The Loser Has To Fall
Disclaimer: This topic will contain themes of harm, substance abuse (drinking), and admiration of villainous figures. He expresses grief, burnout and even self-loathes. Elmo's replies are dramatized for character development and are not meant to romanticize or trivialize any struggles or real life issues.
November 3rd 2025 (theres no class on nov 1-2)
@Alphonse ToussaintHis Fourth Year class was starting to unravel him. Today's lecture was just another slog through the legacy of the Death Eaters and the ever-so-deranged leader Tom Riddle, or better known as Voldemort. It felt like he was dragging his own sanity across broken glass. The curriculum was not difficult, it was just dedicated to villains or evil people with only one final class on Folklore before the term ended. A light in a semester of dark people.
When the time was up, he could've wept. Thank the bloody gods, they were gone. His head throbbed, the questions insufferable and frequent and yet, ever so annoying. He wanted to scream. These children were hopeless maggots. No worse, they had to have been parasites as they gnawed at the very last threads of his patience.
He walked into his office, silence at last. The only noise was his footsteps across the floor, the creak of the chair as he sat down, and the rustle of the drawer as he opened it to pull out a glass mason jar of Old Smoky Tennessee Moonshine, Blue Flame being it's theme. 128 proof and all that jazz. It didn't provide comfort to him, heh. It promised oblivion.
He stared blankly at the jar, a look of sadness and regret on his face as he unscrewed the lid and lifted the entire jar up to his lips, allowing the ridges of the mouth of the jar to brush against Elmo's lips, before he tilted his head back and angled the jar, chugging the unflavored moonshine that was simply just tinted blue.
It hit hard. It burned his throat as he swallowed. He thought back to his mother's death, back to being bullied. And continued to chug. He thought about his students being annoying little rodents and only looked sadder. The moonshine didn't numb him like he wanted. No, it only emphasized the regret and distaste. He felt like he was a failure, every bloody wasted lectures, every moment he spent trying to get the students to understand, and nothing.
His hand trembled as he set the jar down, not from the alcohol though, but from the realization that he was starting to envy the very people that he taught about in his class. Grindelwald? Voldemort? Umbridge? Morgan le Fay? Hell, even people he haven't mentioned, like Herpo the Foul. They had conviction and followers and did not have to beg for attention in a classroom full of teenagers that were simply just idiots in their prime.
He leaned back, staring at the empty jar. He drank the whole thing, could he even be trusted with a stable judgement? Was he even capable of thinking correctly?
November 3rd 2025 (theres no class on nov 1-2)
You've gotta break some eggs to make an omlette, something something.
The Loser Has To Fall
disclaimer the following will feature harm/violence/terror; consent has been given/received by all participants.
♕- Part 1 & 2, November 3rd, 2025 | History of Magic Office, Hogwarts -♕
Muppet; the Haitian boy's mind displayed the taunting alias in a neverending cycle of torment, and he was asinine and powerless to the wrath it invoked within.
Since Thursday evening, an unsatiable rage had been tumulting inside of him the very second his brown gaze laid eyes upon the cryptic letter. A letter riddled with code words and hidden innuendo—so Alphonse could only assume—that read:
Sarai, I hope this letter finds you in the worst pain you can possibly muster. I hope worse. Meet me at the Viaducts, October 31 2025, at 4 in the morning. I’ll be there. - Muppet
His mother's borderline risque ensemble for the candlelit spread doctored up by none other than Professor Break later that early morning furthered the notion. The Gryffindor couldn’t hear their voices that early morning, but his mother had been in attendance and the smile on Elmo’s face spoke volumes. What came next, Alphonse didn't linger around in the bushes near the Viaduct to witness—he didn't need to; surely all the telltale signs of an affair were present.
Underlying the rage against them was hurt and confusion—questions beyond his age's comprehension boggled his cerebral cortex and only added gasoline to the internal fires that refused to quell: How long had Sarai been cheating on Fabian? How could she do this?
The hours following his mother's romantic escapade with Elmo the morning of All Hallows' Eve, the eldest of the Toussaint brood had longed to confront her about it—or better yet, inform Fabian regarding his mother's lack of faithfulness. But the Gryffindor couldn't bring himself to face his stepfather head on, fearing that he'd lose the only real dad Alphonse or Briar ever knew, yet over a hundred letters would be crumbled in the attempt to shed light upon his mother's infidelity. Fabian was a good man—he deserved to know. Recognizing that the Toussaint-Fleischer household's strength would soon crumble didn't make the Haitian boy’s role as an informant any easier and only fanned his hatred towards his mother for being so selfish. The pubescent teen couldn't stand to be in Sarai's proximity out of disgust and resentment—resentment that turned into a deep depression, over what was soon to come.
Between various vices and friends, the agonizing melancholy and wrath could not be so easily suppressed, and trying boded the Gryffindor no favors. He only had fickle strength to muster into carefully crafting a mask of feigned poise and collectedness, but what remained of his waning willpower was primed for revenge.
For blood.
That following Monday, a bedazzling charm enchanted on an oversized cloak would shroud the Toussaint boy in a veil of invisibility in the corner of Professor Break's office as though a viper coiling to strike. He'd manage to successfully slip inside at the opportunity of Elmo stepping out of the History of Magic classroom after an insufferable lecture, then waited in silence for hours until the final class of Professor Break's day departed for dinner before strategizing moves.
A stale and heavy odor clung to Elmo's person like a shadow some days amid lectures, therefore what followed next didn't serve as a surprise for the Toussaint progeny. Observing the man down an entire bottle of a blue-hued liquor inside a large glass mason jar in quick gulps only solidified his massive distaste for Professor Break even further, if such a harrowing sentiment for a mortal man was possible. What sadness the History of Magic Professor was drowning in bottles was unbeknownst to the Toussaint boy who couldn't care less.
Alphonse's presence in Elmo's web was an act of servitude—a loyalty toward his stepfather who devoted nearly nine years of faithfulness to his mother, but the Gryffindor's loyalty and fury unfortunately often walked hand in hand. Deep within the boy's tumulting thoughts, a dark desire to instill a lesson of the boy's own was slowly but surely rearing its ugly head to the surface—
Lying in wait a few beats to merely watch the bottle's disorientation reveal itself through Elmo's subtly swaying demeanor, Alphonse slowly doffed his invisible cloak and stalked towards the drunken professor with silent footfalls until the lion was behind his prey.
A sudden muscular arm swiftly wrapped around Professor Break's neck in a tight and unyielding headlock.
Even amid the rage and hurt, the Toussaint boy's wrath didn’t register upon his countenance—only a sharp, cold mask in its place. "Stay the fuck away from my mother," Alphonse hissed into Elmo's ear, his grip tight against the man's windpipe despite the Professor's crazed thrashing.——interactions. @Elmo Break, @Fabian Toussaint-Fleischer, and @Sarai Toussaint-Fleischer
——notes. godmod permissions granted.@Elmo Break@Fabian Toussaint-Fleischer
Remedy.
The Loser Has To Fall
Just a sweet sweet drop. The burning sensation going down his throat. How he wanted more. He craved it. But what he was craving was not for the liquor, not really. He just wanted that silence, that void, that stillness that spoke to him, that called to him. The moment where the world would have to stop demanding so much out of him.
But then he felt arms around his throat, like someone was trying to trap him in a headlock. Elmo's eyes bulged as his chair scrapped violently across the floor, his body dragged backwards with the chokehold, and the voice in his ear from Alphonse?
Of course it was Alphonse. The dumb child. The child that had to have been made of 90% of litter and 10% of his own mother. Elmo didn't bother to thrash or fight or resist. Not at first of course, he had to laugh. Throw some of Alphonse's efforts back into his face. A dry, broken sound escaped his throat as he laughed, almost as if it were like glass and nails grinding in a blender.
"Do you think I wanted your mother?" He rasped, his voice hoarse. "You think I want you in here trying to choke me?" He continued his raspy laughter. He let his body go slack, just enough to try and fool the boy into thinking he had hte upper hand. Then, almost as if it were instinct just to try and break free from this attempted murder that Alphonse was trying out, he thought of his father, his life at Hogwarts growing up, and it was enough to make him rage. He mentally spoke the incantation to the cruciatus curse and didn't even need the wand, he just snapped his finger and broke free.
Elmo went back to his desk and grabbed another jar, this one with a flavor called White Lightning.
He sat on the edge of his desk and watched Alphonse while taking casual sips wondering when the spell would end, or if he had to call the school nurse in here and say that Alphonse tried to cast Crucio on Elmo but it backfired on him. He didn't want Alphonse to be the subject of the Crucio spell, but Alphonse put Elmo in danger, so Elmo had to react.
It was only fair. Right? Elmo did not want to hurt kids. He did not.
But then he felt arms around his throat, like someone was trying to trap him in a headlock. Elmo's eyes bulged as his chair scrapped violently across the floor, his body dragged backwards with the chokehold, and the voice in his ear from Alphonse?
Of course it was Alphonse. The dumb child. The child that had to have been made of 90% of litter and 10% of his own mother. Elmo didn't bother to thrash or fight or resist. Not at first of course, he had to laugh. Throw some of Alphonse's efforts back into his face. A dry, broken sound escaped his throat as he laughed, almost as if it were like glass and nails grinding in a blender.
"Do you think I wanted your mother?" He rasped, his voice hoarse. "You think I want you in here trying to choke me?" He continued his raspy laughter. He let his body go slack, just enough to try and fool the boy into thinking he had hte upper hand. Then, almost as if it were instinct just to try and break free from this attempted murder that Alphonse was trying out, he thought of his father, his life at Hogwarts growing up, and it was enough to make him rage. He mentally spoke the incantation to the cruciatus curse and didn't even need the wand, he just snapped his finger and broke free.
Elmo went back to his desk and grabbed another jar, this one with a flavor called White Lightning.
He sat on the edge of his desk and watched Alphonse while taking casual sips wondering when the spell would end, or if he had to call the school nurse in here and say that Alphonse tried to cast Crucio on Elmo but it backfired on him. He didn't want Alphonse to be the subject of the Crucio spell, but Alphonse put Elmo in danger, so Elmo had to react.
It was only fair. Right? Elmo did not want to hurt kids. He did not.
You've gotta break some eggs to make an omlette, something something.