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[> [> Re: .:: It's like the needle in my spine; it stings inside ::. -- Draco Malfoy, 15:50:12 05/19/02 Sun

Having heard the on-coming footsteps of the female through elfen audicles, acute, pallid cobalts searched for the origin of the noise, and it seemed that no sooner had that process began, he found the source, in the stream of a petite figure that seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere. Ooids merely followed her at first, a pale brow arching in question, but when she stopped and back-tracked, gawking at him in apparent enthrallment, he blinked several times, orbs lidded, and subsequently, ashen lashes batting.

Oh, Merlin. These lot are not exactly the brightest crayons in the box, he thought darkly, features tensing up, as deftly, a finger met with the cottony fabric of his robes, and pressed the material to the coldness of his flesh. Apex dipped down to watch the movement, as if this touch could infect him with the weirdness, the singular, stray strand of semi-lengthy blond wavered, before his pate was inclined once more. Then, he was vaguely worried about the sanity of the students that lurked around this school, but all in all, he figured his life experiences had more than prepared him to deal with the oddlings. Glad I've had my shots. This seems to be contagious.

Clearing his throat, the sinew beneath the eggshell-white flesh causing the column to shift, he snickered at her comments, finally, and made sure to keep a sort of distance between the two of them. And to prevent further inspection of his upper appendages, he tucked them smoothly behind his dorsal side.

"No, I'm a mere figment of your imagination," he drawled, tiredly and on an expanse of exhaling air, and more edgy than the usual sarcasm. "You've taken too many of those happy pills, and now, I've come to help you cross over into Wonderland, Alice."

At this, icy cerulescent oculars rolled ceiling-ward, displaying the irony behind his words, and thoroughly done and unimpressed with this girl's confused display, he began to step aside her, when he caught a sound from the engulfing shadows. Another person (Kern) must've been watching them.

Loudly, and rather fakely to boot, he gave the person's cover away. "And it appears we have a Communist spy here, as well. Where's James Bond when you need him?" The short dialogue was a blatant mocking of the fashion that the unseen one had been lurking in the shadows, as if she were a spy indeed. He recalled a scene from a movie he'd had to watch on the way here, on some contraption used by Muggles, and though he dared not admit it, it was somewhat entertaining. For Muggle things, that is.

"Surrounded. By. Crackheads."

He felt that he was and just hadn't been shown otherwise. And to save himself the trouble, he began to make a languid trek away from the two of them.

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[> [> [> Hit Me With A Splintered Ruler -- Celeste Reicburg, 16:02:28 05/19/02 Sun

Celeste glared at the boy, was it her fault that he looked as white as a ghost? No, it wasn't. And as he want on making one comment after another, she just rolled her eyes. She kept on walking to the East Tower and as she passed the boy, she gave him no expression but simply said, "You shouldn't scare people that way...you need some sun." and she just continued walking after that. Of course she was a wlaking contradiction, there wasn't a hint of sun on her skin, but she didn't look as pale as he did. What a fickled mind the blonde had, one day she was clever, the next clueless.

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[> [> [> [> Re: I'll be waving my hand, watching you drown, watching you scream. -- Draco Malfoy, 16:33:14 05/19/02 Sun

.:: "Apparently, you liked it enough," he called over his retreating, slenderly structured shoulder, now having a blatantly self-assured curvature painted across the tempting pout of labia. A note of mockering entered his velvetine drawl, and not loosing the bemused expression that'd delicately settled upon his visage, he went so far as to an impression of her, tone advancing to falsetto feminine sound. "You must be an angel!"

His barbs driven in, apex oscillated back around, and his lower appendages continued to carry him onward, azure-greys fixed ahead of him, in what appeared to be a dead-end. Finally annoyed, an arm elevated to sweep the baby-soft, renegrade tresses of pastel blond back atop his crania. ::.

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[> [> [> [> [> You wouldn't watch someone die. -- Celeste Riecburg, 17:33:28 05/19/02 Sun

Celeste rolled her eyes, the words 'you must be an angel' never escaped her lips. She said she thought he was a ghost or an angel, and she didn't like ehr words altered in any shape or form at all. She shook her ehad thinking Ok, one more time, more feeling, and don't walk into the wall this time. But she resisted saying it, she'd promised Potter, and Celeste kept her word always. "I'd insult you, but I promised Potter I wouldn't be rude to anyone from your school again. And I'd defend myself, but I'm sure that would land into the same category. I'd hex you, but that's pointless, I was born with a little self-control." she said. "And what are you trying to do? Walk through the wall? Honestly, where are you trying to go, do you need directions or something?" Celeste asked trying to sound annoyed, but she wasn't really. Thinking he wasn't alive was pretty stupid she admitted, but for someone who is supposed to be devistated with pain beyond understanding was sure a hell of alot spicier than she would even think him to be.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> Re: .:: As clumsy as you've been; there's no one laughing ::. ((OOC: And to Julian's player..)) -- Draco Malfoy, 00:29:42 05/20/02 Mon

((OOC: ...Want Julian to merge into this thread? Just in case, I'll have Draco come across someone else as he's walking along. If not, just ignore this, and it can be someone else.))

.:: The echoing words were, admittedly, grating his nerves, but while one would expect to stop his trek and play into her desires, he merely kept on walking, simply saying, "I'm sorry; did you think that I cared about what you have to say? Silly, misleading me."

These words were his last to her, because his next move was taking a sharp turn into the next corridor, never actually going to go to the dead end, and planning on getting away from that poor excuse for American aristocracy. She didn't need to know that he could easily crush her - for no American had the foggiest idea what he'd been trained for his whole life through - and nor did she need to know anything at all about him. She simply proved unworthy of his energy, and thus, she'd be treated as such.

Classic example of my woes with being stuck here, began his internal monologue. Not only are the occupants a few cards short of a deck, they seem to flaunt it through unjustified arrogance.

Unjustified arrogance was the worst kind, in his opinion, and this judgementalness was coming from someone who'd definitely be an authority on such a matter. No basis for it, no reason; no accomplishments and hardships, no scars to show for it. Just the notion - like in days of old, the fruitlessness of having no gold to back up paper currency.

A grimace settled upon the pale pucker of labia as he walked on, his disdaining thoughts broadcasting upon his graceful features, but other than this, there was no further sound from him aside from his movements, shoes scuffing the stone floor occassionally. Metallic-blond tresses atop his crania seemed to change hue as he passed through variations in lighting, looking shaded at some points and a dashing gold at others, but still immaculately kept. He tugged at the confines of his robes more tightly, crossing his arms to help keep out a chill that he could feel seeping in, thanks to his lack of actual garments beneath the robe itself. But that was when he, unwittingly, began to approach another figure, wintry-grey orbs narrowing in the imposing shadows to get a look at who it was. His pace slowed some, but even so, the shape of the being began to materialise more. ::.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: unspoken words were understood. -- Julian Emberson, 17:28:15 05/20/02 Mon

Julian groaned audibly as his head rolled back, a sloth shifting to one side as it rested against the wall in a drunken agony inside him. His eyes nearly rolled completely back as he shut his lids down hard, feeling the slight pricking of lashes upon his skin. He dropped his pen as soon as he'd let go of the control he had over his consciousness, hand crawling to grab at his forehead and straighten himself. His other grasped the wall, clutching aimlessly at the level surface, clawing for a nook that didn't exist. The groans became quieter as he searched for reason and threw away his defected rhyme, begging reality to own him once again as he was lost in an ocean of spatial illusions.

The earphones barely hanging in his ears began to fall, just in time for Julian to hear the soft voice sing, "Little lune, all day, little lunei..." He gave himself five minutes to try and move his feet to get him up, some alcoholic cynicism attacking his mentality telling him to get up or you'll be seen. He groaned and sighed and made whimpering noises, unaware of how pathetic he sounded. Fuck it. He was drunk and he didn't know what was going on, all he knew was that he needed to get up and get the hell out of wherever he was. The notebook lying on the floor was hardly a thing to remember, even though it held most of what Julian had written out of the blue. He forced himself off the floor, frustrated at the lack of strength he had, clutching at the wall for some support, knees quivering every so often. He felt like crying out obscenities at the helplessness he felt. Stupid fucking alcohol, he thought angrily, finally up and leaning against the structure behind him, breathing somewhat heavily. "Stupid, stupid fucking you, Julian Emberson."

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: .:: Fifteen stitches and a soft parody ::. -- Draco Malfoy, 17:24:41 05/21/02 Tue

.:: As his stride continued, albeit breaking down into a more cautious pace, he took the time to observe the figure's demeanour through alert silvery-grey orbs, which had narrowed to better his perspective. He noticed that for whatever reason this person was incompacitated, stringing swears together nonchalantly, and that's when it seemed that something struck him as familiar about the person. Through the haze of his time here, his thoughts drifted back to one late night rendez-vous in a tower, and it all seemed to make sense then. Well, at least who this person would be, and why they were behaving in such a manner. More comfortable with the indentity revealed, slender appendages continued the platinum blond's progression until he was more than a few steps away.

However, at this place, he paused, elongated arms crossing easily over his lithe torso and merely looking on for a time; he briefly wondered what ailed the youth, or what he himself thought he was doing by actually lingering, but he seemed to be the backseat driver in his own body. Pale labia cocked into an expression of vague amusement before parting for speech, and it appeared, he was set on helping in some fashion.

"Whoa there, Captain Smooth," he drawled sarcastically, in spite of the current conditions. "Something tells me that you need a nice little guardian angel until the booze go bye-bye."

Admittedly, he found it somewhat amusing, but his comments weren't meant to offend. Perplexed, he seemed willing to hang about for a bit - having nothing better to do - just in case. ::.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: and the jester dances his dance. -- Julian Emberson, 20:45:49 05/21/02 Tue

His neck swiveled in a gradual pace, olive gazing from beneath dropping blonde lashes to peek up at him, a subconscious fear swirling behind his darkening irises. Julian, head leaking in reality slowly, hastily tried to compose himself as he continued to rest tiredly against the wall. He turned away and smirked as best he could. "He-llo, Draco Malfoy, how nice to see you again!" He drunken joy was honest, to the very sing-songy timbre. Being drunk left him vulnerable, usually letting something idiotic come out his mouth, embarrassing his usual Prada-prince speech. But the sarcasm never dared to leave the tip of his clever tongue. "Do, mm, rem..mm..ind God to send his dam..mmn..n... faeries a little fa..ster next tim..mme. Perhaps before I drink mm..myself stupid?" He giggled sardonically, punching himself off the wall and tumbling halfway across the hallway. Quickly gaining his posture, he spun back to face Draco, laughing.

"But since you are here," And here's where he made a rather big mistake. As Julian spoke those words, a near hint of a British accent escaped. At the tower, he knew he had lied about never being to England. He knew well enough why he wanted to go to England, why he wanted to go back to the very spot, on the very day that everybody burned their effigies. But, his little secret was that he didn't burn an effigy... And that, well, that was a life Julian had graciously left behind. Who he was there was forgotten. A horrid past he was rescued from by the wings of another angel who had come too late to save his mother's life. Instead he came and saved her murderer. "Would you... care to escort m..mme down this... hall... to the library? My bottle of... Benedictine is rotting behind... Proust's section..." He sighed and laughed, shaking his head, forcibly pushing himself to some considerably rational state. Hopefully, Draco would have taken that as a mistake, an imitation, a parody. Nothing real.

Julian smiled, sauntering back and running his fingers through his hair and flipping the tousled, goldlight locks back. "Never mind, sorry, just a bit... tipsy, if you aren't privy to it yet. And you won't tell anybody about the Benedictine, will you? God," He laughed again, a frown then arising as he slumped against the wall and fell back to his spot. His arms fell on his sides, skinny arms poking out from a rather large satin Burberry shirt, coal-color hanging loosely off his arms. The collar was nearly as wide as his shoulders, sinking below Julian's back as his form was not nearly enough to be fitting for the shirt. His Prada jeans were tainted by the floor, curving around the Barracuda tennis shoes his feet donned. His entire self was heavy with the mixed aromas of Chivas Regal and Le Male. The alluring, but dense smell, surrounded him like a stomach-sinking aura. He tried haplessly to get up again, fingers curled around his pen. Again, to no avail. "Fuck it..." He mumbled, another soft groan as he sat there, an intoxicated grace the way he was sprawled there. Or perhaps, not graceful, just amusing.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: .:: The demons we carry with us ::. -- Draco Malfoy, 22:10:24 05/21/02 Tue

.:: As the scene befell argent-azure oculars, it struck the platinum-blond teen as something that one might've been able to witness in Renaissance theatre, the melodrama of a drunken fool and all his woes surfacing through the alcohol's depressing outlet. Something out of Shakespeare, as if he were a prophet and had predicted this very evening. Trying to break away from this comparison, fair-topped crania shook and allowed the generous ranting, mocking, and whatever else it was to go on as.

He did, however, recognise the distinct dialect of one of the sects of England when it surfaced, and instinctively, liquid silver of his eyes narrowed into mere slits, suspicious, but beyond that, he was trying to piece things together about this apparently tortured soul. However, for now, he'd once more give Julian the benefit of the doubt and write it off as drunken babble until he had time alone to further inspect it. Observation and pondering often paid off, as he had come to realise.

"Well, I look about as crafted as one of 'God's little faeries', so as you suggest, by all means, I'll have to suffice," he drawled on a sigh, sarcasm present, though he wasn't quite sure it was picked up upon. "However, Mr. Emberson, I beg you to save the dramatic charades for someone who doesn't play mind games, as well. See, I'm not buying this." His tone was slightly more domineering this time around, and it seemed to demand a leveling between the two of them, at least minutely. He took a few steps closer and lowered his arms to his sides, still evaluating the fellow student before him. They couldn't talk about this now, obviously. If ever.

"While I have no interest in outting your beverage stash to everyone, I do have interest in saving our arses the reprocussions of being found this way." It was his way of suggesting that they go elsewhere, and apparently, even though it had been asked in sarcasm, he was willing to stay with him. How could he let the the first person he'd actually had a conversation with roam around in such a state, after all? Watching Julian's back, per se, if not his reputation. ::.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: and the angels we hide behind. -- Julian Emberson, 23:11:06 05/21/02 Tue

He mumbled incoherently for even himself to understand, which was probably just a bunch of nothings. His head hung down, throbbing, a whirlpool exuding into the pits of his stomach. He drew his legs to himself, trying his useless way to bring himself up and out of the corridor as well. There wasn't much he decided he wanted except for the Benedictine, whatever the hell Draco might have been thinking, he hadn't the slightest clue about. The accusation irked him enough for him to comprehend, though he didn't exactly know what might have implied it. He pushed, angry at the inefficiency of his process of getting the hell up.

He fell back down, bending his knees with his hands on the floor. He turned and picked up his notebook and pen, flipping his hair off of his face as he pushed himself up leisurely, annoyance verily great on his face. "I don't really know what you're accusing me of, brief nighttime meeting and all, Draco," He stood, facing the other, darkness in his expression plaintive. "All I really want is a book and a drink, and I'm going to get it whether or not you come with me. Whatever we have to discuss, if it's of any importance whatsoever, can be solved there... after I drink myself to a stupor."

He may not have meant to be so snippy, but it was hard to turn emotions when he was drunk. There wasn't the usual flexibility in the reality of Julian, the true brutal honesty of his inability to change, hard as he tried. His wards were down and his mood didn't mesh well with Draco this time. He sighed, losing none of the ire in and about him, but he tried to decrease it. This was someone he, subconsciously or not, didn't want to push away. His shoulder sagged in woe. "Look. You're not my favorite person to get pissed off at. And I really don't want to start on you in that state the way I do when I'm like this."

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: .:: Threw you the obvious just to see if there's more behind the eyes... ::. -- Draco Malfoy, 03:52:30 05/25/02 Sat

.:: "I accuse you of nothing," came the soft drawl, distant and tinged with coldness, in just the same manner he had been treated priorly. "But I do have half the sense to know when I've, indeed, been lied to. Now, in future retrospect to not wanting a detention or any such trouble, I'm suggesting that we... move it." At last two words, given with emphasis, the syllables were ground out through pearly whites, invoking his apparent irritation, as the arrogantly textured features twisted briefly, only to return to being calm and complacent once more. However, liquid silver oculars held his clear dissatisfaction with how things were turning out - especially since this was one of few people he'd learned to converse readily with here and was going out of his way to save him probable complications to an already unsatiated life. "Even if where we move to just happens to be where your stash of booze is," he added, not so much as an afterthought as it was a persuasive technique, which he direly hoped would iniate some result.

He knew, though, that he'd get nothing out of Julian in this state. And so, he let all remarks on a discussion slip away; he didn't particularly want to carry on an in-depth conversation with someone who could barely stand, let alone control apparent mood swings. Furtherly, he wasn't quite sure that what he suspected affected him...yet... or if it ever would.

In reguards to the comments on not wanting to be at odds with each other, a brow arched, pastel blond like that locks that fell from atop his head to frame his face gently, and he seemed vaguely unincensed by this. Inperceptively shaking his head in semi-disbelief, he mirrored a sigh, too, a long expanse gushing out, but it was for totally different reasons. Lightly, noncommitally, "I think you'll find that I don't usually take to heart what spills forth from the incompacitated, if I do with anything at all," he replied simply, dismissively, and having figured for himself, through spaces in time, that alcohol brings out the worst features in every personality.

This resolve, though, was what forced him not to just flea carelessly, but he vaguely disturbed himself by actually having convinced himself to stay behind and tolerate the drunken atomsphere. The reasons behind this were something he didn't want to ponder. Ever.

However, doing what any self-respecting gentleman might for someone he considered remotely to a friend - which was a very small, elite list for his highness Malfoy - he stepped a little closer, confident and unwavering, and seemingly offered either an arm or shoulder for Julian to level himself upon, the slender appendage shrouded in an onyx over-robe, as it was held out and away from his body. "Humour me by actually complying with one of my actions," he huffed, rolling his eyes skyward, as he waited, semi-patiently. ::.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: the eyes of this fallen angel, the eyes of our tragedy. -- Julian Emberson, 19:20:31 05/25/02 Sat

The bleariness that had previously defected his neural control crawled into the insides of his brain, and yet somehow it didn't break his composure and his awareness of his speech. His train of thought was set on two things: the Benedictine and demeaning the other in his mind. He couldn't decide whether or not he meant to be a drunk bastard when he didn't have to. The humor had drained out soon as he was, indeed, accused. Apparently the other had another idea of what accusations were. He watched the other darkly, fingers tightening around the spiral of his notebook. "Liar, am I?" He said quietly, the brightness in his eyes melting back into the very backs of his irises.

Julian merely... stood there. He stood there, a somewhat apathetic stature towards everything else that spewed from Draco's lips. Brief disbelief, and then detest, churning in his chest, through his bones, beating his heart. Emotion often overwhelmed him twice as much when the walls were broken and the wings were thrown away, feeling as if his throat was cut and all the words were lost with the blood that fell like a waterfall to the ground. The earphones played 'Emit Remmus' dully around his neck.

'London in the summer time,
Call me now use the satellite.
London in the summer time,
Cuss me out and it'll feel all right.'

At the end of that sentence, Draco's began and he grew to put the wall back in place. To fly away from giving a flying fuck. More so than the wall, the alcohol still had fucked him up well. "You accuse me of lying to you sometime in the hour that we talked about impersonal bullshit, and now you offer me an arm of fucking support," Gravely, eyes returning to their original olive, turned away from him. He put a hand against the wall and stumbled as he proceeded to walk the direction of his sanctuary, hair over his eyes as he looked to the side, but not directly at Draco. "You. I hate you. Go away." He immediately hated the way he was being so arrogant and immature. But he was drunk, dammit, he could be a baby if he wanted to, and that's what he did as he stumbled and staggered further into the corridor.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: And here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded. -- Draco Malfoy, 22:50:07 06/02/02 Sun

.:: The platinum blond teen wasn't particularly surprised at the reaction(s) he received; admittedly, he'd do much the same if he were in the same position, but the catch here was that he wasn't. And for that reason, he refused to play the puppy who must guard the master routine any longer... or at all. He was above it, and apparently, he proved to be above Julian in many respects, in turn.

Pale azure ooids lifted up to the arched ceiling as if to curse any deity for having sent him here, this damnable place, probably considered the end of the world itself. How miserable and loathing everything here seemed. Distractedly, the arm was pulled away, and calmly, the adjoined, pallid hand was placed within the confines of a robe pocket.

As if the situation were amusing, a smirk flitted across the alabaster-hued pucker of labrums, as Julian seemed to make for an escape. The former Slytherin made no move for him, as he'd wasted enough time here. He'd let the regret beat the snotty bastard to a pulp later.

"Suit yourself, Emberson," he drawled, the action echoing in the emptiness of the corridor. It contained nothing short of nonchalance. "But when your life comes crashing down, as you and I both know it will, don't come running to me, seeing as you have the urge to burn all bridges when you need them most." He turned on his heel and began his own trek in the opposite direction. "Especially seeing as you hate me. Pity that; we could've been quite the team."

The foreign accent in these American halls faded away, and there was almost a regret upon the Malfoy's behalf for having to do such things. Julian was only the first person he'd even remotely paid attention to. Touché. ::.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: but i see through it all, see through... see you. -- Julian Emberson, 23:39:51 06/02/02 Sun

Julian stopped.

He tried the hell he could to grip the wall with as much intensity he could squeeze out of himself. He laughed bitterly, loudly, facing the same bleary direction. Was there care for the other? Promptly, he answered himself, no. "You're just the same as me. Don't fucking kid me about help when you think you could actually do something other than pity me, as you so readily have done. I wouldn't have done any better."

He pushed himself off the wall and walked, a passion of flooding emotion overwhelming the liquor scratching at his brain. He looked back in memory of a brief something he'd thrown away, because nothing gold ever stays. He mumbled softly and strangely indifferently, the only regretful thing about the situation concerning them because of the relativity that must have linked them. "I learned to say 'fuck you' just as easily, Draco. No matter how well the picture seemed to paint itself."

Now, please, go poison yourself with your Benedictine and make yourself the happiest fucking prick in the world. With the determination of a woodpecker, he pulled himself haughtily to the library, each step becoming lighter as the meaningless argument fell off his shoulders and left the burden of yet another wishful hope and blunder lingering, waiting to be finished by the fingers of the bastard who dared let anything out.

He half-hoped he'd still see Draco around, if to reawaken once the momentary togetherness he felt around the other. It was as if the bout had disappeared, and he just wanted to see the other. No talking. Just a glimpse. A word was enough for Julian to pretend.

Yet a foreboding feeling of something dark washed over him.

Get to your fucking alcohol and stop. Thinking. He told himself.

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[> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> [> Re: .:: Our mascarade is over ::. -- Draco Malfoy, 13:47:03 06/15/02 Sat

.:: The first accusations of words had hit his ears, and something flashed within the depths of grey-blue eyes, but they seemed to both head on in their seperate directions, reguardless of the other.

This was a regular Shakespearian tragedy; the situation seemed to work so well, but, in the end, the players become the victims of their own circumstances, slaying what hope there was and creating a quickly driven demise. Was it so different here? No - with the exception that they continued to live on in spite of it, and, perhaps, if liberal amounts of pride were swallowed, there could be other chances at friendship.

But the words echoed through the young Malfoy's head; he knew, himself, that Julian was much the same as he. He'd never admit it, granted, so the least he could do was acknowledge it in the secrecy of unspeaking shadows. He couldn't help but feel so utterly burned, though, and something akin to a sorrowful emotion - and he refused direly to feel such a thing.

Blond pate declined to study the handiwork of the floor beneath him, he set off to finally be at rest in his common room; maybe, he could be at peace with himself there.

((OOC: Sorry, I've been posting on and off, but I must say that that was fun. If you ever want to continue their little nit-picky arguing and all that, just let me know.))

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