Re: and the jester dances his dance. -- Corridors and Passageways

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Date Posted: 20:45:49 05/21/02 Tue
Author: Julian Emberson
Subject: Re: and the jester dances his dance.
In reply to: Draco Malfoy 's message, "Re: .:: Fifteen stitches and a soft parody ::." on 17:24:41 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. Touch�. ::.

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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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