Lyov knew he was bothering the poor Hogwarts girl. The problem was that he didn’t care enough to stop. He wasn’t bothered; once that happened, he tended to get irritable and short. If there were Dregs nearby, they often got the brunt of his frustration, if his fellow Oberteils were unwilling to give in. For now he could use patience. For now, he could focus on conversing...

Mouth opened in feigned shock. Lyov, rude?! They had clearly pegged him wrong. He paused his foot in its bounce as he considered it. What was being rude anyway, from one culture to another? Perhaps he found the way they were all so slow and clunky to be rude. Their lack of witty banter made them so... boring. His lips pursed as he frowned very slightly, eyebrows drawing together as he considered what else he could go and do.

Practicing legilimency on any of the Dregs or even Zufrieden got boring after a time. He was getting to the point where he didn’t need to say the spell out loud every time, and when he could do it on Magda when she wasn’t paying attention, she usually made him regret it before he had his wits back around him. Still... it was good practice. But so was attempting to penetrate a mind that didn’t expect his interest.

An eyebrow rose as he took in a slow breath; a quidditch field. How athletic of her. His eyes widened just slightly at the continued use of Russian; a slight tug of his lips upward had him reevaluating who he had stolen a kiss from. “Может быть, я недооценил британской.” It was not an apology in the smallest, but... He tapped his lips in thought. “If you want to duel, Gracie, I would show you a few fun tricks.”

He smirked as he stood up, stretching before tucking his wand back up his sleeve. “I’ll let you two friends get back to important discussions, no?” Sparing a wink to the other girl (whose name he did not catch), Lyov slipped his non-wand hand in his trousers while the other swung carefree next to his side, lanky strides taking him to the entrance of the courtyard. He paused just before, glancing back at them. “Lyov Molchenoff. For when you want to duel.” After fixing each one with a hard gaze, he gave them a very unfriendly smirk and blew a kiss towards them before stepping out towards the grounds.

So Jordyn didn’t really know what she was watching.

All of a sudden, Russian was being spoken across the courtyard (when did Gracie start speaking Russian?) and the young man was returning the favor – leaving Jordyn woefully in the dust in terms of what the heck was going on. 

Not that she cared as long as it ended quickly, particularly if it meant the young man with the smirk clamored off the bench with his lanky limbs somehow managing to look at least a little graceful.  Even if his words were clunky – and off putting, at least to Jordyn.

Judging by Gracie’s smirk it might not have been a shared feeling.  Of course, that could also be a challenging sort of smirk.  Furrowing her brows at his wink and comment, Jordyn had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.  It was perhaps the hardest thing she’d ever done, hearing his name as he announced it to Gracie.

She would have thought her presence was completely forgotten except for the kiss he threw back at both of them, meeting each of their eyes (she assumed – since she felt compelled (at least a little) to meet his eyes before he began his walk away.  Jordyn let her shoulders drop in relaxation and sighed, looking at Gracie. 

The only thing she could think to say: “When did you start speaking Russian?”

“I’ve always known,” she answered, sounding far away. Which– if the way her eyes lingered on a certain Oberteil’s form as he strutted out of the courtyard– would be a fair assessment, to say the least. Lyov… Her tongue ran along her lip, thoughtful-like, as she watched him go; it suited him. He reminded her of one, albeit more of a cub than he probably would like. “Not well, but Granddad speaks it,” though Merlin knew he preferred Polish. “He’s been teaching me. I just wasn’t very good at it,” which was why there were very few who knew.

Gracie knew her weaknesses. She just didn’t like broadcasting them. She would have been awful, just awful, compared to Demitria.

A small, pleased smile overtook her face, dimpling her cheeks lightly as she lowered her eyes mock-bashfully. “I practiced more when I heard we were having the Tournament. I thought it’d come in handy.” Her intentions hadn’t been nearly as pleasant as they seemed, at first glance. With near-palpable, almost feline satisfaction, the smile deepened. “And it did.”

But then it… rippled, strangely, for lack of a better word. “Did you see him, though,” said Gracie thickly, visibly fighting for control—oh, she tried not to laugh, but it was so difficult. “He posed. He actually stopped and posed–”

“Lyov Molchenoff. For when you want to duel.”

She gave up; she laughed. Oh, she was definitely taking him up on that!

So, Gracie was a little distracted as she answered... Jordyn followed the line of her gaze and sighed.  It was so disappointing when she couldn’t even bring herself to appreciate a good view because she was so off-put by the interaction that preceded it. 

Ah well, she’d let Gracie enjoy that. 

Pursing her lips, Jordyn rolled her eyes when she indicated that her Russian was helping during the tournament and she dropped her shoulders.  “You sound just like Bran!” she informed her, trying to will her cheeks to stay a cool white, rather than hot pink at the very suggestion.

Focusing on the Lyov situation, Jordyn could at least smirk a little as Gracie pointed out how ridiculous his exit had been.  “Perhaps that’s a class unto itself at Durmstrang?” Jordyn suggested, giggling a little bit with Gracie’s ridiculous laughter.  She had too much fun with  that... perhaps Jordyn should be concerned. 

“I’ve got to go collect herbs,” Jordyn sighed, readjusting the bag on her shoulder.  “Don’t go getting yourself into trouble, Slant,” Jordyn flashed an uncharacteristically mischievous smile at her.  “And...” she looked to the direction where Lyov had disappeared to, adding “just so you know... he tastes like tobacco,” with a grimace.   

“See you at lunch?” she asked, taking a step toward the grounds, with the path that led to the greenhouses. 

Gracie preened at the comparison. She hadn’t meant it like that, but Jordyn wasn’t necessarily wrong, either. Russian was pretty crass, as far as most languages went. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she smirked, folding her arms, the curve to her lips taking on a mean edge. “They’re very… flashy, aren’t they?” As a stiff-legged vision in red and gold swaggered past them – a black-and-gold Dreg scurrying after her, books nearly tumbling from his arms – the Slytherin’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Merlin knew Hogwarts wasn’t without its own posers and drama queens, but in Durmstrang’s case they had it down to an art form; their arrogance was practically cultural.

Though, she’d be lying if she said they didn’t wear it well.

“Boo,” Gracie pouted, when Jordyn started to head off, but the moue eased even as she warned her, the expression clearing into a bashful grin that fooled nobody. “Does he really,” she demurred, and all it took was a glance upward– for green to meet brown– to turn that coy expression sly.

As for lunch… “Of course,” Gracie offered her a grin, and a mock-salute before she finally turned down the path.

And then she did the same– turned away– that silly grin shrinking into a smirk.