of the month!


 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 Share your windward dreams, Flo<3
Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 18 2017, 10:53 AM
Quote
Stells
6th
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
347 posts
Offline
By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥

Rep: 11 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor Beginner
Awards: 33



Somewhere in the distance, birds were singing, and as warm sunlight gently kissed the skin of the young boy, he wondered if he could ever reach them. They often sang, but he could rarely ever see them, gardens untainted by the presence of any creature yet still blooming with the life of a thousand flowers - beautiful, spreading their sweet fragrance over anything that surrounded them. And while the boy frequently wanted to destroy that place, tear down white pillar after another and break every single one of those carefully polished statues, he would have never harmed those flowers, marveling at their elegance and often hiding among them. They were one of the only things he liked about the villa, one of the only things that brought smiles upon his soft lips instead of anger. It was all a trap, but he was too young to understand it, caged behind those golden bars when he had roamed free until so recently.

That day, he wasn’t hiding, for there were no responsibilities to avoid and no tutors to annoy, being granted one of those rare breaks in between the lessons that had filled his life ever since he had arrived at Spain. Even if months had passed, even if he wasn’t as scared as he once had been and had found reasons to smile, it was all still rather strange and confusing, cherishing those moments spent away from the adults whose only goal seemed to be controlling him. The child stepped on the edge of the fountain, balancing on his tiptoes as he walked around the water, careful not to fall - though if he did, it wouldn’t have been surprising.

It was one of the constants of his life at that mansion, he may have been caged, but that most definitely did not mean he was going to stand around quietly. He ran, he jumped, he climbed and he fell, earning injuries which had to be healed time and again by the skillfully pronounced spells of servants or even his coldhearted grandmother. No matter how painful it was, how much blood and how many bruises, the boy never cried, huffing quietly as he was scolded and never listening to threats or warnings. He hated that place, and he hated the people: the tutors, and the grandmother who would check on him with emotionless stares, acting as if she cared when the boy could never trust her.

He didn’t trust anyone. Not the house elves, not the servants that acted as if they liked him, and most certainly not those who now called themselves his ‘family’, only allowing close a rare few of the individuals he had met ever since arriving at that place, mostly those of his own age. Because while adults were annoying, rude, scary and avoided, friendship was...sought after, especially as a child who had spent one too many years in lonely, a loneliness that only seemed to increase with every moment spent at that mansion. Maybe that’s why he had so easily developed liking and affection for his cousins, why he adored Victoria and did everything to make her happy. And maybe, that’s why his turquoise eyes widened as his name was called, watching the short figure he had never seen before.

One day, Martín Marzán would become fit of being called divine, and he would consider himself to be that too. Yet that day, at that garden, he was merely a child enjoying a day of Summer.

@Florentin Deschamps

--------------------
Tracker||Workshop||Plotter
user posted image

user posted image
Storm is fabulous and makes me pretties ❤
PM
^
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Apr 18 2017, 12:24 PM
Quote
Tine
7th
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
467 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 27



Somewhere in between leaving the marvelous villa in Neuilly-sur-Seine and arriving in Spain, something had gone wrong - at least that was how Florentin tried to explain the situation to himself while his small, fragile body almost toppled over as he opened his eyes again, pale and big eyes blinking at his mother’s face in confusion as she dabbed his forehead with a finely embroidered handkerchief, leaving it to his own hands to wipe his mouth before a cup of water was handed to him, fingers fixing his hair and a quick spell removing the traces of the boy having passed out. It was most likely the unexpected heat that had triggered this fainting spell, yet fortunately magic could fix most mistakes nature had so carelessly made. Thanks to helping hands - and the disdainful looks of his father - Florentin got up, another spell making the dust fade from his clothes while the boy was clutching his doll to his chest again, following his parents into the villa where the heavy doors opened invitingly for them.

He knew what it was like to visit other pureblood families all too well - it meant meeting other children as well, getting used to their faces and their attitude even while they did not understand a single word of what Florentin was saying. It often turned out to be a problem, like Preben Nilsson turning down every protest he was voicing and still dragging him along to places the delicate boy did not want to see and into activities that were too wild for his liking. The past winter had been a prime example of finding himself clinging to the other boy while sitting on a sleigh, screaming like his last moment on earth had come. One could only guess how relieved he had been when he had been able to leave the sleigh behind and all his limbs had still been in place. Every time they visited Norway, Flo wished the smaller Nilsson boy would finally engage in his vain attempts to play with him, the doll dropped beside the boy’s plush dragon, pale blue eyes wide when looking at the messy child that refused to speak to him. He would not be surprised if another savage child like this was going to wait for him within these walls.

Aceline reached out and fixed Florentin’s pale blue hair bow that held his honey-coloured strands in place, before she focused her whole attention on his little brother instead. There was not much to see apart from the processes of greeting each other and exchanging words that meant little to the ears of a seven year old boy who wanted to explore what was hidden behind those pillars. He could see the garden, the fountain that was there - and he knew exactly that if he was going to run there, his brother would not follow. The memories of Florentin pushing his head underwater not too long ago were recent enough to keep him away from waters as long as his brother was around, too. Patiently he waited until he was free to wander down those clean stairs, fascinated by the blooming flowers and the sunlight that seemed to reflect from the water in the fountain, as well as from single decorative elements carved out of shiny materials. Flo was so caught in the sight, the doll with her luscious brown hair and a pretty blue dress with matching shoes still pressed tightly against his chest, almost like a shield, that he did not hear the name that was called, and he also did not see the boy who occupied these gardens already.

Instead, he sat down on the edge of the fountain, carefully placing the doll beside himself, with one hand still holding onto her. His other dipped into the water that felt warmed from the sun, a small smile appearing on his face as he quietly splashed around just a little - not enough to stain his clothes or even the stone edge of the fountain he was currently kneeling on, like a lost merboy who had lost his tail.

@Martín Marzán

--------------------
PM
^
Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 18 2017, 09:59 PM
Quote
Stells
6th
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
347 posts
Offline
By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥

Rep: 11 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor Beginner
Awards: 33



America had never been like this. There had been apartments and hotel rooms, there had been constantly interchanged cars, and there had been the homes of stranger, but nothing like that mansion. Had he been taken there under different circumstances, had he been there with his father, the boy would have loved it, he would have been amazed by the statutes and the relics, by the way everything seemed so elegant and golden. Too bad his father wasn’t there. Too bad he was gone forever, taken by those who owned that luxurious villa. Taken by the man who Martín had soon come to know as his grandfather. It all still haunted him, memories becoming vivid everything Emilio Marzán appeared, making the boy want to run away and hide.

Thankfully, his grandfather was rarely around, too preoccupied with his own affairs to worry about the boy for whom he had searched for so long. Ironic, was it not? Things had been explained to him, yet he still struggle to understand much of it, as his father had never really spoken about his mother or the rest of their family, despite the boy’s constant insistence. Everything had changed too quickly. One minute he was just another kid playing soccer with his father in the parks of Philadelphia and the next he was… here, given a thousand responsibilities and having everyone he met trying to change the way he acted. How could he not hate it? How could he not try to rebel? Kicking and screaming and doing everything in his power to anger the man who haunted him in nightmares.

The more time he spent at that mansion, the more it changed his concept of family, becoming one he slowly began to despise, for those who called themselves his family were far from being people of his liking. Still, there were those who made him happy, there was Theodore and there was Victoria, but the cousins who he had come to know when becoming a Marzán weren’t always there, and that meant that in general...Martín had quite a terrible opinion of family. Most of the time he tried not to think about it, though it was hard when stuck in that place, not even being able to forget while walking through those pretty gardens. Fun did help with forgetting, yet how could he have fun when he lived a life so lonely?

From the other side of the fountain, he peaked at the other child, and as his gaze wandered over the sight, Martín was sure he had never seen anyone quite like them. Pretty was the word that came to mind, as it did with so many things in that mansion, though not in a way he despised. Pretty like the flowers, like those gardens in which he spent so much time. Being raised by only his father and moving quite often, the young Spaniard rarely interacted with other children, especially with females, so could anyone really blame him for mistaking Florentin for a girl when looking at that long and luscious honey colored hair and the doll besides him? Because see, his cousin was a female, but this boy was most certainly more feminine than Tori.

With care not to fall from the edge on which he was still standing, the boy tiptoed his way around the fountain until standing close to that which he believed was a girl, blinking in curiosity as he watched Florentin’s actions. “Hola” Martín greeted in natural Spanish, a gentle smile curving his lips, because despite still learning the language, he had grown accustomed to speaking it at that place, soon learning that most did not understand English at all...or pretended not to.

@Florentin Deschamps

--------------------
Tracker||Workshop||Plotter
user posted image

user posted image
Storm is fabulous and makes me pretties ❤
PM
^
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Apr 19 2017, 02:58 AM
Quote
Tine
7th
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
467 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 27



Florentin had never been alone - but he might have been lonely a few times, although there was always someone around: his parents, his little brother, the house elves that tried so hard not to be seen but never quite suceeded. Yet one could be lonely in a room full of people, too - although those were twisted emotions a boy of his age could not understand yet. It did not mean he could not feel them, when pressing his face into his soft pillows at night, doll held tightly against his chest and thumb in his mouth while anxiously waiting for anything to happen. For what? He could not tell, but it had taken only few years on this earth to find out that a soft breeze could turn into a storm within seconds - and his father was one of these storms. The little boy was glad he had escaped the watch of his parents for a while, and it almost felt like he could feel his brother's icy gaze on his back. For now, he was going to ignore it, wormed in by the beauty of a garden that looked like the ones in the picture books they had at come - all that was missing were the fairies with sparkling wings and adorable little dresses, so unlike the real creatures that were of course to be despised and not admired.

In the turquoise waves of the fountain, Flo could see his own reflection - a small face that looked even smaller when all hair was tied back neatly and falling over his back instead. Huge, azure blue eyes stared back at him, the same colouring as the sky above his head. There was still a sickly shade around his nose, pouty lips being pulled in an expression of disgust about himself. Slowly, he pulled his hand out of the water and wiped it carelessly on his pants, before his gaze wandered back to the flowers, bees humming around and a single butterfly passing by. Florentin smiled for a moment, hand clutching his doll again while all care for the rest of the world was generously abandoned. Even at home, the gardens around the mansion were his favourite place, hours spent playing there while their mother would sit on the terrace and watch them in quiet amusement, welcoming the picked flowers that got dropped in her lap.

When there was a shadow falling upon him, Flo winced - almost toppling over again and falling into the fountain rather than keeping his balance. Yet he somehow managed to take a hold onto the edge of the fountain, slowly staring up to the boy who looked like he had been balancing around the stone frame and was now greeting Florentin. At least the French boy assumed it was a greeting, as the word came with a gentle smile. Still it made Flo - not shy, yet cautious - recoil just a little, inconveniently changing his sitting position and holding the doll with both hands, slender fingers digging into the dress and causing it to wrinkle while he looked at the boy. No one had told him there would be another child here - or maybe they had, and he had forgotten over the mayhem of the fainting spell earlier. Either way, Florentin was not sure what to do, slowly remembering his manners while his expression changed to something way more stubborn.

"Bonjour, je m'appelle Florentin Deschamps, et toi? The words tumbled over his lips fastly, familiar French so much easier than struggling through the motions of English - or that, potentially Spanish, but Flo did not know. The phrases were learned by heart, easily repeated whenever it was necessary, with only the toi replaced by vous depending on who he was talking to. There was still a fluttter of nervousness in his guts as he carefully watched the boy, unsure what he was supposed to do with him and if he even belonged here or was nothing but a human servant's child - although the attire spoke volumes about the child's social status.

@Martín Marzán

--------------------
PM
^
Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 19 2017, 04:14 AM
Quote
Stells
6th
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
347 posts
Offline
By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥

Rep: 11 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor Beginner
Awards: 33



Later in life, Martín would describe his first few months at the Marzán villa as a slow process of change, one in which he had been forced to leave behind the child he had once been and began to turn into the heir to the cursed Marzán name. Yet, at that time, the boy didn’t really know how to explain it, and it only felt as if people were constantly trying to make him do things he didn’t want to do, learn things he didn’t want to learn, and even wear things he didn’t want to wear. It was very annoying, and while he could hardly fight against it, it surely didn’t happen without protest. Neat clothes would easily end up dirty, earning him scolding. Books would end up getting scribbled on, earning him the strict stares of tutors who seemed too afraid of that place to give him any sort of punishment for his misbehavior.

It was the sort of thing Martín noticed when living in Spain, as all people were unfamiliar and strange. Watching others had always fascinated him, but at that time it had helped him begin to gain understanding. It was one of those things the child could not really explain, though that was quite clear to him - the position of the Marzán family, the way others saw him, the new status he had gained when being recognized as the heir of such a family. For a child who was used to living in secrecy, to have the world ignore him and only count on his father, it all resulted to be quite… alarming. The boy did not want attention, he did not want those fancy clothes or that mansion, he just wanted his father, wanted to return to the hotel rooms and leave behind those beautiful gardens.

The same way he understood how terrible the Marzáns were, he understood he could never escape that mansion, for his father had tried escaping and hiding, and it had only made him perish. It was one of the first things explained to him by his grandfather, by the man who’s voice resulted so terrifyingly melodic to Martín - he had told him the story of his father, of why they moved around and never met any of their relatives, because they were always escaping, always running. The boy had tried deny it, screaming at his grandfather, and it had only earned him a slap, followed by a cruel reminder to stop being so foolish. And so he began to understand all these new trusts, all why desperately trying to fight the inevitable change.

Change like those languages, Spanish and French forced upon him, the first learned with so much more ease than the latter, making him wrinkle his small nose for a single second as the child in front of him spoke, his eyes - much alike the clear turquoise waters of the fountain- finding those of the stranger to whom he could now give a name. Florentin Deschamps. It was long and complicated and he was almost sure he couldn’t pronounce it. Tentatively repeating the words in his mind over and over as he had been taught to do while learning the language. In surrender, he huffed, instead choosing to give an answer to the question which he had heard heard a hundred times over those months. ’Martin Alders’ was the answer he wanted to give, the one he knew to be true, and yet the one he could not pronounce, as mentioning his father never ended well for the young Spaniard. “Je suis...Martín Marzán” the boy responded, still not quite used to pronouncing his way in a Spanish manner but doing so with an unmistakable Castilian accent, the language taking over as if it was always meant to be spoken by the child.

With agility and somewhat grace, he hopped down onto the ground, staring at the other child in silence before extending a hand, as he definitely was not the kind to make friends just by sitting around. Interacting with girls was hard, as he was well aware that most of them weren’t like the cousin who so easily followed him on his every misadventure, and it was even harden when he couldn’t even remember the single French word he wanted to pronounce. Instead, he chose something more familiar, more instinctive, word leaving his lips with a smile as warm as the Summer sun. “Come.”

@Florentin Deschamps

--------------------
Tracker||Workshop||Plotter
user posted image

user posted image
Storm is fabulous and makes me pretties ❤
PM
^
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Apr 19 2017, 11:17 AM
Quote
Tine
7th
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
467 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 27



At this time, Florentin was even more delicate, and a lot smaller than he would be approximately ten years later - but the first signs that the boy would one day be a beauty were already visible in the fine structure of his bones, the high cheekbones and the thick lashes that could easily trick a stranger into thinking that this boy was a girl. His clothes did not speak of any particular gender either, white pants combined with white sneakers made to run and yet too bright to be stained, and a soft cotton shirt in pastel blue on top, picking up the colour of the carefully tied hairbow and of the boy’s pale eyes. Flo did not have the chubby cheeks or the baby fat of other children, his body looked fragile with skinny wrists visible now he was sitting there and staring at the other boy, his forearm pressing his doll against his body while his thumb found its way in between his lips, absently sucking on the tip while blinking slowly. The little boy did not like surprises - but so far, everything was fine. If that was going to change, he could still walk back to his family.

His life had always taken place in widely spreading gardens, in ballrooms that were so rarely used and mansions where one was bigger than the other. The names and faces barely stuck to his mind for long, apart from those he was seeing again and again, at least twice a year for the parents to talk about business and the children to try and get along with each other. Usually Florentin was doing well at staying at the table as long as possible, blindly knowing which fork or knife to use for which dish and keeping his mouth shut while the adults were talking. Yet he was also relieved when the children got the call to leave the table to entertain themselves. This time, everything was a little different. Spain had already showed its bad side to the boy because the unexpected heat had made him pass out and throw up, and he was reluctant to embrace the mansion and its inhabitants with open arms now. Still, the other boy made him curious, and he listened carefully to the introduction. “Martin,” he repeated, but failed to pick up the Spanish prononciation and made the name sound as French as his own instead. A soft blush appeared on Flo’s cheeks as he lowered his gaze again.

Marzán, that was the important part here. So the boy did belong to the household, because Florentin remembered they were going to visit the Marzáns today. He lowered his arm, wiping the wet thumb on his shirt in the process. A hand was extended to him once the boy had jumped off the fountain, and Flo thought he was supposed to shake it before the word came with it. They had been teaching him English ever since, yet he was reluctant about it as it never seemed to get him anywhere. But he understood the simple command, nodding timidly and getting up as well before he reached out and took the boy’s hand, squeezing lightly. Flo did not know where they were going to, but he was going to leave it to the other, that warm hand strangely reassuring and so unlike being dragged in one direction or the other.

His free hand was still holding on his beloved toy, the one thing his father constantly wanted to take from him because it was not meant to be cherished by a boy. Aceline always raised her voice mildly, giving Florentin the little doll back when the tears were already spilling over his cheeks, well aware how much her son loved the dolls she had bought and the dresses they could be changed into. If he was going to get involved in an adventure, the doll - Claire - was of course coming along, her wide eyes blinking when the boy walked, curls bouncing with every step that shook the doll.

@Martín Marzán

--------------------
PM
^
Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 20 2017, 08:00 AM
Quote
Stells
6th
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
347 posts
Offline
By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥

Rep: 11 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor Beginner
Awards: 33



In many ways, Martín was like any other boy his age, he liked running and playing and the sort of adventures that used to drive his dad insane. He liked doing risky things, as children rarely put any thought in how dangerous their actions may have resulted until it was too late. He also liked talking to strangers, despite his father’s constant warnings about it, but strangers had always been something that fascinated him and he had never been one to shy away from conversation, as shyness didn’t seem to be a trait ever displayed by the small future deity. Mostly it was out of loneliness, out of the fact that he rarely got a chance to interact with other children, leaving him craving for those friendships he would always see in tv and movies. And perhaps this were the reasons why he would grow to be sociable, constantly seeking attention and a spotlight, making friends wherever he went to.

At that time, Martín care little for spotlights, though he did care about friends, and having his name pronounced in an even more unfamiliar way made the boy’s eyes widen as he stared at the French. It wasn’t the pronunciation he wanted, yet it wasn’t the Spanish one he disliked, making the boy giggle with happiness as he did not even notice the other’s embarrassment. Children didn’t need to know how to make friends, how to be polite or how to say things which would please others and make them seem likable to their eyes, and while Martín would one day know all those things, he didn’t then, acting on instinct alone and a the simple desire to spend time with another. While he liked those gardens, life at the Marzán villa was lonely, and he cherished every moment he got someone else to play with, even if it was someone he had just met and who probably didn’t like any of the things he liked doing. Not like he had thought about that anyways.

Then, it was his turn to blush, gentle shades of pink coloring his cheeks as his hand was squeezed, returning the gesture with a smile. The nod was all confirmation he needed, as a severe language barrier was surely nothing capable of stopping Martín, setting foot forward and beginning their journey through the gardens rather excitedly. Where were they going? Well, it was hard to tell, the gardens of the Marzán villa extended far, and the boy had explored every single part of them during his time there. After all, it was where he spent most of his time, be it to entertain himself or to hide in order to avoid performing this or that task. Those gardens were one of the only things about the mansion that he liked, and soon he found himself almost dragging Florentin to one of their favorite places as they walked past countless colorful and perfectly kept flowers.

They arrived at the foot of a apple tree, standing tall and strong, covered in small white flowers despite that it was no longer Spring, as if it frozen in time forever, deliberately left at the most beautiful of it’s hours. It could have been the result of magic, or that the tree was coming late into the Summer season, but whatever it was, the grass around it found itself covered in delicate white petals, as if remnants of snow. And, from one of the strongest branches of the tree, hang a swing, simple in it’s looks and almost unfitting for the wonderful image of those gardens. How it had got there was a mystery, as the boy had discovered it quite recently as he explored the gardens, though it seemed as if it had been there forever, part of the tree itself, made for a child who no longer was one and abandoned ever since. He turned to look at Florentin, smiling with warmth and delight.

@Florentin Deschamps

--------------------
Tracker||Workshop||Plotter
user posted image

user posted image
Storm is fabulous and makes me pretties ❤
PM
^
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Apr 20 2017, 11:55 AM
Quote
Tine
7th
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
467 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 27



When one was always in the company of someone else, one learned to appreciate the moments alone. And sometimes Florentin wanted to do just that - sit down and play with only himself and his dolls as company. He had another one with blonde hair at home, tucked away in his bed at home. He barely got away with bringing one along, a second was obviously unacceptable, no matter what his mother said. But this boy had done nothing to annoy Flo so far - he was not overly loud or intense, and seemed to be just a little more confident than the French boy himself. The child was used to the company of others, he knew children both older, younger and of his own age from their visits in Norway. Yet this was different, and it was very exciting. A small part of him felt guilty for leaving his brother behind, but the louder and bigger part said that his little brother did not deserve being dragged around. The day he had pushed Honoré’s head underwater in their poor had changed a lot of things between the two small boys, and he realised in those times his hand was not taken and the nights when there was no tiny body pressing against his own and keeping him warm.

It was the giggle - such a carefree and uncontrolled sound - that made Florentin look up again, frowning for a moment. Was Martín laughing about him? He was going to pull his hair if he dared such a stunt, even though it was not as long and pullable as Honoré’s strands of gold. But it seemed like the other boy was a nice one, not as wild - or just hiding his wildness better than the boys Florentin was usually forced to play with. It seemed like the two of them did not need words to communicate, simple nods and squeezing of fingers enough to confirm that they were now going to spend time together, no matter what they were going to do afterwards and where they were going. Flo let Martín drag him along, never looking back for a single moment. If someone was going to look for them, he was sure their names would be called - and children of their age often cared little about what they were and weren’t allowed to do.

Holding tightly onto Martín’s hand, the boy’s azure gaze wandered over the flowers, trees and bushes they passed, fascinated by everything he saw. It charmed a small smile on his pouty lips, and excitement made his stomach flutter. The place they were visiting looked well-hidden, and so much more like the landscapes of the fairy picture book Flo could not stop thinking about ever since he had entered this garden. There was a swing hanging from an apple tree that was covered in blossoms, and Florentin’s mouth dropped open. They did not have a swing back in their garden at home, and it almost made him jump in excitement. The other boy’s smile was encouraging, as if they were sharing a secret - and slowly, Flo let go off his hand, hesitantly taking a step forward, shoes crushing the grass that was covered in white petals.

A single slender hand gave the seat of the swing a gentle push before a decision was made. He wanted to try this, but he was going to be in need of both his hands to do so. Slowly he reached out, handing Claire to the other boy while his pale gaze settled on Martín’s face. “Ne la laissez pas tomber!” he declared, before turning around to drop his scrawny backside onto the swing, fingers wrapping around the ropes that tied the construction to the thick branch above their head and legs tentatively swinging back and forth to get the swing to move. It showed that he had not done this a lot of times before all by himself, mosly receiving support by either his parents or older, stronger children.

@Martín Marzán

--------------------
PM
^
Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 22 2017, 10:03 AM
Quote
Stells
6th
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
347 posts
Offline
By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥

Rep: 11 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor Beginner
Awards: 33



From the moment he could walk, he had done so with no hesitation, rarely finding reason to fear any challenge placed in front of him. And when he did fear, his father had been there, filled with reassuring words and reminders of the stories he would tell the boy when it was time for him to sleep, myths of great warriors, of heroes, of legends and of deities. Tales of the God after whom his parents had named him. Martin… Martis… Mars. Always so strong, always so fearless, always so powerful and always so admired and respected, everything the boy wanted to be, playing and pretending to be the God himself. That’s how the nickname had first been granted, called ‘Mars’ by his father as the man laughed at his antics, yet only encouraging his son’s actions when doing so, all which would result on the boy finding himself to be more comfortable when called this than when called by the name that was rightfully his own.

Though while he would one day be referred to as ‘Mars’ by all who knew him, at that time the child was no deity, no God, and far from being considered divinely perfect. He was merely a child, one who was brave, one who was reckless, who had an unquestionable sense of adventure, never backed down from any form of challenge and did everything for the happiness of those closest to him. The young and beautiful sun who had forgotten how to shine, reminded once he had once again found those to love and cherish, filled with smiles of warmth and radiance despite how much he hated the place he was forced to live in. Because he may have hated that place, but he did not hate Florentin, as that girly looking child had done nothing to earn the boy’s anger. And when someone didn’t anger them, he smiled at them, for smiles were often the best course of action, or so he had been taught by his father.

Seeing the other happy was...gratifying, especially as he noticed the obvious excitement. When he had found that swing, Martín had been excited too, swinging fast and all by himself and attempting to figure out how high he could go. After all, in the life of a child who went on many adventures yet had little friends, things like learning how to swing by himself were inevitably learned in order to avoid boredom and disaster. For such a reason it, it was also for him to guess that Florentin did not spend too much time alone -or around swings- when the doll was handed to him, staring at the delicate porcelain object for a second before turning his attention to the ‘girl’ once again. Truth be told, Martín had never even held a doll before, as he knew no girls who played with them or who would actually let him touch such a delicate looking toy in the first place.

Maybe they were right to do so, as the French warning clearly went over the boy’s head, not understanding most of what had been said and caring little for trying to decipher what Florentin meant. Instead, he moved on to more important concerns, like teaching that ‘girl’ how to properly swing, making his way around the apple tree until standing right behind the French. For a moment, he hesitated, gaze wandering from the other child’s back to the doll, surely there would be no problem with leaving the toy on the ground for a mere moment, right? He did need both hands, and a toy was just a toy, quickly deciding to discard the doll onto the soft grass and place his hands on the other’s back, pushing lightly yet strongly enough to create some sort of momentum.

@Florentin Deschamps

--------------------
Tracker||Workshop||Plotter
user posted image

user posted image
Storm is fabulous and makes me pretties ❤
PM
^
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Apr 22 2017, 10:54 AM
Quote
Tine
7th
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
467 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 27



Kindness rarely came without conditions, and even the softest touch was often only meant to convey a certain plea or the question for a favour. Even at such a young age, Florentin knew these things. Therefore it was rather surprising that there seemed to be no conditions tied to holding Martín’s hand - all he had to do was to come along, and walking through the garden was pleasant. The dizziness from earlier had mostly faded, the sickly shade around the boy’s nose slowly turning to a softer, healthier rosé colour as he was skipping beside his new friend, long lashes fluttering whenever he gazed up into the sun. At least maman had but sunscreen on her sons’ faces earlier, and the soft, pleasant scent was still lingering on Flo’s skin - only noticeable when one was close enough to the delicate little boy.

Those smiles the other boy was giving him were different than the one Honoré offered, and also different than the soft, almost guilty smile of his mother. This was genuine, full of excitement and happiness - and it was confusing, because Florentin barely knew this child and yet felt safe as long as they were holding hands. He could not get lost when being guided like this, and the excitement was too big to allow him any worries about the consequences of running off with a boy he had found in the gardens - or had the boy found him? Such details did not matter any more, as there were adventures to be mastered, and swings to be climbed. But Florentin had to realize that his legs were short and did not quite reach the ground unless he stood on the tips of his toes like a ballerina. A small pout was shaping on his lips, azure gaze wandering back to Martín.

The other boy was eyeing his dull much like Flo had just handed him a dead insect. It meant a lot that Martín was allowed to hold the delicate thing which could be so easily broken when handled without the same care Florentin showed towards Claire. Not even his brother was allowed to touch his dolls on most days, and he was clinging to them with a despair of a drowning child - a fitting metaphor, given he had seen how a child that was about to drown looked like not so long ago. But for a moment, Claire was forgotten when Martín disappeared behind him, as he had obviously seen the boy’s struggle with getting the swing to move. He lacked the height and strength to push himself up in the air, relieved when those hands met his back and helped him to send his legs flying towards the blue, blue sky. Florentin squealed for a moment in nothing but pure joy, eyes wide and cheeks blushed while his grip around the ropes tightened. “Plus haut!” he demanded happily, almost as if he last lost all suspicions and insecurities towards the boy.

A child’s attention span only lasted for so long, and soon his pale blue gaze fluttered back to the soft grass, where his beloved doll was lying abandoned and facedown. His eyes widened and he wiggled his legs, calling out a “Non!” as if the power of his words alone could stop the swing from moving. Once it had relatively stopped because non was something most people understood, he pointed accusingly at his doll, eyes already starting to water while his bottom lip was shaking. “Claire!”

@Martín Marzán

--------------------
PM
^
Martín Marzán
 Posted: Apr 24 2017, 01:38 AM
Quote
Stells
6th
Pureblood
Gryffindor
16 YEARS
347 posts
Offline
By the grace of the fire and the flames 🔥

Rep: 11 pts [ + | - ]
Martín MarzánGryffindor Beginner
Awards: 33



The most wonderful thing about childhood is that there are often no concerns, that life can be easy and carefree and that every moment can be enjoyed despite the terrible circumstances which lead to it. Such a thing was true even for someone like Martín, for while he did fear, while nightmares haunted him and while he was constantly reminded of the lose of his father, he still enjoyed those moments at the gardens of the villa he was trapped in. It may have been blamed on the short attention span of a child, on how simple things like pretty flowers or a sunny day could so easily brighten his mood, but was it not for the best? Had his anger burned every waking moment, had he been filled with the constant need for revenge that would fuel his actions many years later, then things would have been much more difficult at the Marzán villa, specially with guests currently visiting.

Yet the mind of a child is not one fit of concerning itself with such matters, and instead of spending every single second planning his much deserved vendetta, he spent his time playing in those gardens, now with that new friend of his who was considered as such despite the clear language barrier existing between them. Listening to the other’s gleeful cries as he pushed the swing brought a smile to the young Spaniard’s lips, as such a sound brought back memories of parks and laughing children, of friendships that never lasted for more than minutes and sometimes even hours. Martín didn’t know for how long he would be friends with Florentin, nor did he bother thinking about it, for children rarely worried about the future and he had long ago learned that enjoying the present was what mattered.

Too bad the present soon turned grim, blinking in confusion at the clear protests coming from the other child’s lips as he lowered his arms, no longer pushing the swing -he may not have been the best when it came to learning French, but even he understood such a simple request. Once the ‘girl’ jumped off, Martín quirked a brow, wondering what the fuss was all about before his gaze followed the direction in which that small and delicate looking hand was pointing. Oh. The doll. Obviously, the boy had never been one to care much for his toys, something which had once earned him more than one scolding from his father, and for such reason he truly did not understand why a doll was a matter for tears, but he did understand that tears were bad. What was it that his father always said? ‘Never make a girl cry’.

A huff left him, walking reluctantly towards the discarded doll and picking it up, brushing away white flower petals with surprising gentleness before handing it to the small French… not like brushing away petals would do much about the dirt or anything. For a second, he stared at the other, cheeks puffing as he wondered how to say he was sorry and stop his new friend from crying when he had forgotten how to say ‘sorry’ in French. Then, an idea popped into his head, single index finger rising for the other to see, universal gesture for wait...or at least that’s what television had taught him. Television had also taught him that girls liked flowers, and so, this was exactly what he looked for, a task not too hard when being in gardens like those of the Marzán family. Soon, he found a rosebush, reaching in to take one of those white and slightly pink flowers, and completely forgetting about the thorns that so easily drew blood from his finger.

Despite the quiet wince, he did not mind it, for he had had much worse injuries, caring little for the blood as he smiled victorious, rose safely in his hands. And when he returned to the apple tree soon after, the flower was offered to the other child with a smile, wiping away blood on the fabric of his dark shorts as if nothing had happened.

@Florentin Deschamps

--------------------
Tracker||Workshop||Plotter
user posted image

user posted image
Storm is fabulous and makes me pretties ❤
PM
^
Florentin Deschamps
 Posted: Apr 26 2017, 11:57 AM
Quote
Tine
7th
Pureblood
Slytherin
17 YEARS
467 posts
Offline
Neutral
Looks still cute but lips are sore

Rep: 6 pts [ + | - ]
Florentin DeschampsSlytherin Novice
Awards: 27



It was this age when tears still came easy, no matter how often Florentin was scolded for them. They did not come from sadness and pain - often it was just frustration that made them quietly roll over his cheeks, no sobbing sounds accompanying those tears. He had not meant to cry, yet often the mood of a small child changed within a few seconds, sunshine and rain taking turns several times a day without leaving much of a trace on their faces - it was at night when all those emotions got mulled over, and found their ways into the dreams that were anything but calm and quiet. It was hard to explain to Martín that Claire meant a lot, that she could not just lie on the floor like every other discarded toy. Still he raised his hand, wiping those tears away with the back of it and sniffling a little while his pale gaze followed the other boy, watching intently what he was doing.

Those gentle gestures surprised him, yet they also reminded him how Martín had been holding his hand - with great care, as if something was going to break. Flo tilted his head and watched, feeling the tears drying in the sun and leaving those tense spots of skin in his face - salt drying on his cheeks. Suspiciously, Florentin watched him brush off the flower petals, immediately pressing the doll to his chest with both arms as soon as Martín handed it over again, muttering something in French that had not been meant to be heard by the other boy. But soon his attention was dragged away from Claire again, because Martín was a distraction in every way possible, up for adventures Flo could not even fathom. He looked at the finger that got raised at him, nodding softly to show he did understand such gesture, while there was a flutter of excitement in his stomach. Once more, a delicate hand wiped off the tears that still clung to long lashes.

He turned into the direction of the rosebush that seemed to be his new friend’s destination, wincing as the boy reached for the roses. Did he not know that roses had thorns which tore the skin open with ease? Flo’s eyes widened as one of the roses was handed to him, cheeks blushing immediately before he reached out, hesitation in each movement. Bowing his head, he sniffed on the rose and smiled, muttering a very quiet “Merci” before taking a step forward, lips brushing over Martín’s cheek for a second. It was the way Florentin always said thank you, pressing lips against soft cheeks - a gesture he often repeated for his brother even if there was nothing to thank him for, affection given out with ease when he was comfortable around someone. But once he drew away from the boy, he saw the bleeding finger that had been carelessly wiped on the shorts, and he made a short, scared sound before pulling himself together again.

Florentin had never been capable of seeing blood without passing out - and it meant a lot, given he was already cursed with fainting spells that could easily be blamed on his fragile body and sickly constitution that did not speak for him at all. But in this moment, he just pressed Claire and the rose against the side of his body, slender fingers reaching out and wrapping around the boy’s wrist to pull the bleeding finger to his lips. Instead of looking at the blood, he gazed at Martín’s face, blowing onto the wound with the same care his mother always showed when doing so.

@Martín Marzán

--------------------
PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll


 


 



Infinity Rising Wolf Out jcink forum Last Resort Shadowplay Lochland Grove OOTA  photo hr_banneri2014_zpsclfhj2jt.png War Is Brewing Kousei, an island paradise for the natural and supernatural awaits Code 8
The Beginning Sunset To Sunrise Avalon a Panfandom RP

Welcome to WR! We are an alternate universe HP roleplay set in the present day Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The current term is Spring 2017! Please register with a FIRST AND LAST NAME properly capitalised.