[Vyshny Volochyok -April 04] В багровых тонах расцвела паранойя (Dema)

Saturday, 24th April 2004

While Aglaya was physically in decent shape again, she was nowhere near her best shape. She had new routines prepared that she had barely completed in training. The actual problem, however, was her mental state. The formerly so confident athlete felt anxious and nervous most of the time now and the prospect of performing in front of people terrified her.

The season opening two weeks ago had already been incredibly rough for her but at least there had been no strangers and somehow she had managed to pull herself together enough to give at least a semi-acceptable performance. Her coach didn’t have many kind words for her afterwards, but Aglaya herself felt just relieved that she got through her routines without any major mistakes. Her mother, while not quite as harsh as her great aunt, tried to talk to her about what was holding her back, had even suggested finding a therapist to work with her if she didn’t want to confide in Alyona herself. Aglaya had reacted heavily, telling her mother to mind her own business and leave her alone. She knew that she had overreacted and been unfair, she could see that the healer was struggling with the situation as well, but she just couldn’t talk to anyone about the things that were on her mind. In fact, she tried to suppress her feelings as she felt incapable of dealing with them. Whenever she thought about the things that had happened she felt scared out of her mind, paranoid, and hopeless. Nothing seemed to be of any importance anymore then. There was nothing but darkness.

Now that she was in Vyshny Volochyok for her first small competition, Aglaya felt sick. She was unable to face any of the competitors, fans or journalists. The young witch was white as a sheet and shaking. Already the warm up was torture. She could sense the suspicious looks that were thrown at her and, whenever someone approached her, her heart beat faster. What if her stalker was here? What if he’d try to kill her again? What if one of her competitors was her stalker or had joined him? All that she wanted was to get away and hide.

Branimir was always by her side but even the presence of her bodyguard did nothing to soothe her. She barely heard what Aleksandra told her until the old witch grabbed her arm and yelled at her. Aglaya froze and stared at her coach with a fearful expression. She couldn’t really take in anything the woman said. Even when she tried to force herself to listen, her focus always drifted off to the people that were walking past them.

At some point Aleksandra left her and Aglaya took a shaky breath, looking at Branimir who was just two steps away from her and who seemed to observe their surroundings carefully. She appreciated that he was with her today instead of his younger brother but, even though she trusted him to do a better job than Ivo, she didn’t feel safe at all. She proceeded with her warm up but deep inside she had already decided that she could not go out and perform today.

Aleksandra returned with Alyona by her side. Aglaya could tell that her mother had been drinking and that was hardly reassuring. Both spoke to her now, and told her to pull herself together. They said that everything would get easier once she was in the arena and on her broom but Aglaya knew that this wasn’t true. She was scared and tense and chances were that she’d give a horrible performance.

Then it was time for her technical exercise. Aleksandra handed her her broom and both women pushed her to the entrance of the arena. Tentatively she stepped onto the grass and looked around. The arena was completely filled and the crowd cheered as her name was announced. Aglaya felt sick and dizzy. She looked back and saw that Aleksandra and Alyona had taken a seat on the tribune. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t. She dropped her broom. Then she turned around and ran out of the arena and, only when she reached a deserted corridor, did she stop. She leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, shaking heavily as tears streamed down her face, smearing her makeup.

@Aldemar Delchev

No matter what Aldemar did or the great lengths he went to be prepared, the old man somehow always found himself running late. Or, in this case, apparating late. He’d spent the morning grading a set of essays, and as it always did, the time got away from him. He’d barely noticed how late it was until he realized he’d worked right through lunch, and that wouldn’t do. The professor was already spending his Saturday doing work, and now he was sacrificing his health to do it. It wasn’t dire, he wasn’t going to starve or anything, but by the time his stomach started rumbling, he certainly felt like he might. Hunger and Aldemar Delchev were longtime enemies.

He spent far too long rummaging through the kitchens of Durmstrang, and before he knew it, time had slipped again. He was old, but until recently, Aldemar certainly believed he had at least a few more years before he started losing time like this. Of course, he hadn’t exactly lived a life in perfect health, and the few brain cells he had were sure to start fading fast now. Wizards lived a whole lot longer than muggles, but eventually, he knew his time would come too. And in some way, that thought envigorated him to live again. To live bigger, better, and more brightly. Whereas he usually would have spent his Saturdays being lazy, rocking on a porch chair with Erik or the cow he had in the yard, Aldemar had instead made plans.

Aldemar finished his lunch, checked that he hadn’t dripped any on his jacket (he had), magicked the stain away, and apparated off to Vyshny Volochyok for the competitions. Alyona’s daughter was performing, so naturally, Aldemar was eager to be a part of it. While she may not have been his daughter, Aldemar had once thought Aglaya might be, and he loved her dearly either way. (Though the wizard still wasn’t entirely convinced that Aglaya wasn’t a Delcheva, that was a story for another time…)

Heading into the stadium, Aldemar heard the rush of the crowd and felt the goosebumps crawl across his forearms. He remembered what fame used to feel like, he remembered being recognized in public and the love of his fans, and Merlin, he missed it. And then the crowd stopped, the tone changed, and Aldemar saw Aglaya run off the arena floor. “Oh dear,” he muttered, realizing he wasn’t but a short distance from her. Navigating the back halls of the stadium, Aldemar rounded the corner of the now deserted hallway and saw the young witch sinking to the floor. Seeing his nephew in tow behind her, Aldemar was proud to see the wizard doing an excellent job but waved him off anyway.

“Give us a moment, son,” Aldemar asked quietly, and Branimir or Ivo (Aldemar had never been able to tell them apart) left them in the corridor. Pulling on the legs of his slacks, Aldemar went to great pains to sit on the stone floor with her. Every bone in his body must have cracked on the way down, and Morganna knew how he’d ever find his way back up again, but those were Future-Aldemar problems. Right now, he was only concerned for Aglaya. “It’ll pass, just breath,” he could hear the unsteady rhythm of her breaths and assumed it was some anxiety attack. Unfortunately, Aldemar had some first-hand experience in such things.

She was shaking and didn’t feel in control of herself anymore. A few suffocating sobs escaped her and Aglaya just wanted to stop, wanted it all to stop. She couldn’t live with this fear. The constant anxiety was horrible but right now it had culminated into sheer panic and she felt as though she’d never get over it.

When she had left the arena, Aglaya hadn’t really looked left or right. She only wanted to run away and had not given the other people a lot of thought although she had been vaguely aware that Branimir had followed her. She was so used to him now that she could sense his presence. Generally he had a calming aura but today that didn’t help her either.

The first competition after it had happened was clearly coming too early for her. She wasn't mentally ready for this and, not for the first time, the young witch wondered if she’d ever become her old self again.

Someone else was approaching now, she recognised the voice but felt unable to even look up. She had pulled her legs up, rested her head on her knees and flung her arms around her legs. Every muscle felt tense and she didn’t want anyone to see her now.

However, the voice came closer and soon enough Aldemar sat next to her. He told her to breathe but what was usually natural felt like a hard task now. She sniffed and lifted her head off her knees, quickly using her sleeve to dry her face. Then she glanced at her mother’s old friend briefly. Her eyes reddened and surrounded by dark mascara smears. Why did he pay her attention when she was just a shadow of her old self?

On more than one occasion, Aldemar had found himself under the immeasurable weight of a panic attack. Waves of nerves and adrenaline rolling over his tingling body as the pressure of what felt like the entire ocean crushed down on his lungs. He’d been where she was, and he felt acutely able to help. To remind Aglaya that she was not alone in this and that it would pass. If there was one notion Alemdar had learned over the years, it was that all things passed, eventually.

“Ah, there’s a good girl,” He coddled, careful not to speak too loudly or too quietly. He didn’t want to startle Aglaya anymore than she already was, but he had to be sure she could hear him over the beating of her own heart. Aldemar could remember all too well how it felt when his pulse seemed to be racing and thrumming in his ears. It was hard to hear anything else sometimes and could be pretty isolating. “Just take your time, dear.”

The panic subsided a little as Aldemar talked to her but Aglaya didn’t feel like moving, didn’t feel like going back into the arena. Maybe she was disqualified by now anyway but Aglaya didn’t care at all. In fact, she felt that she’d be relieved if she was disqualified. There was a distinct feeling, though, that she could probably still go out and perform if she talked to the officials. She was the star of the scene, surely the organisers of this competition wanted her to compete.

Her pulse was still racing but she felt that she could at least breathe again. She wasn’t able to take calm breaths yet but she didn’t have this feeling of suffocation anymore. Tears were streaming down her cheeks again now and Aglaya hastily wiped them off.

Everything was so tough these days. She had been doing okay during practice but stepping out in front of a crowd had been worse than she had expected. How was she supposed to continue her career if she felt this panicky at the prospect of performing? She could very well remember the thought that had made her run for it - out there, among the cheering fans, her stalker  might be sitting, plotting his next attack. He had written in his letter that he thought that she should have a dramatic death in front of the public. How was she supposed to go out there and perform when he might be one step ahead of her, one step closer to getting her killed?

She didn’t know how long it had taken her to calm down sufficiently but she appreciated that Dema was sitting here with her. Branimir was standing in a safe distance, guarding the entrance to the corridor they were in and telling those few passersby to take a different corridor instead, giving them some privacy.

“Thank you for staying with me,” Aglaya whispered, now looking at Dema. “I’m sorry you got to witness this.”

“Oh, please, don’t be,” Aldemar shuffled her off with a wave of his hand and a dimpled smile. “Sit through a few lectures on the birthing rituals of manticores, and nothing seems uncomfortable in comparison.” Following his overabundance of information Aglaya had not asked for, Aldemar pushed out a chuckle. He knew better than to ask how she was feeling now, so he proceeded to tell her about his day. Not because he thought she cared or because it was particularly interesting, but some part of him imagined the conversation would be easier if he took the brunt of the burden.

“I nearly missed the competitions; merlin save me from your mother if I would have,” He laughed again, turning silently just to make sure Alyona wasn’t within earshot and continuing. “There I was sorting through homework essays when a terrible, unwavering hunger struck.” Launching into a story fraught with trials and tribulations, Aldemar told her of the short stocks in the Durmstrang kitchen and his need to put spices on everything after a recent trip to the Persian Gulf. He regaled her with a tale of a house-elf hell-bent on banishing him from the stoves and ended the story with his arrival at the competition just in time.

“And now, here we are,” he said, his palms falling quietly on the tops of his knees as he looked down both sides of the corridor slowly. “Which …. Is where exactly…?” Aldemar hadn’t noticed what part of the arena he’d followed her to when he’d done it, and now he was all turned about.

Aglaya lowered her head as Aldemar told her not to be sorry. She still felt quite embarrassed that she had panicked and that her mother’s friend had stayed with her, waiting for her to calm down again. Her situation being compared to birthing rituals of manticores felt way strange but Aglaya knew Dema better than to comment on this, besides, she wasn’t really in a mood to say anything.

Apparently her older companion had realised that, too, as he went into a long winded summary of his day. She was surprised that he started with mentioning her mother who might have gotten mad had he not made it to Vyshny Volochyok. Why did she want her old friend to come here? It was strange but Aglaya was in no state to question the motives behind this.

Dema’s voice was calming although Aglaya’s thoughts soon drifted off and she didn’t really know what he was talking about. He probably didn’t expect her to comment anyway. Only when he finished his tale, she glanced at him again.

Aglaya shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said. When she had run here she had been aimless. Her sole ambition had been to bring some distance between the main arena and herself. She was still shaking a little as she pointed in Branimir’s direction which was the direction where she had come from. “Somewhere down there are the changing rooms,” she muttered and just hoped that Dema would not expect her to get up and go anywhere anytime soon.

"Ah, so they are," Aldemar nodded as if he had any idea where she was pointing, and then smiled warmly. Truth be told, he'd never been in the underside of an arena such as this, and it was a bit of an adventure. He scanned down the passage she pointed toward, and then to the other side, before finally centering his eyes on her again.

Aldemar had never been the sort of person who felt uncomfortable during the silent patches of a conversation, in fact, he liked to consider himself a bit of an expert on the ebb and flow of such things. It was a skill that had no doubt come in handy during his previous career as a celebrity historian, travel guide, and adventurer. Being able to carry a conversation alone, pulling out amusing anecdotes and curious facts when the natural banter faded, had not only granted him access to otherwise forbidden areas around the world, but had literally saved his life many times.

Clearing his throat, Aldemar's eyes turned away from Aglaya again and focused on the wall across from them. "Tell me Aglaya, have you heard the Finnish legend of Kalevala?" Boy, he hoped not, because Aldemar realized he would rather enjoy telling her the epic story (and tie in a lesson or two). He positively loved a story with a moral.

The coldness of the wall she was leaning against was getting through her leotard and she shivered. Although Aglaya was still absolutely unwilling to get up and face anyone else just yet, she had a sinking feeling that she couldn’t stay here for very much longer anyway.

Fortunately she had company and she glanced sideways at Aldemar as he spoke to her again after another moment of silence. He asked her if she knew a Finnish legend and the young witch shook her head, unwilling to even think about whether or not she knew this particular legend. The prospect that he’d tell her about it was somehow nice and comforting. As long as he found something to talk about that had nothing to do with the situation here and now, everything was okay.

“No,” she said quietly, “I don’t think I do.”

Soon enough, she assumed, they’d be interrupted by someone from her family. Her mother, her great aunt and coach, her grandfather… She hoped that they wouldn’t find her anytime soon, though, knowing that she’d have to explain herself and never hear the end of the tirade about how unprofessional she had behaved by just storming out of the arena.