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Fandom Octowizard Tournament // Wizarding World // RP Thread

OOC
Here
Characters
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Lore
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MOOD: Nervous, tired

OUTFIT: some variation of the Durmstrang uniform that is not a full fur coat. Red blazer, black polo, dark brown pants.

LOCATION: infirmary
two
INTERACTIONS: Naomi

MENTIONS:
two
TAGS:
Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1
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TL;DR: Returns to the infirmary after spending half the night there, concerned about his new friend.
two
PIPER
Fuck. Piper had hoped, in some way, that Naomi would've had some recollection of what had happened. His heart nearly fell out of his chest when she said the last thing she remembered was him leaving her, guilt stabbing sharply in his chest at the reminder that he had left her when she needed him most. His head dropped below his shoulders and his hands found his face. He could only hear one thought: oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. He rubbed his eyes roughly. Okay, maybe a second thought: fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. She had no idea! She had no idea. Just searching for the right words made him feel ill. He was going to be physically ill.

He didn't have to look at Naomi to feel the stress radiating off of her. If she'd said anything, he didn't hear her. His reaction was clearly unsettling. Under better circumstances, he was a little better at tempering his emotions. Well. Marginally. He could at least swallow them. He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to tame the franticness he felt. Breathe. He reminded himself. Given the sensitivity of the situation, he needed to calm down. He needed to act more casually. If the entire hospital witnessed him losing his mind, he'd be putting Naomi into even more danger. He couldn't do that to her. He hardly knew her, and he already felt like he owed her so much.

The teen boy pulled a seat up to Naomi's hospital bed and sat. He rubbed his hands on his thighs for a moment, considering exactly what he was going to say and do. He needed to handle this delicately. He leveled his gaze, searching Naomi's deep brown eyes for any signs that she could be lying. She could be lying in order to save herself. She could be a malicious murderer, who killed the giant in cold blood. She could be lying now to see if he knew anything, to see if he'd rat on her, to see if she needed to take care of him next. He looked away. He knew none of that could be true. It just wasn't possible. Another unfortunate trait of being a seer: he often already knew the answers.

He looked back to the girl, hesitating for just a moment longer. He tentatively reached out for her hand, clasping it firmly in his own. "Naomi..." He started, looking down at their conjoined hands. His voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. "Naomi, something bad happened last night. Something really bad." He glanced up at her, carefully selecting the next words. "After I left last night—" he resisted the urge to physically wince "—I- I heard this scream coming from your direction. I came running back, and when I got to you, you were unconscious." He thought about stopping there. About letting her believe that nothing had really happened and he was a drama queen. About letting her live in bliss. About taking the time to mentally prepare himself to take the fall. He could probably cut himself a deal, as a minor and a seer. He could agree to working for the ministry in some sort of espionage, dropping out of school and trying to hone his abilities to find pertinent investigative information. But he knew he owed her the truth. He couldn't protect her from what she didn't know.

After a much too long pause, Piper squeezed Naomi's hand. His voice was even quieter. "You weren't alone. I found that Mahoutokoro boy, the giant one, with you." His chest constricted, finding it difficult to get the words to leave his body. They were sticking in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. He leaned in closer. "Naomi, he was dead." He didn't know what to expect from her. Thus far, she had been a sweet, angelic figure. Almost too airy and saccharine to be real. In a way, he half expected her to melt into a puddle that could no longer be perceived as a being with form. He half expected her to fly off the handle into a rage. He had really only known her for a few hours, he couldn't possibly know anything real about her. You might've thought he'd have a vision with the exact outcome, but he did not, and could only watch.

As the moment dawned on Naomi, he knew he couldn't be done. He needed to know if she knew what had happened. "Do you really not remember anything?" He pressed, looking at her deep brown eyes intently. He was searching for some sign of recognition or realization on her face. When he couldn't find the sign he was looking for, he swallowed hard and then he spoke again. "You killed him." Her shock doubled as she looked at him, and he could only imagine that her heart was pounding twice as fast as his was. He began speaking quickly, trying to use every second he could before she freaked out, left, or accused him of being a liar and a freak.

He leaned so far out of his chair, he was practically kneeling on the floor, and he gripped her arms near the elbows in an earnest plea.

"I didn't see it happen, and I know it sounds crazy, but I know it was you. I don't know how I know, I just do. I— I had a bad feeling, so I didn't tell anyone. I cast the flare charm on his wand, so maybe someone could come find him. I have this awful, awful feeling about what happened. Something's wrong. Like more wrong than what's already happened. I don't know how I know that, I just do." He looked to her face, frantically, hoping that she wasn't going to toss him out and report him as beign the murderer. He loosened his grip on her. "Naomi, please, you have to trust me."
sometimes i act like i know
but i'm really just a kid
with two corks in his eyes
and a bully in his brain
code by valen t.
 
1f644a2e9f4d193655c706a00293fa02.jpg


Chahaya “Cha-Cha” Arif // “Dysfunctional Ex-Con” // Male // Age 32 // Castelobruxo Professor // Legilimens
​
The events of the past day flooded over Cha-Cha like a strong drink as he teetered to the library, pain lancing through his leg if he walked too briskly. Clara Winters’s hair gusting around her face as she recognized him on the caboose of the train, her garnet lips forming a little round O of surprise. The circle of jewel-tone dresses and stoic suits as the professors of Ilvermorny huddled around a table at the Opening Ceremony, stealing glances at him as they took delicate sips from champagne flutes. Reminiscing over long-ago Quidditch games with Kazimir, exchanging cursory nods with Einar as they pretended not to know each other, Amity Monroe’s apparent horror when Cha-Cha had flippantly (and drunkenly) finished one of her sentences for her verbatim. Telling Lisandro that sometimes the only way to fight fire was to actually light one on an enemy’s turf, and sending Bellini’s suite up in flames. Any one of them could have been Chitrita’s confederate, hiding in the shadows and waiting to strike. It would be far from the first attempt on Cha-Cha’s life, but it would be the first—excluding two attempts in Azkaban, one time with a shank fashioned from a toothbrush and the other with a poisoned bowl of broccoli cheddar soup—that he didn’t have his powers to defend himself.
His thoughts lingered on Clara Winters for a moment, and a dash of guilt seeped through him. Naturally, had he done nothing, he would have been the first suspect for a mysterious case of arson committed in the wee hours. But he’d taken care to cover his tracks. The magical map she had created, loaded with both her DNA and her wand’s spellwork—which she and Ricky had allegedly created together, but Cha-Cha knew in his heart that his student was neither ingenious enough to come up with such an idea nor a strong enough spellcaster to execute it—had been abandoned at the scene of the crime, as if its creator had been in a haste to flee and simply forgot it. Among the international faculty and likely that of Ilvermorny as well, there was no shortage of former Aurors, and Cha-Cha wondered how long it would take them to bring young Clara to the forefront of the investigation and what the consequences would be for her when they did.
It had to happen, he reasoned to himself. She knew too much of my work, and if she actually understands it, there’s half a chance she’s a Legilimens as well, or could grow to become one. And a teenager with no compunctions about poking around in other people’s heads is the last thing I need to contend with right now. It was bad enough that Bellini had dredged up a memory of Lestari, one of Cha-Cha’s former patients, that had caused him to become hot and bothered at the dinner table. Lestari, who had died eight months later in the demolition of a black-ops laboratory in Jakarta that experimented on children with Obscuruses. Lestari, whom Cha-Cha would lay awake at night and imagine a hundred different ways of proposing to, back when he was young and dumb and believed in love.
His gaze shot up at a flicker of movement. Cha-Cha’s heart clenched briefly at the unexpected appearance of another wanderer, startled that he hadn’t sensed the psychic signature of someone only a few paces off before remembering that, at the moment, such an ability was beyond him. The thought that he was bound by the meager mortal senses of sight and sound made him feel unaware and easily killable. The next thought that occurred to him was that he recognized this wanderer. A cleft chin nestled in a square jaw and heavy brows sheltered deep-set eyes. The Hogwarts champion’s broad shoulders gently oscillated from side to side as he walked, like some prowling jungle creature, yet he looked strangely plain in a textured gray sweater. Upon seeing Cha-Cha, the tall boy’s face abruptly emptied itself, any emotion wiped away like rain-fog from a windowpane. Cha-Cha was content to give him a nod in passing and continue on his merry way to the library, but to his surprise, the student addressed him by name and drew to a stop in front of him. Like a bouncer preparing to bounce an underaged patron, the boy’s chest seemed to expand and he rooted himself in the middle of the hall with a wide stance, so that Cha-Cha would have to slide along the wall to get past him.
Cha-Cha nudged the low brim of his fedora back so that he could meet the teenager’s eyes, and renewed his appreciation for the fact that when Lis was around, he felt comparatively tall. Chitrita had mentioned receiving a sizable payout for her services, so naturally he’d assumed that it was a professor or at least an adult in a position of authority behind his sabotage. But between the flat way the Hogwarts boy was looking at him and a looming posture that wasn’t quite threatening but wasn’t far from it, Cha-Cha was ready to draw his wand on a hair trigger. The constant paranoia was making his stomach twist, and he anxiously wondered how much longer he’d have to wait until the tranquilizers kicked in.
Nonetheless, he grinned at the Hogwarts boy, looking at him warmly and intently. Legilimency or not, it was habitual for Cha-Cha to play with people, and one of his favorite ways to do that was to meet hostility with a cloying degree of friendliness. He paid attention to people when they talked and typically didn’t have to feign his interest. “You can call me Chahaya,” he said graciously. It had been his only name until the age of nine, when his mother had married his stepfather and he’d adopted the patronym, which was the closest equivalent to an actual surname for many individuals of West Java. “After you helped save my life last night, I suppose that makes us pretty good friends, no?” he said cheerily, unable to resist goading this blatantly antagonistic kid a little. “It’s Theodore, right?” Cha-Cha pronounced the foreign name with a d at the beginning and several r’s trilling into each other.
Standing in place had put undue stress on his ankle, and as if alluding to last night’s injury had provoked it, Cha-Cha gave a little wobble in his heeled boots. Theodore noticed and asked about it, which Cha-Cha suspected was a subtle taunt disguised as an inquiry of well-being. “It’s feeling much better now,” he replied, which was perfectly true, given that the bottom quarter of his leg was no longer swollen and red and exploding with pus. “The healers were astonished at the speed of my recovery. I think they expected I would be in the infirmary at least until tomorrow, but Miss Sinclaire stopped the spread of the venom before it damaged much else. All in all, I was extremely lucky. Thank you for asking!” he cooed, as if Theodore had come to visit his hospital bedside with an armload of flowers. “Although in retrospect, I don’t think my current footwear was the best choice,” he added ruefully, looking up from under his fedora.
Theodore’s eyes were as cold as a demon’s kiss, as if this development disappointed him but he was marginally too polite to say so. Sensing the beginning of an uncomfortable lull, Cha-Cha asked, “Isn’t class in session now?” He tilted his head and looked at Theodore shrewdly. “...But I suppose your first class doesn’t start until this afternoon, otherwise you’d already be there, right?” he lied conveniently for the Hogwarts boy, grinning. Back when he was a student, Cha-Cha had been no stranger to tardy marks, but he’d only ever skipped class outright when it conflicted with his work schedule at the stable. He’d been an exception to the rule in that the entire cost of his tuition had been waived on account of a unique skill set and an inability to pay for it, and he hadn’t wanted to give Koldovstoretz’s administration excessive reason to change its mind.
And then, an idea lit in his head like a struck match. Theodore had been together with Chitrita when they’d followed Vasu’s trail of destruction to the first-floor music wing where his snake had bitten Cha-Cha. According to Chitrita’s narrative, Theodore had also been there when Cha-Cha was deposited at the infirmary. Even if he wasn’t the saboteur who had cut the deal with Chitrita, there was an affiliation between them. He might know something about who or why or how it had happened. If Theodore wasn’t intending to go to class anyway, then Cha-Cha felt minimal guilt about suggesting he skip it grandly. After all, what better time to pick his brain? Without his powers, he’d have to get his answers the old-fashioned way: talking over copious amounts of alcohol. Just like the many undercover jobs he’d done to lighten his sentence.
“Say, Theodore,” he said with an impish grin. “Is it all right if I call you that?” Without waiting for him to respond, Cha-Cha continued, “If you have a couple of hours before your first class, what do you say we go exploring the local area? I could use a chaperone to make sure I don’t fall, and you could use a toast to celebrate your championship, I’m sure. My treat, of course. You don’t mind if we get an early start on the day, do you?” His smile broadened. Yes, Cha-Cha’s sole purpose for the suggestion was getting the English boy drunk so that he might divulge conspiratorial secrets. Not at all because he was craving a drink at half-past nine in the morning.
 







  • lisandro valencia
    castelobruxo champion

    A
    s Professor Einar spoke before class started, Lis stared down at his History of Magic textbook, hoping that class would start (and end) without much of a hitch – there had been way too much chaos already for Lis, and this was the first official day. History of Magic wasn’t one of his favorite classes, but he was good at remembering and regurgitating information, though the latter part was the worst part of the class. Being called on made him shiver, though he wasn’t shy of raising his hand if he knew the answer – the being put on the spot is what made him nervous, made his mind into a blank slate that he couldn’t pull the answers from.

    Plus, it didn’t help that this classroom’s acoustics were messing with his hearing aids. Though imbibed with magic, even sound itself couldn’t be harnessed completely, by wizards or muggles. He could mess with them, change the frequency as much as he wanted, but sometimes things were still hard to hear. Especially as far back as he’d sat in the classroom… he wished he’d paid attention, saw that class hadn’t quite started yet, and sat a bit closer.

    Now, he was rooted to the spot. Once he sat down he couldn’t move again, it would be weird, he could feel people’s eyes on him already and he didn’t want to draw further attention to himself. Plus, Professor Einar had finally begun to speak. He could somewhat hear him, but what he did hear was the aftermath of the collision of two students near the door and turned towards them. One of them was a student from Beauxbatons and the other, a boy he hadn’t seen yet before. As he watched, the boy dropped a textbook on the girls foot and Lis couldn’t help but feel bad.

    If it were him running straight into a girl and then trying to make it better by handing her her books back and he dropped it instead, he wouldn’t be able to let himself live it down. He would agonize over it later, watching the memory on repeat. So he felt empathy for the boy, just about until he asked “Are you sorry?”

    Well… kind of a rude response, in Lis’s opinion, and he wondered if this guy was rude or just a bit strange… Either way, his attention was directed back to Professor Einar, as he addressed the pair’s collision and continued with class. Lis could hear most of it, missing only a couple words here and there, and was enrapt by what Einar was saying.

    Then, Einar opened his old book and an eruption of color and figures surrounded them, history literally leaping off of the page and dancing around the classroom, figures zooming over their heads and between desks, painting a picture of a colorful past – and actually making the events in their textbook seem interesting. Then, he opened the floor to the students and Lis sunk down in his seat – he liked muggle history more and though he knew enough about wizarding history, he wasn’t quite ready to speak up in class.

    He fidgeted with the papers of his open textbook, fluttering the corner of the pages nervously as the student with a shaved head who’d run into the Beauxbaton’s girl spoke, talking about Dark Arts. Lisandro was used to hearing about Dark Magic, Aurors and criminals being a common dinner time topic around his family. That was why he even somewhat recognized who Einar was – his father admired the old man and would often regale the dinner table about his feats. But he wasn’t used to other students dropping information about them so casually, so he stared at the boy, trying to figure out what his deal was. Being from Durmstrang was enough, perhaps, but his swiftness in volunteering the answer almost made him seem enthusiastic about it.

    Lis bit his lip, considering an answer or not – he was a champion, at a new school with mostly new people, and he wanted to represent his school well. Perhaps this was the year that he should start speaking up and stop hiding… but he didn’t know how to follow up the other students answer, so he quietly resolved himself to raise his hand for the next question the professor asked.




    location:
    History of Magic Classroom




    interaction:
    none, VERY open




    feeling:
    nervous

 


  • Naomi Eun Hai (De Vries)
    Beauxbatons - Female - Muggle Born - Secondary


    Naomi’s delicate brow furrowed in confusion as Piper’s words washed over her. His larger, masculine hand cradled her own delicate hand with the care one might bestow upon a baby bird. He only applied the slightest squeeze of pressure when the words he spoke seemed to be weighed down with heavy burden as he delivered them. Clearly, this conversation, or rather confession, was not easy for the sandy-haired young man to speak into existence. Each syllable was coated in a thick layer of guilt, every word laced with earnest despair, his story of the events from the night prior painting a tragic picture as Piper clearly tried to piece together the gruesome puzzle before him. She remained quiet as he continued on about what he saw, what he didn’t see, the things he knew, and what he felt to be true. As he begged for her to trust him, his stormy gray eyes meeting Naomi’s dark mahogany gaze, his grip on her hand loosened ever so slightly only to be met with her own grip gently taking his hand in hers.

    “Piper…” She spoke with such softness to her voice that it could easily have been missed. Suddenly the gentle grip she held his hand in hardened to a surprising strength as pale pink nails dug firmly into the young man's skin. Drawing suddenly closer to the young man, their movements hidden behind the hospital's privacy curtains as she left her face mere inches from his. “I do trust you.” Her voice was as soft and sweet as ever though noticeably hollow, seeming to miss something very vital that had once made it warm and comforting. “And I’m sure sweet little Naomi would have too if she had heard any of your desperate little speech.” She continued with a smirk pulling at her lips, one that looked incredibly out of place on the usually docile young woman. A light chuckle escaped her throat as she saw the fear and confusion flaring like a forest fire within the young Durmstrang student's eyes. She held his gaze and tilted her head ever so slightly as she watched him like a cat toying with a mouse. Suddenly darkness began to swirl across the whites of Naomi’s eyes, the tendrils dancing closer and closer together until they wove into a solid black with no hit of earthy brown or natural white left to be seen.

    “You’re trying to ruin the game.” She tutted as though he were a small child caught cheating. “And that…well that just won’t do.” Once more her grip tightened on Piper’s hand, nails biting the skin as dark smoky tendrils wisped ever so slightly and quite threateningly from her grip over his skin. “You see, I still have more moves I’d like to make and you seem to think my turn is over. I promise that is anything but true. This isn’t a game you know how to play. The rules are my own and the board is ever-changing. Try as you might I’m afraid the deck is already stacked in my favor.” She sneered and once again the cruel expression on her features looked out of place. “You can’t stop this, Naomi can’t stop this, so I advise you just sit back and accept that which you cannot change. Maybe then I might even let you live?” She offered as though she were promising an act of true kindness rather than threatening the young man's life.

    Her grip on his hand began to loosen ever so slightly and for a moment it seemed that she might let go but before he could consider ripping his hand away and running off to find help the steel of her grasp returned. “And if you even consider trying to gab about this to anyone else…well…you saw what I could do when I was bored. Imagine the chaos I could rain if you really gave me a reason.” She threatened with an eerily calm tone laced into her words. “You might inconvenience me but how many lives would that inconvenience be worth to you? Five? Ten? How about an entire house’s worth? I could leave their corpses sprawled across the great hall spelling your name if you’d like. Then their families would know exactly who to blame.” It was clear in the threat that whatever was speaking to Piper now would keep him alive to suffer for his actions if he chose to move against it. Giving the blonde a small smile more reminiscent of one Naomi might give the grip on his hand finally disappeared as the being in the hospital bed settled back into place. “Now play nice with Naomi. I’ll be watching and if I don’t like what I see, well, I think Ilvermorny might be better with three houses instead of four.”

    With that Naomi’s head lulled back against the pillow and her eyelids fluttered shut. A heartbeat passed and she once again began to slowly stir, a wince of pain passing over her as she blinked. Her gaze was once again warm and earthy in tone as she glanced over at Piper, her brow furrowing in confusion. “P-Piper?” She mumbled and rubbed her head as it throbbed, her expression soft and filled with worry as she looked over the clearly shaken young man. “Y-your hand!” She gasped seeing the marks. “What happened? Are you okay?” She inquired clearly more concerned for him than for herself at the moment. “Those marks look dreadful. I could…” She paused and looked around for her wand or some medical supplies. “I could help you.” She finally finished her sentence as she managed to reach for a cloth and ointment meant for cleaning cuts.



    Mentions: Piper honeycoves honeycoves



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
KIARA SINCLAIRE
BEAUXBATONS SECONDARY
Confused
History of Magic Classroom
Sigurd TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi Einar Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1
Click Me!
Kiara let out a hissed whimper as the hefty textbook slipped from the boys grasp only to land squarely on her foot. She had yelped like a pup that had just been kicked as pain blossomed through the top of her left foot, but again reached down towards the floor, fumbling for the ever elusive textbook only for the dark haired boy to finally push it into her hands.

Even as her own apology thoughtlessly escaped her lips, he stared back at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Befuddled, she held his gaze, resisting the urge to tilt her head as she waited for some sort of response… any sort of acknowledgement that she had spoken. But the words that left his mouth left her even more mortified than she had been moments before.

“Are you sorry?” There was an edge to his voice that made her want to crawl inside a deep dark hole and never come out.

“I-” she stuttered, her eyes flicking to the right where she realized that there were multiple sets of eyes now resting on them, students who had nothing better to pay attention to than the misfortunes of their peers. Thankfully, professor Einar’s voice saved her from having to explain herself further.

“Miss Sinclaire, Mr. Berg, wonderful to have you in attendance today. I hope the morning has treated you both well.”

Kiara offered a weak smile to the professor, thankful, at least, that he wasn’t scolding her for being late. As she turned her attention back to ‘Mr. Berg’ she was a bit dejected to find that he had made a beeline for the back of the classroom while she had been distracted with Einar’s greeting.

“I hope the desire to learn wasn’t too badly knocked from you two with that unfortunate collision.”

Kiara’s cheeks turned a shade pinker at the mention of her own clumsiness, but she tried to shake it off, spotting an open seat towards the front of the class. She adjusted the position of her bag on her shoulder and headed towards the available seat, her History of Magic textbook and a single, blue pen the only objects that she placed on her desktop as she sat down.

She looked towards the board at the front of the classroom, hoping there was a page number written there or some other type of clue that would prevent her from needing to ask another student for directions. But the board was blank, and Kiara was left waiting a few moments longer for Einar to formally begin the class. Against her better judgment, she found herself peering back over her shoulder for the boy she had crashed into earlier, her eyes landing on him sitting at the back of the class, his brows furrowed as though he were deep in thought. Her gaze remained fixated on him, as if staring at him long enough would allow her to decipher the inner workings of his mind but to no avail.

She nearly jumped out of her seat as someone flew past her atop a broom, “Que diable?!” What the hell? Her blue eyes followed the decidedly insane student who had been rude and stupid enough to disrupt class in such a way, only to notice that his silhouette was almost transparent… like a hologram. Turning back towards the front of the class, the room was filled with similar displays. Dozens of owls flying overhead, a man dressed in an 18th century British military uniform, and to her left… a gigantic, hulking pirate ship flew across the classroom as if enchanted by pixie dust right out of Peter Pan.

“No matter your feelings towards this subject I have seldom found a soul that does not have at least one historical moment they think of with great fondness, that they would like to have witnessed or at least know more about. These moments here are some of mine. Now who can tell me one of theirs?”

Kiara was finally able to piece together that the images she was witnessing were illustrations right out of their textbook, Einar had somehow enchanted them to come to life right here in the classroom and Kiara was fascinated by it. She had never been the biggest fan of History of Magic, had often found the subject boring and mild… but this was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

A familiar voice from the back of the classroom spoke up to answer Einar’s query, the boy from before, who spoke of the duel between Emeric the Evil and Egbert the Egregious. His voice didn’t falter once, even as he so casually referenced the Dark Arts class he took back at the Durmstrang Institute. The class was not offered at most European wizarding schools, definitely not at Beauxbatons, and was often fraught with Taboo associations, but Kiara did not flinch at the reference. Instead, she offered her own insight.

“The Warlock’s Convention of 1709,” She paused, turning to redirect her words towards the professor instead of the Durmstrang student. “It was when the wizarding world finally came together to outlaw the inhumane and unethical breeding of dragons. Hoards of them were confiscated from poachers and those who wished to sell them for a hefty profit, instead they were relocated to sanctuaries and rescues all over the magical world, much like the one I grew up on. It was one of the first steps we as a species took towards coexisting peacefully with magical creatures.”
coded by natasha.
 
Malaika Odion
Uagadou Champion
location here
mood here
outfit here
interactions

interactions come here

There were all kinds of sounds and things moving about. There were still so many students in the cafeteria yet she knew she herself was running late. However she was helping her own professor and that was more important for the moment. So she listened as the two professors conversed, feeling pride at the compliments from both of them. Then suddenly they seemed to be interrupted by another student as Mal watched there was just something off about the girl. She raised a white eyebrow before looking away. Something rang trouble in her mind about that girl so she would also warn Aurelia later. Then she turned back towards her own professor.”I’ll see you later professor. I hope you have a good day.”she said, smiling warmly at him. Then remembering and having seen it some herself she turned towards Professor Ito”I also hope you have a pleasant morning Sensei Ito.”she said bowing to her. Then she headed off before she was completely late for class.





She headed into the class giving an apologetic look to Professor Einer before carefully hurrying to her seat. Her mind still frazzled after seeing a collision of students just before she came in. Then she saw them in the class and professor Einer seemed to confirm with his remark. She felt amused before hurrying and sitting down. It seemed like there was a dark haired student leaning forward from the shadows, his hand reaching out to touch a blonde student. It seemed he had dropped something but the sudden reaction from the blonde showed she had no idea the male had even been there. However she needed to focus so she took her seat then listened as another student answered the professor. She listened, taking notes wanting to learn and be prepared for whatever. Knowledge was power so it was best and it helped she had memory that never left. She could something and remember it forever.



coded by natasha.
 


  • Aurelia Quansah
    Uagadou - Female - Pure Blood - Secondary


    Settled into her seat Auri gave Professor Chimere a polite smile and appreciative nod upon hearing the young professor's words. It seemed odd to criticize a student for being able to share what they learned from readings even if it was followed by praise. It didn’t really matter though, or at least not to Auri who was confident in her ability to perfectly recall memories even if it sometimes made her sound like a walking textbook. From a young age, her grandmother had taught her to hold her head high as people would always try to find what they viewed to be flaws and she needed to remember her worth, not the value others assign to her. If her idyllic memory earned her the critique that she sounded too much like she was quoting a textbook then she would wear that critique with pride because it was proof she had put her time towards learning something and expanding her mental library.

    Like several of the other students in the class, she had never had the opportunity to study Hebridean Blacks or the Welsh Green Dragons in person as they are not native to her country. The most she had witnessed of dragons were the rare and destructive Apep Dragons that more so resembled massive serpents and were famed in Northern Africa for the chaos they left in their wake. She has witnessed the destruction just one Apep could bring about and understood exactly why the dragon had earned its place in Egyptian culture and stories as the deity that embodied darkness, chaos, and disorder. Her grandmother had once sent a relief group to the Northern Sahara that Auri had been a part of in order to assist a village that had been unfortunately in the path of a raging Apep Dragon. Just before the dawn of her third day helping with the recovery effort the Apep returned and began to rampage again, its body shaking the ground like an earthquake as its roar seemed to fill the air like deafening thunder. Auri had truly believed she might die that morning, she had certainly witnessed death as wizards and witches alike did all they could to survive the attack and several never saw the first rays of dawn again.

    “The North African Apep Dragon hunts by night.” She stated effortlessly, the memories of the great beast burned into her mind, the cursed side of her idyllic memory coin rearing its ugly head. “It is sensitive to bright solar lights and has been documented to be greatly pained by sunlight. This is likely the reason that the ancient Egyptians believed the sun god Re slayed the Apep.” She continued and pushed the mental echo of the Apep’s roar out of the forefront of her thought, instead doing her best to focus on the class. Despite all that she had just relived in her mind the young woman had done a remarkable job keeping her expression schooled and her tone even as she spoke. Subtly her fingers trailed over the golden bangle that hung on her wrist, a charm in the shape of a lioness's head gently caressed by her thumb and pointer finger. The movement was a soothing one for her when she was recalling memories she didn’t particularly enjoy which she unfortunately had more than a few of.

    Her gaze shifted to Vasu Saini who she had danced with the night prior. She had been forward with him as she often was with most things, not afraid to ask him questions, and found herself enjoying their conversation about music preference and dance. He had been entertaining to speak with during their brief meeting and now Auri found herself fighting a slight smirk of amusement as the young man informed the professor of his year in school, correcting Professor Chimere boldly in front of the entire class. He then went on to state a fact his professor had supposedly shared with him that understandably elicited looks from Professor Chimere to Professor Vinogradov. The looks didn’t last long though before something seemed to catch Professor Vinogradov’s eye and Auri tilted her head to spot what looked to be a note levitating between students. Interesting.

    The note didn’t seem to catch Professor Chimere’s eye as Professor Vinogradov began to suddenly start hacking up a lung at the front of the class. Dark ebony irises narrowed in curiosity as Auri considered what she had just witnessed. It seemed that Professor Vinogradov had spotted Mey’s note and wanted to spare his student the wrath of the Beauxbatons Care of Magical Creatures professor. Sitting with her thumb still circling the charm on her bracelet Auri waited to see what happened next. Had Professor Vinogradov’s ploy worked? Or did Professor Chimere have eyes in the back of her head?



    Mentions: Angelique Wolfiee Wolfiee Vasu Aviator Aviator Kaz irregular-neptune irregular-neptune Mey honeycoves honeycoves



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 

Never Have I Ever S04 Michael Cimino Patchwork Jacket | Ethan Jacket

Altair Ibn Layla​

Care of Magical Creatures Class​

"Only magical creature I can see is this professor!"​
As soon as Altair's bottom touched the vacated seat on the stone bench, his eyes grew five times their size. Looks like his Care for Soiled Robes joke had manifested into reality, because the seat was wet. A shudder swept through his body as his imagination failed to come up with an explanation that didn't disgust him. Looks like someone used their God given 'wand' to cast a well timed water spell. Gross. However, his disgust deescalated into discomfort when he didn't smell the familiar odor of urine. And his discomfort turned into amusement when he heard whispering close to his ear. Altair turned around and was met with a dark haired and dark skinned student leaning in conspiratorially. Altair's first reaction was to smile at his compliment, then he relaxed as he explained that the wet spot wasn't the result of an incontinent wizard.

Before Altair could thank him for the context, his mood and attention shifted away from him and towards something ahead. Altair followed his eyes to see that Professor Cutiepie was looking directly at them. Altair looked back at her, still taking in how pretty she was. Foreign professors look like that!? And she's French to boot! Altair's body was in the United States, but his mind was transported to France, the home of sensuality. They don't call French a romance language for no reason! French kissing! French braids! Why couldn't this tournament's first stop have been Beauxbaton?! Altair's train of thought was summoned back to the classroom when the professor spoke up and gestured to him.

“You three tell me what you know about dragons? Come on now you are 6th and 7th years. You should know something, otherwise you’ve had very disappointing professors.”

Altair wholeheartedly agreed with her in his head. He had some disappointing professors, alright. Because none of them look as fine as you! If asked about the first image that came to mind if the word 'professor' was brought up, Altair would describe a bespectacled man or woman with unassuming features. Plain looking and stern. Never in a million years would he imagine someone so young taking up a job dealing with people not that far from her in age. Would she be able to command respect if she looked like she should be sitting alongside her students themselves? The Mahoutokoro secondary's scenario was brought to life when the current object of his affection pulled out her wand and skillfully delivered a student right in front of her before the entire class. With nothing but disdain on her face, she dismissed the shocked student from class, the poor guy hauling butt back to school. Altair was both impressed and worried at the same time. She not only had those beautiful silver eyes trained on him, but still detected the boy who was acting a fool. The experience prompted him to center his focus on the class going on around him, before it was him getting tractor beamed and sent away.

Altair opened his ears and listened to a black girl with braids giving a detailed answer to the dragon question. And despite his disinterest for animals in general, he could easily recall the towering, serpentine form of the Apep Dragon. As a kid living in Yemen, cautionary tales told next to the warmth of a fire warned that if you didn't behave and obey your parents, an Apep would find itself near your tent and turn you into dragon chow. Spooked the living daylights out of him back then, especially the idea of nature siccing itself on you if you acted out. With her description of the Apep Dragon and accent, Altair deduced that she had to be a student from Uagadou. Was she the school's champion? Altair briefly imagined a battle of brains between the current speaker and Chitrita before directing his attention to the boy behind him, who was next to answer. Remembering the harsh opinion he gave about their professor, Altair wondered what kind of response he would give. The fifth-year Koldovstoretz boy seemed to dislike dragons as much as Altair did, because his answer went into the darker side of their lore. He always knew that dragons were ugly, smelly and incredibly dangerous furnaces, but they were people at one point? Right on, Altair thought to himself, nodding his head.

Finally, it was Altair's turn to drop knowledge on dragons. He stood up, coughed, ran a hand through his hair, and anything else besides presenting a fact. In all honesty, the Mahoutokoro student paid little to no attention in his classes, especially Care for Magical Creatures. What was the use when the Hajar would help him luck out with homework anyway? For now, however, it hadn't brought up anything to mind, so Altair had to do something in the meantime. "I'm a student from Mahoutokoro, and we're crazy about dragons over there. I don't know what it is about them, but we name everything after our fiery friends. Food, fighting techniques, even children. I know at least two Ryūs in my class." Altair crossed his arms, preparing to add another factoid into the mix. "That means dragon in Japanese."

Glancing at his professor, Altair was met with her steely gaze and an emotionless face. Tapping her foot on the ground, she waited expectantly for Altair to say anything of substance. A grunt on the ground broke his concentration as Altair saw a black, bouncing baby dragon waddling by. It turned its head and decided joined in on the 'stare at Altair' game with its dull eyes. Suddenly, he had the feeling that if he didn't answer soon, getting sent back to school would be the least of his worries. He just might get burnt to a crisp instead. Thankfully, the familiar feeling the Hajar gave him when it was working its magic flowed through him. The memory of a lesson in Care for Magical Creatures popped into his mind like the answer to one plus one. Despite his occupation with twirling his pencil with his fingers at the time, Altair could remember everything Professor Hualu was saying about the various dragon species in Asia. Clearing his throat anew, Altair spoke once more.

"We also have these dragons near my neck of the woods called the Chinese Fireball!" He recited, as if reading from a piece of paper containing the information. "It shoots fireballs out of its nostrils like snot rockets! And get this, they're so useful that the wizards in China use the eggs for all kinds of potions!"

Altair returned to his seat, hoping his answer was sufficient. Meanwhile, the Flying Eagle tried his best to keep cool around the baby dragon, who was still in his vicinity. Keep cool for the hot professor, Altair. Keep cool for the hot professor.
 
Last edited:
MOOD: neutral

OUTFIT: outfit (click!)

LOCATION: History of Magic Classroom
two
INTERACTIONS: Einar

MENTIONS: Gavy, Lis, Kiara, Sigurd, Malaika
two
TAGS:
Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1 TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi Wolfiee Wolfiee irregular-neptune irregular-neptune WanderLust. WanderLust.
two
TL;DR: Observing HoM class.
two
BELLAMY
It seemed that the collecting student body in the History of Magic classroom expected the course to be as uninteresting as Bellamy had. Einar had allowed the students to speak amongst themselves the first couple of minutes of class to acquaint themselves with each other, but the room remained uncomfortably stuffy and hushed, as though an exchanged conversation might mean catching the plague. While he listened to the restless shuffling and bored sighs of the stifling room, he took in the faces of the accumulated. Gavriel Sylvie and Lisandro Valencia were amongst them, each of which were champions for their respective schools. He had been distracted last night, and didn't find much of notice of either of them. He looked at them now, taking in their appearances. They weren't adversaries or allies yet. They were, of course, children. But maybe, with the right kind of mentorship...

In walked two tardy students— Kiara Sinclaire, whom he greeted with a friendly rise of his coffee mug, and... and a boy he did not recognize. Bellamy had been sure to examine the list of students arriving, preparing himself for the sorts he might be dealing with. But this boy, he was unfamiliar. He spoke with Einar with a familiarity that a stray Ilvermorny wouldn't possess. No. There was a change he hadn't been made aware of. He sat up straight, observing Gavriel, Lisandro, and this new boy. The new boy—Berg, Einar had addressed him as— made quick work of making a fool of himself, incredulously asking Kiara if she was sorry after a run-in and scrambling into the seat next to Lisandro. Bellamy stifled a smile, hiding himself behind a hand that brushed carefully at his mustache.

Einar asked the students to share their favorite moments of history that they wished they would have witnessed, bringing to life beautiful images from the pages of his book. A flare for the dramatic that certainly caught the eye of his students, and something Bellamy noted for his own class. He wasn't certain he really had no images to show for a Magical Languages course, other than allowing multiple alphabets to flow around the room, which seemed more intimidating than dazzling. But dramaticism might be worth it. More colors caught his eye, not from the book's lights that danced around the room, but from the head of a student. Metamorphmagus. Gavriel was a metamorphmagus. Her platinum hair danced across multiple shades of multiple colors, something that seemed out of her control. With a little bit of encouragement and control, she could be a powerful witch in the field. She could be a helpful tool...

Then, the new boy arose and continued to stuff his foot in his mouth. He rambled about a dark wizard and dark arts, something that was frowned upon in many of the schools participating. He looked at him curiously as the boy hastily sat back down. A boy who already seemed familiar with the dark arts was intriguing. Almost as intriguing as the metamorphmagus. Both students lacked a finesse that would be necessary to employ their help, but both were, at the very least, interesting. Kiara offered a somewhat predictable answer, given her family's history. A convention where dragons were saved. He smiled, in the event that she might offer him a glance. He needed to start thinking of her as a built-in ally. She knew Bellamy the best, which meant she not only posed the most risk, but was the most likely to trust him immediately. In the middle of her answer, another late student joined, the Uagadou champion. This class was full of, apparently, the best young witches and wizards of each of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world.

However, it seemed most of these best young witches and wizards weren't very bright as the room fell into an uncomfortable silence once more. Maybe they were all as timid as Lisandro looked. Two answers for Einar didn't seem acceptable. So, Bellamy raised his hand to participate. "The Goblin Rebellions," He answered, offering a small smile. "Any of them, really. The prominent ones happened in Britain, but we saw them all over Europe. Goblins were fighting for freedom, resisting enslavement, lack of governmental representation, slayings, and fighting for control over their positions in prominent banks. They shaped the political state for many magical beings all around the world, and most of them are still fighting for the same things that were fought for in the rebellions. We often think of history as to what the Wizarding World has done and achieved, but the achievements of all magical beings influence us all."
he got murder in his eyes
He wore the silence like a mask
now he's making up for
all the violence in his past
code by valen t.
 
MOOD: nervous > guilty > sick

OUTFIT: uniform(click!)

LOCATION: hallways > garden > girl's bathroom
two
INTERACTIONS: Azura

MENTIONS:
two
TAGS:
Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1
two
TL;DR: Listens to Azura. Runs away, sick in the bathroom.
two
chitrita
The young woman grimaced as Ito waved her excuse away with a firm stare, quirked eyebrow, and small sigh. She really did not appreciate Ito's presence. Toro was an idiot, who honestly needed more babysitting that Chitrita did. Toro was easy, malleable. Ito was a fortress wall, unyielding. Her hard glare was enough to make grown men tremble in fear, but all Rita could manage was a heavy sigh that hardly concealed her barely tempered frustration. For a second, she considered throwing her head back in dramatic defiance. Instead, she leveled gaze with Ito and planted herself in place silently. She didn't feel like feigning innocence, not after the night she had. She expected a lecture, a stare down, an outright punishment. But instead, something softened in Ito's face.

“No matter, it is perhaps for the best that I did not have to pull you from your lessons. Come Pawar-san, there is something we need to discuss and it is in your best interest to do so in privacy."

The words sent an electric shock down Chitrita's spine, and it took all her power to keep her jaw from dropping again. Best to not pull her from lessons? This was it. She had finally done it. She'd somehow managed to get herself kicked out of the tournament, and probably school. How'd Ito know? She had been so, so careful. Her schemes to get Locjaw dismissed were barely breathed to another person, and the only other person who knew was the one getting him dismissed. Ito knew she was sneaky, but did she see her for the conniving fox she was? If she hadn't, she certainly did now. There was no escape.

She bowed her head slightly, her grip on her back slackening slightly. She had no choice but to follow Ito. She barely noticed her surroundings, her heart pounding in her chest. Mentally, she was constructing her defense. How was she responsible for the actions of another? He behaved inappropriately? She hadn't meant to get him in trouble? Some combination might be good. If she cried, perhaps Ito would believe it. The tears seemed to be working miracles for her lately. Yes, she could cry. As often as she compared Ito to stone, the woman couldn't be so harsh.

She was lead into a small garden and beckoned to sit at a small stone bench, with a protective charm cast around them. Shit. She hesitated, doing her best to maintain her perfectly neutral expression, before taking a seat beside Ito. She was carefully removing her bag from her shoulder when Ito said her name. Her first name. It was rare for any of her professors to refer to her as such. She bit her lip gently, bravely turning to face Ito. Ito's voice was soft, tender, and her gaze was... disappointed? Haunted?

"Last night there was an incident after the opening ball. We are still investigating what exactly happened but I regret to inform you that Odinson-san did not survive it.”

"Survive?"

Chitrita blinked. Her chest squeezed. The air became still, stiff. Her mouth became dry, her eyes and throat burned. She could hardly hear whatever else Ito was saying.

Holy shit. I killed Odinson Locjaw.

It dawned on her, that what Ito was saying was not that they would be leaving. "I— we're staying?" She asked, her brows knit together in shock. She blinked a few times, fighting back the tears that threatened to ruin her statuesque disposition. Ito nodded, solemnly explaining that she was to takeover the position of champion, a rare position that Mahoutokoro was fortunate enough to receive since the incident had occurred before the official start of any challenge. They even sent another student to act as reinforcements on her behalf.

Chitrita bowed her head for a moment, taking in the news. His life was the price of the championship.

"Class." She choked out, standing up abruptly. "Excuse me, professor, but I'm late for my lessons." She hastily slung her back back over her shoulder, clinging to the strap tightly to conceal the trembling of her fingers. She found herself hoping that her knees wouldn't give out and give her away. She didn't need safekeeping. She needed... She needed... She didn't know what she needed. She wanted to tell someone, anyone, about the deal she cut to make herself champion. But if anyone knew. She'd be outed as a murderer. Or at least, a coconspirator to murder. Everything she'd done to carefully craft her reputation, to preserve the Pawar name, to give herself any hope of a future would come crumbling down. It'd be over. It would all be over.

Ito opened her mouth to say something, and instead Chitrita felt herself snap. "I don't need protection. Or a therapist. I need to get to class. Now." She felt her voice strain, like it was going to crack. She softened slightly. "Please." Ito obliged, lowering her charm, and releasing Chitrita.

First she walked, carefully, calculatedly, maintaining her composure. Then, when she was sure she was no longer in Ito's sight, she ran. The guilt she felt— a rare, rare feeling for herself— burned hot in her stomach, in her chest, in her throat. She could only recall feeling like this one other time, but she truly did not feel as awful as she did now. Once she'd reached the castle, she kept up a swift pace. She hardly realized where her feet were taking her until she was hunched over a toilet, retching. Once she'd lost her lunch, she melted into the floor, defeated, allowing tears to stream down her face.

She fucked up. Royally. And needed a plan to fix it.
I could draw you dot to dot
I know I could save you
I deserve a special spot
I could be your favorite
code by valen t.
 


  • Professor Birger Einar
    Durmstrang - Male - Pureblood - History of Magic Professor


    Scanning the faces around his classroom as students looked upon his extravagant illusion with expressions ranging from awe to surprise to nervousness brought about a moment for the old man to begin to understand bits and pieces about the young minds sitting before him. A young woman he knew to be Ilvermorny’s champion was staring on with eyes and hair that changed almost as rapidly as the images around her. She looked like she was awed by the illusion but remained quiet as her ever-changing eyes shifted among her peers clearly waiting for one of them to answer, a shimmer of regret swimming across her expression. Not too far from her Einar’s glacial gaze spotted a petite male figure slide down his chair a bit, clearly trying to avoid unwanted attention as his hands fiddled with items on his desk and avoided Einar’s gaze. He recognized the young man as the Castelbruxo champion and made note to find a way to assure the shy soul that he did not have to hide in his classroom. It wasn’t often that Einar would force a student to answer who might not be exactly comfortable in doing so. He had learned long ago that just because a student was quiet didn’t mean they didn’t care and thus did his best to give young minds the benefit of the doubt.

    Pride bloomed within Einar as one of the first hands to raise in answer to his question was none other than Sigurd. The young man had always done exceptionally well in Einar’s class, thus one of the reasons the old man had such faith in his student. He saw the drive the young man had and knew that if he could just find a way to open himself to others a bit more he would truly be a wizard to watch in the years to come as he found his way in the world. “Very good Mr.Berg! Their duel very well may have saved southern England from untold destruction and chaos had Emeric continued unchecked.” Einar praised his voice booming and a smile on his bearded face as he flipped a page of his book and the illusions around the room changed to reflect scenes of what the great duel between Emeric the Evil and Egbert the Egregious would have looked like. The lights of spells being slung between two individuals bounced off the walls of the classroom but seeing as this was the first day of class and he did not wish to scar any student for life the battle itself was not nearly as gruesome as the literature would detail.

    Another voice piped up from a few rows further up from Sigurd and Einar smiled approvingly towards Kiara as she spoke. “Yes, Ms Sinclaire! One of my favorite moments that shows how far the wizarding world has come.” He nodded his head in agreement with the young woman’s words. “While we always have room to learn and better ourselves the Warlock’s Convention of 1709 was a true stepping stone in international understanding and relations between wizards and the magical creatures we share our world with, though we had and still have far to go.” He announced as he turned the page of the book again and the room became filled with figures as they debated and above the class the many signatures of these individuals filled the air, representing the convention signing the new international law. Suddenly the names and figures vanished as massive dragons flew through them and twisted freely in the air, a globe made of golden lines forming in the center of the class as the dragons flew to it and seemed to settle on the globe in the locations of dozens of sanctuaries across all the different continents.

    Spotting another hand raised among the crowd Einar gave a nod of approval “Professor Bellamy, by all means, please do share.” The old man invited his fellow educator with a look of genuine approval upon his aged features. Listening to the other professor as he spoke and shared his fondness for the Goblin Rebellions and the importance of their role in the history of magic as a whole Einar couldn’t help but tap his cane in support. “I couldn’t agree more.” He declared and flipped the page of the book again. The world of the classroom shifted once more to show scenes from the many Goblin Rebellions throughout history and across the world. While the scenes, much like the duel previously displayed, were tailored towards appropriate display for a classroom they still carried the weight of how important each rebellion was for magical beings of all origins. “These rebellions still play a prominent role in politics between magical species of all varieties today and will continue to do so as many of these issues still have yet to be properly agreed upon by all parties involved.” As he spoke images of the battles continued and some even included the alliance between the goblins and werewolves from the rebellion of 1752.

    Looking around the classroom Einar continued to hold the book open and the images began to change once again. This time the images were more recent, showing the events of the ball last night as the students walked across the stage as they had in the opening ceremony. “We are all a part of history.” He informed the class. “No matter how small the moment may seem it all builds and creates something far larger than we may realize in the present. With that in mind, I want you to turn to a student nearby and share some bit of history from your school or homeland. This is not a test, it does not have to be anything major. Just take this as a moment to learn and appreciate something of another person, place, or culture that you might not have known before today.” He instructed, wanting to provide the students with an opportunity to learn from one another.


    Mentions: Sigurd TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi Kiara WanderLust. WanderLust. Bellamy honeycoves honeycoves Lis irregular-neptune irregular-neptune & Gavy



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
Angelique Chimere
Professor
Outside teaching facility
mix of exasperation and amusement
outfit here
interactions

Vasu Aviator Aviator Aurelia Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1 Kaz irregular-neptune irregular-neptune Mey honeycoves honeycoves Altair TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi

The air seemed to feel like it did when a heavy thunderstorm was on its way. When you could smell the rain coming in the air and even the trees' leaves would curl in preparation for the brutal force they were about to endure. The rippling of power seemed to course through the air as Angelique’s expression became eerily calm. If you paid close enough attention you’d see the Beauxbaton students sliding down a little in their seats as if they knew what was about to happen. In a flash her wand was moving so much it seemed like she was conducting an orchestra before what she was truly doing became apparent. The seat under Altair became spotlessly clean as did the students robes/clothes so they were no longer covered in anything. With that settled the next thing that was rather apparent was a note bursting into flame as the contents that were once written became nothing but a small pile of smoldering ashes before the wind whipped the remains away.


Her gaze flicked to her fellow Professor who’s coughing fit was now silent despite the Professor still visibly coughing. Once the distractions were out of the way and the students all visibly more silent with their eyes on her she listened to the answers of who she had called on. It seemed that young Vassu was a very unique student, his attitude and the way his voice changed to almost be too charming. She had seen plenty of people like him, the look in his eyes while he answered drifted faintly to what she knew was in fact his own professor. The quickest yet what she knew he must have thought wouldn't be detected was a smirk as if he hoped to see his professor reprimanded by her. “It would seem young Vasu here doesn’t think very highly of Professor Vinogradov. You are here to defend yourself though now that you're done with your little coughing fit to save Mey.”she said as her wand flicked again removing the silencing charm off of him. “I would hazard a guess that you are not the care of magical creatures Professor.”she said as a black eyebrow raised allowing him to either defend himself and acknowledge he was not or confirm if he was. While he decided on what he would do her gaze moved back as another student she had called on seemed to answer.


It was Aurelia who had answered her earlier question as if she had read it straight out of the book. It would be interesting to see how she would answer this time. Angelique listened watching the expressions blossoming upon the young woman’s face as she gave detail about the North African Apep Dragon. Finally, was it so hard for students to just use their own emotions when answering stuff. It was details like this that professors looked for not things just straight from books recited as if their lives depended on it but like this with emotion that showed they truly cared about the answer. Her gaze flicked lightly seeing Aurelia’s movements; it seemed she was caressing a bracelet perhaps out of comfort or to help concentrate only Aurelia knew the answer to that. She gave a light smile a sign of approval at the answer.


Next a very eager student seemed to answer from the look upon his face he was hoping to please her and she doubted it was just so he could have a good grade. The young man began rambling off things such as where he was from them, loving dragons that people were named after them, foods, fighting techniques, and many other things apparently. She gave a snort at him telling her the Japanese name for dragon. Her gaze sharpened as she waited on an actual answer he seemed to falter under her gaze before quickly giving a real answer. Both eyebrows seemed to raise as he referred to a dragon shooting out fire from its nose as if it was shooting out fire snot rockets. She seemed to be momentarily stunned as the student seemed so proud of himself. Angel moved, allowing herself a moment to recover from that as she lifted the baby dragon back up as it waddled back towards her. Her sleeves moved for a moment allowing anyone who was close to see some nasty scars upon her arms hidden by the tattoos. It was hard to tell what the scars were but they looked like claws and teeth marks. “Well you are certainly correct though I wouldn’t refer to a dragon letting fire loose as snot rockets.”she said, shaking her head but allowing the faintest of smiles.



coded by natasha.
 
32acf97880d1e5220d920244b2795c3d.jpg


Vasu Saini // “the Snake Charmer” // Male // 5th Year // Koldovstoretz Champion // Parselmouth
​
Vasu was still eyeing the toddling young dragon warily when something fluttering in the air drew his gaze. At first he assumed it was the wings of a butterfly, but then he realized that the thing’s movements were too precise, too mechanical, to belong to a free-spirited being of the wild. He turned in his seat, and there, steadily rising in the air in a direct column above Mey’s head, were the jagged edges of a scrap of looseleaf paper hastily torn from a notebook. Her breath was bated, and she was staring at it so hard that her eyebrows creased in effort, and Vasu thought he saw a vein appear in her neck.
The note began levitating to her left, so that it dangled three feet over Vasu’s head, but he knew he wasn’t its intended recipient. After all, he was sitting next to her, and she wouldn’t need a note when she could whisper to him. Irritation prickled through Vasu when he realized that the note was going to the very person he’d told Mey not to trust. In fact, Vasu had very deliberately positioned himself during class so that he was barricading Mey from communicating with this adversary, and she was undermining his will. Sending forbidden love letters in class? How nauseating. And cliché, he thought spitefully. He snuck a glance down the aisles to the base of the amphitheater to see how the professor was reacting to this development. Adding to his annoyance, she was currently angled away from the students, watching Vinogradov as he dissolved into a coughing fit so intense that it sounded like it might soon turn into a retching fit. His hands were braced on his knees, and he shook from the force of his hacking. Please throw up on her, man. God, yes. That would turn this whole shitshow of a class around.
It was a very convenient time to have a spell of illness, as it distracted the French professor from the subterfuge happening at the back of the class, which just so happened to involve the Wine Man’s own student. But Vinogradov was also naturally a weakling who drank his sorrows from coffee mugs and couldn’t decide if he wanted his shirt tucked in or out, so maybe it was real. Vasu had half a mind to stand from his seat and snatch the note out of the air himself, but he didn’t want to make any sudden motions that might incur the wrath of the tattooed professor. Or her incendiary pet that really needed a leash. Gritting his teeth at the woman’s untimely obliviousness, Vasu kicked over his satchel with numerous heavy textbooks inside, producing a loud thump! that reverberated through the amphitheater just as the girl to his left, Ramona, closed her hand on Mey’s handwritten message. He saw her tense, a too-blank look overwriting her features as she tried to hide her guilt. A sour note suffused the air like a sudden outbreak of sweat, and Vasu realized that, with his snakelike olfactory senses, he could literally smell her fear.
The young professor whirled just as Ramona slammed the note within the pages of her notebook and flipped it closed. Vasu stared at her pointedly, hoping the woman would catch on. Even though he was looking almost directly at it, he still jumped slightly when the notebook was suddenly enshrouded in flames like a funeral pyre. The burst of light dazzled him, and he recoiled as paper shrank and curled in on itself and blackened. Fortunately, the stone tables prevented the fire from spreading, and Vasu’s horror quickly shifted into amusement. Ramona had likely bought that notebook only a few days ago in preparation of the new school year and probably hadn’t gotten a single use out of it yet. Guess she’ll have to go school shopping again after class, Vasu thought with a lopsided smile. Reluctantly, he felt his respect for the Beauxbatons woman increase, now that he wasn’t the sole target of her vindictiveness.
As if this very thought had tempted fate, the professor declined to comment on the notebook burning and rounded on Vasu and Vinogradov. She stepped back so that they were on either side of her periphery, and her eerie pale gaze leapt accusatorily back and forth between them. “What?” Vasu found himself stammering, surprised that the tattooed professor would so bluntly announce his disdain for his chaperoning professor in front of the class. It’s almost as if she wants to sow discord between us, he thought suspiciously. He mustered up a halfhearted denial, if only because he didn’t want the social embarrassment of being called out. “N-no! Er, whatever makes you think that? I thought his dragon story was… real cool.” Yeah, the Wine Man’s real cool on days of the week that don’t end in a y, he thought critically. Not paying Vasu’s protests any attention, the dark-haired woman spun on Vinogradov, putting him on trial. Vasu couldn’t help wondering that if Vinogradov inexplicably agreed to his student’s claims, might he go up in smoke like Ramona’s notebook? The Beauxbatons lady had already cast a silencing charm on him when his loud coughing fit had no end in sight, which one might interpret as a sign of aggression.
“I did call him the Transfigurations professor when I spoke, right?” Vasu hissed to Mey while the French woman’s attention was diverted. “Of course, she didn’t have to go jumping to conclusions like she did that I was talking about Vinogradov, because that could have been anyone at Koldovstoretz. Besides, if he knew anything about magical creatures, they’d have him teaching this class rather than this psycho bitch,” he rambled angrily out of the side of his mouth, needing to vent and not caring who it was to or whether she responded. The Wine Man might have been a weakling, but at least he didn’t have a hairpin trigger for fiery dramatics when he didn’t get his way.
Losing interest in whatever Vinogradov had to say for himself, the young professor pivoted to the student who was her obvious favorite. Aurelia Quansah gave an anecdotal answer about some kind of North African dragon Vasu had never heard of. The professor received this response with a wide smile, like one a nanny might give a child after teaching her an important lesson about growing up. For the second time in five minutes, Vasu grit his teeth again, frustrated at this model student who could do no wrong when the rest of them were degenerates who deserved the stick.
He tuned out while the Beauxbatons woman called on the boy in front of him to answer her question about dragons. Even though their conversation had been cut short, he’d smiled at Vasu with that particular gleam in the eye of one homie appreciating a favor from another homie, and Vasu couldn’t help liking him. But right now he didn’t like Quansah. Not until she was brought down to everyone else’s level and suffered alongside them. And as Vasu’s fingers snuck into his threadbare robe, the dark purple of late-afternoon shadows stretching over snow, he was determined to make that happen.
Hidden from view beneath the stone table, his heavily ringed fingers scraped against his wand and pointed it in Quansah’s direction. He slanted the lower half of his face into his palm, as if he were covering a deep yawn, and clenched his eyes shut to sell the effect. During his relentless training over the summer for the tournament, casting spells blind was no easy feat, but one that his grandmother had drilled into him. His voice hovered on the threshold of inaudibility as he mumbled into his hand a spell of his own invention. What with the hopeful incentive for him to take over his parents’ spellshop—should it still be in business and his mother having not keeled over from exhaustion by the time Vasu was old enough—he had always been encouraged to innovate with magic. This particular spell had the effect of causing the target to say their intended sentences backwards, so that should Aurelia’s know-it-all tendency resurface, she would appear to be babbling nonsense to anyone else. The advantage of this jinx was that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that someone had spelled her. Until she spoke, she would carry on as normal. And even when she did, others might simply attribute it to her being nervous and tongue-tied, as this was not a commonly known jinx.
 

Tech N9ne | Strange music, Tech n9ne, Hip hop artists

Darweshi Nyache​

Ilvermorny Halls​

"How long until lunchtime?!"​
Darweshi tried his best to hide his disappointment as the student declined his offer to join him and Malaika on their quest to get out of trouble. On the off chance that he was an Ilvermorny student himself, a mini-tour as they walked would have been nice. Watching his retreating form, the Potions professor was reminded of the tall and broad body of the Mutunguru tree, one of the tallest in Kenya. Darweshi slowly took his eyes off of him and returned to focusing on his student. On the bright side, now he only had to concoct an excuse story for Malaika. His imagination went into overdrive immediately, spinning a tale of a special assignment involving the transportation of hazardous potion ingredients. Brown hands rubbed against each others as the creative juices flowed.

"Alright, Malaika, here is my certified plan that will most certainly ensure your exclusion from being tardy!" Darweshi said excitedly. "Instead of arriving on time, you were assisting your dear potions professor in the safe movement of an Erumpent's Explosive Fluid, which will help in my upcoming lesson!" Darweshi chuckled at his cleverness. "None will be the wiser! What do you say to that, Malaika?"

Darweshi continued rubbing his palms together, waiting for his student's response. When he didn't hear her agreeing with him, or even a concerned 'ummm' followed by holes being poked into his scheme, Darweshi turned to his side to gauge Malaika's reaction visually. To his dismay, Darweshi realized that he was all alone, save for the custodian sweeping up fallen tidbits of food off the floor. At some point, Malaika had stepped away from Darweshi, leaving him to relay his plan to thin air. Jerking his head around as if he was trying to keep track of a fly buzzing in the air, Darweshi eventually got eyes on her walking away in the opposite direction of the male student. Didn't she want to avoid being late for class? Slowly, enlightenment on the subject came to Darweshi. His student had opted out of taking the easy path in lieu of being straightforward. If she had accepted his offer, they would have to come up with a lie to explain the girl's lateness, which could spiral into something more. Nodding his head, Darweshi could only respect her penchant for honesty. Unfortunately, he now had nothing to do for the time being. The dining hall was closed up until the next mealtime, both his students were in class, and there wasn't another professor in sight. Crossing his arms and huffing, Darweshi looked more like a neglected child desiring attention. What was a man to do?

Perhaps the best move right now would be to prepare for when he could meet with his students again. And the best way to do that would be to peruse the schedule himself, preferably not on someone else's face this time. Envisioning the stack of papers again, Darweshi readied himself for the spell. When casting Accio in front of the legendary Azura Ito, Darweshi thought t was a good time to show off and commenced with the hand signs. Now that he was alone, a simple arcing gesture with his left hand along with the incantation was enough to execute the spell. A yelp from beyond the dining hall was soon accompanied by the sight of another slip of paper flying through the air towards him. His outstretched hand caught the packet, this time, and he searched the papers for worthwhile information. Organized into neat rows and columns were the names of the students participating in the tournament, the professors and auxiliary students joining them, and what classes they would be in for the school day. Malaika was on her way to History of Magic with a Professor Einar and Aurelia's Care of Magical Creatures class was being taught by Professor Chimere. Vinogradov, Arif, Bellamy, and Ito were other names that made up the professor section. So many potential friends to be made throughout this trip! Hopefully, first impressions with the others will be made without mishaps, unlike his with Professor Ito.

With not much else going on indoors, Darweshi's decided to see what was going on outdoors. A window stationed close by gave him the chance he needed to look out. But before he could appreciate the fair amount of forest that existed past the school, the professor noticed something else. Perched atop a small bush was an emerald colored bird. Its coat of feathers almost matched the green bush it stood on top of. A crest of green feathers topped its head, its prominence almost rivaling that of Darweshi's powerful goatee. Beady black eyes with sclera a deep crimson were trained directly on him as if his name was Birdseed Nyache. With every shift and adjustment of his body, the bird's unwavering eyes continued to observe him. As he engaged the bird in a staring contest, Darweshi felt uneasiness rising within himself. On one hand, he could immediately identify the bird as the turaco, known for its colorful pattern and tendency to walk instead of fly. On the other hand, the bird can only be found in Africa. Which meant one of two things. Either Ilvermorny has an excellent bird study program, or somebody was following him. Abruptly, the man cut eye contact with the 'bird' and pounded his fist into his open palm. It seems that his problems would indeed be following him during his trip.

Darweshi sucked his teeth, silently cursing the Ugandan Ministry of Magic. "Have these jackals nothing better to do with their time?!" He said to nobody. When he turned back around to the window, the bird had departed. The Kenyan took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Darweshi, this what happens when you take powerful potions on an empty stomach. You see things. With a sigh, he gathered his things and began a solo quest, one to find where he would be staying. From there, he would unpack his bags, and raid the mini-bar if he had one. This was an all-expenses paid trip. Engai, please give a mini-bar to raid, I'm starving.
 
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  • Professor Azura Ito
    Mahoutokoro - Female - Half-Blood - Professor


    As Chitrita began to mutter about class and how she was late for her lessons Azura felt her heart tighten for the young woman. While she didn’t often trust the young Pawar girl she did recognize avoidance coping when she saw it. The words Chitrita choked out (because that is exactly how they had entered the world; like they had clawed themselves free from the young woman's throat through great trial) were dripping with the need to be anywhere other than dealing with the news she had just shared. It was an act Azura had witnessed many times before from the woman she saw staring back at her in the mirror every morning. In her great expanse of life, Professor Ito had dealt with her fair share of trauma and knew in every fiber of her being how easy it could be to coil herself around one idea or aspect of her life to hold herself steady when it felt like everything else was shattering to pieces. The way Chitrita was acting now, from her hasty words to the rushed and uncharacteristically clumsy movements of her gathering her pack, screamed that whatever feelings the young woman was experiencing was genuine and more importantly…Chitrita did not want to have her around as she dealt with them.

    Azura opened her mouth to attempt to bring some level of comfort to the young woman she had a far from perfect relationship with only for Chitrita to whip around with a lashing tongue and inform her that she did not need her help, only to attend class. For a moment Azura considered protesting but when the one soft word slipped from her student's lips she couldn’t deny the young woman her escape. In her experience with Mahoutokoro’s star pupil, there wasn’t much the young woman wouldn’t stoop to doing to have her way but it was far from often that Chitrita would genuinely beg as she had just done with that single word. Nodding her head Azura released her student and with a wave of her elegant golden-hued wand the privacy charm dissipated giving Chitrita a path to flee.

    For several moments after Chitrita’s exit Professor Ito remained seated on the stone bench in the center of the small courtyard. Azura’s heart ached, torn between a deep sense of responsibility and the frustration of not knowing how to reach her student. She had fought the urge to call Chitrita back as the dark-haired young woman hastily exited the courtyard. She had wanted to offer comfort but knew all too well that at this moment any words she shared with the young woman would be inadequate. While she still wasn’t entirely certain of what all was happening in the inner workings of her star student's mind there was a part of Azura that couldn’t help but worry for the young woman. If the devastation that Chitrita had indirectly shown was genuine would she allow herself to grieve, or would she retreat further into herself and mask the pain, leaving Azura to wonder if she could have done more? Without a doubt, the Mahoutokoro potions master knew she would need to keep a close eye on both Chitrita and Altair, the newest addition to their school's team aside from herself. She would need to ensure that she steps in if the feelings the young Pawar daughter endured began to escalate into concerning behavior such as if the girl began pink clouding or became too reserved. Vigilance would be key.

    The potions master closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Despite her personal reservations regarding the young woman she resolved to be there for Chitrita, to offer the support that every student deserved, even if it meant navigating the unpredictable waters of their relationship (or lack thereof). Whiskey brown eyes fluttered open after a moment and a soft sigh passed through slightly parted full lips. Rising to her feet Azura ran her hands over the black slacks of her outfit before finally exiting the courtyard herself. She had only just arrived and while she would make sure to check in with both her students before the day was over she knew she needed to see to several of her other duties first, including ensuring that all of Locjaw’s belongings had been properly gathered to be sent to his family.

    With effortless confidence in every step she took Azura made her way through the halls she had traveled more than a few times in her long life. As she rounded a corner the sound of individuals ahead of her sparked her curiosity as she imagined most students and professors would be in class or tending to their responsibilities at this time. She could almost hear Akihito’s chuckle in the back of her mind as her curiosity got the better of her and she resumed the path ahead of her rather than turning down the corridor she knew would lead to her temporary office. He always found it humorous how her spirit of inquiry could drive her down the most unexpected paths. Her heart ached at the thought of him and the phantom sound of his laughter. Ahead of her Azura spotted two individuals, one she recognized and another she had never seen before. Leading students astray now? She thought pointedly towards the young professor who was just ahead of her. To her surprise, the non-verbal message seemed to fall into a void of nothingness as Cha-Cha remained oblivious to her thoughts which she had very freely directed towards him. In fact, he didn’t seem to realize she was there until the young man he stood with glanced in her direction and cleared his throat, prompting the Castelobruxo professor to turn her way as she met his gaze with a quirked perfectly sculpted eyebrow and golden brown eyes that seemed to examine him closely as she realized something must have happened to keep him from hearing her mental greeting mere heartbeats before.


    Her outfit (meant to post this in her original post) except replace the short skirt with tailored black slacks :)



    Mentions: Chitrita honeycoves honeycoves Theo WanderLust. WanderLust. Cha-Cha Aviator Aviator



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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NickJonas. | Buzz cut hairstyles, Very short hair men, High and tight ...

Sigurd Berg​

History of Magic Class​

"How many potential champions can you fit in one classroom?"​
As soon as he returned to his seat, Sigurd's peripheral vision detected an influx of eyes on him. It was to be expected that one would direct their attention to whoever was speaking, but their sights remained on him, even after he sat down. Their expressions betrayed no emotion, as if he was an experiment to be observed and documented on. His mind went to work theorizing what could possibly had caused this reaction. Did he pass gas? A slow inhale refuted this theory. Were they still hung up over his misconduct at the beginning of class with Ms. Sinclaire? As viable of a guess as that was, Sigurd refused to settle on it alone. Thinking back to his presentation, he recalled the turning of heads from even the more lethargic students at the mention of his Dark Arts class. The Durmstrang champion found himself confused. Every wizarding school had a Dark Arts class, right? One of Professor Natten's earliest lessons spoke about the stigma surrounding them. They were common tools of the forces of evil, used to commit wicked deeds. Raising a finger from his wrinkled hand, he then reiterated that they were just that, tools. It was up to the wizard or witch in question if they would use said tools for good or evil. Father taught the same lesson to Sigurd as a little boy. Sigurd, only a fool would neglect even a single weapon in their arsenal.

Hoping he didn't add yet another target onto his back, Sigurd tuned in to Ms. Sinclaire's answer to Professor Einar's prompt. Her contribution shed light on the Warlock's Convention of 1709. It was at that meeting that the breeding of dragons was outlawed and all captive dragons were to be released to sanctuaries so they could live undisturbed. Sigurd remembered visiting the Swedish reservation on a field trip for Care of Magical Creatures. It was a struggle to catch a glimpse of the famed dragon that resided in the mountains laden area, but eventually his class' patience was rewarded. Circling around the peak of one of the numerous land masses, The Swedish Short-Snout's was a sight to behold, its silver scales shining like freshly polished armor.

Once Ms. Sinclaire finished sharing, Professor Einar treated the class to another light display with relevance to the Warlock's Convention. Perhaps it was because he had only completed one year at Durmstrang, but Sigurd found the enchanted book an effective teaching aid. Before attending the Institute, it had been nothing but homeschooling and lessons with Father. Years of working away at the desk in his room, reading and internalizing information to be recalled for later. The first day he stepped into the towering professor's classroom was an experience in of itself. If it wasn't for the discipline his father had instilled upon him, he would've been stupefied all class long, his lips pinched in an 'o' as the tales of history were presented before him. Such care in the engagement of one's students was foreign to Sigurd, and it showed how much passion Einar had for the subject he taught. Father was not an insufficient teacher, but his style focused on throwing as much information as he could and reinforcing what failed to stick until it did.

It was at this point in class that a moment of silence spread over the room, the other students at a loss of what to talk about. Eventually, the next person to speak was not only in the same row as Sigurd, but was a professor himself. As he talked about the Goblin Rebellions, the images changed from dragons to hordes of small yet furious humanoids charged into the night and overturned a carriage on a cobblestone street. After following up on what Professor Bellamy said, the light show courtesy of Professor Einar's book shifted yet again and Sigurd almost smiled at the outcome. Instead of historic events that transpired years ago, Sigurd was now becoming a witness to a snippet of the previous night's festivities. At the moment, well-dressed students were approaching a stage and presenting themselves in front of a crowd. This was exactly what he needed, a chance to play some catch-up. Memorize some faces and take note of them for later. Any one of those students could be his competitors. Flipping to a new page, Sigurd furiously scribbled in everything he saw, forgoing proper handwriting in exchange for speed. As he took his notes, Sigurd's body slowly tensed up as he found himself recognizing student after student coming up to the stage. First, it was the blonde girl from when he first stepped in, then it was Ms. Sinclaire, then a student with stark white hair that contrasted with her dark ebony skin, and finally, the boy sitting right next to him. Sigurd had just made a fool of himself in front of possibly half of his competitors, and the Durmstang champion pinched his forehead at the conclusion he came to.

“No matter how small the moment may seem it all builds and creates something far larger than we may realize in the present."

Your words ring truer than ever, Professor Einar, Sigurd thought to himself. Leaving little time for him to lament, the next assignment to the class was declared. Now it was time for everyone to share tidbits of history with each other. Sigurd was sitting in the leftmost seat in the back row, so his only option was to turn to his left, which had him speaking with the aforementioned champion. The two boys locked eyes with each other and there was an air of nervousness between the two of them. Despite his cool poker face, Sigurd ponder how he should approach this interaction. He had been one of the many others who stared at him after mentioning his Dark Arts class, perhaps doubling down could spread a healthy amount of competitive intimidation among him and nearby listeners. Show them that Sigurd Berg wasn't a clumsy pushover. But as he squared up, straightened his posture and prepared to talk about the dark history behind Durmstrang's headmasters, Sigurd felt himself tensing up again as he looked at his fellow student. There was no need to make enemies over his own mistake. Instead, Sigurd chose a different approach.

"So," He began, pointing his chin at an image of him in a nice suit standing on stage with the others. "How was the opening ceremony? Must have been grand standing before all those people. Is this your home school?"
 
THEODORE WEST
HOGWARTS CHAMPION
Suspicious
Ilvermorny - Corridors
Chahaya Aviator Aviator Azura Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1
Click Me
Theodore had spent a majority of his adolescence carefully cultivating the exterior of an apex predator. The towering height - he came by genetically. His elder brother had been tall too, although Cassius was slender, lithe like a fox. Theodore more resembled a lion, the brawn and muscles that weaved their way across a majority of Theo’s body had been forged like armor, as if biceps could’ve ever protected him from Cassius. Naturally, when Theodore prowled the halls of Ilvermorny he kept his chin up, his posture rigid. He was the king of the jungle, after all. But even the strongest of lions were still susceptible to the venom of a snake.

That was the word that clamored in his consciousness around Chahaya Arif, like a security alarm tripped by a burglar. Snake. Ironically, not because the poor bastard had been bitten by one last night, but because Theo associated the ex-con with the same conniving and dangerous qualities of a venomous serpent. Theo was all too aware of the reputation that preceded the prominent legilimens who was both feared and revered alike by those able to identify him. There were those that believed his methods were barbaric and cruel, others who seemed to believe the ends justified the means. Theo held little regard for what Arif had done or why he had done it. Pureblood, half-blood, muggle born, it made little difference to him. What caused the hairs on the back of his neck to bristle like a feral cat was the how of it.

If rumors were to be believed, and in Theo’s case, such rumors were believed simply due to the sheer amount of testimonials indicating the same, Chahaya Arif was one of the most remarkable legilimens in recent history. A trait that installed him as one of Theo’s most dangerous adversaries.

Theo’s features remained almost suspiciously neutral as the Castelobruxo professor spoke, making light of the significant injuries he had sustained the night prior. Theo recalled the image of a much paler, limp and trembling Chahaya, draped over his shoulder as Theo followed professor Einar to the hospital wing. He wondered if the Castelobruxo professor even recalled that Theo had been forced to haul his barely conscious ass across the Ilvermorny campus. Based on the legilimens’ nonsensical murmuring throughout the entire ordeal, Theo doubted he had much recollection of it at all.

“Say, Theodore, is it alright if I call you that?”

The brutish teen was rarely addressed with all three syllables of his first name, but he remained placid, offering a painfully insincere smile in response that implied he would’ve preferred otherwise.

“If you have a couple of hours before your first class, what do you say we go exploring the local area? I could use a chaperone to make sure I don’t fall, and you could use a toast to celebrate your championship, I’m sure. My treat, of course. You don’t mind if we get an early start on the day, do you?”

Theo paused, despite his cool exterior, he was mentally preparing for battle. If Chahaya was as gifted a legilimens as his reputation suggested, then there was a fair chance that the professor was already aware of Theo’s intention to skip class and this entire engagement was some sort of trap intended to confirm the student’s guilt.

His father had trained him in the art of occlumency as an act of mercy in the hopes that it might help Theo stave off the deranged mental advances of his elder brother, Cassius. Cassius, like Arif, was a gifted legilimens, a trait he had inherited from their father, one that Theo himself did not possess. But Cassius had never viewed it as a gift, rather, he was ceaselessly plagued by the fears and worries that consistently wrought chaos and havoc in the minds of those around him, especially Theodore.

Theo had suffered from night terrors fairly consistently throughout his early adolesence, frequently waking in the middle of the night shrieking, clutching the soft, green blanket on his bed so hard his knuckles had turned white. In his nightmares, Theo was always acutely aware of a lack of motor control, as though he were watching his life through a window and somebody else was sitting at the control panel. He looked down to see the face of his victim, sometimes it was his mother, other times it was his younger sister, but more often than not it was the face of a complete stranger, about six inches under water, their last breaths bubbling to the surface as whatever force was controlling Theo’s hands crushed their windpipe, ensuring their watery demise. Drowning them as he watched on, unable to release his grip.

But the nightmares didn’t just plague Theo. Across the hall, Cassius, still learning the boundaries and limits of his own legilimency, experienced each and every shiver of fear, wave of nausea, and knot of guilt as if he were the one drowning Theo’s imaginary victims. Eventually, Cassius grew to resent Theo for keeping him awake at all hours of the night, blaming Theo for the incessant fear and anxiety that now plagued Cassius as well until one night, Cass couldn’t take it anymore.

Hellbent on finally forcing Theodore to face his irrational fears, Cassius had entered Theo’s bedroom, locked the door behind him, and glared at Theo with eyes so vacant the younger boy began to question if it was truly his brother staring back at him. “It’s all in your head you stupid little coward,” Cassius pried his way into Theodore’s waking mind so easily, as if walking through a door his brother had left wide open, those fears and nightmares ripe like forbidden fruit and all Cass needed to do was reach out and pluck one. “When will you learn? It’s all in your head.”

Cassius made Theo relive his nightmares over and over again until they didn’t scare him anymore. He did this under the guise of making his brother stronger, but in reality, Cassius was beginning to take pleasure in the fear, terror - he was able to elicit from Theo, all too content to watch with a cheshire grin as Theo backed himself into a corner, pale as a ghost, a repeat victim of his own worst fears played on a loop for his brother’s entertainment.

It was only when Theo’s father started teaching him the art of occlumency that Theo was able to begin defending himself against the onslaught of attacks from Cassius. “You have to picture it like a wall, Theodore, as high and as strong as you can build it. Your mind is your greatest weapon. Keep it hidden. Keep it safe.” His father’s words echoed in his mind to this day. Cassius still kept him on his toes after that, if he ever sensed that Theodore was nervous or lost in thought, he would knock on the walls that Theo had worked so hard to build, testing them for weaknesses, consistently searching for any cracks or insufficiencies. Theo could feel it when Cassius did that, a foreign presence burning into his mind like a white hot blade… but, as Theo stared back at Arif, he felt no such presence. Curious.

His gaze narrowed ever so slightly at the man’s proposition, the image of a hissing snake springing forth in his mind as he tried to decipher what possible motivation the professor could have for getting on Theo’s good side. He seriously doubted Arif was simply compelled by gratitude for Theodore’s assistance the night prior. No, surely there was something else, something Theo was missing…

But before he could riddle out what it was, Theodore’s eyes met the honey brown gaze of yet another Professor who’s reputation preceded her. Azura Ito from Mahoutokoro approached them with a look that suggested she smelled a rat, and Theo shifted his weight ever so slightly under that gaze. Great, yet another witness to Theodore’s blatant lack of attendance in class. His amber eyes flicked from Arif to Ito as his mind raced for some explanation that would pacify both of them, but failing to think of any, he was faced with one choice. The snake he knew, or the stranger he didn’t.

“Professor Ito,” a pleasant smile graced Theo’s features as he inclined his head respectfully. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Theodore West, I’m a student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He extended a hand for her to shake, his voice unnervingly cool and collected. “Professor Arif here was just escorting me to Care for Magical Creatures… I seemed to have gotten myself quite turned around, forgive me, I’m not familiar with the campus.” He offered a sheepish, apologetic look before his gaze cut to Arif, nonverbally imploring the other professor to play along with his narrative. If the Castelobruxo professor truly wanted something from Theo, then he would have to earn it, and right now Theo’s compliance would only be bought with an excuse believable enough to get Ito off his back without compromising his marks.
coded by natasha.
 
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  • Gavriel Sylvie
    Ilvermorny - Female - Half-Blood - Champion


    As Professor Einar’s display lit up the room Gavy did everything she could to focus on as many of the important historical figures she could. Her eyes darted from face to face and their natural minty green hue bloomed into a brighter almost glowing shade of neon green (09f54c) as she studied their features. While the blonde wasn’t normally one to ace the subject at hand she found she did best when she could in her own way become the figures being taught about. It had startled more than a few students over the past several years when they stumbled upon Gavy hidden in the stacks of the library, her head tucked into a book, and her features that of individuals such as Merlin, Rowena Ravenclaw, or Flavius Belby. The habit didn’t only aid the young witch in her studies but also allowed her a chance to improve upon her natural metamorphmagus abilities. She had become quite the little master of her art over the years as she explored the different faces, bodies, and features she could bend herself into at will. Things that might have once been a challenge had become second nature, a fact that she still couldn’t believe given how deeply she had hated and dreaded her abilities only a few years ago.

    Hearing the instructions delivered by the History of Magic professor Gavy turned her platinum blonde head to face the student sitting nearest to her. “Kiara, right?” She greeted with a genuinely warm smile pulling at the corners of her rosy pink lips. “You’re from Beauxbatons, like Raph…right?” She added as she could have sworn that she had seen the brunette cross the stage with Raph during the introductions that she had remained by his side several times during the night. Gently nibbling at her lower lip Gavy tilted her head and briefly considered if her next words were appropriate or not. Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to ask she released her lip from her teeth. “Is he alright? We were hanging out, getting to know each other last night, and well…he kinda rushed off all of a sudden.” The young Ilvermorny champion inquired, the corners of her irises and several strands of her platinum locks shifting into a stormy blue (61678f) as she spoke. “I mean I don’t know if it was the heights or if something happened but I just…I guess I just wanted to make sure he is okay.” She explained, her voice soft to avoid being overheard as she expressed her concern for the Beauxbatons champion.

    Once Kiara has spoken her piece regarding Gavy’s inquiry into Raphael’s current state the blonde nodded in acceptance and glanced around the room to see other students still engaged in sharing their bits of local history. For a second the young witch realized that any history Kiara might share would be history that in a different life Gavy herself might have learned in Beauxbatons rather than Ilvermorny. While she might have spent the first nine years of her life in France but aside from the language there wasn’t much of the culture she held firmly onto due to the pain her memories of the time brought with them. Had she remained in France with her grandparents Gavy had no doubt that she never would have made it to Beauxbatons. Hell, she knew very well that there was a chance she wouldn’t have even made it to her tenth birthday.

    It took every ounce of control for the young metamorphmagus to keep her emotions tied to those memories from showing in much the same way she so freely let others display themselves upon her. While maintaining a casual appearance in front of Kiara, Gavy beat the emotions back and locked them away to be dealt with later or rather never. After a heartbeat to gather her thoughts she gave Kiara a smile and drummed her fingers upon her desk. “So I guess I should share a bit of local magical history with you since you were so kind as to indulge me a moment ago.” She playfully winked at the girl. “Staying in line with your epic reference to dragons earlier how about the time back in 1871 that a muggle farmer encroached on an American Jadescale’s nesting grounds just outside Chicago? In true maternal fashion the dragoness who claimed the territory didn’t take too kindly to the intrusion and may have taken her displeasure out on the city. Muggles refer to it as the Great Chicago Fire.” Gavy explained. “Honestly I don’t blame the dragon. If someone broke into my home and started messing around I would get pissed too.”



    Mentions: Kiara WanderLust. WanderLust.



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Chahaya “Cha-Cha” Arif // “Dysfunctional Ex-Con” // Male // Age 32 // Castelobruxo Professor // Legilimens
​
Theodore West reminded Cha-Cha of an ice sculpture: cold, rigid, and one well-timed hit from shattering into a million pieces. The Hogwarts champion held himself with a militant posture, shoulders squared almost to his ears, hands careful fists at his sides. His face was so carefully blank that it looked like it might twitch with the effort of mainintaining no expression. His gaze alternated between fixing on Cha-Cha’s forehead and his throat, startled into meeting his eyes only at the suggestion of a bar crawl. My God, but he’s terrified of me! Cha-Cha thought, suddenly feeling bad for proposing that they spend an afternoon together, lest the kid have a heart attack. Underneath the guilt was a sliver of amusement, and Cha-Cha wondered if Theodore’s trepidation had been inspired by the truth, the fabrications, or some combination of the two.
The boy appeared to be staring at a point just over Cha-Cha’s shoulder, and Cha-Cha chalked it up to another strategy not to meet his eyes, when a prim clearing of a throat behind him indicated otherwise. He turned around, hiding his annoyance at the sight of a handsome woman with shoulder-length hair wearing a black blouse with sheer sleeves. To specify, it wasn’t her presence itself that annoyed him, but that someone had crept up on him undetected yet again. Even when he wasn’t actively trying to use Legilimency, Cha-Cha almost always sensed the presence of another consciousness, unless that individual was an acutely adept Occlumens. Without his normal level of awareness, he felt shoddy and sloppy and targetable, and it worried him.
The woman’s features were slightly pinched and birdlike, and Cha-Cha was unsure whether she normally appeared pinched and birdlike or if it was her disapproval of a professor and student chatting leisurely while class was in session. He had no idea who the woman was, fairly certain that she hadn’t made an appearance at the Opening Ceremony last night. Or if she had, she was too deeply enmeshed in Marcello Bellini’s court of sycophants for Cha-Cha to have noticed her. Theodore, conversely, didn’t miss a beat. He extended a hand to her and addressed her by name. Cha-Cha paused suddenly, as if he’d reached for a wineglass and sipped water. Professor Ito? he thought incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. No way. This has to be a daughter or younger sister. But as her gaze fixed on Cha-Cha with recognition, he was becoming rapidly dissuaded of that notion. She was staring at him, hard and expectant, in a way that made Cha-Cha feel pressured to say something.
“Professor Ito,” he echoed, and then belatedly added, “-san.” Shit. I don’t remember her first name. Would it even be appropriate to address her by her first name? Well, no matter, I guess. “How lovely to see you again. You look… remarkably… the same… as when I last saw you,” he admitted, startled into honesty, and then horrified at how honest he’d been. Shut the fuck up, Arif. Telling this woman that she ought to be a hunchbacked hag by now is not the way to win her over. He looked at Ito wordlessly, lips pressed together, unwilling to say anything that would further incriminate him. Cha-Cha was unsure whether Japanese etiquette dictated that he greet her as a superior or as a peer, as the last time he saw her she’d been his Potions professor for the final year of his education that he’d studied at Mahoutokoro for the Triwizard Tournament. Fifteen years ago, and yet she was the spitting image of the woman she’d been then, like the Ghost of Christmas Past come to haunt him. There wasn’t so much as a new line in her face or a gray hair on her head. Deciding to play it safe, Cha-Cha gave a slight bow.
Ito scoffed softly, as if this reaction was something she was used to hearing from those she hadn’t seen in a long time. Blessedly, Theodore chimed in just then, interrupting their silent appraisal of each other, and Cha-Cha whirled, just remembering that the Hogwarts champion was there. His palms were damp with sweat, and Cha-Cha speculated that the meds were starting to kick in. He silently prayed that Ito would not attempt to shake his hand. Cha-Cha raised an eyebrow at his implication in Theodore’s story. He looked over to find the kid’s gaze burning into his as if a lit fuse connected them. The foreign champion was asking Cha-Cha to cover for him. Begging for my help now? When you’ve been looking at me like shit on your shoes since last night?
“Well, actually,” Cha-Cha started softly, unable to resist. At this contradictory clause, Theodore’s eyes flared a fraction in alarm, but the expression was quickly snuffed. Cha-Cha smirked like a cat with a bird in its mouth. It would do the Hogwarts champion some good to be reminded who held the power from time to time. Some people just didn’t do as they were told unless a subtle threat was dangled. “Mister West was kind enough to help me unlock the door to my temporary office here at Ilvermorny. It was spelled, and I’m a little embarrassed to say I couldn’t figure out how to do it on my own,” Cha-Cha said with a chagrined smile. “But there’s a reason that Mister West was chosen as champion. He’s a natural with magic and got it unstuck. So forgive him for being late to class, please, on account of assisting me in a time of need.” Cha-Cha looked at Ito warmly, pleasantly.
Her dark eyes slitted an infinitesimal degree, but it was enough to tell him that she didn’t believe him. Meanwhile, Cha-Cha could nearly hear Theodore’s bated breath. A professor had lied on his behalf, and now he was waiting to see if another professor would call Cha-Cha on it. Go ahead, call me a liar, he dared silently, retaining his placid smile with a tad of effort.
Before their silent standoff had reached its natural end, a thought occurred to Cha-Cha. Actually, that was an understatement. More accurately, a realization hit him with the force of a bullet to the skull. Ito was the Mahoutokoro professor; although he could have sworn he saw a different professor represent the school at the Opening Ceremony last night. At the very least, she was a Mahoutokoro professor. And right now, the biggest obstacle in his way was a wayward Mahoutokoro student. This struck him as a unique opportunity to level the playing field. “Say, Ito-san, do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you regarding one of your students.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Excuse me, Theodore. I shall help you on your way to Care of Magical Creatures momentarily.”
Without waiting for the boy to reply, Cha-Cha sidled up beside Ito and overtook her, retreating down the hallway a few steps so that they were out of Theodore’s earshot. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded warily and followed him. Cha-Cha brushed a lock of hair back from his face, mentally composing what he'd say. Ito drew up next to him, keeping an arm’s length of space between them. It struck Cha-Cha that, considering the last time she'd seen him he'd been the seventeen-year-old Koldovstoretz champion who was a very mediocre Potions student, she might not yet acknowledge him as an equal in terms of status, and encroaching on her time might be a bold move. Deciding that brief small talk might be a better approach than immediately getting down to business, Cha-Cha asked politely, “With all due respect, Ito-san, what are you doing here at Ilvermorny? I don't recall seeing you at dinner last night, and I was under the impression Mahoutokoro had another chaperoning professor. Unless you work at Ilvermorny now?”
The Potions Mistress’s face slammed shut like a bank vault. Choosing her words carefully, she announced that she would be taking over as chaperoning professor for Toro-san, in an ominous tone that made it obvious that someone was getting fired very soon, if not already. “Okay, then,” Cha-Cha replied, grinning, unable to hide his mirth at this sudden, serious development but deciding it best to cease this line of questioning. He wondered, did the former professor's ousting have something to do with last night's debacle in the music wing? If so, might Kazimir and the Beauxbatons professor be next on the chopping block? Cha-Cha himself?
Ito gently reminded him that he’d asked to talk about one of her students, and Cha-Cha shifted gears. “Ah, yes!” he said quickly, as if just remembering. “Um, well,” he began awkwardly, feigning discomfort as he rubbed the back of his neck, “as I’m sure you know, Chitrita—am I saying her name right?—is a highly precocious student. Last night I caught her running through the hallways with a cane that I believe belongs to another professor. A student whose identity I won’t disclose was chasing her, and they were firing off spells at each other. In fact, their duel is the reason that part of the first floor is blocked off right now.” Pain flickered through his ankle, and he shifted his weight.
“Anyway, their duel ended when the other student summoned a venomous snake. I heard a scream, not knowing it was Chitrita at the time, and came running. The snake was rearing and ready to bite her, and just might have if I hadn’t intervened when I did. I was bitten in the process, sent to the infirmary and treated, but it was no big deal”—Cha-Cha waved a dismissive hand, as if snake bites were as daily a problem as hangnails for him—“and the other student recovered the cane she’d stolen. What I’m saying is, your student has a knack for causing trouble, Ito-san. I don’t mean to insinuate that you don’t know how to do your job, but I think it would benefit everyone if you kept a close eye on her before she gets herself or someone else really hurt,” he finished gravely.
Cha-Cha’s expression softened. Ito-san hadn’t interrupted him during the course of his narrative, and the lies kept piling up, intertwining, like a symphony of deception as more instruments gradually joined in. They came to him as naturally as breathing. “My apologies for dumping this news on you just after your arrival. You must be tired from the journey and sudden change of plans. Whatever the reason for your predecessor’s replacement, I’m sure it can’t be good. Anyway, I’d better go escort Mister West to his class before I make him miss it.” He tilted his head and gave Ito a heartfelt smile. She was tall, and they stood eye to eye. “It was a pleasure seeing you after all this time, lǎoshī.” Cha-Cha didn’t speak Japanese, and during his year at Mahoutokoro, he’d largely gotten by through English, or when necessary, broken Mandarin. In truth, the language barrier there had been less of a problem than it typically was at Koldovstoretz.
He turned to go, walking back to where Theodore was poking at the carpet with the toe of his shoe and trying too hard to appear as if he weren’t listening in. Cha-Cha stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Welcome to the tournament, Ito-san. I look forward to being your colleague, and your opponent. Good luck.” After all, I’ve already won one magical tournament, he thought haughtily. And he sauntered off. “Right this way, Theodore,” he said for Ito’s benefit, waving the boy along and walking as briskly as his injured ankle would allow. “Let’s get you to class, shall we?”

* * *​

Deciding that broomsticks would have been too conspicuous to venture down the mountain and into the Muggle world with, and trying to climb down would have been an endeavor of several hours and more than a little risky on Cha-Cha’s bad leg, Cha-Cha had proposed that they walk to the end of the school’s grounds and then Apparate. Theodore had regarded him suspiciously, as if Cha-Cha were a salesman in a secondhand suit trying to sell him a product that would drain his bank account. When Theodore wasn’t able to come up with a better solution, he acquiesced to Apparating, and then balked at the idea of accepting Cha-Cha’s outstretched arm. “Don’t worry, so long as you’ve received all your hepatitis shots, I have nothing contagious,” he said drily. It belatedly occurred to him that if Theodore was a pureblood, there was a good chance that he hadn’t been vaccinated. Perhaps he ought to see to that before we go to Uagadou, Cha-Cha thought.
They reappeared on the bank of a lake lined with trees already starting to turn gold, startling a fisherman on a nearby dock so much that the man dropped his line in the water and almost fell in after it. He gawked at the pair of wizards, his face white as a sheet, his eyes looking in danger of popping out of his head. Cha-Cha took a neat step back from Theodore. The boy looked a little worse for wear after the trip, and Cha-Cha did not want to be in the line of fire if the boy vomited. He offered the fisherman a smile and a lazy wave. There was a reason Cha-Cha didn’t often Apparate in Manaus, the adjacent city to Castelobruxo, and making only one Muggle question their sanity was a job well done.
Lanesborough, Massachusetts looked like the kind of secluded, predictable small town where a CIA agent longing for some privacy and distance from the government might retire. There was a church with a crown of spires that poked at the sky. Howie’s Market where paninis and coffee and cigarettes and scratch-off lottery tickets could be acquired. A red-and-white schoolhouse with an actual bell up top. The houses were sprawling and stately and widely spaced from one another. After twenty minutes of aimless wandering, Cha-Cha searched “bars near me” on his phone, and Theodore eyed the Muggle device warily, as if it were a detonator that might make half of Mount Greylock come crashing down. “What, didn’t think the Antichrist of the magical world would have a phone?” Cha-Cha snarked without looking up from his phone. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m only a part-time supervillain.”
From there, they had walked to a place called Phoenix Bar, which sounded promising from its name. Cha-Cha wondered whether it was a hangout for Ilvermorny students and other witches and wizards who needed a drink while keeping a low profile. There was no bouncer, and he and Theodore admitted themselves into a tiny no-frills dive with a polished wood bar, sticky floors, and low lighting. A jukebox stood in one corner, and at the far end was a door that led to a small courtyard used as a smoking area. Fortunately, the bartender did not ask to see IDs. Normally, Cha-Cha would have used Legilimency to seemingly alter the year of Theodore’s birth in the target’s mind, but that was not an option to him at the moment. But they hadn’t stayed long at Phoenix Bar.
The bartender had just served them their first round, and since the bar was empty except for two gentlemen sitting in the corner, Cha-Cha and Theodore had become the new focal point of his attention. He was a thin, aging man with white hair and a patchy, hesitant beard that looked decidedly unplanned. Having just finished wiping down the bar, he leaned forward with a rag in hand. “You two sure make a cute couple. How long have you been together?”
Cha-Cha choked on his drink and sputtered a bit. When he’d recovered his voice, he spat out, “Excuse me?” He and Theodore exchanged a wild look, and Cha-Cha felt the blood rush to his face.
The bartender looked puzzled by Cha-Cha’s adverse reaction and plopped a plastic cup of ice water in front of him. “Well, it’s a gay bar. When two men walk in together well before happy hour, they’re usually a couple.”
Cha-Cha nodded his head, quietly processing this information. By unspoken mutual agreement, he and Theodore downed the rest of their drinks in record time, Cha-Cha paid the tab, and they left Phoenix Bar. They were carded and quickly tossed from the next two places they tried to enter, until they arrived at a cocktail lounge called Ciao. The interior was festooned in pink and red streamers and neon lights, making it look like the Barbie Malibu Dream House had exploded. Low couches squatted around several tables with checkerboard surfaces, and a Taylor Swift song pumped out of the speakers. The other half of the lounge was taken up by three pool tables and a ping pong table. Theodore and Cha-Cha settled themselves comfortably at the bar, where a black man with glasses and a full-bellied laugh neglected to check their IDs, mixed their drinks, and after a witty exchange, did a shot of Don Q with them.
“Congratulations, champion,” Cha-Cha said after the bartender had departed to wait on some other clients, ringing his glass of Malbec off of Theodore’s bourbon on the rocks. He asked Theodore various questions about Hogwarts and his classes there, particularly fascinated by the ghosts that roamed the halls and the magical wildlife in the lake that Theodore’s common room looked out on. Theodore answered dutifully but made few attempts to continue the conversation, showing more interest in his drink than in Cha-Cha as he swirled the amber liquid around his glass. Sensing that he was being tolerated, Cha-Cha ordered them each a craft cocktail and suggested they shoot pool, which Theodore seemed keen for, if only because it meant that he wouldn’t have to sit in close proximity to Cha-Cha.
They played several games of eight- and nine-ball, most of which Cha-Cha won. Afterwards, he graciously attributed it to the fact that he’d been in a pool league for several years and said Theodore had played a really good game for what he lacked in experience, even though Cha-Cha’s performance would have been better if not for his injured ankle. He got a kick out of playing a safety and leaving Theodore with an unlikely shot that forced him to scratch, sensing the boy’s mounting aggravation after the third such occasion. But the Hogwarts champion had smoked Cha-Cha in ping pong, and when they eventually retired to one of the couches, he felt slightly traumatized from the montage of ping-pong balls he’d been pelted with. It turned out that Theodore had a wicked spike, and Cha-Cha had used his paddle as much as a shield as for its intended purpose.
Presently, it was pushing noon, and he was picking halfheartedly at a late brunch of spring rolls, corn dogs, and banana bread. He saw Theodore longingly eyeing an untouched corn dog, and Cha-Cha nudged it toward him. When they’d finished playing ping pong, the exhaustion of having taken a pill before drinking hit Cha-Cha all at once, moving through him like molasses. To go back up he was sipping industriously from a mojito with a double-shot of Bacardi and a ridiculous amount of garnishes around the rim. He’d pulled his hair back into a low ponytail, and his fedora lay on the couch next to him as he slumped back into the cushions, sinking deeply into them.
Across from him, Theodore’s cheeks glowed with a ruby flush and his eyelids drooped low, and he still had a nearly full glass in front of him. The kid was looking adequately boozed, and it was time to get down to business. “You seem to be settling in well at Ilvermorny,” Cha-Cha observed. “Last night it looked like you had already made some friends. What’s the name of the girl you were with? Catarina? No… Christina?” Theodore helpfully supplied her name. “Ah, yes,” Cha-Cha continued. “Chitrita. Are you and she close? Because she was also there when I was escorted to the infirmary, right?” And if you and Einar were carrying me, then what the hell was she doing all this time? Cha-Cha thought, peeved. “If you could relay my gratitude for her help, I’d be most a-peel-sha-tive… a-bree-cha-tive… appreciative,” he finally managed, having to think about the word. He hadn’t drunk half of what he used to back when he’d done those undercover jobs in his mid-twenties; it left him with the disturbing thought that he might be getting too old to honeytrap. He refused to believe that a little seventeen-year-old could drink him under. “Tell me, was she okay when you guys left the infirmary? I’d hate to think that she got all panicked on my be— Shit!”
There was a rattle of glass, and then clear liquid and ice was sluicing across the table, drenching the rest of the spring rolls. Cha-Cha felt coldness where the knees of his pants brushed the edge of the table. He sprang forward and caught the tall, round glass before it rolled off the table. A cocktail waitress materialized next to them with a wad of brown paper napkins. Cha-Cha apologized profusely, but she waved away his attempts to clean up the mess. Instead, he pulled out his wallet and tipped her generously for her trouble, and she assured him a new drink was on its way. Meanwhile, Theodore was snickering at the spectacle that had briefly drawn the whole bar’s attention. Cha-Cha felt a rush of indignation. “Kid, I have probably spilled more drinks in my life than your punk ass has ever drunk. Don’t laugh at me.” Glowering, he crossed his arms and plunked back into the cushy depths of the couch.
 
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  • Aurelia Quansah
    Uagadou - Female - Pure Blood - Secondary


    As Professor Chimere continued on with the class and other students gave their answers Auri continued to run her thumb over the lions head that dangled from her bracelet. It’s detailed face was one she had memorized and both look and feel over the years since her Grandmother had gifted it to her. When she was young she thought it was just a lovely gift, even when her Grandmother told her to always hold it close and that as a member of her grandmother’s pride the lioness would protect her. It hadn’t been until some time later that Auri had learned how sincere her Grandmothers words had been. When she was on a trip with her mother, father, aunts, uncles, and several cousins the discussion of their families line of succession had come about as it always did. Auri’s cousin began to make a stink about how unfair it was that Imani would be next in line to take over for Asha and thus that Auri would be in line after her. For far too long the young woman whined about how their Grandmother should reevaluate her choices or be committed for them and when the girl dared to verbally abuse their Grandmother without the woman there to defend herself Auri snapped. She had bit her tongue and kept her composure until then as she had been taught to do, to handle even the most unpleasant situations with grace, but not today. She went off on her cousin and told her that her behavior was toxic enough to kill an entire population thus she would never be fit to be chosen as Guardian. The girl hadn’t taken kindly to Auri’s honesty and having just entered her second year at Uagadou and learned some interesting jinxes she decided to try one out on Auri. A decision she found herself soon regretting.

    A sudden shift beneath her thumb and the sound of chuffing in her ear alerted Auri to the lions head of her bracelet. Its mouth had opened and inside the gem hidden within glowed an ominous dark purple. A jinx, specifically a bodily effect jinx, had been cast on her. Instantly Auri began taking note of herself and all of her senses. Could she smell and did it smell as it should? Yes. Could she see clearly? Yes. Could she move? Yes. Was anything sprouting from anywhere it shouldn’t be? No. Could she still hear the world around her? Yes. Was any part of her a different color? Not from what she could see.

    As she was taking these precious seconds to evaluate herself as subtly as possible so as not to disturb others or key them into her situation a sudden outburst just ahead of her caught her attention. Vasu. Her gaze locked on him and her eyes were cold and entirely unsympathetic as the young boy shouted, his colorful choice of words laced with terror as he practically dove backwards out of his seat. His hand, already gripping his wand from the jinx she now new he cast on her, shot outwards towards the empty space between the students and professors as he shouted the Periculum spell. The tip of his wand exploded with lights as fireworks shot off towards the front of the class.

    In all of the chaos and confusion Auri took a heartbeat to softly mutter a few words to herself. “Tset. Siht si a tset.” Her words were soft enough for her to hear and confirm without others likely to notice over the chaos ahead of her. He had cast the Dicere Retro Jinx on her…interesting. She would need to be careful with all she chose to say until she knew the jinx had worn off but at least she wasn’t without means of communication though she knew not as many people were likely to know sign as there were at home.

    Her gaze remained level with Vasu as he glared at her, his hair slightly wild from the outburst and the fireworks combined and she tilted her chin up slightly as she examined him. In a few fluid movements Auri began to sign exactly what she wished she could say out loud to the young man and prayed to anyone listening that he would understand though she knew it wasn’t likely. “The next time you want to make a fool of yourself at least have the balls to challenge me properly. Unless you find comfort in being a coward?” Her dark mocha gaze remained cold as her hands stilled. People had been coming after her all her life, and it seemed Vasu was no different than the rest of the flock of cowards that seemed drawn towards causing her trouble.



    Mentions: Vasu Aviator Aviator



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 

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Altair Ibn Layla​

Care of Magical Creatures Class​

"Maybe I'll wait out the rest of class in the bathroom..."​
Before Altair had given his answer, he felt the dampness of his seat disappear. While patting his robes in surprise at his newfound dryness, his eyes looked on as the current object of his affection literally worked her magic. After giving a huge smiling in gratitude, Altair scrunched his face at the smell of something burning. Behind him, a student near Vasu had her entire notebook reduced to ashes and scattered to the wind. The Mahoutokoro secondary's fanboying was cut short. All that over a note? Attending the most elite and intensive wizarding school in the world put him face to face with harsh teachers, but none of them would go as far as to incinerate student property. Not cool, hot professor! And to think, I was just fantasizing about us going on a date! However, once Altair had answered her question, he found himself rethinking his opinion on her. She was amused when he translated dragon into Japanese and listened intently when he gave her an actual answer to her prompt. And as icing on the cake, he was rewarded with a smile! It was small and easy to miss, but Altair could see the corners of the professor's mouth tugging upwards. Altair's goofy smile returned in response. Okay, maybe I'll hold off on that cancellation.

Before he could decide what kind of dress his vindicated love interest would be wearing on their date, Altair picked up mumbling above him. Turning around, Altair watched as the boy from earlier fell half asleep in his seat. Vasu, he remembered the professor calling him after he answered her question. The older boy mentally willed his classmate to wake up, lest their pyromaniacal professor light his hair on fire next to snap him back to attention. But then something caught his ears. Was that Latin he was speaking in his sleep? Most people would go for snoring or muttering the names of girls they liked while under, but to each their own. His show of fatigue reminded Altair of his own tiredness, which caused him to yawn. And to think that there was an entire day ahead of him, after he just finished one in Japan!

For now, all he could do was wait until this class ended so he could go find his schedule for the rest of the day. Hopefully, he would get a bunch of simple classes he could coast through for today. Give him some time to get eyes on other students and pick out potential partners in crime. There was bound to be some fun to get into around here. Americans really know how to party after all. But if it was all classes that require serious thinking, he would have to go begging to his chaperoning professor. Maybe time will have softened Professor Ito's heart and she would cut him some slack. How was he expected to help bodyguard Chitrita without some rest? Not everyone is an immortal with no need for eating and sleeping. That's how immortality works, right? One of these days, he would need to read up on how that stuff worked. Whenever it was brought up in Potions, Professor Ito never gave a straight answer. Back to the subject of his school's champion, there was no telling what kind of trouble was lurking around the corners ready to strike at her. If there were students who could recite Latin in their sleep, what else could they do with that skill? Throw a jinx in the middle of class? Altair shook his head. Okay, maybe not casting spells in the middle of class. As if something as crazy as that would happen!
 
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Futuristic The Cosmic Alliance || IC Thread (Open RP)
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Lycanious
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