Blood Tainted Win PV

Occurs directly after this thread.

The locker room was void of life when he walked in. The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud thump as he put too much force into the movement. The noise of the outside world was muffled as it swung shut behind him with a dull and echoing thud. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, casting a yellowish glow onto the empty benches and lockers. Percival dropped his broom, letting it rest against the wall with a clack. The sound seemed to linger in the air longer than it should have, as if a quiet resistance to his rudeness. Percival stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling, anger still thrumming away beneath the surface of his skin. His hands felt restless, and he brought one to card through his windswept hair.

With no eyes on him, Percival felt a bit of the tension leave his shoulders, letting them sag just a fraction. His face felt itchy, and the boy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looked down, a faint smear of blood across his knuckles made his jaw tighten once more. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins seemed to wane, and with its exit came pain. It felt sharp and insistent, overriding his very sense of being. Each breath seemed to feed the ache within his chest. The bludger must have done more damage than he realized. Percival could not help the laugh that slipped from his lips, humorless and pained. It filled the quiet space with a dull weight, something hard to describe.

"Weaklings." he said again, in a bemused sort of way. The word echoed hollowly back at him. Percival braced his hands against the edge of the bench, leaning forward so that his head was bowed. For a second, he wondered if it would be right to stay like this. Standing motionless while his insides waged war between anger and exhaustion. Though the boy would quickly right himself as he felt a rush of blood pool near his nose. With a small groan, the boy would tenderly touch his nose. Not broken then.. It should have felt like a win, but he could not find it within himself to care.

With furrowed brows, the boy would straighten up and begin to strip off his gear. Unclipping the ties with rough, impatient movements. Letting his arm guards hit the bench far harder than was necessary. His shin guards would follow suit, tossed aside, like they had no purpose in the world other than to be an outlet for his anger. Finally pulling off his uniform, the boy would let it fall before walking towards the sinks. Percival caught his reflection in the mirror; his black turtleneck appeared darker with the sweat of the match. Dried blood clung to his cupid's bow and down his chin. He looked worse for wear, and it was a fact that tinged his eyes with irritation.

Percival felt a frown pull across his face, his lips pressing into a thin line. This wasn't how winning was supposed to feel. Winning or losing. It was supposed to mean something. A battle that was supposed to be brutally won. To give every single fiber of his being to winning, and yet. As he stood there motionless, he couldn't help but feel empty. Percival bent down, turning the water on. Not bothering to let it warm up, the boy washed his face in the sink. Looking up through wet-clung eyelashes, he watched the water drip down his face and neck. Exhaling, the boy would slowly bring his hands up on either side of the porcelain sink.

His breath felt shallow beneath a silent roaring in his ears. His dark eyes, sharp and unflinching, stared into him as he felt his hands begin to clench the sink with a white knuckle grip. He wished the locker room would offer him an answer to why he felt so empty. So angry. He usually felt good after a game; it had always been a way to release a darker part of himself. And yet. His eyes darkened as he watched a sneer pull across his face as he raised his right hand. Without thinking, he would drive his hand into the mirror. The glass shatters with a violent scream. Pain drove between the veins of his fist. Driving its way up his arm, but he could hardly notice as he was swallowed up by his own fury.