27 Jun 2020, 15:07
I Got You
They would likely have to agree to disagree. Jack was pretty insistent that he needed to let someone hurt him to prove his loyalty. Wasn't smart. Wasn't healthy. He let out a sigh and smiled, he would try again at a later date to convince him otherwise. Hopefully before he did something too stupid to come back from.
He mentioned another friend, he was not familiar with the name: Ruka. Another malnourished, potentially mentally ill and abusive friend if this theme continued."They don't feed you underclassmen like they feed us big guys," Victor let out a little laugh but then felt a 'pop' and winced. He shifted himself a bit and felt it slide back in place. Geeze.
He went off a bit on Vladimir. Did he knew Vladimir? Have something against him? He had no way of knowing for sure. "He might have," Victor corrected him and felt a bit sick as Jack went on. That he might as well of been the one to have threatened Victor. That they [the mini mob of Slytherins] could have killed him. "Shit," his eyes widened a bit. "I am a dang monster," he realized. Confident or not in Vladimir's skills, he pointed that angry mob at Vladimir. He could have been assailing Vlad himself by the virtue of the act of telling. "I got to tell him what I did and warn him," he announced out loud. He knew most of the people in that bathroom, their first names at the very least. They lived in the same house after all. And neither do mine,' he wobbled a bit as he stood. He accepted the boons of friendship, sold Vladimir out on a presumption in anger and for a moment did not even consider the fact that he might get hurt because for that little stretch of time he did not care. He MIGHT have been offended so it was just their due. What the hell was wrong with him! He could rebuke his weakness at a later time he concluded as he wrestled with his conscience. He needed to make things right.
Who are the night sisters?
"No clue," Victor replied. "They are his associates, not mine." He had an inkling of course but he had already caused the eagle enough damage for one day with loose lips and questionable motives.
His head pounded, his vision throbbed. He felt like he might throw up but thankfully his stomach was empty. He was wrestling with his own conscience while he tried to answer the first year's questions politely and find a means to leave the conversation. He was back on Vladimir. No, not Vlad. ME. "Dude," he inhaled. "That's the least I should be doing too," he reminded him. It was easy to find the fault in everyone else. Their failures and short-comings, but in truth he was no better. Heck, worse. He knew that he pointed an angry mob in his direction and without a shadow of doubt he knew what they would try to do. There was no hypothesis. There was no wonder or experiment. Those reckless, unhinged, threatening and violent students were going to show up on Vladimir's doorstep.
...and then what?
He had incredible confidence in Vladimir. He was, inhuman. But did that make it right? Did that make it any better? No, it really did not.
Of course there was a great many things that Victor did not know. That his betrayal of Vladimir only furthered his resolve and his dedication to the Ravenclaw that he betrayed once before. That he really could not question Vladimir's motives without admitting his own. Worse yet, what if Vladimir is innocent. Falsely convicted and sentenced by his dangerous peers. There was no due-process, he knew that all too well after dealing with them himself. They had a mob mentality at best.
He was taken down by a downy pillow. A sudden jarring snap then click, his shoulder was disjointed. Pain, the oh so familiar sense shot through him. He had felt worse, greater pain. The boy's blood was filled with dark bile and how it burned. This pain again nothing compared to the future pain he would experience being immolated alive. The erroneous belief he would die with, die for. This pain was nothing, a snap and a jolt of pain. A dull throb would persist but that too would fade with time. It always did. He shrugged his shoulder, feeling the bone grind on bone until it found its groove. A bend at the elbow and a flick of the wrist, as if he was testing a new appendage. Better, yes. All better.
No harm, no foul. He smiled and said as much. Jack knew how light he was. He had an idea how feeble the third year was. He forgot. He temporarily did not care. He lashed out and Victor took the brunt of it. Yes, Victor was weak but he was steadfast and he would endure. Useless to be mad. Be mad at Jack. Be mad at Vladimir. He had no proof. No reason to believe that it was a concentrated attempt to cause him harm.
Victor was dealing with much worse than a tense friendship. A betrayal of trust between teens. His curse predated that of the other students by well over a year. No over two. There was a part of him that felt he was to blame. Marion likely felt it too. If it was not for their curiosity and stubbornness, nobody else would be in this predicament. "I guess they have every right to be mad and hurt us," he was referring to the Slytherins that had cornered him. "But I have a right to live too," he concluded.
Jack was under the bed crying. How he fit under there was a mystery to Victor. His joints just did not do that any longer. "I'm sorry," he frowned if it was any consolation to him. He knew it would not be. "I am just not good at much," he sighed. He took a reticent step away. "The potions will help more than those bandages ever could. Don't take your health or life for granted, as far as I am aware you only get one."
He was going to find Vladimir, warn him of the angry mob that was looking for him. Little would he know, they were no coming for him right away. How could they? The Ravenclaw was tucked safely away in his tower, far from their angry stares. No he would face them on his own terms, at the ball.
He mentioned another friend, he was not familiar with the name: Ruka. Another malnourished, potentially mentally ill and abusive friend if this theme continued."They don't feed you underclassmen like they feed us big guys," Victor let out a little laugh but then felt a 'pop' and winced. He shifted himself a bit and felt it slide back in place. Geeze.
He went off a bit on Vladimir. Did he knew Vladimir? Have something against him? He had no way of knowing for sure. "He might have," Victor corrected him and felt a bit sick as Jack went on. That he might as well of been the one to have threatened Victor. That they [the mini mob of Slytherins] could have killed him. "Shit," his eyes widened a bit. "I am a dang monster," he realized. Confident or not in Vladimir's skills, he pointed that angry mob at Vladimir. He could have been assailing Vlad himself by the virtue of the act of telling. "I got to tell him what I did and warn him," he announced out loud. He knew most of the people in that bathroom, their first names at the very least. They lived in the same house after all. And neither do mine,' he wobbled a bit as he stood. He accepted the boons of friendship, sold Vladimir out on a presumption in anger and for a moment did not even consider the fact that he might get hurt because for that little stretch of time he did not care. He MIGHT have been offended so it was just their due. What the hell was wrong with him! He could rebuke his weakness at a later time he concluded as he wrestled with his conscience. He needed to make things right.
Who are the night sisters?
"No clue," Victor replied. "They are his associates, not mine." He had an inkling of course but he had already caused the eagle enough damage for one day with loose lips and questionable motives.
His head pounded, his vision throbbed. He felt like he might throw up but thankfully his stomach was empty. He was wrestling with his own conscience while he tried to answer the first year's questions politely and find a means to leave the conversation. He was back on Vladimir. No, not Vlad. ME. "Dude," he inhaled. "That's the least I should be doing too," he reminded him. It was easy to find the fault in everyone else. Their failures and short-comings, but in truth he was no better. Heck, worse. He knew that he pointed an angry mob in his direction and without a shadow of doubt he knew what they would try to do. There was no hypothesis. There was no wonder or experiment. Those reckless, unhinged, threatening and violent students were going to show up on Vladimir's doorstep.
...and then what?
He had incredible confidence in Vladimir. He was, inhuman. But did that make it right? Did that make it any better? No, it really did not.
Of course there was a great many things that Victor did not know. That his betrayal of Vladimir only furthered his resolve and his dedication to the Ravenclaw that he betrayed once before. That he really could not question Vladimir's motives without admitting his own. Worse yet, what if Vladimir is innocent. Falsely convicted and sentenced by his dangerous peers. There was no due-process, he knew that all too well after dealing with them himself. They had a mob mentality at best.
He was taken down by a downy pillow. A sudden jarring snap then click, his shoulder was disjointed. Pain, the oh so familiar sense shot through him. He had felt worse, greater pain. The boy's blood was filled with dark bile and how it burned. This pain again nothing compared to the future pain he would experience being immolated alive. The erroneous belief he would die with, die for. This pain was nothing, a snap and a jolt of pain. A dull throb would persist but that too would fade with time. It always did. He shrugged his shoulder, feeling the bone grind on bone until it found its groove. A bend at the elbow and a flick of the wrist, as if he was testing a new appendage. Better, yes. All better.
No harm, no foul. He smiled and said as much. Jack knew how light he was. He had an idea how feeble the third year was. He forgot. He temporarily did not care. He lashed out and Victor took the brunt of it. Yes, Victor was weak but he was steadfast and he would endure. Useless to be mad. Be mad at Jack. Be mad at Vladimir. He had no proof. No reason to believe that it was a concentrated attempt to cause him harm.
Victor was dealing with much worse than a tense friendship. A betrayal of trust between teens. His curse predated that of the other students by well over a year. No over two. There was a part of him that felt he was to blame. Marion likely felt it too. If it was not for their curiosity and stubbornness, nobody else would be in this predicament. "I guess they have every right to be mad and hurt us," he was referring to the Slytherins that had cornered him. "But I have a right to live too," he concluded.
Jack was under the bed crying. How he fit under there was a mystery to Victor. His joints just did not do that any longer. "I'm sorry," he frowned if it was any consolation to him. He knew it would not be. "I am just not good at much," he sighed. He took a reticent step away. "The potions will help more than those bandages ever could. Don't take your health or life for granted, as far as I am aware you only get one."
He was going to find Vladimir, warn him of the angry mob that was looking for him. Little would he know, they were no coming for him right away. How could they? The Ravenclaw was tucked safely away in his tower, far from their angry stares. No he would face them on his own terms, at the ball.
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