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[lionpassant]

If Peter were in my situation right now, he’d probably have this all sorted. I don’t. I'm not Peter.

I don’t know where I am right now. But I know one thing and it’s that this place is not Narnia. Far from it.

Answers. Answers would be good.

I have to sort this out myself.

First. Where am I?

Comments

surprise action is nothing like surprise buttsecks I promise.

[serpentmarked]

[And, because Draco is - when push comes to shove, more or less a coward, (more rather than less) and because he is also quite angry, that proclamation causes him to do three things.

Apparate to Xanadu.

Hex the bloody bastard before he can so much as blink and--

Realize, quite abruptly, that this was a very bad idea.]

THEN WE SHALL NEVER BE ABLE TO PLAY SEX UP THE DRAED *FUCKITTHEYNEEDSOMENAME*

[lionpassant]

No, not the same sort. But England all the same.

[Edmund considers it, ponders the thought in his mind.]

Relax, Malfoy.

[Cocks him a look. Raises a brow at his attitude.]

Why are you so upset?

*is headdesking fer serious*

[serpentmarked]

Upset? Don't be ridiculous.

[He sweeps dirt from his shoulders. Doesn't bother with his hair - anything he'd do there would likely make it worse.]

I just don't like you. Or any of the rest of your kind.

*MAD SNICKERING HEREIN*

[lionpassant]

[Edmund doesn't get why just because Draco doesn't like him, he has to go ahead and dislike the rest of the Pevensies along with it. What an odd boy.]

How mature.

[A remark made from quipped observation, light and nothing, as Edmund goes about whipping off the tie off his neck and digging for his fallen pack somewhere, shoving it in with less than tact.]

It's alright. I don't like you very much either.

dorkball. <3

[serpentmarked]

It has nothing to do with maturity, I assure you.

[Sometimes, he's not sure what it does have to do with. The lines are more blurred here, in this place - where yes, wizards are still superior to humans, but there are things further still that surpass even the magic-users of his world. He has no mind for tolerance, he wasn't born to it, but spending so much of his time immersed in Muggles, while not changing his mind, is at least forcing him to re-consider his stance on the matter.

After all. Wizard, demon, god or ghost - they are, all of them trapped here.]

Good, then.

ohmuffin. <3

[lionpassant]

[Right. Edmund stifles the need to say that. Draco's nearly as stubborn as he. He tugs his shirt out of his pants roughly, thinking, really, it's too hot to tuck anything in. And Susan's not around anyways, so what does it matter. He bloody hates this uniform.]

Just naturally being born obstinate?

[Edmund somewhat understands. Only a few years- technically, a year ago- was he the same. Stubborn, unrelenting, annoying. He supposes it's a phase thing. One his sister, Lucy, thank Aslan, never had to undergo. Otherwise Edmund doubts, he'd have very much been unable to handle it.]

ohpancake. <3

[serpentmarked]

I don't think that's any of your business.

[His arms are folded again. The right over the left. His shoulders are rather more despairing of the position than he's used to, by virtue of having been tossed around like a sack of potatoes not ten minutes earlier. Despite that, though, his posture is still very relaxed, his hand, tucked near his pocket, still lax against the handle of his wand.

It won't be hard. Obliviate. Obliviate. It's a simple spell. A few more questions, then...]

What year are you from?

[He asks it grudgingly, as if it's against his better interest to do so. And maybe it is.]

buttercup. <3

[lionpassant]

I suppose not.

[He really shouldn't be as inquisitive as this. Even though it's rightfully in his nature (which was what got him in trouble with the whole White Witch issue) it's none of his business now, neither should it be his care, whatever information the other boy decides to share with him. They're not friends.

Edmund finds himself listening to Draco's words nonetheless, confused. He makes a face. The year? What of it? That seems like the oddest question to ask, but despite himself, Edmund frowns in thought as he answers.]

1941. Why? What year is it?

pina colada~ <333

[serpentmarked]

[Despite himself, he starts at that. 1941. There's a part of him that thinks, scoffs, that's impossible but then, judging by some of what he's seen here, one shouldn't go and discount the impossible. Professor Snape, after all, is up and walking around.]

I don't know what year it is here.

[He pauses.]

1998.

hit me with a manhattan, bb<3<3

[lionpassant]

[Edmund feels cold. The sunflowers no longer appear as majestic as they used to seem.

A world. A different world all the same. But a different time altogether? He licks his lips, mulls it over in his mind. Nothing makes sense. Edmund doesn't like it very much. He usually doesn't care very much for propriety and control. Today, it seems like he has neither under his duress.]

Well.

[Because that's all he can really say, or even begin to start with. Well.]

Well, I'm hungry.

[He flips his pack open, scouring for food.]

Want some?

oh man bad eighties song in my head auuuugh--!!

[serpentmarked]

And just how do I know it's not poisoned? You tried to kill me earlier.

[He sniffs disdainfully, though his eyes move to the pack. He isn't that hungry, but it's true that he could stand to eat something. Still, the level of trust he has is hovering somewhere down around zero, and he doubts it's about to change any time soon.

He smirks.]

Or maybe it's gone stale. 1941 is a long time ago.

HAHAHA. ST ELMOS FIRE. *SHOT; SO RANDOM*

[lionpassant]

[Edmund resists the urge to roll his eyes at the suggestion that is so ludicrous. It's tempting. Honestly. This boy was just a bit too paranoid.]

If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you before.

[He reminds him without too much sarcasm, Edmund hopes. He successfully closes fingers over the item he's searching for in his pack. Edmund pulls open a package of faun-baked cookies, given fresh by a young faun on their journey home. Edmund sinks a bite into the baked goods, formed in the replica of a star, a cosmo cookie or something they called it. Edmund waves it about in front of Draco casually.]

C'mon. They're good, I promise.

don't make me beat you with a stick. I will you know.

[serpentmarked]

Oh, will you stop?

[He says of the waving, and he snatches the cookie out of Edmund's hand just to get the point across. Didn't his mother ever tell him not to play with his food? Honestly. The 1940's must have been a beastly, uncivilized time in Muggle England. Against his greater judgment, he takes a cautious bite at one corner of the oddly-shaped cookie. Makes a face.]

Ugh. They're horrid.

[They're not, really. But it's the principle of the thing.]

T___T YOU WOULD. MASOCHIST.

[lionpassant]

[At the sudden theft of the cookie, the loss of it in his fingers, and despite the remark that Edmund's not taking at all personally, the Pevensie quirks a grin. An expression of satisfaction in his eyes as he settles down on sunflowers and sits without worry.

Maybe Draco isn't all that bad. Just a little lost, like Edmund once was. All he needs is a little guidance.]

Want another one?

sadist, surely~

[serpentmarked]

No.

[He sits as well, in a somewhat more dignified manner, a short distance away from the other boy. It seems only fair.]

You must have missed my saying they're disgusting.

torture turns YOU ON.

[lionpassant]

[He reclines easy against the ground, cradling his head with the back of a hand, another providing him another feed of a cookie. Edmund chews happily, undeterred.]

No.

[Edmund corrects.]

You just said they were horrid. Not disgusting.

[A last offer. Edmund dangles the packet of cookies in the air lazily.]

So go for it. I can't finish them all anyways.

[A lie. Edmund so could if he wanted to.]