Fists Are Preferred Over Words pv Pride Closed

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]J[/font]ack was a puppet. There was not a person pulling strings, but rather the twisting, twirling, spindling, tendrils of rage had pierced his limbs and forcing him into this rash action. The warm throbbing in the boy's knuckles as he grabbed onto his wrist with his left hand. One after the next, Jack's fingers flexed into a fist and relaxed. The fact that prefect had knocked that kid flat on his back was supremely satisfying. Yet, there would be a distinct lack of a grin or smile on the kid's face. Those tendrils must have been stitched through his upper lip, raising it into a snarl. Hackles were raised, and teeth were bared. Not once had he considered how this course of action would affect his position as prefect. That didn't matter to the boy at the moment. Sadly, if Jack had any foresight, this whole situation would have been resolved much more peacefully.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]T[/font]he rainbow of violence was nice. It was a visible sign of injury was good to see. Usually, punching somebody wasn't exactly a comfortable experience. Human beings were not creatures made to throw attacks around with their hands. Mr. Warren expected the discomfort of a hefty punch, considering hands were delicate things. Many fragile bones were subject to fractures from repeated blows, but this punch felt like punching a pillow—a pillow made of flesh and bone, but a pillow nonetheless. The violence has loosened the grip of the snaking fire of anger over his actions. Who said that punching things didn't make people feel better?

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]T[/font]hinking that his dominant position had been well inforced for the moment, Jack decided to let the kid stand. He did say he wanted to talk, but punching had become the first course of action, quickly enough. Obviously, Pride had made the same conclusion as he peeled himself off the ground. Words do, in fact, involve talking. Yet there was an insult thrown in, right after that little tidbit of truth. Did Jack know what simian meant? No clue, but it felt like an insult. So in response, the older boy took a step forward in an attempt to be intimidating. Unfortunately, the kid kept talking, and so Jack stopped for a moment to listen. Embarrass him? Was this child taking the piss? Look at him; he was the definition of noodle arms. Had this priss ever run a mile? Most likely not. "You're messin' with me, right?" The boy scoffed loudly through his growl. "I'm here cuz' of Winnie. You need to leave 'er alone. You won' like what happens if you keep on hangin' 'round her." For emphasis, the boy pressed his right fist into his left palm. Soft cracking resonated as he poped the joints in his knuckles. That's intimidating, right?

The difference in physical power between them was staggeringly apparent. Mathias was like many wizard-bred youths, accustomed to physical tasks being relegated to house elves or deferred to magical intervention. He was no stranger to the rod, he did not fear pain. If anything he welcomed it, the sting of broken flesh when it touched the air. The deep throb of battered muscle, bruised bone. Pain for some was not something to fear, something to avoid. Pain was a welcomed gift, providence. Pain told him that he was relevant, alive, winning.

Still, it throbbed like hell. Mathias would touch his hand to his jaw, his mouth full of copper and let out a hiss. He had pissed off Jack Warren but truth be told, he did not have a damn clue why. Mathias was not the sort to shy from conflict, today would be no exception even if his flesh begged him for a temporary reprieve. He knew the boy was a Prefect, house Hufflepuff - the Prefect body was damned famous. As far as he was aware he did nothing to earn more than a disapproving glare from these juvenile pseudo-authority figures.

He did not think much of Prefects, he understood the modicum of authority they wielded but they rarely deserved the role. They rarely fulfilled the obligations. They were just... there. Incompetent and irrelevant. A staple of tradition and bureaucracy rather than necessity.

Had this priss ever run a mile?

No, most certainly not Jack.

"You're messin' with me, right?"

"No," Mathias confirmed. Some people fight with weak, fragile, breakable flesh that heals rather easily. Ultimately the suffering temporary, fleeting. Others fight for the purpose of leaving a lasting impressing, a permanent effect. "But you have my attention," but not necessarily his interest.

"I'm here cuz' of Winnie. You need to leave 'er alone. You won' like what happens if you keep on hangin' 'round her."

Oh this is about Winnie. His lips peeled back, revealing a row of blood-stained teeth. The flesh stretched, it felt as if it was too tight. As if it was being pulled. It ached, like bliss. "Cuck or brother?" There really was no in-between. Whie their relationship was based on deception, he trusted the girl fully. She was not smart enough as to know when to keep secrets, when to lie. "Not that it really matters," he admitted as he made a dismissive motion with his hand.

In the same moment that he shared his why, he had also given Mathias his weakness. In a way Warren was naked before him, his limitations, insecurities and brokenness bared. Winnie was his weakness and the reason was love, be it a carnal sentiment that took rise in his loins or something softer, tender from the heart or something of fidelity or need originating from the mind. Whatever the case, it cause was love. The greatest failing of the human race - it made men weak, irrational and led them to their failure. "I have no intention of leaving Winnie alone," he announced with a confidence that would not seem fitting for the situation. "She is quite enamored with me," he reminded the larger, stronger, less stable, violent Prefect.

The problem with this scenario was that Jack had already crossed a line he would fail to come back from. He assaulted something that made Winnie happy. "How do you think she is going to react when she sees the blood?" He had no reason to keep any of this quiet, to claim he ran into a doorknob possibly several times by the end of this encounter. "When she sees you broke something that made her happy. When you" not him "makes her cry."

That was the line, one that he wanted to remind Jack of before he gave him a reason to cross the line again. "But I am so burdened with guilt... I should confess," Father Jack was hardly fitting. "Winnie is mine because she can't remember wanting otherwise. She won't remember otherwise and when I am done... bored... you can sweep up the pieces." Maybe make her remember - wouldn't that be cruel. Before him who wanted her? She was a pariah, a nuisance. Something to be avoided, reviled, taken advantage of and disrespected. With him, she heard nice words. He made an effort - more than anyone else - to be with her. He appreciated her for a number of things, among them her beauty, her kindness, her... Fucking hell, she was a house elf without the criticism.

"But I have to admit, you're ire really just makes me want to stay--" there was a lot of truth to the belief that nobody wants something until others have it. It seemed to be the case with fair Winnie. A subject of disregard until he took an interest. He shrugged his shoulders. "I should take her under the quidditch stands..." It was a bait, the expectation was another blow. Another bruise. He would fight back when Jack came at him, but he would do so knowing that his power was woefully insufficient.

OCC: If you end up coming for Mathias he would attempt the basic dirty play you would expect from a weaker opponent - he tries to kick you in the groin. This is only if you go for him (your attempt will win, a grapple would succeed, your call if his sad "attack" lands and your IC response).

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]J[/font]ust the sound of Matt's voice grated against Jack's will to let him speak. The boy's blood-stained grin only added to the effect of making the Slytherin seem detached and monstrous, which only made his face more of a target for the already enraged Hufflepuff prefect. "I'm 'er brother, you piece of shite," The tension the boy held made it seem like the veins in his arms and neck were on the verge of bursting. With every word that Pride spoke, Jack could feel himself losing grip of himself, and the crimson tendrils of rage regain a firm grip around his chest and arms. Unfortunately, this whole scene would soon take a turn for the worse.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]T[/font]he impression that Warren held was that Winnie would understand why he was doing this. It made absolute sense to Jack, so why wouldn't it make sense for her, as well? Sadly the majority of reason had left the conversation as quickly as Jack had appeared near Mathias. Honestly, he was lucky that he wasn't in the dirt already. But Mathias kept talking, which only raised the animosity that Jack had felt from the start. No intention of leaving Winnie alone? Quite enamored? "Quite enamored, my arse." Harsher words escaped his lips as he took a single stomp forward.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]I[/font]f he weren't so enraged, he would curiously think about if his hands could cramp from balling them up for so long? But sadly, that thought failed to come up. Instead, in the older boy's imagination, all he could see was Matt Pride's blood being spattered across the grass. Over and over again. He would hurt him. Beat him so severely that he would feel the need to run away, die, or both. The latter being the preferred option. With every heartbeat within' Jack's chest, his need to protect those he loved increased tenfold. He would kill this child if he needed to. There was no in-between, and Jack was already one hundred percent committed to ending this boy. At least he had enough courtesy to let him speak his last words. But that patience was quickly wearing thin, and there was no veil hiding away Jack's intentions. The grimace on his face would be enough of a giveaway.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]I[/font]f the red-haired boy's confession was some plot to get under his skin, it was working. How could somebody play with Winnie's misguided emotions like that and not feel an ounce of sympathy? It disgusted Jack. He would never allow that to happen. The only thing that will be shattered today is this psycho's bones. Warren will break him limb from limb, starting at the toes and ending with snapping each finger one by one while taking his sweet, sweet time. Yet, that fantasy was quickly abandoned when a set of eight words were spoken. "How fookin' dare ya'." This child will have to pay for those words with blood and pain. "You'll be lucky if ya' can speak after I'm done wit' ya', so don't count on being able ta walk." With that, he closed the distance between them. The bait was taken like a moth to the flame.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]S[/font]ome sort of defensive action was expected, of course. Jack was a somewhat experienced brawler. He always roughhoused with the muggle kids back home in London, so his reaction was pretty much immediate when he caught sight of a counterattack in the form of a nutshot. Bringing his knees together, the boy managed to halt the blow to his family jewels. Not that it felt good to block an impact with his knees. Lashing out, Jack wrapped his arms around the boy's extended leg and pulled it close to his chest. Now with the upper hand, the boy dug his feet into the ground and pushed forward. Unknowingly performing a single leg takedown was not Jack's intention, but it was lucky it turned down that way. Slamming down the boy as hard as he could, Jack would quickly follow up by diving shoulder first into the boy's stomach. Then, releasing the boy's leg, He would scramble up and land his knee directly on top of Mathias' solar plexus in hopes it makes him an easier target. As if all the rage the boy could manage were being released at this single moment. Feral ferocity would take hold, and Jack, raising his right fist in the air, would bring it down with as much force he could muster directly onto Matt's nose. And again, the process would repeat, raise, slam, nose, raise, slam, nose. Each attack with alternating fists.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]A[/font]s he punished the second year, Jack would speak between words, "If you-" Slam. "-Think that I would-" Slam. "-let this fly-" Slam. "You're outa your god damn mind!" The words were ripped out of his throat by the end of the sentence, as he finally let out his newfound rage, as he raised his fist for a final blow.

Interacting with: @Jack Warren | @Mathias Pride Mentioning:

Date: August 14th, 2021 - 20:00 Outfit: Dress

Jack had offered her a shoulder when she felt the cruel grip of an anxiety attack clawing its way up her throat. He had held and comforted her, but then he had left. Why? She didn’t understand. Something about making things right. What did that mean? She wallowed, paralyzed by perplexity, as she would try to claw her way through the fog, to find some semblance of clarity. It would not come, however. She would push herself onto her feet and wrap her soft cream cardigan around her. Jack had left her. If he wanted to make things okay, why hadn’t he stayed? She used the soft sleeve of her sweater to wipe her eyes, which were a bit swollen from her previous tears.

There was something that could make her feel better. A beam of light that could offer her a path through the dark fog. Mathias had been in the center of the emotional whirlpool that had enveloped her. Yes, she would go find him. He always seemed to know what to say when she found herself adrift. With him by her side, she would not have to face the waves of chaos alone. She stumbled about the campgrounds, searching the common areas for any sign of the redheaded Slytherin. Perhaps she would find Jack along the way.

When she could not locate either of the boys, she checked the outdoors area, including around the lush green trees that seemed to be the perfect place to curl up and read a good book. Yes, she could imagine it now — Wait a minute. She turned and squinted over at the display. It was Jack. He was holding up his fist. She knew that positioning. She had seen him using it before. Jack Warren had gotten into a fight. Well, no wonder he had disappeared earlier. "Jackie?" She managed to call out to the boy, her eyes widening in absolute horror as she took several steps forward and she watched him raise a fist and the said fist collide with... The center of her boyfriend’s face. A scream would rip from her throat. Her childhood friend’s name carried with it. "JACK!"

She saw Jack Warren raise a fist. She heard a terrible noise coming from Mathias. Her stomach lurched. She reached up and grabbed the wand that had been tucked snuggly inside her messy hair bun. "Flipendo!" The redhead screeched, her wand aimed directly towards the Hufflepuff prefect.

Winnie Casting Flipendo:
WIS ROLL:
[d20 : 6] + 7 = 13
ACC ROLL:
[d20 : 17] + 7 = 24
(Feel free to dodge if you would like).

Whether the spell managed to hit Jack or not, Winnie would dive to the ground on her knees next to Mathias. "Mattie!" Oh Merlin, was he breathing? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t know what to do, tears prickling at her eyes as her head raised up and helplessly glanced around the area. "HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP HIM!" She would use the full power of her pterodactyl voice to wail. An adult, she needed an adult.

"M-Mattie... You’re... You’re okay..." No, no he was not. Winnie saw the blood. She saw the bruises. She saw the vomit. The person she cared for so dearly. The sliver of rare happiness she had been given over the summer. And then, she saw red. Her body would tremble, her cold blue vengeful eyes would settle on the person who, despite promising to always protect her, to always care for her, had betrayed her. Had stolen that tiny piece of sunshine from her. Her voice was laced thickly with venom as she spat at him. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" She screamed, her cheeks streaking with tears. "GO! Get a teacher o-or Nurse Brumby! If he dies, you will be to blame and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a place like Azkaban. Is that what you want?!" She was hysterical, heartbroken, but unwilling to leave the Slytherin’s side. Not with Jack right next to him. He could try to finish him off. "Jackson... Jackson p-please... Why..." Had he done it? A question better asked when her boyfriend wasn’t currently possibly dying on the ground. "Go... GO!"

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]I[/font]t was disgusting. Jack felt disgusting. Only once had the boy been so angry. His chest was heaving from exertion, but no, he would not stop. With every blow, he could feel the sickening crush underneath his stinging knuckles. It was like punching porcelain, Matt was so weak, but the red hot rage behind Jack's eyes refused to stop. Blood and vomit had spattered all across the boy's shirt and face like he had dove headfirst into a bucket of viscera, which he quite literally did if you think about it. The boy bathed in it, and somewhere deep down, a sick part of him enjoyed it. He reveled in this boy's pain. Matt deserved it. Jack's anger and hatred were running wild. Again. And again! Again!

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]S[/font]TOP MOVING, YOU RAT! The roiling storm that was Jack's rage strengthened each strike. Each movement exaggerated. The assault had started as quick jabs, only to turn into giant wide-sweeping haymakers. The punishment was only made worse by the snake's pathetic attempts to defend himself. WHY DON'T YOU STOP MOVING!? The moment Jack's knuckles connected directly into Mathias' nose, the Prefect could feel it. The sickly crunch and the wet blood exploding from his nostrils only spurred the boy on more. If Jack stopped a moment, he would have noticed that Matt was not the only one bleeding. The boy's knuckles were bruised and bloody, evidence of his decisions. The breaths were quickly becoming more shallow, and Jack could feel himself starting to fail at drawing in a breath.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]W[/font]ith a fist raised to deal the final blow, Jack looked down at his victim. There was no other way to do this in Jack's mind. Tear's running down Winnie's face were the only thing that he could imagine. But, he was doing this for Winnie. Jack was willing to pulverize this child in order to protect the person that he loved. "No-Nobody..." Jack had to breathe in deeply before continuing, "...messes wit' my family." The blood pumping in his ears was leaving him with an inability to ear anything other than the constant 'ush ush ush.' However, that was before an invisible force slammed directly into his chest. In a matter of moments, Jack was off his knees, then off the ground. It was an odd parallel, seeing himself fly backward in an arc just like Jack had sent Matt in at the beginning of their 'conversation.'

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]W[/font]ith every heartbeat in the boy's chest, the dirt of the earth quickly came closer. Then, as he landed on his back, the momentum of the spell continued flipping him head over heels until the boy promptly fell to a brutal stop. There was no movement for a moment until the kid looked up to see Winnie huddled over his victim. Slowly, with hands planted on the ground for stability, Jack pushed himself back to his feet. His feet were unsteady, and it only just dawned on the boy how tired he actually was.

[font=Tempus Sans ITC]"W[/font]innie—" Why was she protecting him? Didn't Jack ask his friend to trust him? Had she been the one who cast him away? Winnie—I was makin' things ri—" The normal loud timbre of his voice was gone, mouse soft, as Winnie's voice ripped through the air, and his heart, while breaking through his own words. If he dies...if he dies...if he dies. Those three words echoed around inside of the boy's thick skull. He wasn't trying to kill him, just teach him a lesson... "No-Winnie, I did this for you... I am protecting you!" The misguided youth's words felt hollow. Was this the right path for him to protect her? Was what he did wrong? Shaking his head as the anger and energy drained from his body, Jack could only see the hysterics he had caused upon the red-haired Ravenclaw. "I-I can fix this-" His sentiment was echoed. The very words that started this whole ordeal. With that, Jack would turn heel and run, searching for someone that could help.

Interacting With:
@Eliseo Céspedes, @Jack Warren, @Mathias Pride, and @Winnie Harper

There was a calm aura of bliss that emanated from Zoë with each quiet step she took. The aimless meandering through the shaded woods was just the type of simple escape she had needed. There was a sort of euphoric simplicity in just being able to spend a quiet moment alone with Eliseo. Occasionally she would feel the soft flex and squeeze of his fingers interlaced with her own. Their hushed whispers and stifled laughter offered the break to the serene peace of the forest.

With their combined responsibilities at the camp, it seemed like there was always something they needed to do or some student to help. So when Eliseo had suggested that they go hide in the forest together, Zoë jumped at the opportunity. It didn’t truly matter what they were doing, she was just happy to get a few uninterrupted hours with the man. With the campground so close and the students wandering about, they knew they would have to keep their voices low to avoid detection but that only made every quip and joke seem infinitely more funny.

Releasing Eliseo’s hand for a moment, Zoë stretched her arms out to the side with her floral dress lightly wisping in a casual breeze. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before turning a radiant grin back on the Groundskeeper. “You know, if we are really careful. Real sneaky,” she grinned, “We can just stay here all summer. No responsibilities. Just you, me, and the occasional friendly rabbit.” She knew that Eliseo would actually probably thrive in such an arrangement, but she would quickly miss a few well-cooked meals and the comforts of a soft bed. Even still, the fantasy sounded like a small bit of perfection.

With a playful smirk, Zoë began to approach Eliseo to wrap her arms around him but her reverie was suddenly smothered. Even hidden in the forest, Zoë and Eliseo hadn’t strayed too far from the campgrounds. ‘HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP HIM!’. The words. The pained visceral wail cut through the silent tranquility of the forest. Zoë’s bliss and affections forced to the back of her consciousness as her mind instantaneously shifted to a state of deep fundamental concern. The cry hadn’t been playful or casual. She didn’t mishear some students loudly messing around or playing. No, it was clear pain and panic. The shrill bite of fear.

She was running before her mind even had a chance to process the words. Before the final syllable had settled in her memory, Zoë was on the move. A glance to the right showed her that Eliseo had reacted the same. “That was a student’s voice,” Zoë said, the worry heavy in her voice. Her mind began to race with the possibilities, hoping and praying that she wasn’t too late for whatever was happening.

She couldn’t recognize the shouting voice but its direction had been clear enough to follow and the continued shouting only made it easier. As Zoë neared the source, she instinctively drew her wand. With Hogwarts, it was impossible to know what might be happening and she didn’t want to waste precious moments if she needed it. Her breath suddenly seized and her teeth clenched as her eyes leveled on the young familiar face of the Hufflepuff prefect Jack Warren. It seemed like the boy was running for something...or from something. But that isn’t what halted Zoë’s breath. It was the crimson. The horrific crimson that painted the boy’s face and clothing.

“STAY THERE! DO NOT MOVE!” Zoë shouted at Jack as she closed in. She had no idea if it was his blood or if the boy was hurt but she didn’t want a blood covered student sprinting around and causing a larger panic. More importantly, however, she knew that Jack could not have been the source of the voice. The screams that had summoned her. But as she reached Jack, she believed she found the source.

Zoë tried to make sense of everything as her eyes frantically scanned the situation but there wasn’t enough information. But what she did know was that there was a young female student on her knees beside a bloodsoaked student. Unlike Jack, this student appeared not to be moving. Grim thoughts briefly crept into Zoë’s mind but she quickly quieted them. “Eliseo, stay with Jack. Make sure he isn’t hurt,” Zoë commanded as she sprinted over to Winnie’s side. “I’m here, it will be okay,” Zoë said, forcing the worry from her soft tone. She wanted to comfort the distraught girl but that wasn’t the priority.

Crouching beside Mathias, Zoë quickly scanned the boy. Between the vomit and blood, it was difficult to tell what injuries the young boy might have sustained. Zoë wiped some loose hair from her face trying to process the situation. Her instinct told her that it looked to have been a fight but the boy was beaten to a bloody pulp, not exactly indicative of a simple fight between two students. No, this was far more malicious. As if something was blindly trying to kill him. Even through the disheveled blood and vomit, she could clearly see that Mathias’ nose had been brutally crushed.

Without hesitating, Zoë raised her wand to the student. “Episkey,” she said clearly with a swift flick of the wand. Fixing just the nose was hardly going to be enough but at least it might allow the student to breathe easier. “Hey, can you hear me? If you can hear me, I need you to tell me where it hurts. Don’t try to move,” Zoë said calmly as she began to gently wipe some of the blood from the boy’s face. Even if she could patch up some of the minor injuries, she knew that the student would need to be taken to the nurse. Then there were the other two. Her first priority was stabilizing the Slytherin boy, but questions were already flooding Zoë’s mind and she would make sure she got answers from both of them. This was clearly not some fluke accident.

OOTD:

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