Burned and Bruised Egos pv archer and matt complete

Date: February 9th

Everything hurt, and not in that deep emo singer I want to burn the world down kind of way but physically. It was like his entire body had been ran over multiple times and then chucked down the stairs for good measure and he was less than pleased about it. That duel was nothing more than a shambles, from the get go they had been dead meat and despite his failing attempts to remain positive and optimistic he was now decidedly done. Whomever had actually thought that a fair fight must have been drunker than the S.N.O.G attendees, or worse, the thought crept into his mind like a spider circling its captured meal. Had someone done this on purpose?

Whatever the case may be Matthew certainly didn't have the brain power to delve into conspiracy theories at this time. Every joint and muscle moved as a constant reminder of their loss and injury and kept him prisoner in a bedbound state. To say that the young snake hated hospitals wouldn't be particularly true but he certainly feared them to an extent, they were the place his mother died. The dark shadow of death haunted those places and no matter how hard he wished not to believe it the feelings always lingered.

Writhing about in his bed wincing from pain he heard the voice of Draven reach out into the room that now held all three snakes. His final memory of his own spell backfiring into his face turning his pinks rosy with embarrassment and unleashing a torrent of nasty comments that plagued his fragile mind. Having taken himself out of the battle Matthew was far from the reaches of honour. Warping that self-loathing into actualised hate he spat out, "Better? That was a slaughter, I thought these matches were meant to be balanced, where was the honour in that."

Then drawing his eyeline to the third snake to rise and the one he had left to fend for himself he asked more timidly, "You alive Arch?"

Interacting with @Draven Mirador & @Archer Duncan

Archer was in need of an explanation for how the duel only became real after he was defeated. Throughout the entire slaughter of a match he was so brimming was adrenaline that he had felt no pain for even when his body was pushed to the limit he chose to cast yet another knockback jinx rather than properly dodge the three spells thrusted at him.

Instead of the reinvigoration the newly-grieving boy had hoped for, instead of the faucet he could finally turn completely on, instead of the liberation he should have felt, all there was left was a dull sore on his limbs and chest. Archer had already been dealt enough pain and he could not have cared anymore for the newly inflicted hurt for it would be nowhere near what he had experienced over Christmas. Yet ever since the incident the only emotion that taunted at him was helplessness, leading to gritted teeth and flashes back to when he could only watch as he was hurried away by authorities while he knew he could have saved the woman that mattered the world to him dying in a sea of flames. If only he had not been so powerless. If only he had rushed inside. If only he had protected his teammates or took down Julian. Whispering a response to the boy's timid question Archer said, "I wish I could have done more, Matt."

Then like all of them he became warped in self-loathing, though unlike the other two not in how the duel had gone but his own ridiculous rage at the weakness in the words he had just uttered. He sat up far too quickly than what the nurse must have advised, felt a pain in his back but ignored it, and glared daggers at the two other vipers instead. Captain Pass was certain to chastise him on antagonising his own teammates and yet Archer did so nevertheless, determination edging into his voice to replace the previous vulnerability, which had been shown more than enough in front of Matthew, "But at least I was stronger than the two of you. You, Draven," he said, pointing an accusative finger at the boy, "have more experience yet was the first to go, while you, Matthew," he continued, turning on his friend as his volume raised, probably eliciting some stares from across the room but he could not care less, "went down with your spell in your own face. If you want to talk about honour, I was the only one who had even a shred of it." Turn the spikes inwards towards the outside, then attack like a porcupine until he felt better about himself.

Unfortunately the only animal Archer felt like today was a sitting duck. Fingers digging into the cotton of his pillow he fought the urge to thrust it onto the brunet's chest. Calming himself down as he managed to gulp down the cup of water left at his bedside, his eyes slunk away from the ones he had just challenged. "Don't worry about it, Campbell," Archer said bitterly in a whisp of decibels as he turned away from the boy who had fallen and left him alone, but more importantly whose fall he could not save, fists clenched on the cloth for he feared he might bring his aching arms down elsewhere, "I've heard it enough already: anger hinders recovery."

Draven stilled, looking down at his bedspread blankly.

Anger. Yeah nobody had been angry at him for a good long time.

His gaze turned towards Archer's disheveled form, the cutting words dropping from his lips seemingly embedding themselves in Matt. Draven didn't often feel the vicious heat climbing in his stomach. It was even less often that he wanted to do something about it, the venom sitting on his tongue.

Interesting, he thought, knuckles pushing down into his chest where something had knotted itself up. Must have been the withdrawal. When was the last time he'd smoked? Before the duel? A couple hours before at the very least.

"There's always honor in going out on your feet." Draven said, words replacing the ones he wanted to spit out. He would not snap at a second-year kid who didn't know his rights from his lefts. There was something dark underneath Archer's tone. A place of hurt and anger that Draven didn't particularly care to touch.

Instead, he turned his attention towards his clothes. The pack of cigarettes was missing. It wasn't in his pants. Not in his hoodie. Wasn't in his shirt. Damn Professor Baird. Him and his well-meaning actions had Draven's fingers itching towards his throat.

The jitters were back, a pounding headache making itself known at the corners of his eyes.

Merlin.

The anger would remain, it seemed. Stuck in his throat, clawing at his lungs and digging its teeth in his vocal cords.

"Y'all want a drink? I don't particularly want to go to sleep thinking of this tonight"

Didn't particularly want to wake up the next morning and spew the contents of his stomach onto the floor either, but that was Future Draven's problem. Current Draven could have used a distraction. Or three.

Pulling the gown over his head, Draven wiggled back into his clothes. One final check. The cigarettes hadn't magically appeared.

It had been his last pack too.

Damn it.

He hadn't realized coming to the hospital would include a highway robbery. Perhaps getting tipsy would distract him from the cravings.

@Matthew Campbell | @Archer Duncan | @Prat Pass
---
(permission to say octavius took the cigarettes has been given)

Date: February 9th

While Draven would take the politically correct approach to Archers swift kick to the chest Matthew was less adept at controlling his temper. A heart that had once fought for his fellow snakes peace and aided in comforting his grief now panged with betrayal. The flare of anger burning in his chest from Archer's words rapidly blossomed into a wildfire and he couldn't control the flames on his tongue from lashing out. "Screw your recovery, feeling shit doesn't give you an excuse to treat people like it Duncan. You're in pain, I get it, more than you seem to accept but you don't get to be an arsehole and you certainly don't get to lecture us on honour."

Letting the harsh words linger in the air Matthew did not have a lick of regret for his outburst. With all the bullshit of the last month he simply could not be arsed with another person disrespecting him or feeling like they could walk all over him. Archer was suffering in a way that he uniquely knew but the manner in which he chose to grieve was not an acceptable one. Pain isn't an excuse for behaviour, even if it is a catalyst for it.

Fuelled by rage he spun himself off the side of his bed ignoring the tearing pain of his bruised chest, the dull ache that lingered with every step, and made his way to Draven. Holding his side for dear life as he moved knowing each step was only making things worse he reached the older boy clinging onto his bed for support. Eyes fired up and with a glint of dangerousness to them he said "If you've got some I will definitely take you up on that offer. Anything to not deal with any of this. Please tell me its strong stuff."

Given how terrible his last drinking antics had ended Matthew should have been cautious over such an offer but he couldn't bring himself to be. This duel was just another item in a list of crappy things that had happened since Christmas and if he didn't do something to numb the voices in his head he was going to begin to think he was cursed. That was undoubtedly the last thing he needed, so shoving the thoughts down he returned his irritated face to the third snake in the room.

With a tone no longer vicious but simply defeated he let out a deep sigh and said, "You coming or are you going to be an arse about that too." The fatigue that wrecked through his body found purchase in his voice and let the fellow Snake know he was too tired to deal with whatever smartass answer he had prepared. If Archer wanted to wallow in his own self pity and loathing he was more than welcome to.

Interacting with @Draven Mirador & @Archer Duncan

Glaring at Matthew with sulking eyes his brows furrowed as every word stung. Head raised in defiance more so to stop a salty stream from dripping down his cheeks than in challenge he had no plans of ducking away to cry as he had last time. Hatred spawned in his heart though for who that he did not know, whether it was Matthew for being so insensitive or more so himself for potentially just ruining every plank on the bridge they had worked so hard on building. A single tear finally slid down his chin but he was quick to wipe it away as his eyes hardened. What difference was that from reversing their half a year worth of friendship back to its very origins rooted in bitterness? The fact that this time, there was no ignorance nor misunderstanding and that he was an attacker rather than a bystander.

Whatever. Just like the whiskey they were all hoping for it was better to just get it done and over with and let the pain settle in later when he was too numb to feel it.

"No," he said defensively against Matthew's insult, before realising how that sounded, "I mean yes." Archer flopped down on the bed and groaned Evading Matthew's gaze as he turned his head, eyes trailing the nothingness in the air. "I'm sorry. " The words came out far weaker than he had wanted them to, trailing off towards the end and barely audible muffled in the bed sheets. Reluctantly he raised his head towards the ceiling and repeated the apology before pushing himself upwards with expectant eyes on Draven's promise of a strong drink. The last time he had been drunk, the night had ended with him clutching his stomach and barely catching a wink of sleep while Zeno purred away happily. He knew his life was becoming the ultimate quagmire when he wished he could become the cat. Directing the question at the elder duellist though meaning it for his peer, his expression verged between irritated and fatigued, "Shall we just get out of here first?" Maybe frail apology would prove inadequate, but if they found further arguing worthwhile he would really rather not do it here.

Following Draven's lead Archer too pulled off the oversized hospital gown, shaking back wildly dishevelled dark hair he turned away from Campbell convincing himself with the feeble excuse of changing. Although too preoccupied with pain to realise his body itched from the thin bed sheets of clothes he was more than relieved to now be sat in his own. Forcing himself onto his feet if the bedpost had not been there to steady him he would probably have fallen but otherwise, he deduced he could walk. If he couldn't, then fuck that because he was starting to hate the very antiseptic scent of the clinic all of a sudden. Intoxication was the inevitable ending of today's tribulations but at least he could do it in the comfort of his own house.

@Matthew Campbell, @Draven Mirador

Draven pretended he couldn't see the way Archer's face had screwed itself in. The boy's eyes were growing foggy. He was glad he'd kept his mouth shut now.

He focused on getting himself in order instead, helping Matt straighten up. A steadying hand slipped underneath the boy's elbow. "Might help with the pain too," he responded, eyes landing atop a crease in Archer's gown.

It made his skin itch, seeing the disheveled fabric. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, his gaze kept snagging on the crease.

"It's two bottles of Captain Morgan I got for 20% off," he said as an afterthought. "And coke."

They knew what they were getting themselves into. They wouldn't be able to blame him for the hangover.

Draven thought back to the morning he'd spent kneeling in the boys' bathroom, bile and the remnants of his dinner dripping down into the cracked toilet bowl. Everything had been so loud. Bright and painful and obnoxious, his clothing scratching his skin, his hair sticking damply to his neck. The taste of acid on his tongue. Some days he could still feel it lingering, scratching the back of his throat raw. Or perhaps the cigarettes were the ones to blame. He couldn't remember the last time he'd swallowed without pain.

And he was about to do it again. Hell.

He wasn't above mixing it with the various potions in his trunk either.

"I'm about sick of this room," he announced. The sheets on his bed were creasless, cover tucked in so tight you could have bounced a galleon off it. "And I might lose it on Baird if he accidentally..."

Cold turkey.

The nurse wanted him to quit cold turkey . Thinking back to the conversation just days before, Draven shifted his weight uncomfortably. He didn't want to know what would happen when the anger finally forced itself past the knots in his throat.

"I'm good to go if you guys are."