surprise action is nothing like surprise buttsecks I promise.serpentmarkedJuly 15 2008, 15:26:59 UTC
[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.]
*MAD SNICKERING HEREIN*lionpassantJuly 18 2008, 03:51:55 UTC
[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.]
[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.]
[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. <3serpentmarkedJuly 18 2008, 07:30:55 UTC
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. <3lionpassantJuly 18 2008, 07:46:02 UTC
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.]
pina colada~ <333serpentmarkedJuly 18 2008, 07:58:32 UTC
[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.]
hit me with a manhattan, bb<3<3lionpassantJuly 18 2008, 08:12:20 UTC
[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.]
oh man bad eighties song in my head auuuugh--!!serpentmarkedJuly 18 2008, 08:21:00 UTC
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*lionpassantJuly 18 2008, 08:28:26 UTC
[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.]
don't make me beat you with a stick. I will you know.serpentmarkedJuly 18 2008, 08:54:09 UTC
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.lionpassantJuly 18 2008, 09:03:28 UTC
[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.]
torture turns YOU ON.lionpassantJuly 18 2008, 09:15:04 UTC
[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.]
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.]
Reply
[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?
Reply
[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.
Reply
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.
Reply
[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.
Reply
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.]
Reply
[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.]
Reply
[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?
Reply
I don't know what year it is here.
[He pauses.]
1998.
Reply
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?
Reply
[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.
Reply
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.
Reply
[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.]
Reply
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?
Reply
[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.
Reply
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.]
Reply
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