How Bad Can It Be? PV Slava Reopened

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

It was Friday. Fridays should be good—they marked the beginning of the weekend, a time for relaxation and fun. But on this particular Friday, there was a rather unpleasant activity waiting for him at the end of the day, growing ever closer as the hours passed. The nerves really started to hit as he ate dinner, unable to stomach the full amount of food he normally ate, mind clouded with worry. He understood now that he had made several mistakes during the course of his interactions with Nichlas—he could feel the danger that had been created from angering the other. As much as he loved causing reactions, he wished he could take this back—he hadn’t been thinking right and, as such, he had landed himself in a situation that he quite possibly wouldn’t be able to handle.

But while he wished he had never met Nichlas, the reality was that he had. And even despite all the anger and frustration and fear that Slava had experienced as a result of their interactions, the Russian was unbearably curious about Nichlas. There was the idle, surface-level curiosity that involved Slava poking at the other boy to see what reactions would occur, but there was also something deeper—he wanted to see what was beyond the masks, to worm his way through the cracks he had managed to discover, to understand what really made Nichlas tick. So, even if his competitive, stubborn nature hadn’t been enough to ensure that he would show up today, the curiosity would do the trick. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

He dragged his feet as he slowly made his way towards the classroom. He was just delaying the inevitable and he knew it, but surely every minute that he was late meant a minute less that Nichlas could keep him there. Besides, he couldn’t pass up a chance to annoy the Swede. It was his own fault, really, for specifically telling Slava to be on time. What had he expected would happen when he said that? He should have known better—now that it was several minutes past the expected time, Slava had reached the door and stood outside it. Just go in. It would be fine, he could handle it, why was it such a big deal?

But as he stood there, his recent feelings started to catch up with him. Today, he didn’t even need the scary gloom of Nichlas’s presence to sour his mood. For the past few days, his typical sunshiny nature had been hidden behind dark clouds. It had begun with the confrontation with Nichlas on Saturday, and it had only got worse from there. In short, he had made some decisions that he wasn’t proud of, and now he had to deal with the consequences. But the reality was that no external consequences had come, at least not immediately. The only consequences so far had been internal—emotional turmoil from the conflict between different aspects of his morals. Truthfully, Slava had been doing everything he could to try to push the topic out of his mind, but the thoughts kept coming back—the self-doubt, the blood on his hands—and it made him feel sick.

The nerves sparked by the promise of this tutoring session didn’t help, either, but at the very least, this could be a distraction that should force him to stay in the present moment. But he had hurt Nichlas, too—he had punched him over such a small matter—and so that guilty feeling lingered. He swallowed as he reached for the door. He could be brave and keep it together. This would be fine. And even if it wasn’t, he deserved whatever Nichlas decided to throw at him. His heart beat faster as he opened the door, feeling another wave of nausea as he met Nichlas’s gaze. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before closing the door behind him and taking a few steps forward.

He should probably say something—crack a joke, make some teasing or insulting comment, just anything to break the silence. But he couldn’t. He averted his eyes, too aware of the racing of his heart and of the way their last encounter had played out. He didn’t know what to say—all the possibilities that came to mind either required energy he couldn’t quite muster right now or felt inappropriate for the situation. Maybe he should just turn around and leave. It didn’t feel worth putting himself through this for their stupid competition. He didn’t even want to look at Nichlas, let alone talk to him or fight him. Was this defeat? He sighed softly, running his fingers through his hair. Come on, get a grip. He looked back up at Nichlas, pulling together what confidence and energy he could, desperately trying to ignore his real feelings. His lips twisted into a slight smirk. “So, where do we begin?”

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

With his gaze trained on the door, the Swede sat against the teacher's desk with a tense face, the waves of trickling annoyance and unopportune situations tearing at his stoic expression. With nothing else to do he had been almost counting the minutes as his fingers drummed against the wooden material. When he saw the first rattle of the door knob, the drumming stopped and there was almost an expectant quiet as the corner of his mouth twisted into a smug expression, almost cruelly so as watched the door being pushed open. Almost in tact with the movement of the door, he pushed himself off the table and took in the other boy with a steady gaze.

"You are late," he observed in a clipped voice. As expected the other boy looked quite bruised, similar to the third year he had spoken to two days prior. There was also something quite different about the other boy, an almost coy feeling that seemed out of place and it was quite annoying to deal with. If he was so glum this entire session Nichlas might as well call it early, after all with his mind not in the present Slava would hardly learn anything. What was it that had gotten the other one in such a sour mood? Nichlas gave a sigh as he sized the other up once more to give himself an image of the others injuries and ended his small inspection with a tsk sound. "Come on in then, don't just stand there, you are wasting my already 'boring' time and I have things to do after this," he remarked as he walked past Slava and pushed close the door. Locked in with a bored shark, the dulled sunshine was hardly living up to expectations right now. A rare jab at himself to simply mock the words Slava had used to describe his free time, an observation the Russian boy had made in the spur of a moment and this is where their differences lay, Nichlas observed and attacked and Slava did and reflected, hence the fight and the dull mood he could only assume and he was far from equipped to cuddle someone to make them feel better. So either Slava adapted or they would both have a bad time for this hour.

"Do you remember the task I had given you or were you too busy starting fights with little kids to do your reading?" he asked in an almost challenge, raising his eyebrow as he took out two text books, one that read "A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration" and the other one titled "Book of Spells". "After we are done with the theory, I guess a bit of practice on how to settle things in the Wizarding world couldn't go amiss,", he hummed as he waited for the other to sit down. His gaze trailed over Slava's face that showed some of the bruises and made a displeased face. "And here I thought blue was my colour, this bruised up look hardly suits you," he commented as he pulled a displeased face.

"So brutish," he muttered under his breath and sighed. Well he had to make the best out of the situation and if the chance presented itself push the buttons that would make Slava snap back to reality rather than this dreary husk that gnawed at his patience. "Did you bring your own things to work with?" remembering the fact that Slava had entered the room pretty empty handed as he silenty judged the fact, well perhaps not as silent as his expression spoke volumes. If Slava thought he was going to go easy on him, because he had decided to get himself into fights the first week of school, he had to re-evaluate his opinions of Nichlas. He had work to do, Slava seemed wholly unprepared and his mind was practically absent. He tapped on "Book of Spells" and gave a tilt of his head and the familiar smile of a shark ready to make chase,

"Find the charm I told you to prepare for, or do you need a demonstration to help your memory along?"

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

"You are late." “How observant,” Slava mumbled, caring little about that fact. He still didn’t quite meet Nichlas’s eyes, especially as the other seemed to almost be examining him, finishing with a “tsk”. Rude. Then again, to be fair, Slava had definitely looked better—while bruises were common for him, typically they were from clumsiness or foolish recklessness rather than fights. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been sleeping well the past few days, either. He was tired, emotionally a mess, and just altogether wholly unprepared for this. Nevertheless, he was here, as Nichlas so kindly reminded him with his comment about wasting his time, and that meant they both had to just deal with it.

“You’re the one who chose to do this, remember? If you had better things to do, you should have thought about that before.” Every time he responded like this, Slava knew he was pushing it. Nichlas was the type to demand respect and there was a risk that, sooner or later, Slava’s insolence might cause him to snap. After all, all the Russian had done was push and poke simply to see what the reactions would be, and Nichlas had, so far, been doing a remarkable job at mostly staying calm even despite that. But it was clear that Slava would not stop unless forced to—even now, when he was feeling so down and desperately wanted to avoid all of this, he still couldn’t bring himself to attempt even an approximation of politeness.

"Do you remember the task I had given you or were you too busy starting fights with little kids to do your reading?" “So little faith. Yes, I remember.” Wait. Starting fights with little kids? How did he know about that? It had only been three days, and he doubted Alaric would have run crying to Nichlas of all people. How had he found out, then? Had Alaric been talking about it or was it just Nichlas being creepily aware of everything that occurred? Slava stared for a moment, frowning slightly. “What... did you mean by that last part…?” He could be mistaken. Maybe Nichlas wasn’t talking about the fight with Alaric at all, maybe there was something else it could mean. Yeah, surely there was some other explanation.

Nichlas set the books on the table and Slava reluctantly sat down. "After we are done with the theory, I guess a bit of practice on how to settle things in the Wizarding world couldn't go amiss." Oh. Great. That sounded like a threat—that was a threat, right? Or did he just want Slava to turn to magic over his fists? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t want to have to do either right now. He was done with violence, at least outside of what was required by sports and class, although he supposed this was sort of an extension of class. Still, he would rather avoid it where possible. Then again, Nichlas would probably be the one… demonstrating, or at least that was what Slava’s interpretation of the other’s words indicated. Maybe Slava could just dodge or something defensive if that was what was going to happen, though.

"And here I thought blue was my colour, this bruised up look hardly suits you." Why did he have to bring that up? Couldn’t he just leave it be? “Oh, really? Well, if it’s your color, I could make it so we match.” He raised an eyebrow. With Slava’s tone ambiguous, Nichlas would likely have to take the threat seriously, considering what had happened last time they met—not that he would be scared, of course, but it would follow naturally that he should be approaching with more caution if he wanted to avoid getting punched again. Nevertheless, the words were just words—it was entirely an empty threat. Slava had absolutely no intention of punching Nichlas again—even just making the threat had made a small part of him hurt in protest. He really just wanted to be left alone, especially about this.

"Did you bring your own things to work with?" Nichlas asked. Shit. Bringing books hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of his mind, especially since Nichlas hadn’t mentioned it before. Besides, it was right after dinner! Was he supposed to just bring books to dinner after he had already put stuff away earlier? Would Nichlas have preferred him to be even later? “No…” Well, what did it really matter? Nichlas surely had whatever they would need. Still, Slava tried to avoid looking at that awfully judgemental expression that was being directed at him. He didn’t need to have the books if Nichlas had already brought them. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress Nichlas or anything, so this was the better option, really, as it was more likely to annoy him.

Nichlas tapped on the book, giving Slava one of those stupid, dangerous smiles of his. "Find the charm I told you to prepare for, or do you need a demonstration to help your memory along?" Slava grimaced. The taste of soap would be particularly unpleasant considering he had just finished dinner not that long ago. “No thanks. I’m sure I can manage.” He flicked to the third chapter, slowing down as he got closer, stopping at the Scouring Charm. He glanced up at Nichlas expectantly, waiting for further information about what he wanted. Preferably not to cast it on Slava again—there were far worse things that could happen, but the taste of soap was just nasty, and he would rather not have to deal with that.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

Despite the other students giving him flak, there was little challenge in his tone. He was absolutely avoiding Nichlas' eyes too like a kicked puppy and that was just dreadfully out of character and disappointingly boring at the direct invitation to an argument. Nichlas had half a mind to shake his head at the Russian if that didn't require admitting that he was acknowledging the others mood and his underlaying desire to see the brutish wit again that had actually led them to the point they were at now.

"I chose this to happen at 6pm, and you have managed to be late and thus delayed our schedule. Congratulations." he reminded Slava pointedly with a raised eyebrow. There was almost no intonation or hint of sarcasm in the deadpan voice he spoke, the passive aggressiveness sharp enough one couldn't be surprised if it managed to cut. There also was that hidden warning in his words, Slava had disrupted his schedule and thus better thread carefully from here on out as his schedule and order of things was one of the things he didn't excuse someone messing with. And Slava had done so on more than one occassion, starting with that dreaded glitter bomb he had managed to trick the Swede with. Nichlas was not one to forgive easily, he held grudges that lasted years, if not eternities.

But he wouldn't let himself get caught up over this, moving on smoothly as he sensed the opportunity that he had indeed found a button to push, that was so obvious it might as well be glowing... or covered in glitter as it got caught by sunlight. Nichlas had smelled blood and he would not simply let go off the opportunity to dig around and figure out the workings of Slava's mind. “What... did you mean by that last part…?” and there it was, the opportunity. He gave a knowing smile as he watched the fown on the others face form. The confusion, as he began to piece things together, noticing just exactly the Swede had uttered. It was almost fascinating to watch the expressions shift until there was a push, when Slava's expression closed off. Nichlas was unsure if that was the disbelief or sheer obsurdity the younger boy must be feeling right now at the situation. Nichlas' smile widened and he stepped closer to get a better look at the bruises. "Why, your fight with Alaric of course. Quite the lesson you taught him, but you could have done a better job at covering your tracks. It took me all but Wednesday morning to find what you had done," he informed the other with a sardonic gleam in his eyes, his smile as sharp as ever.

“Oh, really? Well, if it’s your color, I could make it so we match.” Nichlas gave a smug smile as he regarded the other boy. What courage to speak in such a manner to him, just after he had reconfirmed how easily the other boy was to intimidate. "So.... brutish," he commented, speaking casually yet almost challenging. "Bruises are easily taken care of, however. Unless you are anything like that German kid who has more pride than suits him," he continued as he nonchalantly produced something from his bag. It took him seconds to get what he wanted from his bag, knowing exactly where he had put it previously, as he carefully handled a little glass jar with a airtight lid. Within a thick, yellow cream as he carefully sat it onto the table. "You are even more ridiculous to look at bruised up like that, as we are 'friends' I will be kind enough to fix that," he jabbed at him smugly as he unstoppered the Bruise removal paste. "It is very unlikely to be poisoned, you need nothing but faith in my Potioneering skills. If you are brave enough, I could apply it," Nichlas offered smugly as he got out a little satchel that contained pliers and cotton swabs. There was a challenge in his words for sure. The gears would soon start turning in Slava's head once more and Nichlas would watch in hidden glee as other boy processed what the Swede said. "All you need is a little trust," he underlined the challenge with a smirk.

"Once we turn to more practical application and practice spell work, I don't want you injured, your sheer lack of skill will make the combat pitiful enough as is," he added in an afterthought, adding more fuel to the dimmed ambers, an attempt to make the ambers consume it and become flames once more. Flames that would indeed cause him a worthy challenge. He needed to somehow light the spark in Slava's brain and bring him to the present, after all he would otherwise just be wasting his time trying to get anything into the other boy's thick skull. What had gotten him this depressed in the first place was still an unsolved puzzle. It almost seemed like he felt bad about the Alaric situation, when in repercussion to Alaric's vexatiousness it was all but deserved and of course Slava's brutish behavior in all momemts Nichlas had met him just made such remore quite impossible to buy. Was this part of the act to keep up his image? Then why was it that the remorse actually felt believable? Nichlas narrowed his eyes slightly at the Russian, infuriated at the mixed signals that caused Nichlas to question his judgment.

He gave a nod when Slava turned the book to the page he had requested and gave a slight hum. "Tell me as much about the spells history as you remember of it," he tasked the other boy and gave a quick glance at his book, before looking at Slava,

"Without looking at the textbook of course."

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

"I chose this to happen at 6pm, and you have managed to be late and thus delayed our schedule. Congratulations." Slava winced at the tone. Okay, Nichlas wasn’t wrong about that, but surely he hadn’t truly expected Slava to be on time. It was hardly surprising enough to deserve such a response. “So what?” The words left his mouth before he could think, instantly regretting it considering Nichlas’s threatening demeanor. But it was too late. Once something was said, it couldn’t be taken back, and Slava had to at least show enough confidence in himself to stand by his words and not backtrack straight away. Maybe they could just move on?

However, the next topic wasn’t favorable either. Nichlas stepped closer and Slava immediately leaned away instinctively, his expression uncharacteristically hard, uncomfortable under the other’s gaze. Then came the words he had been dreading when he had foolishly hoped for some other explanation for Nichlas’s earlier comment. No, he wouldn’t be lucky enough to be provided with an alternative, and he had known that even as he had tried to deny it to himself. "Why, your fight with Alaric of course." Slava visibly tensed and took a step back, the nauseous feeling returning even more strongly. Not only did he have to deal with this inescapable guilt, but now others knew what he had done. Nichlas knew. Why did he, of all people, have to be one of the first to find out? Slava should have expected it, really—Nichlas seemed to have a knack for finding out too much about people too quickly—but that still didn’t make it any better.

There was a sharp inhale as Slava reminded himself to breathe. His expression was far too blank as he stared at Nichlas, unsure himself of what exactly he was feeling. He barely even heard the rest of what the other boy said, too busy trying to find some way to regulate the emotions that were increasingly spiraling out of control. "It took me all but Wednesday morning to find what you had done." “How…?” Find what you had done. Find what you had done. The words repeated themselves in his head, made worse by the fact that Nichlas was just smiling. In that moment, Slava seriously considered leaving, simply heading out the door and not looking back. But even now, he couldn’t let himself run. Not after all this. Besides, he didn’t truly believe he would be able to escape the situation even if he did exit the room. It would be a respite, but one that was all too temporary. He would see Nichlas again, he would see Alaric again and these feelings were just going to be brought up again and again and again…

He forced himself to stay still, resisting the urge to leave or to pace around the room, because that was a demonstration of vulnerability that he couldn’t afford right now—not in the presence of someone like Nichlas, who was deliberately probing for such weakness. Ordinarily, Slava still wouldn’t particularly care—he wasn’t typically concerned about being perceived as vulnerable or weak, there were much more important and fun things to think about than others’ perceptions of himself—but this was different. This went beyond just the challenging competition the pair shared, too. This was something that was actually meaningful to Slava—it hurt and he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want Nichlas to see him crumble under the weight of the guilt from his own actions, so instead he was left standing rigidly before he sat down, lips pressed together in a thin line that indicated his unwillingness to speak about this.

He ignored Nichlas’s comment about his supposed “brutishness”, shrugging slightly. If Nichlas was going to press the topic when Slava very clearly didn’t want to discuss it, then he might get responses that were unfavorable to him. It just made logical sense. "Bruises are easily taken care of, however." Slava was in half a mind to say something along the lines of “oh, so you don’t mind that, then?” but quickly decided against it. He didn’t want to continue the discussion of violence, after all, especially since just saying something threatening that he knew he wouldn’t even follow through with had made him feel bad.

Nichlas reached into his bag, making Slava feel awfully on edge again, but the Swede just took out a jar. When it was placed on the table, Slava regarded it warily, as if it posed some sort of threat. "You are even more ridiculous to look at bruised up like that, as we are 'friends' I will be kind enough to fix that." Slava frowned. “What? Why?” Was this some sort of trick? Slava didn’t understand. Why would Nichlas look so smug if it wasn’t a trap that he was setting? "It is very unlikely to be poisoned, you need nothing but faith in my potioneering skills." “Very unlikely?” he repeated, eyebrows raised. “How… reassuring.”

"If you are brave enough, I could apply it." And there it was. The challenge. Nichlas knew that Slava wouldn’t be able to refuse, and that was irritating. If he went along with it, he was just being predictable and showing Nichlas that he could get Slava to do whatever he wanted as long as he made it resemble a dare. But if Slava didn’t go along with it, he would be giving into his nerves as well as failing this test. He didn’t feel like he had been given an actual choice. Anything he could do would just be unfavorable for him. There was no winning, Nichlas’s wording had made sure of that. So how was he even supposed to make the choice if he knew nothing would be good? What was he supposed to base it off of?

It didn’t really matter what he chose, did it? He didn’t even care that much about the downsides of these decisions right now, too preoccupied with how bad he was feeling. Nichlas’s offer certainly wasn’t making him feel any better, even if he was technically saying he would help Slava. It felt so wrong. There was the challenge in his words and that frustrating, scary smile ever-present, and it made Slava unable to settle down, feeling thoroughly unnerved. "All you need is a little trust." Slava suppressed the urge to shiver. He couldn’t trust Nichlas, he knew that, and that made the statement even worse.

But what did Slava want to do, putting Nichlas’s “encouragement” aside? The dull ache of the bruises reminded him of their presence, and although he had grown used to the feeling of being bruised and didn’t particularly mind, it seemed foolish to refuse help when there was something right there that could make the bruises go away. Maybe he deserved to wait the bruises out without magic, though. Shouldn’t there be something he had to bear as a consequence of the fight? He shouldn’t be allowed to come away untouched from such a horrible act. Even without the bruises, though, he wasn’t untouched by what had happened, because he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t get rid of the feeling that every inch of him was marked by bloodshed, dripping with it.

As bad as he felt about the fight, he couldn’t just sit here in silence. He should be concerning himself more with the present, given that Nichlas’s offer did still require an answer. Slava found that he had now stopped caring about whether it might be some sort of trap, his unease about “trusting” the Swede having faded when the question of whether he even deserved to be healed had taken over his thoughts. Still, it was one thing to passively opt out of going to the nurse or healing himself; it was another to directly say no to help when it was right in front of him. And Nichlas had brought up pride, too—couldn’t Slava recognize when something could potentially help him? Would he really refuse that?

He closed his eyes for a brief second, sighing. “Fine. But we’re not friends,” Slava insisted, correcting Nichlas’s earlier word choice. He really hoped he wouldn’t regret agreeing to this. "Once we turn to more practical application and practice spell work, I don’t want you injured, your sheer lack of skill will make the combat pitiful enough as is." Slava’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Wow. Thank you for your undying faith.” He scoffed, forcibly ignoring the spark of worry that had been caused by Nichlas’s words. Slava needed to just stay focused on what was currently happening, not what might happen or what had happened.

Nichlas had told him to explain the history of the Scouring Charm without looking at the textbook, eliciting an eye roll from Slava. The Russian did as requested, though, and once he had recited the spell’s history, he added, “You know that’s not an actual challenge? It’s such a basic spell, I’d hope I’d know that.” Although, maybe he should be grateful that he was being asked about something genuinely easy—he didn’t actually want to do something harder. It was just annoying that Nichlas seemed to think that Slava couldn’t even do this. The mild agitation made him suddenly restless, and he glanced briefly at the door before returning his gaze to Nichlas’s general vicinity, resisting the urge to look at the book instead like he might have otherwise, lest Nichlas think Slava had felt the need to double check his answers. No, he could handle this just fine.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

Nichlas raised an eye at the "So what?" and gave a disapproving shake of his head. "So," he began to explain simply, "you are searching for a way to blame me or at the very least act defiant over something you have caused." The Swede eyed the boy, who seemed a mess at the very moment. More so than what he was used to seeing. He had violent lashed out during their first encounter, once more at their next meeting in school and once more when encountering Alaric. Though Nichlas would hardly call the latter a case of lashing out as it was a planned and calculated attack on the younger year. For a moment the thought of how this would affect the reputation of the school if word had spread. Things could quickly turn ugly and people were nasty. He doubted Slava wanted to tarnish his reputation so something must have pushed him to grow careless despite that. "You see, I have no issues playing tutor with you and now with the professor knowing I am tutoring you with the goal to better your grades my reputation is on the line too. So you being late is officially affecting us both, for that reason it seems to be only fair to end this session late," Nichlas decided to explain graciously. Not that he thought Slava could actually put a dent in his reputation if he tried, but that did not mean he would want to give the other boy many chances to attempt doing so either way. He would be quick to put a stop to it. "Not that you could even begin to dream of actually hurting my reputation," he regarded for good measure, giving that sharkish smile of his to underline his point.

A sharp inhale, a single word born of disbelief and panic evident on the smaller boy's face. Nichlas raised a single eyebrow in response and gave himself a heartbeat of time to respond, which also added some dramatic pause he would make use of. "Well you hardly have been subtle about it," he explained with a aloof attitude as if the matter of the fight happening and him finding out so quickly was nothing to be very surprised about. Which, to be fair, from Nichlas perspective it was not. He was perceptive and aware of things most usually would pay less attention to. Knowing, expecting and being aware of what was going on in the world and minds around him, gave the Swedish lad a sense of control he would very much miss. He liked the security of a predictable mind and yet found the prospect of interacting with those he had managed to figure out too fast, dreadfully boring after just a few moments of conversation. And even those that caught his attention and puzzled his brain for a while were usually predictable or quite unentertaining to begin with. Most anyone was doomed to follow a pattern. The thought of a glitter bomb from a guy most frightened during their first and only encounter invaded his mind and his eyes narrowed at Slava momentarily as he banished the idea of someone doing things he could not have anticipated if he tried. "In fact, it almost seemed like you wanted to get caught. Tell me, has the encounter given you what you wanted to achieve with it? He certainly did not seem to have learned any lessons from you, last I spoke with him." Perhaps it was cruel of the Swede to poke at Slava in this moment, as anyone could have seen the discomfort the situation brought to the Russian.

There were few words he managed to steal from the brunette and being the only one to keep dialoging even though Nichlas loved the sound of his own voice would hardly manage to entertain the Swede for long, their content only added to the desire to find the button that would allow the other boy to drop the act of self pity and get back to being obnoxious. How could he truly bother him with that tutoring session of his, if his default mood was already that of a kicked puppy. Which was ironic truly, as it was Slava who had done most of the kicking. Amusement tugged at his facial features before he returned to the almost smug faced delivery of his offer.

Nichlas gave a slight tilt of his head that revealed none of the intentions he could have had. Why, indeed, had Nichlas offered the other the paste that could mend him? And while it certainly would make practice easier, there also was the simple contradiction that many of the Swede's actions seemed to entail, yet the wall of thick brick and stone had disguised any thoughts or intentions that could have been underlying. Well, or perhaps the Swede just felt like it in this quite gracious moment. "I am simply a nice guy trying to help out those that cannot help themselves," he spoke with dry sarcasm, before waiting for the other to properly catch on. Then there was almost, uncharacteristically so, a pause before the Swede added, "I am sure you will find my potioneering skills up par to that of a master in the skill." If he had even a doubt in his words the security in which he stated the sentence wouldn't betray it. It was of course not unlike him to see him among the best and so it was up to the other to judge his sincerity. However the amount of confidence Nichlas had in himself surely would not come from empty words, after all they were both aware that Nichlas' threats were not empty either. Many could attest to that, including one Alaric who had decided it wise to forget himself in front of Nichlas now more than once. Perhaps Nichlas was cruel and one to twist words to his own amusement, but he was not a dishonest person. Far from it, actually.

"Either way, settle down," he murmured as he half leaned against, half sat on the desk that Slava was occupying as to be more steady for what followed. Almost carefully, he reached out with his left hand and grasped Slava by the chin and tilting it to face him. Gone was some of the smugness that Nichlas usually carried like a gown, instead it was replaced by an almost cool yet practical demeanor. Almost cool fingers tilted the chin slightly sidewise to get a good look at the bruises he might have otherwise missed before almost methodically taking the pliers with the cotton swab and dipping it into the paste. After all hygiene came first. He wiped off any of the excess at the edge of the tub before facing back to the Russian and raised the swab to his face and began to apply it to the roughest looking bruise, meanwhile his own skin was almost cooling to the touch. If the situation bothered him, he did not show it, there was an almost different air to the Swede in the way he maneuvered the situation. In swift dabs he applied the paste to the bruises on the other's face before at last giving a satified hum when the first aid was successfully administered. However as soon as he let go of the chin and stood up that damned smugness was back,

"See? No harm done, Sunshine."

“Wow. Thank you for your undying faith.” the other boy said and Nichlas almost smirked at that with a raised eyebrow. "I have nothing but faith in the failure of others," he responded nonchalantly, as he packed away the paste. Before putting back his pliers, he picked an an antiseptic wipe from the bag and cleaned off the pliers prior to moving away to throw away the cotton swab and used wipe he had just used. Once more he seemed to operate in a certain order that spoke method and hygiene, something he was sure was a foreign concept to the other boy who carried glitter like a weapon and threw punches to make points.

“You know that’s not an actual challenge? It’s such a basic spell, I’d hope I’d know that.” Nichlas knew that Slava would have known of it, but it was better safe to be sorry and there was something entirely satisfying about getting on the other's nerves. The Swede nodded before flipping the page to a seemingly random page, "The Blasting Curse. Is this more up to your standards then? It's a spell that pairs greatly with a unmoving target," he said with an aggravating casualness as he flipped to another seemingly random page in the book. Yet when he turned two more pages it showed the Full Body-Bind Curse right there. Overall the book looked, despite being in marvelous condition, well-read, as if he thumbed through it often, which at this point should hardly come as a surprise to Slava. "I guess we can practice those two," he finalized the decision and waited for Slava's reaction. Knowing the boy at least one if not both of these spells would prove a challenge to him. But was this not what these lectures were about? To challenge the other into improving, raise his grade not only to better the other but to not lose face in front of the professor he had included in his plans of revenge more or less. No matter what, the Swede was ready to make the best of his time, he was sure that endless challenges and an equal amount of arguments would await the both of them now.

After all their dance had only just begun...

==

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

Slava didn’t understand why being late was such a big deal. It was just a few minutes, and maybe it did show an utter lack of respect for Nichlas’s time, but respect clearly wasn’t what the pair intended to show each other anyway. He didn’t respond to what had been said—he wasn’t really blaming Nichlas, but surely they had both known that Slava was unlikely to be on time. Why pretend otherwise? Nichlas proceeded to claim that his reputation was now on the line, and Slava shrugged slightly. “That issue is your fault.” Should’ve thought that through before you put your plan into motion. Nichlas then said he would end later as a result—annoying, but not unexpected. “And why would you do that? I thought you just said you have things to do after this,” he pointed out. Not like Slava really cared. He was mostly just being defiant for the sake of it. "Not that you could even begin to dream of actually hurting my reputation." A hint of a mischievous smirk crept onto the Russian’s face. Is that a challenge?

Topics moved on quickly, though, and such things were soon forgotten about in the wake of the matter that carried far more weight. The guilt was already crushing enough on its own—Slava didn’t need Nichlas prodding so callously on top of that. He felt like everything was collapsing around him, and he was barely able to compose himself. "Well you hardly have been subtle about it." He hadn’t been loud about it, either, though. And even then, it was weird for Nichlas to know so soon when it had had absolutely nothing to do with him. “What, did Alaric come crying to you? What did he even tell you?” His mouth felt dry.

"In fact, it almost seemed like you wanted to get caught. Tell me, has the encounter given you what you wanted to achieve with it? He certainly did not seem to have learned any lessons from you, last I spoke with him." It almost felt like the words caused physical pain with the blow they dealt. Slava visibly stiffened, blankly staring straight ahead as the nauseous feeling returned with overwhelming intensity. “That’s none of your fucking business,” he hissed forcefully. “Just shut up.” His hands balled into tight fists at his sides—not that he was going to punch Nichlas again, since that would be entirely backwards given what was making Slava feel so awful, but it was instead a desperate attempt to use the sensation of pressure from his fingers to self-soothe. Nichlas had no right to be prying and provoking him like this. Why did he care anyway? What did it matter to him?

Slava took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. This hurt. He didn’t like that he had harmed someone so significantly, that he had planned it and yet hadn’t stopped to truly think it through. Slava’s opinion on that which had caused him to do this in the first place hadn’t changed—racists deserved punishment for their hatred, especially when they went so far as to physically harm people—but who was he to take justice into his own hands? He wasn’t impartial, he was no god. He had no right. Was he really any better than them if beating up kids was his “solution” to such an issue? What had happened to his love, to him lifting others up and encouraging them to be better? Even if racists wouldn’t listen to reason, surely there were better options than violence, because violence could never change anything, only further perpetuate the cycle. He had made the wrong choice. And that was what he couldn’t bring himself to say to Nichlas—that he regretted it, that he had committed an act of violence that was unacceptable, that he had failed and disgusted even himself. So he settled for an attempt to push the topic away with a tone that would hopefully come across as surface-level anger instead of the reality of guilt.

He really wasn’t in the mood for whatever trick Nichlas was trying to play on him with the offer of help. "I am simply a nice guy trying to help out those that cannot help themselves." Slava’s eyebrows raised. He wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or nervous, contenting himself with simply rolling his eyes at the comment about Nichlas’s supposedly masterful skill. "Either way, settle down." There was the initial, petty urge to find some way to disobey just for the sake of it, but, oddly enough, the Swede’s tone didn’t seem particularly condescending or challenging, for once. Nichlas reached out to tilt Slava’s chin, and Slava resisted the urge to pull away, tensing slightly but remaining otherwise frozen in place as he watched the other boy warily. He was uneasy, still convinced that this was some sort of trap, and yet no such negative consequence came. Instead, much to his surprise, Nichlas meticulously went about applying the paste almost… gently. Slava’s heart was racing—he felt like it was even beating so loudly that Nichlas would be able to hear it—and it took a lot of concentration to try to remain still, gaze continuing to follow the Swede and his movements.

He wasn’t sure how to feel. This wasn’t the first time Nichlas had completely shattered Slava’s expectations, refusing to be put in any box that was even remotely predictable. Why was Slava so keen on trying to oversimplify Nichlas and his behaviors, anyway? It wasn’t very much like him to do such a thing. Perhaps it was just easier to dismiss his own rudeness and bad behavior by vilifying the Swede. Perhaps it was because, otherwise, he would be forced to confront the fact that he had been making a lot of mistakes recently with how he was treating people. Still, though, did their competition really leave space for such self-doubt? Weren’t they just trying to get on one another’s nerves in an endless little cycle of revenge?

In an instant, Nichlas’s usual smugness had returned, which—while slightly disappointing—was at least more standard and didn’t force the Russian to reflect on himself. "See? No harm done, Sunshine." Slava looked at the other boy with what could only be described as utter bewilderment visible in his expression. “Thanks, I guess,” he muttered. Why did Nichlas have to be so damn confusing? He supposed it made him interesting, but it was frustrating. What was Slava even meant to do with all of this conflicting information? "I have nothing but faith in the failure of others." Slava’s eyebrows raised. “How kind.”

Slava never should have commented on the ease of the spell-related task, because Nichlas then took that to an extreme. "The Blasting Curse. Is this more up to your standards then? It’s a spell that pairs greatly with a unmoving target." “Unmoving?” Slava repeated. Maybe Nichlas meant an inanimate object. Maybe. But no, he wouldn’t be so lucky—Nichlas flicked through to the Full Body-Bind Curse, which sparked increasing concern. Not only were the spells difficult to cast, but the Blasting Curse was also terrifying, especially with the implication that the two spells would be used together. As if Slava needed to feel more nauseous from intense emotions. “What happened to the Color-Changing Charm?” he tried hopefully, bringing up what had been said last time they met, attempting to keep the nerves out of his voice. But he knew it would be futile. There was no reason Nichlas would have to not proceed with his choice of spells, and Slava had a hard time believing that the pages could have been random given the comment that had been made. Quietly, the Russian sighed.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

“That issue is your fault.”

Nichlas gave a heavy sigh in response, accompanied by a short shake of his head. "As I have said, there is no issue in that," he replied calmly. Then again it seemed hardly important enough a matter to fight over, when it was much more unentertaining than actual banter could be. Nichlas would only push the arguments that seemed like he could gain something from pushing, after all he was no idiot blindly seeking fights. “And why would you do that? I thought you just said you have things to do after this,” Slava seemed confused enough to ask directly and Nichlas offered him a face that told him nothing. "Because I do as I please and if you push me, I will push back," he replied kindly, a nonchalant promise before he waved off the topic. It was growing boring to talk about.

Nichlas hummed when the topic moved towards more captivating matters. “What, did Alaric come crying to you? What did he even tell you?” This seemed more up his aisle, he could easily make use of this. "Unimportant, I am more interested in what made you snap at a child," he disregarded the inquiry. Well not like it seemed like the questions were genuine, they seemed too deflective. Generally speaking though the Russian seemed to be very much bothered by the events and this appeared as a touchy subject. Nichlas felt torn between an honest inquiry and the attempt to cause the slightly younger boy to explode. Why, wasn't that was suns were meant to do?

The subject remained a touchy one and Nichlas took in the reactions like a hawk that watched its prey scurry across the pleins. Every twitch and every movement, he made sure to remember. But also he felt this type of torture, once more, seemed for once less satisfying than when actual banter was involved. Slava seemed to have been robbed of his ability to properly push back and it made him, for lack of a better word, more predictable and that caused the Swede in turn to sour for reason he would not dare think about, least of all name. "First you request I elaborate and now you wish me to shut up? Make up your mind, not that I am subject to your demands either way," he said as the corner of his mouth lifted in a perhaps cold smirk. "Why is what happened to that boy such an important matter to you anyway, he had it coming," Nichlas said with a shrug. He truly had no capacity for understanding why the subject shook the shorter boy so much. If anything Alaric had gotten off easy if he could still yap and run his mouth the way he had that morning he had interrogated the barn swedish: child. "And again with that foul language of yours," he clicked his tongue in a reprimanding manner. If it had bothered him at all to be cussed or yelled at by the Russian, he did not seem to show it. As a matter of fact, the way he spoke to him was not a real concern of his. If he overstepped, Nichlas could sincerely promise that the brunette would come to regret such an offense. The Swede was almost sure that the both of them would jab at each other's control until one of them snapped, it seemed to have become a trend between them quite fast. It seemed as well, however, that with Slava's mind preoccupied with different matters, he had given Nichlas quite the headstart in this encounter.

However there was something in Nichlas that stilled, something that seemed to desperately claw its way through his shell of aloofness and apathy and chisel away at each brick of practices standoffishness. Nichlas did not enjoy this one sided encounter, this pressing one's finger into an open wound, as it seemed to affect the Russian boy greatly. As if every jagged word and every jaded accusation seemed to cut deeper than the Swede could have possibly done with actions. He was convinced that train of thought to be true. He wrote it off with the boredom of onesided, predictable encounters. After all, Slava had lost his bite and the lack of fighting back was quite dull.

He felt as Slava tensed when he reached for his chin, he had expected as much. For once there was quiet between the both of them, a welcome quiet the Swede found. He had expected the other boy to pull away, speak or otherwise make a mess of the situation. At the very least he seemed not inclined to physical violence this time around, but the Swede was even then sure that if he really had wanted to, there were probably some buttons he could push to even make that snap, not that he wished to be beaten. He much preferred the victorious smugness he might enjoy over simply outwitting the other. But no, the both of them were quiet and because that was so unlike them, as soon as he had packed away his stuff, the silence seemed suffocating.

He inclined his head at the thanks, "Well looking at the bright side of things apparently you do possess some manners," he allowed himself to say, still with that familiar smugness, paired with a knowing smirk at Slava's next comment. "How kind," the brunette had said. Someone seemed to be catching on, Nichlas decided. Though the sarcastic nature of that comment was not lost on him. He had not expected any thanks or gratefulness from the boy, not that he would have wanted it. He had not helped him out for gratitute sake. Though there was some confusion how to read that thank you. Whether it was genuine, forced or simply felt required due to taught manners. Once more, not that it mattered to the Swede beyond his attempts to figure anyone out he would spend time with and talk to for more than a few moments.

There seemed some apparent reluctance at the spell choice Nichlas had offered next. Specifically at the combination of such a violent spell coupled with a defenseless target. Nichlas rolled his eyes at the suggested spell from Slava. "I doubt that mastering a color-changing spell would get you far in Combat casting," he humored him for a moment before his gaze searched and found a practice dummy that sat near the wall. "Alright then, just watch," he offered as he drew his wand and took a relaxed yet well balanced stance for combat. There seemed something extremely natural and fluent in the way his mind settled and the world around him quietened as his gaze focused on the dummy, while he also kept himself aware of the fact that Slava was right there. He also considered, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the door to this classroom had been left unlocked too. With all these things in mind, he still felt like a switch had been flicked as with graceful yet decisive movements he cast the two spells. In quick succession the spells were cast, though as if wanting to show off a bit, his Blasting curse seemed to be more than well cast. With the split nature of the spell, made to envelope the dummy by hitting both the wall and the ground beneath it, the blast that followed seemed intense.
my boy crit, that was 820 damage lol
Nichlas almost grew a few inches with pride as he straightened his back and pocketed the wand, once he cast the repairing charm and brought back the floor, wall and annihilated practice dummy. He smirked smugly before turning to Slava. Leaving the destruction of the area to be a mere memory before facing the Russian boy with a pleased smile. "See? Not that hard," he offered almost casually, like someone might if they had thrown a basketball into a hoop at an odd angle. Certainly not like someone, who had just showed an act of mass destruction would talk.

"Time for you to try, Sunshine."

==

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

"Because I do as I please and if you push me, I will push back." There was admittedly a thrill that came with the riskiness of this game, the implicit warning shrugged off in an instant. He couldn’t stop pushing. After all, what would all this be without that pattern of push and pull they had settled into so easily? Pushing one another was simply the game they had been playing. Why should Slava be the one to stop that?

Frustratingly, his defensive questions regarding the issue with Alaric continued to go unanswered—not that Slava had actually expected a proper response, but still. He had no clue how much Nichlas knew, or how, or why, and he didn’t like that. "Unimportant, I am more interested in what made you snap at a child." Slava shook his head firmly. Regardless of whether Nichlas was genuinely trying to prompt the sharing of more information or not, he didn’t deserve an answer—the matter was far too personal and Slava had very little interest in letting the Swede be privy to his honest, deeper thoughts about it. Maybe there was something to hide after all…

Nichlas then rudely pointed out the contradiction present in some of Slava’s responses, prompting an expression that was somewhere between a frown and a grimace. “Shut up,” he repeated decisively when the Swede told him to make up his mind. "… not that I am subject to your demands either way." Nichlas really was obnoxious, saying that with a smirk. Slava knew that the other boy was very unlikely to actually respect what he was saying, but still, that fact didn’t need to be pointed out so condescendingly. It was just maddening how smug he was.

"Why is what happened to that boy such an important matter to you anyway, he had it coming." Slava shifted uncomfortably. He almost wanted to explain, his instinct to be honest and open nearly overcoming his unease regarding Nichlas. Would it be such a bad thing to admit guilt? Probably not, but it just didn’t feel appropriate for the situation and company. It felt dangerous, somehow, to say such a thing, feeling it might be exploited in some way. Finally, though, Nichlas said something that was easier to respond to—Slava didn’t understand why the Swede kept scolding him for swearing of all things. Why did he care? It wasn’t like Slava could be the only person to swear around him, and especially considering his irritation with Nichlas, it wasn’t particularly out of place. “I’m sorry, are your ears too sensitive? Get over it, you’re not my mother.”

After the confusing moment of quiet was shared, it seemed both of them were trying to restore normalcy to their interaction. But still, Slava automatically thanked Nichlas, because the action itself was kind regardless of whatever mysterious reasons and intentions the Swede might or might not have had. Slava rolled his eyes at the comment about his manners, though. Typically, Slava was decently well-mannered—he had been raised to be respectful and kind, and was only really lacking in manners when he got too excited or shed formality in favor of familiarity. And his sarcasm was commonly reserved for banter with friends, not… whatever this was. Nothing about how he interacted with Nichlas was normal for him.

"I doubt that mastering a color-changing spell would get you far in Combat casting." In a display of forced nonchalance, Slava shrugged. “Maybe. It could be distracting though,” he offered as an excuse. He flinched at the loud sound and utter destruction caused by Nichlas’s subsequent spell, and then, barely a moment later, the area was fixed again, like nothing had ever happened. Slava stared at Nichlas, shocked and concerned, backing away a few steps. Out of anyone he could have angered, of course it had to be someone who could seemingly effortlessly do that. He really did pick his battles excellently, didn’t he? The door was looking very tempting right now.

"See? Not that hard." Slava shot an irritated look at the other boy, who very well knew that it was “that” hard. And once again, Slava was being referred to as “Sunshine”, something that still felt extremely weird coming from Nichlas. “Stop calling me that. We’re not friends,” he grumbled. But now it was his turn to act. He tried to forcefully clear his mind, something that was hard enough to do on a normal day when he wasn’t attempting to cast complicated spells in front of someone who scared him. He focused on regulating his breathing instead, hoping that that would help still his mind, and it did, at least a bit. Hopefully it was enough.

His fingers curled around the familiar shape of his wand, rubbing the wood gently before trying to envision the spells and the result. His Body-Bind Curse halted the dummy again, but his first attempt to cast the Blasting Curse failed. Instead of getting stressed about that, though, he managed to stay calm—he felt like he had at least been close to being successful. When he tried again, he did manage to cast it properly, eyes widening slightly as the explosion hit the ground near the dummy. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as Nichlas’s had been, but considering how much Slava struggled to cast advanced spells like this one, he was pleased that it had been done in just two tries.