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Consequences
Topic Started: May 3 2009, 12:34 AM (681 Views)
Alexander Flint
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Like a statue, he stood there. Cold, impervious… feeling nothing. Knowing nothing of his surroundings. His attentions—what little there were of them—were drawn inward, entangled in the twisted web his thoughts were spinning. Memories flashed across his vision like hands on a clock… he was seven and his mouth was full of blood, but he wasn’t crying… he was ten and his mother’s fingers were like talons on his shoulder as he was introduced to men with dark cloaks and even darker faces… it was winter, he was eleven, and he learned that the dead look almost peaceful in the snow… twelve, and people begin to look at him differently… even adults seem disquieted by his presence… thirteen and he doesn’t even glimpse at the Thestrals anymore… summer and he beats his father in a duel… a few days before his fifth train ride to Hogwarts and he hides a book beneath his pillow seconds before his mother opens his door… his sixteenth birthday and he’s almost there, son and influential men stare at him with cold, appraising eyes… cigarette smoke and a girl is telling him he forgot about the people who charge without making a noise…

“Hey!”

Darcy’s indignant cries went completely unnoticed. Alex wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t hear her. Eyes stared down at nothing.

“I said hey!

It was her touch that snapped him back to the present. Instinct flared, spurring him into a movement that was fluid and lightning-quick. Faster even, than his consciousness could keep up with. Because the next thing he was aware of was blinking and finding himself staring down into Darcy’s eyes with his hand wrapped around her wrist, brutally tight. If he was hurting her, she didn’t let it show. Nor did she show any signs of releasing her own hold, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly, dark with anger. He found himself wanting to look away but being unable to.

“You don’t get to do that,” she nearly hissed, her jaw as tight as her grip. “You think you can cast me off because I have something you don’t?” Rage mottled the girl’s cheeks as she forcefully jerked his arm. The passion with which she was fighting him surprised Alex so greatly he had a difficult time concealing it. Confusion, too, faintly colored his expression. He would have thought she’d be happy he was shutting her out. But the way she was acting now… it was almost like she…

Cared.

“Well you can’t, so you can fucking deal with it!” she went on with a deadly glare. She paused, almost as though she, too, realized the scene she’d just made and how strange it must have seemed. Her lips curved downward in the same confusion that had lit his stare not moments before, and soon she looked and sounded more like the Darcy he’d come to know.

“Don’t be a baby, Flint,” she finished, her tone flat with a faint undertone of disdain.

Any lingering surprise succinctly vanished with the small command. Before her eyes, his expression grew dark like a coming storm. And a storm it was.

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked, his tone so dangerously low it skimmed the stone floor at their feet. “A child?” Incredulity crept its way into his quiet voice, and he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. The idea was so ludicrous, he couldn’t do anything else.

His grip on her wrist tightened briefly before he ripped her hand from his arm and released it forcefully, like it was nothing. Anger tightened his features, his eyes so colorless now they were almost gray. He stepped forward, hulking over her, his teeth baring themselves in the loss of control that begun. A lit fuse leading to an explosion.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice was like a knife, sharp and deadly. Breaths were deeper. And memories still lingered like predators at the edge of his vision. “You have no idea.”

Gone were thoughts of games and wagers. Alex was waking up, like he should have done a bloody week ago. He was insane for thinking he could keep her around somehow. Julian had been right. She was poison. Nothing good could ever come of it. Nothing. And she’d be better off without him.

“I have something you don’t, too, Bishop,” he continued, tense and foreboding as he made no attempt to hide the monster that he was. There was nothing child-like in his hard, ruthless stare.

“And if you had any sense at all you wouldn’t be so quick to lament the loss of my attentions.”
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Darcy Bishop
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Her last words had broken something within him, and in the next moment, Alex had seemed to change into a completely different person. If she had thought that her eyes resembled an angry sea, his expression mirrored a full-blown tempest. It was frightening, but she refused to allow this to show in her steady gaze. Darcy Bishop did not run away, nor cower because some boy had lost his temper.

“Is that what you think I am? A child?” he asked in a disbelieving tone that had her lifting her chin in defiance of his scorn. She made no indication of the pain radiating from his grip, confident in the knowledge that the milky skin would be marred by dark bruises tomorrow. She bet he was happy with himself for proving his theory. After all, Darcy obviously loved harm so much, according to him. Her contemptuous thoughts allowed her the strength to continue facing him directly even as her hand was ripped from his arm and unceremoniously dropped. Grinding her teeth together, she waited for the outrage that she could feel brewing. Sure enough, he continued, his voice sharp and venomous.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea.” So what? She obviously had some clue if he had become this worked up over her words.

“I have something you don’t too, Bishop, and if you had any sense at all you wouldn’t be so quick to lament the loss of my attentions.”

“Lament!” she repeated, rage and astonishment coloring her features as her hands immediately clenched into tight fists. “The only thing I will lament in regards to you is your arrogance,” she spat, finding fortitude in her cruel words. “You think you know everything there is to know, but you don’t. I have no idea what I’m talking about? Look in the fucking mirror, Flint.”

Her chest heaved as she struggled to regain her composure. What was going on with her today? It was as though whatever change had occurred with him in the past few minutes had spread to her, as if it was a contagious disease that she had caught. It made her stomach churn with apprehension, but she was powerless to stop it. And at this point, she didn’t know if she wanted to. A pressure was being lifted off her chest as she all but yelled at him. It was easier to hate him, after all.

Better, even.

“I don’t think you’re a child,” she said after a beat, voice tense and cool as she attempted to hold it in check. “But I do think that your self-pity resembles a toddler who just got its lollipop stolen,” she continued, though there was no hint of mockery in her voice, even if she had just alluded to the fact that she was stealing Alex’s lollipops. Only an empty coldness worthy of any Slytherin. “So since you take words so very literally, I’ll put it into more simple terms for you.” Her eyes bore into his, a chilling ice blue compared to his pale ones. She took a step closer to him, drawing out the words. “Get over yourself.”
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Alexander Flint
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This was dangerous ground. He’d known before (perhaps distantly, but he’d known) that Darcy Bishop would be trouble. What was truly worrisome was that he pursued it, regardless of the consequences that would surely follow if he took it too far, selfishly giving in to his curiosity. Of course he trusted himself not to lose control. He was Alex Flint… Alex Flint didn’t lose control. Alex was control. He hadn’t been worried before because the thought that this could turn into something grave and resounding was so unlikely it did not merit even the briefest of considerations. Even now, it seemed ridiculous. Was one girl really capable of destroying years of hard work?

Or had this need been inside of him all this time without him even knowing it…

Darcy’s eyes flashed angrily, easily matching his temper with her own. The past, so present now, the only thing consuming his thoughts, weighed heavily like a burden on his shoulders.

“Lament!” she cried, her features sharpening in incredulity. “The only thing I will lament in regards to you is your arrogance. You think you know everything there is to know, but you don’t. I have no idea what I’m talking about? Look in the fucking mirror, Flint.”

He gave a short, cruel laugh and turned his head away from her, away from the malice and passion and vehemence in her eyes that would have been so very, very easy to extinguish. One word from him, one story, one action… one anything of what he really was and would she be so confident then? Wouldn’t she become just like the rest of them, unable to hold his gaze, scurrying away back into the sunlight where it was warm and safe and ghosts in the shadows didn’t lurk? Did she know what it was even like? Looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person who looked back?

“I don’t think you’re a child,” she went on unabated, and the malice was still there. It was just colder now. “But I do think that your self-pity resembles a toddler who just got its lollipop stolen. So since you take words so very literally, I’ll put it into more simple terms for you.” He turned when she took a step closer, tensing at the nearness and the chilly emptiness in her pointed stare.

“Get over yourself.”

A heavy silence followed her disdainful speech. Alex did not know what it was he was feeling as he stared down into her eyes. Anger, surely. But there was more. Confusion. Pain. The dominant side of him… the one that had ruled every one of his thoughts and actions throughout his entire life thus far… urged him to crush her. Right here. Now. Get it over with so this would never, ever happen again. He’d come far too close to the walls that had so carefully been constructed to distance himself from people, keep them away so as not to be influenced by the things that bring them all to their knees like the weak beings they were.

Hurt her… show her what you are… hurt her…

The devil on his shoulder hissed enticingly. Alex was not aware of leaning toward her, the fingers of his hand curling, his eyes glazing over with dark intent…

But he was aware when something inside him snapped like overtaxed elastic.

Suddenly he was pitching backwards, away from her, breathing in as his eyes focused, tearing his eyes off of the sight before him as his hand curled into a fist that bit into his flesh. And just like that, the other, less dominant side had won. For the first time in his life, the devil retreated, conquered by the color blue and the fearlessness within it.

He could not hurt her. And that realization, coupled with the one that her words, though misguided, may have held a granule of truth, was more frightening than anything else he’d ever known. His ears were buzzing with it. The room felt small and airtight. His entire view of the world was shifting, and he wanted it to stop.

He did the only thing he could do. He couldn’t stay here with her anymore. Without thought, his wand was in his hand—the one he’d had on his person ever since skilled fingers retrieved it from an oblivious Genevieve Shaw’s desk and tucked it away. A few waves and the trophies adorning the shelves gleamed a little brighter, a turn and he was walking away from her, closed eyes and the world was still crumbling.

“Give my apologies to Professor Shaw for departing early,” he said, his voice guttural and low, pausing only long enough to linger in the doorway. “I’ll serve another night, if there are objections.”

Alone, he clarified inwardly. An evening like this would not happen again.

His back to her, he felt his muscles seize up, and for a moment it appeared as though he wanted to say something else. His head turned, revealing a fraction of his profile, eyes partially concealed by a curtain of dark hair. There were words on his lips… he could feel them. He just didn’t know what they were. And before temptation beguiled him into glancing at the dark-haired girl behind him one last time, he clenched his jaw, steadied his breathing, and disappeared into the dark corridor beyond.
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Darcy Bishop
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The silence hung thick and heavy in the air with only her short breaths punctuating it at odd intervals as she struggled to control the pounding of her heart. She stood frozen; waiting for a reaction, any response that he had even heard what she had just nearly screamed. And when it finally happened, it was by a total strange. Darcy felt fear knife through her as he seemed to transform into some creature right before her eyes. It was a terror that she immediately pushed away, pale blue eyes hardening in quiet resolve even as his hand groped for her. She barely even acknowledged his movements, determinedly refusing to break the challenging stare she directed straight into his own, glazed over eyes.

Do it, she seemed to silently demand him with her eyes, I’m not afraid. And she wasn’t. Not of him, not of pain, not of death, and really, when you no longer fear harm, you conquer it, right? She hoped so; otherwise, Darcy had gone mental. And maybe it was insane to remain standing here; facing an opponent of whom, deep down, she knew was much stronger, much more skilled than her. She had her reflexes and those alone to her advantage, but these could only help her for so long. But then, maybe this was what he needed, somebody who didn’t recoil or run just because he put on his monster costume.

Her lips formed a thin line across her face, eyes lightening so much, they were nearly translucent. Not a muscle twitched, no emotion crossed her expression, and yet the message was suddenly clear.

She would not break.

Not now, not ever, not by a Slytherin, and certainly not by him.

The next moment, he was the one retreating, breathing in even as she exhaled; unaware that she had been holding her breath in the first place. A flood of relief warmed her as she saw life return to his crystal eyes, an emotion that had her frowning in confusion and annoyance. Why should she care about him? He was nothing to her. Nothing.

She merely watched him, unable to summon any surprise as he produced his wand, leaving the trophies gleaming with a small flick. Really, Darcy felt like she had known he had it stashed in his pocket the entire time. Just one more reason she was a bloody lunatic for staring him down.

She’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Give my apologies to Professor Shaw for departing early. I’ll serve another night, if there are objections,” he told her formally, distantly, his back already turned to her as he walked away.

“Sure,” she muttered bitterly under her breath, though she could have cared less if he heard, “Make me the messenger. Merlin knows Shaw and I get along swimmingly.” Swimmingly. She’d have to remember to accidentally knock Shaw into the lake the next time she did her daily yoga routine on the bank.

She fell silent when he suddenly stopped by the door, face turned slightly towards her as if he was going to say something. Darcy waited, watching him quietly with an indistinguishable expression on her face. The next moment he had disappeared into the dark corridor, leaving her standing quite alone in the center of the room.

And now she had to face Shaw alone.

“Fuck.”
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