{Draven} Why is everything so confusing?

[francois jonathon lucielle]

So this is what it had come down to. Dancing until he finally did, in fact break. It wasn’t a shock to the small French boy that his family had sent down a trainer, directly from France, to the small Waverly Academy to work with him. He imagined it was his Grandmother. She had recently popped back into the boy’s life and with nothing too positive at all. Then again, it was probably his dad; he would want Francois to hurt. He would want to see Francois squirm in turmoil and pain. It was what made him happy, and it repulsed the boy to no end. How could someone be like that? How could someone be so cruel, as to watch their own son go through hell and back, and not care? He never thought it was possible. He always heard of those odd, out of the bunch horror stories, but never did he think they were real. Never would he have imagined that something- someone like that could exist and physically be on this earth. It was hard to believe a person so kind and caring, such as Francois mother, could have married such a cruel hearted and pitiful man. They were such complete and utter polar opposites; how it worked? Francois will never know. But what he does know, is that his father was still managing to hurt him, even now, as he trained and danced with his teacher. This is his punishment, he imagined. The text. His dad was angry, so this is probably why it was all happening; why hell had gone and found him once more.

“Not, GOOD. ENOUGH!”

[/color] A large, male voice boomed from a sudden out-cove in the stage, even the boy himself was unaware of. He heard large footsteps echoing through the weak floorboards of the stage, and his body tensed and kept in its position as he walked. Francois’ right foot was behind his back, up behind his head and his two hands were grasping it hard. This precise pose right here was called a scorpion. It took Francois months; years to perfect it and be able to do it on command. It started off as just a fleeting idea of such, but then it became a dream. He made the dream a reality. He never once told his teacher. He wanted to surprise him. To shock him. To show he was not just some stupid little French boy. That he was something more. That he was an actual, living, breathing person. It was something he aimed for all his life. After being dehumanized so many times over so many years by the person who is supposed to protect you; it made a huge impact on the boy. He was always being told he was not good enough. That nothing he did was ever up to standard; so this was no shock to him. The shock was when there was sudden pain. Such a sharp, piercing, vile pain; it was hard to not cry out. The man had a powerful hand on Francois leg above his hand, and one on his stable leg to ensure he could not move. Harshly, he pushed the leg in the air forward, and Francois felt something tear and burst. His eyes widened and his mouth hung open, but there was no sound. Suddenly, he felt hot breath on his ear that sent such an eerie, bone shivering chill down his spin.

“That, is a scorpion. Ingrate.[/color] Francois couldn’t help it. He let his eyes stroll over to look at the man, and once more his breath hitched in his through. His trainer’s eyes were intense and smoldering with such…such hate; it was unbearable. What had Francois ever done to him? What could he have done so bad to be hated so much? He remembered when he had showed this man, the same man giving off so much hatred for him, the first scorpion he could ever do. He clapped. He clapped and whistled and applauded for the boy. He was happy. He was smiling. But now it was gone. Now it was all one big fading memory that singed the inside of the boy’s mind. His eyes began to sting from being held open so long, and instinctively he looked away and shut them. Suddenly there was no more hand on his leg, and it flew to the ground, his muscles screaming in pain. But it didn’t remove itself from his body for long. Suddenly it was at his waist, and then he was being pushed forward. He stumbled and nearly fell, but quickly regained himself.

“Pirouette. Now.”[/color] Francois did as he was told out of habit; out of survival. He pushed onto his right toe, to the utmost point where he felt blood seeping out slowly and staining the inside of the shoe; and then he was spinning. His leg was howling at him in protest, but he didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop. Fear drove him and adrenaline kept him moving. He couldn’t remember how long he had been spinning. The room was blurring. His body was failing. It seemed like every minute was an hour, and it was like he was on his death bed. The anguish was seeping through him, and at any moment, he knew he would crash, he knew it would all be over, and then, then when it was right about to happen-

There was a loud echo through the auditorium. Francois was frozen, glued to the ground he stood on. His cheek was deep red and the side of his lip was bleeding. An imprint of a large, animal-like hand was left on his pale cheek; but the inflictor was nowhere in sight. That’s when it all came crumpling down. Vision was gone as knees collided with wood. Feeling was numb as palms rubbed against the cold chill of the floor.

Francois was no more, as piping red skin collided against a scarlet stained stage.[/blockquote]
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this post was made for Draven and it's a lovely 998 words long. Franny is wearing sweatpants with dancing shoes and a T-shirt and the lyrics are from when it rains by paramore and the template's by emma from ach.

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[draven cole arrow]

Draven felt like he was being caged. Literally, he was sitting in his dorm room feeling like he was in prison, stuck behind walls. This curfew shit was killing him, even though he was a hardcore insomniac. He didn’t sleep, but he should’ve still been able to walk the school. He was only trying to focus on fitting a little shut eye in because he had just finished his last class for the day. He was alone in his room, no roommate around, no one around actually. He figured most students went to Subzero after classes. That or got something to eat, or went out into town, or even the library to do homework. Draven couldn’t care less about doing bookwork. He could get it done later when he knew he couldn’t sleep again. Right now, he was really trying to focus on a nap. It might have seemed childish, but little kids didn’t know how great they had it, they really didn’t. God, what he wouldn’t give for a good sleep. Tossing in his bed a bit, Draven let his arm move over his eyes. The lights were off, the room was blackened with a blanket over the window, and so far, switching positions and counting sheep wasn’t working for him. Maybe he was hungry…but he knew he wasn’t. And he hadn’t had any caffeine today. And his eyes were heavy. But his mind refused to shut off. Why the hell was he so restless? It didn’t make any sense. Maybe he just needed a fucking break from the school. Or maybe he just needed to get out for a night, do something reckless, be himself again. Himself. Well…it was pretty stifled. He was so used to going out. He had been able to come and go as he pleased in Germany, and sometimes he’d stay at a companion’s house or a hotel, but a lot of the time, he liked to just stand around outside on street corners, smoking or finishing a drink.

After thinking about it, Draven decided that was a much better idea than laying down when he couldn’t catch a wink anyway. Standing slowly, his hand went back through his hair to smooth it, and he slipped a pack of cigs into his pocket, grabbing his wallet and his left over Dr. Pepper from earlier, not having any alcohol on him. Since he had come to the school, he hadn’t gotten a drop of it. But he did have a small bottle he had stolen from the hotel he had stayed at, and he fished that out of his suitcase, shoving that down in his pocket as well. Walking out into the halls wearing a v-neck, a hoodie, and his chained pants, Draven set out to find something to do. Maybe he just needed to let loose. Get drunk, get in a fight. Something. Pulling his sweatshirt sleeves down a bit, Draven moved down back hallways to where the auditorium was. So far, a good walk hadn’t helped him. Well, at least he was getting to explore a bit. As he neared the auditorium doors, he had a brilliant idea. He could get a smoke in. He was alone, the auditorium hallway seemed dark and deserted. It was the perfect plan. Draven was almost giddy when he realized he might’ve been getting a full night of sleep because he had nicotine to help him relax. Fuck school rules. He had to think about himself first. Moving to slowly peek in the auditorium, Draven stopped as his eyes were met with a shocking and horrifically disturbing sight. Francois…trembling with pain and being bossed by a man who didn’t seen to care that Francois was bleeding all over Waverly’s stage. Had this man no common sense? No decency? Draven was about to yell out before the guy was slapping Francois over the face, and watching where the guy went, it was like something snapped. Draven was snapping.

His face reddened, feeling his muscles tense as he ran to the stage, seeing Francois fall to the stage in a pool of his own blood, Draven looking around wildly, before spotting the perpetrator. ”Hey! What the fuck do you think you are doing!? What have you done!?”

[/color] He had muscles where this man had more bulk, but even if the guy was bigger than him, Draven wasn’t going to stop from hurting him like he hurt his new found friend. Draven charged at the man, shoving him back, bringing his fist in a sharp right hook to the man’s jaw, yelling at him in abhorred, ANGRY German, knowing the man wouldn’t understand what he was saying but he would get his point across much better that way. Waiting as the man fell back a bit, Draven brought his fist up in a strong uppercut to the spot right under the man’s ribs, the man holding his stomach, and Draven roares, ”Get out of here! You’re finished!”[/color] He didn’t care what the man had to say, he just pushed him out of the room. Once the man was gone and the room had fallen silent, he took a breath, looking down at his knuckles. Broken open and bleeding. Well…at least he had let out some rage. Looking back to Francois, he moved over to him, kneeling down slowly, looking him over a bit. ”Are you okay?”[/color] He didn’t want to move him. He was just thankful to see that he wasn’t knocked out cold. ”Who the fuck was that guy? What was he doing? What were you doing? Why would…”[/color] He stopped, taking a breath, looking at Francois with confused eyes, standing and holding his arms out if Francois needed to stand. Should he have gone to get the school nurse? He didn’t know anything about dressing wounds, but if he needed to, the boy was small enough for him to carry there so. It would be a strange sight and Draven wasn’t craving that kind of attention, but he’d do it.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

There wasn’t much feeling anymore. Francois could barely hear himself breathing, but he still was. His slow, uneven and ragged breaths combined with the blood and ache of his muscles told him he was still alive. That was the nice thing about blood for Francois. It was a constant reminder that he was human. That he was a living, breathing thing. It told him that in the end, when everything was all said and done, he would still remain. It didn’t matter how badly beat up he was or how maimed his body would become; because it would all smooth over at the end of it. Or at least, that’s what Francois thought. He had been beaten up before. He had been damaged and hurt, but at least he was still here to talk about it today, right? He was still here to tell his tale that things eventually got better over time; you just had to give it a chance to. It was hard to comprehend what was going on at the moments he heard someone yelling, but after a moment it finally clicked in his mind. It was Draven. Why was he…here? What was he doing? He heard grunting and more incoherent words; and fear gripped at him. Was his trainer…h-hurting…Draven? Was he okay? Was everything under control? What was going on?! It was killing the boy. He had to move. He had to get up. He had to do something. He had to make sure Draven was okay. But then his voice was there again. He was asking Francois questions, trying to make sure the boy was all right. Francois was okay, he was just a little numb.

“I-I’m all right…”

[/color] He spoke in a small, hushed and tired tone. His voice seemed to drip with something that the boy couldn’t even figure out. Was it hate? Anger? Fear? It sounded like a mixture of fear, worry and regret all in the same tone; but then again, what could Francois know? He was half unconscious right now, but he was going to be okay. He knew that everything would soon be okay. His nails gently scraped against the floor as he struggled to get up. His legs were finally beginning to move again, and they were scraping against the floor as he struggled to shift his body weight like he had done before. His palms were open and bleeding, but despite this he pushed them against the wood and maneuvered himself up. His body was quaking and it was obvious. Finally after a moment, he got onto all fours and coughed slightly, small droplets of blood hitting the ground beneath him. He let his weight fall back so he was just on his knees, and finally his whole face was visible to Draven. There was a large bruise forming on his cheek, his left eye was red and watery, his lip was busted and his face was drained of color. He knew he looked hideous. He knew he appeared disgusting and horrifying, but there was nothing he could do now. He tugged the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands before putting it weakly in Draven’s grip, not wanting to stain his body with crimson as well. He got up in a small, petite, exhausted manner and staggered a little, before opening his mouth to talk again.

“H-he is my t-trainer…f-father s-sent him…I was d-dancing for him…I-I’m s-sorry.”[/color] His words were small and hushed even worse at the end. He felt terrible for relying on this boy so much, but there was nothing else he could do now. If only things were different. If only things could be okay, and happy, an-

The boy’s train of thought was abruptly cut off by the same, large pair of feet slamming into the stage again. His right eye widened as he caught glimpse of the trainer, who looked pissed beyond belief. He had a bloody nose and was walking kind of funny, but he still looked angry. He was approaching Draven, who was turned towards Francois, and he looked like he was getting ready to maul the boy. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Francois sometimes, it was just how it is. He saw the man coming closer, and his hand quickly grabbed at Draven’s wrist and switched their spots rather abruptly. Francois may be hurt, but he was still agile enough to maneuver around Draven to face the man. He saw his fist come up, and then come down, and Francois was ready for it.

His knuckles connected directly into the boy’s left eye, the one that was closed, and caused him to stagger back a little against Draven. Then there was yelling. The trainer was screaming in French. His words seemed to be slurred and venom dripped in them, and instinctively Francois hissed his own French right back at him. He wasn’t sure how long the verbal argument was going on for, because he had no grasp of time in reality right now. He was standing in front of Draven still, because there was no way in hell his trainer was getting to him as long as he was still standing. Then there was English. There were words that cut deep into Francois. Gashed him intimately. They were about his father.

“You’re father should have rid the world of you when you were young, just like he said he would. Just like how I will rid the world of you and your little friend when this school course is over.”[/color] The man’s French accent was sloppy and thick, but Francois was able to understand all of it. He ignored the ache that struck at his heart at the realization; his father did want him dead. It wasn’t a shock, just hearing it from this man…that was where the shock came from. But there was something else boiling up inside of the boy. It was his anger again. But this time it was a protective anger. It was the anger he felt whenever someone mistreated his mother. His right eye narrowed at the man, his only good eye left. There was pure hatred held inside his hazel orb as he spit out his words, lacing them with careful venom as he did.

“If you lay so much as a finger on him; I will kill you on the very ground you stand on.”[/color] Francois watched the man silently as he let his words sink in.

Left arm looped around holding his right side. Right arm dangling aimlessly with trickles of blood trailing down it. Left eye closed with a stream of blood moving down his cheek originating from it. Body bruised and aching; and yet he was still standing. He knew he had no strength left. He knew he couldn’t defend the boy anymore after this, but the threat was palpable, and Francois would carry it through if he had to. Francois needed Draven more than he would know. Because Draven gave him something no one had ever given him before.

Draven gave him hope.

He would never let anyone lay an ill-finger on this boy for as long as he would live.


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this post was made for Draven and it's a lovely 1,198 words long. Francois is wearing sweatpants dancing shoes and sweatshirt and the lyrics are from when it rains by paramore and the template's by emma from ach.

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[draven cole arrow]

Draven wasn’t one who liked to be lied to. When he did ask a question, he expected an answer. An answer that actually made sense, that was. He knew Francois was lying when the boy finally spoke to him. The fact that he stammered at all meant he had to think about it. Draven wasn’t down with that. Draven didn’t like knowing that someone was lying directly to his face. It made him feel like the person in question didn’t trust him. He knew he didn’t trust people very easily, but for some reason, people not trusting him was different. He had never really wronged anyone. And from what he could guess, with as much as he had learned about Francois, the boy had to trust him to some extent. Draven already knew a lot about him, Francois had already told him so much…so why was he keeping things from him now? Not that Draven wanted to know. And not like he would pry. But really, he was so confused with anything that Francois threw at him. Ever since meeting him, all he’d gotten was weird mixed signals. He had thought only women could give those out…and mothers. But apparently, Francois had some knowledge on how to do that as well. Draven hadn’t given a single thought when he had come to this school about how many new things he’d be getting into. He hadn’t known it was a spy school, he hadn’t known people would be befriending him without his permission, and he didn’t know he’d be protecting someone who he’d only known for less than two weeks or so. All this different was really throwing him. So in response to Francois’s lie, Draven just shook his head. ”Is bullshit.”

[/color]

Moving his arms slowly so Francois could grab onto him if he needed it, Draven didn’t touch Francois. Draven knew if he were in Francois’s position, he wouldn’t want any help, and it wasn’t just some macho mind set thing. It was almost humiliating to need it. But the boy was in bad shape. Is this what he endured at home all the time? Draven’s blood was still boiling as he thought about it. God, he hated how he couldn’t do anything. As Francois finally let Draven help him, Draven put all his strength into his arms to lift the boy up. ”Come on…let’s go get some ice or something…”[/color] Like he really knew the word for first aid in English, shaking his head at what Francois said. ”Don’t care who he is, fucker touches you again, I’ll kill him.”[/color] Draven’s voice was full of venom. He couldn’t stand any man who beat another human being for no reason. He was almost angry at Francois for putting up with people like this. ”Stop damn apologizing. Just stop.”[/color] Draven was really too busy looking over the boy’s wounds to hear someone coming up behind him, but the look on Francois’s face was enough for him to turn around. Draven’s eyes flashed. WHY wasn’t this bastard gone yet! Draven was about to push Francois back so he could deal with the “dance trainer” once more, before he found himself being pulled back. It really surprised him. Such a small boy could have that much strength to move him. But that had to be the stupidest move Francois had pulled so far. Because that left him wide open, and it didn’t give Draven enough time to react…or stop Francois from getting hit.

As soon as the man was punching Francois again, Draven tried to push past Francois. What the fuck was this man’s problem? Draven was like a raging bull ready to charge, but he didn’t want to extremely fuck anything up for Francois, so what was the boy doing!? Catching Francois as he staggered back, Draven moved to keep Francois back in his own little way, almost like he was protecting him from behind, his arm moving over Francois’s chest, keeping his eye on the guy. He had no idea what he was saying, but he had a hell of a guess. Especially when Francois started yelling back. That much Draven was very proud of him for. But when the language switched to English, Draven’s muscles tensed, his jaw clenching and digging his feet into the floor to keep himself from running at the man. He didn’t care about any threat to himself, but what right did this dance instructor have to go and start threatening people’s lives!? Draven was about to retort himself before Francois spoke, Draven blinking down at him, before shooting his eyes back up to the dance instructor. It didn’t seem like the man believed Francois, but Draven growled, yelling at him, ”Get out! You’re done! Just leave! If you’re not gone in the next minute I’ll be on your ass so fast you won’t know your head from your feet!”[/color] He pushed into Francois a bit, pointing in the man’s face, slurring insults to the man in German, waiting for him to get the hell out. If Draven’s patience was pushed one iota more, he wouldn’t be able to pull back from pummeling the arrogant French man to the ground.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Francois was always surprising himself over and over. It was hard for him to believe he was still standing, still breathing and living; but he was. He was still in-tact and…and mostly all right, except for a few emotional bruises, because the physical ones always went away. That was what Francois liked about getting physically hurt. It healed. Time went by, and new layers of skin formed, the gross purple blood from underneath began to fade and thus bruises went along with it. The blood on the outside of his body could be washed off and the reminded of pain could be taken away, but not from emotional bruises. Emotional scarring was what Francois had plenty of and didn’t know how to get rid of. It was hard dealing with it. There wasn’t a constant reminded on the outside of his body, but on the inside there always was. There was always that little voice, repeating and mocking him over and over; Franny just learned to live with it at this point. But that doesn’t mean he liked it. It never, ever meant he liked any of it. The guilt. The pain. The hurt. He abhorred it all. He wanted it all to go away, but it was a wish that seemed so foreign to the boy; he knew it was something that could never happen, but he imagined it would be okay in the future. He imagined that living with it all would become less tedious and things would smooth over. Of course, it was just a wish, and even though Francois didn’t believe in those anymore, he had to try, right?

He watched the man with the same face of disgust and anger plastered on his features. His left eye seemed to pulse in his head as blood streamed through it and down his cheek. He imagined it was because he had popped a blood vessel or something, but at this point he didn’t care- he couldn’t care. His right eye was beginning to lose vision once more. Things were becoming blurry and fuzzy for small moments, but the boy pushed himself more to stay awake and remain here. He took pleasure in the redness of the other man’s face, the blood seeping from his body due to Draven; but the thing he took most pleasure from was the taken back look on the man’s face. He seemed a little…shocked, that Francois had spoken back to him. Throughout their entire career together, throughout all the lessons he had given Francois in dancing; not once had he ever, ever spoken back. But then again, things were different back then, and things were happening now, and that is what Francois was responding to. There was suddenly an arm around his shoulders, and he felt Draven secure his hand on his chest. He felt a rush of heat move over his cheeks and silently thanked god they were already red from being hit so that no one would see it. His eye quickly moved back to the man and narrowed lightly. He opened his mouth to speak once more, but Draven beat him to it. He let a small smile slip onto his features. It was…nice…to have someone stick up for you, just once. It was something he never got from really anyone, and now it was something he didn’t want to let go. He could tell Draven was beyond mad though. He felt the boy push against him lightly, and Francois was suddenly very happy he was in front of the boy to prevent him from completely tearing the man apart. His body shifted weight slowly, carefully, and he let the back of his head rest gently against the taller male’s chest, feeling content finally.

There was more French being yelled at them for a moment, but Francois didn’t really…care. He didn’t know why though. He couldn’t honestly give a shit about what the man was saying to him, because he wasn’t paying much attention to it. He removed his left palm from his side to reveal that it was stained the color of his own blood, and wiped it on his pants yet again. A small, shaky sigh left his lips before he let the smallest, most insultingly minuscule smile spread across to his lips. His right hand moved up and in the most petite of manner, he let his middle finger extend fully so the man could see only that. For a moment he saw a vein pulse in the man’s head that made him smile more, but then there was more yelling. Very gently he whispered to Draven behind him what the man was saying, feeling bad he couldn’t understand, summing up his words in a smug manner.

“Cursing…cursing…threat, threat…more angry words…threat…curse.”

[/color] He grinned as he spoke to the boy behind him, not really caring as his finger retreated back into a fist and it fell aimlessly next to his side. The man kept ranting for a few more moments before finally stopping and breathing raggedly. Francois just gave him a wickedly sweet smile before the man finally spoke in English again, slurred and grotesque.


“Next time I’ll rip that finger off. Just wait. I’ll get you soon enough.”[/color] The man began to back up until finally turning around and beginning to walk off. A small, relieved sigh crept out the boy’s mouth as he opened it to say something, but then he was abruptly cut off by the man shouting.

“Oh, here, you forgot this faggot!”[/color] His voice boomed loudly as suddenly he moved by the edge of the stage, and wound back with all his might, throwing something fast and powerful towards the boy. His eye closed as the small boom-box the boy used to dance was hurled past his head, barely missing him and Draven by a few inches. His eye shut and a small tremor broke through his body as it collided with a mirror behind them, shattering it to pieces. Francois didn’t open his eyes back up. He wanted the man to be gone. He wanted him to leave. The noise was one he heard before, and it was one he hated. Before he even realized it, there were tears streaming out his left eye, and just his left eye- mixing in with the blood and creating a maroon color of sorts. His body wasn’t quaking like it normally did when the boy cried. There was one small sign that he was crying though, and it was quite obvious. His right hand had nearly flew to the hand Draven had on his chest, grasping onto it with a small vice-grip of sorts, fear giving him the strength to hold on. His left hand gently shook by his side, a fresh stream of crimson flowing down his fingertips as small drops hit the floor.

His touch against Draven’s skin was freezing. His body was always cold. Pale. It was a body that lacked heat. It was a body that lacked life.

It was a body scarred forever without love.[/blockquote]

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this post was made for Draven and it's a lovely 1,175 words long. charactername is wearing sweatpants dancing shoes and a sweatshirt and the lyrics are from when it rains by paramore and the template's by emma from ach.

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[draven cole arrow]

When it came to troubles people had in life, Draven always counted his blessings. He had it so much better than other people. So much better. So what if his family had no money? So what is his father passed away? So what if he had been so ready to just drop out of school? So what if his mother was working too hard? There were other people out there dying over things they had no control over. There were natural disasters appearing all over the place. There were people being killed by bombings and gassings by the person who led their fucking country. Libya…good lord. Draven could’ve been born under some tyrant rule. He could’ve been killed in a war that he had no choice but to fight in. He could’ve been the one killing people to save his own hide. Believe him when he said he would never do that. He would’ve rather been mauled than to cause innocent people pain. He only unleashed on the people who really deserved it. Just like Francois’s dance trainer really fucking deserved it. That was the funny thing, though. How did people know who deserved what? Humanity was fucked up majorly. It seemed like everyone was going crazy. Who was even sane in this world anymore? So many people filled with so much grief, remorse, pain. Draven was so glad that when it came to things on the inside, he was good at bottling it up and hiding it. Because he was sure, now that he knew what Francois had been through, that this year was going to be absolute hell for Francois. Maybe that was why the boy had found him somehow. Because Draven was stronger and able to handle just a bit more. Draven almost felt like a brother now, having to look over someone who was hurting and having to be the one to take care of it. Francois had drawn Draven into feeling obligated. And now Draven couldn’t even complain about it.

During the yelling brawl, Draven got a better look at the ugly man’s face. Thinking a bit, Draven decided he could’ve done more damage, and he was almost ashamed he hadn’t. He could just feel his fists itching to get another two punches in, just to finish the man off with an even number. The man had better thank his lucky stars that weapons weren’t allowed in the school or he’d be gone for sure. Though it seemed like Francois’s words seemed to make a far bigger impression than Draven’s hits had. He didn’t really like standing back and not being able to do more. He didn’t like that he was stopped. He didn’t like that he hadn’t made as big of an impact as Francois was all on his own. Had he helped for nothing? God, he didn’t know. All he knew was his head was starting to pound with all this fucking drama that he didn’t want to go into. He didn’t even know what he was doing when it came to handling Francois, he just had these…protective instincts kick in. He got them with his mom, and when he had been dating before, he’d gotten them for his girl too. He was single now but it was still early in the year. Draven still couldn’t get over the fact that he was being held back by someone who was smaller than him. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to let go thinking that the boy would just collapse on his own…that or Draven didn’t want to completely run the boy over. And it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to move anyway as the boy leaned back against him, which made Draven just have to stay put. He held back an internal sigh. He wasn’t good with the holding back thing. He never was. Looking to see what the French boy’s reaction would be to the still seething dance teacher, Draven couldn’t hide the amusement off his face as the boy responded in the cheekiest way possible. It was obvious who was winning this argument.

As more yelling ensued, Draven’s jaw clenched a bit. Oh yeah, he would definitely need a cigarette after this. He needed one before. If he didn’t get his fucking nicotine, someone would die. Listening as Francois decided to translate this time, it was more a mix between funny and just down right annoyance. Draven glared with narrowed eyes at the man. Who did he think he was? Who hired him anyway? Didn’t he know what could happen to him if he treated a pupil like this? Draven really just wanted to throw out what he knew about dancing at the man, tell him where he stood when it came to dancers and how Francois was higher status than what this scum would ever be, but he kept it to himself. But he couldn’t hold back the growl that rumbled through his chest as the man walked off with one more threat. That seemed to be all he had. Empty threats. And extremely insulting names. Draven was about ready to run after the stupid man…that and turn Francois back to him before something was coming hurtling towards their heads. It missed them by a hair, but the fact that it came so close wasn’t very reassuring, and Draven’s arm tightened around Francois a bit. Draven’s eyes made sure that the man was completely gone, but by that time, Francois’s resolve was crumbled once again. Feeling the boy’s hand on his, Draven shook his head, taking a breath. ”Come on…we’re going now.”

[/color] The boy couldn’t take anymore and neither could Draven. He was glad he wore something that wasn’t easily stained, moving to pick the boy up under his legs with a bit of effort, trying not to move him or touch him where it hurt, carrying him out of the auditorium and heading to the Headmistress’s office. They were going to put a stop to this.[/blockquote][/size]

[anahi alejandra uckermann]

Crystham at RPGU