8 Apr 2020, 18:20
Reaching Boiling Point
Interacting with @Rafael D'SpacitoImmediately after: the Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw game
The game between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had left a sour taste in Evelynn's mouth. It was bad enough that the game had ended so quickly; she'd hardly had the time to acquire much novel information or really get a read on the teams' new players. What was worse, however, was how D'Spacito had — somehow — correctly noted the Hufflepuff seeker's identification of the snitch, and that Evelynn had missed it. That was her job. She was the seeker, not him. Yet he was the one able to lord it over her head that he had seen what she had not. It was beyond annoying.
Aggravating couldn't even begin to describe how she was feeling about that little fact. The boy did not need any additional fuel to stoke whatever this hate-fire was that he had burning for her.But there it was, handed to him on a silver platter. Evelynn still didn't know how he had seen it. It wasn't like he had been using omnioculars and was able to pause and replay the scene to track the trajectory of a glance. In fact, she was quite convinced it was a lucky fluke, or a gut feeling that just happened to have turned out in his favour. Whatever the case, luck or an irritating dose of skill and experience that she refused to credit him, the fact remained that he had called it.
And for her, the outcome of that victory of his was the last straw. She had kept herself at a distance as the stands cleared out after the game's conclusion, bitterly fuming at the ceaseless string of harassment that he had slung her way since her arrival on the scene. Fingers itched to reach for the wand tucked neatly into the hidden sleeve of her boot. O, what she would give to be able to hex him properly without consequence, and have it actually mean something. It wouldn't, though. She knew that. All that such an action would do would be to demonstrate just how acutely he bothered her. Just how easily he could command her emotions and draw a reaction. To do so would be to lose the war.
A war, there definitely was. That had been clearly established the moment D'Spacito had blatantly declared his dislike of her. It was something she still couldn't fathom. Over the course of the past months since his appointment to captain, she had likely spent several hours attempting to sort through their various interactions in an attempt to discern why. The case remained, however, that she couldn't think of a single instance where she had been anything but cordial with him. Until recently, of course, but that went without saying, and was — frankly — completely understandable as far as she was concerned.
That was it. She needed answers. Up until now, despite her appointment to co-captain, she could hardly claim to be any sort of counterpart to him at all. There was the captain, Rafael D'Spacito on his platform of cocky arrogance and loud-mouthed demands. And then there was the co-captain, Evelynn, shoved to the soiled ground, below the station of even the rest of the players if the captain had any say in the matter. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And it certainly wasn't conducive to any sort of conspiratory efforts to work together in leading the team to victory.
Divided, we fall; only in unity may we rise victorious.
Making up her mind, Evelynn deliberately stowed her journal, hitched her book-bag, and set her gaze forward onto the form of her captain. Steps quickened, woollen skirts swishing angrily about her knees as she wove through the crowd to close the distance. A flick of her gaze indicated she needed to be swift lest the chance pass her by. One last push, and she came upon him. Gloved fingers closed around the base of his arm just above his elbow. She might not have been the brawniest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but her years in the saddle had yielded a firm hand grip. Her intent: to halt his progress.
"I've decided I've had enough of your attitude," Evelynn hissed, making to steer Rafael away from the crowd and into the shadows beneath the adjacent stands. Provided that he followed along and didn't attempt to fight her wishes, she'd raise her other hand to sweep aside the vermilion hangings covering the structure's wooden skeleton and make to duck under a crossbeam and head for its interior. "We're going to talk."
10 Apr 2020, 21:39
Reaching Boiling Point
@Evelynn Decipio
[font=Segoe Print]Gryffindor’s Quidditch Season had been royally shitty this year, what with two losses to speak for their ability to win, and only thirty points to their once-renowned name. Which was certainly a bittering fact to any onlookers still supporting their fair house – where had that infamous Gryffindor Resolve gone? Where was the fight that they had once possessed all those years ago, when Potter himself had been the seeker for the juggernaut team? It was disheartening, especially to the newly instated Captain of the Lion house, if he did say so himself, knowing that the Gryffindors were disappointing their predecessors so acutely with such poor playing. Their team was supposed to be powerful, unstoppable even. Instead, they were simply pathetic.
Such facts already didn’t help the boy’s all-around mood, now that he was in charge of carrying the weight of his team’s failures on his shoulders. But then, there was his bitchy, know-it-all co-captain.
Evelynn Decipio had been a pain in the ass from the very beginning, her irritable tendencies and smart-ass nature alone enough to set the thunderbird off his sanity rocker. There were some nights, that the boy would stare at the ceiling pondering why he’d chosen her to begin with – there was enough enmity between them already, what with her hitting him with a bludger, and grilling into his friend, Wren. Not only that, but her very voice gave him a migraine, her presence grating upon his patience, every tendency of hers getting on his very, very last nerve. Saying he hated the girl was a pathetic understatement – he absolutely loathed her with all the passion he had in his small eleven-year-old body.
However, he’d promised himself that their relationship would be nothing but professional, as his decision of hiring her had been purely strategic – she was bright, that was no secret, as were her eyes sharp, keener than normal. She’s proved that much in the common room, searching for clues related to Umbridge’s Murder, and on the pitch, in her attempts to knock the young captain from the skies. There wasn’t a moment that went by, that the boy couldn’t at least recognize that about her – the last thing he needed, was his opinion of her coming between their efforts in Quidditch.
Now, after suffering through an entire Quidditch Game in her sickening presence, he felt his patience at its last, waning stretch, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched as his feet carried him farther and farther away from the she-devil in question. He really didn’t know why he put himself through the things he did – there were much better ways to study strategies, than interacting with the girl. You could have sat with anyone, he wryly thought. Lydia was there, and Tyranni, too. Why couldn’t Tyranni have been a Gryffindor, bloody hell. He hardly knew the other co-captain, sure, but her presence had to have been better than Evelynn’s. To be completely honest, he was at the point where he was ready to find his Head of House, and beg for a new co-captain. Steal a time turner. He was done with Evelynn.
However, Evelynn was far from done with him.
[Football had made him too good at watching people’s body language. Not once during the entirety of the game, had he ever caught that glint of gold – Evelynn didn’t have to know that. ]
He’d just gotten to the bottom of the bleachers, clutching a notebook in one hand and gazing up at the cordial clouds as he walked, when he’d felt them. Harsh fingers, digging into the flesh of his upper arm with the ferocity of an angry tiger. The action had stunned him, his entire body jolting as sickening deja-vu flooded his gut, spiders crawling up his back – he’d felt that grip before, several years ago in Argentina. It had been the grip that had marooned him in the house for three years. Fuck. His limbs, he’d shortly found, had utterly frozen up in reminiscence, his mind going blank with dizzying fear, his heartrate picking up speed. He could do nothing but let Evelynn do her worst, dragging him along with her, into her van –
"We're going to talk."
It was then that he could properly register his surroundings – under the bleachers. It was the she-devil, female Satan herself, her features rigid and serious. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could do anything to stop them – “Don’t touch me.” He gripped her wrist, slowly applying pressure, much like Aurelia had done to him once in the common room – enough to make her release her grip. The danger was starkly evident in his eyes, as was the fear of his most recent flashback-spell. Who was she, to put her hands on him like that? Who did she fucking think she was?
His eyes bored into hers with all the danger and ferocity he could muster as he seethed, his thoughts racing a million miles a minute – it would be so easy, to make it personal, rip into her for every little thing he loathed about her, dig in the knife that she had so graciously put on a platter before him. She wanted to talk, right? But no. Their relationship was strictly professional, a courtesy he endured simply for the welfare of his team. That being said, it didn’t mean he couldn’t establish his dominance.
It was in that moment, that he allowed a smile to slip onto his face – warm, perfectly cordial, in every single way sincere. Except, it wasn’t in the least. He was acting again, a flawless skill he had long since mastered, one of his most useful weapons for psychological warfare. He wanted this to hurt. “You know,” he said brightly, “I’m glad you’re confident. That’s one of the very, very few things that I actually like about you. So, because of that, I’m going to do you a favor – walk away, while you still can. Before this gets ugly.” There was no lie in his voice, only starkly dangerous honesty. She’d put her hands on him, she’d pushed the line. She had taken away every ounce of patience he had left. His innocent smile was the only courtesy he had left to spare to her, and even that was beginning to wane, his eyes gaining the ferocity they once carried as his lips slowly sunk, the danger leaking off of him in thick waves. There was so much he wanted to say, the words on the tip of his tongue… [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]Gryffindor’s Quidditch Season had been royally shitty this year, what with two losses to speak for their ability to win, and only thirty points to their once-renowned name. Which was certainly a bittering fact to any onlookers still supporting their fair house – where had that infamous Gryffindor Resolve gone? Where was the fight that they had once possessed all those years ago, when Potter himself had been the seeker for the juggernaut team? It was disheartening, especially to the newly instated Captain of the Lion house, if he did say so himself, knowing that the Gryffindors were disappointing their predecessors so acutely with such poor playing. Their team was supposed to be powerful, unstoppable even. Instead, they were simply pathetic.
Such facts already didn’t help the boy’s all-around mood, now that he was in charge of carrying the weight of his team’s failures on his shoulders. But then, there was his bitchy, know-it-all co-captain.
Evelynn Decipio had been a pain in the ass from the very beginning, her irritable tendencies and smart-ass nature alone enough to set the thunderbird off his sanity rocker. There were some nights, that the boy would stare at the ceiling pondering why he’d chosen her to begin with – there was enough enmity between them already, what with her hitting him with a bludger, and grilling into his friend, Wren. Not only that, but her very voice gave him a migraine, her presence grating upon his patience, every tendency of hers getting on his very, very last nerve. Saying he hated the girl was a pathetic understatement – he absolutely loathed her with all the passion he had in his small eleven-year-old body.
However, he’d promised himself that their relationship would be nothing but professional, as his decision of hiring her had been purely strategic – she was bright, that was no secret, as were her eyes sharp, keener than normal. She’s proved that much in the common room, searching for clues related to Umbridge’s Murder, and on the pitch, in her attempts to knock the young captain from the skies. There wasn’t a moment that went by, that the boy couldn’t at least recognize that about her – the last thing he needed, was his opinion of her coming between their efforts in Quidditch.
Now, after suffering through an entire Quidditch Game in her sickening presence, he felt his patience at its last, waning stretch, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched as his feet carried him farther and farther away from the she-devil in question. He really didn’t know why he put himself through the things he did – there were much better ways to study strategies, than interacting with the girl. You could have sat with anyone, he wryly thought. Lydia was there, and Tyranni, too. Why couldn’t Tyranni have been a Gryffindor, bloody hell. He hardly knew the other co-captain, sure, but her presence had to have been better than Evelynn’s. To be completely honest, he was at the point where he was ready to find his Head of House, and beg for a new co-captain. Steal a time turner. He was done with Evelynn.
However, Evelynn was far from done with him.
[Football had made him too good at watching people’s body language. Not once during the entirety of the game, had he ever caught that glint of gold – Evelynn didn’t have to know that. ]
He’d just gotten to the bottom of the bleachers, clutching a notebook in one hand and gazing up at the cordial clouds as he walked, when he’d felt them. Harsh fingers, digging into the flesh of his upper arm with the ferocity of an angry tiger. The action had stunned him, his entire body jolting as sickening deja-vu flooded his gut, spiders crawling up his back – he’d felt that grip before, several years ago in Argentina. It had been the grip that had marooned him in the house for three years. Fuck. His limbs, he’d shortly found, had utterly frozen up in reminiscence, his mind going blank with dizzying fear, his heartrate picking up speed. He could do nothing but let Evelynn do her worst, dragging him along with her, into her van –
"We're going to talk."
It was then that he could properly register his surroundings – under the bleachers. It was the she-devil, female Satan herself, her features rigid and serious. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could do anything to stop them – “Don’t touch me.” He gripped her wrist, slowly applying pressure, much like Aurelia had done to him once in the common room – enough to make her release her grip. The danger was starkly evident in his eyes, as was the fear of his most recent flashback-spell. Who was she, to put her hands on him like that? Who did she fucking think she was?
His eyes bored into hers with all the danger and ferocity he could muster as he seethed, his thoughts racing a million miles a minute – it would be so easy, to make it personal, rip into her for every little thing he loathed about her, dig in the knife that she had so graciously put on a platter before him. She wanted to talk, right? But no. Their relationship was strictly professional, a courtesy he endured simply for the welfare of his team. That being said, it didn’t mean he couldn’t establish his dominance.
It was in that moment, that he allowed a smile to slip onto his face – warm, perfectly cordial, in every single way sincere. Except, it wasn’t in the least. He was acting again, a flawless skill he had long since mastered, one of his most useful weapons for psychological warfare. He wanted this to hurt. “You know,” he said brightly, “I’m glad you’re confident. That’s one of the very, very few things that I actually like about you. So, because of that, I’m going to do you a favor – walk away, while you still can. Before this gets ugly.” There was no lie in his voice, only starkly dangerous honesty. She’d put her hands on him, she’d pushed the line. She had taken away every ounce of patience he had left. His innocent smile was the only courtesy he had left to spare to her, and even that was beginning to wane, his eyes gaining the ferocity they once carried as his lips slowly sunk, the danger leaking off of him in thick waves. There was so much he wanted to say, the words on the tip of his tongue… [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
13 Apr 2020, 18:26
Reaching Boiling Point
Interacting with @Rafael D'Spacito
Only moments before, she had taken it upon herself to grasp the arm of the boy standing before her; she had been the one to cross the threshold of personal boundaries when invading his. He had not bid her welcome to touch him, nor had she asked. Thus, it shouldn't have taken her by surprise, not really, to find his own fingers gripped tightly around her wrist. Yet, it did. Not quite able to fully smother the wince as he twisted her arm back and away, her heart skipped up in tempo. The difference of strength between them was all too apparent.
She knew she wasn't the strongest student. Far from it. She wasn't even particularly strong for a girl. Her strength lay in her speed, wits, and grace of movement. Not might. That lesson had been instilled when she'd been on the receiving end of Caster's hand, and again when choked up against stone walls in the dungeon by Barret. But those paled in comparison to the natural strength of the vice around her arm now. It was too easy for him. She had to release her grip. Even if she had wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to maintain it. Half a step back. For a second, the thought to flee crossed her mind, her instincts rearing back, screaming at her for making a huge mistake in crossing him. What was worse, they were alone, isolated, and surrounded by timber, making a clean escape a difficult one.
But only for a second.
His loathing of her was clear in that moment. There was no denying that. She could almost feel the holes he was attempting to bore into her skull by the glare in his eyes. But there was something else there, beneath the burning ire. He'd reacted just a little too defensively. Just a little too quickly. The D'Spacito she knew was cocksure and haughty. Not…defensive. It was almost as though…But no, she wouldn't believe it for a second. What did he have to fear of her? Especially after making it so clear time and again what he thought of her? Surely, if any level of trepidation served as the foundation of that dislike, he wouldn't be quite so quick to have voiced that particular opinion.
"Would you have actually come if I'd just nicely asked you?" She questioned rhetorically, her tone more than a little bitter as she rubbed — subtly — at the spot on her arm where his hand had been only too recently. Thankfully, he had released her the moment she'd tried to pull back. Evidently, she'd have to be a little more wary in future about how she attempted to get his attention.
As he spoke again, however, she faltered. The bitterness faded from her countenance to be replaced with bemused skepticism. At his words, she had glanced up to see him…smiling. Not a smug or bitter smile, but one that by all appearances seemed genuine. Only….it obviously wasn't as she was quite certain she had never seen him smile like that any time she had been within ten feet of him. Her presence alone seemed to sap any happiness from his features, smearing on a look of contempt. Without exception. Whatever the heck was going on here, she could only marvel at, very much taken aback by the sudden shift in not only his expression, but his tone as well.
"What?" She almost gaped, brows raising as he offered her his favour. "While I still can?" She repeated, a level of icy calm returning to both voice and features. "Before this gets ugly?" She echoed. It was her time to smile, the corners of her lips pulling into a rather feral sneer as she digested what it was that he was suggesting. What a joke. Did he really not take her seriously at all?
"Or. What."
Not a question. No inflection. There was no humor in her face any longer. No fear behind her eyes. No rubbing at her wrist. Only the calm, deliberate, carefully enunciated two words. It was a challenge. The reason she had pulled him here in the first place had very firmly resurfaced itself in her mind. He was a jumped up, cocky, over-confident little prick with no true sense of propriety or any qualities of leadership. She wasn't scared of him, or the empty threats he slung. He was hot air. Nothing more. A short fuse without any sense of control. A stallion out the gate without a bridle.
"What are you going to do, D'Spacito? Hm?" she continued, posture relaxing as her gaze lidded, the look she pierced him with now one of bored contempt, as though he were little more than a stain upon a dress she hadn't even bothered to pull from the closet in months. "Insult me? Call me names? Say I'm not good enough? That you regret having me as your co-captain, or a member on this team? Belittle me in front of the rest of the team? Try to tear away my dignity more than you already have? Hit me?"
She paused, trying to gauge just how far she could push it before snapping the barrier.
"I assure you, Rafael," she continued, using his given name to twist the meaning of intimacy in this context, "there's nothing you could do that either you, or someone else, hasn't done already. You want to really surprise me? Why don't you start acting like a Captain, yea? Why don't you start treating your players with respect? Maybe even give the co-captain that you requested an actual chance? I didn't even know that you had selected me until that meeting and what kind of welcome did you give me? Lip and attitude right off the get-go."
She was picking up steam now. Momentum building behind her words. The cool and calm veneer had lasted for a short while, but the more she carried on, the more she allowed the frustrations and questions that she had been holding back for months to flow out, the more they took on a life of their own. She could feel her pulse quickening, the heat in her core rising. No doubt a flush was beginning to creep up her neck with the fury simmering, contained for now, within her. She was drunk off the injustice. And she wanted answers.
"What the heck is your problem with me? As far as I know, I've done nothing to deserve the way you treat me. At least you won't try to deny it. That's something I suppose," she spat, eyes flicking down his form as though surveying a pile of trash, before glancing back up. "You expect me to be bright? To serve you well on the team as a… how did you so eloquently put it… a 'good thinker'? Maybe you should use your own brain for a moment. How do you think I'm supposed to accomplish anything on the team… how are the team members supposed to have any confidence with their co-captain as a leader… if their captain is spitting on her for no apparent reason? You know what that is? It's tactless. It's rude. It compromises the integrity of the team. So way to go, Rafael, way to really sell that team spirit.
"But you've clearly got some sort of issue. So we're going to settle this out right now. Instead of being a passive-aggressive twat, why don't you show a little lion bravery and actually say what's on your mind."
14 Apr 2020, 20:50
Reaching Boiling Point
@Evelynn Decipio
[font=Segoe Print]"Or. What."
There was something about the tone, the voice, the girl standing in front of him, that sparked something deadly, nasty within his chest, black tar stirring through his insides, a mere spark. A simple, small spark at that, flint on steel, a flash of light reigning over a lake of gasoline, sitting inanimately below, minding its own. A challenge. Evelynn couldn’t possibly begin to understand the thoughts that were flying through his mind in that moment, the amount of damage she was about to cause as those two words had sparked, the amount of pure rage coursing through his veins, the fury pounding through his head. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do.
Her words flew past only partially listening ears – he couldn’t even think clearly, the blood slowly pooling to his face, hands shaking, eye twitching, lips quivering in anger. He was going to explode. He could the burn within his very veins, the rage burning in his eyes, raw and unchecked, almost painful as it shook him to his very core, leaving his self-control waning thinner and thinner. He was only human – weak, emotional, primitive. What was he supposed to do? Sit idly and take all the rocks she was throwing at his resolve, one by one, chipping at his very soul, his being? What did she expect? What did she want him to do?
Whatever her original concept would be, it was sorely underestimated. There was nothing he can to to stop himself anymore – the anger was finally too much to bear, his impulses too strong. His hand was hanging stiffly at his side in one moment, and in the next, it was stinging in pain, hot, wet liquid pooling all over his fingers. It had felt so satisfying, the raw power he’s executed, a swift, merciless slap across the face – yet, the feeling had brought him little satiation, the anger only pooling back into his livelihood in hot thick waves, a tsunami of impulse and emotion. “You want some fucking aggression?” He snarled, his teeth bared and eyes sparkling in anger.
“What’s my problem with you?” he considered harshly aloud, his words exuding the purest sort of hatred and venom as they streamed off if his tongue fluently, as if the English he was speaking was his native language. “What’s my – what makes you esteemed, Evelynn? Special? Loved? I mean,” he laughed bitterly, the action for all intentions and purposes a stinging remark, "what do you tell yourself to fall asleep at night? I mean, I don’t know, Evelynn – at least I have friends. Where are yours?”
He paused a moment, to let the words truly sink in, before continuing. “You know why there’s no one in your corner? Because there’s absolutely nothing to love. Who do you think you are? What does your existence even mean?” his voice was quivering again, the words pouring perfectly through his mouth. “What makes you able to tell people off and get away from it? What makes you get to yell at my friends, and make them cry? What makes that okay?”
“But, oh no, God Forbid you take your own medicine – no, Evelynn Decipio’s far too esteemed for that!” He was yelling now – his voice was hoarse, his face beet red. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Thinking you’re so high and mighty – if you don’t have friends, at least you have a spotless reputation! 'People can take me seriously, can’t they?' They see a poised, smart girl – I mean, I don't know about everyone else, but you know what I can see, Evelynn?” he growled. “A pathetic. Lonely. Worthless first-year who’s in way over her fucking head.
“At least I can recognize that I’m not above people. I don’t hate people for no fucking reason. No, there’s a special place in my soul for people like you – I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.”
The words reverberated through the air for a moment. There was not an ounce of remorse in the face of the Gryffindor Boy, nor an ounce of mercy in his tone – there was something purely just, satiating about the words he had said, that no amount of description could begin to describe. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders – he had nothing more to say. No further criticism.
It was then that he could truly recognize the red on his fingertips – the very sight of the watery liquid left him sick to his stomach, spiders crawling in his stomach as he stared in horror at the damage he had wrought. But… the blood oath. “Oh God,” he muttered, his voice shaky – it wasn’t from anger this time. “Oh my fucking God.” He felt disgusted in himself, his hands erratically wiping against his shirt, his fingers stiff in shock. He’d done something terrible. He’d broken a promise, one he’d bound to himself by a tie far stronger than any words that could ever be uttered. It was obvious on his face, the sickened look in his eyes, grimace of his lips, the scrunching of his nose as his hands began shaking erratically –
What had he done? [/font]
[font=Segoe Print]"Or. What."
There was something about the tone, the voice, the girl standing in front of him, that sparked something deadly, nasty within his chest, black tar stirring through his insides, a mere spark. A simple, small spark at that, flint on steel, a flash of light reigning over a lake of gasoline, sitting inanimately below, minding its own. A challenge. Evelynn couldn’t possibly begin to understand the thoughts that were flying through his mind in that moment, the amount of damage she was about to cause as those two words had sparked, the amount of pure rage coursing through his veins, the fury pounding through his head. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do.
Her words flew past only partially listening ears – he couldn’t even think clearly, the blood slowly pooling to his face, hands shaking, eye twitching, lips quivering in anger. He was going to explode. He could the burn within his very veins, the rage burning in his eyes, raw and unchecked, almost painful as it shook him to his very core, leaving his self-control waning thinner and thinner. He was only human – weak, emotional, primitive. What was he supposed to do? Sit idly and take all the rocks she was throwing at his resolve, one by one, chipping at his very soul, his being? What did she expect? What did she want him to do?
Whatever her original concept would be, it was sorely underestimated. There was nothing he can to to stop himself anymore – the anger was finally too much to bear, his impulses too strong. His hand was hanging stiffly at his side in one moment, and in the next, it was stinging in pain, hot, wet liquid pooling all over his fingers. It had felt so satisfying, the raw power he’s executed, a swift, merciless slap across the face – yet, the feeling had brought him little satiation, the anger only pooling back into his livelihood in hot thick waves, a tsunami of impulse and emotion. “You want some fucking aggression?” He snarled, his teeth bared and eyes sparkling in anger.
“What’s my problem with you?” he considered harshly aloud, his words exuding the purest sort of hatred and venom as they streamed off if his tongue fluently, as if the English he was speaking was his native language. “What’s my – what makes you esteemed, Evelynn? Special? Loved? I mean,” he laughed bitterly, the action for all intentions and purposes a stinging remark, "what do you tell yourself to fall asleep at night? I mean, I don’t know, Evelynn – at least I have friends. Where are yours?”
He paused a moment, to let the words truly sink in, before continuing. “You know why there’s no one in your corner? Because there’s absolutely nothing to love. Who do you think you are? What does your existence even mean?” his voice was quivering again, the words pouring perfectly through his mouth. “What makes you able to tell people off and get away from it? What makes you get to yell at my friends, and make them cry? What makes that okay?”
“But, oh no, God Forbid you take your own medicine – no, Evelynn Decipio’s far too esteemed for that!” He was yelling now – his voice was hoarse, his face beet red. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Thinking you’re so high and mighty – if you don’t have friends, at least you have a spotless reputation! 'People can take me seriously, can’t they?' They see a poised, smart girl – I mean, I don't know about everyone else, but you know what I can see, Evelynn?” he growled. “A pathetic. Lonely. Worthless first-year who’s in way over her fucking head.
“At least I can recognize that I’m not above people. I don’t hate people for no fucking reason. No, there’s a special place in my soul for people like you – I owe you nothing. Nothing at all.”
The words reverberated through the air for a moment. There was not an ounce of remorse in the face of the Gryffindor Boy, nor an ounce of mercy in his tone – there was something purely just, satiating about the words he had said, that no amount of description could begin to describe. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders – he had nothing more to say. No further criticism.
It was then that he could truly recognize the red on his fingertips – the very sight of the watery liquid left him sick to his stomach, spiders crawling in his stomach as he stared in horror at the damage he had wrought. But… the blood oath. “Oh God,” he muttered, his voice shaky – it wasn’t from anger this time. “Oh my fucking God.” He felt disgusted in himself, his hands erratically wiping against his shirt, his fingers stiff in shock. He’d done something terrible. He’d broken a promise, one he’d bound to himself by a tie far stronger than any words that could ever be uttered. It was obvious on his face, the sickened look in his eyes, grimace of his lips, the scrunching of his nose as his hands began shaking erratically –
What had he done? [/font]
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
15 Apr 2020, 05:49
Reaching Boiling Point
Interacting with @Rafael D'Spacito
Whatever she was expecting. Whatever reaction she was hoping to incite in the brash Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Whatever conclusion she was hoping to draw from the encounter that she had unexpectedly forced upon him… it wasn't this. She knew she was getting under his skin. It wasn't hard to see that. Only, she didn't know quite just how much. When her mere presence left him with the appearance of something distasteful wafting beneath his nose and his muscle tense, it was difficult to discern how far was too far. How he looked when he'd been pushed past his limit. His recklessness was something she was more than familiar with. His tendency to eruption with the slightest provocation was something she had seen on more than one occasion on the pitch. But she thought he still had control.
It didn't even cross her mind that he would take the bait and bite the bit. The anger that brewed in his eyes, it hardly appeared any different than that which had sparked the moment she had dragged him in here. The flex and release of his hands, the oscillating tension in his jaw as she chewed into him, they seemed to her the effects of his composure, however fragile it might have been. She didn't mean to break it. In fact, she wasn't even aware that she had until it was too late. He hadn't even replied. He hadn't even parted his lips to speak. One moment, he stood, his self-control balancing precariously on the precipice of a deep chasm. The next...
At first, she was vaguely aware of the raising of a hand, but she never quite saw what happened. Several things happened all at once. She felt her neck crack, her head jolted violently to the side, searing pain exploding across the left side of her face. Her vision had blurred in that moment, and the world had felt as though a mat had been pulled out from under her. She felt herself falling. Then, almost as quickly, she felt a sharp, jarring force to the right side. Beneath her hands, which must have raised reflexively in that moment, she felt something hard, grainy. It was difficult, trying to focus on it. Her vision seemed to swim before her, colours giving way to streaks of gold and red. For a second, visions of Gryffindor banners flitted at the forethought of her muddled mind, until she glanced up, blinking away her confusion. In fact, she did see the vermillion banners hanging down, veiling her from the outside world, harboring her within this tomb of cedar and dirt, of…
Oh… right… Slowly, like molasses in winter, her mind began to clear. Still disoriented, she pushed herself straight. Evidently, she'd been forced to stagger, falling heavily against one of the supporting beams of the stand structure. She kept one hand there, her head still spinning, gut churning as though she were about to be ill. A sickly pallor washed the colour from her face just as the initial shock started to wane and the pain came rushing back in its wake. It was enough to make her eyes water, tears coming quite unbidden to rim her lids. She was vaguely aware of someone speaking nearby. D'Spacito, she realized, as she was slowly reminded of the reality of the situation.
His words were largely lost on her however, her mind occupied with the assessment of her physical state. She was still conscious. Somehow. That much was certain. And standing, albeit, barely. She still could quite seem to clear her vision, however. Tremulously, she lifted a hand to wipe the vile liquid from her eyes. Her right cleared, but the left remained blurred as though not quite able to fully open her lid. Gloved fingers touched gingerly at her socket, then her cheek, then… She winced as fire flared once again, the tips of her fingers coming away slick. Blood. She touched again, tongue joining to prod at her upper lip. Split. She dropped her hand away then, the nails of her other tensing to scratch at the wooden beam through her leather glove.
"…does your existence even mean? What makes you able to tell people off and get away from it?..."
Without moving from her position, she stared forward rather than towards the source of the monologue, listening to the last of what Rafael had to say now that her mind had cleared enough to register the words. Even still, she found that what he said made little sense. Or perhaps it was the throbbing of her face and the pounding of her pulse in her ear that partially muffled his voice that made it difficult to process. It seemed…so familiar, however. Everything that he said. High and mighty. No friends. Assumptions. Not even willing to give the time of day or explain anything. Even still, her attempts to make sense of it all just made her head hurt more. It just… didn't make sense to her. Any of it. No, to say her head hurt was an understatement. It ached. It felt as though her jaw was seizing. She lifted her hand to the side of her face once again, gloved fingers massaging (lightly) at her temple and jaw as though that would somehow make it feel better. It didn't. And the shouting wasn't helping.
"You know…" She finally spoke. Her voice was a stark contrast to his. Where his anger had elevated his volume to a point where likely anyone within any sort of proximity would overhear his shrieking, Evelynn's was barely more than a whisper. If his fury was that of a raging inferno, hers was the promise of demise brought on by a creeping frost that could not be kept at bay. "You talk an awful lot…" Evelynn continued, her words stiff and slightly slurred from her continued disorientation.
She didn't care to try to fight it. She didn't see the point. Instead, she bent, slowly, hand reaching down her leg for the inside cuff of her boot. When she rose, so too did a pale and slender piece of carved wood. It wouldn't be the first time Rafael had seen her retrieve the item from that particular hidden sleeve. Months before the two had flown high above this very pitch where he had taunted her to strike him a second time with a bludger. Instead of taking his bait, she had drawn her wand in order to spare him further injury, conjuring large golden, wavering spheres to serve as targets in his place.
"Yet…" Her gaze lidded, the grays of her irises directed down towards the deadly implement cradled tenderly within her fingers. "All I hear are empty words. Do you think that hurts me?" She wondered, glancing up for the first time to slowly, and with no small amount of effort and pain, turn her head towards the boy.
It was then that he would see his handiwork. The darkened mottling upon her skin, the puff of inflammation already taking hold to swell her cheek and brow, the smear of blood still trickling slowly from her upper lip. She had been frustrated with him before. Exasperated. Annoyed. Seeking answers. That was all but gone now. No, now she wanted to hurt him. Like he had done to her. But she knew it would accomplish nothing other than to give her a fleeting sense of satisfaction. Still, the temptation rode there, at her very fingertips, the firm polish of the wood rolling between slender digits right there. She just needed to reach out and use it.
"You recognize you're not above people?" She asked, tilting her head just a fraction, gaze unwavering as she peered on, life vacant behind them. "Are you sure about that? You did, after all, just say you owed me nothing. That sounds like a superiority complex to me. Don't you think? Perhaps a bit of projection? I, for one, have never been lonely. And the only ones I consider myself above are those who've proven themselves to be nothing more than dregs, who've showed lack of control, a tendency for violence when what was wanted were words. The ones who have no place in civilized society.
"I wonder…" she said again, drawing her wand fully into her left hand, gripping the handle firmly, but tenderly, not unlike the way in which a pianist's fingers cradled the keys. "What do you think the members of the Gryffindor Team would think if they knew their captain had struck a fellow member?"
His expression, then, was priceless. The horror that seemed to overcome his features as he idly examined what she knew to be her own lifeblood on his fingers. He really hadn't any control. That was evident. He was a victim of his own insatiable emotions. She laughed then, an ugly, twisted laugh.
"The Lord will not hear you here," she commented, sliding one foot to angle in his direction, following gradually by the squaring of her frame. Nothing further came from her for several seconds, a pregnant silence spanning the air between them as her keenly scrutinizing gaze roamed over him as though seeing him for what he truly was for the first time. Still, her fingers itched to make use of the tool of power right there in their grip. It would be so easy…
"I don't know what your problem is," she finally drawled, shoulders rising and falling with carefully controlled breaths, "but you've obviously got some issues. You're no better than the blood-crazed dhampir roaming the halls. Worse, perhaps, since you wouldn't expect it to come from a respectable Captain such as yourself. How many people do you have fooled? How many recognize you for the bully that you are, I wonder? The monster inside? You don't want to talk? Fine. I can't force you to explain yourself. Yet. But let me give you a little piece of advice that I once gave Caster. Don't you ever lay a hand on me again.
"Or I'll burn it off."
Last edited by Evelynn Decipio on 16 Apr 2020, 14:11, edited 2 times in total.
15 Apr 2020, 19:52
Reaching Boiling Point
@Evelynn Decipio
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael D’Spacito had said many venomous things in his eleven years of life, as well as picked a multitude of fights, incited a lot of terrible things, and had overall ruined a lot of lives. He knew the type of person he was, two-faced, bitter, rough, angry. And, funnily enough, that was 100-percent okay with him. Because, at the end of the day, he could go to sleep at night knowing he’d survived another harrowing 24-hours on planet earth without suffering challenge from a lesser being, nor scrapped around for food as he once had. It was survival of the fittest, after all – or at least, that was the life he was used to. He didn’t have the emotional capacity to have to dote on someone, or get on his hands and knees to please a person who was in no way deserving of his love or respect.
However, he knew who he was. He’d only ever hurt the people who’d deserved it. Who’d challenged his wits, safety, resolve. He’d been used before – he wasn’t going to become someone’s ass wipe ever again, and there wasn’t a kind word, a number on a check, nor an act of the universe that could ever force him to. But that promise had been bound to his blood, his very livelihood, all those years ago – he’d sworn against ever harming girls. He couldn’t. It was an abuse of power, a stark disrespect to his character, all he’d worked to build himself to. He could practically feel the shame infecting his skin, like maggots eating away at his flesh, leaving him emotionally weak, vulnerable, disgusted in himself. He’d betrayed his blood. He’d betrayed his character.
He could barely hear the words of the cursed girl over the sound of his own breathing, slow and shaky, yet loud and echoing to his own ears as it reverberated around his brain, suffocating his thoughts is utter disgust and shame. His eyes, once trained on the perpetrator to his esteem, was utterly glued to the tips of his fingers, the red, once liquid and pooling around in thick globs, now dried between his fingernails – unclean, goddammit, get it off. There was something wrong with him, surely. Who was he, to smack a girl? And that was before he’d seen the actual damage caused – her skin was darkened, swollen, her lip busted, running with blood. He nearly gagged. No, he couldn’t look –
Instead of looking at the girl in question, he continued to consider his hands, the sight of the dry blood far more comforting then his co-captain, a living contradiction to his once firm character. His words were caught in his throat a second, and he opened his mouth, as if considering his next words carefully. “Well, Evelynn,” he finally spoke, his words void of anger or resentment. More of a dull, facet tone, if anything, along with an undertone of thoughtfulness, and perhaps disgust, his brown furrowed slightly as he exhaled slowly. “It looks like you’ve got it all figured out.” Her words, surprisingly enough, brought him no shame – they were words he’d heard a thousand times before, and his interior had grown far too strong to take anything to heart. The only true defense to his actions were pride – where had that gone? It was then that he looked up, a slight grimace crossing his features as he considered the damage he’d caused once more. Look at it, coward. Look at what you did. “Well, that’s good for you.”
“But for a profiler, you’ve really fallen short.” He couldn’t help but look down once more, his hands subconsciously rubbing against his shirt in disgust as the words left his mouth, his throat dry as he spoke. What did she know about owing? Had she ever found herself in the position, where she’d owed someone anything? Money? Loyalty? Favors? Because the Gryffindor sure had. And he knew that he never, ever wanted to owe anything ever again. Especially someone as sadistic as the girl in front of him. And really, since when did he care what she thought? What anyone thought? He’d only ever cared for himself, his little sister, maybe Gem – no one else mattered. Evelynn didn’t matter.
He took a deep breath, looking up with a smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You can call me whatever you want, Evelynn. A bully. A monster. But understand this –“ his voice grew serious, definitive, almost harsh, as he laid down the law, never to be changed my an outward opinion, “you don’t know anything about me. Not a thing.” He looked up in that moment, towards the ceiling of the bleachers, and in turn the sky above his head, hands outstretched with palms facing the sky as he searched for an imaginary angel. “There is no ‘Lord’ out there. Never has been. And even if there were, I’ve fared just fine without him.”
He left it at that, looking around for an exit without much tact or need for secrecy. Then, pondering to himself, he continued, “If I ever lay a hand on you again, you can burn both of my hands off, for all I care. It’s never going to happen again.” It didn’t matter whether she believed him or not – if he ever did such a thing again, he would do something drastic. Cut off his own hands, regardless of whether Evelynn burned them off or not. His character was in tatters, a tower, once tall and upstanding in the face of temptation, now alight with the fire he had sparked upon in, falling to the ground in a million messy pieces. Such a thing would have to be rebuilt – he would never let it waver again.
It was in that moment, that he found himself at an utter loss for words. Feeling compromised, trapped, uncomfortable in his own skin, he quickly shoved his hands in his pocket, brushing past the girl without a second thought to her opinions of him, who she said he was, what threats she waved in front of his face. “Don’t touch me,” he mumbled pathetically as his last words to the she-devil in question, before stepping out from under his bleachers, escaping into the sunlight and away from the fiery hell he had just put himself through, never to be dealt with again. [/font][font=Segoe Print]
[font=Segoe Print]Rafael D’Spacito had said many venomous things in his eleven years of life, as well as picked a multitude of fights, incited a lot of terrible things, and had overall ruined a lot of lives. He knew the type of person he was, two-faced, bitter, rough, angry. And, funnily enough, that was 100-percent okay with him. Because, at the end of the day, he could go to sleep at night knowing he’d survived another harrowing 24-hours on planet earth without suffering challenge from a lesser being, nor scrapped around for food as he once had. It was survival of the fittest, after all – or at least, that was the life he was used to. He didn’t have the emotional capacity to have to dote on someone, or get on his hands and knees to please a person who was in no way deserving of his love or respect.
However, he knew who he was. He’d only ever hurt the people who’d deserved it. Who’d challenged his wits, safety, resolve. He’d been used before – he wasn’t going to become someone’s ass wipe ever again, and there wasn’t a kind word, a number on a check, nor an act of the universe that could ever force him to. But that promise had been bound to his blood, his very livelihood, all those years ago – he’d sworn against ever harming girls. He couldn’t. It was an abuse of power, a stark disrespect to his character, all he’d worked to build himself to. He could practically feel the shame infecting his skin, like maggots eating away at his flesh, leaving him emotionally weak, vulnerable, disgusted in himself. He’d betrayed his blood. He’d betrayed his character.
He could barely hear the words of the cursed girl over the sound of his own breathing, slow and shaky, yet loud and echoing to his own ears as it reverberated around his brain, suffocating his thoughts is utter disgust and shame. His eyes, once trained on the perpetrator to his esteem, was utterly glued to the tips of his fingers, the red, once liquid and pooling around in thick globs, now dried between his fingernails – unclean, goddammit, get it off. There was something wrong with him, surely. Who was he, to smack a girl? And that was before he’d seen the actual damage caused – her skin was darkened, swollen, her lip busted, running with blood. He nearly gagged. No, he couldn’t look –
Instead of looking at the girl in question, he continued to consider his hands, the sight of the dry blood far more comforting then his co-captain, a living contradiction to his once firm character. His words were caught in his throat a second, and he opened his mouth, as if considering his next words carefully. “Well, Evelynn,” he finally spoke, his words void of anger or resentment. More of a dull, facet tone, if anything, along with an undertone of thoughtfulness, and perhaps disgust, his brown furrowed slightly as he exhaled slowly. “It looks like you’ve got it all figured out.” Her words, surprisingly enough, brought him no shame – they were words he’d heard a thousand times before, and his interior had grown far too strong to take anything to heart. The only true defense to his actions were pride – where had that gone? It was then that he looked up, a slight grimace crossing his features as he considered the damage he’d caused once more. Look at it, coward. Look at what you did. “Well, that’s good for you.”
“But for a profiler, you’ve really fallen short.” He couldn’t help but look down once more, his hands subconsciously rubbing against his shirt in disgust as the words left his mouth, his throat dry as he spoke. What did she know about owing? Had she ever found herself in the position, where she’d owed someone anything? Money? Loyalty? Favors? Because the Gryffindor sure had. And he knew that he never, ever wanted to owe anything ever again. Especially someone as sadistic as the girl in front of him. And really, since when did he care what she thought? What anyone thought? He’d only ever cared for himself, his little sister, maybe Gem – no one else mattered. Evelynn didn’t matter.
He took a deep breath, looking up with a smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You can call me whatever you want, Evelynn. A bully. A monster. But understand this –“ his voice grew serious, definitive, almost harsh, as he laid down the law, never to be changed my an outward opinion, “you don’t know anything about me. Not a thing.” He looked up in that moment, towards the ceiling of the bleachers, and in turn the sky above his head, hands outstretched with palms facing the sky as he searched for an imaginary angel. “There is no ‘Lord’ out there. Never has been. And even if there were, I’ve fared just fine without him.”
He left it at that, looking around for an exit without much tact or need for secrecy. Then, pondering to himself, he continued, “If I ever lay a hand on you again, you can burn both of my hands off, for all I care. It’s never going to happen again.” It didn’t matter whether she believed him or not – if he ever did such a thing again, he would do something drastic. Cut off his own hands, regardless of whether Evelynn burned them off or not. His character was in tatters, a tower, once tall and upstanding in the face of temptation, now alight with the fire he had sparked upon in, falling to the ground in a million messy pieces. Such a thing would have to be rebuilt – he would never let it waver again.
It was in that moment, that he found himself at an utter loss for words. Feeling compromised, trapped, uncomfortable in his own skin, he quickly shoved his hands in his pocket, brushing past the girl without a second thought to her opinions of him, who she said he was, what threats she waved in front of his face. “Don’t touch me,” he mumbled pathetically as his last words to the she-devil in question, before stepping out from under his bleachers, escaping into the sunlight and away from the fiery hell he had just put himself through, never to be dealt with again. [/font][font=Segoe Print]
[/font]Rafael leaves the thread, unless stopped.
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
16 Apr 2020, 00:49
Reaching Boiling Point
Interacting with @Rafael D'Spacito
The way that he looked down upon his hands as though he couldn't fathom what it was that he was actually looking at, the way that he couldn't even seem to look her in the face without recoiling at what she could only assume was with disgust with himself and the grotesque consequence of his action, the way his brow furrowed along with the hint of resignation in his tone when finally he chose to speak…It was all evidence to the fact that he had surprised even himself. That his actions had been an explosion of emotion rather than a thought-out and calculated decision. That he wasn't even in full control of himself.
He still wasn't. Even as he spoke, and a glimmer of confidence returned to his voice, Evelynn was certain it was nothing more than a façade. An attempt of his to make himself feel better in the moment, to grasp at what illusion of control that he could over the situation that had entirely gotten away from the both of them. Why else for the smile? Why else for the way it failed to reach his eyes? It was a mask, much like the bravado he exuded at every turn. She was beginning to see that now, thanks to the crack in his own veneer when he had so marvellously over-reacted upon her redirection of him to this spot. There was something beneath it all, something pained and frightened. Something shoved deeply into the dark recesses of his psyche.
She let him pass, contemplative. Perhaps to say that she allowed it was a lie of her own to herself. Even had she wanted to, she wouldn't have been able to physically reach out to stop him. Not again. His mere approach, despite being the most lifeless she had seen him to date, caused her to stiffen. The pain in her face flared painfully, her heart pulsing erratically with the hitch in her breath. Although she hated to admit it, she was afraid of the power behind his physique, and more-so the fact that she hadn't in the least figured out how to stay his hand by mental fortitude and words alone. It was all too apparent in the way she tilted her head away, foot sliding just a fraction opposite him as he brushed past her, her gaze averting away from him as though not daring to allow any challenge while he was close enough to hurt her again.
It was this, her physical reaction to his proximity, more than anything, that annoyed her the most. Consciously, intellectually, she knew he was defeated. That was all too apparent. Had she more control, herself, more experience in this sort of conflict, perhaps she might have stayed her ground, betrayed no hint to the effect he had dealt her moments before. The effect of which tendrils dug deeper than the root of the bruising that would appear, wrapping themselves around her mind and heart. The one that would remain long after the discoloration of flesh and skin had faded from her countenance. The invisible emotional scar he had marred her with along with all the rest she had sustained over the years.
But that was only when he was near. The second he passed, the breath she hadn't even realised that she was holding released and her mind — which had then been frozen as though coiled in anticipation of a need to flee — churned once again. She turned, then, slowly upon the spot, shoulders back and head held aloft, as though the falter in her resolve hadn't just occurred. Gaze shadowed, dilated pupils panned after him in his wake, the ebony of their depths lighting with a renewed determination.
The fact that he was so easily ready to walk away from it all, to turn a blind eye as though nothing had occurred and still have the gall to suggest that it was she — not he — as the root of the cause, did more than irk her. It infuriated her. She was done. At her limit. This whole affair had ventured beyond the realm of misconception and miscommunication and into the realm of daft idiocy. How dare he dismiss her. And after doing what he had done? To cast her aside, her queries, her attempts to put herself forward and initiate reparations of a relationship she still hadn't any answers as to why it had been damaged in the first place.
How dare he turn his back to her when it was she who was armed.
"You dare turn your back on me, D'Spacito?" She drawled, inclining her head, lip tugging with the hint of a sneer.
Perhaps he thought her incapable of revenge. Perhaps he truly did overlook her as anything more than simply an eye sore and a pest, rather than anything than could remotely be considered a threat. Perhaps he thought she would stand idly by and turn the other cheek as she had with Caster. Perhaps he thought she would let his actions slide.
He thought wrong. She was past finished being ignored. Beyond the point of simply taking his punishment. He had cast the first stone, and she was tired of taking hits. Figurative or otherwise. It was time to fight back.
"Incendio."
Simple. Curt. Straight to the point and expertly enunciated. She'd never cast a spell at another student in spite before. Hardly ever at all, in fact, with the exception of the single SWAG game in which she had participated. But that didn't mean that she was incapable. She was far from a natural student. Certainly, the title of 'prodigy' was not a mantle that any of the Professors would have placed upon her shoulders. She had to work at her spellwork, tirelessly practising to elicit even a basic effect. However, once she had broached the learning curve of a spell, they almost never failed her. Sure, the power behind them was nothing to sneeze at, but flare wasn't something that was required. She wasn't trying to consume the boy in an inferno. She needed but to capture his attention. To scare him a little. And if she hurt him in the process…well…that would just be an added bonus at this point.
A flash of yellow-orange light would cast the interior of the stands structure into stark relief, grotesquely shifting the discoloration of Evelynn's face into something of a mask of dead resolve. At the same time, the flare painted an enlarge shadow onto the back of the canvas covering immediately in front of the fleeing Gryffindor Captain, as though the beast within the boy had torn itself asunder, forcing a face-off. A fiery ball of orange and yellow, molten fire shifting and churning in a spherical bolt, flew from the end of Evelynn's wand towards him. Already she could see in her mind's eye the impact. The scorch as the flame hit him squarely between his shoulder blades to explode in a satisfying crackle of spitting vengeance, tendrils of flame licking out from the point of impact to engulf the fibres of his clothing, snake across and around his figure without remorse, burn the anger of her scorn into his flesh that he might feel a taste of the emotion he had ignited within her.
"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time…" Like a bullet, it carried forward, rushing straight in his direction. Then passed him. It hit the earthy floor two feet ahead of him, impacting within the creeping of half-dead grass to erupt in a bed of flame immediately between he and the exit he sought to take. It wasn't vengeance she sought to take. She had more self-control than that, no matter what temptation she may have felt in the moment. She merely wished to halt his progress. But…she'd be lying to herself if she stated she hadn't hoped that he had thought the spell was aimed for him. "I said we were going to talk."
She didn't move, but rather stood her ground, her wand still raised in the direction of her quarry.
"You know what? You're right. I don't know anything about you," she began, her tone level, eyes never straying from Rafael. "But I haven't pretended to know anything about you except for those actions you have taken towards me. Why do you think I asked to speak with you in the first place? It's to try to understand. Because I don't, D'Spacito. I don't understand your issue with me. I don't understand why you dislike me so much, or why you would choose me as your co-captain when you clearly hate spending any of your precious time anywhere close to me. It hurts, alright?
"You know what else? You don't know anything about me, either — although you seem to think that you do. And by the sounds of it, the way that you seem to try to avoid answering my questions, you don't want to. It's as though you're clinging to this image of me in your head that you want to be true, and are afraid of any chance of having that image countered, because if it was, the anger that you hold, the words that you've spat, the blows that you've sent.. it could all have been for nothing. To me, it seems like nothing but a fear of having your beliefs challenged and proven to be false.
"One thing that I know for sure, though, is that if you walk away now and leave it like this, there's no turning back. I call things as I see them, D'Spacito. If you're telling me that you're not a bully, then prove it. So far, from what I've seen of you, you have no place being a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, let alone its leader. Are you proud of your actions? Is this something that you would look back on and think to yourself, 'yes, in this, in my beliefs, I'm being a good role-model for the team, for those who look up at us and strive to join our ranks'. Because if you do? You need to re-evaluate.
"It's clear you've had your fair share of issues. The only ones who say there is no 'Lord' are those who have been forced to endure hardships where they felt like they were drowning. With no hope. No light. Where they looked up to the Heavens and spat in the name of His Grace, defying His Holy Benevolence in the belief that he has ignored you and cast you aside because what Lord could exist to allow such horrors to take place without retribution. You've stuck up for yourself, been the only rock in a chaotic life, and somehow have come to think that because you've survived until now, it's okay to use that as your shield.
"It's not. Grow up. Everyone has their demons. Instead of hiding from them, learn to face yours."
Action: Casts incendio while Rafael's back is turned
23 Apr 2020, 21:21
Reaching Boiling Point
╔══════════════☩══♛══☩══════════════╗Interacting With: @Evelynn Decipio
Mentioning: Wren Caster╚═══════════════☩══✦══☩══════════════╝
[font=Segoe Print][font=Segoe Print]"You dare turn your back on me, D'Spacito?"
Perhaps the young Captain should have taken more caution to his surroundings. Given heed to her warning. Drawn his wand in defense. After all, Evelynn had certainly proved herself to be a threat to his health, and more than once – he definitely hadn’t forgotten about their encounter at the Practice pitch, nor the power of her magic via the previous SWAG Game. And, if such attributes weren’t dangerous enough, there was her sharp wits, analytical talent that was unlike any other man or woman he’d met yet, save for a friend of his mother’s. An investigator, a profiler she was, and a ruddy brilliant one at that, to the point where the boy slightly feared what she could see within the recesses of his soul, what mysteries she might be able to uncover about him come careful searching and well-placed questions. Attributes as such were dangerous, certainly, much like a loose cannon ready to explode, make a mess of a situation –
It was funny, however, his lack of care towards the situation at hand. In any normal circumstance, he may have found himself explode at such a remark, or snap back with some sort of half-witted retort, or maybe, even on a good day, throw some sort of spell in the direction at his perpetrator, as if he had an ounce of faith in his own talent. It seemed almost as if his limbs had gone limp, his mind swimming with the backlash of his last emotional outbreak. He didn’t have the energy to deal with the girl anymore. There were better places to be, better things to do. He wasn’t one for spats – she wanted to catfight? There were plenty of bitches in the sea.
That was until he’d seen the flames.
At the very sight of fire, licking and twisting in front of his feet, his face convulsed, his foot hovering over one of the tongues cautiously as his eyes narrowed, teeth gritting upon each other, the noise echoing off of the recesses of his mind. What the bloody hell was she playing at? He could feel his anger returning, if not slowly, like gasoline leaking back into a once-empty tank. No, this simply wouldn’t do. She obviously had something to say to him – well, let her get it off her chest. She would certainly receive what was coming for her. Drawing his wand out in one quick movement, he promptly set the tip towards the fire, muttering a quick spell, the words rolling off his lips as if his native language. “Extinguo.” The flames were shortly interrupted, stifled and repressed by the thick mist that erupted from the tip of his magic stick. Good. One less distraction from the issue at hand.
Turning once more so that he was facing the witch in front of him, he silently listened to the girl rant, arms crossed and a bland look upon his features. It was a bit amusing, he noticed absently, how she talked as if she knew everything. As if she held the advantage, the cards. Ordering him to prove himself to her. As if he had anything to prove. The words were at the tip of his lips, painful, flaming retorts, so much to say to such a vile girl – he held his tongue. He would do well to not stoop to her level again. He was better than that, he knew it. He knew what he was capable of, unlike the brilliant profiler that stood before him now – it was time to use that advantage.
“You know,” he breathed out moments after the girl had finished, his breath heavy with his disdain towards her as the words spun silkily upon his lips. “I’ve heard many things about you, Evelynn. What you do. What you’re like.” His wand pointed up, messing with a hair that had fallen into his eyes, and he wryly tucked it back onto his head. “You might not know it. You might not hear it. You probably don’t even see the monster others make you out to be.” He shrugged, smiling as his eyes met his feet. “Not that monsters hold that significance to me. Everybody has one somewhere within their interior. Everyone.”
“But it was my friend that you yelled at during that errand, yeah? My friend.” His words grew sharp, much like a knife, before settling into something more nonchalant, his eyes darting off in an attempt to find the right words. “Who are you, to yell at people who’ve done nothing to deserve your fury? Did you, I don’t know,” he scratched his temple, “ever stop to think that, maybe, she was looking for friends? That she didn’t know how to find them, except by selling her soul to snakes as yourself? Did it ever occur to you that she was only trying to help?” He stepped forward then – only a step. Just enough to hopefully put Evelynn on edge. “Did you know she cried after that? Another human being, crying, due to the words that came out of your mouth. Words hurt, Evelynn. Really. Especially to someone whose only reassurance comes from their parents. But of course,” he smiled slightly, his eyes flashing with his rage, “you would know that, wouldn’t you?”
He stepped forward again, waving his wand in front of his face as he advanced. “You say I’m clinging to an image? Maybe I am,” came his concession. “But, funnily enough, it’s not like you’re doing anything to change my mind. You’re exactly who she says you are. Who everyone says you are. All words, and no bite.” His chin jutted up in disdain, any likeness of cordiality flickering for a moment, his vision speaking of his coming actions. “Except for the instance in which your enemy’s back is turned – you’re not a Gryffindor. You’re a bloody coward.”
His monologue was coming to a beautiful crescendo, the words flowing fluently off his tongue as he spoke. “Perhaps its true, what you say. I've got issues. And I've come to terms with that. But, by all means, I want you to understand this. I can’t be sure of what you’ve been taught, Evelynn.” And, came the third step, placing him less than a yard from the girl he hated the most. His voice was growling now, feral, like a wolf’s, his head bowed and gaze predatory. “But you want to know what I’ve learned? What I’ve been taught? What I do, when someone hurts my friends? My family?”
“I hurt them back.”
His wand was now raised, perfectly extended in front of his face. He was smiling again, but this time, he didn’t look at all cordial. The danger was glinting in his eye, his teeth grinding as he gazed at his target, stepping forward in a strong stance – his final step. “Here’s to facing my demons,” he said lightly, before flicking his wand, the incantation floating perfectly off his tongue.
“Incendio.” [/font]
[/font]Action • Casting Incendio @ Evelynn
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.
24 Apr 2020, 03:53
Reaching Boiling Point
Interacting with @Rafael D'Spacito
The fact that D'Spacito drew his wand did not surprise Evelynn. By this point, she was beyond surprise, expecting the worst at every turn from the boy. He'd yet to show her any sense of conservation or propriety, and despite having only just recently demonstrated a sense of self-horror with his unbridled reactions, she hardly expected that to continue. His were not the words of one she would take at face value. Not anymore. Ironically, the fact that he didn't immediately retaliated left her feeling as though the hammer were still to fall. Her gaze flicked to the haze of smoke as the fire was snuffed, warry of the wooden implement within his digits.
Admittedly, despite having felt a brief pang of annoyance for just how easily he dismissed the effect of her spell-casting, she was not disappointed. On the contrary, she was secretly relieved. Seeing the stands going up in smoke was not something on her agenda for the day, and had he not extinguished the flames, then she would have been forced to; something that could potentially have undermined the effect that she was going for. Plus, it mattered little at this point whether or not his path was barred. As her captain turned to face her anew, it was evident that the fire had had its desired effect. For better or worse, she had his attention. What was more, he even obliged her to finish her thoughts without interruption. What a concept.
But then it was his turn, and boy, for someone so quick to wish to tuck tail and run from the scene, he sure seemed to have a lot to say. At least they were finally getting somewhere, though. As much as the tone of his voice — so false in the silky way he spun it — grated on the red head's nerves, she stood, resolute to give the same courtesy to allow him to finish without interruption. That was what she had wanted, after all, was it not? The exchange of words. The opportunity to iron out whatever fallacy had marred a potentially healthy working relationship. It was difficult, however, to keep her tongue. Too many times did he speak something that seemed so incredibly incorrect that the urge to address it on the spot was very nearly overwhelming.
He'd heard many things about her? Interesting. What, she wondered? And from whom? As far as she had been aware, she had kept her head relatively low in an attempt to avoid attention or any sort of target. Not that that had worked out terribly well for her, given how many negative encounters she'd had, and the number of people she could count as being a bane to her existence. Even still, this was a novel development. One that she would have to think on later. Were there those who had volunteered to speak about her? Or had he gone in search of the information. Either way indicated that he was a gossip. But she couldn't deny that she was curious to know what exactly had been said about her. How it was that she was perceived by the student body at large.
You probably don't even see the monster others make you out to be.
Monster? Monster was she? Of all the things she might have expected to hear — stuck up, know-it-all, confrontational, meddling — monster was not one of them. This was evident by the way in which she lofted a brow. If D'Spacito had meant to dig a knife with that comment, he had sorely misjudged. It confused her; and if anything, it only served for her to question the validity of anything he had heard. She would concede to being called a great many things, but not monster. As far as she could recall — and she had a great propensity for that — she had done nothing to warrant that.
Thoughts trying to work out that little mystery were soon overshadowed by another, however, as D'Spacito called her out for yelling at one of his friends. Only…she hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. Again, her confusion was all too apparent. Both brows lofted to tease her brow line, the look within her scrutinizing gaze one of absolute bewilderment. Yell? When had she ever yelled? Evelynn wasn't one to raise her voice, not even in anger. During those rare occasions, she seethed. She didn't yell. And here he was, still speaking in riddles, avoiding naming names to clear her confusion.
Yet, he had given her clues at least. An errand. And 'she'. As he continued, Evelynn's brow furrowed, left arm crossing to brace over her core while serving as a platform on which to anchor her right elbow. Fingers of her right hand lifted to rest lightly upon her lips, tapping absently as she tried to work out about whom it was that he was talking, only half listening to the rest of his words… Errand… errand… The first had been with Aurelius by the greenhouses, then…then there was the Christmas decorations in the Great Hall. She certainly hadn't yelled at Towers, however. After that…what was after that? There had been so many and so frequently, it was hard to keep track. There had been plenty of girls making Toad Houses with her, but again, although she recalled several girls being rather upset — Morgan among them — it hadn't been by any of Evelynn's doing.
Although…But perhaps there had been some sort of misconception? Given their involvement in Liberation, Morgan and D'Spacito had seemed rather chummy. Was that what he was talking about? A sudden sinking feeling dragged at the pit of her stomach as Evelynn recalled the last significant interaction she'd had with Morgan. With the chocolate in the common room. There, she'd said quite a few things, and it had been such a blur of confusion that she couldn't even be certain she hadn't shouted them. And had the roles been reversed, Evelynn wouldn't have put it past herself to dissolve into tears after the fact, if from nothing more than sheer embarrassment…
That did seem to fit. She had just been trying to be friendly. As had Evelynn in offering to share the chocolates. But she didn't mean to make the girl sell her soul. She didn't realize that the sweets had somehow gotten mixed. It hadn't been Evelynn's intention to deceive her. Not at all. In fact, the guilt was still almost painful during those few times that her mind began to dwell on that incident. Her eyes began to round, expression softening with guilt as fingers covered her lips to veil her own self-disgust. Of course he'd be upset by that. That only made sense. Evelynn would have been upset had she found out something like that happened to one of her friends…
Tongue clicked against the back of her upper teeth as she sucked in a sharp intake of air. His last comment had hit something of a nerve. You would know that, wouldn't you? He was simultaneously very close to the mark, and yet so far away. Of course, he was insinuating that the only support she received was parental support. A lack of friends or peers had been something he'd been eager to poke at. But it was bold of him to assume she received reassurances in such a fashion at all.. For the rest of his little speech, Evelynn regarded him with a critical eye, keen to absorb all of it such that she might be able to correct him appropriately. Especially now that she was actually being given the courtesy of being able to do something to change his mind. Not that she felt she ought to have needed to, but never mind.
As his little tirade finally drew to a close, however, Evelynn got a little more than she was bargaining for. I hurt them back. Initially, she'd thought that to be a throw-back to his previous outburst. She'd disregarded his stalking approach as little more than an attempt to intimidate. To toss his weight around with hope of throwing her off. But she doubted any further direct assault. Didn't think he'd make another move against. How wrong she was. It occurred to her only immediately prior to the casting what was about to happen. In a split second, she had dropped her arms away, swept a single step back wand-arm striking forward as though instinctually adopting a dueler's stance, as though prepared to shield away the spell.
Only, she had no knowledge of how.
It was the knowledge of the significant gap in her knowledge that almost proved to be more frightening than the incantation that slid of her captain's tongue. Even still, her eyes widened with incredulity that he would go so far as to turn such a spell on a fellow student. Goosebumps had erupted over her skin in an instance, adrenaline surging through every fiber of her being as she was put on the sudden defensive. She could do nothing, however. Nothing but wait for the surge of flame that was about to come. He was too close for her to dodge. The space too confined for her to evade with any measure of convenience. Was this to be it, then? The "resolution" of their meeting? The last flash of thought before the flame was the hope that someone would find them. Find them and stop whatever he was about to do, and take her to the hospital wing.
Only…it didn't happen. There was a sputter of initial sparks, enough to make her flinch reactively, and then an explosion. Next thing she knew, she was watching D'Spacito being thrown back and away from her. A new wave of confusion overtook her, then, gaze faltering to flick from him to her wand and then back to where he crumpled against the scaffolding. Had…she…? No.. She hadn't uttered a single thing…She suddenly felt almost ice cold, her nerves so alight that her hand trembled. Quickly, hoping to manage it in the confusion of the aftermath of his spell's backfiring, Evelynn hurried forward, attempting to swipe the his wand right from out of his hand, or the ground if it had fallen elsewhere in the impact. Successful or not, she'd immediately jump back, putting as much distance between herself and him as possible, the better to dodge any retaliation.
"You imbecile," Evelynn seethed, fear and confusion quickly fading in favour of mounting indignation and annoyance. "Did you actually just try to set me on fire? What, hitting is off the table as too low, but somehow burning someone to a crisp is alright with you? You do realize that's against the rules, don't you? That you could be giving up your captaincy for doing that? Or be expelled entirely? Not to mention that it's just bliming idiotic to begin with? Are you mad? Is it really just that impossible for you to have a normal conversation without lashing out? This is getting ridiculous."
She paused momentarily there, eyeing D'Spacito as though trying to get a proper grasp on what — not who — it was exactly that she was dealing with. This had gone quite far beyond anything she was expecting, and way past what she was hoping. For the first time since the start of this forced encounter, she was beginning to question whether she was actually going to get anywhere with him. He was just… so… dense. It was like talking to a brick wall with no yield. As though he had absolutely made up his mind about everything. Not like was doing anything to change his mind… It was almost scoff-worthy, and more like he wasn't doing anything to even allow his mind to be changed. Brows still pinched, her jaw tensed and relaxed in repetition. She couldn't remember the last time someone had tried her patience so acutely.
"And coward, am I?" she spoke up again, that accusation in particular coming to mind to prod at her pride and demand addressing, "I'm not the one running away from a conversation with his tail tucked between his legs," she went on, emphasizing that this was supposed to be a civilized encounter. "You may have noticed, D'Spacito, that the fire landed in front of you. Unlike you, apparently, my spells actually land exactly how and where I mean for them. Clearly, that's something that you haven't learned. If revenge is all you care about, I might consider making sure you have your facts straight."
Her knuckles had gone white with how tightly she clenched the polished cypress wand within their grasp.
"I didn't yell at anyone, and certainly not Morgan," she tried to explain. "I have no problem with her, alright? I don't know why she was upset at the errand. It wasn't me. Or anyone else there as far as I know. She came to the greenhouses upset, and she left upset, and I didn't do anything. Maybe that was my mistake. Maybe I should have asked her if she was okay. But I didn't yell at her. In fact, I tried to make up for not asking her. And that…"
Evelynn faltered slightly at the recollection of what she had coined 'the common room incident'. She had absolutely zero desire to talk about the event at all, and certainly not with D'Spacito of all people. But he had forced her hand and this was a chance to clear the air and hopefully fix the damages that had already been incurred while everyone was still standing.
"…it was…It was just a mix-up. A mistake. She was fine in the end. I didn't mean for it to happen, alright? I don't know how they got mixed up," she attempted to explain. "I didn't give it to her intentionally. And…" Evelynn's posture relaxed just slightly, a hint of guilt marring the irritation in her features. Not to mention a healthy dose of rose as the subtle flush began to creep up her neck. The memory was, after all, more than a little embarrassing. "…I didn't know she had cried," she admitted, gray eyes flickering in the direction of the castle, as though she could somehow see it, and Morgan, through the structure surrounding them. "I didn't mean for it to happen…It was an accident.."
She paused then, deflating somewhat.
"She should have talked to me…"
Action: Attempts to snatch Rafael's wand from his thrown-back form; prepares to dodge any physical/magical retaliation
27 Apr 2020, 16:37
Reaching Boiling Point
╔══════════════☩══♛══☩══════════════╗Interacting With: @Evelynn Decipio
Mentioning: Jo Morgan╚═══════════════☩══✦══☩══════════════╝
[font=Segoe Print][font=Segoe Print]What Rafael had anticipated, had been some sort of spectacular, blowout spell, the sort that would put the fear of Evelynn’s so-called ‘God’ into the heart of his adversary. Well, the spell had been a blowout – just, not the type he’d been anticipating.
Everything had been perfect, from his form, his incantation, to the very way the spell had rolled off his lips, words clear and pronounced, borderline American in accent, as he’d found as much to work better than his own ever-fluctuating American accent. The magic had flown through his fingertips, from his very soul, pooling from his well of power somewhere deep within his chest, and for a moment, a mere snippet of time, he’d felt powerful, as if his magic was capable of anything. As if he were capable of anything. The feeling was unusual, strange, and yet, he found the adrenaline, the sweetness of the power pooling through his fingertips satiating in the most acute way – it was certainly hard to put into words, so he wouldn’t, only bask in its searing energy as his eyes drilled into the pits of the she-devil named Evelynn Decipio, the very rage he felt within exploding outwards and into his target, thrashing, burning –
Except it didn’t.
What really happened, was the explosion that had emitted from the back end of his wand. And the pain. The flying, quick, short, sweet, and then the pain returned, this time in his back, the wind being knocked from his lungs, his eyes going wide as he fought for oxygen. The impact was shocking, and for a quick moment, he forgot where he was, what his original intent had been, the only thing registering to the child being the pounding of blood in his head, and the grass beneath his rigid form. However, the universe was far from merciful, realization rushing to his senses in a moment, only worsening the headache that now plagued his mind. Goddammit. His spell had backfired, and in front of Evelynn, too… humiliating. And he’d tried so hard – a real pity, that his wizard blood couldn’t have contributed to better casting. He supposed, however, that was simply the way it worked for people like him. If one wasn’t blessed in one area, they were other places they thrived. That much was evident by the strength the boy had garnered, as well as aptitude for the broom. Aptitude that Evelynn seemed to disregard constantly, in favor for her own self-righteous antics.
Too bad Rafa didn’t punch girls.
It was about this time that his oxygen began to return, and he wheezed in, his ears ringing from the sound of the mini-explosion. Evelynn’s grating voice plagued his ears only moments later – he grimaced, a scowl growing on his features as his awareness began to kick in. Her hand was reaching for his wand, he took notice of subconsciously. What, was she bloody mad? The boy would have no time to ponder this, instead snatching up the wood out from under her fingertips, the tip pointed at her threateningly. “Why don’t you back up, yeah?” Perhaps this wouldn’t be much of a threat to the girl standing above him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use it. She knew he would cast, in the least. Would she take such a risk?
“You want to talk about rules?” he growled, his eyes narrowing angrily as he picked himself off the ground, wand held tightly in his grasp and muscles rigid. “Do you really think I give a fuck about rules, now?” He jutted his wand tip in her face again, an inch from the tip of her nose. “It got ridiculous the moment you cast incendio at my back. Now, that’s mad. Don’t you fucking tell me what I can and can’t do. I make my own rules.” It was true. Since when had he ever listened to a thing a teacher said? What grounds did such words hold over him? What, was this her idea of leverage? A means to make him feel remorseful? Absurd, and it was only a matter of time before she realized as much. He didn’t feel remorse, especially regarding a hag such as herself. What was he to feel sorry for?
At the sound of her next words, he could do nothing to stifle the small grin that slipped onto his features. Did she really expect him to believe such lies? Please, of course she was aiming for his back. That’s what people did. And who was she, calling him a coward when he simply didn’t want to interact with her further? She was disgracing herself, as much as he was, failing his spell. God, her voice was annoying. He could feel the irritability creeping up his spine, a little nagging of the nerves in the back of his head, itching, pulling –
However, such naggings were menial, insignificant, compared to the feeling garnered at the sound of Jo’s name.
Jo was an annoying little shit, that was for damn sure, but she was his annoying little shit. There wasn’t a day that went by, that she hadn’t graced his mind one time or another. It was easy to say his feelings towards her were simple – simple, however, was a word Rafael had seldom heard explaining himself and what such things entailed. Somewhere deep down in that twisted thing he called a heart, he loved Morgan, much like he loved his own sister, before the younger girl had gone and gotten herself sick. The very idea of Evelynn hurting her, uttering a single vile word in her direction, sent his blood boiling, his anger flaring, his heart racing –
He was seething now, his anger back full force as he bared his teeth, eyes narrowed into a dangerous, livid sort of look. Knuckles white, he gripped his wand, his adrenaline pumping faster, faster. No, no, no, this wouldn’t do. His words were curt, sharp, deadly, Rafael’s shit-o-meter crossing all the red lines and signals flaring all over his face – “ What. Did you do. To Morgan.” Not a single sentence more would leave his mouth. Words didn’t matter anymore, he would cast at her until there was nothing left to cast at. He brought his wand up once more, the words flying off his lips before he could do anything to stop himself.
“Incendio!” [/font]
[/font]Action • Casting Incendio Again. RIP.
I probably haven't collected my allowance yet.