[ Original: You May Have Won The Battle ]
Nov. 1st, 2011 12:00 am![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tacticianFandom: Original
Characters: Xu Xing, The Jackass Hufflepuff
Rating: G
Warnings: WHAT IS GOING ON. Unedited.
Jamie Carmichael is a seventh-year Hufflepuff, which means that although they have spent the majority of the last seven years in the same building, they've never spoken once. Xing meets him for the first time in Dueling Club, a common staple of the Hogwarts student's extracurricular activity schedule since its widespread reinstatement after the last Death Eater War, during one of the inter-House meets.
Xing is a regular – wizard's dueling is the closest he can get to mixing martial arts with magic, especially considering his encroaching OWLs make it all but impossible for him to sneak off-grounds and practice with the jian these days. One might not think it, but the martial arts serve him well. It is much easier to dodge a spell when you know how to avoid a blade. Unsurprisingly (or so Xing thinks), he has earned himself a reputation in the club, with one of the fastest SPM (spells per minute) counts in the school.
Surprisingly, it's not exactly the reputation he thinks it is.
Other than the preordained matches set up as exercises for the club, very few people challenge him. The number used to be greater in his earlier years, but the count has since dwindled upon graduating sixth-year, for reasons that Xing assumes is simple intimidation, but is actually because of the gossip-born rumor around the school that the only way to score a date with the stalwartly unattached Slytherin is to beat him at his own game. The number is few because frankly, not many want the opportunity.
Also, he's actually somewhat difficult to beat.
The rumor, like most rumors, has some grounding. Xing is, after all, a Slytherin and attracted to power. He wouldn't give a person a second glance if they didn't have something to offer. In addition, he has, unlike most of his fellow students, managed not to show an interest in anyone for the past six years. Though he might not talk to most of them, seeing the same batch of people day in and day out for the past three-hundred-and-sixty-five-times-six days means that they will notice, and they might even talk. There had to be some reason for it.
(Jaidee, who knows Xing best out of anyone in the school, has been trying to figure this out for the past two years. He'll get back to you on that.)
The reason is, truthfully, that Xing doesn't care, but that's difficult to stomach for a good portion of adolescent teens, who, past studies and Quidditch and tomorrow's twenty-four inch paper, have few concerns other than their next intimate appointment at the Astronomy Tower.
But the matter at hand remains: Xing meets Jamie Carmichael at an inter-House Dueling Club meet.
He stands on the opposite end of the elongated platform, toeing the green starting line, and bows respectfully at the opposite party. Xing isn't even looking at who it is, bending low at the waist and clasping one hand over his other fist, a gesture distinctively more Chinese than British. He straightens, waits for the call to start, raises his wand, and just like many times before, starts a spitfire recitation of at least fifteen spells at once, half of them tapering off in a language that is clearly not English. Most opponents have fallen under the same barrage.
Then, he chokes back a breath as magic hits him square in the gut and goes flying into the wall behind him, the impact jolting the wand from his fingers. He slides down in a heap of long limbs he has never quite grown into and black and green robes, head half-pillowed against the wall and a hand pressed to his ribs as he sucks in great, big gulps of air. His other hand is keeping his back off the floor and it clenches into a fist when a shadow falls over him.
Jamie Carmichael extends a hand, gracious in the way that comes easily only to the victor. “Sorry 'bout that. I wasn't meaning to throw you that far,” he says, withdrawing and raising a brow when Xing pushes up on his own, using the wall for balance. “You hurt or anythin'?”
“I'm fine.”
Xing scowls at him, angry with defeat. For some reason, people are watching; those that aren't dueling have their sideways glances settled on them. He bites back the urge to snap in their faces and tell them all to bugger off. It isn't as if he hasn't lost before (it's rare) and it isn't as if it means anything other than a mar on his almost-perfect record (except it does, even if it means something completely different to him than it does to the rest of the school), so he doesn't understand it when Jamie Carmichael pulls up one corner of his mouth in a smirk and takes a step back, looking thoughtful.
“I guess that means I won the right.”
Narrowing his eyes, Xing has to admit that even he's surprised at the gall of this person to talk about bragging rights so quickly after a win. Even he has to say that's in pretty poor taste. “What,” he hisses, a dark storm already brewing on his face, “Listen here, you stuck-up little-”
He doesn't expect the hand that suddenly lands on his shoulder, reassuring and mildly sympathetic. “But don't you be worrying, I don't actually want it,” says Jamie Carmichael flippantly and, after withdrawing his hand, he walks away to report the outcome of the match to the records-keeper.
“What?” Xing echoes, feeling that uncomfortable yet familiar prickle at the back of his neck that usually told him he was entirely missing the point. He hates this feeling, but answers aren't forthcoming. Everyone has since turned away, masking their eavesdropping with ill-performed shows of looking in any direction but his. Xing picks himself up and plucks his wand off the floor, wiping it free of dust on the end of his robe while telling himself not to fret, because one lost skirmish is hardly defeat. Answers or not, there is one sure thing he knows now.
Jamie Carmichael, this is war.
Characters: Xu Xing, The Jackass Hufflepuff
Rating: G
Warnings: WHAT IS GOING ON. Unedited.
Jamie Carmichael is a seventh-year Hufflepuff, which means that although they have spent the majority of the last seven years in the same building, they've never spoken once. Xing meets him for the first time in Dueling Club, a common staple of the Hogwarts student's extracurricular activity schedule since its widespread reinstatement after the last Death Eater War, during one of the inter-House meets.
Xing is a regular – wizard's dueling is the closest he can get to mixing martial arts with magic, especially considering his encroaching OWLs make it all but impossible for him to sneak off-grounds and practice with the jian these days. One might not think it, but the martial arts serve him well. It is much easier to dodge a spell when you know how to avoid a blade. Unsurprisingly (or so Xing thinks), he has earned himself a reputation in the club, with one of the fastest SPM (spells per minute) counts in the school.
Surprisingly, it's not exactly the reputation he thinks it is.
Other than the preordained matches set up as exercises for the club, very few people challenge him. The number used to be greater in his earlier years, but the count has since dwindled upon graduating sixth-year, for reasons that Xing assumes is simple intimidation, but is actually because of the gossip-born rumor around the school that the only way to score a date with the stalwartly unattached Slytherin is to beat him at his own game. The number is few because frankly, not many want the opportunity.
Also, he's actually somewhat difficult to beat.
The rumor, like most rumors, has some grounding. Xing is, after all, a Slytherin and attracted to power. He wouldn't give a person a second glance if they didn't have something to offer. In addition, he has, unlike most of his fellow students, managed not to show an interest in anyone for the past six years. Though he might not talk to most of them, seeing the same batch of people day in and day out for the past three-hundred-and-sixty-five-times-six days means that they will notice, and they might even talk. There had to be some reason for it.
(Jaidee, who knows Xing best out of anyone in the school, has been trying to figure this out for the past two years. He'll get back to you on that.)
The reason is, truthfully, that Xing doesn't care, but that's difficult to stomach for a good portion of adolescent teens, who, past studies and Quidditch and tomorrow's twenty-four inch paper, have few concerns other than their next intimate appointment at the Astronomy Tower.
But the matter at hand remains: Xing meets Jamie Carmichael at an inter-House Dueling Club meet.
He stands on the opposite end of the elongated platform, toeing the green starting line, and bows respectfully at the opposite party. Xing isn't even looking at who it is, bending low at the waist and clasping one hand over his other fist, a gesture distinctively more Chinese than British. He straightens, waits for the call to start, raises his wand, and just like many times before, starts a spitfire recitation of at least fifteen spells at once, half of them tapering off in a language that is clearly not English. Most opponents have fallen under the same barrage.
Then, he chokes back a breath as magic hits him square in the gut and goes flying into the wall behind him, the impact jolting the wand from his fingers. He slides down in a heap of long limbs he has never quite grown into and black and green robes, head half-pillowed against the wall and a hand pressed to his ribs as he sucks in great, big gulps of air. His other hand is keeping his back off the floor and it clenches into a fist when a shadow falls over him.
Jamie Carmichael extends a hand, gracious in the way that comes easily only to the victor. “Sorry 'bout that. I wasn't meaning to throw you that far,” he says, withdrawing and raising a brow when Xing pushes up on his own, using the wall for balance. “You hurt or anythin'?”
“I'm fine.”
Xing scowls at him, angry with defeat. For some reason, people are watching; those that aren't dueling have their sideways glances settled on them. He bites back the urge to snap in their faces and tell them all to bugger off. It isn't as if he hasn't lost before (it's rare) and it isn't as if it means anything other than a mar on his almost-perfect record (except it does, even if it means something completely different to him than it does to the rest of the school), so he doesn't understand it when Jamie Carmichael pulls up one corner of his mouth in a smirk and takes a step back, looking thoughtful.
“I guess that means I won the right.”
Narrowing his eyes, Xing has to admit that even he's surprised at the gall of this person to talk about bragging rights so quickly after a win. Even he has to say that's in pretty poor taste. “What,” he hisses, a dark storm already brewing on his face, “Listen here, you stuck-up little-”
He doesn't expect the hand that suddenly lands on his shoulder, reassuring and mildly sympathetic. “But don't you be worrying, I don't actually want it,” says Jamie Carmichael flippantly and, after withdrawing his hand, he walks away to report the outcome of the match to the records-keeper.
“What?” Xing echoes, feeling that uncomfortable yet familiar prickle at the back of his neck that usually told him he was entirely missing the point. He hates this feeling, but answers aren't forthcoming. Everyone has since turned away, masking their eavesdropping with ill-performed shows of looking in any direction but his. Xing picks himself up and plucks his wand off the floor, wiping it free of dust on the end of his robe while telling himself not to fret, because one lost skirmish is hardly defeat. Answers or not, there is one sure thing he knows now.
Jamie Carmichael, this is war.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:15 am (UTC)the proudest.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:31 pm (UTC)You have your shipping goggles on.
no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:34 pm (UTC)so is jamie just a jerk with xing is is he kind of like that towards everyone in general?
no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-01 05:10 pm (UTC)why is that relevantno subject
Date: 2011-11-01 08:56 pm (UTC)