Viktor moved stealthily, weaving between tables and the backs of young cadets, he barely brushed against either thanks to his lanky build. He was given the short end of his genetics. His brother blessed with strength and size, his sister blessed with beauty and health and generous "proportions", and Viktor... was apparently unlucky. All he had was his personality, his skills, and his height; but it wasn't that bad. The hand that was dealt to him by the dealer of life was built up, not given.
 Viktor took a step forward but quickly retracted it as some blurry object whizzed by not to far from his path. His eyes didn't catch the action, but he definitely caught the after effects. A young cadet was laughing, clearly pleased with what he had done. Viktor traced the projectile to a bright red head, with a vegetable chunk embedded in the tangled mess. "Isra..." He recalled the cheery young man's name. Viktor sighed, disappointed in the level of maturity that these recruits had was below the usual average. As he turned to confront the troublesome cadet, a blurry mass whizzed through the air, audibly splashing onto the instigator's laughing face. Viktor laughed internally before turning to see that Isra had retaliated, brandishing a smile equal to that of his attacker.
Viktor stood back, he wanted to see where this went. Although he was a little offended and saddened that his cooking was used as cannon fodder, he wanted to test cadets. Although he could already tell that they didn't know their place. The cadet that started the battle-- whom Viktor knew not his name-- murmured something, clearly plotting revenge, especially with a smile like [i]that[/i]. This was a mistake, thought Viktor.

"[i]Food Fight![/i]"

By the grace of the three walls, he can't be serious. 
But he was. 
And he[i]is[/i].
 Viktor slid into position as the cadet grabbed fistfuls of stew and catapulted them towards his initial victim. By now other recruits began to notice the commotion and got excited. This isn't the kind of surprise Viktor wanted; he supposed he should have been more careful about what he wished for.
 With near impossible precision and speed, Viktor stretched out his arms to catch the globs of projectile stew into empty bowls he picked up; each impact spilling the previous contents onto the floor.

"[i]ATTENTION![/i]" Viktor roared tossing the bowls aside; his sharp eyes dead set on the troublemaker. He waited for silence to sink in, nice and slow-like, before he began, "May I remind you recruits, that you're still here on [i]condition[/i]. Reckless, disrespectful and immature behavior will [i]not[/i] be tolerated under any circumstance." Viktor paced the messhall, closing the gap between him and the cadet, one step at a time. He wasn't yelling but his voice was loud and it rumbled like thunder; his face wasn't red, nor did it show emotion, but it did reflect authority and discipline. Viktor continued, scanning the sea of faces, "If you think you can do as you please here, you will learn swiftly that we of the Training Corps do not close our doors for reasons other than shortage in troops." He stopped behind the cadet, without even turning around or looking at him Viktor scowled "Know your place cadets. You all stepped into the belly of the beast long before you thought you would." Viktor let the words sink in before walking away. This could have gone better, he thought to himself.