Smoke PV Percival Rainwood DNI FINISHED

Percival frowned sourly as the boy moved through the corridor. His last class had been such a bore, it was a surprise he was even able to keep himself awake. Though, if anything he had a good bit of help. His Uncle's threats of wanting a better report had been rather strong. Percival sighed to himself as he grumbled to himself. It wasn't as if he had really done that bad. Having been stuck inside all summer, he wanted nothing more than to sit back and go about not caring. Though, with OWLs coming up so did the knowledge that he probably should put some effort in. His Uncle would probably blow his proverbial head if he were to not pass his OWLs. He wasn't even sure what his Uncle would even do if that happened. The older man had taken away his summer for receiving one too many Acceptables. Well, more like all Acceptables and a Poor.

The boy turned right his shoes clicking sharply on the stone brick. Students rushed about him, were the younger years getting shorter? Or was he simply getting taller? Percival sneered in disgust as he watched a gaggle of first-years overtake the pathway as they ran towards the Great Hall. He used to be that young once. Hopeful and surrounded in the presence of Hanako. Then everything had been so easily understood. The world had been at his fingertips. With Hanako at his side he could have taken on the school and burnt it to the fucking ground. A wild smile pulled across his face as he stared up towards the ceiling. And now... Percival looked back forward his smile slid off his face to rest in an irritated frown. Now he was completely and utterly alone. Betrayed and left to drown. To do nothing but fade away into oblivion. He wasn't too sure why he was feeling so nostalgic. A deep ache that nothing could truly fill.

Absentmindedly, he wondered if that was what Hanako had always wanted. To burn him bright and fast until there was nothing left but smoke. Had the other truly won? Not much made him feel good these days. Old forms of entertainment could no longer bring a smile to his face. Hurting others was lacking its luster, and yet he felt tense. Like a toy that had been wound up. Ready to spin at a moment's notice. Frustrated and irritable. Percival walked past the courtyard, his eyes catching the glint of ice covering the ground. Gaze rising towards a loan figure standing in the courtyard. He was not too sure why he noticed the other. Younger than him, maybe if he was feeling like himself he would berate the other boy and make him cry. Yet, the memory of Hanako kept him feeling lukewarm.

Percival paused his walking as he watched the boy open something that looked far too familiar. The package had been one he had seen many times in his Grandfather's study. It was the one change Percival was not too upset about his Uncle changing. The smell of cigarette smoke had always made getting called into his Grandfather's study a chore. The boy's brow furrowed as he took in the boy's young appearance, he looked only to be a first or second year. Far too young to be holding onto things of that nature. The boy must be brazen to be actively breaking the school rules in the middle of the day. Amusement curled through his skin as he could not help but wonder who exactly this boy was. Percival looked back towards the Great Hall with a sigh, he guessed eating would have to wait. Maybe today could be fun? Percival walked towards the boy with an imperious attitude. His boot heels clicked haughtily against the ground. "Aren't you a bit too young to smoke?" he asked a smirk pulling across his face.

Interacting with: @Draven Mirador
Mentions: @Hanako Tone

Percival Rainwood was an elegant man. Tall and slender with a shock of brown hair and dark eyes. Draven's fingers twitched on the pack of cigarettes, flipping open the paper lid. The plastic foil had long been crumpled, stuffed in the pocket of an old hoodie.

He wasn't about to ruin his new clothes with cigarette smoke.

The boy's eyes flickered to the courtyard. It was deserted, frozen. Only dead leaves dared disturb the stillness, rolling by pathetically in a lethargic breeze.

If Percival Rainwood wanted to beat him to a pulp, realistically speaking, Draven couldn't have stopped him. No witnesses would have bore testament to the blood spilled on the cobblestones. No one but the wind would have protested, and even the wind seemed rather disinterested.

Slipping a cigarette between his lips, Draven extended the pack out towards Percival. "Just take one."

There was nothing else he could have given Rainwood. The raggedy clothes on his back would be of no interest to the dignified man standing before him. And everything else was locked up in a trunk several levels before their feet.

Perhaps, being safe made him stupid. Perhaps, knowing that Wyatt would maul anyone who got in their room had made him lazy. But he didn't drop his gaze before the other man. He stared back into Rainwood's eyes, lighting his cigarette. Five months ago, his shoulders would have curled inward. Five months ago, he would have clenched his jaw, waiting for a blow to land, waiting for the older boy to leave him broken in the courtyard.

Now, he inhaled the smoke. Ambers fell and floated down to the frozen ground beneath their feet.

Inspiration

Percival stared at the boy, his smirk slowly leaving his face. Encapsulating his unamused look. The boy looked somewhat familiar. Sort of like a stray puppy one is used to seeing in the streets. To know of something and yet to hold no care for it. He had stopped trying to keep track of who the younger years were. In all honesty, it really did not matter to him. All insignificant in their own right. Just kids who acted too loud and too stupidly for their own good. They should learn to stay out of his fucking way. Percival inwardly twinged, maybe his Uncle was right. Maybe he really had lost himself. And what was he to do? To fight the snake that wrapped its length around the beast's neck? It felt far easier to give in. To let the older man take control and forcefully mold him.

Not many younger years wanted to be near him, his reputation for having a short spark had been a known fact for many years. He wasn't stupid he heard the whispers that encased his day-to-day life. Taking out his anger and frustrations on those around him. Snapping jowls like a rabid dog. Attacking anything in its path. And yet, Percival's eyes narrowed as he looked at the dark-haired boy in front of him. Why wasn't he scared? Why wasn't the boy tripping over himself to get away from him? Trying to avoid his attention? No, instead he got nothing. Just nothing. It was a fact that intrigued him as much as it irritated him.

Percival frowned deeper as he studied the strange boy in front of him. So why was this boy so brave? What made him different? To look into the maw of the dog and feel no fear. How badly he wanted to crack the boy open, to have him weeping as he immersed himself in the understanding of it all. He hated not understanding. To not understand meant to be left in the dark. And by gods, how much he hated feeling left out. The boy's gaze fell onto the outstretched pack before him. Such an innocent action, and yet it felt weighted. He wasn't too sure who this boy was, but the last thing he expected was for the other boy to share in a meal.

To dine with a carnivore, Percival tilted his head up ever so slightly. Narrowed eyes looked down upon the shorter boy. Now why would prey dine with its predator? Percival could easily hurt the other boy without batting an eye. Cool frustration rolled below his skin, going from a simmer to a boil. Wrapping around his throat like a vice. His gaze caught the embers as they fell upon the white ground. Dying out on the stone pavement. "Just take one." he lamented with a scoff. "Why should I do that?" he interrogated the other boy. "You're really strange for your age, What was your name again?" he asked cooly.

Interacting with: @Draven Mirador

Irrefutable evidence.

That was what Abbadon Mirador provided to his audience. The publisher of the Itsy Bitsy Spider, Mirador had one goal in life. Wreak chaos amongst the comfortable. He was an agent of misery, digging up the darkest sins committed by those in charge and exposing them to the world. Photographs, old journal entries, nothing was safe from the writer. They disappeared from inside desks and appeared plastered all over the morning headlines.

One article from him could take a political candidate out of the running entirely. And they had. Many. Many times.

Nobody had seen the famous writer for the better part of a year.

Draven's eyes flickered towards Rainwood's face, taking a drag out of his cigarette. It burned orange, lighting the boy's colorless features. He was a black and white photograph, a badly rendered Tim Burton character. Dead eyes and a shaved head, dark circles, and trembling hands. He looked nothing like the elegant man his father was. The headshots of Abbadon Mirador depicted someone with the features of a noble, the picture of self-control and dignity.

This boy, in his ripped-up boots, a hoodie with a hole in the sleeve, and cargo pants that had outlived their usefulness, was everything like Abbadon Mirador. From the dirty nails and the cigarette between his fingers, to the clothing he'd worn for the past two days. He was a mirror image of his father, or at least the father he remembered. The one surrounded by empty bottles, and the one who laid in bed for weeks.

"Draven Mirador," Draven said after a beat, meeting Rainwood's dead gaze.

Fury broiled just underneath the other boy's skin, hot and vicious. He could see it behind the other boy's dark eyes, pits of black anger that threatened to spill over his face. Draven, idly, wondered if Rainwood would hit him.

He would have liked that, he thought. Would have liked an excuse to sleep in the next day. Nobody could have faulted him, really. For taking a break. Pain was pain. And not one of the kids that roamed those halls with their head high and a stick up their ass could do much more than leave a few bruises.

Smoke poured from between Draven's lips, the noxious scent wrapping around Rainwood. "Your clothes are too nice to be near cigarette smoke," the boy said. "Can I do anything for you?"

Inspiration

Percival's eyes narrowed slightly his head tilting ever so slightly to the left as he studied the younger boy in front of him. Strange was a decent word to describe the other. Looking more like a prisoner from Azkaban then a fellow student. The boy bit his tongue stopping a poorly sorted joke on how the police would probably come find him soon. His tongue pushed into the soft flesh of his inner cheek, as he rolled out a smile. Attempting to dim such a drasted thing. His Uncle would be displeased if he knew he couldn't control himself. It was an annoying thing to deal with. The expectations and rules that weighed down heavily upon him. Chains that kept him trapped and down. He wasn't too sure what was worse, his Uncle expecting this or his Uncle wanting this. A part of him could not help but be perturbed by the change in his Uncle's behavior. Had it not been yesterday when his Uncle would complain about the customs and courtesies that weaved around the neck of every Rainwood?

The boy would lean slightly back as he heard the boy's name. Deep in thought. The name was rather familiar. Mulling it over in his head, though nothing would come to mind. Inwardly scoffing at the idea that he could possibly know the younger boy. He wasn't one to converse with younger years, and yet here he was. Doing everything he generally avoided with great disdain. The strong smell of smoke clung to the air. Obnoxious. It was all obnoxious. A smirk would cling to his face faintly as the other commented on his clothes. Yes, he was sure he looked the part. A good little Pureblood with his nicely pressed clothes and his squeaky clean shoes. A disguise. Percival let out a chuckle before shaking his head slightly. "Probably not. Just wondered why someone would be stupid enough to smoke in plain sight of the Professors." he spoke plainly. The boy took a step closer to the dark-haired boy, close enough that one could have reached out and touched the other. Percival would stare at him for a moment, before continuing to walk past him and towards one of the many exits out of the courtyard. As the boy walked away, he made a mental note to keep that name in mind.

Leaving Thread Unless Prevented

Interacting with: @Draven Mirador