Fandom Octowizard Tournament // wizarding world // RP thread

[Aviator]

Click me for the apps thread!
Take me to the plotting thread.

Welcome, welcome, to the first Octowizard Tournament, the grandest show on land or by sea! Students, please proceed with caution if you decide to enter your name into the Goblet of Fire, as these tasks are not for the faint of heart. For the first time in history, the eight international wizarding schools—Hogwarts (Scotland), Beauxbatons (France), Castelobruxo (Brazil), Durmstrang (Scandinavia), Ilvermorny (North America), Mahoutokoro (Japan), Uagadou (Uganda), and Koldovstoretz (Russia)—are uniting to hold a magical Olympics among their best and brightest pupils, and you’re invited! Glory and gold, pleasure and pain, magic and mayhem, dreams and danger will abound. The Octowizard is a magical spectacle the likes of which the wizarding world has never before seen, and no one is sitting on the sidelines for it. Only one will win, and some may lose everything.

Unlike the previous Triwizard Tournaments, in which one school would host the whole tournament and house the accumulative populations of all competing schools, only a committee of three student representatives from each school will be attending the Octowizard Tournament in person. Those three students are selected at the discretion of their individual headmasters. From among those three, the Goblet of Fire shall select one name to be the champion for his or her school. The two unchosen students shall have front-row seats to spectate the tournament, and will serve as the champion’s secondaries in the tragic (but not unlikely) event that a champion is unable to continue the tournament. And who knows, perhaps the Goblet of Fire might just call for a team challenge.
One other important deviation from the original Triwizard Tournaments is that, there will be eight tasks altogether, and each school will play host to a different task. Each school’s crew—consisting of the three aforementioned students plus one chaperoning professor—will get an unprecedented opportunity to sight-see as they travel the world on an all-expenses-paid trip. However, it would be beneficial for competing students to keep in mind that classes will be scheduled regularly amidst the tournament, and an ample decline in one’s grades may result in removal from the tournament. Since these challenges will prove a test to a competitor’s physical, mental, and emotional maturity, the Goblet of Fire will only accept the names of fifth- through seventh-year students.
Any further questions? No? Well, then. Let’s get started.

Rules!
- This is an advanced thread, so I would like 3+ paragraphs per post with mostly correct grammar and spelling. The occasional excuse of low muse is understandable, but this must remain occasional.
- Only one champion per RPer. Including professors and secondaries, you may have up to three characters total.
- Only five characters with a special magical status (Animagus, Metamorphmagus, Parselmouth, Veela, werewolf, etc.) will be allowed, since they are exceptionally rare... but at least one of these must be a professor!
- It’s not necessary that you’ve read or seen the entire Harry Potter series to join this RP, but it would help if you have at least a little background knowledge. Those of us who are avid fans will help you out with the rest of the universe lore, if need be.
- As aforementioned, competing students are between fifth- to seventh-year.
- Keep in mind, Beauxbatons is not an all-girls school, and Durmstrang is not all boys, as portrayed in the movie. Also, culture plays an important role in this RP! While you don't have to know your character's culture inside and out, please don't do something completely out of the ordinary for someone of their background without reason.
- Please do not complain because “Harry” and “Dumbledore” aren’t here. In this AU universe roleplay, none of the canon characters exist. EVERYONE PLAYS OC’S.
- Reservations will be upheld for 72 hours, by which time the entire form should be complete.
- While characters are allowed to be complete asses to each other in the roleplay, OOC bullying is not tolerated. Hate the character, not the RPer.
- Please post on the RP thread at least once every two weeks. Don't make me have to hunt you down for a reply.
- With regards to the aforementioned rule, don’t flood other thread members, including myself. You must wait until three people have posted since your last post until you can reply again.
- You must have an imagination! Create plots, play NPCs and side characters, keep the story rolling. I hate having to make everything happen on my own.
- Use faceclaims, and no anime pictures for your charries!

​

Current Characters! (click for forms)
Hogwarts
Champion:
Secondaries: Dakota Moss // female // 5th year // half-blood
Professor: Andrew Campbell // male // age 28 // Care for Magical Creatures // muggle-born

Beauxbatons
Champion: Genevieve Chapelle // female // 7th year // half-blood
Secondaries:
Professor:

Castelobruxo
Champion: Lisandro Valencia // male // 6th year // pure-blood
Secondaries:
Professor:

Durmstrang
Champion: Kasper Edelberg // male // 7th year // half-blood
Secondaries: Freyja Hartvigsen // female // 7th year // half-blood
Professor: Birger Einar // male // age 71 // History of Magic // pure-blood

Ilvermorny
Champion: Gavriel Sylvie // female // 6th year // half-blood
Secondaries: Caelum Elisedd // male // 5th year // unknown
Professor:

Mahoutokoro
Champion: Yom Jae-Hui // male // 7th year // pure-blood
Secondaries:
Professor:

Uagadou
Champion:
Secondaries:
Professor:

Koldovstoretz
Champion: Katia Volkova // female // 7th year // pure-blood
Secondaries:
Professor: Kazimir Vinogradov // male // age 36 // Transfiguration // half-blood

Special Abilities (3/5)
- Kasper Edelberg // Legilimens
- Freyja Hartvigesen // half Veela
- Gavriel Sylvie // Metamorphmagus
- open
- open

 

[Aviator]

Kasper Edelberg // Male // 7th Year // Durmstrang Champion // Half-Blood​

Kasper Edelberg had had two days to prepare for the Introductory Ball, and to his dismay, he looked like it.
While Scandinavians were usually somewhat lax about professional attire, the Muggles often showing up to business meetings in nothing flashier than a polo shirt and jeans and Durmstrang students not being required to wear uniform robes except on days of celebration, Kasper had the uncanny sense that that same fashionable nonchalance would not fly at the Introductory Ball. Cultures a lot more socially conservative than that of Norway would be making an appearance, and Kasper was willing to bet his wand that they’d be dressed to the nines. And he, in his rumpled, jacketless, barely passable suit would stick out like a bloodstain on linen.
As he stood in a seemingly endless line of multicultural student representatives, waiting for his turn to be announced into the Storhall, he saw how painfully true his premonition had been. Here he was, clad in a relaxed, loose-fitting suit when sharp and form-fitting was the style. In Kasper’s defense, however, it was the only semi-formal apparel he owned: an ultramarine-violet tailcoat with golden accents along its edges and cuffs that were frayed where he’d ripped off some gaudy ornamentation. The tailcoat was buttoned closed over a rather scandalously plain shirt as to conceal it, and the golden accents were reflected in a stripe that ran down each of his pantlegs. Topping it off in place of a jacket was a cloak with a purple-black exterior and a blood-red interior, tumbling down Kasper’s back in a cascade of wrinkles. While the cloak didn’t match the exact hue of his tailcoat and pants, some kind of protection against the ever-present chill in the castle was necessary. At least it was mostly consistent with his theme of purple-and-gold Terpsichora colors.
And, of course, there were his gloves, an affectation that had rapidly become Kasper’s signature over the summer. His usual gloves of simple white cotton had been replaced by a nicer-looking pair of faux black leather for the evening, since the real deal was far outside his price range.
All around Kasper, in sharp contrast with his wrinkled clothes and disheveled hair, were splendor and elegance in every shade of the rainbow spectrum. Regal-looking boys clad in crisp three-piece suits were transformed into princes of faraway lands, and jewel-tone dresses flared around girls’ ankles like the petals of exotic flowers. They, along with the bracketed torches lining the foyer at intervals, provided the only glimmers of light in an otherwise dim hallway. The stained-glass windows admitted the azure pall that replaced night during the Norwegian summer months, creating a perpetual twilight over the distant mountainous landscape that was reflected in the minimally lit interior of the castle. Even on regular days of class, Durmstrang Institute retained a reserved sort of semi-darkness, making the ball seem like a private event, despite the students of numerous countries and ethnicities in attendance.
On the outside, the structure resembled a multitiered, asymmetrical cake, a sprawling jumble of various roofs and wings that jutted out in a seemingly random, ordered chaos. In the style of classical Norwegian architecture, the castle was a homage to the versatility of wood, with dark tawny panels extending into elegant gabled roofs of shimmering silver-brown latticework that stabbed the sky with an array of acute angles.
When the foreign students had arrived, most had been far more whiny than any privileged guest had the right to be, in Kasper’s book. They had gasped in astonishment at the frigid cold and they had cried in outrage about how they wouldn’t be able to sleep when dusk never fully settled into night. Tromsøya Island was situated 350 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle—what did they expect? For the record, it was a mild day for late summer, just a hair above seven degrees celsius. And the foreign guests would have had a whole lot more to bitch about during the winter months, when the landscape was plunged into unbroken darkness. Upon their early-morning arrival, when the travelers had made a show of buttoning their inadequate coats up and hugging their arms around themselves, a handful of Durmstrang natives had taunted them by strutting around on the frosty lawn in sleeveless garments, chirping in English about the unexpected heat wave. Kasper hadn’t joined in on the charade, thinking that it would have been unsportsmanlike conduct for one of Durmstrang’s competitors in the tournament, but he had smiled from afar.
Speaking of which, it had been a whirlwind of sudden, discombobulated changes of events that led to Kasper’s unforeseen presence in the first Octowizard Tournament. Durmstrang’s three student representatives—since the Goblet of Fire had yet to select specific champions—had been carefully chosen by the school board over the summer. But for reasons unknown to Kasper, one of the three, Carina Eklund, had abruptly withdrawn from the tournament two days ago.
After a brief scramble to replace her, Professor Birger Einar, who would be chaperoning the Durmstrang competitors when the tournament eventually shifted to the next hosting school in the lineup, had unexpectedly summoned Kasper to his office. There he had informed Kasper that he would be serving as Carina’s replacement, since he too had entered his name for consideration for the tournament at the end of last school year. And then, instead of dismissing Kasper and allowing him time to prepare, wily old Einar had insisted that Kasper stay for several ill-fated games of Wizard’s Chess. Einar proceeded to humiliate Kasper, who hadn’t won a single game even when he’d sensed the professor was going easy on him. Once, Kasper had glanced up from the board, scowling, to realize that his wryly smiling opponent had checkmated him in three moves. The freshly-baked sweets which Einar had provided were scarce compensation for the lost hours and unforgettable trauma that Kasper had endured.
And so, that was the story of how Kasper had come to stand outside the Storhall, awaiting the moment of his announcement along with the twenty-three other international student representatives. All in all, he’d chalked up the school board’s choosing him simply due to the fact that he was one of the handful of year-round residents of Durmstrang who were permitted to remain on campus for the duration of the summer in exchange for working odd jobs. In other words, Kasper had been chosen on the sole basis of his availability. A letter-bearing owl would have taken several hours to reach its destination, and when the start of the tournament was only two days away, every hour was precious. Either that, or Headmistress Rinne had been really satisfied with the piano lessons with which Kasper had provided her first-year son as one of the aforementioned odd jobs. Kasper certainly hadn’t been selected for his nonexistent magical aptitude, that was for sure. He plodded through all his classes with the motivation of not being the worst student in the room. Often he was second to worst, which was good enough for him.
The single-file line stretching from the formidable double doors was long, but not long enough to encompass more than a fraction of the extensive corridor. The students were alphabetized according to surname, landing Kasper Edelberg exactly fourth from the front. Behind him was an Asian boy whom Kasper had initially assumed to be a representative of Mahoutokoro, but after hearing him utter a few words in unaccented English, it was clear that he was either from Hogwarts or Ilvermorny—Kasper didn’t speak English often enough to discern the different dialects from one another. Ahead of him was a blond girl so jaw-droppingly gorgeous that Kasper’s heart had skipped a beat just looking at her. Despite the allure of her wide, almond-shaped eyes and full ruby lips, her posture was rigid as a board, and Kasper doubted she’d made a peep in the whole twenty minutes they’d been standing here. Thus, without hearing her language or accent, he was clueless as to what school she represented.
There’s another way to find out those things, a sinister voice whispered from the darkest corner of his mind. The one that he refused to acknowledge, no matter what. The one that had transformed Kasper from a relatively ordinary boy into a monster. The one that had gotten Björn Hedlund killed all those years ago.
A lot of Legilimens regarded their unique abilities as powers, or gifts, but Kasper only saw his as a curse.
He stood with his back against the wall that flanked the line, absently watching the blond girl and Asian boy’s auras seep into the air around them, pooling and swirling in translucent clouds. Although Kasper preferred to live in blissful ignorance of his Legilimency, he’d done enough research on it to know that aura-reading wasn’t one of its ordinary trademarks. Then again, most people didn’t hear colors and see music the way that Kasper did, either, whenever a song was playing. He’d attributed his seeing of others’ auras to one of the many idiosyncrasies of being a member of Durmstrang’s artistically-inclined Terpsichora House, and a desperate attempt of his suppressed mind-reading abilities to manifest themselves.
The girl in front of him had a current aura of a metallic silver shade, setting off her honey-colored hair and porcelain skin. That of the English-speaking boy behind him was the red-gold of royalty and bold adventuring and triumph. While auras were prone to shifting in accordance to one’s mood, most people tended to have a predominant color. Kasper wondered what his own would look like to someone else who possessed his ability. But just as one cannot see one’s own face without a reflective surface, Kasper could not see his own aura.
Finally, the closed double doors at the head of the line groaned open on their heavy chains with a chilling sound like the cries of damned souls. Still, though, none of the professors monitoring the hall signaled for the first of the students to enter the Storhall yet. Headmistress Rinne’s booming voice echoed from the chamber beyond as she addressed the fifth- to seventh-year Durmstrang students, who’d been allowed to spectate the upcoming ball and partake in the dancing once the tournament competitors completed their dance cards. Nausea roiled in Kasper’s stomach at the thought. Everyone’s eyes would be fixed on the handful of dancers scattered across the floor, himself being one of them. Despite being a gifted athlete, Kasper was as clumsy as a bull in a china shop. To think of himself as a dancer of any kind felt like heresy at its worst, a notion that his audience would quickly discover for themselves. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run and hide, skipping out on the mandatory dancing like he did most classes.
Kasper clenched and unclenched his gloved hands at his sides several times, and when that failed to calm his racing heart, he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket. Pressing one between his lips, he rummaged for his wand and, without words, willed the tip of the wand to flare with a dot of flame. Willow wands didn’t pack the punch of some of the flashier woods, but one of its perks that Kasper adored was its affinity for nonverbal commands. He touched the fire to the end of his cigarette and inhaled a lungful of smoky courage, his eyes falling closed with rapture. As a small pewter cloud plumed up and the sweet scent of tobacco suffused the air like yet another aura, several students turned and craned past one another to shoot Kasper dark looks. What? he thought, scowling in response. Don’t act like you all aren’t just as bored of standing here as I am. But he didn’t have the courage to pierce the steely silence.
Before Kasper could take another drag, one of the chaperoning professors swiveled to regard him with a stern stare. She was slim and petite and didn’t look much older than him, and Kasper had heard one of the Ilvermorny students refer to her as Professor Bautista. The heels of her riding boots added little to her unimpressive height. Nonetheless, they ominously clicked against the floor as she started toward him, her long curtain of black-licorice hair swishing with the motion; her aura was a matching color. When she stood opposite Kasper, she was almost a full head shorter, but that didn't seem to faze her in the least.
“Honey, do you speak English? Excellent! Anyway, I admittedly don’t know your school’s policy on smoking, but a ball isn’t the time or place for it, I’m afraid,” Professor Bautista chirped, her icy expression melting into a smile so fast she might have transfigured it. Then, without missing a beat, she gave Kasper a friendly clap on the shoulder, so suddenly he didn’t have time to pull away. Not that he could really go anywhere, with a wall at his back and other students to his immediate left and right. “Okay?” Another wide grin.
Kasper blinked at this strange woman with her oily-black aura as if she had slapped him smartly across the face. Too astonished to protest or even roll his eyes, he complied, and extinguished his cigarette against the palm of his hand as Professor Bautista turned and sashayed away, a spring in her step. Kasper gritted his teeth against the pain that blazed through his hand, burning a small round hole through the fabric of his glove. With another wordless flourish of his wand, he mended the glove as if it were brand new. The skin beneath, however, stayed burned, both because Kasper wasn’t a skilled enough wizard to repair human anatomy, and because he felt like he deserved the pain. Even though not all the pain in the world would bring Björn Hedlund back from the dead.
He gave a gasp of relief as Headmistress Rinne’s voice finally ceased, to be replaced by the pleasant trilling of a string orchestra. Mint green, Kasper visualized the delicate notes wrung from a collection of violins. The headmistress was Finnish; however, she, like all of Durmstrang’s professors, instructed the student body in Norwegian, that being the official language of the institute’s surrounding city of Tromsø, Norway. Students and professors alike hailed from all over Norway, Finland, Sweden, Denmark, and Iceland in a roughly even distribution, but if you didn’t speak Norwegian upon your first arrival at Durmstrang, you learned it quickly, as Kasper had.
Professor Bautista waved the first student into the Storhall. Kasper’s chest felt like iron bands were tightening around it, and the hammering of his heart increased tenfold. The sickly feeling that accompanied the thought of having to dance in front of hundreds of witnesses was compounded by the anticipation building up to the moment. Kasper wanted to charge in and get it over and done with and put his mental anguish behind him. But it seemed as though Headmistress Rinne and the chaperoning professors were conspiring to prolong his suffering for as long as possible, and they were doing a damned good job of it. He wrapped his arms around himself tight in a feeble attempt to hold himself together.
Since the line of students was adjacent to the wall on which the doors were set, Kasper was unable to turn and peer through into the proceedings of the room beyond. A moment later, however, the student’s name was announced in a sonorous male voice, chased by a roar of applause from the crowd. Kasper brightened minutely at that; the first student wasn’t from Durmstrang, but from the warm, genuinely enthusiastic welcome that she’d received, she might as well have been. Missing the sweet tang of tobacco, Kasper forced himself to take another deep breath. On the other side of that door was all people he knew—which, if he was being honest, was a double-edged sword. It wasn’t like they hadn’t already seen Kasper countless times around the corridors of Durmstrang; they should have no reason to stare.
Time seemed to blur and skip like a stone skimming over a watery surface, and then the second representative was called, leaving the silent blond girl as Kasper’s only frail protection against the unknown horrors hiding on the other side of the doorway. Until Professor Bautista waved her forward, too, and then Kasper was at the head of the dwindling line, suddenly feeling like a condemned prisoner awaiting his turn at the guillotine. His anxiety must have shown on his face, because the Ilvermorny professor’s dark gaze homed in on him and she unleashed another one of her glittery smiles. “Smile, honey! This is your moment, so seize it,” Professor Bautista said brightly.
Kasper felt more likely to seize a trash can than the moment.
Finally at the doorway, he turned around and leaned out slightly, just enough so that he could catch his first glimpse of the Storhall. The room where Durmstrang students ate their meals and passed the minutes between classes had been transformed to accommodate a large party, ballooned to twice its usual size. A sunken dance floor lay at its center, and this was better lit than the rest of the room. There were two tiers of tables circling the dance floor: The first tier was only a few feet above, the other was farther back and about twice as high. Set at the base of the first tier in intervals were small alcoves carved out by open hearths, and in each of their depths a flame of a different color furled. Above, congregating at the tables was a variety of familiar faces, fellow students and even some housemates. Kasper had never been a social butterfly, but between his Quidditch and music extracurriculars, he knew roughly half of the Durmstrang students in attendance.
A light push at the center of his spine caused Kasper to jump in surprise. God, how he wished Professor Bautista would keep her hands to herself before she gave him a heart attack. He whirled on her, but she was looking past him, toward the small cluster of representatives at the center of the floor, where the spectators had a full-circle view of them. “Go in now, sweetie,” she told him. “Break a leg!” Kasper’s limbs felt frozen stiff, and a beat passed before he was able to jolt himself into motion. And then he was crossing into the Storhall, besieged by an ocean of eyes from all sides, so many auras packed into such a tight space that the world was reduced to a stain of clashing colors.
“Carina Eklund of Durmstrang Institute, seventh year,” intoned the announcer, first in Norwegian and then in English.
The man might have articulated a full sentence, but Kasper’s mind snagged on those first two words and held fast. Horror stopped him dead in his tracks, only halfway to where the other representatives were standing. For a moment, the silence in the room was absolute, as if the audience was just as uncertain about how to process this information. Even the individuals who didn’t know Kasper personally could tell, just at a glance, that he was no Carina.
They laughed. The sound first clawed its way out of a solitary throat, and then it was rolling through the crowd in waves. One awful, instantaneous contagion.
Lights and sounds distorted, fusing into a dizzying blur of sensation. Kasper’s heart had been pounding a minute ago, but now he swore he felt it stop. He wilted where he stood, rooted to the spot there in his shabby tailcoat and cloak, his face burning so hot it felt in danger of catching flame. He propped his forehead on his fist to hide his expression, unwilling to glance at the doorway for fear that Professor Bautista would be laughing at him, too. Break a leg, indeed, he thought bitterly. She’d made it out to seem as though Kasper was just letting an overactive imagination get to him, but this reality was far worse than anything he could have dreamed up.
“Hey, yo, Carina, save a dance for me, baby!” whooped a voice from the crowd, which Kasper identified as one of the other guys on the Terpsichora Quidditch team. The laughter redoubled. Instead of playing along, Kasper reddened further, if possible.
The announcer cleared his throat several times, but it was a full minute before the audience calmed enough that anything he said was audible. In the meantime, Kasper wondered about Carina Eklund, the girl who was originally scheduled to be a Durmstrang representative before Kasper had abruptly been called to replace her. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Kasper hadn’t questioned it before, since the change of events was serendipitous for him. An irrational part of him had desperately feared that, if he looked too heavily into the matter, a vengeful god would snatch this newfound opportunity out from under him and give it to someone more grateful.
But now, he couldn’t help but wonder: Why had Carina called out of the tournament at the last minute? Had she just gotten cold feet—the previous Triwizard Tournaments had been infamous for occasionally costing competitors their lives—or was it something more? Kasper had never spoken to Carina, like many others in his class, at length, but he recognized her face enough to know that he hadn’t seen her around the castle at all today. Then again, it was only the first day of the new school year, and Durmstrang was in upheaval, what with this unprecedented accommodation of foreign guests. Perhaps, as Professor Bautista had obviously thought, Kasper was worrying too much.
Finally, the raucous cries died down enough for the announcer to speak. “My sincerest apologies—there’s been a change of plans. The current Durmstrang representative is Kasper Edelberg, seventh year.”
Current, Kasper fumed as he made his way over to the three previously announced representatives. That word made it sound as though his representative status came with an expiration date. He couldn’t have used the word ‘new’ or ‘alternate’? What, has everyone already bet on me being the first to die, and it’s only a matter of time until someone else is called to stand in for me? That last, dark thought obliterated whatever remained of his embarrassment, and now all he felt was a persistent fury. The other three representatives were oriented in the beginnings of a square formation, one facing the section of audience to the right, the other straight ahead, and the other to the left. Kasper turned his back to them and completed the square, looking in the direction from which he’d entered. There, still standing just outside the double doors, was Professor Bautista. She met his gaze and scrunched up her dark, perfectly sculpted brows, as if she herself felt physical pain for the jeers that “Carina Eklund” had endured. Her pouty lips moved silently, mouthing Are you okay? in English.
Still simmering with rage, Kasper contemplated ignoring her. The illogical part of him wanted to lash out at someone, and didn’t care that the spectacle of his humiliation hadn’t been her fault. However, the kinder part of him knew that she meant well. After all, she’d been the only one to talk to him while he’d been waiting to be announced, and that had to count for something, even if the origin of their interaction had derived from a need to chastise him for smoking. So he forced the edges of his mouth to crinkle into a queasy little half smile and nodded once in her direction. Maybe Carina knew something the rest of us didn’t, Kasper wondered idly, as the fifth representative strolled over and took up his place outside the existing square of students, the start of the formation of a bigger one outside its perimeter. Maybe she was smart to withdraw while she still could. Because from a series of horrible chess beatings to showing up to the ball criminally underdressed to the recent gaffe with his name, Kasper’s tournament experience was rapidly going downhill.

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

Gavriel (Gavy)

Mood: Excited

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Open

This was unbelievable, it was like a dream she felt she would awake from at any moment, or at least that is how it felt. As Gavy stood in the long corridor with all the other potential competitors the young woman could barely keep herself from shaking with excitement. When she first heard of the Octowizard Tournament towards the end of the prior year Gavy never imagined that she would get this far. Somehow, she had been chosen out of who knows how many names to be a representative of Ilvermorny as well as have a chance to be chosen as a competitor for the tournament itself. Of course, she, like many others, had submitted her name for consideration at the end of last school year; but never in her wildest dreams did she think she would make it to this point.

The young platinum blonde could still picture the look on her sister’s face when she told her she had entered her name into the competition. Annalise’s eyes had grown so big that Gavy worried they would pop out of her head. She knew that her sister was excited for her but more than that she knew Annalise was terrified. They had already been through so much together, even when they were forced apart, so it was understandable that the idea of Gavy going into such a dangerous competition worried the oldest Sylvie girl. Gavy spent the first several weeks of summer vacation trying to assure her sister that she probably wouldn’t even be chosen and if she was that they should be excited about it rather than worry. Deep down Gavy understood why her sister was so anxious about the entire event and why her fretting only grew when Gavy was chosen as a potential competitor. For the first half of their lives, the two sisters had been through an unimaginable level of hell and Annalise had been unable to protect Gavy then no matter how hard she tried. Now, Annalise viewed this as another danger she would be unable to keep her little sister safe from while Gavy viewed it in a completely different light. This was an adventure to Gavy. It wasn’t a small, dark, damp room in their grandparent’s basement, it wasn’t chains and evil men coming to cleanse her. This was an epic journey, a story that she got to be apart of and was excited to do so. This was something unlike anything she had ever experienced before and it was thrilling. So no, Gavy did not feel the same fear and stress that her sister had and likely still did. Instead, she was bubbling with energy and excitement like a child on Christmas day. It might seem odd or silly but Gavy didn’t mind because she was happy.

A small pearly smile pulled at her lips as she thought back to when she first arrived in front of the great halls of Durmstrang with her fellow potential competitors as well as Professor Bautista. The cold that hit her upon exiting the enchanted flying vintage Rolls Royce Phantom that Ilvermorny used for long-distance travel was unlike anything she had felt before. It was so intense that for a moment she unknowingly turned the tips of her platinum hair a bright frosty blue color. She had of course been smiling the whole time as she looked at the bundled-up students around her and began to think of how badly she wanted to make a real-life Frosty the Snowman. It was childish but fun to think about and she didn’t have a care in the world if those around her thought less of her because of it. In fact, the only reason she wasn’t currently taking advantage of the snow outside was because she was required to take part in the ball that started off the tournament festivities. Not that she wasn’t excited to have a reason to get all dolled up but honestly, she would rather be out on some random adventure than parading around a ballroom all night.

That being said, Gavy had put a lot of thought into how she would look this evening. The young Metamorphmagus had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out how she should look. She tried several different noses, eyes, lips, jaws, and hair length before she came to her final decision. After hours of changing and adjusting she simply decided to go with her natural features rather than anything new since she wanted the people she would be meeting to know her rather than some altered vision of herself. That isn’t to say that she was going to keep her eyes and hair the same color all night since they did tend to change depending on her emotions. For example, right now as she felt flooded with excitement her naturally jade-colored gaze was instead bright blue like lightning on ice. She did take time to fix her hair into a lovely half down half braided style that flowed like a gentle waterfall down her back. As of right now, her hair was its natural platinum blonde, almost white, color but it would likely change throughout the night depending on how she felt.

Gavy had actually spent a lot of time selecting a gown for the evening. From the night that she and Annalise had first found out about the ball, the two sisters spent many hours and laughs flipping through magazines from both the wizarding and muggle world. Finally, they found the perfect gown for Gavy just two weeks before the semester would begin again. The dress was a lovely thin-strapped gown with a plunging split neckline and open back. What made the dress so perfect for Gavy was the metallic iridescent material that the gown was made of. With every twist and turn the long folds of the skirt shifted in shade which ranged from blue, to black, to purple depending on how the light hit it. In it Gavy was a vision of beauty as she stood with the other finely dressed students.

The familiar sound of her professors' voice snapped Gavy out of her thoughts of snowmen and icy adventures as she stood waiting for her name to be announced. Her ever color-changing gaze shot over to the figure of Professor Bautista who was speaking, or rather correcting, a young man with bright rust-colored hair. From what Gavy could tell it seemed that the young man had begun to smoke and thus found himself a target of the Ilvermorny professors need to have things just so. She felt bad that the boy was forced to put out his cigarette and hoped to catch his eye in order to communicate a silent apology but alas things began to move forward with the naming ceremony before she could get his attention.

From where she stood towards the back of the line Gavy had a great view of the students ahead of her as they took turns walking forward as their names were called. One after another they went in and everything was going peachy until it was the redheaded boy's turn to be announced. When they called out the first name Gavy thought it was an odd name for a young man but chalked it up to cultural differences. However, when the name was corrected a crushing sensation plummeted into the pale-haired girls’ stomach as she felt awful for the young man who had been misnamed in front of an entire crowd. It was anyone with stage fright or social anxieties worst dream come true and from where she was standing several yards away, she could have sworn she saw the young man tense up; an understandable reaction to what had just occurred.

“Poor guy.” She breathed silently and swore to herself that she would try and find some way to improve his evening. She might not be a mind reader but she didn’t need to be in order to understand how someone would feel after such an embarrassing moment. With any luck, the festivities would make everyone forget and perhaps even give her an opportunity to get to know the young man better so that she could figure out the best way to help him enjoy the evening. Who knows, maybe he might even be interested in ditching the ball altogether with her and exploring the castle and the grounds. The thought put a smile on her face as Gavy thought about how it was now her goal to make this young man her friend. She wanted to try and make as many friends as she could during this tournament because honestly when would she ever get an opportunity like this again.

Waiting patiently for her name to be called Gavy stepped forward a bit every few seconds and listened to the clapping and cheers as each student before her was called forth. Just don’t trip and you’ll do great! She thought to herself over and over again until it was almost her turn to go up. As the thought kept running through her head, she spotted the young red-headed man on the other side of the doorway among the first several named tributes. As her eyes locked on him the thought in her head began to morph into something new. If I trip maybe he won’t feel as bad. It could distract others from the mess up with his name…She pondered the idea for a moment before deciding that her ego could take a hit if it meant getting some of the harsh limelight off of the poor boy already out in the crowd.

“Gavriel Sylvie of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sixth year!”

As her name was called for her to enter the ballroom Gavy took a deep breath and began to walk forwards, her heeled feet clicking with every step she took but the sound was drowned by the claps and applause of the crowd. She was grace and beauty incarnate as she waved and smiled towards the crowd. In the most natural-looking way, Gavy purposely stepped forward a little too far and caught her foot on her gown. The movement looked so accidental and natural that no one would be able to guess that it was done on purpose. A heartbeat after that Gavy was crashing to the ground in front of everyone in the most inelegant of ways.

For a moment there was silence and gasps of shock as she caught herself on her hands and knees. A heartbeat later however roars of laughter flooded the ballroom as people realized she wasn’t hurt and began to find joy in the unfortunate stumble. As she scrambled back to her feet Gavy became aware of her hair turning bright pink in embarrassment and could only assume that her eyes matched the shade. Even if it was secretly a planned fall the embarrassment, she felt was real but deep down she didn’t mind as she secretly hoped the unfortunate display would help others to forget what happened to the red-headed boy. Pushing a lock of her bright pink hair out of her face the flushed young woman ducked her head and made her journey the rest of the way into the ballroom, her gaze avoiding most others as the laughter was hushed by staff from all schools so the rest of the students could be announced. Quietly she took her place next to the others as she waited for the names to finish being called and began to think about how badly she wanted to go out into the snow rather than be here. The thought of the snow calmed her enough that her hair once again became its natural near-white shade and her eyes returned to their jade hue. I hope that helped.

code by Stardust Galaxy

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

This was unbelievable, it was like a dream she felt she would awake from at any moment, or at least that is how it felt. As Gavy stood in the long corridor with all the other potential competitors the young woman could barely keep herself from shaking with excitement. When she first heard of the Octowizard Tournament towards the end of the prior year Gavy never imagined that she would get this far. Somehow, she had been chosen out of who knows how many names to be a representative of Ilvermorny as well as have a chance to be chosen as a competitor for the tournament itself. Of course, she, like many others, had submitted her name for consideration at the end of last school year; but never in her wildest dreams did she think she would make it to this point.

The young platinum blonde could still picture the look on her sister’s face when she told her she had entered her name into the competition. Annalise’s eyes had grown so big that Gavy worried they would pop out of her head. She knew that her sister was excited for her but more than that she knew Annalise was terrified. They had already been through so much together, even when they were forced apart, so it was understandable that the idea of Gavy going into such a dangerous competition worried the oldest Sylvie girl. Gavy spent the first several weeks of summer vacation trying to assure her sister that she probably wouldn’t even be chosen and if she was that they should be excited about it rather than worry. Deep down Gavy understood why her sister was so anxious about the entire event and why her fretting only grew when Gavy was chosen as a potential competitor. For the first half of their lives, the two sisters had been through an unimaginable level of hell and Annalise had been unable to protect Gavy then no matter how hard she tried. Now, Annalise viewed this as another danger she would be unable to keep her little sister safe from while Gavy viewed it in a completely different light. This was an adventure to Gavy. It wasn’t a small, dark, damp room in their grandparent’s basement, it wasn’t chains and evil men coming to cleanse her. This was an epic journey, a story that she got to be apart of and was excited to do so. This was something unlike anything she had ever experienced before and it was thrilling. So no, Gavy did not feel the same fear and stress that her sister had and likely still did. Instead, she was bubbling with energy and excitement like a child on Christmas day. It might seem odd or silly but Gavy didn’t mind because she was happy.

A small pearly smile pulled at her lips as she thought back to when she first arrived in front of the great halls of Durmstrang with her fellow potential competitors as well as Professor Bautista. The cold that hit her upon exiting the enchanted flying vintage Rolls Royce Phantom that Ilvermorny used for long-distance travel was unlike anything she had felt before. It was so intense that for a moment she unknowingly turned the tips of her platinum hair a bright frosty blue color. She had of course been smiling the whole time as she looked at the bundled-up students around her and began to think of how badly she wanted to make a real-life Frosty the Snowman. It was childish but fun to think about and she didn’t have a care in the world if those around her thought less of her because of it. In fact, the only reason she wasn’t currently taking advantage of the snow outside was because she was required to take part in the ball that started off the tournament festivities. Not that she wasn’t excited to have a reason to get all dolled up but honestly, she would rather be out on some random adventure than parading around a ballroom all night.

That being said, Gavy had put a lot of thought into how she would look this evening. The young Metamorphmagus had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out how she should look. She tried several different noses, eyes, lips, jaws, and hair length before she came to her final decision. After hours of changing and adjusting she simply decided to go with her natural features rather than anything new since she wanted the people she would be meeting to know her rather than some altered vision of herself. That isn’t to say that she was going to keep her eyes and hair the same color all night since they did tend to change depending on her emotions. For example, right now as she felt flooded with excitement her naturally jade-colored gaze was instead bright blue like lightning on ice. She did take time to fix her hair into a lovely half down half braided style that flowed like a gentle waterfall down her back. As of right now, her hair was its natural platinum blonde, almost white, color but it would likely change throughout the night depending on how she felt.

Gavy had actually spent a lot of time selecting a gown for the evening. From the night that she and Annalise had first found out about the ball, the two sisters spent many hours and laughs flipping through magazines from both the wizarding and muggle world. Finally, they found the perfect gown for Gavy just two weeks before the semester would begin again. The dress was a lovely thin-strapped gown with a plunging split neckline and open back. What made the dress so perfect for Gavy was the metallic iridescent material that the gown was made of. With every twist and turn the long folds of the skirt shifted in shade which ranged from blue, to black, to purple depending on how the light hit it. In it Gavy was a vision of beauty as she stood with the other finely dressed students.

The familiar sound of her professors' voice snapped Gavy out of her thoughts of snowmen and icy adventures as she stood waiting for her name to be announced. Her ever color-changing gaze shot over to the figure of Professor Bautista who was speaking, or rather correcting, a young man with bright rust-colored hair. From what Gavy could tell it seemed that the young man had begun to smoke and thus found himself a target of the Ilvermorny professors need to have things just so. She felt bad that the boy was forced to put out his cigarette and hoped to catch his eye in order to communicate a silent apology but alas things began to move forward with the naming ceremony before she could get his attention.

From where she stood towards the back of the line Gavy had a great view of the students ahead of her as they took turns walking forward as their names were called. One after another they went in and everything was going peachy until it was the redheaded boy's turn to be announced. When they called out the first name Gavy thought it was an odd name for a young man but chalked it up to cultural differences. However, when the name was corrected a crushing sensation plummeted into the pale-haired girls’ stomach as she felt awful for the young man who had been misnamed in front of an entire crowd. It was anyone with stage fright or social anxieties worst dream come true and from where she was standing several yards away, she could have sworn she saw the young man tense up; an understandable reaction to what had just occurred.

“Poor guy.” She breathed silently and swore to herself that she would try and find some way to improve his evening. She might not be a mind reader but she didn’t need to be in order to understand how someone would feel after such an embarrassing moment. With any luck, the festivities would make everyone forget and perhaps even give her an opportunity to get to know the young man better so that she could figure out the best way to help him enjoy the evening. Who knows, maybe he might even be interested in ditching the ball altogether with her and exploring the castle and the grounds. The thought put a smile on her face as Gavy thought about how it was now her goal to make this young man her friend. She wanted to try and make as many friends as she could during this tournament because honestly when would she ever get an opportunity like this again.

Waiting patiently for her name to be called Gavy stepped forward a bit every few seconds and listened to the clapping and cheers as each student before her was called forth. Just don’t trip and you’ll do great! She thought to herself over and over again until it was almost her turn to go up. As the thought kept running through her head, she spotted the young red-headed man on the other side of the doorway among the first several named tributes. As her eyes locked on him the thought in her head began to morph into something new. If I trip maybe he won’t feel as bad. It could distract others from the mess up with his name…She pondered the idea for a moment before deciding that her ego could take a hit if it meant getting some of the harsh limelight off of the poor boy already out in the crowd.

“Gavriel Sylvie of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sixth year!”

As her name was called for her to enter the ballroom Gavy took a deep breath and began to walk forwards, her heeled feet clicking with every step she took but the sound was drowned by the claps and applause of the crowd. She was grace and beauty incarnate as she waved and smiled towards the crowd. In the most natural-looking way, Gavy purposely stepped forward a little too far and caught her foot on her gown. The movement looked so accidental and natural that no one would be able to guess that it was done on purpose. A heartbeat after that Gavy was crashing to the ground in front of everyone in the most inelegant of ways.

For a moment there was silence and gasps of shock as she caught herself on her hands and knees. A heartbeat later however roars of laughter flooded the ballroom as people realized she wasn’t hurt and began to find joy in the unfortunate stumble. As she scrambled back to her feet Gavy became aware of her hair turning bright pink in embarrassment and could only assume that her eyes matched the shade. Even if it was secretly a planned fall the embarrassment, she felt was real but deep down she didn’t mind as she secretly hoped the unfortunate display would help others to forget what happened to the red-headed boy. Pushing a lock of her bright pink hair out of her face the flushed young woman ducked her head and made her journey the rest of the way into the ballroom, her gaze avoiding most others as the laughter was hushed by staff from all schools so the rest of the students could be announced. Quietly she took her place next to the others as she waited for the names to finish being called and began to think about how badly she wanted to go out into the snow rather than be here. The thought of the snow calmed her enough that her hair once again became its natural near-white shade and her eyes returned to their jade hue. I hope that helped.

Einar

Mood: Focused

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Open

Einar was no fool. He might be old and a bit worn down but he was still sharp as a tack when it mattered. That is why he knew something was going on, someone was pulling strings and he knew that there was more to this tournament than met the eye. Things had been happening that gave him a feeling of a great weight in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he had learned long ago to never ignore. There was a storm brewing, he knew it, his old auror senses could feel it, he just couldn’t prove anything…yet.

This great feeling weighed heavily on the old man’s mind as he stood in a finely tailored suit towards the back of the crowd. As per usual, the elderly professor was leaning on his cane that he pretended he needed and so far, no one knew that he didn’t. His left hand was covered in a black and gold embroidered glove with fine fur across the cuff. Despite his age, he looked well put together with a groomed beard and his hair brushed back in an almost regal manner. This was likely of no surprise to his students seeing as the old man of the school often showed up to class well-groomed and in nice robes, as though he had come from a ministry meeting. Even in his off-hours, it was rare to see Einar look like a mess.

His icy blue gaze looked over the crowd as the many students and teachers stood waiting for the festivities to begin. Einar himself had already poached the refreshment table of a few sweet rolls and had a few wrapped up in the folds of his pockets that he planned to sneak to his students such as Kasper and Freyja who would be more than busy with the night's schedule. He wanted to make sure they stayed on their feet as long as they could and sweet rolls were delicious enough to give anyone a second wind.

As the thought of Kasper crossed his mind a mixture of feelings swelled within the man’s heart. There was so much about Kasper that the boy himself did not yet know, that Einar desired to protect him from. The young man was incredibly gifted and Einar thought of him as a son, a son that he would do anything to keep from harm's way as well as from the grabbing claws of those who wished to use the boy and his abilities. He knew how terrified Kasper was of his powers and wished with all his heart that he could do something, anything, to help his student. At most he could just impart his wisdom on the boy, give him support, be there when Kasper needed him, and pray it to be enough. The two have spent countless hours in his office talking, playing wizards chess, drinking tea and eating sweet rolls. In that time Einar has watched Kasper grow from a timid young boy into a fine young man which is why he worries.

Kasper was never supposed to take part in this tournament. Others had been chosen before him and still, he was somehow lined up to take part. The withdrawal of Carina Eklund was odd enough but what became more concerning was how despite his protest Kasper was made her replacement out of the blue. It was too much pressure to put on the boy and yet Einar’s concerns had been ignored and Kasper was lined up as a potential champion of Durmstrang Institute. None of this sat right with the old man who scanned the crowd with a content looking smile but eyes that sought to find a hidden threat.

As the calling of the names of potential champions began Einar adjusted his cane and his stance in order to get a better look at the students as they appeared. One by one they entered the great hall and as each name was called Einar slammed the bottom of his cane against the stone floor in applause. All was well until Carina Eklund’s name was called and Kasper appeared instead. Einar felt instantly enraged at whoever messed such a thing up and put the young man on the spot in such a way. He swallowed his anger as his eyes looked upon Kasper and instead of joining the others in their laughter, he gave the boy a nod to show how proud he was of him. His eyes expressed what he could not say in front of the crowd. Hold your head high boy. He thought and wished that he could be up there with him but well aware that Kasper had to deal with this unfortunate event on his own. However, Einar had every intention of tracking Kasper down later in the night to check in on the lad and give him a sweet roll.

Another figure caught the old auror’s eye as they passed into the crowd. For a moment he felt the knot in his stomach tighten as his eyes fell upon the dark-haired professor that had come out around the same time as Kasper. Einar recognized her from the arrival of the students and something in the back of his mind kept nipping at him to keep an eye on her. The whole event had to old man wound up and on high alert so he wasn’t totally sure if he was being paranoid or not but still, he knew he needed to stay alert. You’re only paranoid if you’re wrong. He thought to himself, a lesson he had learned the hard way many years ago.

code by Stardust Galaxy

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

Einar was no fool. He might be old and a bit worn down but he was still sharp as a tack when it mattered. That is why he knew something was going on, someone was pulling strings and he knew that there was more to this tournament than met the eye. Things had been happening that gave him a feeling of a great weight in the pit of his stomach, a feeling he had learned long ago to never ignore. There was a storm brewing, he knew it, his old auror senses could feel it, he just couldn’t prove anything…yet.

This great feeling weighed heavily on the old man’s mind as he stood in a finely tailored suit towards the back of the crowd. As per usual, the elderly professor was leaning on his cane that he pretended he needed and so far, no one knew that he didn’t. His left hand was covered in a black and gold embroidered glove with fine fur across the cuff. Despite his age, he looked well put together with a groomed beard and his hair brushed back in an almost regal manner. This was likely of no surprise to his students seeing as the old man of the school often showed up to class well-groomed and in nice robes, as though he had come from a ministry meeting. Even in his off-hours, it was rare to see Einar look like a mess.

His icy blue gaze looked over the crowd as the many students and teachers stood waiting for the festivities to begin. Einar himself had already poached the refreshment table of a few sweet rolls and had a few wrapped up in the folds of his pockets that he planned to sneak to his students such as Kasper and Freyja who would be more than busy with the night's schedule. He wanted to make sure they stayed on their feet as long as they could and sweet rolls were delicious enough to give anyone a second wind.

As the thought of Kasper crossed his mind a mixture of feelings swelled within the man’s heart. There was so much about Kasper that the boy himself did not yet know, that Einar desired to protect him from. The young man was incredibly gifted and Einar thought of him as a son, a son that he would do anything to keep from harm's way as well as from the grabbing claws of those who wished to use the boy and his abilities. He knew how terrified Kasper was of his powers and wished with all his heart that he could do something, anything, to help his student. At most he could just impart his wisdom on the boy, give him support, be there when Kasper needed him, and pray it to be enough. The two have spent countless hours in his office talking, playing wizards chess, drinking tea and eating sweet rolls. In that time Einar has watched Kasper grow from a timid young boy into a fine young man which is why he worries.

Kasper was never supposed to take part in this tournament. Others had been chosen before him and still, he was somehow lined up to take part. The withdrawal of Carina Eklund was odd enough but what became more concerning was how despite his protest Kasper was made her replacement out of the blue. It was too much pressure to put on the boy and yet Einar’s concerns had been ignored and Kasper was lined up as a potential champion of Durmstrang Institute. None of this sat right with the old man who scanned the crowd with a content looking smile but eyes that sought to find a hidden threat.

As the calling of the names of potential champions began Einar adjusted his cane and his stance in order to get a better look at the students as they appeared. One by one they entered the great hall and as each name was called Einar slammed the bottom of his cane against the stone floor in applause. All was well until Carina Eklund’s name was called and Kasper appeared instead. Einar felt instantly enraged at whoever messed such a thing up and put the young man on the spot in such a way. He swallowed his anger as his eyes looked upon Kasper and instead of joining the others in their laughter, he gave the boy a nod to show how proud he was of him. His eyes expressed what he could not say in front of the crowd. Hold your head high boy. He thought and wished that he could be up there with him but well aware that Kasper had to deal with this unfortunate event on his own. However, Einar had every intention of tracking Kasper down later in the night to check in on the lad and give him a sweet roll.

Another figure caught the old auror’s eye as they passed into the crowd. For a moment he felt the knot in his stomach tighten as his eyes fell upon the dark-haired professor that had come out around the same time as Kasper. Einar recognized her from the arrival of the students and something in the back of his mind kept nipping at him to keep an eye on her. The whole event had to old man wound up and on high alert so he wasn’t totally sure if he was being paranoid or not but still, he knew he needed to stay alert. You’re only paranoid if you’re wrong. He thought to himself, a lesson he had learned the hard way many years ago.

 

[Jannah]

"You have to enter your name. This could be the glory our family has lacked for so long." Jin-Hwan had been insistent, staring straight into the eyes of his son, the moment he had found out about arguably the biggest event in the Wizarding World for some time. There was no mistaking that the Octowizard Tournament was destined to be all anyone discussed for awhile so the Yom name might as well be added to it. It seemed the perfect strategy in the imperfect world that was pureblood politics. Jae-Hui had simply had no choice but to silently agree. His fate was already sealed and with nothing to lose he had stepped directly up to the podium with parchment in hand. Inside the small slip of parchment had been his name and year impeccably penned in the Kanji script of the school he belonged to.

Now, months later he still remained in disbelief of having been chosen at all, but here he was. The Mahoutokoro Champion. Naturally, his family had flooded him with letters of praise and congratulations but deep down he knew what was truly expected of him. Hidden within the subtext of the letters, just as it always was, were warnings. Do not disappoint, do not disgrace the family further. Failure in any form was simply not an option and it was a reality ever present in the back of the young Korean's mind. In fact, he said little at all as he presented himself to the school committee in charge of planning for the tournament. He simply nodded and allowed them to take in the impressive sight of his golden robes, a sign of academic excellence only bestowed upon the school's brightest and highest achieving. For most, it was a status symbol but for the boy it represented each of his internal struggles; the robes had not been earned by simply sitting idly, but rather carefully following expectations. This tournament suddenly seemed no different.

Jae-Hui listened with intent as a careful rundown of the first leg of the tournament was given. Durmstrang was to be their first destination, the Scandinavian school with a reputation for dark magic. He was uncertain just how much truth there was to the rumours, but he could not help but to be intrigued by it. The Dark Arts were...fascinating and the young man was fairly sure that at least some in his family practiced the art. For him, willpower as of yet remained too strong to give into the temptation. He had to persevere on a righteous path for the sake of himself. No, for the sake of his family.

Upon departing from Japan towards Norway Jae-Hui felt more alone than he did in far too long. During the trip he sat and carefully examined the others, the secondaries should he fall. The wording, as it had been provided, made the young man feel rather uneasy about the endeavour. Falling suggested a sort of permanence he was not quite ready to come to terms with yet. It was not unknown for contenders to die during such competitions, either. I can't decide which is worse at this point: failure or death. He was left pondering all possible outcomes as he suspected the others were. It only reaffirmed the sense of isolation that had begun to take over. In this fight he truly had no allies. Everyone was either competing against him or hoping for a lucky break in a chance to compete at all. It was not exactly the most validating feeling in the world, leaving him to only hope that the experiences themselves would provide more value.

The first sensation Jae-Hui felt upon arrival was the bitter Norwegian cold biting his flesh. It stung like bees and left a reminder of just how distant he now was from home. Not even during the coldest Korean winter nights did the temperature drop this low. Just how North were they? It was a curiosity the young man made note of to ask one of the host school's representatives later on. Firstly he would have to make a public appearance, just like each of the schools was required to. It seemed a simple enough obligation but the Korean had treated it as an opportunity for diversity and education, thus he had opted to don traditional hanbok from his homeland. Once he and the others began to file inside the Storhall he was pleased to learn that he had not been alone in such outrageous ideas. Others, particularly the Africans, were donning many colours of the rainbow in the form of traditional garments. One, a tall and slender girl whom the Korean could only assume was representing Uagadou, stood out as particularly beautiful. Her fashion choices spoke to him on many levels even if it was a long shot from the much more conservative style of dress that his own family adopted.

It seemed like only minutes before the Storhall truly began to crowd. Foreign representatives from all over the world and the local student body alike began to mingle. It marked the unofficial beginning of the Octowizard Tournament although Jae-Hui suspected that there would be a more official welcoming ceremony in time. Nonetheless, he began to wander the hall to take in the unfamiliar sights and unknown faces. Some he would be directly competing against, although others he could befriend to some extent. Potentially. The Korean had never been good at the whole "making friends" thing, but there was a first time for everything ,right?

With a sigh, he continued watching and observing. He braced himself for what was to come. Well, I guess it's time to maybe make some friends and size up my competition.

 

[artfvlly]

genevieve chapelle.

Scandinavia was not at all what the young Genevieve Chapelle had expected. In anticipation for the event, she had most definitely done her research. Genevieve had travelled before, not this far north she had to admit, but she knew of different culture. Her adoptive mother had made sure she was well travelled, well spoken and read. She had been to most of Europe, North and South America, even Asia but nothing had prepared her for the true north. Perhaps it was the cold, or the weight of expectation. The young Genevieve hated to admit it to herself, but she almost felt out of her depths.

Genevieve was not one to admit her own weakness, but to her it was so painfully obvious. She could not place the moment that she had began to feel nerves, the travel over? The feeling of the cold? The dress? Maybe it was the dress. Her mother had hand-stitched that dress for her, poured every feeling of love and attachment into each layer of fabric and thread. Genevieve had stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, observing how sickly pale she looked in contrast with the pastel green. Just maybe green wasn't her colour? Genevieve knew she was lying to herself, she had worn a similar colour to the a ball two seasons ago and looked like the image of spring. It was the homesickness attached to the dress, knowing she was so far away from her parents.

Genevieve wasn't afraid often, but with her own reputation, her family and schools too... she knew she had to do well. She was the best in her year, the best in her school if she were to brag. She had expectation. Even if she knew her parents would not mind either way, she knew she had her own expectations of herself. So, she had allowed herself to have her moment. That moment of stress and upset, but the second she stepped into the public eye she was poised and ready.

Her dress, well her mother had not disappointed. The bodice was built like a corset, sturdy and laced as tightly as possible in the back. It was strapless, instead held by her figure. Genevieve had made sure to bring the appropriate shoes, slightly heeled but not enough to be a potential hazard. The dresses skirts were layered with lace and small jewels which flared out, dragged against the floors. Genevieve had fashioned her blonde hair into a high-fashion up-do, allowing a few tight curls to escape and accent her face and neck. Her lips were painted a ruby red, a hint of eyeshadow and eyeliner to accompany it. She had made sure to wear her mothers pearl earrings to match the dress, as well as a small sliver bracelet. Genevieve had also not forgotten to use concealer to hide the bruise on her arm, and hope no one would notice the similar wounds on her fingertips. Despite owning many arm guards and gloves, archery still managed to take it's toll on her body. Perfection had it's flaws, and slowly wearing down her skin with each bowstring drawn was one of them.

Lining up in preparation was where Genevieve found her moment of clarity. Grounding before a big entrance was always good, she couldn't afford to wobble during first impressions. As much as she was sure everyone was as nervous as her, weakness wasn't a desirable trait. Clasping her hands together, Genevieve surveyed her competition. If nerves were going to eat her raw, she might as well distract herself. She knew once everything started moving, and they were not all left waiting in anticipation that she would find her feet. She managed to give the boy next to her a somewhat judgemental look as he started smoking, arching a perfectly sculptured eyebrow before turning away disinterested. For the moment, she deemed it would be hard to size up the competition. Everyone would be trying to do the same as her, fake confidence and smiles. It would be under pressure that they would crack, then all would be revealed.

As Genevieve came to find herself at the start of the line, she held her chin high.
"Genevieve Adelle Chapelle of Beaubaxons Academy, seventh year." The announcement rang out. Genevieve smiled politely, stepping out into the hall before making her graceful walk towards the over contestants. With ease she looked straight ahead, unfazed, unbothered by the stares and polite clapping. Taking a hold of her skirts for a moment, she nodded to the other contestants already lined up and took her spot.

As the others slowly filed to the front, Genevieve paid them close attention. She failed to hold a straight face as the mess-up of both names and gender happened to the boy who had been smoking behind her, arching a brow with a small smile. He seemed to flush and shy away in reaction to the laughter. She had to hold her own tongue to stop herself from doing the same, as the now pink-haired girl after him fell during her walk to the front. She did admit to herself, that she felt sorry for them both, but the possibility of an unconfident champion was always comforting.

coded by incandescent

Spoiler: mobile friendly - genevieve

Scandinavia was not at all what the young Genevieve Chapelle had expected. In anticipation for the event, she had most definitely done her research. Genevieve had travelled before, not this far north she had to admit, but she knew of different culture. Her adoptive mother had made sure she was well travelled, well spoken and read. She had been to most of Europe, North and South America, even Asia but nothing had prepared her for the true north. Perhaps it was the cold, or the weight of expectation. The young Genevieve hated to admit it to herself, but she almost felt out of her depths.

Genevieve was not one to admit her own weakness, but to her it was so painfully obvious. She could not place the moment that she had began to feel nerves, the travel over? The feeling of the cold? The dress? Maybe it was the dress. Her mother had hand-stitched that dress for her, poured every feeling of love and attachment into each layer of fabric and thread. Genevieve had stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, observing how sickly pale she looked in contrast with the pastel green. Just maybe green wasn't her colour? Genevieve knew she was lying to herself, she had worn a similar colour to the a ball two seasons ago and looked like the image of spring. It was the homesickness attached to the dress, knowing she was so far away from her parents.

Genevieve wasn't afraid often, but with her own reputation, her family and schools too... she knew she had to do well. She was the best in her year, the best in her school if she were to brag. She had expectation. Even if she knew her parents would not mind either way, she knew she had her own expectations of herself. So, she had allowed herself to have her moment. That moment of stress and upset, but the second she stepped into the public eye she was poised and ready.

Her dress, well her mother had not disappointed. The bodice was built like a corset, sturdy and laced as tightly as possible in the back. It was strapless, instead held by her figure. Genevieve had made sure to bring the appropriate shoes, slightly heeled but not enough to be a potential hazard. The dresses skirts were layered with lace and small jewels which flared out, dragged against the floors. Genevieve had fashioned her blonde hair into a high-fashion up-do, allowing a few tight curls to escape and accent her face and neck. Her lips were painted a ruby red, a hint of eyeshadow and eyeliner to accompany it. She had made sure to wear her mothers pearl earrings to match the dress, as well as a small sliver bracelet. Genevieve had also not forgotten to use concealer to hide the bruise on her arm, and hope no one would notice the similar wounds on her fingertips. Despite owning many arm guards and gloves, archery still managed to take it's toll on her body. Perfection had it's flaws, and slowly wearing down her skin with each bowstring drawn was one of them.

Lining up in preparation was where Genevieve found her moment of clarity. Grounding before a big entrance was always good, she couldn't afford to wobble during first impressions. As much as she was sure everyone was as nervous as her, weakness wasn't a desirable trait. Clasping her hands together, Genevieve surveyed her competition. If nerves were going to eat her raw, she might as well distract herself. She knew once everything started moving, and they were not all left waiting in anticipation that she would find her feet. She managed to give the boy next to her a somewhat judgemental look as he started smoking, arching a perfectly sculptured eyebrow before turning away disinterested. For the moment, she deemed it would be hard to size up the competition. Everyone would be trying to do the same as her, fake confidence and smiles. It would be under pressure that they would crack, then all would be revealed.

As Genevieve came to find herself at the start of the line, she held her chin high.
"Genevieve Adelle Chapelle of Beaubaxons Academy, seventh year." The announcement rang out. Genevieve smiled politely, stepping out into the hall before making her graceful walk towards the over contestants. With ease she looked straight ahead, unfazed, unbothered by the stares and polite clapping. Taking a hold of her skirts for a moment, she nodded to the other contestants already lined up and took her spot.

As the others slowly filed to the front, Genevieve paid them close attention. She failed to hold a straight face as the mess-up of both names and gender happened to the boy who had been smoking behind her, arching a brow with a small smile. He seemed to flush and shy away in reaction to the laughter. She had to hold her own tongue to stop herself from doing the same, as the now pink-haired girl after him fell during her walk to the front. She did admit to herself, that she felt sorry for them both, but the possibility of an unconfident champion was always comforting.

freyja hartvigsen.

The first thing Freyja had done in preparation for the ball was fill a flask with firewhisky. Her poor family seemed to drink so much of the stuff, they never noticed a bottle or two go missing. Durmstrang was rather lax in that regard too, many of the students would drink and smoke on the ground. No one blinked an eye as long as they behaved. Freyja had no idea if she would even get the chance to take a sip from the flask, or spike her own drinks at the ball without being noticed. She expected rules would be more heavily enforced with all the visitors. To be fair, Freyja didn't really need the drink, more just something to take the edge off. She had taken more than a few swigs straight from the bottle before getting ready for the ball, and maybe that's why she was running 15 minutes late. Freyja had procrastinated getting ready long enough, but trying to buckle herself into a dress while slightly tipsy wasn't an easy task.

Still putting in her earrings, Freyja arrived at Storhall just in time. Names were just about to be called as she stepped in line, politely smiling an apology at the other contestants and professors as they gave her exasperated looks. Freyja had managed to quickly pull together a presentable look, a bit of lipstick, mascara and eyeshadow laid on. Her hair was a bit of a mess, as always, unruly brown waves barely tamed into a 'off the beach waves' look reaching past her shoulders. A line of sliver hoops and studs adored both ears, as well as some rings and bracelets for her fingers and wrists.

Catching her breath, Freyja used one hand to lean against the stone wall as she fixed her shoe. She wasn't sure if it was the ache of her hip that was bothering her more, or the way her heeled shoes pinched her skin. Running in heels probably wasn't the best idea regardless, considering the damaged goods she was. The firewhisky helped numb the pain a bit, which was another advantage, as well as fight the cold. Even if Freyja was from the area, wearing a thin dress that exposed most of her skin wasn't the best way to stay warm. It didn't make her shiver, or whine, more just make her bones feel brittle.

Finally standing in a more dignified position, Freyja looked ahead in the line. She was a few people down from a painfully familiar face, Kaspar. He didn't seem to have noticed her arrival, or presence for that matter. Or maybe he was just purposely making it seem that way. She had dumped him after all, yet she could not stop herself from staring at him as he lit a cigarette. He looked tense, as much as she was pissed with him, she couldn't waiver her worry for him. She knew his inclusion in the tournament had been very last minute, Einar's meddling most likely. She liked that old man and was sure Kaspar would do well if chosen... but she struggled to hide her concerns about it all.

Freyja was broken from her staring trance as Kaspar was approached by a professor. Clearing her throat, she looked away, instead focusing on making sure her dress was in order. Freyja wore a crimson dress, almost velvet in texture. It was quite simple in comparison to others in attendance, a black buckled belt of sorts which held in the waist and a split skirt to expose her leg. The dress was long sleeved, but she had also chosen to throw in a family heirloom to present her ethnicity. Over her shoulders hung the pelt of a wolf, killed in Norway by one of her ancestors. It had a small pendant, to hold the furs on her shoulders, which lay just below her neck and bore the family sigil. Many Durmstrang students had similar furs if they came from influential families, like her own. In fact, her family were part of the reason why she applied to be apart of the tournament. And maybe a bit of boredom too.

Freyja shifted forward in line as people slowly made their way forward, peaking her head out from the line she watched as Kaspar was mentioned forward by a unknown woman. Part of her wished she had been next to him in line, as awkward as it would've been, because her stomach dropped as they announced the wrong name. She wasn't close enough to the doors to send a death stare to those laughing, but she could identity her friends laughter from the crowd. They were always rather cruel to everyone that wasn't in their clique, so now Kaspar and her were no longer dating he wasn't immune to their jests. Anxiously, Freyja looked around to see if Einar was anywhere as Kaspar went red with embarrassment. She was sure Einar would be just as angry as her in this moment. She could nearly cry on Kaspar's behalf at this point, especially as she felt herself sobering up fast as her time to walk grew closer. Much to Freyja's horror, the laughter didn't end with Kaspar. The next was an American girl who fell during her walk, Freyja visibly cringing as the crowd erupted. Horrible, all of them. She knew it for a fact.

Exhaling sharply, Freyja took a step to the front of the line. Wearing heels was an awful idea, she concluded. Her dress was too long for flat shoes, but standing in heels for so long was killing her feet and hip. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she took a step forward as motioned to do.
"Freyja Hartvigsen of Durmstrang Institute, seventh year."

Freyja could hear the corner where her friends sat burst into cheers, the other attendants who clapped politely for her rolling their eyes. She spared a smile in their direction, although it became more of a grimace as she grit her teeth to walk down to where the others stood. She had spent most of her life a figure skater, gritting through pain had become a hobby of hers, and so had moving gracefully as possibly. Freyja sent a silent thank you to her past self for committing so hard, regardless of all the pain and drama figure skating had caused her, it had made her so naturally graceful on her feet it felt almost unnatural. For tonight, it would help her get through this without an obvious limp.

As she walked to her spot next to the other contestants, Freyja tried to catch Kaspar's eye, mouthing an "are you okay?" in his direction as she walked past him. Regardless of any bad feelings between them, she would still look out for him. Taking her spot next to the now white-haired American girl who had fallen, Freyja glanced in her direction.
"Quite the fall, are you okay? Floors are hard around here, everyone seems to insist they use building materials from the middle-ages." Freyja whispered to her, hoping no one was watching them.

coded by incandescent

​

Spoiler: mobile friendly - freyja

The first thing Freyja had done in preparation for the ball was fill a flask with firewhisky. Her poor family seemed to drink so much of the stuff, they never noticed a bottle or two go missing. Durmstrang was rather lax in that regard too, many of the students would drink and smoke on the ground. No one blinked an eye as long as they behaved. Freyja had no idea if she would even get the chance to take a sip from the flask, or spike her own drinks at the ball without being noticed. She expected rules would be more heavily enforced with all the visitors. To be fair, Freyja didn't really need the drink, more just something to take the edge off. She had taken more than a few swigs straight from the bottle before getting ready for the ball, and maybe that's why she was running 15 minutes late. Freyja had procrastinated getting ready long enough, but trying to buckle herself into a dress while slightly tipsy wasn't an easy task.

Still putting in her earrings, Freyja arrived at Storhall just in time. Names were just about to be called as she stepped in line, politely smiling an apology at the other contestants and professors as they gave her exasperated looks. Freyja had managed to quickly pull together a presentable look, a bit of lipstick, mascara and eyeshadow laid on. Her hair was a bit of a mess, as always, unruly brown waves barely tamed into a 'off the beach waves' look reaching past her shoulders. A line of sliver hoops and studs adored both ears, as well as some rings and bracelets for her fingers and wrists.

Catching her breath, Freyja used one hand to lean against the stone wall as she fixed her shoe. She wasn't sure if it was the ache of her hip that was bothering her more, or the way her heeled shoes pinched her skin. Running in heels probably wasn't the best idea regardless, considering the damaged goods she was. The firewhisky helped numb the pain a bit, which was another advantage, as well as fight the cold. Even if Freyja was from the area, wearing a thin dress that exposed most of her skin wasn't the best way to stay warm. It didn't make her shiver, or whine, more just make her bones feel brittle.

Finally standing in a more dignified position, Freyja looked ahead in the line. She was a few people down from a painfully familiar face, Kaspar. He didn't seem to have noticed her arrival, or presence for that matter. Or maybe he was just purposely making it seem that way. She had dumped him after all, yet she could not stop herself from staring at him as he lit a cigarette. He looked tense, as much as she was pissed with him, she couldn't waiver her worry for him. She knew his inclusion in the tournament had been very last minute, Einar's meddling most likely. She liked that old man and was sure Kaspar would do well if chosen... but she struggled to hide her concerns about it all.

Freyja was broken from her staring trance as Kaspar was approached by a professor. Clearing her throat, she looked away, instead focusing on making sure her dress was in order. Freyja wore a crimson dress, almost velvet in texture. It was quite simple in comparison to others in attendance, a black buckled belt of sorts which held in the waist and a split skirt to expose her leg. The dress was long sleeved, but she had also chosen to throw in a family heirloom to present her ethnicity. Over her shoulders hung the pelt of a wolf, killed in Norway by one of her ancestors. It had a small pendant, to hold the furs on her shoulders, which lay just below her neck and bore the family sigil. Many Durmstrang students had similar furs if they came from influential families, like her own. In fact, her family were part of the reason why she applied to be apart of the tournament. And maybe a bit of boredom too.

Freyja shifted forward in line as people slowly made their way forward, peaking her head out from the line she watched as Kaspar was mentioned forward by a unknown woman. Part of her wished she had been next to him in line, as awkward as it would've been, because her stomach dropped as they announced the wrong name. She wasn't close enough to the doors to send a death stare to those laughing, but she could identity her friends laughter from the crowd. They were always rather cruel to everyone that wasn't in their clique, so now Kaspar and her were no longer dating he wasn't immune to their jests. Anxiously, Freyja looked around to see if Einar was anywhere as Kaspar went red with embarrassment. She was sure Einar would be just as angry as her in this moment. She could nearly cry on Kaspar's behalf at this point, especially as she felt herself sobering up fast as her time to walk grew closer. Much to Freyja's horror, the laughter didn't end with Kaspar. The next was an American girl who fell during her walk, Freyja visibly cringing as the crowd erupted. Horrible, all of them. She knew it for a fact.

Exhaling sharply, Freyja took a step to the front of the line. Wearing heels was an awful idea, she concluded. Her dress was too long for flat shoes, but standing in heels for so long was killing her feet and hip. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she took a step forward as motioned to do.
"Freyja Hartvigsen of Durmstrang Institute, seventh year."

Freyja could hear the corner where her friends sat burst into cheers, the other attendants who clapped politely for her rolling their eyes. She spared a smile in their direction, although it became more of a grimace as she grit her teeth to walk down to where the others stood. She had spent most of her life a figure skater, gritting through pain had become a hobby of hers, and so had moving gracefully as possibly. Freyja sent a silent thank you to her past self for committing so hard, regardless of all the pain and drama figure skating had caused her, it had made her so naturally graceful on her feet it felt almost unnatural. For tonight, it would help her get through this without an obvious limp.

As she walked to her spot next to the other contestants, Freyja tried to catch Kaspar's eye, mouthing an "are you okay?" in his direction as she walked past him. Regardless of any bad feelings between them, she would still look out for him. Taking her spot next to the now white-haired American girl who had fallen, Freyja glanced in her direction.
"Quite the fall, are you okay? Floors are hard around here, everyone seems to insist they use building materials from the middle-ages." Freyja whispered to her, hoping no one was watching them.

​

​

 

[Jannah]

She had done it!

Zeena had done the seemingly impossible of being chosen, out of hundreds, to officially represent Uagadou in the Octowizard Tournament. It was an honour, but more than that it was an opportunity. The tournament itself was to be an international pageant filled to the brim with the Wizarding World's brightest and best young pupils. The young witch of course was flattered to be considered among the best as her academic performance alone was hardly impressive. Had there been other criteria factoring into the committee's decision in selecting her? Nonetheless, the young woman felt flattered to be in the new position that had been bestowed upon her.

It had come to the surprise of exactly nobody that Zeena's family remained about as equally ecstatic about the affair as she was. They were proud to have their daughter representing not only her school, but her country as well. As far as she knew she had been the only Ethiopian selected to participate. That, put an entirely new burden on her shoulders, but it was one she was whole-heartedly ready to embrace.

"Bring us back something cool from each of your destinations." Zeena's youngest sibling was the first to address her as the entire family gathered around her. Now months later it was finally time for her to depart.

"I will certainly try." Zeena responded with a laugh. She may have given off an image of giddiness and excitement, but in reality she was nervous. This was the first time, if ever, that she would be travelling so far from home. Norway was apparently the first destination on the tour, a cold Northern land very much unlike her native Ethiopia. Not only would the climate take some growing accustomed to but the customs would as well. Fortunately, the inquisitive girl had taken some of her own initiative beforehand. "If I'm lucky I could even secure you a viking artifact." She heard sighs from each member of her family, an acknowledgement of the snide statement made.

"I'm just kidding. I doubt I will be anywhere near a museum." She conceded as she loaded up her luggage into the train that would transport the Octowizard Committee into the countryside where they would then take up their official leave by more magical means. As she loaded it she carefully observed her family, followed by others crowding around the train's platform. There was simply no knowing where any of them were travelling to, but surely it was not to far off exotic lands like Norway? Yet, the bittersweet atmosphere of families saying goodbye to their loved ones remained. It was all too familiar as Zeena felt her own family began to crowd around her. One by one they embraced her tightly almost as if they would never see her again. she could only shake her head. Despite the dangers associated with the tournament they would see her again. They most definitely would.

I will make you proud. Each and every one of you. Zeena smiled at each one before finally being ushered into the train by her professor.

For most, travel was a tedious experience but for Zeena it was a gateway - a gateway to the unknown lands and adventure she was about to be thrust into. At best it would be a means of not only developing new friendships but gaining a reputation for herself. She enjoyed success and she enjoyed the attention and praise that came along with it. This tournament, whether she won or not, would manage to do both. Having been selected at all was an honour for anyone that got recognition in wizarding circles worldwide. At least that had been the reality according to the committee. Later on there would be plenty of time to test it, she supposed. With the destination of Durmstrang quickly approaching more pressing matters were fighting their way into her head, namely the upcoming ball.

Zeena spent the final leg of the trip by enchanted caravan readying herself for a formal presentation within the heart and soul of wizarding Norway itself: Durmstrang. She knew little about the school except that it hosted students from all over Scandinavia and some from other parts of Europe as well. Supposedly students as far away as Bulgaria attended, but starting tonight there was to be a much more diverse student body for a little while. Naturally, the Ethiopian felt honoured to be a part of it. In turn she had opted to express her heritage through clothing designed by her own hand. It was a sublime mixture of both the traditional and modern, thus not allowing itself to be categorized firmly as either. If anything, she would be making a fashion statement tonight.

Zeena's professor was the first to notice her innovative outfit, providing an enthusiastic nod in her direction just as she rejoined the group. "you look lovely." He commented.

"Thank you. I designed it myself." She beamed proudly just as the caravan came to an abrupt halt. They had arrived and it created a moment of tension between each. The group of representatives was nervous, that much became clear as they began a procession out of the vehicle and into the school itself. Zeena glanced at her peers before facing directly forward and holding her head high. It was time to at least appear confident.

And enter with a powerful ray of confidence she did.

The entire room seemed to light up as Zeena made her grand entrance. She felt many eyes lock on her position, but it was hardly unusual with all of the new arrivals. Each, one after another, began shuffling into the Storhall finding themselves immediately greeted by an atmosphere of unfamiliarity. Certainly it remained that way now but the witch knew that over the coming weeks plenty of changes would come about. Each of the dark corridors of the school would become like a second home while its student body would potentially become friends, rivals, or even adversaries. Zeena, naturally, opted to remain optimistic. They would become friends. They absolutely would.

 

[Viserion]

Vikae Akiza // 7th year // Hogwarts Champion // Pure-Blood // Animagus

Vikae wasn't surprised when she was asked to be the Hogwarts champion. Honestly, she expected it due to her excellent grades and tutelage, her family was proud though. It's not every day that someone gets to become a school champion.

The trip was long and draining, the cold at Durmstrang was entirely different from the humidity in Scotland. But she made sure she was prepared for all weather conditions. She came in on a traditional flying carriage and was immediately assaulted by the bone-chilling cold. Hogwarts certainly got cold in the winter but this was a different cold that pierced even the thickest of cloaks and furs. She knew this and decided to wear a long silver dress with lace sleeves and a simple slit up to her thigh. The dress wasn't metallic in any sense but it gave off a soft radiant shimmer when she moved. Vikae didn't particularly care for extravagant clothes, but she knew everyone would be dressed to the T, she didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb. She paired the dressed with a simple silver necklace holding a wolf pendant and a long furred cloak.
As she waited in line for her name to be called by the Headmistress, she became painfully aware of the number of wolf skins students were doning. One of which a brunette girl was wearing, paired with a pendent much like her own. Her gaze averted quickly when the girl looked in her direction. But her mind became quickly distracted when a platinum-haired girl tripped over her skirts and fell, luckily it drew the attention away from the poor soul who was called up by the wrong name. The shock on his face caused her to feel pity for him. She hoped at the very least her turn would be uneventful. After awhile her attention flitted around the room, she was quite surprised at the different cultures that were being represented. Nonetheless, she was happy about it.

She stood in line for what felt like an eternity, her body rigid, not from nerves but excitement. It wasn't common for her to feel anything for things regarding academics and school so the feeling was different but welcoming. The Headmistress cleared her throat after multiple students had been called. After a pause she announced her name in the same monotone voice she had used for others, "Vikae Akiza of Hogwarts Wizarding school, seventh year" She walked out of the corridor and slowly down the steps to the center floor of the Storhall. The whole ordeal was longer than she expected. But once her proceedings had happened she released a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The room the students were placed in was extensively big, and it was certainly grand. Which she wasn't at all expecting from Durmstang. The students that had currently been summoned held a vast array of diversity. And the different languages confused her but for the most part, she was able to identify each one based on simple words and dialect. Despite the allure of the event and with her shy untrusting nature, she decided that she would grab some punch from one of the many tables lined with food and sit at a table that wasn't occupied. She didn't mind being alone, it allowed her to get a grasp of what the other competition was like. Which undoubtedly was important.




​

 

[mysteryxio]

‘Are you sure about this?’ ‘Wow I’m surprised.’ ‘You do know that eyes will be on you like…a lot.’ These were only a fraction of what Caelum heard when he told his friends that he’d entered the Octowizard tournament. They didn’t really help his anxiety over the situation but he had to do this for himself. After all, when else would he be allowed to see the world in such a short time, to explore all the wonders the world offered. His parents were less than thrilled with him being chosen. In fact, they even attempted to keep him home on the day he was supposed to leave which, despite how hard they tried, he easily made it passed them. His siblings had all been happy for him and after listening to how passionate he was his friends were just as supportive.



When he got to Durmstrang, he was partially sure that he’d get frostbite. He was no stranger to the cold winters of New England but this…this was beyond what he expected. When he arrived, the cold winds hit him like a shockwave, not helped by seeing some of the native students wear short sleeved shirts, he saw some laugh at him and others. Yet the cold feeling he had left him as he saw the school. The way the school was built reminded him of a fortress he’d seen. He felt regret over not bringing a camera and had to fight the urge to run off and explore.



He stood in line with his competition. He wore a charcoal black suit with golden buttons, white undershirt and a blue and cranberry stripped tie (which he only added for the color otherwise he’d not have worn it at all) when the reality of the situation hit him. Here he was…one of his schools’ representatives…to compete…eyes would be on him…what had he done? He froze. Inside his mind he was filled with panic. Everyone would stare at him, for better or worse. He tried to tell himself that things would be fine after the ceremony. That he could just leave or go to the men’s room and stay there until it all ended. He was unaware that he’d been speaking out loud. He snapped out of his mind space when he heard Professor Bautista speak. Apparently, the student in front of him was smoking which he’d never heard of before.



He never cared for this particular Professor. She never really did anything wrong to him, but her personality and the way she acted rubbed him the wrong way. It was as if she was certain her way was the only way. He never said or acted different around her but Caelum did his best to avoid her when possible.



Caelum hardly paid attention when the headmistress called out the wrong name of the boy who’d been smoking. He was instead trying to focus on the task at hand, not freaking out over having people stare at him. “Caelum Elisedd of Illvermorney School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Fifth Year”. He heard the applause for him and repeated ‘you can do this Caelum’ over and over in his head. He made his way to where he was instructed. He swallowed and tried to calm his body which had started to tremble a little. He’d survive the first part, now all he had to do was survive the ceremony.

 

[irregular-neptune]

• .
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  excited, nervous

  
  
  
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  h

  
  
  
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  the Storhall

  
  
  

Dakota stood in her assigned dorm room a couple of hours after arriving in Norway as she prepared for the ball, looking in the full length mirror and running her fingers over the lacy flower top of her dress, examining herself and making sure that everything looked just so. When deciding to sign up for the Octowizard Tournament, she hadn’t really considered doing all of this socialite type stuff. Her parents were never big on parties and were definitely not the high society types, so she’d never been exposed to it before and didn’t see the Octowizard Tournament as something she’d have to play up for the cameras, but she quickly realized that that’s exactly what it was. While it was dangerous, it was also a popularity contest, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to compete.

However, that wasn’t the point of the opening night and she made sure to remind herself that she was lucky that she had made it this far. Besides, she didn’t even know whether she would be chosen or not and would be glad to just see the different wizarding schools while supporting whichever of the three Hogwarts students whose name was chosen by the Goblet tonight without all the pressures of winning. One of the aspects of Durmstrang she had not realized, however, was the cold. While she wasn’t normally bothered by cold weather, she had not kept the below zero temperatures in mind when choosing a thin and lacy dress (an odd choice for her since she didn’t usually dress so girly but the floral pattern of the dress had caught her eye, though now she wish there was a little more sleeve to it). This was ultimately fine though, because she found her shawl packed away in her things last minute as she headed out the door to meet the other students for their line-up.



She was excited and bouncy as she joined the line in between a tall Asian boy with messy hair and a very strikingly beautiful pale girl with long black hair whose appearance captivated her for a moment before she came to her senses and realized that that girl was probably one of her roommates (they had met briefly but since their arrival everyone had been rushing around and it had been quite the blur of names and faces and locations – she was quite honestly surprised she made it to the Storhall at all, much less early. She wasn’t super nervous, mostly excited and buzzing with energy that she shook out of her hands as she stood, barely noticing she chill she was feeling. Just before the announcements began, a girl showed up looking frazzled and took her place between Dakota and the boy in front of her. Dakota offered her a small smile as she got situated and said, “Hey, I like your dress!” At least she had brought something a little warmer to wear, with furs resting on her shoulders.



As the boy a little bit ahead of her name had his name called incorrectly, she began to grow nervous as the thought of her name being wrong (something she had never considered) entered her head and she began to fiddle with one of her hoop earrings before taking a few deep breaths. I’ve got this, she told herself as she smoothed her dress one last time and wrapped her shawl tighter around herself before stepping out into the Storhall. “Dakota Moss of Hogwarts Wizarding School, fifth year.” She smiled at the crowd and offered them a little wave, trying to not do too much as the crowd was still just getting over their (rather immature) giggles at the mix-up of the boy’s name. She noticed him and his shock of red hair as she passed and gave him a wink and a smile as she took her spot in the outside square. She knew that didn’t offer much, but she would make sure to try to talk to him later. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to make friends.



She didn’t have much time to think about it as quickly following Dakota’s arrival in her spot, the next competitor followed and tripped over her own dress, hair turning pink as the room was thrown into uproarious laughter. Dakota didn’t particularly find the fall funny, but the girl quickly got up and joined her spot in the square as Dakota admired her quick recovery – and the quickly changing color of her hair. She thought that this girl was so cool and made a note to see if she could befriend her later as well before returning to the reality of the Storhall and the nervous energy that was filling the room as the last few competitors filed their way in.

dakota

secondary

Caelum, Essie, Freyja, Kasper, Gavy

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: mobile friendly

mood: excited, nervous | location: the Storhall | outfit: 1 2 3

Dakota stood in her assigned dorm room a couple of hours after arriving in Norway as she prepared for the ball, looking in the full length mirror and running her fingers over the lacy flower top of her dress, examining herself and making sure that everything looked just so. When deciding to sign up for the Octowizard Tournament, she hadn’t really considered doing all of this socialite type stuff. Her parents were never big on parties and were definitely not the high society types, so she’d never been exposed to it before and didn’t see the Octowizard Tournament as something she’d have to play up for the cameras, but she quickly realized that that’s exactly what it was. While it was dangerous, it was also a popularity contest, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to compete.

However, that wasn’t the point of the opening night and she made sure to remind herself that she was lucky that she had made it this far. Besides, she didn’t even know whether she would be chosen or not and would be glad to just see the different wizarding schools while supporting whichever of the three Hogwarts students whose name was chosen by the Goblet tonight without all the pressures of winning. One of the aspects of Durmstrang she had not realized, however, was the cold. While she wasn’t normally bothered by cold weather, she had not kept the below zero temperatures in mind when choosing a thin and lacy dress (an odd choice for her since she didn’t usually dress so girly but the floral pattern of the dress had caught her eye, though now she wish there was a little more sleeve to it). This was ultimately fine though, because she found her shawl packed away in her things last minute as she headed out the door to meet the other students for their line-up.

She was excited and bouncy as she joined the line in between a tall Asian boy with messy hair and a very strikingly beautiful pale girl with long black hair whose appearance captivated her for a moment before she came to her senses and realized that that girl was probably one of her roommates (they had met briefly but since their arrival everyone had been rushing around and it had been quite the blur of names and faces and locations – she was quite honestly surprised she made it to the Storhall at all, much less early. She wasn’t super nervous, mostly excited and buzzing with energy that she shook out of her hands as she stood, barely noticing she chill she was feeling. Just before the announcements began, a girl showed up looking frazzled and took her place between Dakota and the boy in front of her. Dakota offered her a small smile as she got situated and said, “Hey, I like your dress!” At least she had brought something a little warmer to wear, with furs resting on her shoulders.

As the boy a little bit ahead of her name had his name called incorrectly, she began to grow nervous as the thought of her name being wrong (something she had never considered) entered her head and she began to fiddle with one of her hoop earrings before taking a few deep breaths. I’ve got this, she told herself as she smoothed her dress one last time and wrapped her shawl tighter around herself before stepping out into the Storhall. “Dakota Moss of Hogwarts Wizarding School, fifth year.” She smiled at the crowd and offered them a little wave, trying to not do too much as the crowd was still just getting over their (rather immature) giggles at the mix-up of the boy’s name. She noticed him and his shock of red hair as she passed and gave him a wink and a smile as she took her spot in the outside square. She knew that didn’t offer much, but she would make sure to try to talk to him later. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to make friends.


She didn’t have much time to think about it as quickly following Dakota’s arrival in her spot, the next competitor followed and tripped over her own dress, hair turning pink as the room was thrown into uproarious laughter. Dakota didn’t particularly find the fall funny, but the girl quickly got up and joined her spot in the square as Dakota admired her quick recovery – and the quickly changing color of her hair. She thought that this girl was so cool and made a note to see if she could befriend her later as well before returning to the reality of the Storhall and the nervous energy that was filling the room as the last few competitors filed their way in.

​

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  the Storhall

  
  
  

Lisandro was, frankly, exhausted by their travels that by the time that he was standing in front of the Storhall awaiting his grand entrance, he would prefer to be asleep. It wasn’t like their travels took the time that muggle’s did, but Lis was exhausted when he was around people as long as he had been, and Castelobruxo insisted on making a scene with their entrance (they were big on appearances, after all, which was something that Lis was used to but sitting in a carriage with other people all day just to turn around and get ready for a grand ball. Being “on” all day was never one of Lis’s strong suits, which lead to him standing in the back of the line and awaiting his entrance very nervously. He couldn’t see the hall in front of him either, due to being one of the shortest in the lineup and that did not help, as he could not see the size of the crowd within.

The professors walking around made him the most nervous because they seemed to be scrutinizing the students’ every move and calling them out for the smallest things. Some of the professors were the students professors and he could see them doing some small corrections. One professor made a boy put out his cigarette (which was fair, who smokes before going into a grand ball?), and then a few moments as the boy exited into the grand hall he heard uproarious laughter, but he was not able to see the inside of the hall or hear what was going on very well.

Often, when he would have to go to functions for his parents, especially with loud music and the like, he would turn down his hearing aids so that the noise did not overwhelm him and it took one of the overwhelming parts of being there out of the equation. He also made sure to have little things in his pockets to fidget with or would wear rings to fidget with on the down low. Which is why, as nervous as Lis was, it was unlikely that anyone would notice, as he stood there mostly stoic, with his hands at his sides for the most part, staring ahead and waiting for his entrance. He tried to catch little snippets of conversations around him, but his hearing aids being turned down low didn’t help in that regard. Plus, his English wasn’t… fluent. He could understand it and speak it fairly well, but sometimes it took more processing power than his native language.

He also had yet to decide if he was excited to be here or resentful. It certainly had not been his own choice to do so, forced by his parents’ expectations and their connections, he knew when the tournament had been announced that it was inevitable that he come here and he was used to not having his fate in his own hands, but sometimes the fact overwhelmed him. Sometimes he just wanted a say in what happened to him. It was hard to have your grand rebellion against your parents when you were a potential candidate for an international competition. He knew he didn’t want to hear his name come out of the Goblet of Fire later in the night, but he knew that one out of three odds were not very good, and so he mentally prepared himself for the extremely likely possibility.

Being one of the last people in the lineup allowed his stomach to have time to do many somersaults and his hands grow clammy. While used to attending balls, the center of attention was usually not himself and so he could typically hide in the background, but with this, he was being thrust into the spotlight and it made him want to dissolve into dust. It was too late to back out now, however, so he took a deep breath as one of the professors (the same one who told the boy to put his cigarette out, probably an American professor by her accent) ushered him out, saying some words of encouragement to him as he stepped out into the Storhall.

No grand embarrassment happened to him as he made his way across the hall, but that didn’t make his entrance any more elegant. He gave a forced smile and nodded to a few people in the audience and other contestants he made eye contact with as they cheered him across the hall (thankful he’d turned his hearing aids down, though he knew as the ball progressed he might have to turn them up). He took his place in the outermost square to await the last few competitors’ entrances, ready to this part of the festivities to be over. At least while they were dancing, the attention was a little easier to ignore and he could focus on anything else. As he stood, he remained hyper aware of everyone around him and began to fidget with the rings on his fingers while still looking with his forced smile at the Storhall entrance, trying his best to perform enthusiasm and seem excessively confident, as he knew that anything other than that could be read as weakness, and he wasn’t ready to be counted out even if he didn’t particularly want to be there.

lisandro

champion

Kasper

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: mobile friendly

mood: anxious | location: the Storhall | outfit: 1
Lisandro was, frankly, exhausted by their travels that by the time that he was standing in front of the Storhall awaiting his grand entrance, he would prefer to be asleep. It wasn’t like their travels took the time that muggle’s did, but Lis was exhausted when he was around people as long as he had been, and Castelobruxo insisted on making a scene with their entrance (they were big on appearances, after all, which was something that Lis was used to but sitting in a carriage with other people all day just to turn around and get ready for a grand ball. Being “on” all day was never one of Lis’s strong suits, which lead to him standing in the back of the line and awaiting his entrance very nervously. He couldn’t see the hall in front of him either, due to being one of the shortest in the lineup and that did not help, as he could not see the size of the crowd within.

The professors walking around made him the most nervous because they seemed to be scrutinizing the students’ every move and calling them out for the smallest things. Some of the professors were the students professors and he could see them doing some small corrections. One professor made a boy put out his cigarette (which was fair, who smokes before going into a grand ball?), and then a few moments as the boy exited into the grand hall he heard uproarious laughter, but he was not able to see the inside of the hall or hear what was going on very well.

Often, when he would have to go to functions for his parents, especially with loud music and the like, he would turn down his hearing aids so that the noise did not overwhelm him and it took one of the overwhelming parts of being there out of the equation. He also made sure to have little things in his pockets to fidget with or would wear rings to fidget with on the down low. Which is why, as nervous as Lis was, it was unlikely that anyone would notice, as he stood there mostly stoic, with his hands at his sides for the most part, staring ahead and waiting for his entrance. He tried to catch little snippets of conversations around him, but his hearing aids being turned down low didn’t help in that regard. Plus, his English wasn’t… fluent. He could understand it and speak it fairly well, but sometimes it took more processing power than his native language.

He also had yet to decide if he was excited to be here or resentful. It certainly had not been his own choice to do so, forced by his parents’ expectations and their connections, he knew when the tournament had been announced that it was inevitable that he come here and he was used to not having his fate in his own hands, but sometimes the fact overwhelmed him. Sometimes he just wanted a say in what happened to him. It was hard to have your grand rebellion against your parents when you were a potential candidate for an international competition. He knew he didn’t want to hear his name come out of the Goblet of Fire later in the night, but he knew that one out of three odds were not very good, and so he mentally prepared himself for the extremely likely possibility.



Being one of the last people in the lineup allowed his stomach to have time to do many somersaults and his hands grow clammy. While used to attending balls, the center of attention was usually not himself and so he could typically hide in the background, but with this, he was being thrust into the spotlight and it made him want to dissolve into dust. It was too late to back out now, however, so he took a deep breath as one of the professors (the same one who told the boy to put his cigarette out, probably an American professor by her accent) ushered him out, saying some words of encouragement to him as he stepped out into the Storhall.



No grand embarrassment happened to him as he made his way across the hall, but that didn’t make his entrance any more elegant. He gave a forced smile and nodded to a few people in the audience and other contestants he made eye contact with as they cheered him across the hall (thankful he’d turned his hearing aids down, though he knew as the ball progressed he might have to turn them up). He took his place in the outermost square to await the last few competitors’ entrances, ready to this part of the festivities to be over. At least while they were dancing, the attention was a little easier to ignore and he could focus on anything else. As he stood, he remained hyper aware of everyone around him and began to fidget with the rings on his fingers while still looking with his forced smile at the Storhall entrance, trying his best to perform enthusiasm and seem excessively confident, as he knew that anything other than that could be read as weakness, and he wasn’t ready to be counted out even if he didn’t particularly want to be there.

 

[mysteryxio]

Pr. Campbell had been so excited at the prospect of exploring the wizarding world once more. Yes he'd done so once he'd graduated Hogwarts but he still missed seeing all the world had to offer. In particular he missed seeing some of the creatures that were harder to come by. He understood that he did have a job to do, that he was responsible for the students in his care, that he had to be respectable so that it would reflect well on the school, but he was still excited nonetheless. Perhaps not as much as the students. Pr. Campbell had decided to wear a "normal" set of clothes. He was more concerned with staying warm rather than being expressive, after all there was a time for fashion and a time for function. A nice looking sweater underneath a red coat, with a scarf that seemed to have snowflakes falling down even though it had been wrapped around him a few times. He wore a pair of leather gloves that had they Ravenclaw crests on them, a present from a former student who he'd helped after his first year of teaching. What was most unusual was the small Puffskein hat wore on his head. The hat itself was made out of puffskein fur, which proved to be very warm, but those who looked at it could swear that it was alive, which he may have enchanted to appear so.

As each of the Hogwarts champions were called, he raised his voice and cheered louder than he did for the others. He had thought about casting a small spell to show them his support, having their names in fireworks as they walked out, but decided against that. He didn't want to draw unnecessary attention on them, which proved to be the right choice when two of the competitors were laughed at later on. He watched his students make their way to the dance floor and felt his smile widen as they settled. He turned his gaze over the others in Storhall as he tried to find the other Professors. He noticed one who seemed older, carrying a cane. Andrew had no idea which school he was with. He continued to survey the room, he wanted to make sure that no one would do anything outside of what had happened earlier, making a few jokes here and there.

 

[Aviator]

Kasper Edelberg // Male // 7th Year // Durmstrang Champion // Half-Blood​

Five minutes and a world of pain later, Kasper was still reeling from mortification to the point where he could barely see straight. Glued to his retinas was the image of the entire Storhall erupting in derision, the laughing faces of kids he’d known for seven years contorted into harsh, cruel masks. The memory of it made his face burn so hot, he wondered whether he wouldn’t spontaneously combust at that very moment.
What am I doing here? he demanded of himself, when finally his thoughts were no longer melded in a tangly, unintelligible mess. Really, though? Taking a breath, Kasper forced himself to look around the room, at the girls in their resplendent dresses and the boys in their immaculate suits, and then down at his own shabby, hanging tailcoat and cloak. These students before him had been deemed worthy of their presence here tonight, of their participation in the upcoming tournament. They had been chosen by a committee from each school, if not because of their own academic prowess, then because their parents were somebodies. Kasper was lacking on both accounts—even before his father’s institutionalization, they’d been poor, barely scraping by, often having to rent his school supplies or buy them secondhand. When he was surrounded by young gods and goddesses descended to earth, clad in a rainbow of fabrics and adorned with bits of starshine jewelry, no wonder Kasper was the punchline of every joke. WhatamIdoingherewhatamIdoinghere—
The announcement of yet another Durmstrang representative shattered the insane loop of Kasper’s thoughts. He felt his stomach hit the gold-veined marble floor. His head snapped up, eyes squinting through the gloom, training on the entryway, needing to confirm the incongruity between what he’d just heard and what—whom—he would see there. Perhaps they’d simply announced the wrong name once again.
Only they hadn’t. In a crimson blaze of glory, Freyja Hartvigsen strolled into the Storhall. Ivory flashed with her every other step, when her right leg peeked through the slit in her dress. Her cinnamon curls spilled down her shoulders in elegant disarray, making her look like a rumpled angel. It was a very rare person who looked even more attractive with the less effort they put into their appearance, but nothing about Freyja was ordinary. The applause from the Durmstrang crowd was deafening. Unlike Kasper, Freyja was charming and approachable, and had never wanted for friends. It made him wonder what she had been thinking to ever waste her time on him. Uncomfortable with the dark turn that his thoughts had taken, Kasper bit his lip and ineffectually tried to smooth his wrinkled tailcoat.
Freyja, a step ahead as always, wasted no time in picking Kasper out of the crowd of already announced representatives. He fought the irresistible urge to run, hide, find a corner or shadow, anything to escape her notice and the stab of guilt it evoked. As Freyja passed, he glimpsed a translucent wisp of aura, the angry red of a wound not yet healed. However, when she looked at him, Kasper didn’t find the rigid lines and chilly glare that he’d been expecting. Was it his imagination, or did she look… concerned? Was that even possible, given the way she’d broken things off with him? The way he’d broken her trust?
Kasper read the words on her lips but was initially too stunned to do anything more than stare. A beat passed. No, he was most certainly not okay; entering this tournament might just have been the new biggest mistake of his life. But Freyja didn’t have to know that. Finally, Kasper raised one gloved hand and gave her an awkward little wave, paired with a smile that he hoped didn’t look as queasy as it felt. Kasper hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at his dance card yet—that would have been acknowledging it as a reality—but he hoped against hope that her name wasn’t listed there. He’d rather have his fingernails ripped out than have to endure a dance with her. Not that it was any fault of her own.
Freyja swaggered past him, slipping out of his peripheral, and Kasper forced himself not to track her movements, to focus on the forthcoming announcements. But Kasper’s focus had never extended very far in class, and neither did it here. Soon he found himself chewing his lip again, burning for another smoke. Unremarkable announcements blurred and blended together, and Kasper tried not to envy them. At long last, it seemed that they were nearing the end of the roster, the long, snaking line of representatives waiting in the hallway having dwindled to only a handful.
He hadn’t even noticed the girl until she tripped. Kasper had been looking in her general direction without seeing, his mind a million miles away, when all of a sudden a lurch of motion snapped him back to the present. The girl gave a dangerous wobble on her sky-high heels, windmilling her arms for balance, but it was too late. Her pale braid—tie-dyed in the light of the multicolored fires ringing the room—whipped through the air as she plummeted face-first to the floor.
First there was a hushed intake of breath, like leaves rustled by a ghostly wind. Then, when the girl’s white head poked up, obviously unharmed, the tension dissipated, replaced by howling peals of laughter. From her seat at the first tier of tables circling the room, Headmistress Rinne glowered and tried to call for quiet. No one spared her any attention.
Hot rings of secondhand embarrassment radiated through Kasper. He shivered at this new round of shrill cackling, knowing that it would be one of those sounds he’d never forget for as long as he lived. He didn’t join them. Instead, he craned past the hysterical representative in front of him to watch as the girl unsteadily climbed to her feet, gripping the floor as she maneuvered her heeled feet under her crumpled form. Unexpectedly, a flash of anger punched through Kasper’s distress. Laughing at his own unfortunate announcement was one thing, when the Durmstrang students knew his name and face, but how dare they make fun of a stranger’s pain? Especially when this girl was supposed to be an honored guest, when she, unlike her mocking audience, had been chosen for greatness.
Kasper’s rage spurted from him like a bottle of champagne violently uncorked. The representative in front of him was doubled over, his beefy shoulders shuddering with the force of his laughter. Unable and unwilling to contain himself, Kasper reached out and shoved the boy squarely in the back. Not hard enough to fall him, but enough to administer an unmistakable warning. The boy staggered forward a step before catching himself. His laughter died in all of a second as he whirled on Kasper, glaring. “Håll käften innan du också faller i ansiktet!” Kasper snapped in his native Swedish, not caring that the boy was a foreign student and probably couldn’t understand him. Regardless of language, the message was clear enough.
The boy’s lip curled, but luckily, he had the sense to face forward and not antagonize Kasper further. Good, because his blood was boiling, and if that boy had taken a swing at him, Kasper doubted he would have held back. He shifted his gaze back to the white-haired girl, who was just now making her way— Helig skit. The white-haired girl’s hair was now cotton candy-pink. The Storhall was fairly dim, as was its wont, and Kasper knew he had the attention span of a gnat, but he hadn’t been too oblivious to notice the obvious change of color. A second collective gasp rolled through the audience, but this one from amazement, not awkward uncertainty.
It was then that Kasper saw her aura—or rather, auras. Most people had a predominant color, though that was subject to change based on strong emotions. However, an aura was never more than one solid color at any given time. Or at least, that had been the rule. It was as if this girl’s aura couldn’t make up its mind, shifting and shimmering from lemon yellow to poisonous green to ice blue, like a sunset sky warming and cooling in intervals, and to glance away for even a second would be to miss something crucial. What are you? Kasper thought, dumbfounded. He followed her movements, mesmerized, until she was lost in the knot of students assembled at the center of the floor.
Only a few others remained after her, and they passed with considerably less pomp and circumstance, not that that was necessarily a bad thing. The very last representative was a boy from Mahoutokoro, and Kasper flushed when he realized that he was unable to distinguish the boy’s given name from his surname. Kapser had thought it was customary in Asian culture to address one by surname first, but this was the Arctic Circle, where sometimes not even the laws of physics corresponded with those in the rest of the world. He privately hoped that he wouldn’t have to dance with any Mahoutokoro girls, not wanting to embarrass himself further, if that was even possible.
Finally, with all of the representatives accounted for, Headmistress Rinne stood with a rustle of skirts, and clambered down the steps that segued from the first tier of seats to the dance floor. She stood opposite the competitors, occasionally pivoting as she addressed the audience so that she was visible from any point in the circular room. “Let me express my gratitude,” she began first in Norwegian, then repeating in English, “that Durmstrang has been chosen as the first institute to accommodate our diverse array of student representatives, and their accompanying professors. This year’s Octowizard Tournament is the first of its kind, and it means so much to me that all eight international wizarding schools have agreed to participate. However, there will be time for further oration later. Tonight is a very special occasion for our soon-to-be champions and secondaries, so let’s not keep them from the festivities. All of you”— Rinne made a sweeping gesture toward the various competitors—“should have received a dance card earlier this evening from your chaperoning professor. They list your assigned partner for each respective song. Please take this opportunity to acquaint yourselves with one another and immerse yourselves in other cultures! Without further ado, let the dancing begin!”
Headmistress Rinne retreated to her first-tier table, and with her went the last remnants of Kasper’s courage. His legs were rubbery with fright. He’d been a fool to imagine that the night couldn’t get any worse. He had no idea how to dance, and very soon his audience would figure that out for themselves. Starting tonight, his reputation at Durmstrang—not that he’d had much of one to begin with—would be forever tarnished. Kasper suddenly felt very grateful that he was in his seventh and final year of study. For the first time, his gloved hands fumbled at a pocket in his tailcoat, and he withdrew the laminated slip of paper that would seal his fate: his dance card. He located the dark slash of the number one that marked the name of the evening’s first torture: Esfir Nikolaeva.
A numb sense of resignation washed over Kasper. He had been zoned out through most of the announcements, so he wouldn’t be able to identify this Esfir by sight alone. However, he had little doubt that she would have remembered his face, given his disgraceful entrance. As the throng of student representatives dispersed around him, Kasper remained rooted where he was, stubbornly helpless, waiting for Esfir Nikolaeva to find him, wondering what Carina Eklund might have done in his place.

 

[jrink]

Rotimi's plans for good-byes with the couple of family members who'd nervously come to see him off, clustered in the upstairs guest rooms of Uagadou, had gone without a hitch - he hadn't said them at all.

Instead, bright and early that morning the Nigerian-Brit had risen, retrieved his small, roller bag, and made his way straight from his dorm to the train station. Then, there had just been the waiting. It helped that Rotimi had entertainment in the form of an elderly food-stall owner who provided both cheap food and conversation. Before long though, the train station had gone from sparsely populated to crowded, and finally the time came to board. Spotting his professor in the crowd as well as a couple of his other rather conspicuously dressed peers, Rotimi said his good-byes and made his way through the train and into the Uagadou contender's reserved compartment. All of the seats were free right now, so Rotimi made his pick for a window seat near the back of the compartment, retrieved a blanket from his extended satchel and prepared to sleep the trip away.

Shutting his eyes seemed easier said then done, at least until they disembarked from the station, as Rotimi found his eyes open, stuck on the teary-eyed interactions going on just outside his window. Good-byes between the other contenders and their families were said with dramatic flourish, with enough melodrama to make his eyes roll but also send pangs of.. loneliness through his stomach like butterflies. He almost regretted his fast escape from the awkwardness of his relatives, almost wished he'd let them wish him well, say their good-byes.

But stuff had been awkward since last summer, since Rotimi had begin doing everything in his power to avoid anyone with the Adesina surname. Out of everyone his uncle had been the most aggressive about the proddings as to what was causing this distance, about the questions Rotimi had shrugged off, even ignored at times. But even his uncle, like everyone else, had given up eventually. They probably decided that it was just some form of teen angst or rebellion that was making itself known. And Rotimi was content with them thinking this if it gave him the space he needed. He actually wasn't sure when, if ever, he would be ready to talk to any of them again.

The more logical part of him knew the walls he was putting up were petty, stupid even, as he was effectively cutting of his support system, the people that would supposedly stand the test of time. But Rotimi couldn't bring himself to care.

Once the train did leave the station, it was easier for Rotimi to let his thoughts go beyond useless regrets, to focus on the excitement. Sleep evaded him through the first wing of the trip, so Rotimi spent it grilling his professor on what the man/woman did know of their first destination school - Durmstrang. Conversation on their soon-to-be host school was as good a distraction as any, though the professor had little more to offer beyond just what Rotimi had read over the break on the school. It was farther North then he'd ever been, yea, the school had a focus on the dark arts, there was probably going to be snow, etc., etc. Eventually the compartment lapsed into a comfortable, tired silence as any avenues of conversation were soon exhuasted. And the next time Rotimi rose it was to gather his belongings and enter the next transport. Changing into his formal clothes - a 4-piece royal-blue agbada nla with a row of champagne colored rhombuses along the front and a royal-blue fila for his head - for the Introductory Ball as their destination loomed nearer, Rotimi took a seat beside Zeena - one of the more familiar faces of the Uagadou committee. It had been a long time since the two of them had talked, but in spite of the bit of awkwardness there, it was almost a relief to have one familiar face in all the unfamiliar Rotimi knew he'd soon be taking in.

As the caravan slowed to a stop before the school, Rotimi made his into the slowly growing procession of multi-cultural contenders. The first thing he noticed upon exiting the warmth of the Caravan was the chill, the biting cold that settled first into his fingers. There was no charm that Rotimi knew of to keep himself warm that didn't involve a showy display of flames so Rotimi settled for pulling his newly purchased coat over his shoulders. Once he'd finally made his way out of the cold and into the school Rotimi slipped the coat off his shoulders, waving a finger for a wordless reducio spell on the jacket. Slipping the newly shrinked garment into the pocket of his sokoto, Rotimi let himself focus ahead on the slowly moving line for the Storhall.

A plume of smoke around a red-headed contender near to the front caused a bit of a disruption, though the biggest bit of drama (of the night, so far) came just a couple of minutes after that same contender made his entrance and uproarious laughter followed the announcement of his name. It was a distinctly female one to his ears - a Carina Elkund - though Rotimi had been willing to assume it was a cross-cultural blunder on his part before the laughter that followed. And it wasn't the nice kind either, it was the bullying, laughing at you, not with you kind. His hands slid into fists at that acknowledgment, in spite of the more rational part of him that screamed it's none of your business. This bit of business was enough to push their host school, Durmstrang, far below Rotimi's esteems in his thoughts, as what student body would be dumb enough to make fun of their own contenders, in front of other schools - competitors - no less?

His name was soon called following a couple of other announcement without mishap. Letting his hands fall loosely to his sides and pushing the frustration from his features, Rotimi strode in, head held high, to take his place beside another of the unfamiliar contenders. From there it was just more waiting. Before the restlessness of the passing minutes could spin Rotimi's thoughts elsewhere, one of the other contenders - a blonde - tripped. Blonde shifted to pink as the girl hurriedly got to her feet following the slip, more laughter echoing through the halls though this mix of uttered sound didn't seem as mean-spirited as before.

Eyes lingering on the blonde, now pinkette a moment longer as she made her way to the line, Rotimi scoured his mind for the condition this girl was, something that had briefly been touched upon in his classes. Metamorph-Metamorphmagi? Satisfied once he'd reached that consensus, Rotimi forced his eyes ahead as the last couple of contenders made their entrances. From there, Durmstrang's headmistress made a short speech, lengthened by her switch between one unfamiliar language and Rotimi's most spoken tongue - English and they were encouraged to find their first dance partners. His partner - Rotimi decided after a glance at his previously neglected dance card - was a Dakota Moss, a name he'd heard a little before his.

Peering at the small line of people that preceded him, the Nigerian-Brit decided the tall girl in the yellow, flower-adorned dress looked the most Dakota-adjacent. Making his way the couple of feet over to the girl, Rotimi dipped his body into an exaggerated half-bow, lips tugging up into a playful smile.

"Are you Dakota Moss? If so, I'm pretty sure I'm your first dance partner," he extended a hand, body already angling in the direction of the still-empty dance floor. "if not, please let me know sooner rather then later so I don't make a total fool of myself this early,"

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

Gavriel (Gavy)

Mood: Excited

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Freyja

As the rest of the possible champions made their way into the Storhall Gavy couldn’t help but stare in awe at their beauty and grace. Each of their features was unique and beautiful in their own way, some striking, others a soft gentler beauty. If she wasn’t so nervous about alarming anyone, she would happily try some of their styles out, but using other people’s faces tended to rub them the wrong way most of the time so Gavy would be sure to ask first if she could. She had already promised herself that she wouldn’t try to use any of the competitor's faces to win challenges if she were to become a champion because it felt like a nasty trick. But, to use them to appreciate their beauty felt like a far more wholesome purpose.

Her friends back at Ilvermorny always loved when she switched faces and became one of them. They found it fascinating when she would mimic their voice, show them what they could look like with new hair colors, or even show up at one of their classes looking like them. What they tended to enjoy most was how every so often she might make herself look like a professor and cancel a class or spook some bullies. Gavy never really used her abilities for evil but she did enjoy a bit of harmless mischief from time to time, especially if it brightened someone’s day.

These were the memories Gavy found herself swimming in as she did her best to push past the feeling of embarrassment she had created for herself. Luckily Gavy wasn’t too genuinely phased by the laughter of the students and even a few professors. Perhaps if she had truly tripped on accident she would be a bit more upset by the chorus of amusement that met her when her hands and knees hit the ground but still, it was likely even then she would have pushed past the horror of it relatively quickly. Gavy tended to bounce back with ease when it came to such things, her resilient spirit often helped her to recover and move forward rather than dwell on the matter.

With hands casually slipped into well-hidden pockets on her dress Gavy couldn’t help but fidget with several small marbles she had tucked away. Her constant need to be moving in some way, shape, or form made it so she often brought anything from marbles to twine with her wherever she went. It kept her focused and helped her to relax a bit and refrain from bouncing around with all her pent-up energy.

With her attention still set upon those entering the Storhall Gavy didn’t notice the approach of someone beside her until just before they began to speak. Turning her head to face the girl at her side Gavy’s eyes swept over the foreign beauties striking features before meeting her gaze. She smiled at the young woman as she asked her seemingly genuine question of concern. “Oh yeah!” Gavy laughed and gave an innocent shrug. “No harm done unless you count the hit to my pride.” She joked as she gave the girl another friendly smile. “I’m Gavy by the way. I know that announcer said Gavriel but nobody calls me that unless I’m in trouble.” The platinum blonde admitted as she introduced herself officially to the young woman beside her.

artfvlly

code by Stardust Galaxy

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

As the rest of the possible champions made their way into the Storhall Gavy couldn’t help but stare in awe at their beauty and grace. Each of their features was unique and beautiful in their own way, some striking, others a soft gentler beauty. If she wasn’t so nervous about alarming anyone, she would happily try some of their styles out, but using other people’s faces tended to rub them the wrong way most of the time so Gavy would be sure to ask first if she could. She had already promised herself that she wouldn’t try to use any of the competitor's faces to win challenges if she were to become a champion because it felt like a nasty trick. But, to use them to appreciate their beauty felt like a far more wholesome purpose.

Her friends back at Ilvermorny always loved when she switched faces and became one of them. They found it fascinating when she would mimic their voice, show them what they could look like with new hair colors, or even show up at one of their classes looking like them. What they tended to enjoy most was how every so often she might make herself look like a professor and cancel a class or spook some bullies. Gavy never really used her abilities for evil but she did enjoy a bit of harmless mischief from time to time, especially if it brightened someone’s day.

These were the memories Gavy found herself swimming in as she did her best to push past the feeling of embarrassment she had created for herself. Luckily Gavy wasn’t too genuinely phased by the laughter of the students and even a few professors. Perhaps if she had truly tripped on accident she would be a bit more upset by the chorus of amusement that met her when her hands and knees hit the ground but still, it was likely even then she would have pushed past the horror of it relatively quickly. Gavy tended to bounce back with ease when it came to such things, her resilient spirit often helped her to recover and move forward rather than dwell on the matter.

With hands casually slipped into well-hidden pockets on her dress Gavy couldn’t help but fidget with several small marbles she had tucked away. Her constant need to be moving in some way, shape, or form made it so she often brought anything from marbles to twine with her wherever she went. It kept her focused and helped her to relax a bit and refrain from bouncing around with all her pent-up energy.

With her attention still set upon those entering the Storhall Gavy didn’t notice the approach of someone beside her until just before they began to speak. Turning her head to face the girl at her side Gavy’s eyes swept over the foreign beauties striking features before meeting her gaze. She smiled at the young woman as she asked her seemingly genuine question of concern. “Oh yeah!” Gavy laughed and gave an innocent shrug. “No harm done unless you count the hit to my pride.” She joked as she gave the girl another friendly smile. “I’m Gavy by the way. I know that announcer said Gavriel but nobody calls me that unless I’m in trouble.” The platinum blonde admitted as she introduced herself officially to the young woman beside her.

Einar

Mood: Welcoming

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Andrew

With the evening’s festivities carrying on as scheduled Einar watched as the students began to approach their first dance partners of the evening. It was interesting watching those who were confident versus those who appeared to be more hesitant. He hoped that the rest of the night would go along smoothly for Kasper and Freyja. It seemed the evening was rough to start but young Freyja was already conversing with a visiting student while Kasper appeared to be waiting for his dance partner to find him. Patting his pocket, the old man nodded a reminder to himself that he still had sweet rolls to smuggle to the two but for now he would let them get on with their first dance.

Turning with his cane bearing the majority of his weight the bearded old man began to hobble around the perimeter of the dance floor. His eyes scanning the crowd for the faces of other professors as well as appreciating the enthusiasm of the students who seemed eager to get on with the celebration of the evening. The Head Mistress gave a delightful opening speech that Einar would have enjoyed more if he weren’t currently so irked by the woman who had ignored his plea to keep Kasper out of the games. But he could still admit that she spoke well as she delivered the first speech of the Octowizard Tournament.

Spotting what looked to be a professor he had yet to officially meet the old Norseman made his way towards the well-dressed man, the thud of his cane of the solid stone being drowned by the crowd. After the long moment it took for Einar to make his way through the crowd, he clapped the professor on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile that shone easily through his thick beard. “Welcome to Durmstrang friend!” He greeted and adjusted himself on his cane. “I hope the fires of our halls are keeping you warm!” The old Viking like man laughed as he did his best to treat this stranger and fellow educator like an honored guest as well as an old friend.

mysteryxio

code by Stardust Galaxy

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

With the evening’s festivities carrying on as scheduled Einar watched as the students began to approach their first dance partners of the evening. It was interesting watching those who were confident versus those who appeared to be more hesitant. He hoped that the rest of the night would go along smoothly for Kasper and Freyja. It seemed the evening was rough to start but young Freyja was already conversing with a visiting student while Kasper appeared to be waiting for his dance partner to find him. Patting his pocket, the old man nodded a reminder to himself that he still had sweet rolls to smuggle to the two but for now he would let them get on with their first dance.

Turning with his cane bearing the majority of his weight the bearded old man began to hobble around the perimeter of the dance floor. His eyes scanning the crowd for the faces of other professors as well as appreciating the enthusiasm of the students who seemed eager to get on with the celebration of the evening. The Head Mistress gave a delightful opening speech that Einar would have enjoyed more if he weren’t currently so irked by the woman who had ignored his plea to keep Kasper out of the games. But he could still admit that she spoke well as she delivered the first speech of the Octowizard Tournament.

Spotting what looked to be a professor he had yet to officially meet the old Norseman made his way towards the well-dressed man, the thud of his cane of the solid stone being drowned by the crowd. After the long moment it took for Einar to make his way through the crowd, he clapped the professor on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile that shone easily through his thick beard. “Welcome to Durmstrang friend!” He greeted and adjusted himself on his cane. “I hope the fires of our halls are keeping you warm!” The old Viking like man laughed as he did his best to treat this stranger and fellow educator like an honored guest as well as an old friend.

Esfir (Essie)

Mood: Focused

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Kasper

“Esfir Nikolaeva of Koldovstoretz School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, seventh year!”

With her chin held high and every step she took radiating poise and grace Essie was a chilling vision of beauty as she made her entrance into the Storhall. Her ebony hair was twisted into a simple yet stunning loose fishtail braid that was draped over her shoulder. Her slim yet curvy figure was slipped into a long black dress with a slit up the side that left little to the imagination as her strong and smooth warm ivory leg became exposed with each step she took. The top of her gown was just as seductive if not more so with a gap of exposed flesh between her waist and chest that was connected by a thin path of lace along her side. From there the black lace of the dress became embroidered into a smooth skin-colored fabric that created the illusion of more of herself being put on display than there truly was. The gown had only one long black laced sleeve going down her left arm while her right shoulder and arm remained completely bare aside from a glittering silver bracelet.

Honestly, Essie had been very particular about her dress in the months leading up to the opening festivities. She wanted to be sure that she felt and looked confident, as though she were in control and could command an entire room. This was something Essie almost never got to feel in any genuine sort of way so in order to try and maintain the feeling in her own mind she ensured that her gown would hide that which most reminded her of her fate. The Mark of Baba Yaga. Beneath the delicate hand-woven lace of her dress's sleeve lay the ever-constant reminder of her doom stained into her flesh. While at home she was encouraged to leave the mark uncovered so all may know her role Essie had always been adamant about keeping it covered while at school. Now that she was among strangers in a foreign land, she was certain to take extra caution in keeping the mark hidden away. It was a part of her that she did not wish to be seen, the be spoken of, it was a painful reminder of what little time she had left.

Striking blue eyes swept across the crowd as she stepped effortlessly down the staircase in her tall black stilettos and made her way towards the crowd. As she passed her fellow students, she either kept her focus ahead of her and seemingly ignored their cheers and smiles. It was as though she was the embodiment of a wall of pure ice, chilling and isolated, standing firm to keep others out.

She had not come to this place to make friends; she had come in the hopes of competing in the tournament as an act of defiance towards her family. They had been horrified when they discovered that their precious vessel, aka daughter, had entered her name into such a dangerous competition. They demanded her to withdraw, even going as far as threatening to get the government involved to stop her from continuing such reckless behavior. Her job as the vessel of Baba Yaga was to remain safe until the age of true magical maturity when her ancestor would come forth and consume her life force then take Essie’s body for her own. Signing up for a life-threatening tournament didn’t really follow those safety guidelines. The only thing that made her family take a step back however was how enraged Baba Yaga became when she sensed their disrespect towards the vessel that would one day be hers.

A chill ran down Essie’s spine, though she didn’t let it show, as she remembered the incident. She hated when the old witch would take over. She seldom remembered what the hag would say or do, just tune into the aftermath which often involved those around her being terrified to say another word. Please don’t let it happen here. She begged wordlessly to anyone listening but mostly to the powerful guardian witch that had marked her as her property.

Essie stood in silence as she listened to the headmistress of Durmstrang make her opening speech. It was rather short and to the point which the ebony-haired girl could appreciate. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but worry about her beloved Lev who was currently awaiting her return in their sleeping quarters. While Essie didn’t believe in creating connections with those around her, she did have room in her heart for one being, a fluffy golden cat named Lev. The feline was Essie’s best friend and the one thing she knew she would miss most when her time came. She never really permitted herself to make friends with other wizards for fear that it would be too painful when reality set in, so as a result, she poured all her love and affection into the spoiled yet friendly feline.

Her thoughts returned to the events going on around her as the headmistress took her seat. On each side of her, the students began to move in different directions to find their dance partners. Looking down at the slip of paper she had been handed by Professor Vinogradov before the ball Essie read off the first name. Kasper Edelberg. The name seemed familiar and as Essie thought about it, she remembered that a young man by the same name had been mistaken for someone else during official introductions. With the image of the boy clear in her head, she looked along the line of students until a flicker of flame colored hair caught her attention. There he was standing near the front of the line waiting for her to find him.

Cutting a path between students Essie approached the young man who had yet to really make any sort of move from the spot he had been standing in for several minutes. “Kasper Edelberg?” She asked, her accent relatively thick on her words as they left her lips. “I believe you are my partner for this first dance.” She informed him, her face remaining rather neutral as she looked the boy up and down. She was not interested in casting any sort of judgment on him for his appearance or skills on the dance floor but merely intended to take in what information she could from their first interaction.

Aviator

code by Stardust Galaxy

Spoiler: Mobile Friendly

“Esfir Nikolaeva of Koldovstoretz School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, seventh year!”

With her chin held high and every step she took radiating poise and grace Essie was a chilling vision of beauty as she made her entrance into the Storhall. Her ebony hair was twisted into a simple yet stunning loose fishtail braid that was draped over her shoulder. Her slim yet curvy figure was slipped into a long black dress with a slit up the side that left little to the imagination as her strong and smooth warm ivory leg became exposed with each step she took. The top of her gown was just as seductive if not more so with a gap of exposed flesh between her waist and chest that was connected by a thin path of lace along her side. From there the black lace of the dress became embroidered into a smooth skin-colored fabric that created the illusion of more of herself being put on display than there truly was. The gown had only one long black laced sleeve going down her left arm while her right shoulder and arm remained completely bare aside from a glittering silver bracelet.

Honestly, Essie had been very particular about her dress in the months leading up to the opening festivities. She wanted to be sure that she felt and looked confident, as though she were in control and could command an entire room. This was something Essie almost never got to feel in any genuine sort of way so in order to try and maintain the feeling in her own mind she ensured that her gown would hide that which most reminded her of her fate. The Mark of Baba Yaga. Beneath the delicate hand-woven lace of her dress's sleeve lay the ever-constant reminder of her doom stained into her flesh. While at home she was encouraged to leave the mark uncovered so all may know her role Essie had always been adamant about keeping it covered while at school. Now that she was among strangers in a foreign land, she was certain to take extra caution in keeping the mark hidden away. It was a part of her that she did not wish to be seen, the be spoken of, it was a painful reminder of what little time she had left.

Striking blue eyes swept across the crowd as she stepped effortlessly down the staircase in her tall black stilettos and made her way towards the crowd. As she passed her fellow students, she either kept her focus ahead of her and seemingly ignored their cheers and smiles. It was as though she was the embodiment of a wall of pure ice, chilling and isolated, standing firm to keep others out.

She had not come to this place to make friends; she had come in the hopes of competing in the tournament as an act of defiance towards her family. They had been horrified when they discovered that their precious vessel, aka daughter, had entered her name into such a dangerous competition. They demanded her to withdraw, even going as far as threatening to get the government involved to stop her from continuing such reckless behavior. Her job as the vessel of Baba Yaga was to remain safe until the age of true magical maturity when her ancestor would come forth and consume her life force then take Essie’s body for her own. Signing up for a life-threatening tournament didn’t really follow those safety guidelines. The only thing that made her family take a step back however was how enraged Baba Yaga became when she sensed their disrespect towards the vessel that would one day be hers.

A chill ran down Essie’s spine, though she didn’t let it show, as she remembered the incident. She hated when the old witch would take over. She seldom remembered what the hag would say or do, just tune into the aftermath which often involved those around her being terrified to say another word. Please don’t let it happen here. She begged wordlessly to anyone listening but mostly to the powerful guardian witch that had marked her as her property.

Essie stood in silence as she listened to the headmistress of Durmstrang make her opening speech. It was rather short and to the point which the ebony-haired girl could appreciate. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but worry about her beloved Lev who was currently awaiting her return in their sleeping quarters. While Essie didn’t believe in creating connections with those around her, she did have room in her heart for one being, a fluffy golden cat named Lev. The feline was Essie’s best friend and the one thing she knew she would miss most when her time came. She never really permitted herself to make friends with other wizards for fear that it would be too painful when reality set in, so as a result, she poured all her love and affection into the spoiled yet friendly feline.

Her thoughts returned to the events going on around her as the headmistress took her seat. On each side of her, the students began to move in different directions to find their dance partners. Looking down at the slip of paper she had been handed by Professor Vinogradov before the ball Essie read off the first name. Kasper Edelberg. The name seemed familiar and as Essie thought about it, she remembered that a young man by the same name had been mistaken for someone else during official introductions. With the image of the boy clear in her head, she looked along the line of students until a flicker of flame colored hair caught her attention. There he was standing near the front of the line waiting for her to find him.

Cutting a path between students Essie approached the young man who had yet to really make any sort of move from the spot he had been standing in for several minutes. “Kasper Edelberg?” She asked, her accent relatively thick on her words as they left her lips. “I believe you are my partner for this first dance.” She informed him, her face remaining rather neutral as she looked the boy up and down. She was not interested in casting any sort of judgment on him for his appearance or skills on the dance floor but merely intended to take in what information she could from their first interaction.

 

[artfvlly]

genevieve chapelle.

Genevieve had kept a straight face the entire ceremony. Despite her small hiccup of stress while alone, she was skilled in keeping her composure. From the look of everyone else lined up around her, maybe her competition wasn't as disconnected as her. Although she had told herself to wait on assumptions, she could already see personalities unfolding in front of her. The pink-haired girl - now blonde - was obviously a bit too confident with herself. Or maybe she just didn't care. She had recovered a little too gracefully from her fall, it spelt out a warning sign for her. Same with the red-headed boy, Kasper she thought his name was if she remembered correctly. The way he shoved the other boy for laughing, empathic. So many strings tying each potential champion together.

Those who stood out for being kind or sweet always had audience support. It was how human nature worked. Genevieve needed to keep an eye on those odds.

As the headmistress of Durmstrang spoke, Genevieve took the time to eye up each person individually. She could picture herself licking metaphorical claws, ready for a feast. A look was sent her way briefly by another competitor who caught her staring. She returned their blank stare with a smirk, eyes flickering down to the dance card she had tied to her wrist. Genevieve wasn't cruel. She had told herself that many times. She was competitive, she competed with her opens as much as she competed with herself. Her strategies were all internal. If she couldn't be sure that she was well practiced at what she was about to face, she could at least psyche out the competition. She had been told she was like a circling shark once she got any scent of weakness. Or blood.

Funnily enough, the red-headed boy Kasper was her first dance. It was in the second rotation, she was sitting out the first dance due to numbers, but still. It was amusing to her how fate worked. Projecting her own insecurities or anxieties into a vicious circle of bullying was the best way to go.

With an arch of a perfectly plucked eyebrow, Genevieve looked up from her dance card. Gathering her skirts she walked to the edge of the hall, close to the drinks table. She quietly picked up one of the glasses to appear entertained, she didn't real feel like conversing with anyone when she could be observing. Taking a sip, she let her gaze fall on the centre of the hall where everyone was finding their partners.

coded by incandescent

​

freyja hartvigsen.

Freyja breathed out a small sigh of relief as Gavy replied to her, returning her laugh.
"I'm glad you're okay! It is nice to meet you," the young woman said with a smile. Freyja had never really noticed how strong her accent was when she spoke English, until hearing it in contrast with Gavy's American one.
"My name is Freyja. I hope you will like it here at Durmstrang. I could give you a tour later, or tomorrow maybe? It can be confusing at times if you're new."

Freyja's eyes flickered back over to where Kasper stood briefly, a pang of guilt hitting her. In response to her mouthed question he had given her a little wave. Liar. Freyja was a little too invested in reading others body language to fall for that. Her father had always told her she was too kind, too invested in others feelings. She did tend to tangle herself into problems that weren't her own, but she couldn't help but feel bad for not trying. Plus it didn't take a mindreader to know that Kasper was probably as anxious as her about all this. Mindreader. That stung a bit.

Blanking Kasper's response, she looked back to Gavy. Empathy for everything and everyone was going to be the death of her. She'd need to listen to her father more, even if he was distant. Even if she felt guilty for blanking him - or the way she had acted when shit went down - she just needed to pull it together.
"I'm nervous for the dancing, I don't know if my feet can stand being in these heels for much longer," Freyja admitted to Gavy to break her own internal conflict.

Looking down to her dance card, Freyja ran her thumb across the card to centre herself. Caelum. That was her first dance. She vaguely remembered his name being called, he was from Ilvermony, like Gavy. Black suit with the colour tie, she spotted him a few feet away.
"My first dance is with...Caelum," she said to Gavy with a smile, cringing slightly at her pronunciation of Caelum which sounded exaggerated with her accent. "I'll get going, I'll see you later!"

Slipping away, Freyja wandered over to where Caelum stood, sending him a warm smile.
"It's...Caelum, yes?" She asked, squeezing her hands together nervously. "My name is Freyja, I believe I am your first dance partner?"

coded by incandescent

​

Spoiler: genevieve mobile friendly

Genevieve had kept a straight face the entire ceremony. Despite her small hiccup of stress while alone, she was skilled in keeping her composure. From the look of everyone else lined up around her, maybe her competition wasn't as disconnected as her. Although she had told herself to wait on assumptions, she could already see personalities unfolding in front of her. The pink-haired girl - now blonde - was obviously a bit too confident with herself. Or maybe she just didn't care. She had recovered a little too gracefully from her fall, it spelt out a warning sign for her. Same with the red-headed boy, Kasper she thought his name was if she remembered correctly. The way he shoved the other boy for laughing, empathic. So many strings tying each potential champion together.

Those who stood out for being kind or sweet always had audience support. It was how human nature worked. Genevieve needed to keep an eye on those odds.

As the headmistress of Durmstrang spoke, Genevieve took the time to eye up each person individually. She could picture herself licking metaphorical claws, ready for a feast. A look was sent her way briefly by another competitor who caught her staring. She returned their blank stare with a smirk, eyes flickering down to the dance card she had tied to her wrist. Genevieve wasn't cruel. She had told herself that many times. She was competitive, she competed with her opens as much as she competed with herself. Her strategies were all internal. If she couldn't be sure that she was well practiced at what she was about to face, she could at least psyche out the competition. She had been told she was like a circling shark once she got any scent of weakness. Or blood.

Funnily enough, the red-headed boy Kasper was her first dance. It was in the second rotation, she was sitting out the first dance due to numbers, but still. It was amusing to her how fate worked. Projecting her own insecurities or anxieties into a vicious circle of bullying was the best way to go.

With an arch of a perfectly plucked eyebrow, Genevieve looked up from her dance card. Gathering her skirts she walked to the edge of the hall, close to the drinks table. She quietly picked up one of the glasses to appear entertained, she didn't real feel like conversing with anyone when she could be observing. Taking a sip, she let her gaze fall on the centre of the hall where everyone was finding their partners.

​

​

Spoiler: freyja mobile friendly

Freyja breathed out a small sigh of relief as Gavy replied to her, returning her laugh.
"I'm glad you're okay! It is nice to meet you," the young woman said with a smile. Freyja had never really noticed how strong her accent was when she spoke English, until hearing it in contrast with Gavy's American one.
"My name is Freyja. I hope you will like it here at Durmstrang. I could give you a tour later, or tomorrow maybe? It can be confusing at times if you're new."

Freyja's eyes flickered back over to where Kasper stood briefly, a pang of guilt hitting her. In response to her mouthed question he had given her a little wave. Liar. Freyja was a little too invested in reading others body language to fall for that. Her father had always told her she was too kind, too invested in others feelings. She did tend to tangle herself into problems that weren't her own, but she couldn't help but feel bad for not trying. Plus it didn't take a mindreader to know that Kasper was probably as anxious as her about all this. Mindreader. That stung a bit.

Blanking Kasper's response, she looked back to Gavy. Empathy for everything and everyone was going to be the death of her. She'd need to listen to her father more, even if he was distant. Even if she felt guilty for blanking him - or the way she had acted when shit went down - she just needed to pull it together.
"I'm nervous for the dancing, I don't know if my feet can stand being in these heels for much longer," Freyja admitted to Gavy to break her own internal conflict.

Looking down to her dance card, Freyja ran her thumb across the card to centre herself. Caelum. That was her first dance. She vaguely remembered his name being called, he was from Ilvermony, like Gavy. Black suit with the colour tie, she spotted him a few feet away.
"My first dance is with...Caelum," she said to Gavy with a smile, cringing slightly at her pronunciation of Caelum which sounded exaggerated with her accent. "I'll get going, I'll see you later!"

Slipping away, Freyja wandered over to where Caelum stood, sending him a warm smile.
"It's...Caelum, yes?" She asked, squeezing her hands together nervously. "My name is Freyja, I believe I am your first dance partner?"

​

​

 

[Aviator]

Kasper Edelberg // Male // 7th Year // Durmstrang Champion // Half-Blood​

Kasper Edelberg nearly started off the first dance of the night with a heart attack. He remained in the center of the circular floor, watching the rapid ebb and flow of various auras intertwining and extricating themselves from one another at a hypnotic rate as their owners bustled about the room in every which way. The effect was like watching a lava lamp, with radiant patches of color bleeding into the next. For a moment, he forgot about the ice-water fear trickling between his shoulder blades, about the haunting memories that had emerged upon seeing Freyja, about his precious little knowledge of dancing to keep him from making a complete fool of himself. Most of the time, Kasper couldn’t be bothered with other people, but ironically, they were oftentimes most beautiful when they weren’t trying, when their attention was redirected from themselves—
An unexpected tap on his shoulder caused his heart to leap into his throat, nearly choking him. Kasper forced down a cry of surprise and whirled, arms wrapped protectively around himself, to regard a frowning girl behind him. She was of the tall, dark, and sexy variety, with thick anthracite tresses and pale eyes burning like a relentless snowfall in a stern-looking face. From what he could tell, her frown looked too natural, too regal, to have been provoked by his reaction to her abrupt manifestation. She didn’t seem angry, or disappointed… just regal. By the upward tilt of her chin, the unfettered way her eyes roved the room, the sophisticated garnet red of her aura, it was clear that Esfir Nikolaeva came from money, and probably lots of it.
Not to mention her dress. Kasper didn’t have to know anything about fashion—which he didn’t—to know that the dress had cost a small fortune. It was a two-piece, off-the-shoulder compilation of fabric that, where it wasn’t translucent, blatantly exposed the bare skin of her torso and left leg. Like many Europeans, Kasper was no prude. He was more experienced at the dating game than he cared to admit, and he’d had his fair share of flings, to boot. But such a slinky dress made him unsure where to touch Esfir that wouldn’t be a violation. He had always been skittish about touching strangers, let alone scantily-clad ones who melted invisibly out of crowds and nearly gave him a heart attack when she tapped him on the shoulder. Once again, Kasper found himself praying for an escape from the imminent dancing, whether it be from a sudden bout of illness, or if the pressure hit him so hard that he fainted.
Esfir was looking at him expectantly, and Kasper remembered that she had indirectly asked him a question. In English, no less. “Öhm,” he stammered, breaking the prolonged silence, “ja, that is me.” Her gaze was so intense that he felt himself dissolving into particles beneath it. He nervously twisted his gloved hands in front of him, searching for something else to say. It had been over a year since he had last spoken English, and his mind felt slow and soupy trying to recall basic translations. “Your English is beautiful,” he sputtered at last, admiring her natural command of the language in her lightly-accented voice. Esfir’s tone was formal, and Kasper wasn’t sure whether that was a product of unfamiliarity with the language, unfamiliarity with him, or something that her upbringing among society’s elite had imposed upon her.
To his horror, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that couples were forming up and the orchestra had finished shifting, the conductor’s arms arced above his head in preparation of the opening notes. Kasper licked his lips. Usually he was accustomed to and unbothered by standing apart from a crowd, but the Introductory Ball didn’t seem the place to make grand statements of individuality. Not wanting to be the only couple left standing still at the start of the dance, he scrambled to copy the examples of those around him, and closed the distance between Esfir and himself with one long stride. Kasper tried to ignore the shaking of his legs beneath his weight, the way that Esfir’s sangria aura shifted and spun as it tried to accommodate this newfound invasion of her personal space. Her hair smelled like roses and chamomile. Kasper was glad that she wasn’t wearing heels, because as of now she was within an inch of his height, and with their addition she would have towered over him.
He tried to keep his cringing to a minimum as he touched one hand to her hip, the one that was fully enclosed by her skirt. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he enveloped Esfir’s tan hand in his gloved one. As soon as he did, Kasper heard a thrumming in his head, felt the fingers of his mind trying to reach out, to grasp, and for a fraction of a second he thought that the black leather gloves wouldn’t be enough. However, a moment later the orchestra lurched into song, and he realized with an inward sigh of relief that his thoughts were still his own, his body still his to command. He opened his eyes, not having been aware of closing them in the first place. Esfir was looking at him with one long eyebrow cocked in silent inquiry. Stop being weird, Kasper chastised himself, feeling a blaze of self-consciousness. The tournament hasn’t even begun yet, and you’re already on the verge of a breakdown. Pathetic.
The other pairs had already begun circling the dance floor. Esfir moved a step in their direction, and Kasper was left with no choice but to shuffle after her and join the ranks of his better-dressed, probably better-educated competitors. In Kasper’s usual reactive fashion, he had waited until the morning of the Introductory Ball to locate a book in the library that could teach him the fundamentals of ballroom dancing, and had crammed his studies into all of a few hours, just as he would before a major test. However, fear twisted in his belly, and all that knowledge suddenly went up in a puff of smoke. Kasper felt paralyzed, only numbly complying with Esfir’s steps so that he wouldn’t fall over as she tugged him in her wake. She moved quickly and methodically, like a warrior arming herself for battle. Kasper found himself apologizing automatically and profusely each time he stepped on his partner’s feet.
After the third or fourth such occurrence, in an attempt to smooth over his embarrassment, he said lightly, “Forgive me, Froken Nikolaeva. Durmstrang is a fine learning establishment, but I fear that my education has been more directed in the way of Quidditch than ballroom dancing.” Kasper was astonished to hear something so articulate come out of his mouth, especially considering the unwieldy stomping of his feet. Rarely in his native Swedish was he so slick with words. As they swayed around the edges of the floor—Esfir seemed to sense Kasper’s discomfort and considerately avoided thrusting him into center stage—heat from the various fireplaces kissed his skin and stung his eyes. Dressed all in black, silhouetted against the flames, Esfir looked rather like a demon, raised from the dead, trading for souls on the other side. She was more striking than conventionally beautiful, but for a moment, Kasper was transfixed. It wasn’t until her gaze twitched back to his that he realized he’d been staring and shamefully lowered his head.
Another few riffs played out, and Kasper enviously glared at the player of the piano that accompanied the orchestra. He would have given anything to swap places with that pianist, so that the other man would dance in his stead as Kasper pounded away at the piano all night, something that he could do without worrying how much of a meathead he looked like. Relinquishing that fantasy as highly improbable, he eyed Esfir again and tentatively asked, “So… does Koldovstoretz have a house system? If so, which do you belong to?” When she informed him that they didn’t, Kasper replied, “Honestly, I feel you’re better off that way. The whole idea of segregating people by personality has never appealed to me. Like, why do our instructors have to apply labels that tell us who to eat with and who to dorm with? Why should I limit myself to socializing only with like-minded people when there’s so many other unique perspectives out there?” His eyes met Esfir’s, and Kasper blushed, taken aback by the sudden intensity of his voice. “Sorry… that was probably more than you cared to hear.” He had a habit of flexing his hands when he was nervous, in which Kasper sorely wanted to indulge now, but unfortunately he had to hold onto Esfir for a few more turns.
Finally, a short eternity later, the music dimmed and then lapsed altogether, allowing students to find their next partners. Kasper’s thundering heart temporarily slowed. He had survived one dance. But there’s still four more to go, he thought with despair. That’s plenty of time to die. “Farväl, Esfir,” he said as the two of them broke apart, and then immediately kicked himself for using her first name. Many cultures weren’t as relaxed as Scandinavian ones, and he wasn’t sure whether he had overstepped. It looked like he’d have a lot of adjusting to do over the course of this year-long tournament, and dancing was only at the beginning of the list. Speaking of lists… Kasper rifled through a pocket on his tailcoat for his dance card and skimmed the name of his second partner. Genevieve Chapelle. He knew that name. That was the blond girl with the big eyes and ruby lips who had stood directly in front of him in line for announcements. He wouldn’t have forgotten that name in a million years; Kasper’s last girlfriend, Freyja, had been half Veela, and yet Genevieve Chapelle was one of the most inhumanly gorgeous girls he’d ever set eyes on.
If he was being honest with himself, the thought of dancing with such a lethal beauty intimidated him far more than it thrilled him. Not for the first time, Kasper disdained his own weak will. In an effort to distract himself from his rekindling anxiety, he drifted toward one of the refreshment tables and snatched a kanelbulle—a Swedish cinnamon bun—off it. He popped it into his mouth and, barely tasting it, downed it in one bite, as if the pastry were edible courage. Kasper found Genevieve one table over, idly swirling a drink in her hand. He started toward her and the motion made her dark eyes jump toward him. Much like Esfir, she did not smile. Unlike Esfir, Kasper suddenly had the eerie sense of being examined and analyzed, like a bug under a microscope. Is it because they know I’m not as smart and rich and well rounded as everyone else here? he wondered darkly. Are they all this damn snobby? Despite his misgivings, he forced a smile as he approached Genevieve Chapelle with her aura the color of moonlight. Before he realized what he was doing, Kasper was speaking in French.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle. Je m’appelle Kasper Edelberg de Durmstrang. Parlez-vous anglais? Je connais seulement un peu de français, désolé.” A small seed of pride blossomed in Kasper’s chest. How’s that for dumb and useless? he thought, strangely feeling as though he had found his footing for the first time all night. He hadn’t planned on greeting Genevieve in her native tongue, but if there was one thing Kasper was good at, it was improvising. Perhaps too good. All the planning in the world could go out the window with Kasper. Riding the momentum of his previous victory, Kasper gently closed his hand around Genevieve’s glass, plucked it from her grasp, and set it on the table behind her. “Voudriez-vous danser maintenant?” he asked with another smile, subtly making it clear that, whether she was ready or not, they would be dancing now. Kasper promised himself that this quietly intense girl would not see him tremble as Esfir had, but the practical part of him knew that it was only a matter of time before he returned to the meek, sniveling boy who buckled beneath stares and thought himself unworthy of the honor bestowed upon him. Best to put it off for as long as possible, though.

 

[Jannah]

More students and representatives from all over continued to file into the Storhall. Each made an entrance impeccably planned and extravagant that seemed to leave the remainder of the guests, and even the hosts, in awe. Jae-Hui had no doubts that each had been intentionally planned to be memorable and reflect the general attitude of each of the schools. There was no denying the sense of anticipation that erupted within the Korean with each one. He wanted to experience each of them with freedom from judgement and familial obligations.

Just as expected plenty of time for socialization would come, too. Music began drifting through the hall, the first indication of what was to come. Jae-Hui had been briefed beforehand on the introductory ball and the ceremony that would follow, but it was not until the event began that he filled with the level of anticipation he felt now. None of what he was experiencing was a drunken hallucination or a dream. No, he was actually distant from his homeland in the frigid north of Norway awaiting the ultimate determination of his fate. He, and so many others. It made way for a nerve-racking and tense evening. He simply had to be selected as Champion or there was the wrath of his family to face back home. That, he tried not to think about as he slowly traversed towards the dance floor.

Jae-Hui was not much of a dancer, but he carefully recalled the names on the card that had been placed in front of him upon entrance into Durmstrang. Names had been listed in some sort of pattern the Korean had not been able to decipher at all. Was it randomized? Questions had arose before its purpose had become blatantly clear. Each of the representatives was to have an obligatory dance with the representatives from other schools. Customs were to be respected so without much protest at all he had accepted the task. Now to find his first partner, a girl from Hogwarts named Vikae Akiza.

Fortunately most of the new arrivals did not seem to stray far at all from the familiar just yet. It made finding the Hogwarts crowds, and Vikae, fairly easy to spot in the crowds. Wearing his best smile, Jae-Hui approached them. Upon giving a traditional bow he proceeded to speak. "You're Vikae I presume? Care for a dance?" He felt his cheeks redden as the words came out in accented English that quite obviously marked him as the foreigner he was. Most of all, though, he imagined just how artificial it would have all sounded under any other circumstances. Socialization was difficult, although ettiquete he could handle.

 

[irregular-neptune]

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  hopeful, excited

  
  
  
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  the dance floor

  
  
  

Dakota had seen so many beautiful people this evening already, she was beyond excited to get to meet and talk to them (though was secretly bummed that she’d be dancing with none of the girls, as they all seemed so fascinating to her and she was thrilled to get the chance to meet them). She had begun to soak in the attention in a way she hadn’t expected to, but she had never been to such a grand event before and she felt almost like a princess. She knew the focus was not entirely on herself and that there would be many dangers to come, for the champions and their secondaries alike, but she couldn't help but feel detached from all of that now, excited for the prospects ahead and all the potential friendships to be had with these beautiful people. She hoped that they would all be friends, anyway.

When the boy approached her, extending his hand to her, she almost blushed. She wasn’t crazy for boys or anything and in fact usually didn’t pay much attention to them, but he was rather attractive and seemed well put together with his royal blue attire. She glanced down at her dance card nervously, “Rotimi? Yes, I’m Dakota!”

She put her dance card away and grabbed his hand gently with hers as they made their way to the dance floor. Swirling around the floor were the most incredible colors, personalities and outfits as the music ebbed and flowed, creating a rainbow ocean across the Storhall as Dakota felt like a star. She looked up at the boy dancing with her as her face spread into a grin. “How are you enjoying everything so far? I think it’s all so magnificent.”

dakota

secondary

Rotimi

jrink

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: dakota mobile friendly

dakota

mood: hopeful, excited | location: the dance floor | outfit: 1 2 3 | mentions: jrink

Dakota had seen so many beautiful people this evening already, she was beyond excited to get to meet and talk to them (though was secretly bummed that she’d be dancing with none of the girls, as they all seemed so fascinating to her and she was thrilled to get the chance to meet them). She had begun to soak in the attention in a way she hadn’t expected to, but she had never been to such a grand event before and she felt almost like a princess. She knew the focus was not entirely on herself and that there would be many dangers to come, for the champions and their secondaries alike, but she couldn't help but feel detached from all of that now, excited for the prospects ahead and all the potential friendships to be had with these beautiful people. She hoped that they would all be friends, anyway.

When the boy approached her, extending his hand to her, she almost blushed. She wasn’t crazy for boys or anything and in fact usually didn’t pay much attention to them, but he was rather attractive and seemed well put together with his royal blue attire. She glanced down at her dance card nervously, “Rotimi? Yes, I’m Dakota!”

She put her dance card away and grabbed his hand gently with hers as they made their way to the dance floor. Swirling around the floor were the most incredible colors, personalities and outfits as the music ebbed and flowed, creating a rainbow ocean across the Storhall as Dakota felt like a star. She looked up at the boy dancing with her as her face spread into a grin. “How are you enjoying everything so far? I think it’s all so magnificent.”

• .
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  confident, a little indifferent to the ball overall

  
  
  
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  by Zeena/on the dance floor

  
  
  

As the finding of dance partners begun, and the loud booming noises that weren’t music began to calm down, Lis turned his hearing aids up as he pulled out his dance card, searching for the name of his first dance. Zeinaba. He thought he remembered seeing her leave the long line of students entering the Storhall, but as he turned around to look for her he realized who she was. Quite the striking beauty, she was wearing an incredible outfit that looked like nothing he had ever seen before. He had traveled around a lot with his parents, and to be fair he had never visited any African country, though he had met a few people from them, but clothing as colorful and elegant as hers was not something he saw often. The outfit alone intimidated him, but she was also quite beautiful and taller than him (though that was not a feat, even as he wore platforms most of the time).

He gave her a confident smile, however, as he walked over to her. He was rather good at this, faking being prolific in social situations with his peers in small groups (though he was still overwhelmingly aware of the eyes on them, the pressure was no longer on him as an individual, and if he could manage to dance without toppling over, he figured he could sink into the background as much as one could at these things). He reached out his hand to offer to her as he bowed and said, “Hello. Zeinaba Daniachew, I presume? I'm Lisandro. Your outfit is really quite lovely.”

As the song began, he began to grow in confidence in his abilities to finish the night without a hitch. He had never loved being at these things, but he was experienced at them, and at least here he did not have to live up to his parents expectations to the T or interact with their numerous associates. Though he was still here of their accord, he was at least creating his own space and persona with these people, and none of them knew him or expected anything of him, relieving most of the pressure from him (for the night, anyway). He knew he would be a worthy dance partner for Zeena, he just hoped he was just as adequate a conversationalist.

lisandro

champion

Zeena

Jannah

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: lis mobile friendly

lis

mood: confident, a little indifferent to the ball overall | location: by Zeena/the dance floor | outfit: 1 2 | mentions: Jannah

As the finding of dance partners begun, and the loud booming noises that weren’t music began to calm down, Lis turned his hearing aids up as he pulled out his dance card, searching for the name of his first dance. Zeinaba. He thought he remembered seeing her leave the long line of students entering the Storhall, but as he turned around to look for her he realized who she was. Quite the striking beauty, she was wearing an incredible outfit that looked like nothing he had ever seen before. He had traveled around a lot with his parents, and to be fair he had never visited any African country, though he had met a few people from them, but clothing as colorful and elegant as hers was not something he saw often. The outfit alone intimidated him, but she was also quite beautiful and taller than him (though that was not a feat, even as he wore platforms most of the time).

He gave her a confident smile, however, as he walked over to her. He was rather good at this, faking being prolific in social situations with his peers in small groups (though he was still overwhelmingly aware of the eyes on them, the pressure was no longer on him as an individual, and if he could manage to dance without toppling over, he figured he could sink into the background as much as one could at these things). He reached out his hand to offer to her as he bowed and said, “Hello. Zeinaba Daniachew, I presume? I'm Lisandro. Your outfit is really quite lovely.”

As the song began, he began to grow in confidence in his abilities to finish the night without a hitch. He had never loved being at these things, but he was experienced at them, and at least here he did not have to live up to his parents expectations to the T or interact with their numerous associates. Though he was still here of their accord, he was at least creating his own space and persona with these people, and none of them knew him or expected anything of him, relieving most of the pressure from him (for the night, anyway). He knew he would be a worthy dance partner for Zeena, he just hoped he was just as adequate a conversationalist.

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  by Gavy/the dance floor

  
  
  

Kazimir stood in his black suit, fully shaved (a very unusual sight for his students, he was sure) with his hair slicked back. He drew his coat tightly around him as he stood in the foyer of the Storhall with professors from other schools he did not recognize (namely one particularly loud American sounding professor who seemed a little overbearing). It was cold outside, but he was used to the below freezing temperatures and, unlike some of the students and perhaps the professors, was prepared to dress accordingly.

Still, the excitement of the Ball was prevalent amongst the students and created a nervous air around them, causing a chill to run through Kaz. While he was not a competitor himself, he was still nervous for his students that he’d brought along and hoped for the best for them. Hoped, at least in the back of his mind, that he’d been the right person to send along with them, as he was in charge of keeping them out of trouble and on track, give them advice when they needed it. He wasn’t sure how to do that when he couldn’t even keep himself on track, but for now he tried to push that out of his mind as the students began to file into the Storhall, magnificent outfits (and personalities) on display.

Though they were not all safe from a few mishaps (Kaz felt particularly bad for the Durmstrang student, Kasper, as not having support from your home school could not be the best way to start off a competition), they luckily all survived and moved on with the dancing part of the ball without a hitch. As the introductory events concluded, the professors standing outside made their way in and closed the doors of the Storhall behind them. Kaz made his way over to one of the tables nearest the dance floor, where some of the chaperoning professors sat (the rest of them were on the higher tier, but they needed eyes everywhere) and shrugged off his coat into a chair before observing the dance floor.

He wasn’t quite sure how involved they should get, whether they ought to leave the champions to mingle amongst themselves and only step in if a problem were to arise, or if they ought to get to know some of the students themselves too. He figured there would be no harm in that, as they were surely not all to remain strangers or this would be a particularly long year, as camaraderie was part of the whole concept anyways. He paced along the outskirts of the dance floor for a moment as everyone found their dance partners, ready to help in case someone had missed someone’s name or couldn’t find who to dance with (there were, after all, so many names to remember), but Kaz at least (and he presumed, the other professors) had been given a copy of the pairs who were to dance, so at least if a name was forgotten they could solve it quickly. He had noticed, however, that not every girl got to dance in every round, and he felt bad for them, especially the one who had to sit out for the first dance. How were you supposed to feel like a powerful competitor when you were sitting on the sidelines?

He shrugged off the thought until he saw the girl who had tripped and fallen standing by herself, not making a move to find anyone, and realized that she must have been the one who was left off of the first rotation of dancers. He felt awful for her, as she must have still felt the sting of embarrassment and now had to sit there with it for the entire first dance. He figured there was no harm in giving one student a dance, besides he was always professional and eager to help his own students feel included, and as a chaperoning professor was taking responsibility for all students involved. So, he approached the girl, held out his hand, and said in slightly accented English, “Hello! I know that I am not on your dance card, but I did not want you to feel left out. Would you care to dance?”

kaz

professor

Gavy

Sanctuaryforall1

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: kaz mobile friendly

kaz

mood: restless | location: the edge of the dance floor, by Gavy | outfit: 1| mentions: @sanctuaryforall

Kazimir stood in his black suit, fully shaved (a very unusual sight for his students, he was sure) with his hair slicked back. He drew his coat tightly around him as he stood in the foyer of the Storhall with professors from other schools he did not recognize (namely one particularly loud American sounding professor who seemed a little overbearing). It was cold outside, but he was used to the below freezing temperatures and, unlike some of the students and perhaps the professors, was prepared to dress accordingly.

Still, the excitement of the Ball was prevalent amongst the students and created a nervous air around them, causing a chill to run through Kaz. While he was not a competitor himself, he was still nervous for his students that he’d brought along and hoped for the best for them. Hoped, at least in the back of his mind, that he’d been the right person to send along with them, as he was in charge of keeping them out of trouble and on track, give them advice when they needed it. He wasn’t sure how to do that when he couldn’t even keep himself on track, but for now he tried to push that out of his mind as the students began to file into the Storhall, magnificent outfits (and personalities) on display.

Though they were not all safe from a few mishaps (Kaz felt particularly bad for the Durmstrang student, Kasper, as not having support from your home school could not be the best way to start off a competition), they luckily all survived and moved on with the dancing part of the ball without a hitch. As the introductory events concluded, the professors standing outside made their way in and closed the doors of the Storhall behind them. Kaz made his way over to one of the tables nearest the dance floor, where some of the chaperoning professors sat (the rest of them were on the higher tier, but they needed eyes everywhere) and shrugged off his coat into a chair before observing the dance floor.

He wasn’t quite sure how involved they should get, whether they ought to leave the champions to mingle amongst themselves and only step in if a problem were to arise, or if they ought to get to know some of the students themselves too. He figured there would be no harm in that, as they were surely not all to remain strangers or this would be a particularly long year, as camaraderie was part of the whole concept anyways. He paced along the outskirts of the dance floor for a moment as everyone found their dance partners, ready to help in case someone had missed someone’s name or couldn’t find who to dance with (there were, after all, so many names to remember), but Kaz at least (and he presumed, the other professors) had been given a copy of the pairs who were to dance, so at least if a name was forgotten they could solve it quickly. He had noticed, however, that not every girl got to dance in every round, and he felt bad for them, especially the one who had to sit out for the first dance. How were you supposed to feel like a powerful competitor when you were sitting on the sidelines?

He shrugged off the thought until he saw the girl who had tripped and fallen standing by herself, not making a move to find anyone, and realized that she must have been the one who was left off of the first rotation of dancers. He felt awful for her, as she must have still felt the sting of embarrassment and now had to sit there with it for the entire first dance. He figured there was no harm in giving one student a dance, besides he was always professional and eager to help his own students feel included, and as a chaperoning professor was taking responsibility for all students involved. So, he approached the girl, held out his hand, and said in slightly accented English, “Hello! I know that I am not on your dance card, but I did not want you to feel left out. Would you care to dance?”

 

[mysteryxio]

Caelum did everything he could to stay calm. He was never one for dancing especially so close to another person. He took a breathe to steady himself. He saw his first dance partner walk toward him. Then swallowed slightly at seeing the wolf pelt on her shoulder, if this was meant to intimidate him it worked. "Uh-yes...um... Freyja, pleasure to meet you." He bowed in front of her, his movements stiff like he had never done so. "I um...would like to apologize in advance, I uh...I've never really been a dancer type." He wished he worn gloves not just for the cold but for the sweat on his palms which he wiped off on the sides of his jacket. She seemed to be nice enough but Caelum had only met this girl just now. He cleared his throat then held out his hand. "May I have this dance?" As he focused more on her and on the music, he relaxed more. He actually had a genuine smile on his face.


Pr. Campbell was enchanted by how all of the champions looked on the floor. He remembered his own days of dancing in the Hogwarts Halls. Sometimes it was a simple affair with nothing to grandiose or showy. Other times it was like this, everyone dressed to the nines, students rather awkwardly dancing or even to talk to someone they didn't know. He himself had that problem at one point in time but he's long since overcome that. He was tempted to ask someone to join him on the dance floor but felt that it was better to keep an eye out for troublemakers and the like. He was startled when he felt someone clasp a hand on his shoulder.

He nearly jumped at the sudden interaction but when the old man laughed heartily he relaxed. From how he spoke it seemed that this man was a professor here, or at the very least worked at the school. "Well the fire may not be warm enough but the company and welcome here has been more than made up for it. Though truth be told I'd love a warm drink right about now." He rubbed his arms a little to warm himself. "Haven't been this cold since my time camping out to study the Short-Snouts. That was fun, loosing my tent and having to survive in a cave for few days." He said that last part with slight sarcasm in his voice. "Pr. AJ Campbell, Study of Magical Creatures." He extended a hand to the man. Even though he was wearing gloves there was a slight shake from them.

 

[Jannah]

As the room lit up so did Zeena. She held her head up high as if to say "I am proud to represent Uagadou". Most of all, her outfit of choice seemed to turn a few heads and she was proud to know that she had successfully made a memorable entrance. If she was to be remembered for anything in the coming years then she wanted it to be for her overall pleasant and flamboyant nature. She liked to stand out and it seemed that she would tonight. Now, if only she could discover once and for all who the Champion would be. The anticipation killed her.

Of course before any revelations would be made there was the ball to survive. Like all the others Zeena had found herself briefed on it and it seemed simple enough. Each representative was to share a dance with all the others in a sort of Round Robin fashion. To many it sounded tedious, but to the young Ethiopian it had come to be something to anticipate. She realized that it was possibly the first time she could see any of her competition up close and in the flesh. Most of all, it was the first opportunity to potentially befriend any of them or at least form alliances. The girl was unsure just how effective alliances would be in this particular competition but she was not ready to rule it out just yet. No, she had to keep her options open if she was going to win. She had to be tactful and consider all angles. It was only fortunate that at least face remained friendly, despite the odds that they had been pitted against each other. Rotimi, fellow student of Uagadou. He found himself seated directly beside his co-representative in which she offered a warm smile.

"I didn't get to say hello to you earlier, but I'm still rather pleasantly surprised to see you in this tournament. Good luck to us both, hmm?" Zeena remarked as her gaze shifted towards Rotimi. It was English that flowed from her lips, a language they had in common that seemed to cross boundaries whether Ethiopian, Nigerian, or European. It felt unnatural, but it allowed for ease in communication that would only become more challenging as it spread to the other representatives. The girl just hoped the language barrier would not remain too significant as she encountered the other schools. Fortunately she and the others had spent hours during the journey brushing up on spells to remove such obstacles.

There was more Zeena wanted to speak to her old friend, but the time for casual socialization was only short-lived. Before she knew it the ball, the most formal aspect of the evening, was beginning. All around her conversation turned to silence as classical music gradually replaced it. Each representative from each school began heading towards the first of their dance partners. Zeena tried to recall her own list. Lisandro Valencia, Castelobruxo. The 6th year from the Brazilian school was to be her first partner and it seemed he had had the same idea, for a boy approached - a boy that she could only guess was Lisandro in how he seemed to recall her name.

Zeena smiled and nodded as Lisandro presented himself to her. "Yes, that's me. Feel free to call me Zeena." She gently confirmed before taking her hand in his. She began to usher him towards the dance floor, the place where the festivities were only just beginning. It was going to be an interesting night.

 

[Viserion]

Vikae Akiza // 7th year // Hogwarts Champion // Pure-Blood // Animagus

Vikae had been sitting and watching everyone else for some time now. Each person she had seen she made a mental note of, the girl with the pink hair, a girl who looked like an Ethiopian queen, a red-headed boy. While she had her face in her cup a dark-haired male approached her at her table. She settled in expecting him to try and talk to her but was surprised when he asked for a dance. Her gaze drifted down to her dance card that was sitting on the table. "Jae-Hui I presume, I hope I didn't butcher your name. Seeing as we must dance I'll accept your offer. Though I doubt you would willingly dance with me unless you were forced." She stood and made a show of stretching her arms above her head. Vikae paused and smiled at him hoping it would defuse some of his apparent tension, then in one fluid motion she grabbed her skirts in one hand and his sweaty hand in her other. She assumed that just like her this forced dancing was odd for him, luckily enough her parents had made sure to enroll her in dancing classes before she had been shipped off to Durmstrang.

Vikae led her strange partner to the dance floor and positioned herself in front of him. She placed her hands in their respected spots on Jae-Hui and moved his to their own. She smiled once more but this time ever slightly shyer. "If you are unsure just follow me." With that, they had begun dancing, slowly and fluid, just like she'd anticipated. Her footing was sure and confident, her dance instructor's tutelage seemingly paying off. "I feel safe to assume you're from Korea?" She tapped her mouth with the tip of her finger and tilted her head slightly. "I'm only assuming due to your accent, which I apologize for it is a bit rude to assume." As the dance and music picked up ever so slightly she inclined her mouth towards his ear so he would hear her. "How do you feel about this place? Is it any different from your home?"



​

 

[jrink]

As Dakota’s voice touched his ears in a quickly uttered reply, Rotimi felt his lips involuntarily quirk up even more. Her English sounded so.. TV, if that was the best way to put it in words. She sounded like the actors in the old Muggle action movies, the American ones, his grandmother insisted on keeping on in the background of every room in the house. Although that habit of hers had annoyed him to no end in the past, now he had to acknowledge hearing it so often in his younger years had kept his English just a bit more polished, allowed him to correct - if only slightly - the accented English he was so used to hearing, to speaking, back home.

“You are American,” Rotimi couldn’t help but push into the conversation as he led Dakota into a little twirl that was probably an unnecessary addition to their rather slow-moving waltz. “arent you?”

Seconds after he’d uttered those words, the Nigerian-Brit realized the girl had already spoken, uttered words he’d only half heard, so deep in his thoughts he’d been. Scouring his brain for her words as the dance sped up just a little bit prompting their feet to as well, Rotimi settled on her saying something about enjoying something, enjoying the ball?

“Right, sorry,” Rotimi intoned quickly, pausing a moment to let a soft chuckle escaping from his lips. “I think I got a little stuck in my head, everything’s still really overwhelming. But in a good way, so far.

“And yea, I am enjoying everything. Even the cold, though that’s probably just the excitement taking. What about you though, how’s everything for you?”

The music was already slowing to a stop by the time he finished that speel, that and the momentary glance Rotimi took around the mix of colors and people was enough to alert him to the fact that they were supposed to find their next partners. Even so, Rotimi found himself lingering a couple of moments longer just to hear the girl’s reply though he was sure they would all have time for adequate socialization a bit later.

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

Gavriel (Gavy)

Mood: Excited

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Freyja artfvlly Kaz irregular-neptune

It was nice to meet someone who seemed genuinely kind. Not that Gavy thought others would be outright rude, but this was all leading up to a competition so she had assumed people would be less warm towards the strangers around them. This didn’t seem to be the case with Freyja, a girl who Gavy could already see herself becoming fast friends with so long as she was open to the idea. “That’s such a beautiful name!” The platinum blonde proclaimed with a look of admiration. “That’s the name of one of the Norse goddesses, right?” She asked thinking that she had heard that at some point during her studies or while talking with her father who had been all over the world due to his work.

Hearing the kind offer for a tour caused the petite girl’s smile to brighten even further as her jade eyes turned bright blue with excitement. “I would love a tour! Honestly, you can whisk me away whenever because I need to learn this place before I wander off and get lost for good.” She joked but in the back of her mind, she knew that her curiosity would get the better of her eventually and she would go off on her own if someone wasn’t there to guide her.

The direction of Freyja’s eyes caught Gavy’s attention as she watched the girl look to the side for a few seconds. Daring to glance in the same direction the young American spotted the red-headed boy from before looking back at her, hopefully, new friend. They were from the same school so it only made sense that the two of them would know each other. By the subtle expressions on their faced Gavy could only assume that they were more than acquaintances as it looked like they were trying to read each other’s minds, as silly as that might sound. Not wanting to be rude Gavy was quick to look away and instead took a glance around the dance floor as people began to find their partners for the first dance. Luckily or unluckily, she hadn’t decided yet, Gavy didn’t have a partner for the first dance and was strongly debating trying to sneak away for a few minutes.

When Freyja’s attention drew back to her, Gavy smiled and bounced in her heels a little bit. Hearing the slightly taller girl admit being nervous to dance because of her heels felt like a mood that she could strongly relate to. Leaning in a little bit the pretty little blonde smirked and whispered, “If you need to take them off just let me know and I’ll do the same. Maybe we can start a trend?” As she pulled back her eyes were alight with genuine excitement and maybe a glimmer of mischief. There was no way she was going to make Freyja feel like she needed to suck it up and suffer alone and in silence. “Good luck with your first dance!” She added as her new friend began to pull away to find her first dance partner. “Maybe I can swoop in for a dance with you at some point too!” She added semi-jokingly.

With Freyja’s departure, Gavy was once again standing alone amongst the crowd. She could hear a few students whispering about her and how she tripped. One even suggested that maybe her first dance partner bailed on her because of the accident and was afraid she would bring them down as well. The snickers and slander were all too easy to listen to but Gavy just kept reminding herself that she chose to fall and she didn’t regret the decision at all since from what she could hear at least it had taken the crowd's attention off of Kasper’s name being announced wrong. She used that as fuel to keep her smile burning bright and keep control over herself so her hair didn’t change colors on her again.

Gavy had been so focused on keeping herself from changing colors with her emotions that she missed the figure approaching her until the foreign professor spoke. He was very polite and had his hand held out to her like a practiced gentleman. Hearing his offer for her to dance the young metamorphmagus gave him a grateful smile and took his hand. From the slight accent his words held she guessed he was from Koldovstoretz and by his age, it was clear he was a professor. “Thank you.” She acknowledged with a polite nod her ever-changing colored gaze shining with genuine gratitude as the professor pulled her away from the crowd and onto the dance floor. “I’m Gavy by the way.” She introduced herself as she placed her hand on his shoulder so they could begin the dance. “So, what do you teach?” She asked figuring it a safe subject to inquire about the professor’s field of study. “I mean, I’m assuming you are a professor?” She added with a gentle laugh as she looked up at the older man.

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It was nice to meet someone who seemed genuinely kind. Not that Gavy thought others would be outright rude, but this was all leading up to a competition so she had assumed people would be less warm towards the strangers around them. This didn’t seem to be the case with Freyja, a girl who Gavy could already see herself becoming fast friends with so long as she was open to the idea. “That’s such a beautiful name!” The platinum blonde proclaimed with a look of admiration. “That’s the name of one of the Norse goddesses, right?” She asked thinking that she had heard that at some point during her studies or while talking with her father who had been all over the world due to his work.

Hearing the kind offer for a tour caused the petite girl’s smile to brighten even further as her jade eyes turned bright blue with excitement. “I would love a tour! Honestly, you can whisk me away whenever because I need to learn this place before I wander off and get lost for good.” She joked but in the back of her mind, she knew that her curiosity would get the better of her eventually and she would go off on her own if someone wasn’t there to guide her.

The direction of Freyja’s eyes caught Gavy’s attention as she watched the girl look to the side for a few seconds. Daring to glance in the same direction the young American spotted the red-headed boy from before looking back at her, hopefully, new friend. They were from the same school so it only made sense that the two of them would know each other. By the subtle expressions on their faced Gavy could only assume that they were more than acquaintances as it looked like they were trying to read each other’s minds, as silly as that might sound. Not wanting to be rude Gavy was quick to look away and instead took a glance around the dance floor as people began to find their partners for the first dance. Luckily or unluckily, she hadn’t decided yet, Gavy didn’t have a partner for the first dance and was strongly debating trying to sneak away for a few minutes.

When Freyja’s attention drew back to her, Gavy smiled and bounced in her heels a little bit. Hearing the slightly taller girl admit being nervous to dance because of her heels felt like a mood that she could strongly relate to. Leaning in a little bit the pretty little blonde smirked and whispered, “If you need to take them off just let me know and I’ll do the same. Maybe we can start a trend?” As she pulled back her eyes were alight with genuine excitement and maybe a glimmer of mischief. There was no way she was going to make Freyja feel like she needed to suck it up and suffer alone and in silence. “Good luck with your first dance!” She added as her new friend began to pull away to find her first dance partner. “Maybe I can swoop in for a dance with you at some point too!” She added semi-jokingly.

With Freyja’s departure, Gavy was once again standing alone amongst the crowd. She could hear a few students whispering about her and how she tripped. One even suggested that maybe her first dance partner bailed on her because of the accident and was afraid she would bring them down as well. The snickers and slander were all too easy to listen to but Gavy just kept reminding herself that she chose to fall and she didn’t regret the decision at all since from what she could hear at least it had taken the crowd's attention off of Kasper’s name being announced wrong. She used that as fuel to keep her smile burning bright and keep control over herself so her hair didn’t change colors on her again.

Gavy had been so focused on keeping herself from changing colors with her emotions that she missed the figure approaching her until the foreign professor spoke. He was very polite and had his hand held out to her like a practiced gentleman. Hearing his offer for her to dance the young metamorphmagus gave him a grateful smile and took his hand. From the slight accent his words held she guessed he was from Koldovstoretz and by his age, it was clear he was a professor. “Thank you.” She acknowledged with a polite nod her ever-changing colored gaze shining with genuine gratitude as the professor pulled her away from the crowd and onto the dance floor. “I’m Gavy by the way.” She introduced herself as she placed her hand on his shoulder so they could begin the dance. “So, what do you teach?” She asked figuring it a safe subject to inquire about the professor’s field of study. “I mean, I’m assuming you are a professor?” She added with a gentle laugh as she looked up at the older man.

Einar

Mood: Welcoming

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Professor Campbell mysteryxio

Reaching into his pocket Einar carefully uncovered a small silver and black beaten flask from inside his coat. “It might not be the drink you expected my friend but one swig of this fire whiskey will warm you up in no time.” The old man chuckled, his accented laugh sounding like low thunder in the mountains. He held the flask out to the young professor clearly inviting him to take a swig in order to find some form of warmth from the liquid inside. “On my honor, I swear one sip will do nothing more than warm your belly.” He added in an attempt to ward off any misgivings the young man might feel about drinking in front of the students.

It was well known that Professor Einar always had the flask on him, even during school hours. The old man was not a drunk and never let the liquid impair him in any way, he simply enjoyed the taste and the warmth it spread through him. Not one of his students had ever seen him intoxicated and he planned to keep it that way. His true drinking only occurred in the late lonely hours when he had time to reflect upon his life and remember all the agony that came with the short but sweet memories of those ripped away from him all too soon. Tonight, however, was not going to be one of those nights, his students were his children and he would never permit any of his children to see him that way.

“You gave me your name so allow me to give you mine.” The old professor spoke with a thick accent but his words could still be heard clearly. “I am Birger Gustav Einar, Professor of History of Magic at Durmstrang!” He announced heartily and took the young man’s hand in a firm and friendly shake as his other hand remained on his cane to give the impression that he needed it for balance and support. “But you my friend can call me simply Einar.” The silver-haired professor added as he released the young man’s shaky hand.

“You must tell me more of your adventures.” Einar urged, his icy blue eyes glittering with genuine interest as he looked at the young man. “Studying the Swedish Short-Snout must be an experience unlike any other. It has been too many years since I have laid eyes on them myself.” The old man added and thought back to his younger years when the pursuit of a wizard criminal brought him across the path of the beautiful silvery-blue beast.

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Reaching into his pocket Einar carefully uncovered a small silver and black beaten flask from inside his coat. “It might not be the drink you expected my friend but one swig of this fire whiskey will warm you up in no time.” The old man chuckled, his accented laugh sounding like low thunder in the mountains. He held the flask out to the young professor clearly inviting him to take a swig in order to find some form of warmth from the liquid inside. “On my honor, I swear one sip will do nothing more than warm your belly.” He added in an attempt to ward off any misgivings the young man might feel about drinking in front of the students.

It was well known that Professor Einar always had the flask on him, even during school hours. The old man was not a drunk and never let the liquid impair him in any way, he simply enjoyed the taste and the warmth it spread through him. Not one of his students had ever seen him intoxicated and he planned to keep it that way. His true drinking only occurred in the late lonely hours when he had time to reflect upon his life and remember all the agony that came with the short but sweet memories of those ripped away from him all too soon. Tonight, however, was not going to be one of those nights, his students were his children and he would never permit any of his children to see him that way.

“You gave me your name so allow me to give you mine.” The old professor spoke with a thick accent but his words could still be heard clearly. “I am Birger Gustav Einar, Professor of History of Magic at Durmstrang!” He announced heartily and took the young man’s hand in a firm and friendly shake as his other hand remained on his cane to give the impression that he needed it for balance and support. “But you my friend can call me simply Einar.” The silver-haired professor added as he released the young man’s shaky hand.

“You must tell me more of your adventures.” Einar urged, his icy blue eyes glittering with genuine interest as he looked at the young man. “Studying the Swedish Short-Snout must be an experience unlike any other. It has been too many years since I have laid eyes on them myself.” The old man added and thought back to his younger years when the pursuit of a wizard criminal brought him across the path of the beautiful silvery-blue beast.

Esfir (Essie)

Mood: Cautious

Location: Durmstrang

Interactions: Kasper Aviator Lisandro irregular-neptune

Essie watched the young man squirm under her gaze as he seemed to try and find a way to choke his words out. If she were anything like the rest of her family, she would laugh at him and toss backhanded compliments and snarky insults his way about every little detail of his existence. Luckily for both of them, she was nothing like her family in that way. She knew that public affairs weren’t for everyone, hell, there were countless events back home she would have rather chewed her own arm off rather than be forced to attend, which she was. Her expression changed very little as Kasper managed to find his words after a moment. She gave him a nod of greeting when he confirmed that he was in fact who she thought he was and upon hearing his compliment towards her English she arched a perfectly plucked dark eyebrow. It wasn’t what she was used to being complimented on, most men usually basing her worth on her fate, status, or appearance, so the unique complement earned the boy the slightest of smiles from the Russian beauty. “Thank you.” She replied, the words rolling off her tongue rather naturally from having to use the English language at many events before this one.

As the couples around them moved into position in preparation for the opening dance number Essie held back her desire to release a sigh. From what she could read of Kasper it seemed they were in the same boat of not looking forward to dancing this evening. As much as she was secretly excited about the tournament and the idea that she would hopefully get to compete she was not nearly as excited about the idea of dancing. She had enough going on in her head as she worried about whether or not Baba Yaga would let her have this night to herself, she didn’t need to worry about what would happen if someone accidentally stepped on her foot and how it might possibly enrage the ancient spirit. This part of the competition meant very little to Essie seeing as she was not here to make friends. This ball was meant for the potential competitors to get to know one another but Essie had no desire to get to know any of them and risk forming bonds. Bonds were dangerous, they were painful, they would only lead to more heartache, Essie hated them.

As the music began and the other couples started to glide across the dancefloor Essie looked at Kasper with curiosity pulling her eyebrow up in question as he stood, shaky hand on her hip, eyes closed, feet not moving. Is there something wrong? Can he sense her? She fretted in the back of her mind. No. How could he? She assured herself after a minute. Her icy blue gaze was there to meet his when he finally opened his eyes and for a moment, she looked into the windows to his soul trying to determine what was going on. Taking note that they were still the only ones not moving on the dance floor Essie’s years of ballroom dancing lessons kicked into gear as she decided to take the lead for this dance. As she began to move Kasper seemed to catch on and followed her lead, an uncommon thing for the male partner to do but a seemingly necessary move for both parties involved.

Every few steps it seemed her red-headed dance partner insisted on stepping on her foot. The pain of it was not what bugged her but rather the fact that it might bring forth her less than friendly other half. She heard his countless apologies and nodded her head in silent acceptance of each one, her mind too focused on trying to be ready to fight back Baba Yaga if the witch became too irritated with the bruising of her vessel to reply to Kasper at this point in time.

“You are doing your best, that is enough.” She stated simply when he felt the need to deliver a more formal apology. In her mind she did not blame him for being new to ballroom dancing, it was a greatly overrated skill. She did worry that his stomping on her foot would bring forth unwanted guests though, so she did her best to dodge his steps as skillfully as possible. As she led them she made sure they remained towards the edge of the circle, never venturing towards the middle and the center of focus. In her efforts to keep them towards the edge of the crowd and closer to the fireplaces she found her gaze fixed mostly on those around them rather than her partner. When her gaze did return, she noticed he must have been staring since as soon as their eyes locked his fell away as though he were ashamed. Honestly, for once Essie didn’t mind being stared at by most of those around her. The mass majority of them had no idea of her condition, that she was the chosen vessel of one of the most sacred Russian spirits. So, when they looked at her Essie for once felt them looking at her and not the person, she would one day become. It was a refreshing feeling, something she wished she could get used to but knew would fade away the moment anyone discovered her secret.

After most of the dance between them being done so with little conversation, Essie was surprised when Kasper attempted to chat with her almost casually. His question about if Koldovstoetz had a house system was interesting so Essie decided to take a moment from her internal battle to answer his curiosity. “Net.” She stated simply before realizing that he might deserve more of an answer. “Koldovstoetz does not split its students up into houses. We are one.” She informed him as she tried to find the best way to describe it. As she listened to his thoughts on the matter of houses, she couldn’t help but agree with him and find his conversation skills to be rather entertaining. He certainly held none of his frustrations or disagreements back, a trait Essie could admire. Perhaps if things were different Essie might have considered the idea of getting to know him better, possibly being friends, but this was the real world and that wasn’t an option. “I agree with you.” She stated as she listened to him apologize for his little rant. “It should not be for others to decide our fates.” She affirmed, her words having a deeper meaning that Kasper would likely ever understand, or at least as far as she was aware. “But countless others would disagree with us as firmly as we do with them.”

As the music for the first dance came to an end Essie stepped back from Kasper and gave him a bow of her head. As much as her foot hurt and her mind stressed to be ready for Baba Yaga to try and take over Essie still had to admit a terrifying turn of events to herself, she had enjoyed dancing with Kasper Edelberg. “Proshchay, Kasper.” She concluded as they split off and went their separate ways. She would have to be sure to avoid him in the future to the best of her ability in order to keep from forming any true friendship with him.

With the first dance at its end, Essie knew that she would have a few moments where she wasn’t required to dance with anyone else. Moving away from the dance floor the young Russian beauty cut her way through the crowd until she was standing before a long table of food and beverages. Reaching out her fingers wrapped around the glass stem of a goblet and brought the drink within up to her lips. The punch was good as it splashed her tastebuds, the different fruits, and slight fizz dancing across her senses as she took a moment to try and relax the slightest bit. Her eyes roamed the Storhall as she finished the last bit of sparkling beverage before returning to the dance floor. The dark-haired beauty began to scan the crowd as she glided back into the center of things. Her eyes of frozen glass finally fell upon the being she had been searching for and she gracefully cut her way through the crowd towards him. "Are you Lisandro Valencia?" She inquired as she looked the young man in the eyes, her voice laced with her Russian accent with each word she spoke.

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Essie watched the young man squirm under her gaze as he seemed to try and find a way to choke his words out. If she were anything like the rest of her family, she would laugh at him and toss backhanded compliments and snarky insults his way about every little detail of his existence. Luckily for both of them, she was nothing like her family in that way. She knew that public affairs weren’t for everyone, hell, there were countless events back home she would have rather chewed her own arm off rather than be forced to attend, which she was. Her expression changed very little as Kasper managed to find his words after a moment. She gave him a nod of greeting when he confirmed that he was in fact who she thought he was and upon hearing his compliment towards her English she arched a perfectly plucked dark eyebrow. It wasn’t what she was used to being complimented on, most men usually basing her worth on her fate, status, or appearance, so the unique complement earned the boy the slightest of smiles from the Russian beauty. “Thank you.” She replied, the words rolling off her tongue rather naturally from having to use the English language at many events before this one.

As the couples around them moved into position in preparation for the opening dance number Essie held back her desire to release a sigh. From what she could read of Kasper it seemed they were in the same boat of not looking forward to dancing this evening. As much as she was secretly excited about the tournament and the idea that she would hopefully get to compete she was not nearly as excited about the idea of dancing. She had enough going on in her head as she worried about whether or not Baba Yaga would let her have this night to herself, she didn’t need to worry about what would happen if someone accidentally stepped on her foot and how it might possibly enrage the ancient spirit. This part of the competition meant very little to Essie seeing as she was not here to make friends. This ball was meant for the potential competitors to get to know one another but Essie had no desire to get to know any of them and risk forming bonds. Bonds were dangerous, they were painful, they would only lead to more heartache, Essie hated them.

As the music began and the other couples started to glide across the dancefloor Essie looked at Kasper with curiosity pulling her eyebrow up in question as he stood, shaky hand on her hip, eyes closed, feet not moving. Is there something wrong? Can he sense her? She fretted in the back of her mind. No. How could he? She assured herself after a minute. Her icy blue gaze was there to meet his when he finally opened his eyes and for a moment, she looked into the windows to his soul trying to determine what was going on. Taking note that they were still the only ones not moving on the dance floor Essie’s years of ballroom dancing lessons kicked into gear as she decided to take the lead for this dance. As she began to move Kasper seemed to catch on and followed her lead, an uncommon thing for the male partner to do but a seemingly necessary move for both parties involved.

Every few steps it seemed her red-headed dance partner insisted on stepping on her foot. The pain of it was not what bugged her but rather the fact that it might bring forth her less than friendly other half. She heard his countless apologies and nodded her head in silent acceptance of each one, her mind too focused on trying to be ready to fight back Baba Yaga if the witch became too irritated with the bruising of her vessel to reply to Kasper at this point in time.

“You are doing your best, that is enough.” She stated simply when he felt the need to deliver a more formal apology. In her mind she did not blame him for being new to ballroom dancing, it was a greatly overrated skill. She did worry that his stomping on her foot would bring forth unwanted guests though, so she did her best to dodge his steps as skillfully as possible. As she led them she made sure they remained towards the edge of the circle, never venturing towards the middle and the center of focus. In her efforts to keep them towards the edge of the crowd and closer to the fireplaces she found her gaze fixed mostly on those around them rather than her partner. When her gaze did return, she noticed he must have been staring since as soon as their eyes locked his fell away as though he were ashamed. Honestly, for once Essie didn’t mind being stared at by most of those around her. The mass majority of them had no idea of her condition, that she was the chosen vessel of one of the most sacred Russian spirits. So, when they looked at her Essie for once felt them looking at her and not the person, she would one day become. It was a refreshing feeling, something she wished she could get used to but knew would fade away the moment anyone discovered her secret.

After most of the dance between them being done so with little conversation, Essie was surprised when Kasper attempted to chat with her almost casually. His question about if Koldovstoetz had a house system was interesting so Essie decided to take a moment from her internal battle to answer his curiosity. “Net.” She stated simply before realizing that he might deserve more of an answer. “Koldovstoetz does not split its students up into houses. We are one.” She informed him as she tried to find the best way to describe it. As she listened to his thoughts on the matter of houses, she couldn’t help but agree with him and find his conversation skills to be rather entertaining. He certainly held none of his frustrations or disagreements back, a trait Essie could admire. Perhaps if things were different Essie might have considered the idea of getting to know him better, possibly being friends, but this was the real world and that wasn’t an option. “I agree with you.” She stated as she listened to him apologize for his little rant. “It should not be for others to decide our fates.” She affirmed, her words having a deeper meaning that Kasper would likely ever understand, or at least as far as she was aware. “But countless others would disagree with us as firmly as we do with them.”

As the music for the first dance came to an end Essie stepped back from Kasper and gave him a bow of her head. As much as her foot hurt and her mind stressed to be ready for Baba Yaga to try and take over Essie still had to admit a terrifying turn of events to herself, she had enjoyed dancing with Kasper Edelberg. “Proshchay, Kasper.” She concluded as they split off and went their separate ways. She would have to be sure to avoid him in the future to the best of her ability in order to keep from forming any true friendship with him.

With the first dance at its end, Essie knew that she would have a few moments where she wasn’t required to dance with anyone else. Moving away from the dance floor the young Russian beauty cut her way through the crowd until she was standing before a long table of food and beverages. Reaching out her fingers wrapped around the glass stem of a goblet and brought the drink within up to her lips. The punch was good as it splashed her tastebuds, the different fruits, and slight fizz dancing across her senses as she took a moment to try and relax the slightest bit. Her eyes roamed the Storhall as she finished the last bit of sparkling beverage before returning to the dance floor. The dark-haired beauty began to scan the crowd as she glided back into the center of things. Her eyes of frozen glass finally fell upon the being she had been searching for and she gracefully cut her way through the crowd towards him. "Are you Lisandro Valencia?" She inquired as she looked the young man in the eyes, her voice laced with her Russian accent with each word she spoke.

 

[artfvlly]

genevieve chapelle.

Genevieve, embarrassingly enough, felt quite content tucked away by the drinks table. Back in France it was always about flaunting herself, her family and their achievements. It wasn't a bad thing, a part of her enjoyed the attention. Despite that, a part of her enjoyed the down time, being in a place where no everyone knew her. She looked down into the liquid of the drink she held, swirling it in thought. The moment of quiet contemplation didn't last long. Kasper, the redheaded boy whose name they had messed up was speaking to her. She looked over at him with dark eyes, her expression probably being more cold than necessary. She was vaguely annoyed that he had - unknowingly - interrupted her moment of reflection. Maybe it was cruel to be rude to him. She hadn't realised how much time had passed and it appeared it was time for her first dance.

Genevieve blinked slowly at Kasper as he spoke to her in French. His French wasn't bad, just strange in some ways as it mixed with his accent. Despite that, there was a pang of homesickness in her gut. She forced a smile to her face, although to him it probably looked more threatening than comforting.
"C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Kasper. Vous pouvez m'appeler Genevieve. Je suis impressionné par votre française. Nous pouvons parler en anglais, si cela vous convient.." She spoke, making sure to keep her words simple and clear for him to understand.

Gathering her skirts in one hand, she followed his lead out into the dancing area. It was clear he was either very impatient with her, or wanted to get the dance over and done with as quickly as possible. Even if that pang of homesickness had dismayed her for a moment, she had recovered. She did lots of dancing at home for events just like this, the familiarity of falling into beat would provide her some comfort.

Placing her hand on Kasper's shoulder to begin dancing, she looked him up and down.
"Do you dance much, ami? I am still learning about the culture here, it is very different to France." She asked, falling into step as the music started once more. She hoped she wouldn't have to drag or guide him along too much, that sounded like bruised feet for sure. "Where did you learn to speak française? Did you learn for this tournament or were you already familiar? I hope to learn more languages over this year. I often think about how it would be a useful skill. I know that in this part of the world there are different varieties, Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandic. Do you speak multiple of them for school? Or just one?" Genevieve asked. Maybe filling the dance with the noise of conversation would help time pass.

coded by incandescent

​

freyja hartvigsen.

Freyja beamed at Caelum as he spoke, a tiny bit of the anxious feelings washing away.
"Oh! That is fine. I can help you, if you would like? My fjölskylda do these kind of events all the time. Once you get into the beat of it, you'll be fine." Her voice was probably a little overwhelming for the poor boy. Being bubbly and extroverted by nature could be exhausting, more so for those around her. Dipping into a small curtsey, Freyja took Caelum hand.

Freyja gave Caelum an encouraging smile as she guided him to the steps of the dance, hoping that he wouldn't accidentally step on her toes.
"It is just a simple waltz, once you get into the rhythm you will be fine. Forward with your left foot, then to the right." She explained, looking down at their feet briefly as she guided him. "Then right foot back, step back to the left and repeat."

Looking up, she met his eyes with a smile.
"You are from Ilvermorny, yes? I was speaking to Gavy just before. America must be nice, I read lots of books about it." She spoke up once more, trying to prompt the boy with conversation. She often found that even if she was just talking someones ear off, it made them feel more at ease. Considering the situation they were in it felt only right to try.

"What is Ilvermorny like? I am excited to visit it, as well as the other schools. It will be an adventure, I am sure. What kind of challenges do you think there are going to be? I heard a rumour about dragons being moved... sounds so scary but exciting. Even if I don't get picked I want to be there to support the others, do you agree?"

coded by incandescent

​

Spoiler: genevieve mobile friendly

Genevieve, embarrassingly enough, felt quite content tucked away by the drinks table. Back in France it was always about flaunting herself, her family and their achievements. It wasn't a bad thing, a part of her enjoyed the attention. Despite that, a part of her enjoyed the down time, being in a place where no everyone knew her. She looked down into the liquid of the drink she held, swirling it in thought. The moment of quiet contemplation didn't last long. Kasper, the redheaded boy whose name they had messed up was speaking to her. She looked over at him with dark eyes, her expression probably being more cold than necessary. She was vaguely annoyed that he had - unknowingly - interrupted her moment of reflection. Maybe it was cruel to be rude to him. She hadn't realised how much time had passed and it appeared it was time for her first dance.

Genevieve blinked slowly at Kasper as he spoke to her in French. His French wasn't bad, just strange in some ways as it mixed with his accent. Despite that, there was a pang of homesickness in her gut. She forced a smile to her face, although to him it probably looked more threatening than comforting.
"C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, Kasper. Vous pouvez m'appeler Genevieve. Je suis impressionné par votre française. Nous pouvons parler en anglais, si cela vous convient.." She spoke, making sure to keep her words simple and clear for him to understand.

Gathering her skirts in one hand, she followed his lead out into the dancing area. It was clear he was either very impatient with her, or wanted to get the dance over and done with as quickly as possible. Even if that pang of homesickness had dismayed her for a moment, she had recovered. She did lots of dancing at home for events just like this, the familiarity of falling into beat would provide her some comfort.

Placing her hand on Kasper's shoulder to begin dancing, she looked him up and down.
"Do you dance much, ami? I am still learning about the culture here, it is very different to France." She asked, falling into step as the music started once more. She hoped she wouldn't have to drag or guide him along too much, that sounded like bruised feet for sure. "Where did you learn to speak française? Did you learn for this tournament or were you already familiar? I hope to learn more languages over this year. I often think about how it would be a useful skill. I know that in this part of the world there are different varieties, Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandic. Do you speak multiple of them for school? Or just one?" Genevieve asked. Maybe filling the dance with the noise of conversation would help time pass.

​

​

Spoiler: freyja mobile friendly

Freyja beamed at Caelum as he spoke, a tiny bit of the anxious feelings washing away.
"Oh! That is fine. I can help you, if you would like? My fjölskylda do these kind of events all the time. Once you get into the beat of it, you'll be fine." Her voice was probably a little overwhelming for the poor boy. Being bubbly and extroverted by nature could be exhausting, more so for those around her. Dipping into a small curtsey, Freyja took Caelum hand.

Freyja gave Caelum an encouraging smile as she guided him to the steps of the dance, hoping that he wouldn't accidentally step on her toes.
"It is just a simple waltz, once you get into the rhythm you will be fine. Forward with your left foot, then to the right." She explained, looking down at their feet briefly as she guided him. "Then right foot back, step back to the left and repeat."

Looking up, she met his eyes with a smile.
"You are from Ilvermorny, yes? I was speaking to Gavy just before. America must be nice, I read lots of books about it." She spoke up once more, trying to prompt the boy with conversation. She often found that even if she was just talking someones ear off, it made them feel more at ease. Considering the situation they were in it felt only right to try.

"What is Ilvermorny like? I am excited to visit it, as well as the other schools. It will be an adventure, I am sure. What kind of challenges do you think there are going to be? I heard a rumour about dragons being moved... sounds so scary but exciting. Even if I don't get picked I want to be there to support the others, do you agree?"

​

​

 

[Aviator]

Kasper Edelberg // Male // 7th Year // Durmstrang Champion // Half-Blood
​

Kasper was in dire need of a smoke. Despite his brazen show of confidence—what with plucking Genevieve’s glass out of her hand and setting it on the table behind her when it’d come time to dance—his pulse was jackhammering. And he was certain that someone who commanded such otherworldly majesty as Genevieve Chapelle could detect it. Yet, as she paused before replying, her eyes adopting a pensive glaze, Kasper looked closer. He couldn’t help it. Something about Genevieve Chapelle was purely magnetizing. His mind flashed back to moments ago, when he’d first approached her. Now that he thought about it, the way she had clutched her drink to herself seemed more of a protective gesture than a hostile one. Suddenly her obvious reluctance to follow Kasper to the dance floor didn’t seem all that different from his own insecurities. Was it possible that Genevieve was more leery of the ostentatious ballroom setting than of him personally?
Her face contained all the expression of a granite mountainside; it seemed a habitual occurrence for her. Because she’s lonely, Kasper realized with a jolt. How anyone with Genevieve’s ethereal beauty could want for company was beyond him, but it was a fact. He immediately felt a pinch of guilt for having misconstrued her reticence for something judgmental and malicious. He should have known from the way she had planted herself on the fringes of the room, as far away from the glaring spotlights as possible, that she didn’t want to be here. Kasper couldn’t change the fact that the Introductory Ball was mandatory attendance for Genevieve and him both, but he could, just maybe, put her unease to rest with the warm reception that a representative of the hosting school was morally obligated to give.
Contrary to his dread leading up to the ball, for the first time Kasper appreciated how goddamn easy he’d had it. Unlike twenty-one of the twenty-four international students, he hadn’t had to travel halfway around the world from the get-go and be plunged into unmarked territory amid a sea of unknown faces. Rather, he’d been given the privilege of dealing with the tournament’s untold mysteries in familiar surroundings. A newfound respect for the competitors whom he had regarded as snooty bluebloods a minute ago resonated inside him. Most of them, unlike Kasper, had probably left behind a slew of families and friends in the slim hope that they would be the winner who bestowed victory and pride upon their homeland. Some of those goodbyes must have been heartwrenching. As much as Kasper regretted never meeting his mother and knowing his half siblings only superficially, it would make packing up and leaving a hell of a lot easier when the time came to rotate schools.
He nodded along to Genevieve’s French; he could tell that she was going out of her way to enunciate clearly, not because she was condescending as he first might have thought, but out of a genuine desire for him to understand, because she recognized his unfamiliarity with the language. Still, despite her best attempts, he was racing to keep up. Relying mostly on facial expressions and bodily cues, Kasper followed suit as Genevieve angled herself toward the dance floor. “You should try the kanelbullar, the next time you get a strike at the refreshment table,” he said warmly in halting English. The rapid shifts between deciphering Genevieve’s French, mentally translating her words to Swedish ones he better understood, and now speaking in English were making his head spin like a carousel. “Ohm, crack, I think I mean,” he stammered. “Take a crack at the refreshment table, I think is the saying.” Kasper was unable to hide a flush of embarrassment as he and Genevieve pulled closer in preparation of the start of the dance. She rested a porcelain hand on his shoulder, and he cinched an arm around her waist, which was so narrow that Kasper was sure he could span it with his hands, if he tried.
In response to Genevieve’s prompt, he answered, “Kanelbullar are, in layman’s terms, Swedish cinnamon buns, but in reality they are so much more. They are sugary spirals of ambrosia endowed with the power to temporarily transform men into gods. Such divine creations are kanelbullar that they even have their own holiday. A must-have for any sweet tooth.” Kasper tried on a demure smile. While Genevieve didn’t reciprocate it, her head cocked to a thoughtful angle at his words. Well, at least her interest seemed to be piqued. Within moments, he and Genevieve were enmeshed within a disorderly knot of people all tangled up on the overcrowded dance floor. As several younger male professors offered their hands to the surplus population of female students who’d been forced to sit out, the dance floor was quickly filling up. Not only would Kasper have to avoid stepping on Genevieve’s feet, but now there was the possibility of bumping into an adjacent couple to contend with.
A spike of anxiety should have pierced him at the thought, and yet, staring into the unruffled pool of liquid mercury that was Genevieve’s aura, Kasper felt oddly at ease. As if, for the first time in a long time, everything would finally be all right. Now just to maintain that feeling, he thought as the orchestra’s first notes rang out with sharp, crystalline clarity. As one entity, the circular floor lurched into motion. Women’s skirts belled out from their hips like the petals of exotic flowers, and the heels of men’s dress shoes clicked against the floor. It was strange, thinking of students his age and even younger as women and men, but the upcoming tournament would be anything but child’s play, if the rumors were true. As Kasper looked around the room and at all the auras furling and fusing with one another like clouds of colorful smoke, he was skewered on the thought that some of these elegant, richly-clad figures might die. His wild eyes flashed to Genevieve, with her mint-green ball gown and butterscotch locks twisted around her head. Beneath his gloved hands, she felt so warm and alive, pulsing with a relentless energy. But what if that was no longer the case in nine months’ time?
In a twisted way, Kasper’s brief waking nightmare had been something of a blessing; it had temporarily taken his mind off the pressure of dancing, and it wasn’t until his foot grazed Genevieve’s as it came down that he snapped back to the moment. He immediately apologized. Well, it was bound to have happened sometime. He was just surprised that it had taken this long, when the dance was almost halfway over. Kasper was improving. Just then, Genevieve surprised him by speaking. As if to defuse the awkwardness of the moment, she inquired first about his dancing experience, and then how he’d come to learn French, and then… Kasper’s mouth sagged slightly at the suddenness and extent of the verbal onslaught to which he was subjected. It was like a switch had flipped in this girl. On one hand, he had never been particularly fond of talking about himself and balked at the thought of divulging so much personal information. But on the other, he was grateful for the reprieve from the silent anguish that had dangled like a dark thundercloud over most of his dance with Esfir. Kasper smiled faintly as Genevieve’s painted lips finally ceased to move. Well, whatever else could be said about her, she certainly wasn’t boring.
“Ohm…” Kasper began hesitantly, unsure where to start. “This is my first time dancing,” he admitted abruptly. He was pretty sure she had asked that much just to be polite. No need to sugarcoat the obvious. “From what I have observed, the French are generally a lot less reserved in their interactions with strangers than us svenskar. But you don’t seem to really fit that mold—not that there is anything wrong with that,” he added hurriedly. Quiet though she was, Genevieve radiated capability like a machine, and the last thing Kasper wanted was to offend her prior to the start of the tournament. “Where did I learn français?” he repeated dumbly, mostly to play for time as he considered how much to reveal to Genevieve. Kasper’s ultramarine half cape flared outward as they took a too-fast turn around the perimeter of the circular floor. His stomach coiled into a nauseous ball. “Promise me you won’t judge. Anyway. Back at the start of my fourth year, there was a girl who had transferred to Durmstrang from Beauxbatons. Her family had just moved from France. She was amazing in every way: attractive, smart, funny, good with people, you name it.”
Kasper felt heat flood his cheeks. The girl he spoke of was called Thérèse, and though she had graduated last year, he didn’t mention her by name. She still had friends attending Durmstrang, and what remained of his reputation after this evening’s announcement mishap would be blown to smithereens if word got out. Staring at a point over Genevieve’s shoulder, he rubbed his neck awkwardly, cleared his throat, and continued, “I foolishly thought I stood a chance with her. So, in hopes of impressing her, I studied French, every day for half an hour, all throughout my fourth year. I’d never studied anything so rigorously in my life. Yet, by the time I mustered the courage to make a move on the Beauxbatons girl, she was already in a relationship with someone else.” Kasper repressed a sigh at the memory.
Thérèse wasn’t the only one he’d pined for, though. Before Freyja, he had been attracted to any girl with breasts and a nice fragrance, and even to some boys, too. Afterward, however, was a whole other story. Over the past summer, Kasper’s Legilimency had accelerated to the point where he couldn’t touch anyone without being sucked into a maelstrom of memories that weren’t his. The gloves prevented such reactions—at least for now—but much to his dismay, he was convinced that he would have to spend the rest of his life as celibate as a monk. Suddenly he was too drained to care whether Genevieve thought him a freak for delving into such pathetic detail about the woes of his love life.
Not wanting to linger in the awkward silence induced by his narrative, Kasper jumped into the next of Genevieve’s litany of questions. “At Durmstrang, the official language used in classrooms is Norwegian. But it’s not uncommon to hear five different languages at any given time in the Storhall, when the whole student population gathers for meals. Writing Norwegian is a bit confusing, though, since there’s two forms of it: bokmål and nynorsk. The spoken dialect is consistent, but there’s two different ways those words can be transferred to paper. Historically, this occurred due to a division between the intellectual elite—who used bokmål—and the working class and farmers—who used nynorsk. Which in English translates to ‘new Norwegian.’ Does that answer your question?”
Kasper had always had a knack for learning languages, as if to compensate for the magical knowledge and skill that he so utterly lacked. Of course, his sense of achievement was undercut by the fact that regular accessories could be imbued with magic to transform them into translating devices, which functioned automatically so long as they remained on the wearer’s body. For an average wizard, however, the spellwork was supposed to be notoriously complex, so it was without a doubt way out of Kasper’s league. With a final flourish, the song closed out. All across the densely populated circle, dancing couples ground to a halt in unison. Genevieve and Kasper instantly sprang apart like metals of repelling charges, despite their cordial exchange. She didn’t seem very keen on touching, and after a few Legilimentic incidents earlier this year, neither was he. Truly hoping that his companionship had helped to soothe her misgivings about her foreign environment, Kasper gave her a slight bow. “Best of luck in the tournament, Genevieve Chapelle. Remember what I said about kanelbulle; you won’t regret it.”
He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the dance floor no longer appeared as the perilous minefield it once had. After all, he had only stepped on Genevieve’s foot once throughout the entirety of their dance. But the next name on his dance card would present a whole new challenge: Vikae Akiza. Strange name, Kasper thought, brow furrowed as he tried and failed to determine its ethnicity. He set off in search of his quarry, not recalling her face from memory, but recognizing it upon sight: framed by honey-blond hair, graced with high cheekbones, tapering into a pointed chin. A berry-blue aura surged around Vikae, who was exchanging a prolonged goodbye with her partner from the previous dance. Kasper stood off to the side, waiting for her to finish up and not wanting to impose. He smoothed down his rumpled tailcoat self-consciously—not that that had much effect—acutely aware that he was disproportionately underdressed compared to his next dance partner. Just as he had been among his two previous ones.

 

[SATVRN.]

stasia belyaeva

• 1
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• >leave empty!!!<
• 
  

  mood

  
  

  Excited, anxious, scared

  
  
  

  location

  
  

  Storhall

  
  
• outfit

  
  
  
• 
  

  tag

  
  

  jrink
  

  
  
  

  song

  
  

  Mother Of Dragons - Game Of Thrones

  
  

A flurry of blue chiffon and little silver hearts appeared in the doorway of the room. The metallic hearts beaming with every bit of light that bounced off them. A young women stood before all the schools, afraid for the second time in her life. Her makeup, nude and natural. Her face was cute, not pretty like most girls her age, but not ugly. Just cute.

"Anastasia Belyaeva of Koldovstoretz Academy, Seventh Year."

Her name rang clear as her presence was announced to the already dancing students in Storhall. Her name yet not her name. She was a romanov, through and through. She had her fathers blood, the blood of a fighter, a ruler, a legend, and she was sure to make a legend of herself in this tournament. She had to, for them.

On their last days alive, Anastasia remembers there was a lot of dancing and people. It was the days before her birthday, and they were sure to make a party of it. A royal celebration, they said, and it must be celebrated. She remembers the pink 4 tier cake that her mother helped make. She remembers her fathers twinkle in his eye as they danced the night away. The same eyes that held so much fear when he held his last living heir for the final time and told her to run.

"Never speak of tonight, Anya. Never talk of this family. Run, milaya devushka and never come back."

Stasia became an orphan that night. Gunshots echoed through the streets of St. Petersburg as her family was murdered, execution style, for all to see. She remembers her mothers screams. She remembers her fathers sobs. She remembers...

"Anastasia?"

She looked up at the announcer, blush creeping into her cheeks as she realized she had been in a daydream, no, more like a nightmare. She gave a curt nod before unfurling her dance card and seeing who was first to handle this sad mess of a girl.

Rotimi? Who in the world is that?

coded by weldherwings.