Move Your Body

[Borka Khamidouline]

Something about being in Denmark made Borka Khamidouline take in the scenes as he made his last delivery of brooms to a local Quidditch store. He had his own, of course. It was not in the best shape, but it was a broom that could ride rather fast if he felt like it. Borka wondered what his dad was up to, since the man was talking about retiring and allowing Borya the Second the take his place, and leaving Borka second in command. Since the parents split over differences of how they saw blood status' despite the fact that both were purebloods. His mother believed that their children should marry for love, and status to the depths of Hades but Borya thought that they should marry just for status, if at all possible. Out of many children, the two split and so did the kids. Several of them were married now with children, but others were little hellions and some did not bother marrying at all. Rosita and Borya the second were examples of these. The others were young, but Borya was almost forty and Rosita was just entering her thirties. After the divorce, only three of the five went with their mom. Borka stayed behind to watch after Tatyana.

Finally, after the storeowner signed the paperwork, Borka thanked the man before leaving to set his eyes elsewhere. There should be some fun sights somewhere around here. He was in Skagen, in the magical community, and there were pretty nice lighthouses. He knew what they were, but he never seen one in person. Boating and being out on the sea made him feel excited and enlightened. It was almost like riding a broom, but a little more of a chance of getting motion sickness. Borka walked to the docks, and his eyes were on a pamphlet, but he had no idea how to read Danish. He looked around for someone that could help him out on directions to where the huge lighthouse was (despite it being right across from his nose). Finally, he found a woman that looked a little closer to his age. He approached her and smiled, before asking, "Can you tell me where this picture leads? I can't read Danish. I'm Russian, you see." Borka looked positively helpless, and just needed to find something to do before he headed back home to Russia.​

 

[Moirah Kvalheim]

Moirah walked quickly with little steps that went tappa-tappa-tappa on the cobblestones, turning her head this way and that to make sure that Fru Hansen was not hurrying to catch up. The young Danish woman barely had any time to shop whilst she was dodging her guardian (Nanny, Moirah corrected herself spitefully. She's nothing but a glorified child-carer). Oh, how it grated upon her that at one year past the age of majority, he mother still hadn't fired the useless bint after she'd failed to catch up with her five times in a row. Moirah's mother usually took it out on her, though, knowing that her daughter tried her damnedest to lose her guardian at every possible opportunity. And well I should, thought the dark-haired woman, hurrying down the esplanade and ignoring the calls of the market owners as she passed. No wonder I can't meet anyone, this is humiliating!

She ceased power-walking in her black buckled heels when she reached the piers. Fru Hansen was long gone, as far as Moirah was concerned, and she sank onto a weather-beaten bench by the water, panting as quietly and as lady-like as possible. She'd barely time to catch her breath when she was interrupted by a tourist. A tourist! Urgh, this day couldn't get any worse.
Moirah affixed a politely inquiring look on her face, but her nose betrayed her with a tiny wrinkle of irritation. At least he was cute.
"Would you prefer Russisk, then?" she sighed, standing to look at the flyer he held in his hand. She was further irritated to note that even in her heels, she barely reached shoulder-height on the young man. "That would be Skagen's White," she continued in Russian, pronouncing words with a noticeably Danish lilt. "You would not want to walk there, though, it is 10 kilometers away and very windy. I can't imagine why you'd want to go there at all," she couldn't help adding as she tucked her hands into her cherry-red coat.​

 

[Borka Khamidouline]

Borka was a little relieved when the woman, rather cute too, understood English enough to the point where she didn't give him a dirty look and speak something in Danish, which he presumed to be bad words at the time. Borka had some bad luck with people, but he also lacked common sense too. It was not his fault. He was good at some things just not at the most simple of stuff. He did not know that the wrinkle with her nose meant that she was not happy, but she did ask if he would prefer Russisk, which he thought to be Russian but with an accent. He nodded twice, before a smile erupted on his full lips. "Thank you so much, miss," Borka spoke, his language switching back to his native tongue. Russian flowed on his voice, lacing it delicately, such as velvet. But she continued to speak, telling him what lighthouse it was, which was Skagen's White. He looked it over on the map, and couldn't really read out where she was reading it from. Borka continued to listen to her though.

His smile was replaced with a frown. Walking there was not in his plans, but how it was windy, well, that might hinder him a bit. Borka shrugged his broad shoulders, "Actually, I wouldn't walk. I'd fly. I came here on business when it comes down to manufacturing brooms, and I keep a really nice one on hand." He reached into his bag that he carried around, and pulled out a very slick, black broom with his name written in Russian in red letters down the handle. "If you have some time, you can come with me to the lighthouse. I have a fascination with them. Or, wherever you would want to go." Borka shrugged his shoulders again, and a small smile painted across his face.​

 

[Moirah Kvalheim]

"Oh," breathed Moirah as Borka's beautiful black broom made its appearance. She leaned over, quite despite herself, and her small hand extended as if to touch its sleek surface. Immediately she remembered herself and straightened again, tucking her hand back into her coat.
"Well if you're flying, I can't very well come with you, I've never been on a broom before and I'm sure it would just ruin my hair." A poor excuse, since the bay breeze interrupted her back whipping her black locks into her eyes, causing her to huff and actually release a small smile in Borka's direction. Moirah patted her hair back into place and slipped out one of the pins to re-set it, fussing a little with her hands as she considered what to do.

He was a strange man, she decided. Who asked a complete stranger for directions and then on their broom to be flown to who-knows-where? He was very forward, but he seemed benign. The Danish woman ran her eyes over him and thought that she liked what she saw, and more than that, she believed she knew his name. The red embossed script on the broom handle was nothing like a title. "Borka," she mouthed silently as she read, furrowing her brow as she sounded out the Russian letters. She did not read it as well as she spoke it. Moirah then flicked her eyes back to the face of the handsome stranger and made a decision, switching to English to better articulate her thoughts.
"My name is Moirah. Is this your name, Borka? Far be it from me to deter you from pursuing your fascination with lighthouses, of all things, but I shan't accompany you unless you take me somewhere rather more grandios. Have you heard of Kvalheim castle, to the South West? It's quite the landmark, high in the hills." The curl of her lips was mischievous. Oh, if her mother saw them, she'd have kittens. Delicious!​

 

[Borka Khamidouline]

The broom made the female named Moirah fawn over his broom, and Borka immediately took immense pride in it. He added, "Made it myself!" The only thing he didn't do was add the spells to it. He did not know that part, but when she said that she can't come with her because she had never been on a broom, and it would ruin her hair, he frowned. Was she really turning down a ride to somewhere exciting because she did not want to get her hair messed up? He did wonder what her name was. His was on the broom, and it did not occur to him. Borka should not be expecting much from a stranger though. She just met him, and he was a little on the desperate side to get someone to talk to him while he was on this journey. She mouthed his name, and Borka peered over to see where she was reading at. Right, his broom did have his name on it! How could he have forgotten? Borka was about to ask her name, but she decided to switch to English, which he understood as well as Russian. Her name was Moirah, but the surname did not come out.

"Yes, my name is Borka. Pleasure, Moirah," the man introduced himself, before gently taking her hand with his and planting a kiss on the back of her hand. It was common where he came from, especially in his neighborhood. But when she spoke of the castle, he shook his head. "I'm not good on castles. I confuse them with mansions a lot. But we can go there or fly over it. I'll go really slow. Flying is really fun, I promise!" He tossed his leg over the broom, and patted the empty part behind him. He smiled toward her, and hoped that she would take up on his offer. He really did not want to go somewhere alone in this strange country.​

 

[Moirah Kvalheim]

Well, it seemed as though the monogram on Borka's broom did not simply indicate ownership, but also craftsmanship. He seemed very proud of it, and Moirah thought privately that he had a right to be so; she knew nothing about brooms, but even to her inexpert eyes, it was beautiful. Her thoughts were interrupted when she found her hand captured and kissed, which caused her to blush deeply and turn her face from him as though he'd said something rude instead of acknowledging her sweetly. The last time she'd been kissed on the hand, she'd been eleven years old and her mother's last husband was a lecher. Ylva had killed him quicker than the last few. This was not at all the same, though she still extracted her hand a little faster than was polite before rubbing it uncomfortably. This time, is caused her discomfort for a whole other reason; it was rather nice.

"Well, I doubt you will confuse this particular castle for a mansion; it has towers, and a moat," explained the Danish girl. She would have said more, unconsciously stalling for time to calm her nerves, but Borka offered her a seat, and she couldn't very well refuse after telling him about her family home.

Moirah affixed a look of nonchalance on her face as swung her left leg over the levitating broom, carefully tucking her skirt beneath her. Then she had to deal with the question of where to put her hands. Propriety said on the broomstick just in front of her, but what if they jerked to a sudden halt and she headbutted his back? Mortifying! It was also too close to the- gulp- attractive man's backside. No, stick was right out. It would have to be his waist. Moirah shuffled a bit closer and leaned forward, tucking her slender arms around him and refusing to move close enough to press her chest to his back. She'd change her tune soon enough. The terror and excitement abated slightly with the inappropriate thought of 'Abs!' that refused to be quelled.​

 

[Borka Khamidouline]

Borka was no fool for the color that Moirah turned as he kissed the back of her hand. It was a formal greeting within his family, and he would definitely not change that. He wanted to keep up being a gentleman for the rest of his life. And having someone to see a castle, or something, would be amazing for him. He could not wait! Borka did feel that she might have been a little uncomfortable. Smiling still, he wondered who this woman was, and was intrigued by her, and the beauty that she held. Everything about her was just amazing. And he was sappy as he was oblivious. “Towers and a moat? Wow, you must be really a princess or something!” He was not aware that those with castles did not have to have a royal bloodline at all. Borka lived in a decent sized house but that was all he needed, and all he ever really wanted. “I bet it takes a long time to clean it.” Borka could not help but add that part. He did think it would be a little hard to keep something so big so clean.

He waited for Moirah to hop onto the broom behind him, and noticed that she seemed to be a little nervous. He said in a soothing voice, “I’ll take it slow and easy. Just hang on tight!” Even Borka noticed that they were very close, and as a man, he kind of liked it. However, flying was just more important to him. He placed his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze for reassurance. He placed both of his hands on the handle once more, and slowly rose into the sky, taking things slow and flying in the direction that he was supposed to. Borka did not want to fly too slow but he did not want to scare Moirah at all. She had never flown before, and he was going to make sure that she had a good time!​

 

[Moirah Kvalheim]

Moirah chuckled uncertainly into the tall man's back as she was accused of being a princess. She often felt like one, though not the fun kind who snuck out to go to balls, the locked-up kind whom no one came to visit and died of old age with no story written about them. At least she didn't clean the place herself, which made her laugh properly at Borka's comment. He was a silly man, but the Danish woman decided she rather liked him. There was nothing false about his personality, so far as she could tell, though perhaps she wasn't the best to judge with so little life experience. He seemed genuinely interested in rubbish like castles and lighthouses, and Gut help her, she was happy to indulge him.

'Hang on tight.' No chance of her hanging on loosely. True to his word, Borka started off slowly, though Moirah still clung for dear life like he was hitting a hundred and fifty kilometers on an autobahn. She had her eyes shut for some time, but eventually one carefully mascara'd set of lashes opened, and then the other. Fool that she was, she had to look down just as they were picking up some wind, and then the broom was off like a shot, leaving a trail of weak screaming as the Russian flew the Danish into the fading afternoon sun.​

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~FINIS~ ​