_{Takes place after this thread here}

When Cecile finally did look up at the poor young man she had soiled, she regretted it instantly. It was... Oh what was his name? Something very sharp edged and unique next to the soft and throaty names she was used to. Ah yes, Fyetka. She wasn't one to cry about an accident, but the fact that he had been so nice to her earlier that day and she repaid him by ruining what was likely a very expensive shirt brought a smidgen of tears to her wide hazel eyes. Looking away, she blinked them back and tried to wrap her brain around her next plan of action. There were, at the moment, only two apparent choices: Run off and never speak to him again or take whatever punishment he thought this warranted.

To her surprise, neither happened. For before she could turn and run into the crowd again, he wrapped an arm around her waist and escorted her to the nearest bench. Upon taking a seat, she immediately went to the small pouch hidden in her bag, opening it to reveal several small vials filled with liquids of different hues. Selecting one filled with fizzing blue, Cecile took a deep breath and drank it. The potion burned on the way down but cooled the fire in her lungs. As it hit her tender stomach she grimaced. When a glass of water appeared, via Fyetka, Cecile couldn't refuse.

"Are you feeling better, Miss?"

 Taking several long drinks of the icy cold water, Cecil swallowed hard and then sighed. "Oui... Thank you..." She said softly, still refusing to look up at him. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she clutched at the glass and started into it. After a moment, she finally looked up at him shyly. A small, shy smile curled at the corner of her lips but faltered when she saw the mess she had left on the front of his shirt. "Oh... I... I have something that can fix that... Here..." She begin to shuffle through her bag frantically, looking for the stain remover that she kept to fix any stains on Elodie's ballet outfits.

Fyetka saw the mortification on the French girl’s face. She should be mortified. It was positively disgusting. Nevertheless, he sighed, he was far too kind to let the poor girl die of fright. Anyone else from Durmstrang and she would have been hexed to the end of the Tournament. But not him. Ugh. One would think that growing up without a mother would have hardened him, but no, just the opposite.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

He took a hand and swept it through his hair and took a deep breath. He had to admit, he was doing well considering he sometimes had a temper. The Russian waited patiently as Cecile magicked a few things from her bag and took them. He waited for her to drink the water. Then she did something that surprised him. She handed him a stain remover.

Slightly confused, Fyetka looked down at his crimson dress jacket. Sure enough, there was a slight discoloration. He rolled his eyes. What sort of Obertiel mastering Spellworks was he if he couldn’t get rid of a simple stain? Ridiculous. Completely unacceptable.

“<Thank you>,” He said in Russian, without thinking. He unbuttoned his crimson jacket and shrugged it off, revealing the uniform under layer of his Strata. A white button-up with a red sash. He knew many of his peers had already taken off their red jackets. It was far warmer in Scotland than the far north. He hadn’t been planning too.

Taking the vial, he put the potion on his jacket. He sighed again. In moments, the stain was gone. Noticing it was much more comfortable without the thick red fabric on, he left the jacket folded in his lap.

“Well…” Fyetka said, running his hand through his hair. Damn, he had to stop that nervous habit. “Do you know what made you sick? I know neither one of us want a repeat experience.”     

The tension was palpable and Cecile did her best not to let the blush of embarrasment creep too far up her cheeks. As he cleaned the stain, she dug around in her bag until she found a small, half empty package of Peppermint Toads[1]. She always felt a little bad eating the realistic little red and white toads, but nothing else made your breath so clean and crisp. And merlin knew she needed clean breath after that. Popping the squirming treat in her mouth, she chewed it quickly and swallowed, grimacing as it 'hopped' around in her stomach for a moment before going still. She decided she hated that sensation the most. Even though she was a witch raised on wizarding candy, even she could agree with muggles that candy shouldn't hop around and croak at you...

“Well… Do you know what made you sick? I know neither one of us want a repeat experience.”     

"Hm..." She hemmed thoughtfully, eying him peripherally. He was nice, yes, and he hadn't torn her apart for vomiting on his uniform, so he wasn't someone she should fear... But could she trust him? He was from Durmstrang and out of all the schools, they were the ones that worried her the most. They were famed for being tough competitors, fierce duelers and most of all, not below using cunning underhanded tactics. Could she trust him? Studying his handsome features, she decided against delving too much into her history. Not until she knew him better "Ah... I think I might have eaten too many of those delicious cupcakes... And the dance was quite... vigorous." There, that seemed plausible enough, right?

Eager to change the subject, before he started asking more questions, she added quickly "Why are you not dancing? I am sure there are many pretty young woman in there willing to dance with you!"

1.	Description here

Feytka had taken so many deep breaths in the past few minutes it was a wonder he hadn't burst his lungs. Finally, things started to be calming down. His jacket was not in danger. The rest of his uniform was not in danger. Cécile had seemed to calm and was popping Peppermint Toads.

Horrid things. He hated them. Things that one ate were not supposed to hop down your throat and into the stomach. It was not natural. How could anyone even stand the disgusting little creatures?

All of this passed through his head and did not show on his face. If she wanted to eat them, that was her deal. Truthfully, she probaly needed them as well. Upchucking never left a pleasant taste.

He then caught a sideways glance that she sent him. He raised his eyebrows momentarily. So the game was back on again. The can I trust this person, will I trust this person, how much of my terrible inner turmoil should I divulge game. He could understand it in the French girl. After all, he hadn't even known her before she had so uncerimoniously run him over that afternoon. Nevertheless, that game was the way of the world in Durmstang, and trust him, it got tiring after 7 years of playing with the same people. He ran his hand through his hair.

Damn! He would have to shackle his wrists to his sides. Fyetka knew he had to stop it and soon, it was starting to bug himself. He was distracted by her responding. It seemed pretty reasonable and he could live with that answer. Yet the way her eyes darted told him there was more. Oh well, it wasn't his place...

"I can assure you that there are many pretty young women who have tried to get me to dance. If I had wanted to, I would've found Aliya. I was actually trying to find my cousin. I know she's here, just not where." He paused before adding with a smirk. "Also, if I had been dancing, who would you have run into? I'm the most genial of the Durmstrang lot." 

"I can assure you that there are many pretty young women who have tried to get me to dance. If I had wanted to, I would've found Aliya. I was actually trying to find my cousin. I know she's here, just not where." 

"Ah..." She said with a nod, not sure what else to say. She was very grateful that he had been so kind to her, especially considering that she was sure he would rather be dancing with a girl than being puked on by one. The mention of this 'Aliya' girl (She assumed it was a girl anyways) only made her feel worse. Not just because she had deterred him from dancing with someone he obviously longed to dance with, but because he wanted to dance with another girl. She didn't know why that bothered her so much, considering that they had just met, but something twinged inside of her at the thought. Mon dieu, was she already harboring a crush on one of the foreign students? They had only been there a day! Damn her fickle hormones.

"Also, if I had been dancing, who would you have run into? I'm the most genial of the Durmstrang lot."

"That is true..." She nodded, knowing full well that any other (especially Durmstrang) student would have likely hexed her into another life if she had upchucked red velvet onto their chests. Now she kinda felt bad for not trusting him with the entire truth. He had been so nice this whole time and she had treated him like a lowly gossip that would use her weaknesses against her at any given chance. The shame spurned her on to add "I must admit I have not been completely truthful... The cupcakes were not bad... They were quite delicieux in fact. I am... um.. what's the word... weak?" Hm, perhaps that was not the right thing to say. She didn't want him to think she was incapable of simple digestion. But, looking at his sweet and hopefully honest face, she decided that he surely wasn't the type to run back to his group and brag that all the French competitors were pathetic weaklings.

Fyetka watched the French girl as she blushed and turned her head away. He suddenly felt bad for being so frank, Vladlena must have been wearing off on him from the long ship journey, but he masked it expertly. It was rather obvious that she was upset and Fyetka, though betrothed, hated upsetting anyone, and especially girls. He was there to make them laugh, not nod darkly. He just couldn't do anything right, could he?

"I must admit I have not been completely truthful... The cupcakes were not bad... They were quite delicieux in fact. I am... um.. what's the word... weak?"

This new turn in the conversation had Fyetka turning back to look at Cecile very closely. She looked rather ashamed for admitting her weakness. Even though he was half-french, he supposed he had a very narrow view of his mother's culture. She had been a right tiger and she had taught his sister well. From what he had seen (and heard) of the Beauxbaton's headmistress, she was the same way. All three of them were ettiquite driven, delicate wolverines that made many Durmstrang girls look like programmed robots. But he supposed every rule has the exception... he also supposed he had just found Beauxbaton's.

"I think I understand what you mean," He said with a slight nod. "I was essentially raised by my aunt and she was similarly... weak, as you put it."