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Post by Cecil Marzel on Sept 22, 2006 20:53:10 GMT -5
The air outside had turned a bit icy, no longer the crisp, stiff breeze it had been, but the real kind of cold. It was going to snow after dark, Cecil thought absently, looking up at the looming form in front of them. The light was already dimming, sky pale. Certainly good weather for haunting.
This house was something of legend. It'd started back before his foster mother's time, he'd been told, and had only gained a larger and larger reputation as years went by. Coming to this haunted place had a dull sort of thrill that seeped under your skin, even if you didn't 'belive in that sort of thing'. Not ghosts, of course, for those were quite real. The school itself proved that, with all of its lingering spectres.
This was the place where stupid young men came and played the dare game... see how close you can get to the house for how long before you can't tolerate it any longer.
Cecil, with his habit of communicating with the resident ghosts, had learned to overcome that fear before his third year had ended, and actually entered the haunted hallways of the Shrieking Shack. It had, in fact, made him rather jittery the first time, but otherwise, wasn't all that bad. Could use some serious remodeling, for there were marks across every inch of the wall. as though some crazed animal had torn the building apart in a frenzy. Occasionally, a spook of some sort would take up its residence in the shack, though none of them did him much trouble, the few times he'd visited.
The most haunting thing he'd discovered there, actually, was a long tunnel. Cecil wasn't that stupid, to walk down a dark hallway that could lead to hell knew where from a house that was reknowned for scaring the living daylights out of the superstitious Hogsmeade population.
And, supposedly, there was this new ghost to be had, the spirit of a murder victim, craving revenge for its untimely death. True, there were always rumors about what ghosties wandered in that place, but Cecil had found himself slightly interested in this one.
His eyes were hazy and contemplative as he regarded the shack from their position afar, before turning his gaze to Oione, and slipped on his trademarked cheshire-cat smirk.
"Still on for scaring up a spook or two?" He asked teasingly. Cecil had to vaguely wonder whether or not she'd ever played what was simply known as the 'dare game' before.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Sept 24, 2006 17:20:52 GMT -5
It was incredible how prompt people were to believe something that was simply a pile of least convincing stories you could ever find out there, in other words they didn't believe at all but they keep coming either way; it was an unbelievably strong charm without any use of magic. The Loch Ness monster or the Shrieking Shank, each one of them worked with the same, good, old mechanism of eternal curiousity.
With dull silver sky and semi-naked trees, late autumn was probably the best time of year to go searching for ghosts whether they were there or not.
As the afternoon lazily passed it really begun to get cold, however Oione and Cecil didn't seem to care much as they strode on to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, welcomed gloomily by the shank's neglected silhouette.
"Still on for scaring up a spook or two?"
The corner of Oione's lips lifted as a sly response to Cecil's famous smirk.
"Most certainly" she said "Or would you like to go back?" she added the last bit just as teasingly as Cecil had asked, barely concealing a wicked grin.
((rubbish, but the only thing I really want to do right now is sleeping))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 4, 2006 15:11:46 GMT -5
"Oh, well, you know me. I'd really rather head to Puddifoot's, but you do seem oh-so-very intent on this place. I suppose I can indulge you, if only for a little while." Cecil was the kind of person that didn't really need to imply sarcasm to be implying it. He could roll such utter bosh off of his tongue like water off a duck's back and never so much as scratch his nose at it.
Those who were used to him were generally far more lucky in knowing what he meant by most of what he said. Oione happened to be one of those. She was, really, one of his few true confidents. The Mireault girl never really seemed fazed in the least by him. Back when he'd first encountered her, Cecil had been a little bothered by that. He was accustomed to causing raised eyebrows, and the little Slytherin's reactions had been unsatisfactory.
Now they were sort of refreshing.
Casually, he began to stroll closer to the 'Shack.
"Mm. More and more rumors pop up about this place every autumn. I suppose it's all in the Halloween spirit, but I rarely ever discover that any of them are true..."
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 4, 2006 15:45:49 GMT -5
Oione shook her head slightly as though in frustration, but the badly concealed smile on her face said otherwise.
"Cecil Marzel at Puddifoot's...that would...a sight worth seeing" much like Cecil Oione had no problem with hinting sarcasm as it was practically a second nature to both of them. One could never tell when they were serious and that was perhaps, what they or at least Oione intended to cause; she, herself could read between the lines and she was aware that so did the Gryffindor, from what she had seen he was even better at it than her.
"Imagine the all the juicy gossip that spread after that" she grinned, recalling the hushed conversations the girls had in their bathrooms that was more of a social center than a lavatory. "This could be quite entertaining. People are such a funny creatures when it comes to this. However, I must resist the temptation. I like fear more."
She gave him that sort of twisted smile that had everything to do with fear in itself and nothing to do with the Shrieking Shack.
For a mere second her face clouded over.
"What are you afraid of, Cecil?" she asked all of sudden, looking up at him."In general"
This wasn't an entirely earnest question and Oione did not expect an earnest answer or even something remotely close to that, but she wondered with what response she would be presented with, this was not easy to mask with smirk after all.
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 4, 2006 16:11:44 GMT -5
"Actually, I've always thought it would be almost painfully wonderful to walk into there by myself and sit down by myself and drink tea by myself and generally avoid talking to people in there at all. Perhaps read a paper. Nobody would really know what to think about it..." Cecil smiled to himself with the thought and lifted both eyebrows high, glancing to Oione. "Because if I walked in there with you, we both know what would happen. It'd be an excellent game, but with a predictable result." She was right, of course. There would be gossip, and in plenty. And her little groupie, dear Mr. Silver, would likely suffer a few headaches and a nosebleed just from working himself into fits.
The thought made him smile a bit more. It'd be an interesting sight.
For Cecil, everything he did tended to be only for the result. There was a limited group of people that he'd relax and just act like a normal human being around, but with everyone else, particularly at school, he liked trying to push buttons. If he got an unusual reaction out of someone for something, it made his day worthwhile.
Oione's question, though, caught him off guard, and his expression became thoughtful, taking in the girls face with consideration to the query. He was quiet, for a time. In general...?
"Drowning." Cecil stated simply, with a shrug. It was a rational fear. He asn't going to start going into anything consequential. Like secrets. He coveted secrets, and one of his greatest nightmares was that someone would discover them, discover that he knew things... He could drown in secrets, too.
She didn't need to know that.
"I used to really like to swim, but on a holiday with Cosima in my first year, I was caught in a riptide at the beach, and took in so much water to my lungs I lost conciousness, and nearly died. So I'm scared of drowning." His face did hold a sense of seriousness to it, but not because of that fear. It was the ones he was not telling that bothered him more.
With a glance up to the house in front of them, cecil let out a sigh, then replaced a half-smile on his features.
"And what of you, Oione?"
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 5, 2006 12:20:44 GMT -5
Oione nodded, smiling to her thoughts.
"That was exactly what I thought about" she said, turning her sight away from Cecil and looking straight ahead of her. "The looks one that wandered in there alone would get could be counted as priceless" she grinned. "However, those tasteless decoration full of pudgy cupids are too much for me to handle.
And yes, going there with you would no doubt be amusing, though I am quite sure we would grow bored quickly" she gave a light chuckle to her thoughts "Though of course the castle would be thumping with rumours." She smirked. Having so many enemies among the female gender Oione knew the power of the gossip far too well, albeit in her case she used it for her own goals, not to mention it was always a cheap way to brighten a gloomy day. Oione had never personally talked behind anybody's back mainly because she found it humiliating and due to the fact that she wasn't particularly interested in Hogwarts' social life.
As Cecil's answer came she made few faster steps forward, her back to him.
"That's exactly the response I've expected" she said quitely giving away a tiny twisted smile but only for internal consumption. She didn't doubt that the story about Cosima was true, of course. But she was quite certain that this had to have a second bottom, it wasn't that she knew it. She felt it.
She turned around to face him again, arms folded on her chest. This was slowly beginning to get dangerous, but worth playing.
"Drowning can mean many things." she said "especially to a man with 'sub rosa] written across his forehead".
Many saw only a charming young man when they looked at Cecil, he was undeniably intelligent, sly and maybe even overly-confident but Oione was one of those very few that were our of something hiding behind that trademark smirk. The girl didn't crave to find out about any of his secrets, she was content with the fact that she knew they were there, Marzel was a like a half-sealed volumine, she read him to a certain point while the other chapters stayed hidden.
"And what of you, Oione?"
"Me?" she said, looking seemingly suprised. In fact out of those 'general' fears she had only one and she realized that no one really knew about it, as she was mildly ashamed of it and not to mention Seth would tease her mercilessly about it. "Thunderstorms, I guess"
((worthless post, due to the lack of food))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 6, 2006 20:44:35 GMT -5
"Sub rosa..." He repeated quietly, letting his comapnion get ahead of him. He wasn't going to jog to make up for lost steps. If Oione was picking up her pace to get in front of him she had her reasons, personal or otherwise. Cecil's hands slid into his pockets, and he tipped his head lightly to the side. The ominous profile of the Shack behind the girl made for some interesting shadowing. Cecil had never been one to believe in natural omens, but this particular scene struck him as strange. Oione seemed... well, he wasn't sure. She was hard to read to begin with, but now was even more difficult.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, the young Gryffindor turned his gaze back to the Slytherin, who was facing him now, and stopped walking. The distance between them was maybe a yard-- good for a casual standoff, and not far enough to pit them in a shouting match. Oh yes. He knew the rules of the game they made up as they went along. Small observations made everything that much more eloquent.
"You should speak more plainly, M'meselle Mireault, for I haven't the slightest fancy of what you're getting at."
Oh, yes yes. A lie through his teeth, and blatantly so. He knew she knew he wasn't the most honest person in the world, and she had adressed it almost directly. So he'd lie almost directly. An honest lie. A living oxymoron.
He took a step forward, to break the moment, passing his companion and challenger and approaching the front of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the rundown house. Cold hands came back out of his pockets, and gripped the bars as he peered through them.
"Thunderstorms." A glance over his shoulder at her showed a bit of surprise, and his usual, casual amusement. "I hadn't thought you'd be the sort. I've always rather liked them. But I suppose it's a rational fear. Better than some things that might terrify you. Clowns, perhaps."
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 9, 2006 17:37:40 GMT -5
It was really worth noting down to history for future generations to know that Cecil Marzel's smirk could be wiped off, at least for a little while. Not that it cause Oione any sort of happiness or satisfaction as she didn't particularly enjoy 'biting' her own kind, of course it wasn't like it could be called 'biting', the girl decided that it was high time to raise the stakes a little, it was after all, what made the game thrilling and worth playing. They both knew the rules and never quite resisting the temptation add a tinge of risk to it, obviously one that could be controlled.
"You should speak more plainly, M'meselle Mireault, for I haven't the slightest fancy of what you're getting at."
A chuckle came from Oione as she observed Cecil with some twisted kind of amusement, like a mouse that was sure to trick the cat, however the only problem was that you never could calculate precisely enough when the cat was about to make its leap.
"That was almost a...truthful lie, Moussieur Marzel" she said, her shoulder shaking lightly from subdued laughter."I believe that we both know what 'sub rosa' or in other words 'in secret' means. But you see Mr. Marzel, I don't crave to discover them, knowing that they're there satisfies be enough. However, the fact that the only things I know about you is your name and that your good at Arithmacy mildly annoys me" she said as Cecil moved past her to the neglected and half destroyed iron fence that was bound to guard the Shank. She walked up to it as well, standing beside Cecil but not looking at him, her slender fingers embracing the icy metal.
"Hmmm...well, let's just say I don't particularly like them. I used to, though. But as a kid I got lost during a storm in a forest and well, it's the sound that makes me uneasy" she grinned more to herself and the Shank and it turned into a low chuckle as Cecil made the comment about clowns.
"Oh, they sure are terrifying" she said brightly. "Though those circus ones are nothing compared with the ones we meet everyday. Ah, this coming from me is a bit hypocritical."
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 9, 2006 20:05:24 GMT -5
Oh, he knew the term. Born of philosophies and religion, of course, not to mention its Latin bases. His adoptive mother was Italian, so the root language was no stranger to him. Nor the real use of the words-- 'under the rose'. The door of her office room, for example, had one engraved in the wood.
Cecil occasionally enjoyed playing the simpleton for Oione, however. Exasperate her occasionally by making her explain things, not speak in code. Many people were bothered by that sort of thing. It wouldn't exactly hurt her, in any way, would it?
"That was almost a...truthful lie, Moussieur Marzel"
"Oh yes." he replied, voice light, eyebrows raised in an almost carefree fashion. "I had thought it was rather skillful of me, if you'll pardon the lack of humbleness." He turned to watch his companion with an easy sort of consideration, listened to her speak, before a real, if crooked, smile touched his face. "If it only mildly annoys you that you know two things about me, I shall certainly have to try harder."
The house in front of them practically beckoned ot his senses. Cecil liked the game they were playing at the moment, so why not step it up a little? It would be fun... if a little dangerous. The worst that could happen was that this ghost that the Hogwarts variety claimed to know of might actually be there, right?
The seventh-year began to walk along the line of the battered fence-- it really had seen better days, hadn't it? --eyeing the bars, and quietly nodding as his companion spoke again. He stopped, not three yards away from where Oione stood, and placed his hands on the fence again, judging the bars.
"You may claim to be an everyday clown, Oione... But that is not useful to me at the moment. What I would like to know..." He stepped back for a moment, chewing his lower lip, before approaching the fence one more time, and slipping his foot through the gap. carefully, and with peculiar dexterity, Cecil Marzel worked his body through the bars, and was soon standing on the other side of the fence, brushing himself off.
"Is whether or not you can be an everyday contortionist."
It was a question within a question. Would she approach the Shrieking Shack? Could she make it through at all? By all logic, Cecil was larger than Oione, so she should have been able to get through alright. But would she?
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 12, 2006 17:44:42 GMT -5
"Oh yes." he replied, voice light, eyebrows raised in an almost carefree fashion. "I had thought it was rather skillful of me, if you'll pardon the lack of humbleness."
Oione couldn't help but laugh. Even though Cecil's carefree tones had always held a tint of dishonesty (or was it only Oione's impression?) this statement was just disarmingly sincere.
"Well, lack of humbleness is still better than fake modesty" she said with broad grin.
Soon enough she found herself returning Cecil's crooked smile.
"Alright perhaps, I wasn't entirely truthful. I also know that you are in your seventh year, that you were, by some odd reason sorted into Gryffindor and that you are a Prefect, which I guess angers Seth the most." she added with an air of thoughtful correction, though in reality she was far from that.
It was unbelievable how Cecil Marzel being a rather known person could stay so enigmatic; whenever she heard people talk about him it was filled with phrases like 'excellent student', 'extraordinarily good at Maths, I say', 'such a charming young man' or 'a very handsome boy', phrases that made Oione's blood boil because they didn't really mean anything. She vaguely wondered if she was the only person in the whole school that wasn't satisfied with a simple answer when it came to one called Cecil Marzel.
"You may claim to be an everyday clown, Oione... But that is not useful to me at the moment. What I would like to know..."
She raised one darkish eyebrow in curiousity of what was to come next, albeit a second later it was followed by her second brow as the boy moved past the fence with a grace only an experienced alley cat could muster. She had always admired the way he moved, though she'd rather not be crept stealthily upon by someone like him.
"Is whether or not you can be an everyday contortionist."
She smirked smugly. Oione was small and willowy, much to her own dismay because most of her family was rather well-built and it was hard to gain authority when people literally looked down on you. Luckily, Napoleon gave the youngest Mireault child some hope for greatness.
Without much ado she nodded silently and swiftly moved through the bars, wiping her hands, reddish from the rust that thickly covered the bars, in her black robe.
This was a subtle form of challenge, not frightening at all since having spent five years at Hogwarts you couldn't possibly be afraid of ghosts (and she didn't believe that the Shack was haunted at all) but it had some thrill in it. Not because it was about the neglected house, but because it was a challenge coming from Cecil Marzel.
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 12, 2006 22:10:56 GMT -5
Ah, yes. The house, and the fact he was a prefect. Cecil was also aware, through sources unnamed, that he had a reasonably close race with Orion Lupin for the position of Head Boy, at the end of last year, which was always extremely hilarious, as far as young Marzel was concerned.
"Mmh. That's one of the very few perks of the job, if you really want to know. Besides the Prefects' baths, the highlight of my career as such a prefect has mostly been pissing your friend Sethie off. Which probably is one of the many reasons I should never have been a prefect at all, but there you have it." In fact, the Gryffindor (as he was) was probably going to be the first person to admit he shouldn't have been granted his badge, let alone been sorted into his house. Gryffindor? Ha. A laugh. This boy belonged at least in Ravenclaw, if not just the downright snakepit.
Which, in truth, might have angered Seth Silver a little more, if he calculated correctly. Pity he couldn't find out.
Once his companion was through the fence as well, however, the young Gryffindor's eyes glittered with some form of excitement or another, along with the usual amusement. He was planning something, the glimmer hinted. He was going to make things interesting, one way, or another.
"An excellent show." Cecil commended, hands slipping into his pockets. Needless to say, it was hard to fear spirits when one had been accustomed to Hogwarts, but there were the sort that were malevolent. And who knew? Maybe he could catch the 5th-year off her guard. It would be a feat to accomplish, something he might be able to put on a resume--
Scared one Oione Mireault. Oh yes.
She wouldn't like to be snuck up upon, eh?
"Let's see what's behind door two, though, shall we?" He nodded to the house and flashed a grin toward Oione, before moving towards it.
Oh, this would be an interesting game.
(Yaaay. Rubbish.)
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Post by Seth Silver on Oct 12, 2006 22:26:05 GMT -5
'Damn right it angers Seth th' most. But, ye know wha' angers 'im more?'
Seth had come to Hogsmeade in the hopes Madam Rosmerta might take pity on him and let him get drunk tonight. Unfortunately, the memory of his last visit to her pub clouded her reasoning, and she gave him a firm 'no' before offering some nice weak butterbeer. Needless to say, Seth was not very pleased. He had been looking forward to a night of drunken bliss - getting well pissed till he was kicked out (gently) and sent up to the castle by the kindly Rosmerta. And now - now he was seeing red. Oione with Marzel? Oione flirting with Marzel in front of an abandoned house? This was too much.
What's this, eh? What's this? I get out o' th' hospital win' 'n now ye're - ye're out wit' that bastard?' He stepped forward, fists shaking. 'Why are ye all th' way out here? I - ye said - well, I thought ye'd be at th' Three Broomsticks 'n all, 'n - wha' th' feck ye doin' wit' fookin' Marzel at th' fookin' shriekin' shack? He's a Gryffindor 'n all that. ' Seth lowered his voice, glancing around as though he was afraid someone might be listening in. 'He amn't all thar, Oione. 'tisn't natural or naught. He's got an odd manner, or sommink. '
As a boy, Seth's mother had forced him into piano lessons. She seemed to harbour the vague hope that piano lessons would somehow calm him, make him less of a troublemaker. They didn't work at all. After he had learnt he would get nowhere by simply refusing to play, Seth threw himself into music. He liked obnoxiously loud songs, and it was not uncommon to find the nine year-old boy banging away at the piano at three in the morning. At this moment, Seth could hear "March of the Dead" blaring in his head. His favourite song as a boy, as it drove the mater barmy to hear it. Cecil Marzel was going to learn that song today if he didn't move his arse back to Gryffindor bloody Tower.
'C'mon, 'n keep away from th' filthy Mudblood scum. He's noothin'. Tryin' t' lure ye into th' Shack, no doubt got sommink on his mind or - we've got detention anyway, remember? Snape don't wait around all day.'
((shite. It's a load of SHITE))
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 15, 2006 17:56:07 GMT -5
Oione,who was a rather distrustful person to begin with and definitely did not find Cecil Marzel trustworthy (which made it even more intriguing in a twisted little way she'd rather not ponder) suspected something.
Obviously, she had no idea what Cecil was planning, but he was definitely up to something. He always was. At least in Oione's case since it was difficult to catch her off guard, mostly because she fought back even when there was no need to. However, there was one serious fault. Nothing could stop her when she was curious, it might have killed the cat but it still had eight lives left.
"Let's see what's behind door two, though, shall we?"
Nodding and returning the grin in a somewhat more suspicious version she made a step to follow the older boy on....until.
'Damn right it angers Seth th' most. But, ye know wha' angers 'im more?'
Oh no.Oh no. This had to be some sort of a very, very, very long nightmare.
Perhaps in the real world Oione had ended up in coma or hit her head badly and lost consciousness and this voice was just an evil, little by-product of her exhausted brain. And to think that it hadn't started off so bad, it could have been worse; Madam Pomfrey gave her another telling-off when signing her off from the hospital ward, she received a Howler from home, had a detention with Snape on a fine Saturday when she should be relaxing and recuperating for another week, but it didn't seem so bad when she met Cecil Marzel in the Three Broomsticks as his complicated riddles that in fact were the essence of the Gryffindor seventh year had done a splendid job to put her mind off such unpleasant things like detentions and Howlers. Not to mention she calculated that if she hung around with him she would not cross paths with Seth, unfortunately Oione Mireault wasn't really worth a damn when it came to calculating. HE was here, on the other sight of the half-destroyed fence in order to spoil every second of her free time.
Without turning her head to the newcomer (that Oione would like to classify as 'persona non grata') she said in icy politeness that was the only sign of her steaming on the inside.
"No, I don't know what angers him more. But do you want to know what angers Oione the most? YOU." she nodded to Cecil. "Excuse me for a second, will you? Mr.Marzel. I didn't expect this inconvenience to turn up."
And with that the girl turned on her heel swiftly and marched towards the fence, fists at her sides. She reached for the rusty bars, her slender fingers clenching and unclenching on them as though it was the only thing that kept Oione from strangling the boy before her. Probably it was.
'He amn't all thar, Oione. 'tisn't natural or naught. He's got an odd manner, or sommink. '
Ten points for Slytherin for being so unbelievably observative, Oione sneered but only for internal consumption. It took her a second or two before she adjusted to Seth's accent again, having spoken proper English for the past few hours. Truth to be told she didn't really care what Seth had to say for the time being; he was the cause of all her trouble. He and that bloody know-it-all.
"Seth" she begun in a quiet and vicious voice, looking him dead in the eye through the neglected bars. "I've just had one of the worst days in my life. In fact I've had the worst week of my life. Why do you have to come and ruin the only part of the day I was actually enjoying. ENJOYING. Don't I deserve even a few fucking minutes of something that's fairly pleasant?"
She said it all calmly and in quiet tones, as someone who's bottling up deep wrath and is resignated at the same time, besides she didn't like to think that she would yell at Seth in the presence of Cecil Marzel...this just didn't go well together. She sighed as Seth ploughed on.
'C'mon, 'n keep away from th' filthy Mudblood scum. He's noothin'.
"Stop it at once, you bloody hypocrite." Oione snapped angrily, regarding Seth with something akin to disgust and...hurt "I'm not the one snogging Potter girls, so stop dogging me around, will you?"
She immediately regretted what she had just said, Seth could start to suspect something after that..but she felt relieved instantly as she reminded herself who she was talking to. It was Seth Silver, after all. It wasn't like he could take a hint. Much less a hint of a hint."Besides it's not like he's a mass murderer or something. And we still have two hours before Snape"
There, that should fix it.
((stupidest post...ever. And I'm overusing italics))
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Post by Seth Silver on Oct 15, 2006 19:15:29 GMT -5
Seth's skin was tinged pink, fingers lacing through the bars of the delapidated fence.
'Snoggin' Potter? I do nah snog Potter! I don't even fancy Potter or naught. She's - she's Half-Blood, so she is! 'n Gryffindor,' he spewed, lips twisted into a snarl, and then tacked on as an after-thought, 'like this scoom, 'ere.'
What was this about snogging Potter? Seth hardly remembered his meeting with Potter at the lake, having been inebriated for the greater bit of the night. Had he somehow snogged the girl and forgotten it? But how would Oione know? She didn't speak with Potter, as far as Seth was concerned. Or, had Oione added Potter to her new little group of Gryffindor friends? The mere thought of it made him see red.
'Some hypocrite ye are, eh? But ye'd know all about Potter, wouldna ye? Become her mate, as well, 'ave ye? Chattin' it up all nice 'n sharin' thin's I do in me private time. T'isn't yer business wha' I'm doin' wit' fookin' Potter, innit? And shite - wha' the feck you doing with Marzel? Snogging him, are you? And you call me hypocrite.'
A
He shook his head, clearly exasperated. Women were an unfmathomable spirit to Seth. His mother was prime example. Amerelia could play the doting wife when she wanted. She could go from affectionate mother to evil bitch in a matter of seconds. She suffered bouts of insanity, shouted things she pretended not to mean, and threatened death to her son if he ever so much as sneezed without her permission. She never followed through with anything, and she changed her mind constantly. To Seth, Oione seemed to be following in this vein. She was just as unpredictable, just as dramatic. How was he supposed to know when not to come and talk? Was there some sort of code to women, something he was missing?
He glanced reproachfully at the shack, turning his attention back to Oione and said quite loudly, 'Ye're nah goin' in thar, are ye? I'm coomin', then. Fat chance I'll be lettin' 'im take ye into that Devil's place alone. No, sir. Wouldna trust 'im t' it, would I? Prolly try somethin' wit' ye, he will, nasty bugger that he is 'n all. No, sir, I'll be coomin' along as well.'
Mustering all the courage he possessed, Seth strode confidantly past the gate and stopped to stand betwixt Oione and Cecil.
'If yeer coomin', then,' he called cockily, smirking at her.
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 15, 2006 23:42:26 GMT -5
Oh, bloody good.
It was something amazing, wasn't it, how every time Cecil and Oione wound up plotting some shenanigan together, there was always one person who slipped into the batter to turn it rotten. Three guesses on who, and the first two didn't count.
And yet, he wasn't terribly surprised to see young Mr. Silver enter their little game, the back-and forth challenges. Perhaps, and it was a depressing to even really consider it, perhaps he was getting used to this Seth nonsense, so it didn't do much in the way of surprises for him anymore. Cecil was rarely surprised by anything, these days, and his face held a bored, stony expression as he murmured his greeting (of sorts);
"Well, screw me gently with a chainsaw..." The words were muttered under his breath, and the gold-brown eyes rolled slightly.
"Excuse me for a second, will you? Mr.Marzel. I didn't expect this inconvenience to turn up."
His smile at that was a wry one. It would be another one of their tiffs, the two Slytherins, and, yet again, he'd have to bear witness to it. Maybe he could write Seth up for something... Cecil vaguely wondered if Prefect Powers applied outside of the school or not.
"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure whether or not I did expect said inconvinience. Take your time." And what other choice did he have, anyway? He'd have to listen to their bickering, one way or another, unless he left entirely. And then Seth would get his petty little way. Couldn't have that.
So he watched and waited as the two growled and spat at eachother, occasionally inspecting his nails. Finally, though, Seth's declaration made him snort.
'Ye're nah goin' in thar, are ye? I'm coomin', then. Fat chance I'll be lettin' 'im take ye into that Devil's place alone. No, sir. Wouldna trust 'im t' it, would I? Prolly try somethin' wit' ye, he will, nasty bugger that he is 'n all. No, sir, I'll be coomin' along as well.'
"Mister Silver, I'm slightly wounded." Lie. If he didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought about him, why in God's name would he offer up a flying fuck for Seth's opinion? Ah, well. "You're rather implying something I don't wish to be applied to my person. If I were about to try something with anyone, let alone Miss Mireault, why the hell would I pick the Shrieking Shack? That may be something decent by your own standards..." He was inspecting his nails again. "But I find myself more inclined to a place with an interior decorator whose idea of wallpapering didn't involve tearing it to shreds." The laugh slipped back into his eyes, and, just to properly mock their interloper, Cecil raised one eyebrow at Oione again, and in his most delicate and innuendo-packed tone, continued.
"Unless you're into that, of course."
If Seth was going to come along, Cecil had every intention of making it entirely excruciating for him. It might make things fun.
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