Where: On the grounds
What: Fighting and Snogging and SLASH OH MY!
Blaise had just exited Hogwarts' Entrance Hall, wrapping his robes a bit closer around his slender frame. He walked near the lake, watching as his breath condensated in front of his eyes. It was his favourite kind of night, cool and breezy - he felt a large droplet of water land on the bridge of his nose - and rainy as well. He didn't mind the rain at all, in fact, he felt that it would make the night all the more better. As the rain began to fall a bit faster, he headed toward the Quidditch pitch, watching dreamily as puddles of water formed on the ground. Leaning against one of the tall stands which were crowded with people during games, Blaise looked up to the sky, noticing streaks of lighting splitting through the darkened sky. It was going to storm.
Chandler shoved his duffel bag back into his locker, cursing himself for accidentally shoving his book in there in the first place. He shook his head frustratedly and walked to the exit, coming to a quick halt as he saw the first droplet of rain hit the ground below him. He watched in silent horror as it kept up, hating himself quite a deal right now. Now he'd have to get back to the castle in the rain. Chandler threw his robe off hastily and put it over his head, not caring how rediculous he looked. If he didn't hurry it was bound to be muddy soon, soiling his shoes horribly. Chandler took a deep breath, and deciding that straight across the pitch was the quickest route back to the castle he made off in a dash.
Looking back down at the pitch, Blaise saw a figure exiting the showers at the far end of the field. He didn't have to strain to see who it was. Only one person he knew would go to such extraordinary lengths not to get wet. With a smirk, he trotted over. "It's getting muddy. Perhaps you should fly across," he said mischeviously, letting out a low chuckle.
Chandler was avoiding the mud with ease, his stride unfaltering before he noticed Blaise. Stopped in his tracks, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Very funny, rebel." He shuddered, although his skin had not yet come in contact with the rain. He hated this weather. "It's quite foul out, aren't you going inside?" He inquired in a strained voice, hoping it didn't sound too hopeful. For some reason, he desperately didn't want Blaise to notice how uncomfortable he was in the rain. He was ready to continue walking, assuming Blaise would follow when the first strike of lighting hit. Chandler jumped back at the sight of the illuminated sky and nearly fell. He regained his composure quickly, and turned back to Blaise. "Well, apparently flying wouldn't be the most intelligent way across."
"Well not flying... I meant something more like hovering. That way you'll avoid the mud and getting hit by lightning," he laughed, blinking a few times as the fat droplets fell into his eyes. His hair was now soaked through and through, and it was becoming a bit bothersome. He ran a hand through it, moving it back and out of his eyes. Turning back to Chandler, he looked at him almost confusedly. "Why would I go inside? It's raining..." he said in an obvious tone, before realising he was probably making no sense to the boy, "I mean...I enjoy the rain. I like walking in it. It's soothing." He jumped a bit at a clap of thunder, and smiled. "And exciting at the same time...Strange thing, that's why I like it."
Chandler studied him disbelievingly. quirking a brow - although he probably should expect this from Blaise by now. "I think I'll just avoid the rain in general, as that seems to be what has been helping over the years?" He cocked his head to the side and tightened his robe around himself. "I really shouldn't be surprised. You're not one for any kind of conformity, are you?" He chucked slightly, shaking his head - momentarily forgetting the rain and the mud and the lightning. "No manners, Muggle literature." He clicked his tongue with a smirk.
Blaise chuckled as he squeezed out the sleeves of his robes, watching as a river fell into the mud now covering the pitch. He looked at Chandler, shaking his head. Smirking deviously, he said, "No... no I can't say conformity is my cup of tea," Blaise raised his eyebrow, feigning offense. "No manners! Please... I have my own form of manners, that is, the fickle, on and off kind." He snorted, kicking at the mud a bit.
Chandler rolled his eyes with a grin, inching a bit towards the stands in an attempt to get out of the rain, which was now falling rapidly, the patter of the droplets hitting the benches the only sound. "You know, I have to admit." Chandler began as a low rumble resounded through the sky, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. "Despite your lack of tact, and ... less than gentlemanly ways, I find you quite interesting, Blaise Zabini.' He smirked. "I could never live as you do, but it's something to be observed." Chandler adjusted his robe as a droplet of the rain came into contact with his forehead. "Of course, it was mainly my mum who raised me with manners - perhaps if you'd had one you'd have more." He started nonchalantly, as it was the truth - though he had no idea the magnitude of that statement.
Blaise started laughing goodnaturedly at Chandler's comments as he always did, continuing to ring out parts of his robes in an attempt to make them less heavy. But, when he heard Chandler's last comment, he grew a bit rigid, his eyes focused intently on the boy. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he clenched them tightly and said to his Housemate in a voice wavering in anger, "Wh-what is that supposed to mean?" and as a second thought added in a mutter, "Perhaps you wouldn't act as if you had a stick lodged up your ass if you had parents that didn't monitor your every move." Blaise really didn't have any idea about Chandler's family life, but he did know what he saw and was fairly adept at making the obvious connections.
Chandler's eyes widened at Blaise's comeback. He hadn't been prepared for such a response - as he wasn't even speaking with the intent to insult. He gritted his teeth slightly, in an attempt to stay calm. He was sure Blaise couldn't be serious. "Don't be rediculous. You don't know what my family's like." He found one of his hands starting to shake. He'd always been sensitive about the nature of his upbringing. "I was just stating that it's usually the mother that teaches her son some class. I'm sure you'll learn it elsewhere - well, at least enough to save yourself from being a hermit your whole life." He snorted. He didn't know why he was reacting this way exactly, as Blaise's rebellious ways never bothered him.
Suddenly, Blaise spun on his heel and walked up to Chandler, stopping inches from his face. Through clenched teeth, he growled, "I'm not a hermit because I lack in manners. I-- I'm not a hermit at ALL. You of all people should be talking about reclusiveness. All you do is complain and talk about the things you hate. Don't be so damn hypocritical." He moved back a bit, sticking his nose in the air and making an effort to stand up perfectly straight. "I know what I see," he added, looking down at Chandler with as much distaste as he could muster, something which he found to be harder than he expected.
Chandler was rather taken aback by his friend's harsh reply, and stood up straight as well, fixing the smug and unfaltering look on his face as he did so. Surprisingly, he wasn't as offended as he felt he should be - instead he was filled with determination to get his own point across. "I have to disagree. I don't think I complain so much as I am open with my opinions." He scoffed, turning his face slightly. the closed distance between the two boys making him slightly uncomfortable. "You assume more than know - perhaps you should consider doing the same with your own personal beliefs." He swallowed, finding fighting with Blaise considerably difficult.
Blaise attempted to stand up taller, finding the effort to do so growing increasingly harder under his now soaked robes. Scowling, he ripped them off in a fit of frustrated rage and threw them to the ground, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't know why he was fighting with Chandler; nothing the boy ever did bothered him at all, but he somehow seemed to be saying the very things that would get a rise out of him. Shaking his head, he snorted and began to fidget nervously, bouncing back and forth on his heels. "Well that sounds much nicer than the way I put it, but in this case, it's the same thing. Sugarcoat it if you want," he shrugged, looking down at Chandler. "Well it's a bit hard not to assume when everything points to one thing. Let's see," he began to count off on his fingers, "you were in 'etiquette classes', you have this insane fear and distaste of anything dirty, you do everything in the proper manner," he threw his hands up and began to laugh rather hysterically, "you even carry a handkerchief... and I don't need to proclaim my 'opinions' to everyone. As long as I'm aware of them, that's fine." He shook his head again, droplets of water falling out from the ends of his hair.
Chandler looked up at Blaise, who naturally towered above him - but now he found himself feeling rather small and meek - an emotion he wasn't used to and didn't favor in the slightest. He watched as his friend tore of his robes vigorously - he really was angered. "And what do you concur from that Blaise Zabini? What horrible truths about my upbringing have you ucovered?" Chandler found his voice rising, though keeping a steady tone. He didn't let any hint of anger or retaliation escape his lips. "Of course - that's you. The typical rebellious teenager. Unkempt appearance, protest to what they don't know, personal belief that one's own opinions are the sole truth. It's not a bad thing. But I've learned so much thus far. Don't patronize me just because I chose to be more refined." he shifted uncomfrtably i the falling rain, but found he cared less about how soaked he was becoming than resolving this situation he was being faced with. He didn't like the feeling of being inferior - talked down to by someone he had regarded with such high opinions.
Blaise found himself growing increasingly frustrated and angry. First Chandler had insulted his mother, and now he was insulting him, categorising him, doing the one thing that everyone he despised did? He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the fact that someone whose company he'd enjoyed so much and who he considered a friend was doing this. Chandler was doing to Blaise what angered him most, and all Blaise could think about was doing the same to Chandler. After a few failed attempts at making a retort, he began muttering to himself, blinded with emotions, "Comment. ..comment défi il. ..more a raffiné. Il pourrait avoir des manières mais il a la bouche d'un idiot complet. La conversation de ma mère. ..talking de MOI aime cela.." Shaking his head, he looked at Chandler furiously. Without warning, he began to move toward the boy at a fast pace, his voice rising as he approached, "You don't know me!" he roared, grabbing onto Chandler's robes and spinning around, tossing the boy into the mud covered Quidditch pitch. It was the one thing Chandler hated, and he used it to his advantage. "You know nothing about me! How dare you say that...that...'typical rebellious teenager' rubbish. I am nothing like any of those imbeciles in that school," he gestured toward the school as he fell on his knees. He grabbed onto Chandler's robes once more and pulled him into a sitting position, "How dare you presume to know I lack in manners because of my dead mother! It's not her fault! She didn't choose to die, did she? Or are you going to say that as well?" With this, Blaise stopped his tirade and looked at Chandler, this time not with disdain or anger, but with a deep hurt in his eyes, the one that was present when he walked through the corridors or during the summer holiday when he was at the Manor, but never with Chandler.
Chandler raised his eyebrows, eyeing BLaise with sheer confusion as he began muttering in the forgein language he quickly recognized as French. He was clueless as to the severity of his words 0 the way they were affecting his friend until he found himself flying towards the wet and muddy ground, hitting it with a painful thud, the wet mess soiling his entire uniform. He was unable to speak back - to form any coherent thoughts. He was completely taken by Blaise's rage, rendering his body immobile and numb, even as he was shaken by the same person he'd found fascinating - intiguing - the first person he'd dared to relate to the word "friend." And then as if it had all just dawned on him in this very moment in time, he suddenly forgot all his motives for his harsh words, became completely befuddled as to how this argument had even commenced. He wasn't even uncomfortable lying here in the mud. And he stared up into the hurt eyes of Blaise and realized that this wasn't anger - no, this was captivation - complete and utter intoxication. And so he allowe dhis mind to driwft away as he similarly clutched the other boy's robes, pulling himself up and closing the small space between them by forcing his lips onto Blaise's and running them over his abrasively. He didn't know what he was doing - he just knew it had to be done.
The kiss came entirely unexpected to Blaise. In fact, it was probably the last thing he would have expected at that moment. By sheer instinct, he returned the kiss, a million thoughts running through his mind at once. Chandler lacked in experience, that was easily deduced, but it didn't make the kiss unpleasant at all. Blaise found it rather enjoyable-- Suddenly, Blaise remembered exactly who was on the other end of kiss, and moved back, making a loud plopping sound as he sat down in the mud. He had an utterly bewildered look on his face, his eyes focused on the ground. All of the anger had left him, and it was replaced by wariness and caution. He had known for a while that he and Chandler acted differently around each other, but something was making him hesitate, and he knew exactly what it was, and it made him angry. Glancing at Chandler's expectant, slightly confused look, he threw caution to the wind. He grabbed the boy's robes once more - not as roughly this time - and pulled him into another considerably softer kiss. He pulled back quickly, feeling his cheeks grow hot despite the damp cold as he looked down again.
The last thing Chandler expected was the return of his kiss. The first thing he noticed was that Blaise knew what he was doing - he'd done this before. He wasn't perturbed in the slightest by their gender - as he was always one to go with the flow. And so when the same hands that had been grasping him in fury only moments ago lifted his body back up into a gentler reciprocation, he simply curled his hands into fists - attempting to grasp back at Blaise's robes but still unable to move or think. For the first time in his life - Chandler Warrington didn't understand his motives, nor the meaning of what was going on. And that seemed to be the quintessence of how he seemed magnetically drawn to Blaise. He made him think. When the boy let him go, looking considerably embarassed - Chandler stimply stared, his lips moving slightly, but no sound escaping. His eyes never averted from Blaise's face as he stuttered out the only thoughts he was able to formulate. "We just kissed ... You're covered in mud." His words were no longer careful and pronounced, but slurred, in ana ccent he didn't even recognize. Anyone watching the boy would recognize that some invisible wall residing in his body had just been torn down.
Blaise looked up momentarily, inadvertently locking eyes once more with Chandler. Moving his gaze back down hurriedly, he began nibbling on the end of his nail, trying to figure out a coherent way to respond to Chandler's rather blunt and obvious observation and noting the change in his pronunciation. "Y-yes....I-- er-- I know. It's... I should probably go back and clean up," he looked up quickly, eyes wide, and his words came out in a rush, "I mean not... not because you kissed me...because I'm," he looked down hopelessly, "...because I'm covered in mud." He got up suddenly, but made no move to go back to the castle. Instead, he remained standing awkwardly in front of Chandler, peeling the once white shirt that was now clinging to him off of his skin gingerly.
"Right. That'd be a good idea." But Chandler didn't move either. He looked down at the mud - the same thing that he'd have pitched a spaz about only a week ago, as if he were seeing right through it and it was nonexistant. He quickly noticed his tone becoming less articulate and tried not to speak, lest the accent he was forced to hide had shamelessly risen again escape his lips. He simply stared up at Blaise with eyes full of wonder and innocence. And not looking, he grasped for the robes lying only inches from him and slid them across the patch of mud and grass to Blaise. "Your robes." He muttered, feeling very much as if the reason Blaise was now dirty, his robes soiled and soaked was his own fault. Chandler didn't apologize, however - he'd never done so. He'd been taught that by apologizing one admits that what they've said or done was wrong. And words and actions that meant something at the time could not be taken back. There were no apologies necessary for words that led to such an enthralling moment.
Blaise picked up the robes hurriedly, all of his movements now coming out in a jerky, nervous manner. Sloppily, he rolled them up and tucked the bundle underneath his arm. "Right. Thanks..." he let his voice slowly trail off into an awkward silence. The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but it seemed the proper choice at the moment. Rather, he was trying desperately to ignore the screaming voice inside of his skull that was telling him exactly what he knew he wanted to do, that was to kiss Chandler once more. Struggling with every fiber of his being, Blaise settled on a few last words before he turned on his heels and hurried back toward the school through the mud and the rain, "I'll... I'll be seeing you soon, then."
Chandler watched Blaise's every movement as if we were on display, and simply nodded when he left. He knew he wanted to boy to stay - but it couldn't be. Not at that moment. Not there. As he watched him disappear into the dark fog that was the result of the gentle mist that had now replaced the rain, he sighed. It was only when he was gone that Chandler seemed to be able to think clearly again, looking down and noticing his filthy state with a look of the utmost distate. He wiped a spot of mud off his cheek, smearing even more of the wet stuff on his face as he got up and retreated to the showers of the Quidditch locker room, believing somehow that the cleansing water would make sense of something. But the truth was - he was now able to say that he'd surprised himself. And all he knew was that he'd like to surprise himself more often.