[Edmund is back up on the branches, Lucy's left. His back still to bark. It takes him much longer than he should, but he notices a change. He swears he hears a branch break somewhere.]
[Looks less than pleased, still. Obstinacy rising. Urge to commit cold-blooded murder at that. Edmund is furious. If he hears the word "boy" one more time..]
It's not just you, then.
[Narrows his eyes, Edmund works against the arms, doesn't simply take to being pinned without a fight.]
[Struggling Edmund is struggling, and it actually amuses the Corinthian before he releases the combative young man and rolls away to leap back to his feet. He beckons for Edmund to take a swing at him. It's the Pevensie's temper that amuses him. Once a traitor, and possibly still capable of committing murder in cold blood. At least the Corinthian thinks so.]
If you like what my brother can do, just wait and see what I'm capable of. You're going to love it.
[Sarcasm seems to be his theme of the day, Edmund pulls himself quick off the ground. He doesn't have his blade, Edmund's sick of forgetting it. Flexing fingers, Edmund doesn't say anything else, just lashes out with a punch. Forget weaponry, hand-to-hand combat is his forte. He'll prove it thus.]
[He's taller than Caspian by half an inch and has more muscle on him than Peter. Cori thinks this is going to be like a turkey shoot. He evades Edmund's punch, never lashing out with his own just yet if only to see what the younger Pevensie can do. Oh hell, he's really just looking to patronize him, and likely this is what's going to get the Corinthian punched.]
His punch misses (disappointing, but expected), but his kick doesn't. Twisting his body, Edmund slams his leg hard against Corinthian's ribs. Underestimating him is stupid. It's likely to get Corinthian killed if Edmund was fighting with something sharper than mere flesh and bone.]
[Was that a subtle snap? Something inside the Corinthian just fractured, but he's fought with worse injuries before. This underestimated potential however enrages him too and without any inhibitions he lunges forward, spinning to brush against Edmund, side to side. His hand whips out, fingers clawing into the young man's dark hair, and he grips, following through with his force to send Edmund's face crashing into that rock there.
Or not. The Corinthian stops, that freckled nose less than an inch from stone. He has his other arm pulled tight around Ed's waist.]
[The Corinthian could've very well broken his nose. But he didn't. He'd stopped. However, whatever gratitude Edmund might be feeling goes dead when the Corinthian opens his mouth.
Now he is just beyond rescue.
Edmund goes cold at his current position. He snarls at the arm against his waist, balks at the lick to his ear. He freezes, stiffens hard, at the comment. What-- What? He didn't just go there.
Edmund's quaking in anger, his form shaking incredulously. He says nothing, just growls, low, deep, murderous. He breaks. His hands go to hand keeping him steady, darting out to twist. Ed ducks, spins underneath the hold that's gone slack and continues to twist the Corinthian's arm to behind his back, ignoring the biting pain of his scalp.]
[Ooh tricky thing. His arm wrenches behind his back, pulled tight by Edmund's action. There's strands of dark brown in his other hand, which the Corinthian releases to the grass. He hooks that same arm back in an attempt to elbow Edmund in the face while his toe tries to sweep the young man at the ankle.]
[Take him down with him, fine. Have a dislocated shoulder for your troubles, then.
Edmund, without the slightest mercy, pulls at the arm to his control. The pop is satisfying to his ears, akin to a symphony old. And then he goes down, misses the elbow to his face narrowly, but is caught in the idle sweep.]
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What on--
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Hello, little boy.
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Corinthian.
[He keeps his voice level, resists the urge to smack his face at the gall.]
I'd say it was a pleasure, but it's not. Keep off.
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I wasn't expecting you, boy.
[He was looking for John Constantine, but a brunette does him well too. Maybe. The Corinthian is extremely impulsive right now.]
No..
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It's not just you, then.
[Narrows his eyes, Edmund works against the arms, doesn't simply take to being pinned without a fight.]
Again. Get. Off.
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I like your brother better, but you'll do.
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[Sarcasm seems to be his theme of the day, Edmund pulls himself quick off the ground. He doesn't have his blade, Edmund's sick of forgetting it. Flexing fingers, Edmund doesn't say anything else, just lashes out with a punch. Forget weaponry, hand-to-hand combat is his forte. He'll prove it thus.]
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[He's taller than Caspian by half an inch and has more muscle on him than Peter. Cori thinks this is going to be like a turkey shoot. He evades Edmund's punch, never lashing out with his own just yet if only to see what the younger Pevensie can do. Oh hell, he's really just looking to patronize him, and likely this is what's going to get the Corinthian punched.]
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His punch misses (disappointing, but expected), but his kick doesn't. Twisting his body, Edmund slams his leg hard against Corinthian's ribs. Underestimating him is stupid. It's likely to get Corinthian killed if Edmund was fighting with something sharper than mere flesh and bone.]
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Or not. The Corinthian stops, that freckled nose less than an inch from stone. He has his other arm pulled tight around Ed's waist.]
I'm a blond too, you know.
[He whispers into Edmund's ear. And licks.]
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Now he is just beyond rescue.
Edmund goes cold at his current position. He snarls at the arm against his waist, balks at the lick to his ear. He freezes, stiffens hard, at the comment. What-- What? He didn't just go there.
Edmund's quaking in anger, his form shaking incredulously. He says nothing, just growls, low, deep, murderous. He breaks. His hands go to hand keeping him steady, darting out to twist. Ed ducks, spins underneath the hold that's gone slack and continues to twist the Corinthian's arm to behind his back, ignoring the biting pain of his scalp.]
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Edmund, without the slightest mercy, pulls at the arm to his control. The pop is satisfying to his ears, akin to a symphony old. And then he goes down, misses the elbow to his face narrowly, but is caught in the idle sweep.]
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