Chandler Warrington (c__warrington) wrote in bellum_gerere,
Chandler Warrington
c__warrington
bellum_gerere

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Who: Draco malfoy and Chandler Warrington
What: A fight. A rather violent fight.




Another Quidditch practise, another angry, sullen Draco. It was like some sort of vicious cycle: he would expectantly go out onto the pitch, holding onto a shred of hope that perhaps, his words of warning had finally penetrated the team's unhealthily thick skulls, and be disappointed and utterly enraged at their performances which deserved no other word other than shit. He stormed into the locker rooms, a muddy mess, not bothering to look what pathetic members of the team remained. Flinging open the door to his locker, Draco yanked out his uniform, before hurling his broom inside and slamming the door as hard as he could. With that, he began to undress, viciously ripping off articles of clothing and tossing them with no regard as to where they landed.

As per usual, Chandler had waited until the rest of his teammates had vacated the showers before he took his own, in order to assure maximum privacy. He thought how much longer he'd like to stand there forever after a particularly hard practice as he turned off the spray of hot water and quickly dried himself off. At the moment he couldn't tell who he disliked more severely - his teammates, who if they were castrated probably wouldn't take it seriously, or Draco, who completely overestimated the severity of their practices. He was satisfied with the knowledge that he, himself had put in just the right amount of effort however. He pulled on his trousers before he even exited the shower stall, even though the lockers were empty - his self-conciousness got the better of him. Perhaps his intentions weren't futile, afterall - as when he emerged, shirtless and hair awry he met the eyes of his captain. "Oh umm.." He stuttered quickly, looking away and clearing his throat and more embarassed about his own state than the barely clad one of Draco.

As per usual, Chandler had waited until the rest of his teammates had vacated the showers before he took his own, in order to assure maximum privacy. He thought how much longer he'd like to stand there forever after a particularly hard practice as he turned off the spray of hot water and quickly dried himself off. At the moment he couldn't tell who he disliked more severely - his teammates, who if they were castrated probably wouldn't take it seriously, or Draco, who completely overestimated the severity of their practices. He was satisfied with the knowledge that he, himself had put in just the right amount of effort however. He pulled on his trousers before he even exited the shower stall, even though the lockers were empty - his self-conciousness got the better of him. Perhaps his intentions weren't futile, afterall - as when he emerged, shirtless and hair awry he met the eyes of his captain. "Oh umm.." He stuttered quickly, looking away and clearing his throat and more embarassed about his own state than the barely clad one of Draco.

Draco was growling and mumbling to himself about "insolence" and "incompetence" and how those two characteristics seemed to be running rampant on the SLytherin Quidditch team when he heard footsteps and someone making a poor attempt at coherent speech. He spun round, a glare and a sneer his father would be proud of gracing his countenance. "What are you blithering about?" he spat in a low, harsh tone, not really in the mood for things that wore greatly at his already waning patience. Without waiting for a response, Draco grunted angriy, and pulled off his trousers, hurling them in the direction which he knew Chandler to be standing. He secretly hoped the mud-encrusted pants hit him; Draco recalled how mental the boy could get around dirt.

Chandler's embarassment quickly turned into disgust the moment the boy looked at him, and he scowled menacingly. He nearly cringed as the filthy trousers were hurled in his direction, stepping a meter to the side as if they were highly contaminated. "Beating them isn't going to solve the problem." He turned to his own clothing, hung over the open door of his locker and began to button his shirt. He was anxious to leave. Truth be told he'd never cared for Draco in the slightest in the six years they'd known eachother. He lay a towel on the bench and sat down to begin pulling on his socks. "There, there - incompetence festers like the plague amongst our housemates. It takes a higher level of being altogether to overcome that." He muttered in a monotone voice, clearly stating he did not think Malfoy to be one of those "higher beings."

Draco grumbled in agreement at the boy's statement. He snorted, shaking his head, and continued in a rather condescending tone, "I really don't understand you lot. You're all completely ready to hand the Gryffindor team their arses on a plate at the end of the season after they've given us a proper burial on the pitch, and then when the next season starts you refuse to get up and do so," he finished, voice rising slightly on the last word as he gestured toward the door. He shook his head in mock disbelief, and began to pick up his muddied clothes from the floor and stuff them away.

Chandler was tying his shoes as he listened to Draco's rant, growing increasingly bothered by the second. "I can't help but feel that 'you' is intended to be singular." He stood up with a huff and shut his locker extra hardly, which to him was anything more than gently placing it shut. He turned to face Draco, as composed as ever, patting down his hair. "I hardly think I can be compared to the Neanderthalls you - for some reason unbeknownst to me - keep on this team." He continued to nonchalantly prepare himself, yet he admitted he was moving slower than usual. "Then again if you're looking for a professional's level of dedication... I also refuse to let my studies come second."

Draco turned sharply as he heard Chandler's comment. He held a muddied green shirt in his grip as he strutted over to the boy. "The 'you' was regarding the team and their unmatched incompetence," he stopped in front of him, "And do you have any suggestion as to whom I would put on the team if I discarded of said Neanderthals?" He waited for a moment before spinning on his heel and walking back to his locker. "No, no, I didn't think so." He could feel his temper rising like a smouldering piece of coal in the pit of his stomach, slowly growing hotter and hotter.

Chandler kept still, watching Draco's every move carefully. He knew it didn't take much to provoke his Housemate, and that he would do best to just keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Chandler had never learned quite how to do this, and had always been quite blunt where it was allowed - and that was anywhere outside his own home. "Don't assume I'm as ignorant as your cronies, Draco." He said cooly, closing the fastenings on his robes and muttering a drying spell on his hair. "Perhaps if tryouts were based more on skill than economic worth, things would be different." He kept speaking, his intent not to anger the boy, but simple to tell the truth. "If you can't organize that I'd be more than happy to assist anything that would benefit the team."

Draco spun around once more, turning to face the boy. He wondered briefly if he'd heard him right, deciding quickly enough that he had before wondering where this pathetic excuse for a human standing in front of him found his audacity. "First of all," he said slowly, his voice a whisper as he slowly began walking back toward Chandler, "Who the hell said they were my 'cronies'? Secondly," his voice began rising, "If there was anyone in the damn House that was skilled, they'd be on the team! And thirdly," he stopped walking, stooping over slightly as he leaned toward Chandler's face, "last time I checked, you weren't the Captain, nor will you ever be." With that, he slammed the hand holding his muddied green shirt into Chandler's chest with enough force to transfer the dirt, but not quite enough to knock him over. He straightened himself, and looked down upon the boy with disgust.

Chandler stared at the boy in silent horror as he pressed his filthy clothing up to his torso. He stepped back and opened his mouth slightly, regarding it as if it had just wriggled up out of the dirt. He was fuming now; something which was quite rare for him. Usually he'd have just been on his way by now, but something about Draco Malfoy was getting his blood boiling. Clenching his fists, he put one foot on the shirt and kicked it away with quite some force, locking eyes with the other boy. And in one swift movement, without the trace of a thought entering his mind, he felt his fingers unfold for the hundreth time, though this time he swung his forearm forward, striking the side of Draco's jaw with the back of his hand. Lowering his arm slowly, Chandler could only glare at his Quidditch captain and eye the red mark where his knuckles had struck his pale skin. He tried hard to conceal heavy breathing, but he couldn't recall feeling this sort of adreneline rush since he was a child. "Unmanageable" - his parents had described him, and so he long since learned to supress the feelings. He couldn't pinpoint what to call the emotion he was experiencing at this moment, though he supposed it could best be named "satisfied." He found he couldn't help wondering what Blaise would think had he been there, and was not regretting it in the least.

Draco stood, cobalt eyes wide with shock, and simply stared at the boy, completely dumbfounded by his actions and the dull throbbing he felt on the side of his jaw. His mouth agape, he reached up gingerly to touch the part of his face which had been struck, seemingly coming out of his state of disbelief. Chandler had backhanded him, like a woman, like a common bitch. Clenching his jaw with a slight pain coursing through the side of his face, he looked back to Chandler, nostrils flaring. Without a single word, he reached out and swiftly grabbed onto the boy's collar, lifting him in a fit of rage and spinning him round so that his back slammed into the lockers with a glorious sound of rattling doors and falling equipment. Draco dropped him immediately, and without a moments hesitation, repeated the same act which Chandler had performed moments ago. Unlike Chandler, however, he didn't stop after one hit, and soon, his hand was closed tightly into a fist. After what he deemed to be an adequate lesson, he pointed to his own face, and spat bitterly, "You better pray this doesn't bruise..."

Chasing War: Chandler perhaps should have expected the violent backlash, but instead let out a painful groan as he was slammed against the locker. The next few minutes felt like an eternity as he endured the most excruciating pain he'd ever had to, all the while trying to maintain his dignity and keep silent, though he tried uselessly with all his might to get the much stronger boy off of him. When he was released, he sank to the floor pathetically, a pile of messed robes and bruises. He felt something hot trickling down his face, and his vision was blurring as his eyes stung. He pulled his fingers away from his lip, which was already swelling, and nearly fainted at the sight of the red mess. He was enraged, but more so embarassed, as he began patting his robes, flubling for the pocket his wand was in.

Draco still felt the anger coursing through his veins as he watched the boy crumpled to the floor in a rather pitiable heap, though he didn't quite realise this just yet. He walked over to him, quickly pulling his leg back and kicking Chandler sharply in his ribs. With a snort, he turned and began to walk away, feeling very satisfied with himself and the example he had made of his Housemate. As he reached the door, he turned back one more time, fully absorbing the sight. He shook his head and drawled, "Pathetic. Clean yourself up," before exiting.

Chandler groaned inwardly once more as the wind was knocked out of him, clutching his stomach. He looked towards the floor, as he couldn't bear to look Draco in the eyes. He began to wonder just what had possessed him only minutes earlier and regretted it, though he knew that this boy deserved it more than anyone. He watched his captain slide out into the moonlight and remained in the floor for a few moments before picked himself up and limping back to the castle, leaving only his dignity behind.
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