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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 Aviator Deianira Pyroclast Pyroclast Angelique Wolfiee Wolfiee



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 

Tech N9ne returns to Kansas City bigger and better | | newspressnow.com

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 him 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 delicacies 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.
 
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Malaika Odion
Uagadou Champion
location here
mood here
outfit here
interactions

Gavriel Sanctuaryforall1 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.
 

nick jonas - Society19

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?"
 
THEODORE WEST
HOGWARTS CHAMPION
Panic
Ilvermorny Dormitory
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.
 
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  • 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 Aviator Darweshi TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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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.”
 
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Faron Bellamy



@
profbells
















!




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♡


 


  • 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 honeycoves



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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.
 
LYSSA MONTISSERO
CASTELOBRUXO SECONDARY
Nervous
Ilvermorny - Dining Hall
Auguste Pyroclast Pyroclast
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?”
 
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Auguste Lovell
Beauxbaton champion, sixth year
Wednesday 28th August 2024 // Lunar phase: third quarter

131bf66db5f0e872d5c20879bbda1db9.gif 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. WanderLust. Lyssa
 


  • Gavriel Sylvie
    Ilvermorny - Female - Half-Blood - Champion


    Gavy’s grin widened as Malaika eagerly agreed to her suggestion that they go for a swim, the words causing her eyes and hair to become a vibrant mixture of neon blue and sunshine yellow. "That's what I like to hear!" she cheered, her voice full of excitement as she swiftly peeled off her shoes followed by her socks and tossed them aside without a second thought. The feeling of the cool air against her bare feet sent a little shiver up her spine, but was quickly cured by digging her toes into the black sand of the cavern floor. She shrugged off her robe, tossing it carelessly over a smooth boulder before pulling out her wand and giving it a wave as she wordlessly summoned a bag that came flying toward the duo. “Here, I usually keep a few spare swimsuits hidden around here. You and Imogen look to have been around the same size so hopefully one of hers will fit.” She offered to Mal before pulling out her own swimsuit from the bag. Before long she was dressed to enjoy the water and turning her attention back to the shimmering pool ahead. The light from the cavern’s glowing crystals danced across the water, casting vibrant shades of green and blue. Taking a breath and closing her eyes for a moment to just take in the atmosphere of the cave Gavy felt the magic of the place tugging at her like it always did. It was like the world around them was holding its breath as well, waiting for the next moment of exhilaration.

    She flicked her hair over her shoulder, the platinum blonde strands mixed with striking neon blue, shimmering and swaying with every movement. "Race you to the water?" Gavy’s voice was full of challenge as she grinned, clearly ready to take her chances. "Bet you a chocolate bar I beat you there," she added, her tone playful and light, but there was a spark of competitive fun in her eyes. "Or would you prefer a coffee?" She joked remembering how much her friend had written about her love of the freshly brewed beverage. Her hands rested on her hips as she waited for Malaika’s reaction, but by the look in her friend's eye she knew the game was already on. Without waiting for a response, both girls dashed forward.

    As Gavy ran her bare feet kicking up little clouds of dust in the shimmery black sand that made up the small beach along the rim of the pool. Her heart was racing as she sprinted across the cavern floor, her laughter echoing through the stone walls, bouncing off the glowing crystals. It felt like freedom, like the kind of wild and joyous energy she craved every day. She could hear the sound of water splashing gently against the rocks, the coolness of the liquid calling her name. With a final burst of speed, Gavy reached the edge of the pool, letting herself dive in with no hesitation, the cold water enveloping her instantly. The shock of the coolness against her skin almost made her gasp out of instinct, but it didn’t last long before the water became something familiar, something calming. She pushed through the water with ease, her body gliding effortlessly beneath the surface, and when she resurfaced, her hair floated around her like a halo of platinum blonde, sunny yellow, and neon blue, glistening with water droplets.

    Gavy grinned, leaning back slightly to let the water lap gently against her skin. She glanced over toward Malaika who had just resurfaced beside her, the two diving in with unintended synchrony. “Guess it’s a draw!” she grinned with a playful laugh, her voice echoing around the cavern. “I’ll still get you a coffee though!” She added with a little wink, the rims of her eyes just outside her pupils turning hot pink.

    "Come on, Mal!" she called out, splashing a handful of water toward her friend with a mischievous grin. "I wanna show you my favorite part about this place!" She wiggled her fingers as if beckoning Malaika to join her as she began to maneuver further into the shimmering pool, her eyes bright and full of adventure. As Gavy floated in the pool, she felt at home, surrounded by the warm glow of the crystals and the soft ripple of water against her skin. She gave Malaika a wink before diving down underneath the water again, her strong legs kicking out to help her cut through the pool with ease. Swimming towards the bottom of the pool she looked over to see if Mal was following. Seeing the white-haired girl just behind her she pointed down to where the pool dropped off to deeper water that shimmered like an Arora Borealis complete with beautiful glistening rocks at the bottom that mimicked the most rural of night skies.



    Mentions: Malaika Wolfiee Wolfiee



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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Darweshi Nyache

Room 220

"ACK!"

Darweshi had been more than content to enjoy his long-awaited meal while the other professors conversed. The focus at the moment was inundating the Beauxbaton chaperoning professor, Professor Chimere, with questions, and Darweshi had nothing to add that someone else hadn't said already. The light-skinned Ilvermorny professor had already asked about the status of the French school's first choice of champion. And Professor Birger Einar, another early arrival who Darweshi briefly conversed with, mirrored his opinion of not challenging the Goblet of Fire's decision. But the main reason the Uagadou professor was keen on keeping silent was because speaking up would instead put the spotlight on him. And eventually, why he wasn't around for the entirety of the opening ceremony. And with the collection of inquisitive minds around him, he doubted they would leave it at an upset stomach like Bakshi did. So Darweshi returned to his seat with a replenished plate of food and bided his time, hoping the topic at hand would shift to the next one soon. There was no doubt that this wasn't the only reason every professor in the school had been gathered. Perhaps coming to the same realization, Room 220's former star of the show returned to the main stage, coming to Chimere's defense. The mention of animated statues making an appearance the night before prompted Darweshi to sigh, once again lamenting his absence from the festivities. He missed out a feast fit for a king and walking, talking architecture?

The Potions professor had just popped the last french fry on his plate into his mouth when the Asian professor finished saying his piece and asked about the whereabouts of another professor. If Darweshi knew what the next conversation point of the meeting was, he would have jumped on Professor Chimere's back and prolonged the conversation well into the night. Professor Bakshi's response was like a swift karate chop to Darweshi's throat. His pause mid-sentence to find the right word for the situation failed to cushion the blow, as Darweshi's heart skipped a beat as soon as he said 'casualty'. A student was dead, his life taken on the opening night. Before setting out from Uganda, Darweshi had done his research on tournaments of the past between wizarding schools. Unfortunately, death was not uncommon in events like these. But, as the words were taken from his mouth once more, this was before any of the challenges had even begun. And worse yet, a professor was being implicated! Darweshi let out a gasp, but what came out was low choking sound. It was at this point that Darweshi began to cough rapidly, the only thing he could do at the moment. Something was very wrong, because the professor then realized that he couldn't breathe. He continued to cough over and over, tears forming in his eyes. Soon, the coughing turned into a medley of acks as Derweshi rocketed to his feet.

Frantically, he brought the area of his hands between the thumb and index finger to his neck, the universal sign for choking. And like a magnet, the combination of the signal and his guttural choking attracted the room's attention squarely on him. Some professors rose to their feet and pointed at him in hopes of directing someone who know what to do in his direction. Others were completely shocked, Professor Danvers, still wearing his robe like a giant blanket, rose to his feet. "Not to worry, everyone!" He shouted, hands on his hips. If there was a breeze in the room, his clothing would be billowing behind him like a superhero's cape. Darweshi's heart swelled at the sight of a fellow Potions Professor coming to his rescue. However, instead of providing any kind of medical aid, he stuck a skinny hand into his robe, searching for something. "I have a potion for this exact occasion!" The Kenyan was unsure if it truly happened or if it was a hallucination caused by oxygen deprivation, but he could swear he heard someone give an exhausted sigh. Danvers continued, his arm shaking faster as he continued to search. "I have an enlargement potion that'll make it so that whatever's choking you will slide down your embiggened throat!" He pulled out a green vial, then put it away in lieu of a purple one, which recieved the same treatment. "I just...have to...dammit, why don't I label these things?!"

As Danvers' panicked search devolved into him dumping the contents of his robe onto the table and examining every vial one by one, Darweshi's eyes swept over the room, looking for an object he could bend himself over to try and dislodge the french fry himself. Was this it for him? Was this how Engai envision Darweshi Nyache's demise? Dying in a foreign land? He would never see his family again! He would never hold Anima in his arms again! Or Joto! Or Imara! Or Kukuru! He would never see Malaika and Aurelia lead Uagadou to victory. Worse yet, they would have to compete with his death on their minds. Darweshi found it impossible to come to terms with death, it terrified him. He had so much to be thankful for, and all of it would mean nothing now. It's not fair! It's not fai--

Suddenly, the ground began to shake, like it did when Danvers was approaching him at the refreshments table. But this time, the tremors were faster and harder, each one made with purpose. Darweshi's eyes widened even more and he looked up to the ceiling, expecting to be raptured at any moment. But instead of Engai claiming his soul, a pair of ivory hands reached under his shoulders and hoisted Darweshi to his feet. An impressive feat, but nothing compared to when said arms wrapped around his large belly like a boa constrictor, the hands forming a fist. When the fist thrusted into his stomach, a resounding 'ACK!' filled the room. It took about three 'ACK's for Darweshi to violently expel the small blob of food that gave him so much trouble. It sailed across the room, its destinations immediately known as a particularly squeamish professor yelped and leapt out of his seat.

The first action Darweshi performed was to suck in as much sweet oxygen as he could. He deeply inhaled and exhaled, still recovering from the traumatic event. When he had a firm grasp of himself once more, he turned around to face his savior, none other than Professor Einar. "Birger...thank you," Darweshi began after a long exhale. "Thank you! Thank you, thank, you thank you, my friend!" After showing his gratitude, Darweshi turned back around to face the room. Thanks to the spectacle he had just put them through, everyone was looking at him, this foreign professor unknown to some of the other visiting staff and unknown to all of the Ilvermorny staff save for two. Suddenly and painfully self-conscious, Darweshi grabbed a napkin that was next to his plate and wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth. "Ah...I am very sorry about detracting from the subject at hand," He began, clearing his throat. "The untimely passing of a student is a terrible and serious matter, and my thoughts and prayers are with Mr. Locjaw's family. That being said--" Darweshi paused and covered his mouth with a fist to dampen the sound of a burp. "...Do we know the cause of death yet? Perhaps the school's Defense against the Dark Arts professor could partake in the examining of the body."

Darweshi stroked his goatee, remembering something else Bakshi said before his choking episode. Naomi De Vries, that was the student he had encountered with Vasu! She was near the body? Darweshi cleared his throat once more, trying his best to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "And this Naomi, did she recieve further questioning about her possible involvement? Because I encountered her in the hallways just an hour ago." For obvious reasons, Darweshi omitted the part about him leading the gown-wearing student to his room for sweets. Some people wouldn't understand context if it slapped them across the face. With one final look about himself, Darweshi returned to his seat and took a long drink from his cup of tea. And then a bite from one of his sliders.
 
KIARA SINCLAIRE
BEAUXBATONS SECONDARY
Torn
Ilvermorny - Library
Kiara’s cerulean gaze scanned across the words printed on the pages of her newly acquired book as she absent mindedly searched for a topic of interest among the table of contents. Spotting an entire chapter dedicated to dragons, she began leafing through the crisp parchment pages until she reached page 196, on which she found an illustration of a Ukrainian Ironbelly, nostrils flared with glowing red eyes and bared teeth that looked like they could shred flesh from bone.

Her thoughts immediately strayed to the young dragon she had left back home at her family's dragon sanctuary in Champagne. Nemo was an adolescent Norwegian Ridgeback who had yet to take to the sky for the first time when Kiara had set out for Ilvermorny. His wings were much larger than the rest of his body, and he was awkwardly weighed down by talons he had yet to grow into. She wondered if he had yet managed to actually get off the ground, and found herself hoping that he hadn’t. Despite wanting him to thrive, Kiara hoped to be there to witness his first flight.

The memories of Nemo brought on a twinge of homesickness that struck her between the ribs, an uncomfortable tightening in her chest that forced her to look up from her book and return her attention to the two Durmstrang boys seated at the table with her just in time to catch Piper’s response to her inquiry about the upcoming challenge.

“What do you mean soon?” Piper’s answer had been unexpected to say the least. She had been operating under the assumption that everyone else was as clueless as she was when it came to the first challenge. Very little had been disclosed so far by the staff as to what this tournament would actually entail, though the gravity of the danger had been reiterated to all the participants countless times. Fire? She opened her mouth to inquire further, but Sigurd beat her to it, with a swift change in subject.

“What happened back there, Piper? Did it just occur by itself, or did someone do that to you?”

In one swift movement, Kiara had shut her book and slapped it across Sigurd’s shoulder with a sharp thwack. She cut him an icy look, as if scolding him for so brashly calling attention to Piper’s incident, before offering Piper an apologetic smile. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Her voice was soft but firm, intentionally not leaving room for Sigurd to push further if Piper was uncomfortable.

However, Sigurd quickly redirected the attention back towards Kiara when his inquiries about Piper’s experience in the dining hall went unanswered.

"Forgive me for asking, but what made you deal with that boy from earlier the way you did?"

Kiara didn’t hesitate, not even for a heartbeat. “I have little tolerance for bullies - He tripped that girl just because she wasn’t from here.” Her thoughts twisted back to the poor girl who had been victimized, her blood stained sweater at the forefront of Kiara’s mind as she reopened her book to page 196. “Maybe next time he’ll think before he chooses to open his mouth.”

Kiara attempted to refocus her attention on the contents of ‘Magical Creatures - A Beginner’s Guide to the Wizarding World’s Animal Kingdom,’ her eyes drifting down the page towards a section with the heading ‘Maintenance and Training.’ She cocked an eyebrow, interested to discover that she was not the first witch who had attempted to train a dragon, but as she continued reading her stomach began to sour. The paragraph went on to disclose that the best method of discipline for a dragon was to train it to expect pain when it heard the sound emitted by a sadistic device called a ‘clacker.’ Kiara wrinkled her nose, her lip curling upward in disgust as she made a scoffing sound, closing the book and pushing it away from her on the table just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation between Sigurd and Piper.

She took a moment to inspect both young men, each equally attractive in their own ways. Piper with his blonde hair and strong jawline, pale eyes that drew her in, and Sigurd with his sharp, masculine features, and a brooding demeanor that piqued her interest. She wondered what they must be putting in the water over at Durmstrang to afford such handsome specimens as their respective representatives. She blinked, pausing for a moment before shaking her head as though it would rouse her from a dream.

“Piper, why are you asking about possessions? Does this have something to do with the tournament?”
coded by natasha.
 
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Deianira Finch
Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Ilvermorny
Wednesday 28th August 2024 // Lunar phase: third quarter

1736993117745.png The idea put forward by Einar that the Goblet may have ulterior reasons for spitting out a name after the ceremony was certainly an interesting one. There was no use in disputing the decisions of sentient objects like the Goblet of Fire and the Sorting Statues, for there was no reversing them. Whoever Auguste Lovell was, he was now bound by a magical contract to compete in the tournament and that was that, nevermind why or how.

Deianira had not known these other professors one day and yet first impressions were being made fast. Even the slightly slurred voice of Arif made Deianira’s skin crawl before she could even tell what he was trying to say. His face wore an arrogant expression, as if he was trying to remind everyone that he was the smartest person in the room. He discounted Einar’s point and attempted to replace it with his own, which unfortunately did not actually come across as intelligent as Arif was hoping. Deia watched, an eyebrow raised in subtle amusement, as the drunken professor pointed out what everyone in the room already knew: that the champions’ names had all been chosen by the Sorting Statues until now. It was a fair question as to why it was the case, but before Deianira could give the man any credit for raising it, he devolved into a conspiratorial rambling, seeming to delight in the idea that the Goblet could wreak further havoc throughout the course of the week. Her eyes narrowed at the suggestion that the Sorting Statues’ involvement was by Ilvermorny’s design.

“Professor Arif,” she said. Even the name tasted bitter, for the address sounded far too formal for such an unprofessional man. Still, she kept her tone gentle, professional, choosing to hide her disdain for him for the time being. “The Sorting Statues don't take authority from us. They act impartially, like the Goblet of Fire, so it was as much a surprise to the Ilvermorny staff as it was to the rest of you when they took over what we expected to be the Goblet of Fire’s job. You are right that it’s curious, but don’t go thinking that Ilvermorny are doing anything inappropriate.”

The man’s arrogance was so infantile that Deianira couldn’t believe she was speaking to a Castelobruxo professor and not an ill-mannered student. Maybe his behaviour was an effect of the drink, but the very fact he had chosen to get drunk before attending the meeting - not to mention arriving late, and with a fuming Bellini in tow - painted a clear enough picture of the kind of man he was. She cocked a goading eyebrow in response to his wink, thinking she was ready for whatever he said next…but the level of smarminess that dripped from the question he asked was so unbelievable that it left her speechless.

The sole reason that Deianira was sitting in that meeting room was because of the fatality that Bakshi had informed her of that morning. She knew very little other than the identity of the deceased student and of the girl who was found unconscious nearby, and that the implication of her colleague had led to Deianira taking her place in the tournament, but Headmaster Bakshi had asked for her discretion for the time being and so she had kept everything she knew to herself. In fact, she was lucky that nobody so far had queried as to why she was in the meeting room instead of Amity.

Without knowing the other professors well at all, there was no way to predict how they would each react to the news - yet, it didn’t surprise her to find that it was, broadly, explosive. Before the Headmaster had even had a chance to elaborate on - or, indeed, even confirm - the news that Arif had dropped, the young Beaxbatons professor snapped, using the tragedy like a shield as she spewed the truth of what had happened to Raphael before purposefully trying to worsen the Ilvermorny staff's guilt surrounding the death of the Mahoutokoro student, like it was some sick competition. Maybe it was, to somebody so young. Deianira heaved a weary sigh and leaned slightly in Chimere's direction, willing her to look her in the eyes so she could show her sincerity - and perhaps knock the hot-headed young professor down a peg or two.

"I'm sorry, Professor Chimere, that my question came across as accusatory in any way," she said, in the low, calm voice she used when speaking to a distressed student. "I didn't mean to put you on the defense, I just wanted to know if you knew an explanation for the change in circumstance, that's all. So, thank you for enlightening us. I hope your student recovers well from his current condition." She straightened up in her seat, returning her attention to the rest of the room as it spun around her. As she did so, she felt herself sink a little. In a barely audible voice, she uttered to herself, "Now, we can move on..."

The Hogwarts professor with the limp jumped to criticise the Headmaster’s approach to delivering the tragic news and quickly started firing questions at him. Granted, he could have started with the most important news first, but Deia wasn't about to add to the criticism when there was already so much going on. Bakshi knew that Deianira had spent years working as an Auror prior to her position at Ilvermorny, but her affiliation was with the school, now, not the law. Given the tournament, there was too much of a conflict of interest between her and the deceased student from an opposing school. Of course, the headmaster had received her offer to put her skills to use in any way that he deemed appropriate. After all, opposing school or not, the deceased was only a teenager.

Bellamy had barely spat out his last question when another professor, whose presence so far had only been made known not by his words but by his large size and great appetite, rose up from his seat suddenly, clasping at his throat. A couple of seconds passed by before it became evident that the man was not just upset by the news or was trying to cough up a fly that had flown into his throat. Because he couldn’t cough - he couldn’t get any air in or out at all - Nyache was choking. The panic in his eyes spread through his audience like a Mexican wave and in a flash, Birger was behind him, his arms somehow fitting around the Uagadou professor’s rotund midsection. This was, without a doubt, the most chaotic meeting Deianira had ever attended in all her years at Ilvermorny.

The airborne chunk of half-chewed food that sprang from Nyache's mouth made a sickening splatter on the table near Headmaster Bakshi. Deia let out a tense exhale at the sound of Nyache drawing in his first wheezing breath of oxygen. One fatality was more than enough. While the Uagadou professor expressed his gratitude to his new saviour, Deianira subtly cast Wingardium Leviosa on the offending morsel of food and dropped it into the bin beneath the headmaster’s desk.

All the drama that had continually derailed the meeting left Deia with whiplash. To her surprise, and despite her prior agreement to stay out of the situation due to the conflict of interest, Professor Nyache actually seemed to think it a good idea for her to examine the body - after all, she may no longer be affiliated with the law but she did know her dark arts. Then again, the man also seemed to think it a good idea to resume eating before the colour had even fully returned to his face. At the end of the day, it was up to Headmaster Bakshi on how to proceed.

Wolfiee Wolfiee Angelique
Aviator Aviator Cha-Cha, Bakshi
TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi Darweshi
Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1 Einar, Azura
honeycoves honeycoves Faron
 


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


    Naomi sat quietly in the seat offered to her after bowing her head in a respectful greeting to Archimedes upon entering the room and what the snake likely viewed as his territory. Her mahogany gaze following the movement of the cards as Vasu’s delicate hands continued to flip them over and reveal what lay on the other side throughout the reading. As she studied the cards moving around before her she couldn’t help but note how beautiful they were and was struck with the artistic desire to perhaps create her own deck at some point in the future. She was no expert in tarot card readings by any means, but she had enough experience with them to recognize the importance of the Major and Minor Arcanas as well as some of their meanings. It wasn’t something she was as skilled at as herbology or care for magical creatures, subjects she had poured hours into mastering, but she knew the basics. Divination, after all, had a way of showing what needed to be seen, even if the imagery wasn’t always as clear as she would like. She had learned, over time, that sometimes you didn’t have to understand every detail right away. The cards had their own rhythm, their own patterns, and they spoke in ways that only time and patience could reveal.

    As Vasu flipped over the Tower card, she felt a subtle shift in her demeanor. For an instant she felt a chill run down her spine and there was a slight tightening in her chest as she took in the image of a crumbling tower, flames spilling out from the windows, and the figure diving to escape the chaos. It was a card she’d seen before in class and she knew its meaning well: upheaval, unexpected change, the kind of transformation that could feel overwhelming and even catastrophic. When it appeared upright, the Tower was a symbol of external forces beyond your control, a warning of things being forced to fall apart in order to rebuild. But reversed? Naomi understood it to signal internal change, a more personal shift that, while still unsettling, could offer a chance for growth…if one could face it with open eyes.

    Her gaze lingered on the card for a moment longer, her mind quietly processing what Vasu had said. There was a part of her that wanted to push the thought of it away, to keep it tucked safely in the back of her mind where it wouldn’t linger too long. But there was something about the way the card seemed to call out, as though it was trying to draw her attention to something that needed to be addressed eventually. She didn’t want to dwell on it now. Not when so much else in the reading had felt so... promising, some of the predictions reading almost like a light at the end of the dark tunnel. She’d had her fair share of experiences with unsettling predictions, and she knew from years of practice and stories she'd heard that sometimes the cards weren’t as straightforward as they seemed. The Tower, in its reversed position, could represent something she hadn’t yet recognized, some change that was on the horizon, but not one she needed to confront right away.

    Upon witnessing Vasu’s swift bumping of his own head the platinum rose haired young woman winced and moved to help him. “You’re poor head.” She uttered with soft worry to her tone. “Should I fetch ice?” She inquired though her worries were quickly shrugged off by Vasu swiftly acting as though nothing happened. Naomi gently folded her hands in her lap, pulling the hospital gown down to cover her thighs as she did so, her concern shifting into a small warm and appreciative smile as she looked at Vasu. "Hmm," she began thoughtfully, a gentle and playful sparkle in her earthy brown eyes. “I would say you have certainly given me quite a bit to think about.” She began softly and with an appreciative nod. “In fact, I think an applause is in order. ” She added and gently brought her hands together in a clapping motion but soft enough to prevent disturbing the animals in the room. She then leaned forward slightly, her gaze softening as she looked over the spread of cards again. “The Major Arcana showing up so strongly…” Her eyes brightened as she considered Vasu’s words. “I’ll definitely be paying attention to how things unfold. It’ll be interesting to see how accurate your reading turns out to be.”

    Her sweet smile deepened as she glanced back at him. “I think you did a fantastic job interpreting the cards. It’s not always easy to do, but you’ve made it clear that you have a true passion for them.” Sincerity rang within each word as they slipped from her lips. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a reading quite like this before…not that I’ve had many in the past.” She admitted with an ounce of playfulness to her voice. “Not unless you count the readings we perform in Divinations where unfortunately I fear my partner didn’t exactly know how to handle the cards properly.”

    Naomi paused for a moment, her fingers tracing the edges of the spread gently as her gaze looked over the cards. “I know it must sound silly but I’m truly drawn to the positive cards, especially the Ace of Pentacles. Prosperity and new opportunities…it’s a kind of energy that feels so refreshing right now. To be able to hope that this rings true and whatever comes ahead I will hopefully enjoy the work I do.” She sighed and chuckled at herself. “See, as I said, silly. I know everyone only hopes for the best, it’s in our nature.” Her words came out with a slight shaking of her head as her gaze returned to Vasu. “Though, I think I’ll carry that with me as I move forward, especially with how uncertain things can feel sometimes. It’s nice to hear something hopeful.” She admitted softly with a grateful smile playing on her lips, her voice light. “Thank you for doing this, Vasu. I really enjoyed it. It’s not every day I get a reading like this. I’ll probably have more questions later, once I’ve had time to think through everything...though I’ll do my best not to burden you with them.” She let out a small chuckle, her tone light and playful. “Now, is there anything I can do for you? You were just kind enough to perform a reading for me. It wouldn’t be right for me to not return the favor in some way.” She offered hoping she might be able to use her skills, be it art or herbology or something else entirely, to keep the delightful energy flowing.



    Mentions: Vasu Aviator Aviator



    TEMPLATE © BOKEH
 
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Vasu Saini // "Wannabe Lady-Killer" // Male // 5th Year // Koldovstoretz Champion // Parselmouth

Vasu felt a prickle of annoyance at Naomi's fawning concern over nothing. He'd bumped his head on a loft bed, not been kicked by a mule. His lips thinned as he contemplated whether she was mocking him, and then, wanting to see how far he could push the envelope, he flung a melodramatic hand to his forehead. "Ouch! Woe is me! The pain is blinding and the room is spinning! Quick, get some ice, I think I might be concussed!" He scrunched his eyes shut against the agony. "The nearest ice machine is up three flights of stairs, take a left, a right, another flight up, and then down the hall. Do you think you can remember all that before my head implodes?" He opened his eyes to find Naomi staring at him, blank-faced and unimpressed by his performance. Gods above, I would fear for you if you were that gullible, he thought snootily. "Well, ask stupid questions and get stupid answers," he snorted in response to her unspoken accusation. Mindful not to hit his head on the loft bed again, he stooped and collected the tarot cards, shaking them into order and filing them back into a box with geometric designs in raspberry, yellow, and blue.
As if touching the cards was a cue, Naomi's indignation blew over, and she was gushing about the reading he had given her. Strange thing that she was, she began clapping for him. Or rather, she made the motion of clapping with a fraction of the sound. From atop the absent roommate's bed, Archimedes poked his triangular head up to see the source of the noise, a whisper of flesh brushing flesh. The display made Vasu feel strange and out of place. Accolades were something that he received on the stage, after he'd delivered a rousing number or stumbled his way through a dance with a passable semblance of grace. He felt like he should have done something to earn them, rather than just flip over a card and describe its meaning from rote memory. He wasn't even good at Divination, unlike his grandmother. As per tradition, she had named both Vasu and Ekta in accordance with the stars' position in the sky at the time of their births. It was part of the reason that she had been appointed matriarch over the family instead of any of her or her husband's siblings. Aditi could take a glimpse of some leaves at the bottom of a teacup and tell you in detail the ups and downs of your finances, how many times you would marry, where your bad habits lay. It was a little scary, and when she was a conduit of the gods' will, no one dared defy her for provoking their ire. She was anandadayak, blessed with the ability to see with celestial eyes.
Being acclaimed as some great reader when he was just a shadow of one made Vasu's stomach knot. Naomi's eyes radiated a soft warmth, and he could tell she meant the compliment with the best intentions. But the fact of the matter was that Vasu was just a puppet of someone whose abilities exceeded his, living under her thumb, walking on eggshells every day to appease her. Naomi's praise gave him a strange feeling of incongruency, as if his sense of left and right had been switched. He felt like an imposter. You wouldn't have to wonder about accuracy if Aditi was the one reading your cards, he thought forlornly. Aditi's readings always felt more like receiving a lifelong sentence than providing insight. Vasu wasn't sure if he wished that heavy knowledge on anyone. As a result of one of Aditi's readings, it was now Vasu's responsibility to save the family by marrying into wealth whilst also maintaining the purity of the bloodline. He would do this by marrying Chitrita Pawar at age twenty-one, the legal minimum for Indian men.
Naomi was staring at him so intently that Vasu felt his face heat. An emotion like a thorn pierced him, and his gaze flickered down to his rings, unsure that whatever his face revealed was safe for her viewing. Those ugly, heavy jewels that proclaimed him Chitrita's, body and soul. The Saini signet ring, a silver snake curled into the shape of an S. And the only one that didn't feel like a brand of ownership, the little gold circlet studded with pink roses that Ekta had made for him. She had given it to him almost exactly a year ago, on the platform right before Vasu had boarded the train to Koldovstoretz. It was the last time that he'd seen their father alive and healthy. "It's just a hobby," he murmured in response to Naomi accusing him of the word passion, like he was some aging lady who religiously knitted handmade garments for everyone in her family. The patriarch was supposed to be the backbone of the family; he didn't waste time on the frivolous pursuit of passions. "Please," Vasu scoffed, "my only passions are for money and alcohol." The invocation of sarcasm stabilized the crumbling edge inside him, and he looked up at Naomi with a wry not-quite-smile, feeling the moment of despair pass.
He watched Naomi toy with the sole card that he had neglected to scoop up inside the box along with the others. "Yes, aces can be seen as optimistic. They are the first in the cycle and represent the beginning of a journey. However, that also means they're fickle things, prone to dying if they aren't nourished with dedication and hard work." He recited the words woodenly, as if they'd come from a textbook. Not caring that Naomi was still examining the card, he snatched it and slammed the lid of the box down on top of it, not wanting to discuss tarot anymore. Perhaps reading her fortune had been a mistake. Now she'd go and tell all the other competitors what a massive, eccentric nerd he was. Now everyone who hadn't been sitting in on Care of Magical Creatures class would have a reason to laugh at him, to point and whisper and—
Vasu blinked in confusion at Naomi, wondering at the meaning of her proposal. Could she do something for him? If a professional tarot reader was sought, a price was established upfront and possibly haggled down, but that always took place before the reading. And the price was always monetary, not some future favor or undefined form of social currency. Short of money—which he had failed to stipulate in the beginning—he wasn't sure what he could possibly want from Naomi. What talents she might have that he could somehow profit from. He tilted his head, figuring out how best to articulate this, when a sudden thought swept him off his feet like a rogue wave. Was Naomi flirting with him? Had she asked that question hoping he'd answer with something risqué that she wasn't brave enough to put into words? A hospital gown wasn't the kind of skimpy outfit he'd imagined the object of affection to be wearing during his first—remembered—kiss, but who was he to argue? After all, the problem of her clothes could always be solved by simply removing them.
Nerves crowded Vasu's throat. He wasn't entirely sure that was Naomi's intent, and he imagined the horror that would fill him if he misread the situation and was rejected. For starters, he didn't even know how to shape his desires into coherent thought. Secondly, would he be cheating on Chitrita to exchange anything romantic with another girl, even just chaste kisses? He looked down at the tarot box as if he would find his answers written there, and he was reminded of all the stern lectures Aditi had given him about his duty to the family. Vasu banished the thought of flirting with Naomi from his mind. He suddenly realized that being alone with her in his dorm was making him uncomfortable.
"Um..." he suggested uncertainly. Stop stammering, you bloody fool! He forced himself to raise his gaze to Naomi's and swallowed, mentally resetting himself. "I heard there's a game room in the basement. Would you like to check it out? I haven't seen it yet, but apparently they have all types of board games and a billiards table. I'd love a game of darts, if they have the equipment. Do you know how to play cricket?" Vasu stood and Naomi followed suit. They crossed the dorm, and he opened the door for her. Before he slipped out after her, a hiss-iss-iss-ing caught his attention. Vasu glanced behind him to see Archimedes' vertical pupils locked on him, slitted further with amusement. And he realized his king cobra was laughing at his hopelessness.
 

Never Have I Ever Season 4 Needed More Ethan Morales | Den of Geek

Altair Ibn Layla

The Hunk of Hogwart's Room

"Still got it!"

As Altair stood before the brick wall Chitrita had befriended, her introduction felt like a referee introducing two prizefighters before a bout. His counterpart already had his shirt off in preparation, exposing his muscular body. He took the other boy in, unsure of where to put his eyes. Currently, they were transfixed on his beefy biceps. Altair preferred cardio as his main form of exercise but couldn't help but feel jealous of those rippling muscles of his. In this corner, standing at 6 foot holy crap this guy is tall, with rugged looks that say 'I'll crush your skull before having me some tea and biscuits', give it up for...Theo! He was introduced as Chitrita's friend, but the brief hesitation from her gave Altair the impression that there was more to their relationship. And going off how Theo harshly rejected her help before switching things up and attempting some minor flirting complicated things further. And in the other corner, the handsome man from Japan, we have the lean, clean flying machine, Altair! The secondary was satisfied with the title of 'classmate' given to him. 'Bodyguard' by itself would have sounded too unfamiliar, but classmate left just enough room for him to swap it up by the end of the school year. 'The coolest kid in all of Mahoutokoro' sounded good, and 'my sweetheart' would be a very welcome surprise. Fantasies pushed aside for later consumption, Altair returned his focus to getting a good look at Theo.

He indeed stood a good few inches above Altair, with the broad frame and muscular body of a professional athlete. He wasn't lacking in the looks department either, sporting sharp facial features and brows that put shadows over his eyes. All things considered, he might as well be Altair from another universe where he ate crumpets instead of sushi! Two good looking guys tasked with attending a fancy tournament, with the same taste in ladies to boot? It was perfect that Chitrita was introducing them to each other! Altair didn't want to waste any time meeting the other foreign students he would spending the majority of his time with this year, especially the other boys. There was so much possible fun to get into, and he hadn't even begun planning stuff to do yet! The tenth year student snapped his attention from staring at Theo's impressive abs to offer his hand to the hunk of Hogwarts, going off his accent. "Nice to meet you, big man!"

Theo didn't share the same amount of enthusiasm in meeting, and he made no effort in hiding it from him. Altair felt his dissatisfied gaze beat down on him as his offer of a handshake was rejected. No, it was more than dissatisfaction that fueled Theo's attitude, he looked about ready for the round one bell to ring so he could land a left-right-uppercut combo on Altair. The casual smile on his face began to waver in the wake of Theo's coldness. And once again, that uneasy feeling in Altair was back. He experienced this mood shift many times in the past, but it felt like it was a whole new feeling every time. Thankfully, it didn't take long for it to disappear and be replaced with the confidence and happy-go-luckiness Altair oozed out on the daily. Honestly, he didn't blame Theo for his grumpiness. Recalling the explanation given by one of the professors who was walking out of his room, anyone would be upset if they were caught in the rain and then interrupted from resting. Maybe a dislike of rain was something else they had in common, besides being the coolest guys in their respective schools. Back in Yemen, rain was considered a great blessing, a vital event to be cherished. But to Altair, all the wet weather was good for was making the sky look depressing and messing with his hair. Altair withdrew his hand and ran it through his curly hair. "No worries, we'll meet somewhere better next time!"

When Theo began looking for something to put on his bare chest and Chitrita made herself comfortable on his bed, Altair took the chance to address a problem that had deeply concerned him earlier. Bending down and unzipping his luggage bag, the boy withdrew a peculiar looking die. Not only did it have twenty sides, but inside its orange transparent shell was another smaller twenty sided die. The dice were associate with a muggle game that was played on top of a table, but Altair had better uses for it. The Hajar blessed him with immense luck, and one of his favorite ways of showing off to people was predicting the numbers his multi-dimensional die would cast. At the moment though, he needed to make sure what happened earlier was a one in a million hiccup with his good luck charm. Shaking the dice in his hand and picking two numbers, Altair tossed it to the ground and watched it bounce and eventually come to a stop. Bending down to get a better look, he saw that the outer number was 3. A closer inspection revealed that the inner die's number was 17. 3-17, both his birthday and the numbers he had picked. Swiping the dice off the ground, Altair shook the die with more vigor than before and let it roll to the ground. 1-1, both his prediction and snake eyes. Relief replaced Altair's short-lived concern as combination after combination came true. It looked like whatever happened earlier with his exploding pants was nothing but a fluke to be forgotten. Just as Altair correctly chose 6-9 and finished giggling immaturely, the clearing of a throat prompted him to turn around while crouched on the ground. Theo had exited the room, leaving Altair all alone with a patiently waiting Chitrita. Quickly recalling his offer of lunch, Altair sprung to his feet and tossed his dice into the air before grabbing it mid-air.

"Interesting guy, that Theo. Meet any other noteworthy students last night?" He asked as he walked to the open door. As soon as he was outside the room, he turned around to face his classmate, an idea of escaping his fate of more studying in the library forming. "I'd kill for anything seafood right now! But first, how about a little wager?" He offered up his dice for her to look at. "If I can predict both numbers inside this die, we scrap going to the library and do something a bit more fun. Like say...talking about what we'll do with our prize money! Because I'm getting a cut, right? I'm part of the team, too!" If Chitrita agreed to his game, Altair gave his prediction, which was more like the truth when it came to him. "13 and...17!"
 
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Mey Sari



@
meymeymey








































  • 00:04






    looking out



    joy again










    11:09

    :
    reminder:


    new !




    you should talk less.







    11:08

    :
    NOTIF


    new !




    how
    embarrassing
    was that?










    !












!




details













Kiss me and shut me up.



A bright smile took over Mey's face as Auri took off into the rain, towards the obstacle course. Aurelia was quick, maneuvering with an ease and precision she could appreciate, watching the other girl suck her body close to her broomstick and zoomed towards the obstacle course, hardly waiting for Mey to follow suit. Exactly the kind of reaction she was hoping for. Mey took off after her, hot on her tail. Every now and then, Auri would glance at her over her shoulder. Am I doing something wrong? She thought for just a brief moment, feeling the fear that maybe Auri didn't like her and that this was a ploy or a trick once more. She offered a small wave, hoping to ease whatever instinct was imploring Auri to look back at her, careful to keep the happiest smile she could.

As the two approached the obstacle course, Mey slowed for a moment, sitting up to take in the day. She was thankful for the rain. It was as if it was washing off the bad morning she had had. It rinsed away her late wake up, Vasu's flippant attitude and temporary insanity, Ramona's rejection, and that coo-coo bananas lady that was apparently in charge of teaching people. It pulled strands of hair from her braid, sticking them to her face. It cooled her, chilling her bones and causing her clothes to cling to her skin. She stretched her hand outwards, turning her palm up to the sky, and took a second to simply feel the rain. She didn't stay put for longer than a few seconds, impossibly trying to count the raindrops that fell on her hand, before taking off towards an odd contraption.

Within the obstacle course stood a midsized, open area, with large cannons on skinny towers pointed towards it. Leaving the morning behind her, she raced towards it. She slowed to a stop in the center. Besides the rain, it was eerily still. She knit her brows together, confused, and looked across the way. Auri's section of the course was working, a collection of pillars coming to life as they rotated around her. Mey knit her brows together. Shouldn't her section be doing something? FUMP! A hollow sound rang out behind her, hardly giving her enough time to turn towards it before a bludger came whirring towards her. A surprised squeak escaped her chest and, with both hands on the handle of her broom, she gave a hard tug upwards to dive over her shoulder and out of the way. She felt the wind brush her skin as she narrowly escaped the flying ball. A smile spread across her lips.

The cannons began their barrage of assaults on her, firing one bludger after another. She twisted, turned, and dove out of the way as the cannons took turns hurling the bludgers at her. She was doing a good job at avoiding them, the adrenaline of the initial onslaught subsiding as she grew into a rhythm. The cannons would make a loud, tubular fwump! sound, she would turn towards it to find the bludger, and tactically move out of its path. The difficulty began ramping up, the bludgers being released closer and closer together, until they were being fired almost two at a time. She had just barely avoided one when another hit her square in the back, sending her careening forward, spiraling out of the obstacle course. Struggling to catch her breath, she yanked on her broom to recover, swerving away from a third bludger. The aching in her back spurred her to pay a little closer attention until the cannons turned themselves off, leaving her in a suddenly much quieter spot. She turned to where Auri had been, finding the girl making her way to herself.

She smiled brightly, pulling into her side. "Only when the red court is losing," She joked back. "They are known to be pretty, but they are always throwing air. They are hating to lose more than the black court." She looked Auri over with a thoughtful gaze. She liked this girl. She was kind, warm. She didn't feel at all like that cool Ramona. She felt... Genuine. "Sister, your flying is very beautiful. I am guessing your magic is too. Perhaps Uagadou and Koldovstoretz should be thinking of a friendship." She felt excited by the prospect of telling Vasu she'd made a friend and ally for them, a warmth bubbling up in her chest. She raised a mischievous brow. "Or are we better as sworn enemies?" She teased.










♡coded by uxie♡


 


  • Professor Azura Ito
    Mahoutokoro - Female - Half-Blood - Professor


    Azura leaned back in her seat, her deep burgundy-painted fingers laced tightly together in front of her. The room was filled with voices, each professor offering their input, but for a moment, all she could hear was the haunting reminder of Odinson Locjaw’s death.

    The news had rocked her to her very core this morning and having it announced now left her heart aching. A young, promising student gone too soon. Death wasn’t something new to her, she had lost students before in her centuries as a professor but…that didn’t mean it ever got easier. The grief that swelled within her was an ache, one she had known before. It was not the same as the pain she felt for Akihito but it still hurt, it still ate at her. It was a grief in knowing that she had failed to protect someone who needed her. She had been a fool to let someone as young and unobservant as Professor Toro take the place of chaperone for this event, perhaps if she had been here from the start things might have gone differently.

    Odinson’s death was not just a loss for his school or his family—it was a loss for the world, for magic itself. Memories of the young half-giant sprang to life within her mind and she felt the knife twist further in her heart as she recalled the smile that had so effortlessly lived upon his lips when he was at school. The way his booming laughter once echoed through the halls and courtyards. It would never be heard again. The students who entered these tournaments were chosen for their potential, their futures. To have one fall like this, before the tournament had even truly begun, was an insult to that potential. It was a violation of the very essence of what they were meant to represent. But this ran deeper than that for the potions master. Odinson was her student, she had watched him learn and grow over the years, part of her felt this pain as a mother might feel the loss of a child…another pain she was certainly no stranger to.

    Her heart still ached for the loss, but Azura knew that now was not the time for mourning. Now was the time for action, for answers. Despite all she was feeling in her heart and soul she let very little of it show on her features, her mask well sculpted over the years to hide feelings of grief. While tiny hints of sorrow did show upon her features there was also a fiery determination burning in her eyes. She had a role to play in ensuring that this tragedy was not in vain. Her responsibility was now as clear as it had ever been—she was here to protect the remaining champions. Chitrita and Altair were to be her focus, and she would do whatever it took to ensure that they did not suffer a similar fate. Odinson’s death could not—and would not—be repeated.

    Azura took a deep breath, her thoughts steadying as her focus shifted to the conversation at hand. Professor Chimere’s sharp words regarding Odinson’s death struck her the moment they were uttered. She understood the young woman’s frustration and her need to defend herself, but the questions Azura had asked earlier were not an attack on her. They were questions born from Azura’s long history with these tournaments. To have the young woman act in any way as though Azura cared little for her student's death sent a hot needle of rage through her heart that she had to quell quickly before she spoke.

    Rising from her seat, she spoke calmly, her words controlled, though there was a faint undercurrent of fire in her voice. “Professor Chimere,” Azura began, her tone sincere and measured. “My questions were not meant to accuse you of anything, nor did I wish to make you feel as though you were being put on trial. I arrived this morning after learning about the…” She paused and took a moment to push down the fresh wave of pain the next words were about to bring her. “The death of my student.” The words escaped her lips as her cognac gaze flashed with a shimmer of sorrow that broke through her mask. “And I am still trying to understand the particulars of what transpired. The truth is, my experience with these tournaments spans many centuries, and I have seen countless variations of the process. But this year is... different. The Goblet of Fire has always been the one to choose the champions, and yet this time, it was the Sorting Statues. That is a significant change, one that I did not anticipate.” She stood tall and undaunted as she spoke. “As I am sure most of you may understand I am doing everything I can to gain an understanding of events, especially those that are unusual, to ensure I can best protect any of these students from suffering a fate similar to Odinson’s. So yes, I asked about the reason for this second name, yes I inquired about the status of Mr. Badeaux, and I did so in order to ascertain if these events could in any way be tied together. Out of a desire to know if whoever targeted my student, Mahoutokoro’s champion, had targeted another as well. So believe me when I say I asked because am trying to understand it, not to criticize you or your school.” Azura’s gaze hardened as she paused, carefully choosing her next words. “So do not throw the tragedy of my student’s fate in my face as though I do not care.” She hadn’t missed the coldness in which Professor Chimere spoke of Odinson’s death when trying to turn the tables in order to help herself. The way she had acted like it wasn’t something that weighed on Azura. Sure, it may have been a technique in self-preservation upon being questioned by multiple professors at once but it had also been an incredibly low blow to make in an already devastating situation and that was something the ancient witch wouldn’t stand for.

    Letting her gaze hold steady on the young woman for several heartbeats longer she only broke from Professor Chimere’s icy eyes when a desperate gagging sound filled the room. Looking over she moved to aid the goateed professor who had previously smacked her in the face with a flying stack of papers only to have Professor Einar already a step ahead of her. In a few swift thrusts of his large fists against the choking man's stomach the old man managed to force the blob of food from his fellow professor's windpipe and across the room. As he caught his breath Professor Nyache’s words regarding Odinson’s death began to spill in broken sentences from his mouth.

    Her rich mahogany gaze narrowed at the mention of another student, Naomi De Vries. Did this girl know something about what had happened to Odinson? Was she part of it or just an innocent caught up in the potential madness of an Ilvermorny professor? Her attention flicked to Professor Finch at the mention of examining the body. “Odinson Locjaw’s body has already been securely transported back to Mahoutokoro this morning to be examined and returned to his family.” She informed the gathered individuals. She knew that the method of recovery and transport for the young man's body had been done with careful thought in regards to preserving evidence. Head Master Kenji had been adamant about ensuring the body be examined by individuals he trusted given the circumstances. She couldn’t say she blamed the man and his caution after all she had heard so far. While Professor Finch seemed to be a decent levelheaded individual there was a chance her colleagues may not be of the same character in which case having Odinson’s body removed to familiar ground was likely a safer bet for gathering proper evidence than leaving it at Ilvermorny where it could potentially be tampered with.

    “But perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to seek out Ms. De Vries side of the situation.” She suggested in line with Darweshi. “Since she is already recovered enough to have left the hospital wing.” She added and truly hoped that the young woman might hold some sort of information. She would greatly prefer that to the idea that this Naomi girl decided to murder another school's champion for fun before passing out mere feet from his body.



    Mentions: Cha-Cha Aviator Aviator Deianira Pyroclast Pyroclast Angelique Wolfiee Wolfiee Darweshi TobiornotTobi TobiornotTobi Bellamy honeycoves honeycoves



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THE DEPRAVED.






























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Chahaya






Arif








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MOOD








Amused, Annoyed.























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Room 220; Conference.

























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Not-Amity (Deia), Darweshi, Azura, Einar, Hells Bells





















INTERACTS








Chimere the Feared Wolfiee Wolfiee





































I'M GONNA BE (500 MILES) —
SLEEPING AT LAST

































































































































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Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey fever








You're my evil
You're my evil love





























































EVE OF THE FIRST CHALLENGE.


In the moment’s silence following Bakshi’s revelation of Amity’s ostensible guilt in the death of the Mahoutokoro champion, Bellamy leaned close to Chimere, whose normally tan face was cherry-red with a torrent of emotions. At least, what little Cha-Cha could see of it, for the Beauxbatons professor cradled her head in her hands, as if to form a physical barrier between her and her interrogators. Bellamy’s lips moved, but the soft sussurus of sound that issued from them was too low for Cha-Cha to hear. Remembering the cold way that Bellamy had hesitated to help Cha-Cha, had stood around inquiring which of his students was hurt before leaping into action, this unexpected tenderness seemed incongruent with his character. His hovering proximity to Chimere could almost be described as intimate, and Cha-Cha wondered if the two Frenchies knew each other. If they knew each other really well. Aw shucks, does Hells Bells have a girlfriend? Is he gonna throw the tournament to keep baby boo from crying? Cha-Cha bit his tongue to keep from laughing and took a strategic sip of his coffee. Maybe Faron Bellamy wasn’t as tough as his reputation indicated; maybe at the end of the day, he was just a softie with a weakness for pretty girls.

As if mustering up a defense for the apple of his eye, Bellamy tore his gaze away from Chimere and unleashed his own whirlwind of questions. Bakshi looked a little handcuffed in response, sweat beading on his bald head as he grappled with which of the questions to answer first. Finally, he cleared his throat weakly, as if disgorging a mouse that was lodged in it. A hunted expression took up residence on his features, as if Bakshi knew he was on the defensive and was calculating what response would result in the least amount of uproar. “In all due respect, Professor Bellamy, history has shown that the Triwizard Tournament is inherently dangerous. With almost three times as many students, there’s exponentially more room for violence to manifest.” At this declaration of helplessness, the temperature of the room seemed to plummet a few degrees from all the icy looks sent his way. Despite himself, Cha-Cha felt a flash of pity for Bakshi. He wondered whether the Ilvermorny headmaster had had any friends at all during his school years.

As if sensing that Bellamy’s gambit was on the verge of success and he was about to become the new focal point of the professors’ ire, Bakshi backpedaled. “What I mean to say is,” he said hurriedly, clawing for words, “is that the Aurors are expected to arrive by four o’clock this evening. Sixteen-hundred hours for you foreign folk.” He said this with a magnanimous smile, as if congratulating himself for using multicultural language. Cha-Cha raised an eyebrow at being referred to as foreign folk and filed this term away in his memory bank—short-lived as it was at the moment—and resolved to mix it into his vocabulary in the near future. “As a cautionary measure, the team of Aurors will be staying here at Ilvermorny and posted in the halls around the school to discourage further mischief, be it arson or acts of interpersonal violence.” Split between astonishment at the call-out and outrage at the ridiculousness of this decision, Cha-Cha reflexively looked at Bakshi to find that the other man’s gaze was already resting upon him.

“Yes,” Cha-Cha challenged in a voice of cold dispassion, “because transforming the school into a prison with armed law enforcement scrutinizing everyone is unlikely to make any of the students feel threatened.”

He could practically feel Not-Amity's glare on him, hotter than the fires of hell and just as wrathful. Bakshi's stare had transformed into one of open-mouthed disbelief. “Mister Arif—” There was a peculiar quaver in his voice and it was pitched an octave higher, like that of a playground bully who'd received a firm knee to the balls. But that was as far as he got remonstrating Cha-Cha, for just then the dormant volcano that was Chimere exploded in hysteria. Cha-Cha found that the longer she talked, the more foolish he felt for his initial attraction to her. Her rant verged on a temper tantrum, and he half-expected her to start banging her fists on the table. In an unlikely display of agreement with him, Not-Amity and Ito rose—literally, in Ito’s case—to meet the young girl’s attack head-on, like bulls incensed by a matador's scarlet flag. Having been seated next to him, Ito now loomed over Cha-Cha, and craning his neck back to gaze up at her made him dizzy. He busied himself over a handful of too-salty fries instead.

He waited for the two women to say their pieces. And then Cha-Cha, not one to hold back his thoughts unless there was some social advantage to it, looked to Chimere and chimed in, “What, did Badeaux get his period? Or did he get cold feet at the daunting prospect of the first challenge?” By this point, Cha-Cha was immune to the assault of judgmental eyes that turned toward him all at once. “Because this medical condition excuse seems very sudden and convenient for a kid who was dancing just fine and eating enough food for three large men at the Opening Ceremony. Did he develop this medical condition just today? If not and it's so serious, shouldn't it have disqualified him from selection in the first place?” Cha-Cha knew he was falling for the same trap as Bakshi and Chimere by making more enemies than friends, but he wanted a look at this Badeaux kid before Chimere was privileged with hand-picking her school's champion. Because Lis had not ranked high on Cha-Cha’s list during last semester's nominations at Castelobruxo. The boy had not ranked anywhere on that list, as a matter of fact.

And then, because he was feeling tough and chatty and boastful, he added, “I broke my femur in the second challenge of my Triwizard Tournament.” Well, actually, it was broken for me, he thought, remembering Sasaki Ken’ichi's face twisted in demented glee as he cast Afflicto. “I was still taking Skele Gro and on crutches by the time of the third challenge, but I competed.” And I won, Cha-Cha fought the urge to say, but a modicum of modesty compelled him not to. Bragging would have been in bad taste, and he was better than that.

“Well, thank you for that illuminating perspective, Mister Arif,” Bakshi said through tight lips, having long eschewed the Professor title from Cha-Cha's name. “Now, as I was saying—”

Just then a series of hacking coughs erupted. There was a gaspy, airless quality to them, as if the trachea that was the source was shivering on itself. The tall black man who had so far been too busy over his lunch to contribute to the meeting shot out of his chair, hands flying to his throat. The one eye that Cha-Cha could see from his profile view of the man was bulging and running with tears. The rest of the room looked on, too disturbed by those sudden, awful keening sounds to process that the man needed help, until a skinny white man with a greasy ponytail stood up and proclaimed he had just the potion that would help. So long as the choking man could wait ten minutes for him to find the right vial. Finally, Einar bolted up from his chair. With surprising speed for a man of his age and girth, he half-ran half-lumbered over to the victim, and managed to wrap his long arms around the wide stomach. Einar’s broad shoulders heaved three times, and the other professor gave a retching sound before disgorging a mashed-up, saliva-dripping fistful of fries onto the conference table. Bakshi emitted a yelp when it landed just in front of him, shrinking back in his seat. Sharing the headmaster’s disgust, Cha-Cha felt a dangerous shift in his stomach and averted his eyes. He pushed his plate away.

The big man panted a wordless “thank you” to Einar, who returned to his seat reluctantly after numerous and increasingly animated gesticulations that his colleague was okay. And Einar saves the day once again. What a hero, Cha-Cha thought, not fully stifling an eyeroll.

Bakshi had something to say on the matter. “You okay, there, champ?” he asked the other bald man. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the first challenge like you did the Opening Ceremony. I hope eating too fast doesn't prove a habit for you.” Bakshi said it all with a chipper, plastic-stiff smile. If he'd embarrassed Champ, the guy didn’t show it, because he ravenously returned to his plate. Swallowing a bite successfully this time, he gave a pensive pause and then spoke. Cha-Cha had to hand it to him; he made sense. Finding Naomi and getting her side of the story seemed a good idea. Especially if Amity wasn't at fault for the murder and they were letting the true killer walk free.

Bakshi nodded in simultaneous understanding and dismissal of Champ's concerns. “We considered that, yes, and the team of Aurors suspects she may be involved in Odinson Locjaw’s death. As you suggested, other than Professor Munroe, Miss De Vries is our best source of information. But the team of Aurors thinks it best not to detain her, because we do not want her to know that she is under suspicion. Rather, we have reason to believe she may be working with the murderer and acted as a lure to get Locjaw alone. After all, it is highly unlikely that a sixteen-year-old witch could generate enough power to kill a giant with a curse. Our best bet is to closely examine her movements with the intention of her leading us to the real killer, be it Amity or otherwise. The killer is likely someone close to her, and all of Miss De Vries’ incoming and outgoing mail shall be monitored. As of today we have tracking spells placed on all of the fireplaces in the castle too, in case she chooses to Fire Message. To answer your other question, a preliminary autopsy suggests that Locjaw died of an inexplicably stopped heart. Given his age and lack of documented illnesses, it’s a good indication of the Killing Curse.”

Cha-Cha knew he was biased against Aurors and likely to rail against their involvement in any scenario, but Bakshi’s plan bordered on absurdity. Amity had already been apprehended for the murder of Locjaw, and even though her guilt hadn’t been proven yet, he couldn’t help but think it sounded as though Bakshi was hoping that Naomi would lead the Aurors to arrest some poor scapegoat so that Ilvermorny could escape the dishonor of having a murderer in their employ. “Putting the whole school on lockdown and sifting through communications just on one girl’s behalf sounds a little extreme,” Cha-Cha said, trying to sound reasonable. And then, before he remembered his current situation, he said out of habit, “Why don’t you let me have a conversation with Naomi? I can pick her brain on what went down with the Mahoutokoro kid, and then she won’t even remember the conversation if any sensitive information comes to light.” He suddenly remembered that he was without his powers and felt a prickle of unease. He chose to believe that they would be restored to him by whenever he was to have this hypothetical conversation with Naomi. Hopefully.

It was a problem that Cha-Cha wouldn’t have to worry about, because Bakshi wouldn’t have it. “That might be a good idea, if only we had a trustworthy Legilimens on our hands.” He wore that slimy smile again.

Blatantly offended, Cha-Cha considered upping and leaving the meeting right then and there. He was clearly unwelcome and all of his opinions were dashed aside, so what was the purpose in wasting any further time here? But a lurid fascination to see if a fistfight broke out by the end of the meeting—especially between two of the female professors—rooted him in his seat. That, and he partly felt like walking out would be seen as a sign of weakness. Instead he riposted, “If only Ilvermorny had a competent staff, then maybe this murder mystery wouldn’t be so mysterious. Between a supremacist asshole teaching Muggle Studies, a Potions master who uselessly rifles through his coat while someone’s choking, and a Headmaster who allies the whole room against him every time he opens his m—”

“Mister Arif, this is your final warning,” Bakshi snarled. His eyes were blazing so hot that it was a miracle his spectacles didn’t melt, and a vein appeared in his shiny forehead. “I will expel you from the meeting if you speak to me or another professor in a disrespectful manner again.”

Oh, so you’re allowed to dish it out but you can’t take it? Cha-Cha thought but wisely didn’t say. Instead, he just cocked a mute, disbelieving eyebrow at the man. His keen desire to see how this meeting ended narrowly convinced him to surrender the last word—for now. If he had only one bullet left in the chamber, he would use it to optimal effect: damage, in the most pernicious way possible.

Bakshi cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the table for a few seconds, seeming to collect himself and reset his thoughts. “Our time is short, and there is not much left to be said on the subject of Naomi until more information has been gathered. That being the case, I would like for us to discuss one more topic before we conclude.” Bakshi looked at Einar. “One of your student representatives is an amateur Seer, yes?” Einar seemed to pause for a moment, as if wondering whether answering the question was in his best interest or his information to give away, before assenting.

Bakshi continued, “A little over an hour ago, Mister Piper Katzenback collapsed in the dining hall after delivering what we believe to be a prophecy. According to various onlookers, his eyes rolled back in his head and his voice adopted a monotone as he talked about champions and trials. Curiously, he also alluded to this happening tomorrow morning. This seems like an indication of the first challenge, and coincidentally, the forest behind the school has begun shifting. Trees have bent their shapes, a flock of rarely-seen diricawls has appeared, and the door to an underground labyrinth that has been sealed since World War II has been unlocked. All of these signs seem to be culminating in the beginning of the tournament. I would like to propose that we hold the first challenge tomorrow. Let’s put it to a vote, shall we?”



























































♡coded by uxie♡
 
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Piper Katzenbach



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    11:15

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But I'm really just a kid.



The more he tried to think and speak, the more his head hurt.

Sigurd's bluntness was staggering. Piper really, truly had not expected it. The two boys had barely spoken to each other in their five previous years of schooling together, let alone have a real conversation together. He was taken aback by how frankly he'd asked him what had happened, though his deference to possession seemed to do the trick and get Sigurd to drop it at least temporarily. "I know what possession is," He said a bit more snappily than he meant to, tearing his gaze away for a moment.

He fidgeted slightly. He swallowed, organizing what little brain matter he had into a cohesive thought. His leg bounced with the nervousness he felt. Both Kiara and Sigurd wanted to know what happened. How he got hurt, why he was speaking like he knew about a tournament challenge that had yet to happen yet, what possession had to do with it. All things he did not want to answer. He wanted them to answer instead. When he looked back to Sigurd, the other boy's gaze had shot over to Kiara, finishing the last of a question Piper would not be able to hear or piece together. He could read her lips to ascertain to what her response was, something about bullies and an implication of justice. For a brief second, he felt a glimmer of admiration for the girl. He'd never be able to do something like that. He was bad at standing up for anyone, himself included. When he did, it usually meant he was at his breaking point and caused a lot more problems.

He could only presume that some sort of relative silence hung in the air—truly, he had never known silence, on account of his severe tinnitus, and was only able to guess when it was quiet if it didn't look like anyone was speaking and there was an absence of loud noises that might've been audible over the ringing— he spent the time awkwardly examining the faces of Kiara and Sigurd. She moved her head upwards, beckoning his gaze, and asked him a question that took him a moment to work out. "No," The denial was swift and decisive, but he wasn't sure what to say next. The two of them had missed him delivering a prophecy, thank God, and the general student body at Ilvermorny seemed apathetic to its delivery, implying they believed it to be a stunt. Now, he just had to find away to explain everything away and remove Kiara and Sigurd's suspicions. The problem? He was a terrible liar.

"Um... well— I... Well... I passed by this– this um room where some of the Ilvermorny teachers were meeting. They were talking about, um, about the tournament. I- I think they were going t-to give us all a riddle about it. Uh, um. Here." He reached into his bag and pulled out a notebook, ripping out a page and carefully scribbling the prophecy out on paper:

For our champions our hearts keep,
A journey calls from secrets deep.
Shapes may shift and night may call,
Yet through the dark, the heart stands tall.

As morning stirs and light breaks through,
A soul emerges, clear and true.
By trials met and journey's end,
The fire within shall rise, unbent


He slid it onto the middle of the table, so both of them could read it, carefully avoiding eye-contact. "This is what they were saying. I- I was on my way to tell Clara and Cosmo about it, when I slipped and fell. I- I thought it would help her..." He trailed off slightly, picking at the skin on his thumb. His cheeks grew warm, knowing he way lying. He quietly prayed that they believed his deception. He offered a half-hearted shrug. "I- I was reading about possessions before that. And now that I have a concussion, I can't read. I-it would just really help take my mind off of the headache."

He looked back at Sigurd, half apologetic for his sour attitude. It wasn't Sigurd's fault that Clara left, his only remaining friend was probably a murderer, he inadvertently showed his powers to everyone, and he gave himself a concussion. He tried to gauge their reactions, testing to see if they believed him. His heart fluttered in his chest, his hands felt sweaty. He needed them to think he was being truthful. Or, at the very least, he needed them not to push him.

He leaned in closer to Sigurd, keeping his voice low. "What sort of creatures can possess wizards— besides other wizards? I've only really seen it when someone's been imperiused..." He trailed off slightly, throwing a small glance Kiara's way. He scooched even closer to the other boy. "What would be like being imperiused? Only kind of... Like..." He could clearly picture the interaction with Naomi in his mind, her eyes turning the color of coal and her nails digging into his skin. He looked down at the wounds on his hand, which had been left unchecked by the healers. He instinctively covered it with his unmarred hand. "The possessed wouldn't remember what happened when under the other creature's control, but it's not like they're being told what to do. It's like... like..." Ugh. He was used to stuttering but hated using filler words, but the words he needed weren't quite there. He felt slow. Stupid.

He glanced at Kiara again, unsure if her presence was really harmful rather than beneficial. He wished, for a second, that he and Sigurd were alone. He knew he could trust Sigurd. He wasn't sure he could trust Kiara. She was new. She had a strong sense of justice, which he admired. But if she knew about Naomi and what happened with the Mahoutokoro boy...

He sat so close to Sigurd their knees touched. "Like it's dormant, in your system. A-and it's undetectable. You don't know it's there, even when it takes control of you. But it knows what you're doing. It sees and hears what you see, so it knows everything even when it's not in control. Then, when it does take control, it can move and act as you without you ever knowing. Like your brain completely switched with the thing that's possessing you." He stared at Sigurd, waiting, watching for a response. This was important. More important than the tournament right now. He needed to find a way to save Naomi.








♡coded by uxie♡


 
Malaika Odion
Uagadou Champion
location here
mood here
outfit here
interactions

Gavy Sanctuaryforall1 Sanctuaryforall1

There was still something so charming about discovering things that still brought a magical sense of wonder. It was rare when you were a wizard not many things were as magical not in the sense of wonderment at least. At times she wondered what it would be like to live as or have been born as a muggle then discovering the wizarding world. This place felt peaceful and she was very glad to know where it was the sound of water, Gavy’s gentle breathing, the sound of sand under foot would be ingrained in her mind forever. She followed after her friend with an excited ease which became even more apparent when swimsuits were offered.”Perfect I think you are right this one looks like it’ll fit.”she said examining the one Gavriel had offered for her. With a flick of her finger the swimsuit was now in place of her regular clothes she looked it over making sure it did fit well. A grin appeared on her face now it was time for the fun and to really enjoy this place.


“How about both.”Mal said with a laugh about the bet involving a chocolate bar or coffee. A glint of playfulness filled their eyes as they both got ready then like lightning they were off. The feel of sand and little pebbles tickled her feet as they ran. There was nothing but laughter as both of them tried to beat the other to the water which was coming closer and closer. Their kicked dust floated down like magic fairy powder and maybe it was who was to say what all had been in here. So close they were so close now. Mal felt energy burning within her as she ran then her arms moved as she leapt diving into the water. The water felt amazing and instantly washed away any little particles of sand still clinging to her. As her head broke the surface she saw blonde hair doing the same then laughed in agreement with Gavy.”Definitely a tie this means we can go on a coffee date.”she said grinning at her friend. Then laughed as Gavy said she would be buying the coffee.”I’ll buy the chocolate and we can call it even.”she said happily watching her friend's eyes change a bit. It was fascinating seeing it in person and she wondered if Gavy even knew it was happening sometimes.


As a splash and a beckoning call very much like a siren Malaika followed, curious about what Gavy wanted to show her. This place was already amazing; she couldn’t imagine what else there might be. Once they were at a certain point another wink from Gavy was given before the blonde dipped beneath the surface. It only took a few seconds before she was following a few powerful kicks and she was near enough that Gavriel could see she was following. When Gavy pointed she let her gaze follow the line then saw what Gavriel was pointing at and it was absolutely beautiful. It was definitely worth coming here to see.



coded by natasha.
 

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