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 thrill of the night, mikkymoo/stells!
Ben · 18 · 7th · · Pureblood · 6'0
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Jun 28 2018, 09:22 PM   Link Quote
It could fairly easily be argued that the Skjeggestad brothers did not like most things. In fact, from the way that Magnus grunted about the sunniest of days whilst other students soaked up the rays, or from how he squinted at the potions notes he was taking on the only day their teacher had allowed them to brew whatever they liked, no one could be begrudged for believing such rumors. He didn't laugh at jokes that weren't at someone's expense, and he hardly ever smiled truly. (Granted, it could also be argued what his true smile looked like- he seemed the most lit up whenever there was bloodshed, but was that really when he was at his happiest? Few knew.) Magnus, to every outside eye, was an incredibly negative soul. But when the Pink Lady stood in front of them all and announced their little game, Magnus felt the beginnings of a smile in his hands.

Magnus' happiness pivoted on how much he would have to move. The burn of muscles was his smile. The coil of his legs pushing him further as he sprinted after Mikkel over Norwegian countryside. The caw of Fersken above him, egging him on, daring him to be faster. The fall of a deer with his arrow lodged between it's ribs. Before the announcement was finished, he had rapped Mikkel on the bicep and nodded towards the doors to the Great Hall. Another thing that could be argued about the brothers was that they communicated mostly in words and looks, like they had transcended words, or perhaps had never needed them to begin with. Some would believe it's because they're twins, or because they're very close, or because neither of them really like to talk much anyway. Unless, of course, it's mocking. Neither of them had ever tried to pretend they were kind creatures. Magnus? He figured it was because the wolves that ran in their blood cared not for words either.

For a moment, the heaviness of their fate seemed to threaten to swallow him like Fenrir in Ragonorok. But then they were getting up before the rest of the school had even started thinking of strategies, and Magnus felt an almost electric zing fire through his nervous system like a call to arms. Speaking of which, he whisked his wand from his pocket and once they had made it past the doors of the Great Hall, he began to run, taking the marble staircase two at a time. "Where to?" He called to Mikkel, who was likely abreast to him, as he always was. They were creatures that moved exclusively in tandem. Skjeggestad tradition would make them glued at the hip: years of stalking through the wilderness after the same herd of elk had made the two of them proficient hunters and even more proficient in their understanding of each other. But Skjeggestad tradition also threatened to wrend them apart.

But now, they were hunting as they had been since they were eleven, and Magnus began to run up the staircases once more as he heard the riot begin in the Great Hall. He whistled, and from somewhere up above, he heard Ferksen's inmistakeable 'kraahh? It wasn't unusual for the raven to mill about the castle on his own schedule, but he could never be found far from wherever Magnus happened to be. With an uproar in the Great Hall, he had figured the bird would come investigate. It appeared he was right. The raven flew alongside him, or rather flew-and-landed as he made his way up the staircases whilst the war spilled out of the Great Hall and into the rest of the castle.

"Where to, Mikkel?" He asked again, this time with what appeared to sound like glee in his voice. The thrill of the chase felt infectious.


@Mikkel Skjeggestad

--------------------
There's no mercy for the weak of heart.
They'll be trampled down and torn apart.
As ruthless as it all may seem,
The wild cares not for the weaker beings.
🐺🐺🐺
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