Re: the eyes of this fallen angel, the eyes of our tragedy. -- Corridors and Passageways

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Date Posted: 19:20:31 05/25/02 Sat
Author: Julian Emberson
Subject: Re: the eyes of this fallen angel, the eyes of our tragedy.
In reply to: Draco Malfoy 's message, "Re: .:: Threw you the obvious just to see if there's more behind the eyes... ::." on 03:52:30 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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