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Post by Cecil Marzel on Nov 13, 2006 17:00:37 GMT -5
t was probably to Cecil's great misfortune that he was at least somewhat sensible. The fact that he did think out the reactions he wanted to receive to everything her did (nearly) also provided time to consider the consequences of his own actions. As it stood... He was technically not an under-age wizard, so it wasn't as though using the damn wand outside of school would be particular demerit on its own. It was the outcome of the use that would get him in real trouble. Perhaps, at heart, the whole "being a prefect" thing had gotten to him a little, for he was actually considering how bad it would look if he killed Seth Silver where the stupid son-of-a-cunt stood. Bah. How dare he even think of something like that right now? Then again, if he proceeded to get himself kicked out of school, it would only send him right into the world he had so carelessly played as a pawn. To the world his guardian was drowning in. Stupid woman... More than not getting in any trouble-- heaven forbid he, a Gryffindor! would get in trouble-- he didn't want to be forced back out into that bitch of a world.
Of course, this didn't mean he didn't have other media with which to seek his revenge. Silver may have been one for low blows and the like, but Cecil was not without his own expirience in physical violence.
Thus there grew a smirk on his face, quite unlike the sort that usually inhabited his features, an he pressed forward, increasing the pressure of his wand point in Seth's neck. He wasn't stupid enough to use a curse that would get him anywhere. Instead, suddenly reeling back, Cecil swung his leg around and smashed his foot in a roundhouse kick to the boy's face.
(Eh. A little bit of godmoding, but I'm out of time on this computer, and would have to wait until I got home otherwise. Sorry for the crap quality of the post, guys.)
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 13, 2006 17:15:53 GMT -5
Seth opened his mouth in a silent scream, more angry than hurt by the fact that he could not insult Cecil Marzel, or his manhood, or his family, or his nonexistent state of inebriation, or his feminity, or anything at all. He flew back, almost comically, eyes wide and burning, to land spread eagle on the ground a foot away. Instantly, Seth forgot that Cecil Marzel could speak, where he could not, that Oione was indeed not on his side, but on that feck-faced bastard's, that his wand was now lying several feet away, having flown from his pocket when he fell. Mind reeling, a deep red haze burning before his eyes, Seth launched himself at the other boy and sent his fists flying.
When Seth Silver fought, it was never half-arsed. He threw his entire body into it - all 5 foot 10 inches of wiry, slim, big-footed body he possessed. His arms swung, feet kicking savagely, speaking all the swear words and hexes his mouth could not. He ignored Oione completely. She was no longer one of the conspirators, the filthy traitor. Oione was a Brutus to Seth Silver's misguided, thick-headed Caesar. The only difference was, Caesar was a man of power and intelligence, and an army to back him. Seth was an angry boy of fifteen, with hardly an ounce of fat on his slender frame and long hair that obstructed his vision, not to mention a filthy traitor of a friend.
(short, me friend's calling, but I'll be on))
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 13, 2006 18:24:02 GMT -5
Impressive. Or it would have been if not against her best or rather ex-best friend (as Oione very much wanted to think). However, one thing became awfully, painfully clear to her; the whole situation slipped completely out of control and took on a form a of a frenzied tornado. Within seconds Seth landed on the groundand even though she would probably berate herself for even thinking of going to see if her idiot of a friend, who had as much reason in him as a sloshed donkey was alright. Not that Seth needed any checking upon as he raised himself off of the dirt with amazing speed and was going to do something that was undeniably stupid and that he would regret it later on. The only sensible thing to do in Oione's opinion was to stop him. Pulling frantically at his robes from behind she tried to grab something more important, like an arm for instance. Measuring five foot four (or rather five foot two, but seeing as Oione hardly ever told the truth she lied also about her height) it did not belong to the easiest thing out there not to mention that it would have looked positively hilarious to an innocent by-stander. Promptly ignored by an amok-driven Seth Silver she landed on the ground cursing him loudly. Groping angrily for her wand she did the only thing that could prove itself effective in this case. " Incarcerous"
((worst shit you've read, I bet))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Nov 17, 2006 22:33:45 GMT -5
Well. This made him a bit of an asshole, didn't it?
In the split seconds prior to the real launch of Seth's attacks, Cecil managed to get a retrospective image of the situation.
Cecil Marzel was a seventh-year Gryffindor prefect who had two years and about two inches on his opponent, as well as a voice to use and more than a drip of sense in his head.
Of course, one did have to consider that it was the other, shorter, younger, mute-er, and completely senseless boy was the one who had launched the first attack. Yes, Cecil had sort of welded his lips together, but it was all in fun and games, wasn't it?
Maybe, but then a bony bundle of swinging limbs hit him like a psychopathic windmill, and the real fun started in. Cecil wasn't so agile that he could block or dodge every one of Silver's blows, but he did his best and put a few more of his own into the mix when he could manage the time. He didn't notice when his own wand hit the ground, instead distracted by the newest additions to his collection of soon-to-be bruises. If truth be told, Seth had a little bit of an edge over himself;
Passionate anger sort of seemed to trump the desire for a bit of vengeance, even if it had been inspired by a broken nose. He was being pushed back little by little. Cecil hated losing...
So it was, in a sense, to his benefit that Oione's spell hit. He wasn't sure quite what had happened, at first, but the stillness was something of a relief...
((Mm. Grade 'A' bullshift.))
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 18, 2006 11:09:13 GMT -5
Fecking hell, this was a right mess, wasn't it? Seth body froze as his wrists and ankles were bound together, arms snapped to his sides and held there by thick cords. The more he tried to struggle, the thicker they became until there was, quite literally, no space left for movement at all. He wished he could speak, tell Oione where she could go, and take Cecil Marzel along with her - the bastard.
As it were, Seth was left to struggle in vain on the ground. He rested for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. Sweat-dampened black curls covered his face, right down to his nose. A single, furious brown eye was barely visible from beneath the wavy hair. Oione would be sorry when he got out of this, her and Marzel. Who did they think they were, treating him like a common Muggle? No, Seth had seen Muggles treated far better. An hadn't Marzel started it all? Hadn't he baited Seth, glued his lips together with that bleeding hex? Hadn't Marzel been the one to kick him in the face? Speaking of which ....
Now that his adrenaline was slowly beginning to ebb away, Seth could feel the throbbing bruise on his left cheek. It had to be at least five inches wide, he decided, wincing for effect. Perhaps Oione might pity him and his massive bruise and let him loose. Then he could have his revenge on Marzel. That feck-faced little shite was going to end up in the hospital wing if he didn't look out.
((pathetic))
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 19, 2006 6:18:17 GMT -5
"There" Oione said with a sort of grim satisfaction, raising herself from the ground and brushing off the dirt from her robes with a strong impression that she was surrounded by morons. It was of course all Seth's fault, if he hadn't come here or at least went away when Oione ever-so-politely asked him to leave nothing of this would have happened, but no, he just had to butt in, blabbing on like a man with malaria (with speech disorder at that) and breaking Cecil's nose because of a silly spell.
Not that Marzel was completely innocent in this as Oione did not find his way of getting revenge fair, especially if it was 'stated' (well, sort of) as a fist fight. Though, on the other hand it wasn't like she was an expert in boys' customs and traditions since when girls were settling the score it looked completely different. However, it was easier to blame everything on Seth because he did start it and well, blaming everything on him always came easily to Oione as it probably had a lot to do with her life experience with him.
"We'd better get that nose of yours fixed" she said slightly concerned, walking up to him and acting as though Seth, bound on the ground, suddenly popped out of the scene or had never really existed. "It's bleeding rather badly." and then she smiled rather devilishly. "Do you reckon we should give him his voice back?"
Oione glanced back at Seth, who looked rather miserable, squirming and sporting a magnificent bruise that was slowly taking on the color of deep purple. Curiously she moved to examine it, narrowing her eyes in suspicion when Seth winced. "If you think I'm going to pity you and let you go, you're highly mistaken" she whispered in a low and lethal voice. "You should thank me that I saved your face from any further damage"
((that's what I call pathetic))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Nov 19, 2006 16:57:16 GMT -5
Cecil didn't move for a moment, swallowing thickly, displeased to find the stick taste of blood in the back of his throat. He braced his hands against his knees, just breathing for a moment, and watching Seth Silver.
He was somewhat tragic. What just doubled that impression was the fact that this had all been started because Silver had found he and Oione walking together. His own jealousy had sort of fueled the whole shenanigan, though Cecil's distaste for the boy likely hadn't aided in any of it. But really-- what the fuck had he even been so green-eyed over to begin with? It was disgusting! Cecil and Oione were just... could it even really be called the normal sort of friendship? It was more like they were just trying to get under one another's skin, half the time. They barely knew anything about the other one besides the fact that said other was unusual. Cecil did like Oione, but hardly in the way that Seth seemed inclined to believe.
And now poor Sethie was flat on the ground, probably in far worse shape than Cecil was, all things considered (the latter, for example, was not mute and immobile). Things had seemed quite a bit more enjoyable when he'd simply been bating the fifth-year. The malice had drained from his features, replaced by the awareness of something being a bit wrong with his face. This hadn't quite been the way he'd wanted the afternoon to amble on.
It was only when Oione spoke to him that the Gryffindor stood up, peering down at his heavily-blotched coatfront with a sigh. From the ground, he collected his fallen wand, pointing itat himself. Caladrius talon was a nice thing to be in possession of during times like this... The healing properties of it were exceptional. "Episkey" His voice still had a hint of headcold to it, but the bridge of his nose managed to reconstruct itself efficiently enough. Bone-mending stung, as Pomfrey had oft told and demonstrated to him, but it was better than muggle healing. He gingerly touched what he'd just repaired, then dragged his sleeve across his face, trying to get what blood he could off of it.
His attention then shifted back to Seth, though he responded to Oione. "I suppose we may as well et him have an ounce of dignity, if he chooses to maintain it. If you do want to untie him at any point, I would rather not be around to suffer any more of this ridiculosity, but..." With a half-moon arc of his wand in Silver's direction, he uttered a soft 'Parli', which was meant to counter the initial hex.
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 20, 2006 21:22:49 GMT -5
'Abou' time,' Seth sneered, but his voice was weak. He had no more strength to fight back anymore, or even to spit out more than a few petty insults. He snorted at Cecil, breathing through his mouth for the first time in what seemed like ages (about ten, fifteen, minutes).
"I suppose we may as well et him have an ounce of dignity, if he chooses to maintain it. If you do want to untie him at any point, I would rather not be around to suffer any more of this ridiculosity, but..."
What was he - a Muggle? Give him an ounce of dignity, indeed. Cecil Marzel would not be able to hide from Seth once he was realeased - not even if he went back to bloody France itself. And what the feck did ridiculosity mean? Ridiculousness, wasn't it? But Marzel was an intellectual, so he was. All posh and dignified and what not. A Blarney-kissing feck from France.
'Wha' am I - a fookin' dog? Let me oop, will ye? I'm not stayin' here all night, and I'm not nearly as shtoopidt as ye think. I un'erstehnd Aynglish, ye know, aven if I don' speak it the way Lord Muck over there'd like me to.'
Seth struggled to sit, but his efforts were fruitless. He couldn't pull himself into a proper sitting position, and ended up looking like a beached whale. Marzel was definitely going to pay for this - another day, of course. The fight had left him for the day. Seth wanted to go bacl to his dorm room and sulk, lick his wounds, and get his bloody detention over with. The destruction of Cecil Marzel was going to have to wait; it just didn't fit his schedule for the rest of the week, which revolved mostly around eating, sleeping, drinking, and being as lazy as humanly possible.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 22, 2006 18:52:23 GMT -5
Oione was stubbornly burning a hole in Seth's forehead, even his current miserable state could not bring out any bits of mercy in her.
One would say that love for cruelty run in her family (which was undeniably true when you took a closer look at her genealogical tree), albeit in this case the girl was deeply convinced that Seth fully deserved it and packed himself into all this on his own. "I don't think I'll be releasing him anytime soon" she said with one last contemptuous glare at the lying Slytherin. "I'm really sorry" Oione gave a tired sigh as though Seth was an overactive pup that constantly either bit at your favourite pair of shoes or left 'little surprises' in them. Oione would have done marvelously on her own, but Seth with all her mental dysfunctions had to follow even though his presence was definitely not needed (as it had been stated rather clearly)"He's usually an arse but he has brilliantly outarsed himself this time. I expected this afternoon to be different or at least bit more bearable."
It was unfathomable to her; why Seth despised Cecil Marzel so much. Hating authority (namely prefects) was on principal to him and Oione, it simply came with the job, however for some odd reason Seth appeared to loathe Cecil's guts not out of sheer duty but because he wanted to whereas Oione liked the boy. It wasn't like Seth should feel that his 'best mate' status (even though the term itself made the girl wince) was endangered by any means. She was friends with Cecil Marzel but it was a strange, sly kind of friendship in which nothing was sure, almost like playing can and mouse and 'making territory' in one. Oione had never felt anything beyond that friendship (and was certain that the other side of this relation wasn't interested either). If someone would like to accuse her of flirting with Cecil it was, mainly (not entirely, though) her way of leading a civilized conversation (not that Seth would know anything about it since the only thing their conversations had in common with civilization was a civil war).
'Wha' am I - a fookin' dog? Let me oop, will ye? I'm not stayin' here all night, and I'm not nearly as shtoopidt as ye think. I un'erstehnd Aynglish, ye know, aven if I don' speak it the way Lord Muck over there'd like me to.' "No. You're not nearly as shtoopidt as I think" she mocked irritably. "You're shtoopidter. Now, shut up. The only reason why you'll not be staying here all night is because we have that bloody detention to serve."
Annoyed and angry she turned to Cecil, her brows raising in amazement at his healing abilities as to her they seemed really impressive. She could personally do with such skill, would come in handy after her messy duels with Seth. This, however, gave her thought and she smiled up. "Since from what I see you don't need to visit Madam Pomfrey immediately...how about continuing on with our little trip to the Shack or maybe going somewhere else if you'd like to?" she suggested. There was a whole night of lines, cleaning and hearing lectures ahead of her and Oione was desperate to have at least a minute or two off without sulking, thinking about Knights, detentions and her parents.
((wanted to be somewhat creative, but failed miserably. Not sure if it makes sense either --->bad English day))
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Post by Cecil Marzel on Dec 8, 2006 16:27:41 GMT -5
Cecil wound up affording a very limited amount of attention to the two younger students as they had their miniature dialogue-- he seemed to be able to tune them out fairly easily, all things considered. Perhaps this was out of sheer practice.
(He half-recalled some sort of trouble he'd caught them in once (once being one out of many times)... Something to do with trying to tranfigure pixies into dungbombs or the other way 'round (Or perhaps that had been some other student in their house. He wasn't sure. Once dealt with, he usually just mentally pinned the shenanigans out of slytherin under their names and left it at that). They'd wound up in their own little fight there, too, and perhaps it had been some sort of diversionary tactic to try and get his focus off of things. But he'd been accustomed to it, by that point, and had only waited until they seemed finished)
Either way, it usually ended up that Seth was insulting someone--often Oione, and oftener Cecil himself-- and Oione was retorting to it. Most of what he heard out of the whole thing was a stream of noise from one side, and a second from the other. He was not overly concerned with the meaning behind it. Cecil did tune back in, however, when the blonde girl seemed to be addressing him rather than her unfortunate friend.
"...how about continuing on with our little trip to the Shack or maybe going somewhere else if you'd like to?"
Well. How about that, then? Cecil's left eyebrow quirked upwards in his vague amusement. He turned his gaze to Seth, still lying in a mostly-undignified manner on the ground, and the seventh-year tipped his head to the side. "You know, to tell the truth, I wouldn't mind that at all. Though I suppose we should probably stay with the Shrieking Shack plan..." He let a minor fret come into his face, though it was clear he did not contain the feeling of concern that might have gone with it. "I figure it would look a little awkward dragging him around Hogsmeade, and if we leave him here for too long, someone else is bound to find him." And with all the rivals Seth had seemed to attain for himself, he'd probably get a nicer beating than he already had. Cecil took slight pleasure in talking about Seth Silver like an oversized piece of meat.
He let an edge of his patented smirk slip back in place of the small frown whn he looked up to Oione again. "A quick adventure couldn't hurt, don't you think?"
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Post by Seth Silver on Dec 8, 2006 23:36:19 GMT -5
It was rare indeed that Seth Silver took anything lying down. Sure, they couldn't just leave him here, could they? Oione would never do such a thing. She knew as well as he how utterly stupid it would be. What if someone came along? What if he was found by some wild beast hungry for Seth-flesh? He would be finished for certain, and Oione would be left, vulnerable, in the hands of Cecil Marzel, a filthy, conniving little Frenchman. That sardonic bastard.
'Oy, ye feckin' toad-faced eejit, yeer not to be leavin' me here, if ye know what's good for ye!'
The weakest threat in the history of threats, but Seth was far too occupied with his bonds to worry much about being clever with words. He could spout the dictionary all he wanted, but it was less than likely to set him free. Only Cecil or Oione could do that, and neither of them looked horribly disposed to lettimg him go. He would have to convince them he only meant well. It was the only option. He would promise to leave, and they would be happy enough to let him free. And then he could kill Marzel.
'Let me oop and I'll take my sorry arse somewhere else, hm?' Seth calle hopefully from the ground, craning his neck for a better view of the two. 'Promise.'
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Post by Oione Mireault on Dec 10, 2006 8:27:09 GMT -5
Unfortunately for Seth Silver Oione wanted nothing more than to do such thing. To tell the truth the mere thought of it made her inner self do cartwheels of glee. No harm would come to him, of that she was certain. The local nearly non-existent forests weren't rich in predatory animals and even if they were, Oione doubted that Seth would get devaoured, wild animals had something called a survival instinct, after all. However, if their fellow students would encounter him in this state they'd probably be all too glad to provide him with revenge for all the beatings. Not that Oione cared. As if! Besides it wouldn't take long.
She beamed at Cecil, not wasting her time to ponder for whom exactly was Seth's threat. "Yes, I think that's a good idea" she smiled, finding that talking about Seth as though he was a mongrel left in front of a supermarket was fairly enjoyable. More over, she was happy that they stayed with the Schrieking Shank. "Shall we go, then?"
Seth's sudden proclamation of humbleness made her stop in a mid-step and turn around with eyes narrowed in something that surely couldn't be mistaken for trust. "Personally, I'm happy with your sorry arse being where it is now" she said with all the haughtiness that a line of inbred ancestors can give you. "Perhaps next time you'll know that when I say sod off I really mean it" She was finished with whatever the boy had to say. "Of course, you can release him if you want" Oione turned politely to Cecil. "Though I wouldn't count on him actually keeping a promise. I know him for too long"
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