Fandom Octowizard Tournament // Wizarding World // RP Thread

[Sanctuaryforall1]

• Azura Ito

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  Professor Azura Ito
  Mahoutokoro - Female - Half-Blood - Professor
  
  
  
  Azura’s eyes flicked toward Cha-Cha, her expression a carefully controlled mask as she listened to the jarring exchange between him and Bellini. Her stomach clenched slightly at the heat of the confrontation, the intensity it reached seeming to walk the line between a simple shouting match and a true fight. She hadn’t had much interaction with the Castelobruxo professor since his time at Mahoutokoro so it was hard not to be intrigued by his presence. There was something almost magnetic about him, though not necessarily in a good way. Cha-Cha seemed completely at ease in the chaos of the situation, a trait that made Azura both fascinated and cautious. What exactly had happened between them?
  
  He was, of course, still chuckling, still making light of the situation in a way that clearly grated on Bellini’s nerves. His smirk—half amusement, half disdain—was a perfect reflection of the disarray he had stirred, as though the chaotic air of the room were merely a personal stage for his performance. Azura suppressed a sigh, glancing briefly at Deianira, whose sharp focus was now on the aftermath of the outburst. Azura’s attention remained fixated on Cha-Cha. He had been seated next to her when Bellini burst into the room and by the way his eyes had flown open, it was clear he had been as surprised by the sudden intrusion as the rest of them. Something she imagined to be quite odd for a man who had the power to sense each mind around him. Were there just too many minds for him to have detected Bellini’s approaching? Or, was this as it had been earlier when she tested the waters of directing her thoughts towards him and he hadn’t reacted? Was there something wrong with his Legilimency?
  
  Her brow furrowed as the scene unfolded. Bellini’s accusations, his vehemence… It was hard to miss how strongly he was convinced of Cha-Cha’s guilt, but Azura couldn’t make sense of it. Why did Bellini seem so certain that it was Cha-Cha behind the arson? And why had he gotten so personal, so quickly? She didn’t know the full story yet, but something told her there was more at play than a simple argument over a fire.
  
  When Bellini stormed out, still muttering insults under his breath, Azura's lips pressed into a thin line though one corner did pull ever so slightly with the whisper of a smirk. She gave Cha-Cha a fleeting look as she considered the man before her now and how freely he accepted making his spat a public spectacle, the way he seemed almost immune to any potential consequences. It was something she could almost see flickers of herself within, moments when her fiery spirit would lash out as scorching words that would bounce from language to language. While Azura knew she had the experience and reputation to backup almost any outburst she might have she couldn’t help but wonder where Cha-Cha had gotten the confidence for his own. What is it that keeps him afloat in this sea of his own making?
  
  As Bakshi moved to change the subject, Azura couldn’t help but feel the weight of the air shift, the tension still thick from Bellini’s outburst. She leaned back slightly in her seat, eyes narrowing as the headmaster’s words finally reached her. Auguste Lovell. Another name? The words were like a puzzle piece falling into place, but the picture they painted was one she wasn’t sure she could decipher yet. Deianira’s voice broke through the haze of Azura’s thoughts, and she blinked, turning her attention fully toward her colleague as she questioned the announcement. The sharpness in her tone made Azura’s lips twitch upward ever so slightly—Deianira had an undeniable directness to her, a quality Azura found both refreshing and admirable.
  
  Azura straightened, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Exactly. A second name is... unconventional, to say the least. It would imply that something unexpected happened to Mr. Badeaux.” She tilted her head, her cognac eyes scanning the room for any clues that might give insight into this new development. “While this is a competition I would not expect this base level of fairness to be shifted so heavily in Beauxbatons favor without cause. There must be more to this.” Her gaze shifted from Deianira to Professor Chimere, and she allowed a hint of inquiry to settle in her tone. “Professor Chimere, would you care to enlighten us? I imagine Beauxbatons’ decisions are not made lightly, and you would know best the context in which this second name has come forward.”
  
  Azura was careful not to give too much away—though there was genuine curiosity behind her question, she wasn’t above prodding when it came to things that didn’t sit right with her. This, however, was a topic that had the potential to change the course of the tournament, and Azura would not allow herself to be caught unaware again, not after all the intricacies that had already unfolded. Her thoughts flickered back briefly to the chaos that had just transpired between Bellini and Cha-Cha and then to the fate of the late Odinson Lockjaw. Could this have been another distraction? A show for us to bicker over while something far larger is at play? She glanced once more at the Castelobruxo professor, her expression unreadable. For the moment, she would focus on the bigger picture—on the reason they were all here. The tournament. Focus on what's ahead, focus on what you can try to control. For now, at least. The potions master told herself in order to focus her mind back onto the announcement at hand rather than falling down the rabbit hole of 'what ifs'. But even as she tried to focus, a flicker of uncertainty danced at the edges of her mind. There was no ignoring the fact that the tournament—this twisted, dangerous game they were all a part of—was already well underway. And if this was only the beginning of what was to come, then Azura knew she would likely need to steel herself and her students for far worse before the end.
  
  
  
  Mentions: Cha-Cha Aviator Deianira Pyroclast Angelique Wolfiee
  
  
  
  
  TEMPLATE © BOKEH
  

 

[TobiornotTobi]

Darweshi Nyache​

Room 220​

"Who needs Ozempic?"​

---

Darweshi had been among the first to arrive at Room 220, his earliness spurred by a need to take his mind off current events. Vergil's presence had opened up a wound, and all wounds required a remedy. Attending meetings was still very low on the list of activities he enjoyed, but being in the presence of people had a tendency to uplift Darweshi's spirits. To Darweshi, talking to and learning about others was just as fun as sitting in the midst of them, taking in the friendly atmosphere. And Room 220 was abuzz with activity when the foreign professor stepped inside, the few other early arrivals conversing about the meeting's topics. All eyes turned to the door to look at the new arrival before some returned to their original position. Others perked up at the sight of a face they had never seen before, wearing robes unfamiliar to them. One man in particular excused himself from two colleagues before walking over and introducing himself as Headmaster Bakshi. Once again confronted with the question of where he was during the opening ceremony, the man gave Darweshi a concerned look at the mention of his upset stomach. In hindsight, he may have oversold his explanation with colorful phrases such as 'triple flusher' and 'It was like expunging a demon from my guts'.

"You have a beautiful school," Darweshi commented in hopes of bringing things back to normalcy. "I have heard many good things about Ilvermorny. Is it true that there is a snakewood tree somewhere on the school's grounds?" It was common knowledge in the wizarding world that snakewood was an incredibly powerful and versatile ingredient. The wood was famous for creating powerful wands, and additionally, it was a potent healing agent when used to create medicine. Bakshi perked up at the change in topic and Darweshi was treated to a history lesson about Ilvermorny's founders and their connection to Salazar Slytherin. The burial of the wizard's wand birthed the snakewood tree that many sought out for its healing leaves. And Darweshi, still trying to follow his father's footsteps, hoped he could acquire some for his own use. Unfortunately, Bakshi didn't give him a direct answer, as his colleagues were beckoning to return, but perhaps they could speak about it after the meeting. Before returning to his original conversation, the Headmaster directed Darweshi's across the room, where hot trays of food had been set up. The smell of fried food reminded Darweshi of his immense hunger, and it took great restrain to not descend upon the food like a ravenous hyena. Instead, he walked over and plotted his meal. Seven pigs in a blanket were complimented by a mountain of fries, while a cup of tea was his choice of a beverage. He had just poured some green tea into a red cup when the surface of the liquid shook. Half a second later, it shook again. Darweshi couldn't shake the image of a large creature approaching a watering hole as the cause for the disturbance, and his vivid imagery came to life as he turned around and was greeted with a man whose belly rivalled even Darweshi's approaching the refreshments table. The Uagadou professor was hardly one to speak, with his own stomach, but the big backed individual lumbering over looked as if his robes would burst at any minute. He was a white man with black hair slicked back in a ponytail and about the same height as Darweshi.

"I couldn't help but eavesdrop earlier, but you're one of the visiting professors, right?" The man began, a friendly smile on his face. Before Darweshi could confirm the fact, his new acquaintance reached out with a hand. "Vincent Danvers, Potions," He stated. Now sporting a smile of his own, Darweshi reached out and shook his hand. "Darweshi Nyache, and I also teach Potions class!" Professor Danvers' smile grew even broader on his pudgy face. "Always a pleasure to meet another Potions professor! And might I add, that doesn't seem to be the only similarity we share!" A sausage shaped index finger pointed at both his and Darweshi's big bellies. The Ilvermorny professor had a stomach that would better suit a pregnant woman, and he picked out his food like he was eating for two. As he continued to speak, corn dogs filled his plate like lumber after chopping down an entire forest. After squirting a lake's worth of ketchup on the side, Danvers made his retreat. "Walk with me, Darweshi," He beckoned. Both amused by the man's forwardness and concerned he could have a heart attack at any second, Darweshi followed and joined his fellow professor at one of the big tables. Once seated, Darweshi popped a pig in a blanket into his mouth and entered a fast food euphoria. He hadn't eaten in so long that anything would have tasted like it was hand-crafted by the finest chefs. Curiously, Professor Danvers didn't immediately gorge himself upon his bounty. Instead, he procured a vial containing a thin blue liquid from inside his robe and presented it to his companion. "This stuff, it's gonna change your life, brother."

Darweshi watched as his American counterpart chugged down the entire vial and as if like magic, the protruding midsection that united the two shrank before his very eyes. The big man's entire body shrank as well, the pounds melting off his body until the dark blue and red robes that threatened to tear apart now hung loosely upon his shoulders. Darweshi stared wide-eyed at the transformed professor, who looked more attractive without all the extra weight. "So, what do you think? Just like that, I'm all emptied out and ready to eat! All thanks to Dr. Pinguis' Thinning Elixir! If you want, I could hook you up!" He leaned in close. "I can cut you a good deal, got like 4 cartons of these in my office!"

The last thing the Kenyan expect from this day was to be sold magical weight loss potions, but here he was. While the 'elixir' offered way for Darweshi to silence Anima's comments about his belly, he wondered how many potions would he need to drink a day to keep his figure. "I'll...think about it," He finally answered. From there, Darweshi continued to eat and watch as the other professors arrived. The three who piqued his interest were an older professor who practically towered over everyone else, a very young professor, and Azura Ito. Darweshi fought off the urge to wave like a fan boy and continued to eat until a confrontation between two late arrivals stole the attention of everyone in the room. Apparently, the younger man was responsible for the burnt down room Darweshi had passed by while walking with Vasu. Despite the evidence already clearing him, Professor Bellini spoke of the contrary with anger that was eroding the pleasant vibe in the room. Bakshi's permission to silence himself and apologize didn't do any better for the room, as everyone awkwardly tried not to put eyes on the bickering professors. The Kenyan's curiosity got the better of him and he was treated to a total power swap. Now, it was Professor Bellini who was confident in Cha-Cha's frustration. As the older man chewed the younger out, Darweshi saw similarities in the scene to some of his own, while working as Professor Jengo's aid. The younger Darweshi was always finding himself as Jengo's chewing toy, forced to endure his scolding, chastising, and being talked down to whenever something went wrong in his life. Especially in front of others, to Darweshi's embarrassment. Innocent or not, Darweshi felt for the younger professor, whose dirty laundry was aired out in front of the wrong crowd.

After that particular wreck, a female professor spoke up about the matter and Darweshi silently agreed, rising up for seconds. Passing by Professor Danvers, who was on his fourth plate by now, Darweshi heard the news of the Goblet of the Fire introducing a new name. Something must have happened to the original holder of the title as Beauxbaton's champion, but it was of no matter. Bring as many new students as you want, none of them will be a match for my Malaika, Darweshi thought to himself with a smile, collecting what few sliders remained onto his plate.

 

[Wolfiee]

Malaika Odion

Uagadou Champion

location here

mood here

outfit here

interactions

Gavriel Sanctuaryforall1

Malaika couldn’t help but grin brightly nodding in agreement about feeling dumb about not recognizing one another sooner.”I’m pretty sure it was the lights, nerves, and just the circumstances.”she said with a laugh so they both could feel better about it. She watched her friends' hair and eyes change with excitement. It was truly a sight to see in person. She understood her friends' thoughts on the ability a little now being able to change so easily certainly could at times put some nerve wracking thoughts in one’s brain. Mala herself didn’t even have that ability but she felt a flicker of fear of what if during a change a feature didn’t return to the original state what if that happened every time until at some point she no longer looked like herself. Those thoughts could be saved for later for now it was time for excitement and of new discoveries into their friendship. A nod came from her before opening her arms, a clear sign of acceptance of a hug from Gavriel. She wasn’t a huge hugger but she certainly wouldn’t deny Gavy one especially after meeting in person for the first time ever. “Yes! Getting to meet in person is wonderful and especially now of all times. Who would have thought we’d meet up like this.”she said with a grin. “Ah yes I am the Uagadou champion. I was honestly surprised when I was chosen! You are also a champion correct?”she asked with a proud smile.


As they began walking she listened to everything Gavriel was telling her all the details even the smallest bit was being stored within her mind. It was a useful thing and she was glad for it because if they did become separated or if anything happened she’d want a quick way of getting out. Now she’d have that by remembering what all Gavy said. As her friend described everything she watched the features of her friend's face soften and change at times. She couldn’t help but grin at the purr in Gavriels voice about using her feminine charms to gain access to these caves.”I think you could charm a paper bag.”she teased her but was also a bit admiring of what all her friend could accomplish. It didn’t seem like much time had passed before they were at their destination or at least the beginning of it. She nodded while listening about why the caves were off limits.”That’s a bit sad but I think everywhere has things like this happen. Plus we should be fine.”she said referring to the younger students not returning. They might be excited but they weren’t little children who would easily get harmed plus Gavriel knew the way already. A flick of her finger had a small orb of light floating in front of it her version of Lumos as she didn’t need a wand and knew Gavriel wouldn’t be uncomfortable like many others were seeing wandless magic in use.


Their conversation varied in topics as they walked but all of it was pleasant and pleasantly ran smoothly without any hitches. It seemed like forever but while talking it took no time at all at the same time. When Gavriel asked if she was ready a smile split her face.”I am more than ready.”she said eagerly. Her eyes widened when the moss was pushed gently aside to reveal what was hidden behind. It was more than she had been expecting and soft blue eyes took in everything it was magical in its own way which was a hard feat when your life was already full of magic. When the next words out of Gavriels mouth were asking her if she’d like to swim she nodded.”Yes I would be a fool to say no.”she said with a playful laugh. Who would deny such an experience when there was good company and a beautiful spot to enjoy an adventure.

coded by natasha.

 

[TobiornotTobi]

Sigurd Berg​

Ilvermorny Library​

"There you are, Piper."​

---

Sigurd was a few steps away from his new acquaintances when the familiar voice of Professor Einar grasped his attention. Sigurd turned around and saw that his objective was in the dining hall all along. As he was conversing with Kiara and watching as she dealt with the unruly Ilvermorny boy, a ring of students had been hiding Professor Einar and Piper. Turning around and following the sound of his professor's voice, Sigurd's hour long mission was finally completed. An entrance into the ring was formed and Sigurd's heart sank at the sight of his injured secondary. Sigurd had no clue to what extent Piper had been hurt, but it was enough that he, along with Kiara, were tasked with standing watch over him. Sigurd, his upper lip stiff as always, agreed with a nod to his professor. As soon as he had departed for his meeting, Sigurd turned back around to get a good look at Piper. His classmate looked completely out of it and Sigurd had no idea where to begin getting back to normal. If there was a visible wound, he could cast a spell and do something about it, but that work seemed to have already been done. If Piper could voice his problem, Sigurd could take steps to solve it. But Piper sat silently in a miasma of the mind, leaving Sigurd at a pause. His first instinct was to try and coax some answers about anything regarding the past 24 hours, but with Piper's condition and general disposition, he knew that would be an issue.

Piper Katzenbach was timid. Brilliant, but timid. On the off chance that he spoke up in class, his answers almost always rang true. But those moments where he felt confident enough to answer a question aloud were far and few in between. Outside of class, he spent some time with the Winter twins and the rest of it alone. Sigurd would know, because he found himself staring at the soft spoken Katzenbach often. A hobby of Sigurd's he developed during his first year at Durmstrang was observing their interactions and trying to come to conclusions. Piper was somebody Sigurd shared similarities with, they both needed their moments to shine. They were going to make a good team, Sigurd was sure of it. Piper's intellect, with some force behind it, would take them far. But at the moment, he was of no use. As he emerged from his analytical contemplation, Sigurd watched as Kiara once again hastily took command of a social situation, attending to Piper like an old friend. Sigurd silently thanked her for stepping in and assisting where he could not, up until her ploy to keep an eye on Piper. The champion was whole-heartedly against the idea. Piper needed rest and to be away from over excessive stimuli, and Sigurd himself needed to make preparations for the tournament. Memorize spells and techniques, familiarize himself with competitors, the latter task becoming more difficult without Piper's help. But alas, Sigurd was yet again clay in Ms. Sinclaire's hands, following her command to help Piper up and assist him to the library. Standing side by side with his classmate made Sigurd very much aware of the four inch difference in their heights. As they walked, Kiara began asking questions, and Piper's response proved Sigurd's theory of mental instability wrong. However, his stammering and general anxiety left Sigurd impatient for answers. At Piper's reporting of his uncharacteristic actions, Sigurd looked up in his direction. Skipping class, for a girl? A girl he must have known for only one night? He could only hope that this didn't get in the way of his duties to the Durmstrang team.

Rows and rows of books greeted the trio upon reaching their destination. The Ilvermorny library was like any other library, and like any other library for Sigurd, it felt like home. Countless hours at Durmstrang were spend nestled up in a corner, a variety of books stacked around him like a fortress. He had always been a voracious reader, and his school's massive library only encourage his thirst for knowledge. And Father's absence had been steadily draining his inclination to avoid...pulpier reads. In Ragnar Berg's words, fiction was a waste of time that only bore daydreams and idle fantasies. Sigurd broke the staring contest Piper and him had found themselves embroiled in to settle his classmate into a seat. While Kiara gravitated towards a book and began to read, Sigurd took the chair next to Piper and crossed his arms, keeping an eye on his unsteady teammate. Glancing away at Kiara's question, Sigurd silently thought over it. He had no clue what the first challenge had in store for him, but Piper seemed to have an answer. The talk of running and fire could be the answer received from Professor Einar to snag an advantage in preparations, but it could also be the words from one who was the victim of some sort of injury. Lacking time to entertain theories, Sigurd instead cut to the chase. "What happened back there, Piper? Did it just occur by itself, or did someone do that to you?"

As Piper retreated into himself, thinking up a response, Sigurd turned back towards the firebrand of the day, Kiara. "Forgive me for asking," He said in a hushed tone. "But what made you deal with that boy from earlier the way you did?" At the soft calling of his name, Sigurd turned around and locked eyes with Piper as he asked about the subject of possessions. His verbal responses were improving, thankfully. And finally, Sigurd was in his element. A question was presented, and he was more than happy to dispense knowledge. Perking up a little, Sigurd nodded to Piper. Possession was an entire subject of its own, but he could at least give a base definition. "At its most based core, possession is the acquisition of something, typically a body, performed through intrusive means. One creature's will is imposed upon another, and the first emerges victorious, taking its prize. The former owner of whatever was possessed is then suppressed in their own body. But is there anything in particular you want to know about possessions?"

 

[WanderLust.]

THEODORE WEST
HOGWARTS CHAMPION

Panic

Ilvermorny Dormitory

Rita honeycoves Altair TobiornotTobi

Click Me

Theo’s attention was momentarily drawn away from the bronze pocket watch at Chitrita’s behest. Was she calling his name again? That melodic voice sounded in his ears like a siren’s song, chilling and seductive. The image of the two of them intertwined on his bed came to the forefront of his mind, his fingers entangled in her ebony hair as their lips melded together in a passionate kiss. And yet, there was something almost involuntary about it. As if the image was demanding to be witnessed by a captive audience. It was all Theo could do not to lose himself in the vision before Chitrita’s voice, her real voice, lured him back into the present.

It had happened again. That lapse in reality. Those persistent thoughts that were distinctly foreign, thoughts that didn’t belong to him slipping their way into his mind and displaying themselves like a film on a cinema screen. The first incident had occurred with Arif, and now again with Rita. Admittedly, there was a part of Theo that felt smug in the assurance that she was fantasizing about him in such a way. But the other part of him, the larger part, was petrified, chilled to the bone with the knowledge that he may very well be inheriting his family’s curse. Theo wanted nothing to do with this legilimency, had actively gone out of his way to prevent such an occurrence, mastering the skills of occlumency to combat any unwanted influence. And yet it seemed it had all been for naught.

"Altair, this is Theo. He's the champion for Hogwarts. He's my — friend.”

He would be lying if he claimed he didn’t notice her hesitation. Had she been torn between the word ‘friend’ and the word ‘acquaintance?’ They had known each other just short of 24 hours, ‘friend’ was a leap - even for her. And yet, they had gotten quite friendly with one another last night. But she had said the word ‘my’ without room for indecision. Evidently she was confident in the knowledge that Theo belonged to her in one form or another. He wasn’t entirely certain he could argue the alternative.

“Theo, this is Altair. He came in from Mahoutokoro this morning. He's...my classmate. We're under strict orders to stick together."

Theo turned his head slightly at the introduction, allowing his dark gaze to drag menacingly over the other male in the room. If looks could kill, Altair would’ve been unresponsive on the floor. “I’d say it’s a pleasure,” Theo placed the pocket watch on the desk beside his trunk, “But, quite frankly, it hasn’t been.” He didn’t spare an apologetic look to either of them as he fished through his clothes for a black shirt, slipping the garment on with a little effort, carefully concealing every wince of pain behind a grimace of what appeared to be disinterest.

Rita, like Theo, was annoyingly observant, brushing past him to make herself comfortable on his bed as she caught a closer look at the discarded pocket watch. Her inquiry was met with hesitation, and for the briefest of moments, his brows furrowed. He debated fabricating a lie to better explain the object he had found in his trunk, but ultimately decided against it. “I don’t know.” His tone was measured, calculated, like he was playing a game of chess - perpetually defensive and aloof.

“Do you have a girlfriend in the Highlands you've conveniently forgot to mention?” Thankfully, her final comment gave him an excuse to change the subject.

“Jealous, are we, Rita?” he clicked his tongue as though he were chastising her for such an implication, “It’s cute on you.” That lazy smirk of his returned. It was easier to flirt with her than to actually entertain her inquisitions.

Something washed over him then, something dark and consuming. Something that tied his stomach in knots and brought a cold sweat to his forehead. Guilt. It poured off of her in droves, so potent it almost made Theo’s skin crawl. What was she so damn guilty about? He felt sick to his stomach, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the cold, polished wood of the upper bunk as he tried to quiet his mind - only it wasn’t his mind that needing quieting, it was Rita’s.

“Stop it.” the words were inaudible, there was virtually no chance either Rita or Altair heard the silent command, at least, not this time. But his pleading fell on deaf ears as that feeling of guilt became accompanied by images. Brief flashes of Vasu Saini’s face. A ring. A potion slipped into a drink. Their kiss in the Ilvermorny corridors. Each image flashed before him like fireworks until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Theo? Are you hungry?”

Theo’s fist slammed into the bed frame with such force that it jostled the whole bunk. He paused for a moment as pain radiated through his good arm, the impact leaving bright red welts on his knuckles. But that pain pulled him back into reality, and where once he had been drowning he was now able to tread water. “Yes.” He made no attempt to explain his outburst, intentionally glossing over it as he headed towards the door to the dorm with a steady gate. “I’m starving. Let’s get out of here.”

Whether Rita or Altair chose to follow after Theo or remain in the dorm, he didn’t care. He progressed through the halls like a man on a mission, his breath coming in slightly ragged and uneven. With every step he tried to build up his mental walls just like his father had taught him, brick by brick until there was nothing but black adamant, impenetrable and thick as a fortress. “Breathe.” He commanded himself, growling the word harshly under his breath. If Rita and Altair were following him, he wouldn’t let them see him unravel like this. He absolutely refused to let on that the great Theodore West was, in fact, fallible and flawed.

coded by natasha.

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

• Professor Einar

• 
  
  
  
  Professor Birger Einar
  Durmstrang - Male - Pureblood - History of Magic Professor
  
  
  
  Einar had arrived early, as he often did. There was something about the calm before the storm of introductions and conversations that suited him. When he was young, prior to marriage, Einar had no qualms when it came to thinking things through, probably because he only thought as far as the next big thing whether it be a battle, investigation, or simply his next dring/lay. In his later years, he had grown to prefer a quiet space to gather his thoughts, especially in moments like this when the weight of the recent events still lingered heavily on his mind.
  
  Icy blue eyes scanned the room as the other professors trickled in, each one carrying their own air of authority and experience. His gaze lingered briefly on Azura as she entered, her beauty undeniable, a presence that seemed to command the space around her. It wasn’t just her striking features that drew attention; it was the way she moved, the quiet intensity in her eyes that spoke of wisdom and power. Einar respected her, admired her from a distance. She was always composed, never a moment’s hesitation in her step. But it wasn’t just Azura’s grace that caught his attention; it was the subtle shift in the air whenever she spoke, the quiet storm that swirled around her every word. When he was a young auror he had the pleasure of running into Azura and Akihito during a mission and knew several aurors who had worked with Akihito over the past several decades. It broke his heart for the beautiful woman before him to know the pain she must be enduring even now, six months after losing the husband she had spent centuries walking beside. Briefly images of Alva flashed through his mind, he thought of her every day, before he blinked and his thoughts shifted again.
  
  The tension in the room, though still palpable, had yet to peak and felt all too much like a spark about to ignite. His thoughts drifted to Clara and Cosmo, the two students he had worked closely with and who, under any other circumstances, might have proven to be formidable in the upcoming tournament. A frown formed upon the bearded face of the old man as he sat in thought, his grip tight upon his cane. Their sudden expulsion, tied to the fire in the abandoned room, still felt wrong. Einar knew something wasn’t adding up. There was too much speculation, too many unanswered questions. His thoughts were interrupted as Cha-Cha sauntered into the room, all swagger and laid-back ease, as though the world had nothing to offer but an opportunity for amusement.
  
  Einar’s lips curved in a small smile, but it was tempered by the undeniable knowledge that Cha-Cha would never look at him with the same fondness he had for the other professor. Einar wasn’t blind, he could see the storm that brewed behind the young professor's eyes each time they interacted. It was clear enough to the Old Wolf that his former student held little fondness in his heart regarding their past despite Einar doing his best to look out for the young boy who had once been his student. Einar knew that Cha-Cha, despite his wild behavior, wasn’t an unkind soul, he had his moments of genuine warmth. But the younger professor didn’t seek connection in the same way that Einar did. He’d always maintained an air of distance, as if everything around him were a game, with no real need to form lasting attachments. Einar sometimes wondered if that’s what kept him from fully engaging with those who sought to understand him, himself included. It was as though the boundaries Cha-Cha put up were impenetrable to anything more than the surface.
  
  And yet, Einar couldn’t help but feel a sort of fondness for the man, a protective, almost grandfatherly sentiment. He recognized the rough edges of Cha-Cha’s spirit, the unpolished facets that few ever saw. Einar had seen that same carelessness in his own youth, a time when he, too, had been indifferent to the idea of close bonds and setting down roots. But that was long ago…now, he couldn’t help but wish Cha-Cha would open up more, trust others with the man he truly was. Still, he didn’t press, respecting the boundaries the younger professor had so carefully constructed.
  
  As the room filled with more familiar faces, Einar’s thoughts drifted back to the troubling matter of the twins. He had watched them grow, their promise evident from the very first moment they had stepped into his class. Clara had an intuition for magic, a sharpness that could cut through the most difficult concepts. Cosmo had a bold, measured brilliance—a steady hand that was rare for one so young. Together, they had been a force to be reckoned with. Yet now, they were gone, their futures uncertain. The reason? The fire that had consumed the abandoned room. A fire that Bellini, in his usual haste, had blamed on Cha-Cha. From the stories and a few handful of interactions the two had engaged in over the years Einar knew Bellini’s tendencies all too well. His accusations had been quick, forceful, and without room for explanation. Despite the lack of hard evidence, the twins were expelled, their names tarnished by association. Einar couldn’t let go of the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong in how that situation had been handled.
  
  His musings were interrupted by Bellini’s arrival. The tension between the two professors was immediate and unmistakable. Cha-Cha barely acknowledged the older man, his eyes flicking over the room as if searching for something more interesting. Bellini, on the other hand, was all sharp angles and controlled fury. He wasted no time in making his displeasure known, his words directed at Cha-Cha with an intensity that could have set the air aflame. The two exchanged barbs over several minutes of the unexpected display, but as his glacier-blue gaze watched on with interest Einar chose not to interject. He knew that, at least for now, this spat was not his to mediate. He didn’t need to intervene, especially when there were more pressing matters at hand. The conversation around the table shifted towards the Beauxbatons champion or better known as the 'new' champion. The news that Beauxbatons had introduced a new name was unexpected and Einar felt a rising sense of intrigue.
  
  “If the Goblet of Fire has chosen a new name for Beauxbatons then who are we to challenge it?” Einar remarked, his voice calm but authoritative. “Though I wonder…does it sense something that we are unaware of? We all know the Goblet is not merely an object of chance. It has a deeper connection to the currents of fate. Perhaps this shift, this unexpected change, speaks to something greater than we can see.” His words slipped from his lips like calm rolling thunder in the mountains, no harshness laced into them though they held a level of curiosity. As his words hung in the air and the room quieted for a moment each professor seemed to be weighing the implications of what the others had said. “This isn't the first time that the Goblet has surprised us,” Einar continued, his gaze steady. “The tournament has always been a strange sort of mirror, reflecting not just the champions but the deeper currents at play in the world of magic. If the Goblet has chosen a new champion, perhaps it’s a sign that we are being led toward something none of us fully understand yet. Perhaps there are forces at work—forces outside our comprehension—that the Goblet has perceived that we cannot? It isn't our place to debate the decree of the Goblet unless it truly endangers the lives of those involved.” He stated, his words firm but not unkind.
  
  Feeling content with his speech Einar leaned back slightly in his chair, his thoughts still lingering on Clara and Cosmo. Their absence left a gap in his heart, but he would not allow their untimely expulsion to distract him from the bigger picture. Whatever mysteries the Goblet had sensed, whatever strange, unseen currents were pushing things in unexpected directions, it was something they would all need to face. He would need to ensure that Sigurd and Piper were prepared for whatever lay ahead. He refused to fail them as he had Clara and Cosmo. For now, though, his mind returned to the present. The spat between Cha-Cha and Bellini had died down, but the unease lingered in the air, as thick as smoke from the fire that had started it all. Einar watched the others in the room, his eyes dancing over towards Darweshi who seemed to be one of the few professors smiling after hearing the news of a new champion entering the games. In the few interactions the two had had so far Einar could already sense he would enjoy the man’s company but the bold unbothered air that hung around the Uagadou professor served as a reminder of that fact.
  
  
  Mentions: Cha-Cha Aviator Darweshi TobiornotTobi
  
  
  
  
  TEMPLATE © BOKEH
  

 

[Aviator]

Chahaya “Son of a Bitch” Arif // “Second-Rate Thug” // Male // Age 32 // Castelobruxo Professor // Legilimens
​

As the other professors went back and forth speculating on the meaning of the Goblet’s decision, Cha-Cha picked at his small mountain of fries and lamented that the only choices of condiment were ketchup and mustard, neither of which he liked. The fries were thick, oversalted, and a little bit soggy, but some sambal could have turned them around. Or peanut sauce. Instead, he ate them plain, until his interest in the White Castle sliders won out and he abandoned the fries. Meanwhile, he quietly sorted through the arguments the other professors presented and formulated his opinions on them.
Another Ilvermorny professor was the first to speak after Headmaster Bakshi, her quick words nearly clipping his heels. She was an alluring blend of ethnicities tarnished by an American accent. Cha-Cha had caught her alternating between a hot glare and a pucker-lipped wince during his showdown with Bellini. Her argument was forceful and unapologetic, as if she couldn’t imagine a world in which she was wrong and she was barely reigning in her outrage at the unfairness of it all. Another American railing against a contest stacked against her. How original, he thought drily, biting back a smile as the woman demanded answers from the Beauxbatons professor.
Cha-Cha thought of his very first unicorn race. He’d been in his fifth year at Koldovstoretz, shoveling horseshit in a stable for a few rubles a day, turning a blind eye to the bets placed on animals that were forbidden from sport. One Saturday morning, his employer—a little old Russian babushka named Gennadiya with a sour mouth and a knot of white hair piled atop her head—had approached him, saying she’d pay him triple his hourly wage if he filled in for her jockey, who’d been suddenly hospitalized with pneumonia. Broke, unable to resist such an offer and thrilled by the danger, Cha-Cha had taken a second to look reluctant for decency’s sake and then enthusiastically agreed. Before then, he’d ridden the horses and unicorns in the stable a handful of times, really only when they needed a guide to coax them back from the pasture. In the next few hours until the race started, Gennadiya walked him through a proper mount, how to use the crop to urge the beast onward without hurting him, how to hang on without falling off and lean into turns and beat an opponent to the inside rail.
A light drizzle had started, which turned into sleet, and right as Cha-Cha was leading his unicorn—a buckskin originally named a Russian word that sounded like Sputnik and that Cha-Cha had eventually renamed Kepo—to the starting gate, it’d accelerated into a mild blizzard. The goggles Gennadiya had given him felt too tight on his face, the argyle silver-and-gold racing silk too loose. His legs were trembling from a week’s worth of training crammed into four hours. He remembered the sleek smoothness of Kepo’s dark mane between his ungloved fingers as he squinted at the track between gusts of snow. The wail of the starting bell, punching adrenaline through him. Cha-Cha, a fifteen-year-old boy who barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet and who’d learned to ride four hours ago, had finished in seventh place out of nine. It was the day when any notion of fairness in competition had been stamped out of Cha-Cha’s mind to the drumming beat of many unicorn hooves moving fast and at once.
He twisted in his seat to look at Ito, who was sitting next to him. She drummed her fingers on the table as she began to speak, as if she was leery of the sudden attention cast upon her. A peculiar tic for a woman who’d been teaching since Cha-Cha was a student to exhibit, but maybe the new environment and the high stakes were throwing her off. She suggested that something untoward had befallen the initial Beauxbatons champion so that he might require a replacement. Cha-Cha wasn’t so sure about this; he had a feeling that if they consulted Chimere, she’d attest to seeing her ward eating breakfast in the cafeteria this morning or walking to class, right as rain. He vaguely remembered seeing a blank-faced blond boy representing Beauxbatons take the stage last night at the Opening Ceremony, and he hadn’t looked deathly ill. Far from it, actually, from the way he’d been wordlessly wolfing down the banquet.
Just when it seemed like they might get answers from Chimere at last, Old Man Einar jumped into the conversation. Goddammit, you wizened buffoon! Let the woman who’s most informed speak and save your empty conjecturing for History of Magic, Cha-Cha seethed, suddenly feeling like a pot ready to boil over with anger, hot and irrepressible. Over the course of the past day, he was coming to realize that the voice of his former mentor consistently had that effect on him. Cha-Cha set his half-eaten slider down, thumped back in his chair with a little too much vigor, and crossed his arms as he leveled a hard stare at Einar. When the graying Norwegian man alluded to nebulous “forces at work” that were beyond understanding, Cha-Cha’s eyes narrowed. Yeah, that sounds rich coming from the guy who accepted Russian blood money to turn students into weapons so that one of them would win the last tourney, he thought derisively. Why question mysterious practices when you’re making bank from them?
Cha-Cha wondered what kind of financial compensation Einar was receiving to train Clara and Cosmo Winter, until he remembered that they had been ousted from the tournament. He petulantly hoped their public disgrace would result in a cut in Einar’s pay. Or better yet, his own dismissal from the tournament. When Einar rambled to an end, the collective gazes of the room shifted to Chimere in unison. She had streaks of silver in her hair, a healthy golden complexion, buxom assets, and false eyelashes so long and sharp that they could be used as improvised weapons. Cha-Cha couldn’t help thinking that she looked like a wonderful mistake, and he turned a giggle into a cough, prompting a side-eye from Ito. It was too early in the game for that, and Chimere was too young. She couldn’t have been more than five years out of school. Was she even old enough to legally drink in America? Still, Cha-Cha eyed the various rings on her hands, the silver chain around her neck, and thought any one of them might make a nice addition to his closet full of lost trinkets left behind after nights with strangers.
Beneath the onslaught of attention, Chimere turned a fiery shade of red. She sputtered like a dying car, and her gaze jumped around, trying to find someplace safe to land and failing. She squeezed her plump lower lip between her teeth. Perhaps it was partly because she was pretty, but Cha-Cha sympathized with her. She hadn’t come into this room ready to be put on trial, and she must be feeling ambushed for answers she might not have. He came to her rescue. “If I may interject,” he said softly, unbothered by the heads that turned to him like beads on a string, “I think we are overlooking an important issue. Contrary to what Professor Einar has suggested”—he couldn’t resist correcting the son of a bitch—“this new champion’s name is not the second that the Goblet of Fire has produced, but the first. Last night the other champions were all chosen by the four Ilvermorny House statues, and—please correct me if I’m wrong—this is the first instance that they have had a function beyond Sorting Ilvermorny students into Houses. Why is that?” This question was directed at Bakshi.
Headmaster Bakshi opened his mouth to speak, but Cha-Cha was on a roll. “What if this overturning of Mr. Badeaux’s champion status is one of several such incidents to occur in the coming week? If the Goblet’s opinion contradicts that of the Ilvermorny statues and it puts forth some other names, then will all of those schools have two champions? However.” Cha-Cha’s gaze was somewhere in the middle distance, unfocused, and he tipped his head onto one palm. He was thinking out loud at this point, brainstorming unrehearsed, somewhat tipsy ideas as they came to him. “What strikes me as interesting is that Mister Lovell was not part of the original delegation of Beauxbatons students, but altogether unchosen by his school for the tournament. Although I contend it was inappropriate to give the Ilvermorny statues authority over an international tournament, the Goblet of Fire’s unfounded decision suggests a fluke. Or a hijacking. And it’s a massive coincidence for the Ilvermorny statues to behave so out of character on their home turf not even a full day before. Whatever the case, I think it is a mistake to direct our scrutiny at Miss Chimere and Beauxbatons Academy.”
At this accusation that was not stated fully but so artfully implied, the room electrified like the air just before a thunderstorm. Cha-Cha’s eyes found the dark ones of the Ilvermorny professor who had answered Bakshi’s prompt first, pinning him beneath a withering stare. Or attempting to. He shot a playful wink at her. “By the way,” he drawled, maintaining eye contact with her. Oh, how he would kill for a peek inside her head right now. “Whatever happened to Miss Amity? Why is she not among us today? I thought she was Ilvermorny’s chaperone for the tournament.”
Headmaster Bakshi resembled a wilted flower. There was a pause before he answered, choosing his words with utmost care. “Professor Munroe has been deemed unfit to oversee the students of Ilvermorny. She’s been implicated in the… casualty… of a foreign student.”
A thick, suffocating blanket of silence punctuated this sentence. “Like, a kid is dead already?” Cha-Cha blurted it drunkenly and then immediately felt stupid for asking for clarification on the word casualty as if he didn’t know its meaning. “But the first challenge hasn’t even happened yet!”
“Yes, Mister Arif, that’s why this has been classified as a murder case,” Bakshi bit out, his nervousness giving way to agitation. Words rose to Cha-Cha’s lips, but the look that the Ilvermorny headmaster, fed up with this back-and-forth with one for whom he clearly had little respect, shot him was so lethal that he reconsidered.
“For those of you who are unaware, former Mahoutokoro champion Odinson Locjaw was found dead at three o’clock this morning on the terrace of the Astronomy tower, and Beauxbatons secondary Naomi de Vries was lying unconscious in close proximity to the corpse. After she was moved to the infirmary, one of the healers reported hearing her talking in her sleep, using Professor Munroe’s name in a troubling relation to the murder. While this evidence is far from conclusive, Ilvermorny administration thought it best to suspend Professor Munroe’s participation from the tournament until her innocence is proven. She is currently under guard until a team of Aurors arrives to question her.” Bakshi gestured at the woman sitting to his immediate right. “Taking her place—temporarily or permanently—is Professor Deianira Finch, Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor here at Ilvermorny.”

 

[honeycoves]

Faron Bellamy

@

profbells

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  01:45

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  saints

  
  
  
  

  echos

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  11:15

  
  

  :

  hogwarts

  
  
  

  new !

  
  

  
  
  
  

  where is your champion?

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  8:05

  
  

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  NOTIF

  
  
  

  older

  
  

  
  
  
  

  due for

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  mood

  
  

  Frustrated ?

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  location

  
  

  Room 220.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  outfit

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  tags

  
  

  Professors Pyroclast TobiornotTobi Aviator Sanctuaryforall1

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  details

  
  
  

  
  
  

!

details

Won't suspect a thing.

A woman greeted himself and Angelique. A woman who was suspiciously unfamiliar. This meeting had been called for the committee of international professors, had it not? Bellamy offered her a large smile in return to hers. Flashing the pearly whites was a favorite pastime of his in this form. Bellamy had insurmountable charm, and any problem seemed to be resolvable with some form of smile. He turned to Angelique, giving her a smile of her own. "Coffee?" He offered, making his way to the table of refreshments without waiting for an answer. With Angel in tow, he poured two mugs, passing one to her before keeping one for himself. He'd have carried it for her, but it made moving more complicated. He waited patiently for his companion to doctor her cup to her liking. His eyes found Cha-Cha, and he could only offer him a disdainful glare and a hardly repressed eyeroll when he was met with a cheeky kiss. Then, he took his seat, alongside Angel.

Sitting between Einar and Angel was honestly the ideal situation for himself, as he found himself looking at another professor who had not been there last night. Someone else who should not have been here. The first woman, with her full lips and bronze skin, had spoken with an American accent. Her presence could have been chalked up to an additional support staff from Ilvermorny, necessary for facilitating the tournament while staying at the castle. She was unfamiliar. But the woman he looked at now, he knew. It had been six years since he'd seen her, but he had always known that the next time he did she'd look the same. Professor Ito always looked the same. She was cursed they said... Or blessed, if you asked him. He peered at her cautiously over the lip of his mug as he sipped. Her presence could only mean one thing: someone sensed the presence of danger and changed the guard.

His attention was beckoned by screaming man, red-faced and dressed in a suit that looked too luxurious to belong to an American teacher. Yet, as his gaze slid from Ito to the angry man, who directed all his energy at Cha-Cha. He spit fiery accusations at the Castelobruxo professor with such conviction that anyone might believe him. Anyone that knew Chahaya probably did. Bellamy was unphased by the shift in energy, though he did raise an eyebrow when Bakshi revealed one of the champions had been dismissed from the competition. Already? He thought. Surely there would've been some sort of leniency for a champion of all people, but perhaps there was something larger at play. Or someone. His dark eyes settled on Cha-Cha again, watching as he and Bellini were enclosed by soundproof walls, presumably to resume the altercation without further interruption.

The woman who had greeted him shrieked her protests to Bakshi, Bellamy looked down at his watch. She was right, there was certainly a better use of their time. But she was wasting her breath insisting that something happened. It seemed that this was Chahaya's world and the rest of the professors were trapped in it. He waited for the scene to resolve, ready to move on. He set his cup of coffee down just as the group reconvened following Bellini and Chahaya's meltdown, raising his brow once more at another revelation of a student's exit. The woman who had greeted him began protesting almost instantly, demanding an answer from Angelique. He too turned a curious eye to her, though did not wish to turn up the pressure on the young woman. "Madame, tout va bien? Votre élève n’a pas de problèmes, n’est-ce pas?" He asked, his voice low to avoid any French-speaking eavesdroppers. Before she could even answer him, professors left and right began chiming in, offering their two cents just to redirect the question back to Angel. He found himself growing tired and frustrated for her, watching her blush and struggle to answer the questions fired at her over and over. The only person he really appreciated at this moment was the Uagadou professor who had yet to contribute to the group.

Then Cha-Cha just had to pipe up. He was redirecting the attention from Angel to the institutions of Ilvermorny and Beauxbatons themselves. Perhaps Cha-Cha was right. His eyes darkened at the thought of a universe where Chahaya could be a voice of reason and he reached for his mug once more, taking a long sip that was nearly spit out when Bakshi announced that another champion was no longer competing. This time, due to his own untimely death. He set his cup down harder than he meant to, spilling slightly. "And you've waited until now to tell us?" He asked the headmaster incredulously. "Three students— three champions— have been eliminated from the competition overnight," Almost a fourth, if it were up to Chahaya. He thought, pointedly. "I think the Goblet offering up another name is hardly of our concern!" He no longer wished to sit, but found himself too cramped in to rise as quickly as he wanted. He was stuck sitting.

Bellamy shot a look at Einar, very well knowing that their combined backgrounds as Aurors might have given them reason enough to get involved at this moment. "What's the girl's involvement? How long until the Aurors arrive?" The frustration in his voice and demeanor was mounting. He wanted to ask more questions, but too many risked him looking like a bumbling fool who could not sort his thoughts. He slouched forward, brooding over the revelation. He could manage one more question, without looking like a complete idiot. The one everyone was thinking:

"How are we to know that our students are safe, Headmaster?"

Ilvermorny was seeming more and more like a curse as the seconds ticked by. And perhaps that was a good thing.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Sanctuaryforall1]

• Aurelia Quansah

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  Aurelia Quansah
  Uagadou - Female - Pure Blood - Secondary
  
  
  
  A warm smile spread across Aurelia’s full lips as she watched Mey fawn over Chione and Amari. Between the two of them she could tell Amari was very pleased to be looked at, the African Fish Eagle she loved so dearly having a severe vanity streak running through her personality. Chione on the other hand was just content shoving her pretty pink nose against Mey’s fingers and looking up at the stranger with eyes that begged for Mey to crawl into bed and nap with her. Auri knew full well that if Chione had her way every day would consist of long cuddle sessions in bed while she slept and Auri read a good book. On the rare days she has the time to do so the young heiress-to-be always loved to make time for both of her beloved pets and appreciated the kind words Mey expressed towards them. “She is actually an African Fish Eagle.” Auri informed Mey as they journeyed towards the Koldovstoretz student's room with their arms once again linked while Auri’s other hand was occupied holding her broomstick. “Amari I mean.” She made sure to clarify. “Her species is found all over sub-Saharan Africa.” She added and smiled fondly as she remembered growing up watching African Fish Eagles as they majestically cut through the sky, skimmed over bodies of water, and scooped prey into their sharp talons. They were beautiful in every way and Auri found she never tired of watching them, especially Amari as she flew.
  
  As the duo reached Mey’s room Auri stood politely in the doorway, her onyx eyes watching as Mey sunk to her belly and began to reach under her bed in search of her broom. While she waited the young Uagadou secondary leaned her own broom against the wall and reached back pulling her braided locks over her shoulders to tie back in a thick ponytail made up of her dark braids. If they were about to be flying around as they intended she didn’t plan to get whipped across the face by her hair.
  
  The young heiress-to-be felt her heart flutter with sympathy as Mey spoke about not being allowed to have a pet. She couldn’t imagine life without her own animal companions. Sometimes it felt like Amari and Chione were the only two beings she could count on even in the smallest of ways. Her Grandmother and her parents certainly did their best to be dependable but so much weighed on the young woman's shoulders and more often than not they only added to the stress. She would never be one to complain though, she knew that their expectations were a sign of trust in her and in the future they intended for her to have, the future she had fought all her life to achieve. If it meant she had to shoulder a little, or a lot more, from day to day then so be it. But having Chione and Amari…it helped.
  
  As the two young women strolled down the staircase and through the halls of Ilvermorny Auri was more than happy to continue listening to Mey as she spoke about her life and her parents. “I can’t imagine going my life without watching a quidditch match.” She found herself admitting with a slight chuckle laced into her words when she listened to Mey talk about her mother not wanting to watch her play. “I mean, I know I was born into a family that is familiar with magic so it can be hard to imagine anything else…but quidditch is such a staple for everyone I know.” She admitted and shook her head realizing how silly she must sound to someone who grew up for years outside the world of magic. “Maybe one day she will come around, yeah? If not I know a great photographer who can capture some pictures of you flying that we can enchant to move.” She offered as though she and Mey had been friends for years and helping her was the most natural thing in the world.
  
  The subject at hand swiftly changed course as the door to the grounds swung open and both girls found themselves facing a downpour. Auri watched as a curtain of raindrops fell aggressively from the sky and smacked against the ground causing puddles everywhere. Tilting her head upwards she examined the clouds to search for any sign that the weather might break only to look back to earth as Mey rushed past her and into the rain with a smile on her rosy lips. A smile broke across Auri’s features as she found herself chuckling sweetly at Mey’s antics. “Absolutely.” She called out and soon found herself standing in the downpour, the rain pelting her hair and skin, soaking her clothes, but she didn’t mind one bit. She swung her leg over her broom and followed Mey up into the sky, her grip tight on the slick handle as they hovered in the air for a bit. “I think this would be perfect for the course.” Auri beamed knowing she was always up for a challenge. Upon hearing Mey’s shout about a race Auri nodded and shouted, “You’re on!”
  
  With that both young secondaries took off through the rainy sky. Auri gripped her broomstick tightly and maneuvered her body to adjust to the changes in wind so that she created the least resistance possible as she flew. The rain streaked over her, beads of water flying off of the flyer as she cut through the sky and soared towards the training course she had heard so much about. Ever so often she would glance over to see Mey and found herself relieved that the girl was a capable flyer who could handle the weather. The last thing she wanted was for Mey’s mother's fear to come true.
  
  As the course came into sight Auri blinked water from her onyx eyes and instantly veered off to navigate herself through an array of rotating pillars with rods sticking out to knock riders from their brooms if they weren’t quick enough to dodge them. It was meant to replicate the struggles of flying through trees and the need to be aware of ones surroundings at all times. Luckily for Auri she had been soaring on a broom through the Jungles of Mauritius Island since she was young and though it had taken a few hard hits for her to understand, she eventually built up the necessary reactive reflexes to remain aware and agile as she flew between trees.
  
  Once she finished her dash through the rotating pillars she looked around the course to see where Mey had gone. Her dark gaze scanned the rainy skies in hopes of catching a glimps of the young woman flying somewhere on the course. For an instant worry began to knot heavily in the pit of Aurelia's stomach when she failed to spot her companion in any of the obvious areas but as quick as the worry had appeared it vanished upon finally spotting Mey. The brunette was currently soaring through a section that simulated dodging bludgers and from the looks of it Mey was giving off an excellent performance. Once the Koldovstoretz student cleared that section of the course Auri sent out a shout of approval to be heard over the rain. "Hell yeah! You killed it!" She beamed and flew over to her fellow secondary. "Dodged a lot of bludgers in your day?" She joked with a nod of respect.
  
  
  
  Mentions: Mey honeycoves
  
  
  
  
  TEMPLATE © BOKEH
  

 

[Wolfiee]

Angelique Chimere

Professor

location here

mood here

outfit here

interactions

interactions come here

Angelique had been amused by Bellamy seeming unbothered; she'd take note of that for a later time. She looked around a little while waiting on Bellamy to finish getting dressed. Then once he was out she took his arm easily heading with him to the meeting they were running a little late for. A grin split her face when he offered her coffee and made her a cup before she even truly gave an answer. The rich aroma was heavenly as she sat down next to him waiting for the chaos to end so the meeting could truly start. She’d taken one sip before all hell broke loose and others were demanding answers from her. She felt anger pulsing through her; it was as if they were blaming her, accusing her of doing something to the cup. The only thing keeping her from lashing out was biting her lip even she could feel the heat rising in her face. Her gaze flicking to Bellamy who was speaking to her in their native tongue before she could even answer another professor was quick to jump on her side and raise another concern which was far more concerning.


There had been deaths of other champions yet she was getting yelled at? She felt the anger simmering again before she took a breath.”Before everyone jumps down my throat again. A medical condition has happened with my student just recently. I haven’t even had time to inform his family yet and if you think you are privy to that knowledge before his parents then you are sadly mistaken.”she said calmly but firmly. A black eye brow raising.”Though it seems we have a more important chat to be had then a student of Beauxbaton being ill. With some of your champions being dead.”she said a tad coldly considering they had just been upon her like vultures on a carcass. She then listened as everyone else seemed to jump in about all the situations at hand which seemed to be a lot. Her gaze flicked to Cha-cha though curious why he had come to her defense but the look in his eyes made it clear. Ah he found her attractive which didn’t bother her. She knew very well that she was attractive and on the slightly younger side. That just meant she could just as easily be interested and her type was always older men and women.

coded by natasha.

 

[WanderLust.]

LYSSA MONTISSERO
CASTELOBRUXO SECONDARY

Nervous

Ilvermorny - Dining Hall

Auguste Pyroclast

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It took everything Lyssa had not to let her cheeks burn a bright shade of pink when Auguste called her name pretty. Mostly, she was used to being called ‘Alyssa’ or even ‘Lisa’ by people who were too preoccupied to bother to get her name correct. Auguste was uniquely refreshing but it left her floundering for a response. God, why did she have to be so terrible at socializing? Why was she so painfully awkward? The silence dragged on between them as the gears in her brain turned. Eventually, she offered him a meek smile in lieu of a verbal response, silently thanking the gods when Auguste’s stomach began to grumble hungrily.

Just as Lyssa was about to part her lips to excuse herself so that she might change out of her bloodied sweater, Auguste asked if she would like to sit with him and she again found herself speechless. Why was he being so kind to her? A silent alarm began tolling in the back of her head as she nodded warily, unable to dismiss the sneaking suspicion that this was surely some sort of set up… Auguste was likely in kahoots with the Ilvermorny boy who had tripped her earlier and this was all just a charade meant to further humiliate her.

Moving to take a seat beside Auguste, Lyssa was careful to keep her distance, glancing over her shoulder every so often to ensure that she wasn’t being monitored. She couldn’t stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, to find out that she was the punch line in this sadistic performance… but that moment never came. And as Auguste began to serve himself from the heaps of steaming hot food displayed along the center of the table, Lyssa found herself lowering her guard ever so slightly.

“You are here for the tournament?”

His french accent was disarming. Lyssa nodded softly, “I’m not a champion like you though… only a secondary.” She clarified. When she had initially entered her name in the running to represent Castelobruxo, she hadn’t in her wildest dreams imagined that she would’ve actually been selected. Not as a champion or as a secondary. Sure, she was academically brilliant. Even the most hostile of her professors struggled to find ways to bring her marks down - she had memorized every spell, committed the names of countless magical plants and animals to memory, dedicated hours of practice to mastering the techniques of each respective discipline - but her timidity often kept her out of the spotlight and off the radar of those responsible for selecting prospective champions.

Admittedly, when the school had announced that she would be travelling with Lisandro to Ilvermorny for the competition, Lyssa had nearly fainted. Her terror had eased only slightly with the assurance that Lis would be bearing the brunt of the load, and Lyssa was only meant to help support him in his endeavors. Her father had pushed her to enter the competition under the impression that it would help Lyssa branch out, providing an opportunity for her to make some new friends and acquire a newfound sense of self confidence. Though if anything, so far this competition had only caused her to withdraw further into her shell. She was surrounded by strangers in a foreign place, expected to participate, in one form or another, in a competition that could very well claim the lives of its contenders. She wondered if her father knew that people had died in the Octowizard tournament before he had pushed her to enter. She doubted he had, otherwise he never would’ve suggested such a risk. Her muggle father meant well, but he was grossly uneducated when it came to the magical world. Still, she was determined to make him proud. She wanted to succeed… at least, she thought that she did.

¿Es español lo que habla?”

“Não espanhol, português.” Not spanish, portuguese. “But yes, I speak Spanish as well. I’m from Castelobruxo in Brazil. They speak Portuguese there. Portuguese and Spanish are very similar but not quite the same.” She cringed as the words left her mouth, realizing too little too late that she probably sounded like a know-it-all. Her cheeks flushed with a newfound shade of peach as she reached for a warm dinner roll from one of the ornate plates on the table, but she let out a hissed wince as she did so.

Instead of actually grabbing the roll, she ended up rolling the sleeves of her sweater upwards to reveal the still bleeding wounds that decorated her elbows. The skin was torn, puffy and red from her unceremonious impact with the stone floor. Her brows knit together as her lips pulled downward in a distressed frown. She wondered if these injuries warranted a trip to the school nurse… or if perhaps she could fix it herself with a simple episkey charm.

Hoping that she hadn’t drawn too much attention to herself, Lyssa quickly changed the subject, directing the focus back towards Auguste. “And you? Where did you grow up? What is Beauxbatons like?”

 

[Pyroclast]

Auguste Lovell
Beauxbaton champion, sixth year
Wednesday 28th August 2024 // Lunar phase: third quarter​

Only a secondary, she said. Lyssa spoke with a natural modesty, and it sounded somehow like she was placing herself beneath him, which he found rather embarrassing. If only she knew how little of a champion he really was. “I have not seen this tournament before,” he admitted as he drizzled gravy over his cuts of pork. “I don’t really know what is a secondary, or what is a champion, or even what is the tournament…” His eyes had so far remained on his food as he took in a forkful of gravy-covered pork, afraid she would see the anxiety that lay behind them if he looked at her. Though, if he avoided eye contact for too long, she might detect it anyway. With no easy solution, he decided to glance up to her with a friendly smile. But when he did, he was dumbstruck. What was he doing, sitting with this gorgeous girl? What was she doing, sitting with him? Watching him eat while she sat so sweetly, with a graceful posture. She must be a ballerina or something, he thought. He straightened his posture to match hers and sent her a smile.

When Lyssa replied to him, it wasn’t Spanish that she spoke. At first, he was a little disheartened to hear that she was actually Portuguese - after all, he didn’t know any Portuguese and spoke much better Spanish than he spoke English - but she assured him that she spoke Spanish, as well. His English was fine, but it did wear him out to speak it all the time, and it tended to get worse when he was tired or had had to speak it all day. So, she was a polyglot. A beautiful, graceful, modest, sweet, multilingual girl. She could speak three languages - three! - and yet she was choosing to speak to him. She told him that Portuguese and Spanish were similar. “Then, maybe it will be easy for me to learn,” he said with a smile. Immediately, he realised how flirtatious it had sounded, and quickly returned his attention to his meal. Was he trying to impress her? What was he doing, insinuating that he would learn a whole language for a girl he had just met? A girl he could already converse with in two languages? He was just a stranger to her, a nobody. A fool. Auguste ate the next couple of bites without looking at her, wishing that she was eating, too, instead of just watching him.

Despite his blunderous flirting, Lyssa made no move to leave. Instead, she continued the conversation, turning the questions onto him. Yet, he hardly registered what she said, for when he looked up to answer her, his eyes were drawn to the fresh blood on her arm. “Ah, bordel!” His reaction came almost as a shout as he berated himself. “Non, mais qu’est-ce que je fais, là?” he groaned. “Lyssa, I am so stupid. Champion of being a colossal fuck. I eat while you, you bleed!” He pushed his plate away, only half cleared of food, and stood up. “Come, I have something for you.” Auguste stood back and waited for her to rise. “For your arms. Please.”

Once she was on her feet, he led her out of the hall and took the only route he could remember. He didn’t know where the infirmary was, nor even the nearest bathroom, but it was okay, because he had what she needed. They reached the door to his dormitory and he stopped outside, suddenly aware of what she might think he was trying to do. “You do not have to come in, if you don’t want,” he assured her. “But you are welcome to…I think.” He didn’t know the rules, nor had he met his roommate, so he wasn’t exactly sure if there were consequences to bringing a girl into his dorm room. He entered, anyway, and left the door open for her to follow if she wished.

“I arrive just now, so my baggage is still full,” he excused himself, as he knelt down beside his trunk and began to rummage through it. A light flapping sounded from above him and he spied Garan perched on top of the wardrobe. “Oh, you are not afraid of birds, I hope?” he suddenly thought to ask. “His name is Garan, he is a friend of mine. I managed to bring him with me from France. He comes with me everywhere. You can ignore him if you want.” Jumpers, trousers, a bag of toiletries, socks, boxers - hide those - a small, brown teddy bear - hide that, too. Finally, his hands touched a worn, suede drawstring bag. He pulled it out and made his way over to Lyssa, who had stepped into his room. “Sit,” he softly commanded, gesturing to a chair by the window.

He set the bag on the windowsill and withdrew a small, blue glass bottle and a cloth. The bottle had a sticker on it, with ‘Essence du Dictame’ scrawled in Auguste’s rather messy handwriting. Of all of his possessions, that little first aid kit was among the most important to him. He took it with him into the woods every full moon, for if ever there was a scarcity of prey, his werewolf form had a tendency to attack itself out of frustration. In those instances, Auguste would return to his human form, naked, alone and injured to various degrees. He would return to wherever he had stashed his clothes and medical bag and apply the essence of dittany to his wounds before returning to school.

He rolled up his sleeves and then soaked the cloth in the potion and held it out to her. “May I…?” he asked, and when she exposed her arms to him he perched on the windowsill beside her and touched one of them to steady it before beginning to gently clean the cut. Her skin was so soft and pure that he almost thought his farmer hands might blemish it.

“I am not good at potions, but this one is just herbology,” he explained. “I get quite good at making it, because it is so easy - you make a powder of dittany leaf and then add salty water, et voilà, you have healing potion! It cleanses and heals, and also reduces scars.” Lyssa’s arm was now clear of blood, revealing the scrape itself to be quite small. The bleeding had already stopped, likely due to the potion. He topped up the cloth with a couple more drops of dittany and moved onto her other arm.

“You ask about where I grew up,” he recalled. “It is a little, very, very little place called Urepel in Basque Country, in the Pyrenees. So close to Spain I can see it from the hills near my house. We grow potatoes there. A lot of green space. I love it, but…don’t go to Urepel.” He laughed at himself. “It is not fun to visit.” Auguste felt a bit dishonest describing his hometown in such a lighthearted manner when his family situation was in such disrepair. His home was but a memory, now. He could lie to Lyssa, though - she would never be the wiser, and it seemed better to paint a pleasant picture than to dump the ugly truth on her.

The blood was by now washed clean away, her skin so pure it was like she had never bled. He treated the wound slowly, partly to be gentle and partly because he quite liked the feel of her arm resting in his hand. “Beauxbatons is in the Pyrenees also, but it is a grand château, a big white palace. We wear uniform the colour of summer sky. It is all very…strange to me. I grew up comme un moldu…uh…a muggle…so I only start to learn magic from two years until now. The life at Beauxbatons is strange, but maybe not more strange than at Ilvermorny, or Castel…Castelbruja?” He let out another laugh, this one more sheepish - he knew he had misremembered the name of her school, but couldn’t correct himself. He only hoped he hadn’t offended her.

“Okay, all is clean,” he said. “Look at the first arm, now. You see? It already looks like yesterday. Maybe it will hurt for a bit more, but don’t touch it and the pain will soon - poof! - go away.” Auguste smiled at her. “I keep a bottle of this with me always. I am subject to accidents, see?” It was a lie he had told many times before to explain away his scars and bruises, so by now he could say it with such fluency that it sounded like the truth. He rolled his own arm over to show her the little hole from when Garan had pecked him earlier. “Maybe I put some on me, too.” For hygiene reasons, he set the bloodied cloth aside and carefully poured a single drop from the bottle directly onto the small puncture wound. “Tac tac tac…et voilà! As if by magic!”

Auguste found himself smiling broadly at her, and continued to smile as he set about putting the bottle back into the little suede drawstring bag. But when he returned to face her, he assumed a more neutral expression. “Alors, Lyssa…I’m afraid I talk about myself too much. Chais pas, we are both new in this school and this country - I don’t know if it is a bad idea to make friends with other people in the tournament, as we are opposants, but I share a dormitory with somebody so it must be okay that we talk, no? So…will you tell me more about you, and your life in Portugal? I’m certain it will be more interesting than my life with potatoes.” Even though he had cleaned her arms up, a flash of red still caught his eye and he remembered that there was blood on her sleeves. “Oh…unless you want to go and change your pull?”

WanderLust. Lyssa