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Post by Seth Silver on Oct 15, 2006 23:58:32 GMT -5
It was all Seth could do to stop himself throttling Marzel on the spot. How dare that git say - take the piss out of him like that. This was going too far for Marzel. One more comment, one more snide remark, and Seth's was going to blow a fuse. He had only come because he wanted to speak with Oione - in private - and what did he get? An arse-load of shite in his face, and she seemed pleased by it, the great prat. He glared at his feet for a moment, chewing his lips viciously so as not to allow anything colourful to escape them. For once, Seth understood that now was the time for self-control, even if he was sorely tempted to try out every painful hex he knew on one, Cecil Marzel.
'Th' fook's an interior decorator?' he said finally, shoving his fists into the pockets of his robes. Marzel better not put a toe out of line.... 'That some English thin', or soomink? Or French or wherever 'tis ye come from?'
The night in the Room of Requirement was far behind them now. There was no sense of understanding in Seth's eyes (thought that was not entirely uncommon). He was angry and bitter and hate-filled. He didn't like Marzel being with Oione, because Marzel was ... Marzel. Good-looking, smooth-talking, clever, witty, charming, twat, and Prefect to boot. Not only was the git an authority, but he was a likeable authority, and that made it all the worse.
'Ye ever been here afore? 'tis nah haunted or naught. Jus' some feckin' tale some sprogs made up or soomink. Dunno. But t'amn't haunted,' Seth was babbling now, but he didn't care. Conversation was conversation, and it happened to be the only thing stopping him being committed to Azkaban for murder. It didn't have to make sense, anyway. This was, after all, Marzel, an idiot if he'd ever seen one.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 16, 2006 14:58:00 GMT -5
"She's in Ravenclaw, you idiot"said Oione, volume of voice raising dangerously. "Is it too much for you to remember that Hogwarts has FOUR houses, or what?" She didn't exactly mean snogging in the way most people understood it...but all of sudden the girl felt as though someone poured a bucket of ice cold water down on her. Had she, by any chance, guessed right? Had Seth really snogged Lily Potter? He damn well better not have or somebody with red hair was going to die in this school. One Irishman was probably going to die too. Oione would see to it. The mere thought brought a whole new wave of rage to the girl. Actually her brief chat in the library with Lily Potter didn't give her much clue, she only knew that the Ravenclaw(and to think that Ravenclaws are supposed to have brains!) fancied Seth, there was nothing of him fancying her back. But Oione Mireault was always one to jump into conclusions that could be most unfortunate for others.
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.' She was positively steaming now. How dare he imply such a thing! Oh, how she wanted to punch that face before her right then. Boys liked to blame not understanding girls on the fact that they were girls. But it wasn't much of an explanation when applied to Oione Cassandra Mireault as most women would appear extremely stable in comparison with her. Mood swings were not a word enough to describe her, she was by human standards highly unpredictable (not so say mentally unstable) as she could come from a state of being ecstatic into full-blown in a matter of mili-seconds. She also had, as you say it, a flair for the dramatics. Or in other words she was a drama queen (and disturbingly natural at it). But knowing Seth and how he was for quite a long time now she learned to keep her wild spirit and give him clear allusions when not to talk to her. For example coming to have a chat with whenever she was beyond furious wasn't really a good idea unless he wanted to lose some important body parts. "I am NOT snogging him" she scoffed like and angry cat, glaring daggers. "Talking and snogging aren't the same thing, for your information."
'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.' Oione inhaled sharply, flushed pink from all the thundering rage and indignation and desire to turn Seth Silver into a thousand of little pieces. For what kind of a girl was he taking her for? Not to mention this was Cecil speaking about. Oione of course, doubted that the other boy would give a damn what Seth Silver thought about him, but it was all just ridiculous. She opened her mouth to speak but instead laugh escaped her lips as Cecil's comment reached her. "But I find myself more inclined to a place with an interior decorator whose idea of wallpapering didn't involve tearing it to shreds." She grinned back at him and rolled her eyes immediately as she heard Seth's comment on that. She was about to tell him to sod off for the rest of eternity, however Seth Silver was not to one to leave her alone when she wanted him to. He was already there, standing beside them and smirking as though he knew better. Oione's hand clenched painfully on the bar.
'If yeer coomin', then,' he called cockily, smirking at her' "Fine, then" she spat, exasperated. "Have it your way" Straightening herself and folding her arms in non-verbal disapproval she turned her attention to Marzel as though the other Slytherin didn't exist at all. "Shall we go then?"
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 16, 2006 15:23:58 GMT -5
Cecil quirked an eyebrow at the other boy's blunt, and rather stupid question. He knew he probably shouldn't give into the temptation to outright mock him until there was no today, tomorrow, or yesterday, but it was SO very difficult to avoid that. That game of Chess in the Room of Requirement had, as they'd assured themselves, remained as though it never happened. Any friendliness that had occured between them was long gone. Seth Silver was an anal little twit, whom he greatly disliked. And oh, if he'd known what the young Slytherin was thinking... if he 'put a toe out of line'? What a terrible cliche.
"Interior Decorator. They are usually employed to decorate the interior of something. You don't need to be English, French, or Guatamalan to figure out something like that. Though I suppose it might help." His answer came in a painfully patient tone, as one would use when speaking to a particularly stupid child who's asking an equally stupid question. Cecil was good at using that tone. Since he didn't often show emotion, other than his constant, laconic smirk, on his face, it was easiest otherwise to do it with his voice. He wasn't even looking at Seth when he said it, and had instead gone back to the more interesting matter of his nails for the moment, and indicating he was entirely ignoring the other boy from that point out. When Oione spoke directly to him, rather than their intruder, Cecil did look up again, and provided a quiet smile, as though he'd really forgotten about Seth after all (he was good at doing that, too). "Most certainly." the youth replied, and cast an upward gaze to the ever-darkening sky. "Shouldn't take too terribly long. I imagine if there is any spook who's made his recent residency in the Shack, this would be his witching hour. The Hogwarts resident variety sem to like dusk." With a nod Cecil slid his hands into his pockets to shield them from the cold, and started forward.
They'd still have a game. There was just another player, whether or not they were going to interact with him.
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Post by Seth Silver on Oct 17, 2006 19:59:27 GMT -5
'Interior Decorator. They are usually employed to decorate the interior of something. You don't need to be English, French, or Guatamalan to figure out something like that. Though I suppose it might help.'
'That so, is it? Well, I don't e'spec th' feckin' English know mooch about decoratin' fer themselves, anyway, do they? Bringin' pepple in from th' outisde now, aren't they? They ne'er did 'ave much style, t' begin wi', so it don't come as no surprise t' me or naught.' He shook his head in disgust, completely unawares of that fact that he was being ignored. Seth was most often oblivious to such things, even when they were made painfully obvious. He was in his "bog-trotter" mode today - the way he behaved when he was around most people he neither respected, nor liked. Augustus was one of them, and the mater, and most of Augustus's friends, with the exception of Tom Wilkes. Oione's family was particularly enjoyable to watch when he put on his "daft bog-trotter performance", as Augustus called it.
'Had t' expect it, though, eh? If anyone's goin' t' hire soom'un else t' decorate thar feckin' houses, 'tis th' bloody English. 'n th' French. Can nah do a thin' fer thar owns, can they? Oh, no, but that'd be too hard fer th' buggers. 'ave t' get off thar lazy arses, wouldna they? 'n then they coom marchin' into Erin 'n th' like, 'n make all th' good, respectful Irish speak that bloody tongue 'n forget thar owns language 'n all that, 'n then they go 'n e'spec us t' be makin' thar feckin' houses up fer 'em, 'n servin' them up at dinners 'n all that rubbish.' Seth had been speaking to himself, really. He ended the brief soliloquy with a glare in Marzel's direction and licked his lips, looking quite mad.
''N then thar's th' bleedin' good-all 'n good-fer-naught ones, 'n those are a real joy t' put oop wi', I'm tellin' ye. Torturin' Moogles 'n th' like 'n then preachin' on about bein' a good citizen or soomink, 'n makin' good folk out t' be some sort o' monster, or soom'at. Nasty, them. Back-jabbin' 'n hypocritin' 'n lookin' down thar long ... French ... noses at th' rest o' us. Pity fer them, though, havin' t' resort t' spendin' all thar time wi' thar owns kind 'n leavin' thar best mates, only cos no one'd be havin' 'em, would they? Nah th' most likeable o' sorts, them. Always pokin' thar noses into private matters 'n makin' as - asoomp - oh, bugger - asoompshuns, innit? Yeh, asoompshuns. Always goin' round makin' asoompshuns 'n havin' o' no proof o' noothin' 'n tellin' good folk how mooch they've put everythin' arse-o'er-tit 'n all that. Feckers, amn't they, Marzel? But ye'd know all about feckers, wouldna ye? Whole bloody French race - 'n th' English - load o' shite, th' lot o' them.'
Here Seth finished for good, feeling quite pleased with himself.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Oct 20, 2006 15:34:26 GMT -5
Oione simply sighed as she strolled along with Cecil Marzel, Seth following and blissfully oblivious to the fact that they did not intend to listen to him. She just briefly noted that he changed his manner of speaking into an 'even dumber one', which used to drive her parents mental. That of course made dinner parties all more bearable for Oione as she found their expressions hilarious. However, this time she struggled to put on a straight face and promptly ignore Seth. Maybe then he would just go away, after all she was going to be locked up for the rest of the evening, cleaning greasy cauldrons, peeling all kinds of foul dead creatures and listening to Snape's lectures on and on until the only thing you really desired was to squash the said peeled dead foul creature into his face and run for it.
She carefully surveyed Cecil out of the corner her eye, wondering if whatever had he been planning changed due to her friend's unwanted arrival. If it involved pushing Seth of a cliff she was all for it. However, she sincerely doubted it being so pleasant, but when invented by Cecil Marzel it was bound to be surprising as he had proved himself to be one of the very few mortals that were capable of taking her off guard (the short list included aunt Bellatrix, Oione's mother and Seth- in extremely rare situations). Her eyes drifted to the Shrieking Shack. "I highly doubt that there are any ghosts in there Moussieur Marzel. This place looks haunted even without their help. It's almost as if it does the job for itself." said Oione with court-like politeness, implying subtly that finding a spook or two was not the case of their trip in the first place. "Your riddles concern me more than any sort of stray spirits." There was no anger, impatience or irritation in her voice as her words floated smoothly into the crisp air, not loud enough to overcome Seth's nearby chatter but enough for the Gryffindor to hear.
"I didn't realize it was English that you were speaking" said Oione, amused as she heard Seth utter something about 'good respectful Irish' forgetting their own language. And this all coming from a boy who even didn't look Irish. Not to mention he really could start to work on a dictionary so that people that weren't Oione could understand him or maybe it was better if they didn't... He carried on for a while, receiving a scorching glare from Oione when he switched to topic to France and its inhabitants. And after something that seemed like eternity he finally shut up, which was just too beautiful to be true.
((crap))
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Post by Seth Silver on Oct 24, 2006 22:20:27 GMT -5
"I didn't realize it was English that you were speaking"
Seth flushed red, turned the colour of sour milk, and then went completely pale all in about twenty seconds. He bit back every snarky reply forcing its way off his tongue, choosing instead to stay quiet for a moment, think things through, and then come back at Oione with a line so clever and witty she would forget all about Cecil Marzel and immediately proclaim her undying love for Seth Silver.
What he came out with was, 'I'd like t' see ye make yeer way in Ireland fer two minutes natterin' on like a feckin' French hoor.'
Not the most clever or witty by far, but Seth was written all over it. He rather prided himself on the innate ability to spew vulgar insults and never feel sorry for it.
He looked like his "bloody useless arse of a father", according to Amerelia, although Seth shared his mother's dark eyes and full lips, a trait inherited from her father in Southern Italy. His skin was slightly darker naturally than the children in Limerick, but had paled as a result of dreary Irish weather, coupled with even drearier English and Scottish weather for most of his life. This had proven quite the problem in Limerick, as the only children he had ever known were milk-white, some freckled, but white all the same. In short, the only thing remotely Irish about Seth's physical being was his black hair, untidy and somewhat wavy "on account of that horrible Irishman and his common, stick-up, good-for-nothing, Irish hair".His dark brown eyes, almost black as his hair when he was in a state, and even the structure of his face was different from the rest of his family, namely his mother's English relatives, and Augustus's Irish ones.
In short, Seth looked about as Irish as Pocahontas in the snow, and he never let himself forget it.
'Ask me mam, though, 'n she'll say 'tis common tongue I'm spewin' out, but she speaks funny anyway, wha' wi' her Manchester bein' so thick 'n everythin',' he made a stab at being borderline polite, to see if it made any difference in the harshness of Oione's glare. 'But she's a nark, anyway, she is. 'n Marzel's mam, amn't she, Marzel? Right nark by th' shownds o' it. Feckin' twat, 'n yeer mam, Oione. T'ink all mams are gits, or is it jus' me mam 'n yoor's 'n Marzel's?'
((ach, it's shite.))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Oct 30, 2006 16:41:13 GMT -5
Cecil's left eyebrow lifted considerably high just then, while the other remained in its right place. He'd begun to open his mouth to speak to Oione in Seth's short-lived silence, but, instead, had let loose a somewhat dissappointed sigh when the prat started up his babble again. Though the chameleon effect was kind of neat, watching so much color go through one boy's face at once. He wondered, vaguely, if he could get Seth to do it again. Cecil still did most of what he did to most people just to see what would happen. He liked mucking with folks, that way. The only one who seemed almost impervious to his attempts for reaction was Oione, and he'd hoped to at least get something out of her with this little venture today. Now, though, with the Hogwarts Resident half-wit tagging along, he wasn't certain what he could do. What he'd been planning on trying was something that he was fairly certain Oione could keep her mouth shut about, if she figured him out, perhaps even enjoy knowing and keeping one of his own better secrets. Sethie dearest was quite another story.
And what, for the love of bog, was this nonsense? His attention honed in the minute his foster mother was mentioned (or, at least, when he supposed, through Seth's thick tongue, that was what was being said). Cecil's expression held a slight, very slight, air of momentary bemusement. Yes, they had discussed their mothers that once, and yes, each had admitted that his own was basically a git... But hadn't they sort of made a non-verbal agreement to.... well, never bring it up? That night's stress that had led them to the Room of Requirement at the same time, that chess game, had been a one-time deal. They'd been pleasant enough to eachother, toward the end, but that had been that. Hadn't it? Silver wasn't looking for friendship in a Gryffindor, was he?
If so, Cecil would have to keep a lookout for the meteors that would be falling momentarily...
With a somewhat meaningful upward glance, Cecil considered how to respond. He liked the distance, personally, that he had from Silver. The question now was whether it would make him a downright asshole to ignore the kid, now that he was trying to be decent. "I really wouldn't know." Okay, he could do the borderline thing. Not go either way. They weren't but a few yards from the old structure now, and Cecil jerked his head to indicate they should go a bit around the house, turning left, to find the door. "She's not my mum, anyway."
The woman who had raised him, clothed him, fed him, and left him alone for the majority of his life, yes. But Cosima wasn't his mother.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 1, 2006 18:53:20 GMT -5
If looks could kill Seth would have been dead by now, with his liver, stomach and other important entrails miles away from their owner.
However, Oione decided that she needed to improve her death glare a bit as Seth did not seem to have even flinched. Or maybe he just grew immune to it. Like bacteria and viruses do. She inhaled sharply which turned into a huff as Seth brought his highly eloquent but not really unexpected response. In the absence of metal bars of the dilapidated fence Oione's fingers closed painfully on Cecil's arm. "Oh, I'd be just fine in your bloody Ireland, don't you worry." she snarled back at him. If the Gryffindor's plans for the day had changed the girl really hoped they involved pushing Seth Silver off a cliff now. Though the shortage of cliffs might be a problem here.
Even after all those years this never failed to get on her nerves. Born in England but in a French family and still speaking mostly French she had always been considered a foreigner (or one 'speaking oddly' when she was a child) and even the fact that she had learned English sufficiently well and worked hard on eliminating the bits of French in it, in her case it was no use. Seth was reaching a very dangerous ground, and he of all people should know it. A rather suicidal move if you considered the fact that they were going to spend the night in detention.
And all of sudden he was on about mothers. Oione sighed with exasperation and rolled her eyes, which turned out to look rather strange as she did it simultaneously. And why the hell would he speak about Cecil's adoptive mother? On second thought....she'd rather not know. "Oh, just shut up" Not that he would listen, anyway.
((complete crap))
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 3, 2006 0:33:53 GMT -5
'Ahnd eef oi dahn't?' Seth smirked, biting his lip. He layered the accent thickly now, and even Augustus would have had trouble understanding his step-son's stilted, lyrical, but utterly nonsensical speech. The exagerrated Limerick, coupled with a thick Manchester borrowed from his mother's cousin, made Seth sound more like a drunken Scott with a bad speech impediment. 'What'll ye do, t'en, heh? Shoor, 'tis tellin' me mam ye'll be doin', t'amn't it? Er t'rowin me off da Greefynder Towre, er soomin' ayquallay as arful, righ'? Oi know da way yeer moind warks, Oh-wone, 'nd I'm naht shtoopidt. Schtoopitter lad'd have fownd himself drownin' in da lehk walter by nouw.'
Mispronouncing her name purposely was most deifnitely not a good way to get on Oione's good side, but Seth was either oblivious to this, or he had given up on trying. She always came 'round anyway, after their little tiffs, and this one was no different, was it?
He snorted, obviously pleased with himself for something or other, and sniffed, 'Ye'd mehk yeer weh'n Oirelehnd, yeer weh t'a soom bloke's house, dat 'tis. Ye cahn't be tellin' me odderwoise, ye knouw. Ah'mitt ut, yeer an feckin' eejit fer hangin' 'round pepple loik dis Martzell, uhnd ye knouw ut. He's ... er ... Presybeetar'uhn, ye knouw.'
Even Seth was at a loss for what he had just said. What had he just said? Something about Marzel being a whore? Or was that Oione? Had he insulted Marzel's manhood yet? That was always a good one when one had a vocabulary of about ten words - eight of them being vulgar. Well, eight and half, if you really counted ...
((fecking awful, this. It's late here, or early, depending on how ye look at it))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Nov 4, 2006 15:03:54 GMT -5
'And if I don't?
Or... That's what Cecil was going to try and assume Seth was blathering about. He was pretty used to having to decipher the rambling of crazy people-- they did tend to show up at Cosima's residence rather oftener than he would have liked-- but this was utterly ridiculous. The Gryffindor's face was one of completeand utter annoyance, coupled with disbelief. For the love of all things holy, Seth Silver was a lunatic. The youth had to believe that the other boy wasn't even sure of what he was saying, and that was one part...
But it was the mass multiple personas Cecil was more concerned with. From trying-to-be conversational to raving in about six seconds flat. It had to be a record.
And even that wasn't so bad. What really was beginning to get him was that Seth was under the opinion he could walk into whatever situation he liked with whatever thoughts he wanted to have about it, voice them (if irrationally), and be able to get off scot-free. Cecil, of course, had always been one of the few who would turn around and provoke him until he had an excuse to reprimand him, so why break a trend?
"Alrigh', Silver. I'm awfully, awfully tired of listen to you promote your idiocy, so here's how it's going to be..." Slipping his hand out of his coat pockets, Cecil had his wand out, twirling it lazily between his fingers, and pointed it at Seth. "Incarsilencio." It was a combination of the silencing spell and a binding tome. Meant to proverbially 'stitch lips together'. One of Cecil's recent favorites.
"You're still welcome to follow, of course." he added.
(It's crap.)
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 4, 2006 16:40:52 GMT -5
About to retort with a liine that was both crude and sure to make Oione hex him into oblivion, Seth found his wand quickly and pulled it out. It was no use, though. He knew few useful nonverbal hexes, and even those would have done little. He was humiliated now, and the only was to splint a fractured ego was though violence. After struggling for a moment against the hex, Seth lowered his wand, shrugged, and turned away. He hid trembling fists in the folds of his school robes, picking holes in the fabric viciously.
Why didn't Oione say anything about this? It was almost as though she ... liked Marzel better than Seth, her best mate. His mind took to the thought instantly, and Seth felt suddenly very betrayed. He was an irrational person. Not to mention he had never before heard the hex Marzel had just employed against him. A nonverbal Finite was useless against whatever it was that kept his mouth shut. He swallowed a cry of protest, realising fully that it would never have made it past his lips in the first place.
Marzel, Seth thought, clenching his fist, was going to die. Marzel was a git and a prat and everything vile in the world, and he - Seth Silver - was going to murder that self-prasing, self-centred, cocky, arrogant, stupid, sneaky, French, eejit if it was the last thing in the world he ever did.
Comforted by his thoughts, Seth turned, as if to (attempt to) say something, reeled back his fist, and shot a punch square at Cecil Marzel's fat nose.
((I never thought such shite was possible, but here it is, and you've just read it))
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 5, 2006 14:21:15 GMT -5
((yay punchin'! ;D))
Anger swapped places with bewilderment as Seth started talking again, though Oione wasn't sure if that could be counted as talking since the endless stream of sound did not resemble any language known to her. She would have of course reacted violently if she had heard Seth mispronounce her name like that (as this was another of Miss Mireault's little quirks) but she had no idea it was her name at all. Probably the only words she did manage to make out of the delirious babbling were 'Greefynder Towre' which even without much deciphering were bound to mean 'Gryffindor Tower'. What the hell would Seth want from the Gryffindor Tower? Throwing himself off it? Hopefully. Stunned she turned to him raising her brows so high they threatened to vanish under her white hair, beholding Seth as a complete loony and wondering if that crazy boy before her could become dangerous if they performed any abrupt motions.
"Alrigh', Silver. I'm awfully, awfully tired of listen to you promote your idiocy, so here's how it's going to be..." She nodded, thoroughly agreeing with Cecil and glad that she was not the only one that grew weary of it. But then...then it came. You could have mistook her face for sun itself as she was so radiantly gleaming with joy, no brimming with joy. How come she hadn't heard of that so highly useful spell? Such an effective one at that? "Marry me, Cecil Marzel." Oione gasped with humour and amazement as she tried to hold the bubble of laughter building inside of her, though she was nowhere near willing to marry Cecil Marzel in reality, though so overjoyed she might have pondered it.
But as she saw Seth's eyes cloud over it was enough for her to know that trouble was coming their way at top speed and faster. Whatever was there going on in Seth's mind she had no idea but... "No, Seth, NO!" It shocked even her. Before she could register what was going on she shot Cecil a look of deepest concern and rushed to Seth with more that anger burning her. Unceremoniously she grabbed him by the front of his robes and her own, small fist that wasn't really made for punching anything else than a pillow shot up and smote Seth across the face, and within a second it was her wand in her fist, the tip of it touching his nose. Insanity and rage caused through her like wildfire. "Do you know what would happen if I cast Sectumsempra now? They wouldn't find your fucking brain" Oione intended to kill him right now and there was a small, mad smile. One that would probably make even her beloved aunt Bellatrix flinch. She did not expect that Seth could break her limits, but he did and now there were consequences to come. Having seen Seth in brawls and fist fights before she usually just shook her head in disaproval and took care of his bruises. But now it was different, very different. It was her friend he had hit.
((sorry for godmoding, boys....Oione wanted action.))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Nov 6, 2006 13:30:51 GMT -5
Cecil had let out a soft laugh, amused by even the mention of marriage, half because he knew it would anger Silver even more than the initial hex,
((OoC: I actually had to look through an archive of different traditional charms, and finally about three other archives of Potter-quality nonsense to find anything of the sort, so I'm all proud of it. For the most part, though, it just seems to be a combo of "silencio" and "Incarcerous" or something. Yay for lacking a life.))
and half because the idea was just plain funny. What seriously fucked-up family issues that would cause... He'd opened his mouth and turned around to reply with something deviously witty (as most of his comebacks tended to be, with all modesty, of course), but was... interrupted.
By a fist. To his face.
It was probably one of the only times either of the two fifth years would ever see any portion of genuine shock on Cecil's face. It ws brief-lived, but potent, and the boy's gold-brown eyes went very, very wide as his nose proceeded to gush blood. Instantly, his hand went up to it, trying to stifle the flow in vain. He wasn't really aware of Oione or Seth, at that point, but rather on an immense pain between his eyes that ricocheted out into the rest of his head. His nose had broken, Cecil realized with a sort of strange calm. Seth Silver had broken his nose. As soon as he remembered who and where exactly he was, the boy with the afore-mentioned broken nose would kill Seth Silver... or.. when he could remember who that was. Bit distracted at the moment, really. Give it a second... Ah. There it went.
"Oh, you so'dovva BITCH!" The roar had the same sort of sound to it as it would if the seventh-year had a mild head-cold (If you ignored the rage and the blood that was covering his face and hands, it wasn't hard to imagine, really). It was only then that he was even vaguely able to notice the positions of the other two-- And had he not been in his own state, he probably would have stopped to sort of marvel at Oione's outburst of violence and sudden strength. At his defense? Why did that seem ironic to him? But as it was, young Marzel really was in no mood to be appreciative. "You will fucki'g regret that, Silver!!" Cecil partially shouldered past Oione to jam the point of his wand into the soft flesh of Seth's throat, and downright snarl on his face.
The best part was, Seth couldn't make a sound. Or was that the worst? Maybe he wanted to hear the kid try and worm his way out of it... Or scream, for that matter. Damn. His was considering what reaction he wanted even as he was pretty well ready to murder this boy right then and there.
Cecil was beginning to suspect there was something twisted in his mind. Fancy that.
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 6, 2006 17:22:50 GMT -5
A wand now pointed at both his throat and nose, Seth was in no position to move, or laugh, as he was dearly tempted to do. The sight Marzel reeling back in - was that shock on his face? If he was capable of speech, Seth would have uttered some witty comment, most likely on Cecil's effeminate (in Seth's mind) reaction to the punch. Didn't the bugger know how to fight properly? Didn't he know he was supposed to punch back? It was common knowledge that when a bloke punched you, with the exception of Augustus Rookwood, you shot back with a punch of your own. Or, wasn't it?
Seth pursed his lips for a moment, appearing to be deep in thought. In reality, he was working out the best way to burp and not get himself hexed for doing so in someone's face. He opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. Better to wait for them to finish. Of course, Seth did not expect anything dangerous or violent from the two. Well, perhaps Oione. The funny thing was, if she really was going to hurt him, she would have done it already. Experience told him so. And if Marzel even tried anything, Seth would - do something.
Twisting his lips into a half-nervous smirk, Seth raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'forgive and forget?'.
And tonight .... was Snape's detention .... with Oione. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks in the face, or, in this instance, a fury-driven Seth-fist being driven into his nose. How could he spend an entire night with her? With Snape? If experience told hiim anything, it was that distance was better after these little spats, especially considering she'd just taken up for Cecil Marzel, against her own best mate. And suddenly, the fury was back. She was taking up for Marzel! Why him? Anyone else Seth would not have minded nearly so much. Even Lupin, if it really came to that, but Marzel?
His cheek throbbed bit, where Oione had punched him; her tiny fists could be lethal when she was having a fit. Seth crossed his arms, carefult to do so slowly, so as not to startle anyone and find himself hexed into oblivion.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 11, 2006 16:48:30 GMT -5
Taking up for Cecil Marzel was the last thing Oione would have thought about if she wasted her time thinking instead or summoning to the particularly strong urge to pummel her best friend. The Gryffindor's broken nose had only been one drop too much in her bucket and the simmering anger boiled over making her hand act before she could comprehend what exactly she was about to do. Oione resorted to physical violence (or at least one without magic usage) on extremely rare occassions but as far as she could remember those occassions always included Seth Silver somewhere in them, yet another reason for Mrs. Mireault to dwell upon what a dreadful influence the boy had on her precious daughter. Neither compassionate nor caring enough for Cecil Marzel's welfare as he had yet to gain her trust in order to count on the girls protectiveness, she was nowehere near defending him when she was perfectly aware that the Prefect was capable of doing it himself.
She had never seen Cecil angry before or furious (as he was now), mildly annoyed maybe but never homicidal. Something Oione even begun to admire as she did not, by any means possess such perfect composure and would not even dream to achive such self-control. She realized that she had never heard him swear either. A particularly eventful day, even though the forecasts wwere dull. If Oione had been calmer or at least not as raging as she was she'd most definitely appreciate that glimpse she'd got into Cecil's personality, one that was bound to true because there was no more place for pretending and trademark smirks.
The boy shouldered his way to Seth and Oione, pushed out of the way (very gently, however) gave a groan of dismay as though she hadn't finished with the punching yet or as though Cecil interrupted her in a moment of pious contemplation. Not to mention his reaction suprised her a little. If she had been on his place Seth would have been dead by now or at least on the ground and begging her to stop (which would have been something when you considered his temporary muteness), in fact if it depended on her she'd do exactly on her. But, Oione reminded herself, Cecil Marzel did not share her hot-headed nature.
Having wand at his throat wasn't exactly a bad move, was it? Though it brought a hint of impatience with it as the girl hated to just stand and watch when all she wanted at the moment was a good fight. Glancing at Seth's hands to check if he wasn't about to draw his wand and holding her own at the ready in case he was, she vaguely wondered what would Snape say when he finally sees them, dishaped and at war once again.
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