Characters: Yakov (and someone's hands) Setting: Durmstrang ship, this evening after class Summary: Yakov takes an unexpected bath Status: complete stand-alone
Ever since his affections had been rejected by Alexa, Yakov had been a little quiet. He wasn’t completely withdrawn, merely more introspective than usual. Most people probably would not notice, since he was always lazy, but he was perhaps more lazy than normal. He ate as much as he ever did, but he was disinterested in much of the food. He could get excited for short bursts of time, but that settled into a sort of melancholy as he ate more of it. He was, in short, regressing. He was washing as little as he could get away with (and Yakov’s version of what he could get away with was substantially less than most people’s). Back when Yakov had tried to please his father, the lack of approval from him had caused him to slowly ‘let himself go’ until he became a slob. That made it easier to deal with, because he felt like less of a failure if he didn’t try. Much the same was happening here. If he could make himself really unattractive, he could feel better about not having a girlfriend. He had never really thought he would have a girlfriend, but now that he had come close, the lack of one was harder. The terrible thing was that, although he liked Alexa, he didn’t like her that much. She was just a pretty girl who was nice to him, and he thought she had fancied him - as though anyone ever would!
Yakov stood on the edge of the Durmstrang ship, staring into the water. It was cold out, but not as cold as he was used to. Yakov did not even bother to wear a coat, as being cold felt more homely. He could see a mangled reflection of himself in the water. He could make out that his hair was all over the place but little else. He was glad. He didn’t want to see his face right now.
Suddenly he felt hands on his back, and found himself pushed forwards, losing his balance and toppling over the side of the ship into the lake below. The water was freezing! He could barely catch his breath and flailed about madly until he managed to grab hold of one of the chains mooring the ship where it stood. He looked up, but whoever had pushed him had gone. Cursing, but feeling oddly alive in the extreme conditions, Yakov pulled off his shoes and most of his clothes to lose the weight, and then swam slowly to safety.