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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 20, 2006 15:14:01 GMT -5
’I need a place that’s quiet…’ he thought desperately to the wall, as he crossed it again. ‘I just need a place that’s quiet, so I can think…’
It had not been the most pleasant day for Cecil Marzel. He was an unusually difficult person to ruffle, but, as the Gryffindor Seventh Year paced the bit of the corridor he’d accessed so many times, his demeanor extraordinarily on edge. The letter clutched in his hand had been read over at least sixteen times after it had shown up in his bookbag that morning (they had a strange habit of doing that, his letters; Cecil suspected it had something to do with the bag itself, but it was rather convenient, so he wasn’t going to complain about it). And now, panting with the effort of keeping his frustrations bottled up, he was mentally pleading with the room that he knew was there to open up and give him somewhere to let it out. Through some miracle of strange karmatic luck, he was fairly certain he’d managed to remain unseen during his escape, which was a general relief. The Room of Requirement always raised eyebrows if you were caught seeking it out, and he was glad not to have to deal with any questions.
As he passed the stretch of wall a third and final time, the familiar door made an appearance, and Cecil sighed in intense relief. He was instantly inside, leaning against the door as it closed behind him, bag cast aside. The room had catered to his desires—it was, indeed, dead quiet, except for a soft, sort of fan-like noise. There were several armchairs of various patterns and styles spread over the room, along with a few extremely tall bookshelves and other such furnishings—Lamps, couches, and so on. In the middle of the room, there was a large wooden table, with a chessboard set up in the middle. Normally, he would have been far more careful and specific about what he wanted from the room, lest someone else have the same thought and break into his solace, but this time he was just too perturbed.
Cecil closed his eyes to take a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh, and moved to take a seat in front of the chessboard, unfolding the letter and re-reading it again, letting the words he already memorized be ingrained in his mind yet again.
His head was throbbing slightly. Cecil withdrew his wand from his back pocket, and placed the tip at his temple, murmuring a healing spell.
It would be a long, long night, at this rate...
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 20, 2006 16:12:55 GMT -5
Just get me someplace private, will you? Someplace quiet, take my mind off thing's . . . .
Seth ought to have known better. He should have realised that no day could go along so nicely; something always had to come up. And come up, it had. In the form of an owl from Augustus and a cursed note from the mater. He sighed, rubbing his aching hands, the dull throb settled deep into the bones. The mater had a knack for casting Joint - Thinning Hexes in conjunction with some really nasty Bone - Crushing spells. The end result was a deep pain in his hands, worse than the most severe case of arthritis, that stubbornly refused to subdue until nearly a week later.
Opening his eyes, he eagerly stepped toward the tapestry that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tugging it back to reveal a concealed door. The door, a heavy, intimidating, oak monster, creaked ajar, allowing Seth to make a speedy entrance before it slammed shut again. Well, if the tapestry didn't fool nosy Prefects, the door would certainly hold them off long enough. Relieved, Seth turned to survey the room, and stopped dead.
What the hell was he doing here?
He cleared his throat, anger welling in his chest. Marzel had no right to be sitting in the very room Seth was planning on drowning himself in self - pity. His knuckles throbbed, as if sensing that something was amiss. This was Seth's hiding place. There was no room here for Cecil Marzel, or anyone else for that matter. One of them needed to leave, and the only polite thing to do ---
'I'm giving you two seconds to get your fecking arse out of here, you sod.'
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 20, 2006 16:30:57 GMT -5
'I can't go back,' Cecil had picked up the white knight piece, turning it absently in his hand, fingers tracing the intricate carving on it, eyes fogged over in his trance of thought. 'Going back and getting involved in her trouble puts everything here at risk. I can't do that, no matter how stupid Cosima may be...'
His adoptive mother had gotten herself into one hell of a hole this time. Cecil's position was a very precarious one. He was, for the first time in a long, long while, worried of what might happen. He was old enough now that he did not need to live with his guardian-- he'd actually been planning from the start to get out of that dangerous house as soon as he could. But this was a difficult place to be. If only he had some real direction, something to base judgment on.
Cecil was lost in his dark-minded thoughts. It wasn't until the slam of the door echoed through his silent sanctum that he even glanced up. When he did, it was with a look of startled bewilderment, which instantly shifted to a fierce glower.
The Silver boy was, indeed, not his favorite person. In fact, he almost downright hated him-- no respect, no sense of reality, and no matter what trouble his home life might present for him, Cecil's opinion was that this cretin actually enjoyed sulking about how miserable he was. Nonetheless, no matter how little he liked anyone, Cecil's approach was always with at least a bit of a smile-- well, smirk.
Now, though, his face just radiated poison.
"What did you say to me, Silver?" It was dead clear he was in no mood for the unexpected guest. Even his voice was low and harsh. It was a challenge-- a 'bring it on, you ass' of sorts.
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 20, 2006 17:17:15 GMT -5
'I called you a sod,' Seth replied waspishly, his shoulders squared. With the exception of Oione, Cecil Marzel was the last person he needed to see tonight. Self - righteous, good - looking, clever, witty, and too good for Seth's liking, Cecil was everything the Slytherin boy loathed in a person. Not to mention he was good friends with Oione, and if that wasn't enough to draw a fountain of rage from the boy, he didn't know what was. 'Fecking bugger.'
As if this were a pleasant, teatime chat, Seth settled into a comfortable armchair facing Marzel, eyebrows raised. He knew the other boy was not leaving without a fight. He also knew that he did not have the strength, nor the constitution to fight with Cecil tonight. Arguing took enough energy, and his hans were beginning to throb like mad, though he ignored them.
He imagined Oione's face when she was the bloated, smashed body of Cecil Marzel after his accidental fall off the Astronomy Tower. Would she cry for the stupid Gryffindor? That might be something to watch. He had never seen Oione cry before. Scream, shout, resort to violence maybe --- but never crying. Would she talk about the dead boy all of the time? that could prove rather annoying after a bit. If Marzel was going to die, Seth did not want to have to listen to each and every one of his oh - so - amazing qualities, especially not being spewed from Oione Mireault's mouth.
Stupid bugger would win even in death. Abandoning his homicidal contemplation, Seth averted his attention instead to Marzel's face. He glared, too knackered to come off as very intimidating.
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 20, 2006 18:50:18 GMT -5
The usual insults. Hell, this kid was just predictably stupid by now. Sharp gold-brown eyes watched the younger boy as he settled himself down comfortably, and the corner of Cecil's mouth twitched slightly, a would-be sneer, if he'd wanted to put it forth. He was silent, still holding the chess piece in hand, simply seething that his silent place was under siege.
Little by little, though, his expression faded back to complacency as he gained control of his thoughts. He set the knight in its place, picking up the letter and glancing it over once, before folding it over and slipping it into his jeans pocket. It seemed he wouldn't have the good grace of the evening to figure out what direction he would go, after all. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Cecil sighed. He didn't actually know why it was he hated this boy to begin with, and he certainly had no idea of what had actually occured between Silver and Oione, but it was clear nothing good was going to come of it. It was, also, something he had no doubt he'd rather not be involved with.
So, instead, he set himself to studying Seth, gaining the habitual and often irritating look he had-- one eyebrow lifted, slight smirk, apparent disinterest, and utter scrutiny. There was something slightly different about his demeanor this evening. He almost seemed weary, but it was rather vague. Silver was decent at concealing himself. If he didn't dislike him so intensely, Cecil might have been impressed.
"So.." If neither of them was about to leave, why not make things a bit more interesting? "Do you play?" He gestured to the chessboard in front of him, eyes never leaving Seth's face.
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 20, 2006 23:01:21 GMT -5
'Only when I can win,' Seth answered truthfuly, mentally slapping himself. He may as well just admit Marzel's superiority over him next. The intellectual side of Seth (the one that was rarely shown) enjoyed playing chess because it challenged him. The Neanderthalistic git in him enjoyed the violence and the glory of (literally) smashing one's oponent into dust. The rest of him was just pleased to have something to take his mind off things.
He stood, slowly, his back arched as he stretched. It was too much effort on his part, Seth decided, to have to carry himself the entire eight feet distance between himself and the chess board. He did it anyway, grumbling with every step. Marzel had better be really horrible at chess. It would really put the topper on a truly magical day to lose at chess to his sworn enemy. Not that he was a bad player. Seth was ruthless and clever when he played chess. He had no qualms about obliterating his oponent's chess pieces, and he knew how to manipulate certain people into playing poorly, but his heart - stopping skills ended there. He had no stradegy, but rushed into thing seemingly without thought, and his cunning intellect was virtually nonexistent. Like a soldier of ancient times, Seth enjoyed the violent, bloody battle rather than thought and careful stradegy. He planned nothing, and, subsequently, lost often.
'I'm white, Bugger Boy,' he said gruffly, taking his seat and surveying the board coolly.
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 21, 2006 13:59:51 GMT -5
The calm on Cecil's face didn't falter as he watched the Slytherin boy stand and lumber over. There was, again, something about his demeanor that was unusual-- He actually looked rather sore. Perhaps he'd been in a fight...? It wouldn't be a shock, to tell the truth. The Caladrius in his wand ached to dish out a healing spell, but Cecil's pleasantries would extend only to a nice, miniaturized battle. He disregarded Seth's rather blunt reply to his question, instead just leaning back in his chair, drumming fingers on the table.
"White?" A larger smirk flickered over his features, and Cecil contained some inward joke. Bit of a role reversal, wasn't it, though? Ah, well. "Fine with me." Quickly, he turned the board, so the pieces Silver had requested were on his side. Now, if the young Gryffindor wanted to be perfectly open and truthful with himself, he might have well admitted just why he asked Silver to play with him.
Cecil Marzel liked chess as a way to pass the time. The Room of Requirement had made a good choice in putting the board there. Playing a game like this sorta of let you examine what sort of person you were. But that wasn't why he'd administered the challenge. In complete, blunt honesty, Cecil didn't care if he won or lost. He just wanted Seth to shut up and let him think.
"Your move, Mister Silver."
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 21, 2006 20:56:22 GMT -5
His mind was most definitely not on chess tonight. Without thought, Seth immediately pushed his knight clumsily out, ignoring its cries of protest and insults on his tactic, or lack thereof. It would be bollocks losing to Marzel, but at least he didn't have to sit in the Slytherin common room all night, half wishing Oione would come and liven things up, half hoping never to see her again, the rest of him wanting to do nothing more than disappear into the thick, green carpeting.
'White,' he grunted, flicking the knight to make it shut up. It increased in volume, shaking a tiny sword at him and shouting threats. 'I like making the first move.'
It was probably not the most Slytherin way of going about things. Maybe Oione was right, and he ought to have been in Gryffindor. Brash, impulsive, and the Sorting Hat had considered --- 'Shite!'
The miniature knight, indigant at being ignored, had stabbed its sword into his knuckle, drawing a pinprick of blood from the already aching joint. Sucking on it, Seth chucked the thing at the wall, pleased to see it shatter into several pieces on the floor, silenced at last. Turning to Cecil, a smirk plastered on his face, he said conversationally, 'Nasty little sod, him. Anyway, my move again, as I seem to have lost my only active player.' A pawn stepped helpfully out of the ranks, obivously not wanting to end up like his fallen comrade, the knight. Unperturbed, Seth leaned back in the chair, tapping out the tune to a Death Eater marching song on his teeth. He hummed along absently and more than a bit off - key.
'Those monkeys gone And life moves on Wizards on the rise again . . . .'
He twiddled with the pawn, waiting for Cecil's move and muttering the words subconsciously under his breath.
'A rise to power to glory, to beauty The Pure - Blood angels Those Mud - hewn devils The monkeys gone, and Wizards on the rise again . . . .'
Did the Knights have catchy songs? He would have to make up a few of his own if they didn't. There was no group without marching songs.
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 21, 2006 21:43:58 GMT -5
Cecil had watched Seth's move with a sort of absent recognition, only flicking an eyebrow up at the rather dodgey move, reaching to indicate one of his bishop's pawns, but stopping short. The other eyebrow shot upward to meet the first as the offending chess piece rather... exploded on the wall.
"Huh." It brought a twitch of mirth to his face, actually. Seth's wrecklessness was sort of a source of amusement, at times. He wondered casually if the room would replace the broken piece. He'd have to check into that. Lightly, he nudged the pawn he'd selected, and it tottered out to its space. He had noticed a nervous glance or two from his set of black pieces, but Cecil's actions weren't going to be so violent. He was too lost in thought.
His mind gradually drifted back to Cosima. His adoptive mother was under house arrest by the muggle government, and probably also being watched by a few sources in the wizarding world. She wasn't particularly valuable anymore-- Cosima was a good woman, had treated him fairly well, but she was a complete fool. He had information of far more worth in his metal and documented database. It would be utterly daft to risk going to help her, though she was just about the only family he had.
Damn. If Silver hadn't come, it would be so much easier to sort through his thoughts. That stupid tune the boy was muttering...
"Please, can you stop?" He hadn't actually meant to say anything out loud, really. Nonetheless, Cecil's eyes were hazy, and his voice worn and tried and hinting at annoyance as he made the request. "It's just... bothersome."
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 21, 2006 22:38:49 GMT -5
'What? --- Oh, yeah.'
No use getting the other boy upset over somethig stupid. Seth just was not in the mood for that tonight. He was exhausted, in pain, and wanted to win this chess match, but felt like falling asleep in the chair instead. Oione would have scoffed at him and told him to stop whinging. Grinning to himself, Seth urged his second knight onto the board. He briefly considered starting up a conversation, but decided that was far too pleasant for Cecil Marzel.
'What's got your knickers in a twist, Marzel? Boyfriend broke up with you or something?
*crappiest post ever*
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 22, 2006 11:53:15 GMT -5
Cecil's brows lifted again in vague surprise as the other boy complied-- He hadn't wanted to say anything simply because he'd assumed Seth would start singing something else, or just get louder to bother him. Hmm. Perhaps his nemesis of sorts could be reasonable... on occasion.
With a small nod of silent, distracted thanks, Cecil slid his bishop out through the hole the pawn had made, and into a striking position over the knight Seth had moved out. At the question, he chuckled darkly at the irony of it all.
"Please. Who would dump this?" he gestured to himself in a show of fake vanity, before shaking his head. There was no chance he'd ever tell Silver anything close to what was bothering-- firstly, because it would probably wind up with him in more trouble, and secondly... Well, even Cecil didn't hate the kid enough to get him involved.
"What about you, hmm? Punch a wall or something, Silver?" he half-smirked.
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 22, 2006 14:00:44 GMT -5
Mumbling something incoherently, Seth ducked his head, uncharacteristically abashed, and directed his knight to safety. As if e was going to share the mater's odd knack for particularly painful curses with anyone, let alone a sod like Marzel. The other boy would laugh at him. Punch a wall, indeed. More like having his hand repeatedly run over by the Hogwarts Express. Oh, well. There was a chess game to win, wasn't there?
'You're up, Batty Boy,' Seth jeered, his brogue making it almost impossible to understand the insult. It sounded something along the lines of, 'Yeer oop, Bachty By.' This was the unrefined way of speaking Seth adopted when he was angry or didn't have the energy to correct his pronunciation. Most of the time, he made sure to keep the Limerick in his voice at a bare minimum so as to avoid being boyed for it at school, where the majority were British. At home, the mater could hardly stand living in a secluded manor in Ireland, much less have to listen to her son 'mincing his words like one of those barbaric, drunken farm boys,' so he did his best to imitate Augustus's own mix between London and Dublin, which was pleasing enough to the mater. It was only when he was drunk, or beyond the point of caring, that Seth allowed himself to speak in the manner he had learned during his infant years.
He scratched absently behind his ear, twisting a strand of slightly sweat - dampened black hair between his fingers. Black hair and brown eyes --- hardly what one might expect an Irish boy to look like. Augustus had clear blue eyes and dark hair, while the mater was cross between blonde and brown, with greenish - gray eyes. Both had been born somewhere near the cliffs, although the mater had been moved to Manchester in childhood whereas Augustus had remained in Ireland. In fact, the only Irishman Seth could remember having brown eyes and black hair was Wilkes, but Wilkes himself was half Irish, and had been raised in Yorkshire, having only met Amerelia when Seth was two.
'I got into it wit a sevent year,' said Seth suddenly, surprising himself. 'Ravenclaw by, nahsty temper, de little bugger. But I don't aspect he'll be out a da hospital wing for ages, so . . .' he stretched his arms, carrying on conversationally, 'dat solves dat.'
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 22, 2006 15:22:46 GMT -5
Aha. Cecil had struck a sharp spot, it seemed. Something was wrong with Seth's hands, after all. He payed no mind to the muttering, only making note of it inwardly. The voice thing only added to the affect. People did that, forgot or didn't bother to try and hide habits, particularly when they were uncomfortable.
The young Gryffindor moved another of his pawns forward, one that would free his queen on the next move, studying the board. This game wouldn't be hard to win. Seth was just randomly picking up pieces. And occasionally throwing some of them against the wall, it seemed. Heck, Cecil could probably take his king before losing even six of his own pieces. He decided, though, not to plot out a strategy. He'd play a little wreckless, like his opponent. It would be a good change for him, to act just on whim.
It wasn't really that hard to understand what Silver was saying, after all. In Cosima's house, people of all race and language had come through, and Cecil had taken it to heart to listen in on all of them. He'd become something of a specialist in eavesdropping, and could usually decipher just what was being said. His own heritage was French-Egyptian, and he'd listened in on both, among many others. So, he casually let the other boy speak, raising his eyebrows. "Am I to assume that you just let him be found, then, and you weren't caught?" There was a tone in Cecil's voice that barely hinted that he suspected Seth was blatantly lying. "'Cause even the novice workers in the hospital wing can usually cure bruise-pain." He was actually speaking from expirience. Cecil had volunteered in the hospital wing once or twice, under Pomfrey's strict observation. He'd done so, of course, to be able to get wind of a rather hush-hush accident-- Some little hufflepuff had been rather mutilated by some spell, and it had been kept under wraps.
"And you realize you're admitting it to a prefect, right?"
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Post by Seth Silver on Aug 22, 2006 15:43:06 GMT -5
'Left him in the corridor by the library, if it's any help to ye. Though, I doubt he'll stick around to get himself boyed for it,' he said gruffly, snorting. 'Batty Boy.'
It was fast becoming his new favourite insult, Batty Boy. He had learned it as a boy on a trip to London, but never before had Seth used the term so often. The mater was not fond of it it, for some reason or other.
'It's more than bruise pain,' Seth muttered, staring at his knuckles momentarily. He caught himself, averting his gaze to the fallen shards that were the knight. A new one had appeared in its place, and Seth couldn't help but smirk at it. He sighed exaggeratedly, flexing his hand. 'And now I'm oush wit it; yeer turn, Batty.' This time, the accent was brought out on purpose. Seth was rather enjoying the sound of his voice in the quiet room, listening to it echo faintly off the walls. Not a deep drawl like Malfoy's or Augustus's, or a flighty thing like some first year's. He liked his accent as well, and intended on speaking that way for the rest of the day, maybe longer.
The mater would have a tantrum.
Knocking his knight out carelessly, Seth captured one of Cecil's pawns, watching in amusement as it was tossed onto the floor. His first capture of the night, and it was only a stupid little pawn. Whatever. It wasn't like he really cared about chess anyway, was it? Of course not, he consoled himself. Marzel could win all the games he wanted and Seth wouldn't give a monkey's arse.
Glancing up, as though he had made an epiphone, Seth said quickly, 'Hey, Marzel, why'd the monkey fall out of the tree?'
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Aug 22, 2006 18:22:19 GMT -5
"Well, I do hope you've not killed him. That would be a pity." The apathy in his voice was clear now, with hints of amusement. It was official-- He was completely convinced Seth was lying. Not that it mattered. He'd really prefer that Seth was just covering something else up than him mutilating other students in the hallway. He watched with the same indifference as his pawn was knocked out of comission, and tapped the free bishop.
"I'd lend you a healing spell, Silver, but if you started a fistfight and ended up with 'more than bruise pain', it sounds like you rather deserve whatever you've got." And, yet again, he could only guess at what the other had really done to injure himself. He wasn't going to imply anything other than that he didn't believe him. Cecil watched with a bit of grim satisfaction as the bishop pulled a miniature dagger and slammed it into the knight's little body, dragging it to the side before moving back to its place.
The question made him roll his eyes a little. "Because he was dead?" The Gryffindor guessed, putting in no effort to his answer.
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