Glint in the Fog PV Mikael Finished

“A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning.”
--James Dickey

Back near Mikael’s bunk, a simple brown leather bag lay in disarray. Various contents, mostly clothing, clung to the duffle’s mouth as they narrowly escaped contact with the ground. Upon inspection, the contents inside would have been shuffled about but only one object was missing: Mikael’s Russian hunting knife. Mikael's broom lay unusually far out of the bag with respect to its originally deeper position. A new object perched suspiciously next to the bag, leaning neatly against Mik's bunk: a weathered quidditch bat. Certainly there was no reason the bat should have been there, lost as it was from its context in space and time. Would Mikael recognize the bat as his own, from beater days long passed?

Meanwhile, in the local quidditch stand, an albino boy lay in the grass of the pitch directly in front of the entrance. With nobody scheduled to use the pitch, it was unlikely for Valentin to be stepped on by anyone desperate to practice, especially considering the weather. A thick fog crept along from the edge of the dark woods, hovering on the edge of consuming the stadium. Only the truly mad would think to play quidditch now while such an impenetrable wall of white loomed.



Valentin had planted a trap, baiting his prey just as he had practiced ever since he was a tiny round pearl of a kid. Originally thoughtless childhood schemes had since developed into much more carefully orchestrated games using observation and consideration. The disaster that was Mikael’s bag now was, for Niffler, a beacon of summons. None of Mik’s items got dirty, nothing unintended would go lost due to thoughtless positioning, and indeed, the white niffler had never once failed to reunite a shiny with its original owner eventually. At its root, Niffler’s game was not intended to harm. Nowadays especially, Valentin rarely stole anything without having a very specific purpose in mind.

Opening his silver-violet eyes and staring up at the gathering fog, Valentin thought of the face Mikael would make upon discovering his bag. Would it be the same face as the one he would wear when confronting the white niffler? Would he try to hide his anger behind a shell of consideration, or would he show Valentin an unbridled rage? Ever since the two had first met, Valentin had kept an eye on Mikael, as well as his possessions. If Mikael had a lower rate of losing items than the average student, it might have had something to do with Valentin's invisible hand, keeping items from leaving their owners on accident. Knowing it was significant enough for Mik to haul around with him whenever he travelled, Niffler had forgone stealing the knife for years despite the temptation to gain momentary attention. No, theft had become far more important than that.

Since the cursed day that Valentin fell from the sky and lost his luck and his team, Mikael had never seemed the same. Rather, Mik had grown dark, as well as a lot more straightforward. With time, Valentin only grew more observant, especially due to his obsessive seeker and pre-tournament training. Yet, even without these reasons, Valentin had grown more interested in who Mikael was. The default love of Mik as the dear team mate who had bled and sweat with him was maturing into a deeper interest in what made Mik who he was. At its root, Mikael’s transformation into someone more genuine piqued the niffler’s interest. Valentin himself was a terribly blunt person with no patience for false pretense in social games and etiquette. He would rather be hit in the head with a bludger than endure meaningless banter. More than anything, the attention-loving niffler wanted genuine praise and love instead of polite cheering or obligatory grandstanding. The only real victory for Valentin was one reflected back in genuine, joyful eyes.

Whatever it was that was overcoming Mikael, Valentin did not sense that all was right with it. Just being around Mikael, and Yefim for that matter, sent darker chills up Valentin’s spine than ever. An oily shadow trailed them, running off as flammable tar fueling niffler’s love for danger and daring stunts even hotter. That was exactly it-- the two felt more dangerous now. While this effect made it more exciting for the thrillseeker to be around the pair, it left Valentin concerned for what was behind the shroud of darkness wafting off of them. Were they really alright? They wouldn’t succumb to anything actually self-destructive, would they? Why had they become this way? The questions spun themselves around endlessly like worms in the dark depths of the earth.

There was something else about Mik, too. Valentin couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn't the same as with Yefim, whose dramatic changes Valya also observed intently. This was the greatest mystery for the white seeker, but also the most difficult to grapple with.

Rolling onto his side, Valentin looked at his little red quidditch duffle and the Silver Arrow that lay atop it, quick at hand. Even with the diffuse light of the foggy sky, the broom still glinted like mercury. It wasn't the same broom as from that fateful day, as Valentin couldn't bear to look at that one anymore, but even the new broom seemed to crystallize all Valya's memories like a looking glass. That was the kind of object any broom was for him-- just like a bonfire, looking upon it would open a portal for trapped memories. Turning his head quickly, Valentin looked over in the other direction, at the stands. There was a player bench, like where Yefim and Mikael had sat, helplessly watching the team's doomsday unfold. Turning back to the sky now, Valentin shut his eyes, but even then, there could be no comforting black. The bright white of the daylight illuminated the red glow of his eyelids as the boy waited to be discovered.

God mods of quidditch gear and general scenario approved in advance.
Mentioning/Interacting: @Percival Rainwood as Mikael Halldorson.
Weather determined by random roll. Bag description based on previous thread.