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sorentrasksghost:

“And yet I’m sure for some of the people here there are things beyond looks to prove that you’re worth their time,” he argued. The words were slurring more and more, his anger bubbling under the surface while his voice remained quiet. There had to be a different way to get to the top, without stooping so low to impress your elders. Were suits and empty words all that they were supposed to have to offer? Perhaps he was being too optimistic by thinking that hard work could lead you to where you wanted to be.

“Perhaps,” he agreed hollowly, not really understanding what the other meant but not seeing a point in argument. “Have fun trying to show them worth that might not exist,” he muttered, getting ready to stand up but stumbling slightly. He ignored the offered smile as his annoyance with the situation was too strong.

     Seeing the other stammer his hand, out of reflex, quickly gripped the other’s shoulder. “You good?” he asked, hoping that his choice in coming across apathetic and drunk wasn’t what he was aiming to portray for the evening. “If you need a little something to sober you up, I have some Kafa Press in my flask...” he hinted, as at this point Sergei didn’t know the other had been spiked by a potion---instead just sloshed beyond a belief. Since he was taught that Americans couldn’t hand a glass of vodka, let alone a night out drinking. 

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izumihisakawa:

“Well, concidering I can’t talk to any of my political heroes whom I want to work for in the next five to ten years, I can fairly say i’m not doing so well.” She said, talking in a soft whisper so even in a high pitched voice people wouldn’t turn around to look. “I’m not angry. I’m just, sad that such a great oportunity is slipping through my fingers and there’s nothing I can do.”

     She had a point, which was sad and unfair---yet again that was sometimes life. Part of him wanted to say ‘tough break’ or ‘life’s shit sometimes’, yet he refrained, r e m e m b e r i n g his life wasn’t and should be the way for everyone-else’s lives.  “I get that. Though the silver lining I guess.” he cleared his voice, “is that this is one event out of a year of more to come...I know having this slapped down on any of our resumes will open doors. Don’t you worry.” he hoped his words brought some calm to her; even if he wasn’t the best for pepping others up. 

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yana-savrasov:

Drinking was so awful, but the only thing keeping her going was the bread and the fact that this all seemed so hilarious– And Sergei was smiling, which made it all the more funny. Yana raised the glass and toasted life, “This is how the wallflower wilts!” She’d made it halfway through that third shot before choking on the laughter of what she just said, and then continually laughing at the drink that didn’t make it all the way down. “I think I’m dead, Sergei.” She wiped the alcohol from her chin, before staring at him with wide eyes. “I’m floating– Am I a ghost?”

      Her words about wallflowers stuck out to him---at title in the works he thought, all-the-while he tucked away the phrase to be revisited at another time. His lips broke from a small laugh that she had caused him naturally; even if her words were under the affects of a potion he still found humor in it. “Oh you aren’t trust me.” he assured her, his hand reaching out to help clean up her chin. His fingers grazed lightly against the area before it returned to his side. “Even so if you were a ghost, I swear you’d be an annoying one to have haunt them” grinning, “I mean that in the best way of course.” 

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verabazkin:

The reaction was knee-jerk, as her hand had been resting on the bar. There was a forgotten drink there, not her own. Her arm flexed quickly, a snake striking, to fling whatever the contents were squarely into Sergei’s face. “Watch your mouth,” she hissed at him, reverting to Russian just to avoid whatever inquisitive ears might overhear. Her lips did feel swollen, then– she hadn’t been imagining it. Either way, she wasn’t going to give the bastard any satisfaction in knowing he’d confirmed her fear. “Look at you, swearing in public and showing everyone that you’re no better than the absolute trash you were before before my father gave you his name, and his money, and his time. How unsurprising.” Pushing past him, Vera made her way towards the powder room, attempting to keep one hand up to discreetly hide her disfigured face.

    There she was---the VIPER underneath the roses. His sisters true colors finally showed and no matter the gold or lace she wove across her skin, trying to compliment something other than her wrath, it wouldn’t help. Sergei always seemed to bring that out of her. No matter if they were civil or at one another’s throat; they both never saw eye to eye. Especially in this moment, since his face dripped with punch and his shirt was decorated with a pale blue tint from the mixture she showered on him. He wanted to speak up but he fought against it, choosing to take her verbal assault before she dismissed herself. 

              She was cruel                    ---y e t                           there might have been some truth in her malice. 

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yana-savrasov:

In all of Yana’s Koldostoretz schooling, she’d never imagined she’d be anywhere doing shots with Sergei. She was living some sort of life that just wasn’t hers, and by God, was she experiencing it. “Sergei Bazkin,” Yana announced, handing them each another. “You are absolutely going to get me killed.” The notion was easily followed by careless laughter.

    “Better to be k i l l e d than to never live.” he insisted, this time being the one to grab the glass for them. Sergei has been to his parties, normally out of pity or some allure that the host of the party wanted to crack---ever way he was more of the wall flower. So when we was moment passed make a scene, being the eye of the crowd, and now to sneaking off shots in the corner it all felt new. FUN. “Come Yana, we aren’t in koldovstoretz anymore...” he raised his glass.  

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yana-savrasov:

Sergei sounded less miserable than he did before and Yana was glad he was having a better time. “Oh oh!” She pointed out the small shots on the table. There seemed to be less reserves of alcoholic law here given the magical community and no one seemed to really bat an eye as she handed one to Sergei and took one for herself. “There’s no pickles,” she giggled before taking a bread and breaking off half for him. Raising her glass, she toasted them, “To our health!”

   He wasn’t expecting her to go the mile with their shots, but it felt right. Even if they were missing the pickle and the bread wasn’t the most rye bread they could find---the gesture made him feel at home for a moment. Salem was great, but at times he missed others feeling how he felt...speaking like him, and in this case d r i n k i n g like him. “To our health” he repeated before turning his head and huffing out a breath. Returning to the glass he slammed it back, the clear liquid scorched down his throat; yet before his body could register one sense he quickly brought the bread in and inhaled it. The sense of bland vodka and the soft scents of fresh bread filtered through him. Sadly the tang of the sour pickle was lacking but he was going to let it slide. “Bravo. Another?” he asked, feel like his night was looking up. 

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yana-savrasov:

“Because what a treat it would be to hear the esteemed Sergei Bazkin giggle,” Yana covered her face again as she laughed, finishing her drink off herself, if he wasn’t going to have some. “You won’t find good vodka here, Bazkin,” she said light-heartedly. “But Vera had some I think she liked, so I could show you those.” Yana hummed lightly as she overlooked the tables, not admitting to Sergei, she wasn’t allowed to drink by her father, and that when she did try the stuff, she wasn’t so fond of it. But her good mood was making her open to anything really– It felt like she was floating along in a fun dream as she looked for the drink.

     “Of course my hopes aren’t high...These people distill anything and slap the word vodka across it. It’s down right saddening.” he said with a slight glee in his tone. Drinking wasn’t really his pass time---at least drinking to get DRUNK. His father always did that and that was a heavy association he didn’t want carry for himself. However, a good vodka or schnapps was something he rarely passed up when out. “Oh really?” he asked after hearing his sister being mentioned, “I’d make a comment but she does have good taste...” shaking his head as he followed the other. 

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yana-savrasov:

At his confession, Yana laughed again, though there was no hesitation in this one– “That was a good prank, Sergei!” She never thought of him as the joking type, but she supposed it did align with his dark humor. “Gigglewater?” It made sense, but the longer Yana thought about it, the funnier it was. Yana mischievously swirled her cup in Sergei’s face. “You know you want some, Bazkiiiin.”

       Tilting his head up, lifting his nose to the container, he painfully while being obvious that he wanted nothing to do with it. “Why would I torture myself to that?” he asked, almost rhetorical as he let a slight chuckle slip from his lips. “How about we find something stiffer to drink than what American’s call punch---it lacks a certain kick that we have back home.” he hinted slightly to vodka with out plainly saying it.  “Also maybe something that isn’t spiked for you...” glancing back at her cup once more. 

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izumihisakawa:

Izumi knelt next to him to help him back to his feet. She looked in her purse for a handkerchief that belonged to her father and that she carried around, and handed it to him so he could clean his suit of the food and drinks that fell over him when he fell. 

“Tell me about it.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I mean, have you heard my, my voice?” Izumi didn’t sound angry, like Segei, bur rather dissapointed than such an interesting event was messed up by some senseless prank.

    Once she pointed it out, he realized after as his mind was too filled with his own annoyances to pick up on her’s. “I do, my guess is Volubilis potion hmm?” he asked but fairly sure it was the cause. Sadly not knowing the amount she was given the young wizard couldn’t offer her much in help. “I read Syrup of Hellebore can help speed up the process of it, but doubtful you can fix it by the end of the night..” he sad with remorse; partially since he knew this was important night for many. Being so young, while surrounded by so many distinguished people made him wonder who’d work so hard to mess this up for so many. 

     He took her handkerchief, thanking her with a soft grin, as he patted the tail ends of his suit. Not wanting to use magic, he hoped that the cream that smeared on his suit would go away with ease. “Other than that, how’s your evening fairing?” 

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sorentrasksghost:

Soren turned to look closer at the other, wondering silently why the other cared so much. Didn’t that get tiring after some time? “And yet there are things that you have to offer that they’d care more about,” he offered. He paused for a moment allowing the other a moment of near silence in the quietly buzzing room, listening as everyone spoke to each other. Surely his classmates were among the schmoozers that night.

“I like to think that we’re here for reasons other than looking good in suits.” Besides the apparent expectation for them to be perfect simply because they were supposedly the cream of the crop was ridiculous and would only lead to disappointment. “Besides I’m sure they’ve all embarrassed themselves before.”

     “Caring about what I can offer is a second thought if I don’t seem worthy of their time in the first place.” he quickly replied, Deep down Sergei knew how superficial vanity was, how people offer more than the eye could ever know, or that suits or dresses wouldn’t hide all their insecurity---yet socially that didn’t matter. Among this w o r l d you still had to abide by laws and fallacies even if you didn’t want to. To those ‘schmoozers’, they were playing the game to get to the top; regardless if there was a higher or alternative road to take. 

     “I’d love to think so idyllically, but the hards facts is that no matter how much our skills or recognition might have brought us---at least this far---mean’s nothing if we can’t mingle and show our worth.” he dusted his hands off with a spare napkin, “Don’t get me wrong, I know I look good on paper but sadly off of it...I need work. So if slapping a suit or wearing something expensive can help with that, even a little, well I’ll do it.” He knew Soren wasn’t trying to give him a lecture nor warranted his defensive banter, but it was just a mechanism for the boy. “I guess for my sake I hope so...” he smiled, hoping to lift the mood.  

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yana-savrasov:

Sergei dropped that information like a bomb and for a seemingly long moment, though it really might have been a few seconds, Yana fell still and silent, trying her very hardest. But it came slow, a soft bubbling feeling that traveled through her into a deep rumble in her chest, coming out as the loudest guffaw Yana had ever produced. “She has cancer!”

    Her laughter, induced not natural, quickly affirmed his thoughts. First his slug, another students have warts, and not gigglewater? This PRANK seemed to be hitting all the Summit students and it quickly made the Russian become defensive. “She doesn’t.” he replied lowly, a straight expression across his lips. “I was testing you and you’ve failed or well succeeded.” really he didn’t know, “Someone’s seemed to spike your drink too huh? Gigglewater is horrible in my opinion” of course it was for him, but he shrugged that thought away for the moment. 

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yana-savrasov:

Sergei seemed frustrated, and really, the little wrinkles and displeasure on his face was just so absurd that she had to laugh. “Oh, I’m really fine. Nothing’s wrong–” Yana let out a soft hiccup, ”This party is just really good. I’ve never found gatherings to be so funny.” She tried to cover it with her hand. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad time, Sergei.”

     Everything was pointing to one thing and though the joke he was about to make was definitely not something he’d ever say---he wanted to test his fellow peer quickly, before jumping to any conclusions. “Gatherings can be fun, even for your case....yet I’ve learned my mother has cancer this evening so I’m not in the best of spirits.” he lied, his eye gauging her response while he stood up and looked around for a drink that wasn’t contaminated with slugs.

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izumihisakawa:

Izumi had just finished her second glass of the night, and was leaving the empty cup over the table she was next to. Although at first she was unsure, thinking about what the first glass had caused -or atleast, she had one theory that pinned the responsability of her new voice to the drink- she finally decided that she couldn’t avoid beverages forever, and besides, it couldn’t get worse than how she already was. 

However, a few seconds after leaving putting down her drink, she saw a guy, who she vaguely recognized from a debate class, almost fall over the table. Izumi walked over to where he was and looked at him, trying to help him get back on her feet. She really didn’t want to use her voice, but she realized how bad it would be perceived if she didn’t talk, so she finally muttered “Are you alright?” For some reason, she wasn’t able to pronounce the ‘r’, intead making it sound more like a g. She remember the guy’s temper wasn’t the best, so she wouldn’t be surprised if he tried rejecting her help.

      Hearing her voice and then seeing her face were two different reaction, both masking a hesitation from him. Knowing of her breifly as a sympathetic (as his mother would call them) and a strong debater, he really didn’t want to look weak in-front of her---not to mention in an embarrassing situation. Never the less, Fate was a fickle bitch and he had to swallow his pride. Already knelt down when she approached him, he gave a weak smile before speaking.

      “I’ve been better.” a truth, but still colder than he would others. Most students from other Eastern schools were always receiving a colder side of him---since their teaching and righteous natures always made him feel the need to; even if some didn’t live up to that stereotype. “Frankly I’m wondering which clown thought it’d be fun to f u c k with everyones drinks.” saying off handedly and not directly her but in general, since he couldn’t really tell if she was spiked or not but others earlier in the night made him believe no one was safe. 

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verabazkin:

“Yes!” Vera snapped, throwing up her hands in exasperation. When she spoke her tone was low, but emotional. “Why wouldn’t I be? The only thing that could make this night more pleasant would be a lack of your presence, but that’s not something I’m likely to get, am I?” Even getting the words out was difficult, given how badly she wanted to scream at him.

    Her disdain for him poured through her words---a similar reaction she gave her father back at home when he’d pry too much. His heart ached briefly, wondering why so much of her bleed anger and animosity, over civility and kindness. It always baffled him; yet he bite back not taking his step-sister’s shit for the evening. “Can you just fuck off from being a cunt for twenty four hours---just this once.” he exclaimed, his words speeding out of him as he spoke quicker in Russian than any other language, “I’m only asking cause you lips look like swollen tomatoes, but be my guest---if you want to look like a buffoon. Waltz on ahead.”

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verabazkin:

She watched him speak with something akin to distaste– there really was no way to win with him.  Vera had resigned herself to being the brunt of his impossible expectations until he mentioned ‘their’ father. “I did not get any letter from my father,” Vera informed him frostily. “But it is good to hear that yours is contacting you from beyond the grave. Maybe he isn’t seeking retribution for his death at your hands after all.”

    The obvious ways she tried to make it known to him that her biological father will not and never will be someone he could call his own---at least publicly was well r e c e i v e d. Her disdain for him met more pettier bounds; which was a shame to match since she was dressed as a princess for the evening. Sergei was just reminded how ugly she could be while painted up to look so gorgeous. “Sorry, YOUR father.” he was reminded, “As for mine I’m doubtful he’s much of anything, and definitely not that of a ghost...but.” he paused, his eyes kept staring down at her lips. “Are you sure you are fine?”

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yana-savrasov:

Sergei sounded so much like her father that she shut her mouth, took steps closer to him, until she was giggling quietly into his chest. Trying to compose herself, she backed up just a bit until she was staring up at him, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing or keep a straight face at all, even. Yana just couldn’t do it. “I can’t stop…Laughing,” she struggled to confess quietly to him before lapsing once more.

     Her response did not match how hard she seemed to be TRYING---that she seemed to be under the influence of. something, yet he couldn’t say what. Potion or alcohol, bewitchment or curse, in the world of Wizardry there were few times when something only had one answer. “Oh god...first slugs now this.” he said lowly under his breath, while his hands gripped around clusters of broken pastries. “How long have you been laughing? Also are you...well...okay?” he asked after, only being concerned momentarily while a few others approached them to finish cleaning up his mess.