Closed Grace Under Pressure pv Greta

(Or Lack Thereof)

Roleplaying as Hans Jenssen

Hans should have won. Victory had been so clear on the horizon, a finger away, seemingly attained yet still tantalisingly out of reach. He had been fully prepared, adrenaline pumping his system and ego at his maximum (fine, perhaps some humility could have served the boy well). Ready to take the opposition by storm and leave his own mark in the broom-racing championship, the finish line seemed secured ever since the race commenced. Having left his opponents in dust after surpassing the elder Ilvermornian, what he had least expected was for the tables to turn when he had already thought he had won. It was something of a cruel joke, and with impeccable timing too.

And so he had lost, a perfectly acceptable, perfectly fine outcome. Sportsmanship was a trait Hans liked to think he endorsed. He was all congratulations and smiles after their victory, good natured to the bitter end. Two years ago, he would have returned to his routinely activities after a clap on the back for the victor, following along with whatever “growth mindset” his parents had encouraged him to set. His coach would have sat him down and told him what he should improve upon and that would be the end of that. He had never made it enough of his concern to linger above his day like a rain cloud about to let loose a hailing tempest. Was it odd to miss the person he once was, the very same little boy who had so desperately wanted to grow up?

That had been two years ago when not every corner laid a chance where he needed to prove himself. The race’s importance was one he had often flouted, exiling what anxiety plagued him to the depths of his mind until they were no more, but every inch of concern he had fended against came crashing down after loss. Charisma could only get one so far when the Institute’s constant internalised competition suffocated him as if it were far too many blankets laid upon each other. While obstacles were no unwelcome challenge, the acknowledgment that every bit of his place in this world - still foreign, though in some senses, deliciously so - was earned rather than given had never made for a particularly comforting thought. Perhaps Hans could have convinced himself it was the teasing almost-win that left him under the immense weight of ineptitude; honestly, play-pretend served anyone well.

So he supposed the price of his dream were such blows dealt to his self-confidence. Encouraging, wasn't it? Why then, did it sit so badly with him, Princess and the Pod, one pea under a hundred mattresses disrupting is entire night’s sleep? Why then, was his own incompetence catching on to him, burning fast and furious as a raging wildfire? There was something about the frustration he dismissed as mild displeasure that scared him.

If only he had given that extra push towards the end-

Flipping open the tent flap, the high-flying Durm forced on a smile despite almost choking on the cloying scent of flowers. After all, he’s still got some of that untouchable bravado in tact. As some famous author once said, courage was simply grace under pressure; it couldn’t be to much of a hurdle, could it?

@Evelynn Decipio as Greta Fransson