It was the second night of their time in England; their days now filled with relaxing and getting to know their environment and new colleagues - and fellow students. The students from Durmstrang were free to tour the town, to make friendships, and to spend their summer month on vacation.

Nonsense, really. Auberon fully intended - and desired - that his students do these things; but he had no plans to let them slack off. His students would study, they would duel, and they would better themselves - even as the other schools slacked off and lazily passed the summer days away...

The sun had finally reached the horizon when the ship's dinner bell was rung, and Auberon joined the students and staff in the dining room on board - the long, dark wooden table seating an odd mix of people, for Durmstrang. Unlike back at their home castle, he and the staff sat with the students and ate with them. He, of course, still sat at the head of the table - his chair more decorated than the others, the carved dragons twisting behind his head not doing much to make him seem approachable.

Still, after the meal had begun, and they'd spent a few minutes in quiet private chatter, he leaned forward, intertwining his fingers, and looked at the nearby students. After a moment of silence, he smiled.

"So!" He said, his voice easily drowning out the others. "We've had time to appraise the people here, and get our bearings. I believe it is time for some discussion among ourselves, yes?"

His smile was warm, but with the usual edge. "Unlike at the school, we shall be a closer knit group this year. Do not think our discipline will waver - I expect the same conduct and respect from you that I have always demanded, and the staff demand the same. But we can - and shall - speak more directly than many of you are used to..."

Auberon leaned back in his chair, relaxing, the fur of his satin overcoat bunching up around his neck and shoulders somewhat as he did so. "You must tell me, students: What do you think of our hosts so far, and of our competition, hmm? What have you learned?" He locked his gaze on one of the students. "You! Come - do share with us your observations!"

Vladlena responded almost instantly as the imposing, metaphorical finger was directed unerringly on her person. She was nothing if not observant, and as she did not understand celebration, as such, she had spent most of the ceremonies doing just that.  She started with a description of the surrounding grounds as a scout would report the layout of the land to a general, musing gently on what possible uses could various landscapes have for the tournament. That was the area she understood—facts. The ground was thus, climate thus, all explored in her…furrier form, of course, in the dark hours of the pre-dawn morning. She spoke in the language native to Durmstrang, rather than English, because while she knew it would be expected of them to be fluent, she  already was, and suspected the flow would be more acceptable if nothing needed to be repeated for those who were not as capable.

And then she began on what she knew was required of her, but was distinctly shakier ground for her. She had tried, vitally hard, to observe the fellow schools instead of retreat to what she would have vastly preferred to do during the celebrations—slip off independently to work on something productive. But Headmaster Eisenberg was a demanding man, and a wasted opportunity to do his bidding would have been, she suspected, unforgivable, and she had no desire to return to the Dregs for impertinence when her studies were already going to be vastly disrupted as it was. And so she had set to focusing on a group, adjusting the observational parameters in her mind—which were, admittedly, utterly horrific at social interaction—to view it as an…objective anthropology experiment from which she was uninvolved. Witches and Wizards of the Current Century. And the first to draw her attention, had, unsurprisingly, been the loudest.

"Students from Salem appear to be…" She licked her lips, attempting to discern the best way to phrase it, "Disinclined to thought prior to action." She decided after a brief beat. "Or speech. Which is not to say those I have encountered are representative of the entire student population, but based on preliminary observation, I suspect such qualities are at least representative of what the school perceives as ideal and acceptable, suggesting their champions will exhibit those traits. Enthusiastic, undisciplined, but possessed of," Once again, Vladlena was forced to think of how to phrase it. It was not a challenge she faced often, but she was a creature who preferred the concrete and facts, as opposed to intangible assumptions. But her mind was nimble and quick, and there wasn't even the barest pause before she continued. "Indefatigable resources of energy and self-assurance." It wasn't an insult, arrogance could be powerful when exuded correctly. "Athletic, but perhaps prone to ill-advised behaviors and inclined to impulse." An understatement.  And then she told the esteemed Headmaster what she suspected he really wanted of her, though she was generally unenthusiastic to think of competition in terms of the other people involved—one entered this sort of tournament to better themselves, and the others were irrelevant, what did it matter? If you could not beat them on your own merit, you were flawed and needed to better yourself. But that was not what he would want to hear.

"Despite their lack of organization, their internal enmities appear to be…amiable and known to one another." At Durmstrang, dislike for one another was often hidden under ice or disguised as ambition and the result of the imposed sanctions of the school. Vladlena had to wonder at the easiness of the internal Salem rivalries. "It would be difficult—though certainly not impossible—to exploit that angle, as such." The Salem students may be willing to yell and bash at each other, but it appeared to the icy Russian girl that by doing so, they exhausted their hatred for each other. There would be no silent brewing of resentment among the Salem students, no storm that Durmstrang could fan and cause to opportunely explode. They appeared to lack the patience for delayed explosions. She blinked, for the first time since she had begun speaking. "Better to capitalize on their rashness. Let them rush in and wear out their energy clearing the way, preserving our own resources." Her glass-green eyes sharpened slightly. "But it would be a mistake to get too far behind. Underestimating them as an opponent would be folly." The briefest of smiles flashed on her features before smoothing into her more typically expressionless face. "But understand them," She shook her head, because for the most part, the students she had watched hid little to nothing. The Salem group were...honest, it had to be said for them. "And they won't be a problem."

She had more, but she had spoken for what she perceived to be an adequate amount of time. She admired the Headmaster, but was wary when his spotlight fell on her. For all that his surface demands may have been mightily apparent, she was never entirely sure of the puzzle of what his full demands were. He was slippery in away that was hidden by overtness. A puzzle, and she enjoyed puzzles, but these were the sort that could get her into trouble. In this case, she chose to keep the finer points of her observation to herself, deciding, for ill or better, that he had said they would be a closeer knit group this year, which suggested the competition between themselves still existed, even if it took second place to competition against the other schools, and he would not necessarily approve of her sharing her full advantage. On the other hand, he may very well. So she tread the tightrope carefully, and kept her face poker precise.