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Date Posted: 00:45:42 06/17/02 Mon
Author: Draco Malfoy
Subject: Re: .:: I'm just a boy, playing the suicide king. ::.
In reply to: Julian Emberson 's message, "You really think you can run from your past." on 18:03:38 06/16/02 Sun

.:: Stony, pale blue optics blinked incredulously at the girl's simple reponse, a nicety to his readily given vulgarity, which was obviously meant to shatter and massacre anything left of his torturing past. In the face of her not reacting with equal cruelty, he seemed lost for a moment. Finally, porcelain features laxed, revealing their jagged peaks at the cheek bones, and it seemed, that while barriers and walls were still up with how he felt, he was at least willing to address her, again. And this time, civilly. "I'm...," he began, eyes glazing as he searched for a word to define it. He was still himself, true. No one saw him actually admit to his pain in public, and that wasn't going to change, now. So, he opted for the answer that everyone gives, even when it's a blatant lie. "...fine."

But it was after his simple retort that he heard the all too familiar overture of Julian break into his thoughts, and, perhaps, it was better than being left alone with a haunted mentality - with its own resident ghost, it seemed. In the same breath, it was volatile, for the sparring of prior came flooding back with great detail. Not only did he feel anger welling up inside his chest, causing the slender structure to lengthen with paced breaths... he felt the pang of something lost. He let that emotion be buried under wrath, however.

It seemed that he was in a mood to rant today, to take his woes out on the world. And, maybe, by way of Julian's interruption of callous, he'd seek this outlet. Well, not just maybe. He would.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he began, voice steady but clearly firm and menacing, and not sounding apologetic at all; he lifted his pointed chin upward absently, as gleaming, grey depths of malice held the other boy in his sights, "I didn't know that resident alcoholics had enough braincells left to use a library properly, much less form the word concentration, or do what the word implies." An embittered chuckle escaped the confines of his throat and caused him to pause for a minute. "Funny that - I guess it is true that you learn something new everyday."

Throughout his short spiel, his tone never escalated; it only increased in satire and acidic content, designed to cut as he had been himself. Still, he couldn't help but long for, somehow, a chance at redemption in whatever went wrong. It was almost like losing a lifeline to the outside world. Pride was, and is, a funny thing, though. It's what makes one ache the most. ::.

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