to look peaceful, almost as if this peace had been a threat to him, an invite to Slava that Nichlas wasn't sure he was willing to have handed out and yet despite all this, their dance continued. Despite the brief pause, the momentary change in tact, they both seemed to be none the wiser in letting things rest. Wanted, no, needed the game to continue, needed to find the next button to push in this game of reactions. But something had changed and there was almost a hateful excitement in this invite to their next dance a dance that would likely never stop again, now that they had laid the foundation for the tact. A dance fueled by emotions that burned like the anger and frustration behind, yet was playful, sly and ever so inviting that neither of them was quite willing to step away from the dance floor once more. And yet, however small, a tiny door had been left ajar to take a glance behind the mask and the workings of his mind. If only Slava were to take that leap and use it as fuel for his fire in this dance, just as Nichlas had taken the burning anger behind Slava's kind image as fuel to himself.

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Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky All speech is in Russian unless otherwise specified

In the wake of Nichlas’s spell, Slava was left with internal turmoil he had not been prepared for. When he had lazily looked for Nichlas, he had been expecting to feel victorious—which he had—and had been prepared to feel fear or anger when inevitable retaliation came, which had also happened with the tutoring revelation. He had not, however, expected to be so completely confused that he was left doubting himself and his convictions, nor had he expected Nichlas to earn the tiniest modicum of respect. For a moment, Slava thought he had seen a flicker of something genuine and good in the eighth year’s eyes, although he would immediately dismiss the notion.

Still, for a few seconds, there was something close to a truce, a single ray of sunlight poking its way through dark storm clouds. The door was opened to… something. Perhaps to the potential for more than just anger, reaction-seeking, and repeated revenge. But just as quickly as that door had opened, Nichlas slammed it shut, a dangerous, smug smile forcing Slava to forget about what could have been viewed as some slight kindness, leaving the faintest hint of disappointment behind as the door was firmly locked and bolted. This was just another victory for Nichlas, nothing more, nothing less. That was all the spell choice had been.

Feeling a remarkable lack of emotion, the most neutral he had been throughout the whole encounter, Slava idly watched Nichlas’s every movement, the way his lips curled with a self-satisfied smirk. What an irritating expression that was. "Well I wouldn't be a great tutor if I let my student get the best of me, would I? You have to try harder than that." Slava hadn’t expected a real answer to his question, as much as he did desperately want to know why, and thus the response, however annoying, was something he chose to take as truth. It was easier if he didn’t doubt what had already been displayed—the competitive desire to win every one of their petty, hateful little battles, no matter what.

“You won’t be a good tutor anyway, so no need to worry about such minor things,” Slava retorted sassily, but it was nothing more than a deflection, knowing he had lost this time even despite his impressively reckless display of boldness, although the punch had certainly been a significant win. Nichlas was just trying to rub salt in the wound now by bringing up that stupid tutoring again. Well, the Swede might have won the battle, but Slava would ensure that he did not manage to win the war. Nichlas may have had the upper hand for now, finding far too many loopholes whenever he was placed in an unfavorable situation—first the tutoring to enable him to cast spells as revenge for the glitter, then the Cleaning Charm to get out of the lose-lose situation Slava had nearly managed to force him into—but Slava wasn’t one to give up when faced with a challenge. And a challenge Nichlas had most certainly presented.

While tutoring would force Slava to spend time with Nichlas—an evil move, evidently using Slava’s aversion to his presence against him—it also forced Nichlas to spend time with him. If the older boy thought Slava was just going to go peacefully, he was greatly mistaken. Nichlas could make Slava’s life hell with ill-timed tutoring sessions and intimidating spells, but Slava seemed to have a particular knack for getting under the other’s skin and he would be sure to exploit that as much as physically possible. And, of course, he would be sticking to his promise of ensuring that Nichlas was permanently covered in glitter. Any minor way that Slava could disrupt Nichlas’s attempts to be perfect and untouchable was a victory to him.

He knew Nichlas underestimated him, and that gave him the smallest of advantages. While Nichlas may have ultimately held greater power and control, Slava was incredibly persistent and had a knack for irritating people. Getting reactions was what he excelled at, and he wouldn’t get hung up on losses he experienced along the way or stop when someone got tired. There was a peculiar thrill that came with this dangerous game they were playing, an odd combination of apprehension and spiteful competition, and there would be no stopping it now that it had started, Slava knew that much. They had entered into a particularly brutal cycle of revenge and provocation, already too far in to pull out of this unspoken pact to try to make the other suffer more. No temporary kindness or mercy could take them off of this destructive path that they were walking, and the flickering sparks of curiosity only served to join the anger in binding their lives together. As Slava looked at the golden glitter and the redness starting to form near Nichlas’s jaw, he knew that this was the farthest thing from finished.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

”The point of this was never to be a good teacher, well unless the lesson you want to learn is not to cross me. I have many ways to teach you that,” Nichlas responded with a controlled nonchalance as if the words and accusations Slava had spoke hadn’t meant anything to him. And with that Nichlas gave another of his by now telltale smirks. There was to be a lot of fun involved in their next number of encounters, for only him naturally… but Slava? Well that depended on quite how stubborn the other could be. If their current encounter could be taken as measure for anything, Nichlas would have his hands full. However he was very much convinced that handling Slava was a piece of cake. This was meant to be punishment for the glitter bomb after all. Blocking his valued free time and even worse force him to use his brain rather than his brawn, which Nichlas assumed must be starving for some knowledge if all of Slava’s issues tended to be solved with the latter.

Nichlas himself could never quite understand the physically inclined. Those that rushed to use their fists over their wits. Anger and strength could only get one so far. They almost seemed like opposites sides of the same coin, bound to never see eye to eye and yet all the same in their desire to push and pull one another. They were like fire and oil, not meant to be mixed or coexist and therefore they would challenge one another and Nichlas wasn’t quite sure there was any going back from this now.

“Have I mentioned yet? Lessons are on Fridays,” he added as if in an afterthought. The casualness of his voice deceiving as his gaze searched for Slava’s reaction to this next revelation. Him stealing Slava’s Friday free time from now on, which aside from the whole revenge in the first place, was perhaps the cruelest bit yet. If he hadn’t had another reaction to see right now, he would have left just then. But he needed to destroy this short moment of peace they had shared as it wasn’t meant to last. There was no backing down from the challenge the other boy had uttered, perhaps even so without intention. Who was Nichlas to care about the reasons as to why he must engage in this game of theirs, point was that now that they were playing it, he was not going to lose it.

There were many things that Slava seemed to miss and generally speaking his anger seemed to get the better of him quite frequently. So far in all the times he had encountered Slava he hadn’t seen the boy not succumb to anger and perhaps he could use this knowledge to his advantage. After all that was what he was trying to find out, right? As to why the other was seen the way he was seen by the general public despite being out for blood the next moment. How he had survived a school as cold as this one with an image of sunshine. And worst of all, he reminded himself, was the constant companion. His glitter. Nichlas would have to take a shower and multiple Scouring charms, knowing full well that despite any efforts the golden shine of glitter would never quite leave him again. Perhaps he should have confiscated the glitter, do it so often until the boy and any supply of glitter the world had to offer ran out. But that would be showing weakness and despite knowing that the other boy was aware that it bothered the Swede, he wasn’t going to admit to it to give Slava even the slightest victory. That would be counter intuitive And set him back in this game of theirs and Nichlas couldn’t quite allow that.

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Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky All speech is in Russian unless otherwise specified

"The point of this was never to be a good teacher"—Hadn’t he just implied that he was a great tutor? Or was that solely to rub in that he had found a loophole in the choices Slava had presented him with?—"well unless the lesson you want to learn is not to cross me. I have many ways to teach you that." Slava paled slightly, a chill running down his spine as his mouth formed a slight frown before he could realize it. His chest felt tight—he wanted to curl into himself, he wanted Nichlas to stop looking at him with that smirk, he wanted to escape. How could he be so confident one moment and then want nothing more than to run the next? Why was Nichlas so terrifying? What did he have planned? What would he do to teach Slava not to cross him? Hoping to be left alone after this would be foolish even by Slava’s standards, though. There would be no peace, not after what he had done. The only slight comfort was the fact that he would make sure that Nichlas wouldn’t have peace either, but Slava had the feeling that he might have made a mistake in engaging with this game.

He thought back to Nichlas’s earlier words of "you never learn". Would he ever learn? To think before he acted? To stop antagonizing people? To be prepared to face the consequences of his actions? He wasn’t used to being so afraid, especially not when it was caused by just one person. If he was so scared, why had he behaved so recklessly, though? Why had he got himself into this mess? Perhaps it was because he was scared that he had behaved this way. It was incredibly stupid regardless, because now he was stuck—stuck in this situation with a boy he had directly harmed and challenged, who had every reason to want revenge on him. And yet Slava’s pride would always trump whatever weak sense of self-preservation he did have—there was no way he just couldn’t show up to at least the first session, regardless of what Nichlas had planned for him.

Still, there was something about the coldness with which Nichlas spoke and regarded him that made Slava wonder if he was in over his head. Technically, Nichlas hadn’t even done anything to justify Slava’s fear of him yet—he hadn’t actually acted particularly cruelly, nor had he cast anything harmful at Slava when given the chance. All he had done was threaten the Russian, and he had a scary attitude and reputation. But that was it. It didn’t make Slava any less afraid—there was still plenty of time for Nichlas to cause damage if he wanted to—but it did make him doubt himself. Why had he hit Nichlas? Because he was scared? Angry? It seemed so unreasonable now that the anger was gone. Unjustified. He wasn’t supposed to be violent, he was kind. So why was it that something in Nichlas awakened that aggression in him? Why was he unable to be even remotely polite to the eighth year when he offered nearly everybody else numerous chances and kindnesses?

He was dragged out of his self-questioning by the sound of Nichlas’s voice. "Have I mentioned yet? Lessons are on Fridays," he said ever so casually. Slava glared half-heartedly. “Why? Is your life really so boring that you have nothing better to do with your Friday evenings?” he questioned icily. “Sounds like you have an awfully sad life. Well, if you want to waste your precious time on me, who am I to stop you?” Truthfully, this irritated him more than he wanted to let on, although Nichlas’s probing gaze would surely be able to infer that. Fridays after class were special, they were a time for relaxation and fun leading into the weekend. Did Nichlas even know what the word fun meant? He had to have something nice to do with his time, didn’t he? Some hobby or something? Why would he want to give up his own Fridays? Was it really just to annoy Slava as much as possible? That’s dedication, I suppose, I’ll give him that. He rolled his eyes. «Ты ублюдок, ты знаешь это?» “You’re a bastard/motherfucker, you know that?” he muttered.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

There was a more quiet to their conversation as it was naturally getting close to an end. If he were to look for more buttons to push now, that would seem desperate rather than showing just what he was capable of so even ich las was willing to let this conversation come to a resting point to be picked up at a later time, such as a tutoring session he was looking more and more forward to. If only to find other creatives ways to ensure Slava wouldn’t dare to punch him again. That action to a certain extent still surprised him as he hadn’t thought that Slava had it in himself to act so impulsively and aggressively towards him. But apparently Slava was full of surprises, wasn’t that what had pulled the sharks attention towards him in the first place?

Again Slava went for an insult that perhaps would have worked against him if Nichlas still cared nowadays what the general opinion about him was, what another’s opinion of him was. But he had long stopped letting others opinions poison his mind and instead had crafted walls so high and steady he was practically untouchable. Such were the reasons he had cast previous thoughts on many matters aside and instead had chosen to simply not care about many of the topics. Such was the topic of Alaric the furthest away from any agreement or disagreement in his mind. What was Nichlas to care about matters that didn’t directly affect him and perhaps that way of thinking was even more cruel than taking a stand against the Muggle population but at least he wouldn’t put them in direct harms way with his absence of empathy.

“I don’t rely much on the ‘when’ during my time, free time is free time no matter when it is scheduled. I also don’t require a social circle to keep myself busy, so my time is precious no matter how I tend to spend it, even when it’s spend tutoring someone like you,” he explained almost lazily. He was aware that this was likely not something Slava could get behind. The social butterfly in him must be reeling at the thought of someone preferring to spend their time mostly by themselves or in Nichlas case with a bare contact to his close friends and contacts. The only person that truly came to mind would be Disa, his estranged best friend and neither of them seemed to find issue in not being practically glued to one another. It simply wasn’t who they were. Most of Nichlas’ free time during his time spent at Durmstrang was used for pretty casual things. There had been a time when he had relied more on social interaction, when he was younger and a duellist of sort he had enjoyed the occasional game of chess or so with some classmates. However he had found himself quickly growing bored due to the lack of competition and challenge he experienced. There rarely ever was someone who could get as into a duel as Nichlas and truly in such situations Nichlas tended to care quite little about some of the restrictions placed on “friendly duels”. Duels weren’t meant to be friendly, they were meant to be a measure of power, wits and adaptability all compressed into a single measure: Survivability.

Nichlas almost smiled smugly when Slava began to cuss in Russian and regarded him with an odd expression. “And here I thought you didn’t enjoy the taste of soap, perhaps I was wrong?” Perhaps another Scouring charm was in order. Nichlas was certainly tempted to use the spell again if only to prove the point for the other not to use swears in his presence. They were simply such a brutish and uncreative way to express oneself. Nichlas tilted his had almost innocently as he raised his wand, despite everything about this having the capability of being the most threatening thing Slava might have to encounter that week, for once an armed Nichlas didn’t seem to come with the usual threat implied. Though who knew how quickly that could change with the press of a button. But for now, it almost looked like Nichlas was bantering with Slava, in that crude and supercilious sense of humor of his. While on a secondary level it also served to observe how the other would react if he found himself in the unfavorable situation of being at wand point again.

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Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky All speech is in Russian unless otherwise specified

"I don’t rely much on the ‘when’ during my time, free time is free time no matter when it is scheduled." That was fine and all, but they were talking about Fridays. Didn’t he care at all? Wouldn’t he at least want some rest after a long school week? Strange boy. Well, whatever, Slava would make sure to annoy him with extra energy until he regretted the choice of time. That was, if he could muster the energy. It seemed that something about Nichlas tended to make him too serious. Too negative. It was like the gloomy aura that surrounded the eighth year seeped into Slava just by his presence, making the Russian prickly instead of positive. He didn’t like it—this wasn’t who he was.

"I also don’t require a social circle to keep myself busy, so my time is precious no matter how I tend to spend it, even when it’s spent tutoring someone like you." Slava rolled his eyes. Did this guy have a life? Why would he consider tutoring Slava precious time? Wasn’t it just a waste of everybody’s time? “Weird choice but okay,” he responded dismissively. What choice was there but to accept the new schedule? He would be viewed as a coward if he didn’t go along with it, and if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a coward. He wouldn’t be backing down. The tutoring and timing was inconvenient and annoying, sure, but how bad could it really be?

Nichlas fixed Slava with an expression that he couldn’t quite decode. "And here I thought you didn’t enjoy the taste of soap, perhaps I was wrong?" «Ох, отъебись,» “Oh, fuck off,” Slava responded, mildly exasperated. What did Nichlas think he was, Slava’s mother? The unpleasant taste of the soap still lingered—if Nichlas did choose to cast again, it would be less effective, although still irritating. The Russian wasn’t particularly bothered, though, even as Nichlas raised his wand with an expression of faux innocence. It didn’t feel much like a threat, not this time, and thus no fear was sparked, only earning Nichlas a raised eyebrow. A Cleaning Charm was nothing to be afraid of. Still, his eyes didn’t leave the wand. “Friday, then?” It was time to wrap this up. Slava needed to put physical distance between them again, even if it was just for a few days.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

Nichlas kept his watchful gaze on the other student, as per usual his face would not betray a single thought that came to mind, which Nichlas was quite aware could be unsettling to many. There was something about someone who looked at you, figuring you out to your core, without pulling a single muscle. A steady gaze, a silent mind. Nichlas was very much aware that Slava too was uncomfortable in his presence and that was a welcome aspect as it often carried an immediate power over others with it. Call him arrogant, but Nichlas enjoyed having the upper hand in encounters.

Another slur, and Nichlas’ mouth twitched as he was tempted to say something. But he figured the exasperated sound of Slava’s voice had a tone of enough defiance and stubbornness that anything Nichlas could say would only egg him on. But he also did not feel that starting another argument was necessary and so he settled for something far simpler and it was quite easy to imagine too, after all Nichlas had the memory of the glitter bomb running on repeat whenever he got annoyed at something or found yet another speck of the glitter somewhere. He was also quite aware, that this idea was likely welcome rather than punishment to the other, but he was beyond caring what the other thought or felt in the moment. This conversation was coming to an end and why not make him remember Nichlas every time he saw his own reflection just like Nichlas was forced to think of Slava whenever he saw his own glitter showered reflection somewhere?

“Crinus Muto,” he therefore settled on a parting gift as he watched the strands of brown hair take on the colors of a bright bubblegum pink. He wondered if Slava would even realize based on his incantation alone what he had done until he found himself seeing his reflection in a passing window or puddle. “Yes, Friday. Be on time,” he added and wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have. Slava seemed to be the type of person to take everything he said as an invite to do the exact opposite. ”I expect you to brush up your history on the spells I used today, I’ll quiz you on them,” he added almost as an afterthought before thinking this had been enough of an encounter, feeling the need to take a shower and rid himself of this dammed glitter. He had to shift his plans for the day and that was annoying in itself. But Nichlas wouldn’t simply let things rest as they were now, he had to take care of the aftermath of happenings such as finding a remedy for the sting of his split lip and the throb of his bruise along his jaw. Slava was Lucky he had been in a jovial enough mood to spare him in spite of his poor behavior. After all anything that Nichlas might have done could be categorized as self defense. But Nichlas had other plans and more things he needed to get done before he truly could antagonize the other, even if Slava made it quite easy to get upset. Actually he seemed to enjoy that game with fire and Nichlas would have to remind him one day how foolish that was. But Nichlas too felt himself unable to stop looking for buttons to press, even after he had been punched. This budding rivalry was just what his brain needed and so he would lean into it and challenge Slava at full force, once he had tested the other’s boundaries a bit more first. It wouldn’t do to fully scare him off too quickly, even though he doubted that Slava wanted to run away any longer as he too seemed to gain something out of this. Perhaps excitement? How weird for the sunshine of Durmstrang to be a thrill seeker. He exited the situation then, leaving Slava to mull over the spell he had cast.

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Writing as approved Durmstrang iNPC Vyacheslav Aleksandrovich Preobrazhensky All speech is in Russian unless otherwise specified

Nichlas fixed him with another of those unreadable stares. How was it possible to be so intense and yet so emotionless at the same time? Slava fought the urge to squirm, again wanting nothing more than to get far, far away from Nichlas. But Slava wasn’t the type to run. He had always faced danger head-on, and no amount of fear could prevent him from doing that. Nichlas was unnerving, and if Slava knew what was best for him, perhaps he would have chosen to run. Unfortunately for his self-preservation, though, he was incredibly stubborn.

Slava watched as Nichlas’s mouth twitched, and then there was a pause before he spoke again—but this time, it wasn’t a sentence. It was a spell—and not the Cleaning Charm, for that matter. The Russian was too slow to figure that out, allowing him no time to dodge, but no immediate harm came to him. The stray curls that hovered next to his eyes caught his attention, though, as they suddenly… changed color? He lifted a hand to pull one down further so he could better examine it. Pink. How interesting. He wasn’t exactly sure what Nichlas had intended for him to feel, but there was a quiet sort of joy sparked by the change in hair color. He looked at the other boy, head tilted slightly to the side, mildly bewildered. “Thanks? I like pink.” If you couldn’t tell from the glitter bomb. Now we can both be pink, I guess?

“Yes, Friday. Be on time.” “Sure, whatever,” he responded, knowing full well he probably wouldn’t be. “I expect you to brush up your history on the spells I used today, I’ll quiz you on them.” Mildly irritating, as everything about Nichlas was, but not terrible. They were simple enough spells, and only two of them. That wasn’t so hard, right? Still awfully boring, though. Unless it meant that Slava could practice by changing Nichlas’s hair color. He had the feeling that the Swede wouldn’t be quite as receptive to it as Slava had been, though, and he would probably just change it back immediately—boring, again.

Slava watched Nichlas leave, the tension he hadn’t realized he had been holding in his muscles slowly releasing, his shoulders lowering as he took a deep breath, running his fingers through his now-pink hair. What the hell had just happened? Well, he had wanted a reaction and to provoke Nichlas in return for the Quidditch game, and he had most certainly done that. But at what cost? Something about Nichlas had made him so annoyed that he resorted to violence, and as much as he enjoyed the adrenaline that a physical fight could bring, he wasn’t a violent person. That just wasn’t his nature. He was positive, he was energetic, he was someone people could always count on to hype them up. He didn’t like causing harm, not really. There was too much of that in this world, and he had always hoped for something better. To create something better himself. He made sure that all of his friends would always receive kindness and affection from him, and if he did nothing else, at least he improved their lives that little bit.

And yet he had deliberately hurt Nichlas—who was admittedly still nearly a stranger, but Slava tried to be nice to everyone. What had he hurt him over? Some words? The promise of tutoring? That really wasn’t so bad, and if it did turn out to be truly awful, all he had to do was just stop showing up. Actual violence was undeserved. So why had he done it? He rubbed his temples, frowning slightly. Aggression was linked to anger, obviously. But was anger what he really felt towards Nichlas? It had been true in the moment, sure, but above all, he was aware that he was scared. Why? And if he really felt fear, wouldn’t he want to stay away from Nichlas? Well, he did want to, but there was also this damn curiosity—this desire to see what happened, to not back out, because for better or worse, this was only the beginning. Whether it was the desire to elicit reactions, the cycle of revenge, or the desire to understand that motivated them was unclear. Maybe it was just for the thrill of it.

Slava didn’t think he would ever have the ability to understand Nichlas. The Swede was perplexing—one moment taunting, the next smug, then so incredibly cold he looked like he had never learned to smile. But what was more confusing and enticing was the clear existence of something deeper beyond all that distant calculation. That was what he was curious about—the anger that had finally emerged when pushed too far, and then whatever else drove such unpredictable decisions as the chosen spells. Nichlas didn’t want to let him in, and Slava truly had no interest in being friends given their current animosity, but the Russian would carve his own path to figuring him out. He had to at least gain some approximation of how Nichlas worked, even if it was just to annoy him better. And those cracks in the perfect mask were his entryway. It was certainly an interesting game they were playing, if a precariously perilous one, but Slava had had enough of this for today. He wandered outside, planning to exercise, seeking a distraction. What an interesting predicament he had found himself in with this one.

Slava has left the thread.