Who: Constantine and Tristan Rivers What: A heated discussion… Where: Empty classroom When: Thursday evening Rating: 15 (fer lotsa cussin’ n' Tristan's blood) Complete || Closed
Taff sighed and closed his textbook. Potions without the actual potion-making wasn't so fun. In fact it was pretty lame. He was sick of writing lists of ingrediants, it felt like he was preparing for a shopping trip! "School sucks," He remarked to Tristan, "And it sucks even more now the teachers are dropping like flies. I don't even know why they're still making us take our classes. We might as well just give up. The way things are going, we're all going to end up magicless by the end of the year anyway..." He frowned and glanced at his brother. Would Tristan tell him if he got sick? Well of course he would, because he'd probably steer clear to avoid infecting Taff as well. But if Tristan lost his magic... well if he did lose his magic, Taff would make sure he was well protected forever. "Or curse practice for that psycho out in the forest," Taff continued conversationally. He had all this bottled up 'talk' energy he hadn't been using whilst doing his homework, so now it was all spewing out like a fountain, "Still it's not like he has to try very hard, some people are so desperate to get killed they just wander straight into the forest."
"Well, some people aren't as lucky as we are," Tristan replied from behind the book he was reading casually. "Anyway, Mr. Pessimism, what about when this is over? When they've found their miracle cure? What about when we have kids? Don't you want to be able to teach them things? Or do you just want to tell them you gave up in school because you couldn't be bothered to read a few books?"
"Oh please, I'm pretty sure all that cure stuff is just to try and stop people topping themselves the second they get a sore throat. I mean, its been going around in Europe and stuff for ages, and they're no closer to curing it than we are!" Taff replied, ever the voice of optimism. It was bleak, but true. And the worst part was, he and Tristan had no where to run to avoid catching it.
"Who's to say I even want kids," Taff added, stuffing his books away in his bag, "and why do I need to teach my kids stuff? That's what school's for isn't it? If they don't wanna read books like I don't, then all the better for them. It's not like we learned anything from our parents is it?" He shrugged and zipped up his bag, mumbling, with no intention for his brother to hear it, "except how to fuck up and die."
Tristan's eyes swivelled from his book to land on Taff, for a moment daring him to continue. Oh, he had to continue didn't he? Tristan was on his feet in a second, his brother's jaw back in the vice like grip he used to lock their eyes. "I've already told you never to talk about them. I did the best I could for you. All of a sudden you have this giant chip in your shoulder. I'm sorry I couldn't bring you up in a nice little house with a puppy but I did my fucking best," he growled. "And I'm reaching the end of my rope with you. You're turning into a whiny little bitch. You gonna say you're sorry or are you just going to whimper and run off to Goldstein so he can kiss it better?"
Taff wasn't expecting that reaction at all. He pulled back firmly, pushing Tristan's chest to free himself. Any other time, the glare would've quelled him, but this time Taff felt like his brother was overracting! "Gerroff!" He growled, pulling free. He rubbed his cheek with his eyes narrowed, "why shouldn't I talk about them? Huh? They're my parents too! Well I guess they are, I mean how do I know for sure?" He moved back, standing up, getting even with his brother. The comment about Anthony grated on his and his temper flaired once again. "Why don't you hate them too huh? If it weren't for them being so stupid you wouldn't have had to do anything for me! You'd have been a normal kid. But noooo, you think just cause they're our parents you need to worship their memory like they're Merlin himself!"
"Don't push me, Taff," Tristan said, shoving his brother back. "I don't hate them because they loved us. They didn't go out of their way to get murdered. They worked for what they believed in and just because it doesn't fit in with your charmed, naiive little view of the world it doesn't make them the bad guys. The bad guys are the people who murdered them knowing they had two little kids-"
Tristan rolled his shoulders, his body tense. "And never for a moment did I resent having to look after you. Ever. Not until now."
Constantine glared furiously as he was shoved. He stepped forwards again, his hands aching to push his brother again. "You resent it now? Why's that? Cause I developed my own opinions? Did you like it better when all I wanted to do was color in and follow you around? Or is it just cause I got laid and you're not?" He didn't know if that was exactly a lie, but he hadn't seen any evidence that his brother was seeing some girl somewhere in the school.
"If they loved us, they would've stopped doing what they were doing to take care of us!" Taff felt so strongly against them.Why should he have felt any other way? He had no memory of their parents, no photos to look at, nothing but the vague descriptions Tristan could give him from his memories as a child. They were no more real than Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny to Taff, "Our parents death eaters! Their ideals were the same as You-Know-Who. They probably weren't any better than your friend in the forest, all agressive and murderous! They deserved what they got, we didn't!" Emphasizing his last word, Taff shoved his brother again.
Tristan felt sick. He didn't even know what he was doing when he launched himself at his brother, slamming Taff up against the wall. "If all you have to think about and worry about is who is having sex and who isn't then you're just as shallow as every other kid in this school. I don't need sex to give me self worth. I don't need another person to justify my existence. I don't need to follow a crowd of people because I'm too chicken to do what I want," Tristan said, his voice growing louder with each word. "I'm sick of looking at you. I'm sick of being around you."
It happened in an instant. Tristan was speeding at him, and the sudden shock of his back colliding with the wall. Taff saw red. He grabbed his brother's shoulders, gripping handfuls of Tristan's shirt and dragged him to the left, throwing him hard against a desk to free himself. He didn't consider how much strength he'd used. Part of him wanted to hurt Tristan.
"Maybe I wanna be just like everyone else! Ever think about that? Its always what YOU want Tristan. Maybe I WANT to be like everyone else. Maybe I want to fuck around and play quidditch!" Taff shouted with equal volume, "if you're so fucking sick of me why don't you fuck off and go live in the forest with that other death eater? You can set fires together-"
Tristan leant back against the wall, shock registering on his face for a second. Taff had never been that forceful with him. Ever. He was a little winded.
He pushed away from the wall, squaring up to Taff. "I'm sure you'd love that. Then you can go on pretending everything is just fine here. You can go on pretending they don't look at you like you're dirt. You can go and risk your life for their faux gratitude and love. It won't work though, Taff. You'll want more and more and you'll become more and more reckless and you'll throw your life away. I'm sure Anthony will pet you on the head and call you a good boy, though. Then you can just roll over for him and it won't matter anymore, will it?"
Tristan’s hand found Taff's chest and, once more, he shoved him. "I'm sure I'll see you around. When you come running to put out all the fires I start," he spat, moving towards the door.
Taff's nose wrinkled, his eyes narrowing. This was how the fights usually ended. Tristan would push aside the argument, make Taff feel bad. And Taff would apologise, or sit quietly and give up the fight, and Tristan would win. But this time. This time he was angry. Angrier than he'd been before. The same anger than had seeped into him in the forest, when Ioan had punched him. He couldn't see straight. It was filling his nose and mouth, drowning him. "Don't turn your back on me!" He screamed. And it happened like a dream. One moment he was standing where Tristan had left him, and the next second he was grabbing his brother's shoulder, tugging him around. And then the crack of his fist hitting his brother's jaw...
Tristan choked as he felt his mouth fill with blood, coughing into his arm. He looked up, looked at Taff. "You want to be the big one now, huh? You want to call the shots, you want to push me around? Go ahead if it makes you feel better-" he leant in close, blood dribbling down his chin from the cut on his lip. There was a pause. He could have said something else, but their genes were their genes and Taff hadn't gotten that temper from nowhere. Tristan swung his first, aiming and connecting with Taff's stomach.
Taff was panting, trying to catch up with his own thoughts. His hand hurt, and he didn't know why he'd done that. He opened his mouth to apologise, but a few seconds later and it didn't matter. He crippled over, momentarily winded and looked up at Tristan, his anger once again exploded. He threw another punch, but missed Tristan's face, and instead caught his shoulder. "Fuck you-" He gasped through gritted teeth, "Fuck you! You think..you think you can just push me around forever?!" He could barely tell what he was doing, too drunk on anger and pain.
"No. No I never assumed I could," Tristan said, wiping his lip again. He shook his head. "You've changed, Taff. You've changed. This isn't you-" he spat a big glob of blood onto the floor at Taff's feet. He still wanted to square up to his brother. Still wanted to fight it out. "Come on then, Taff. Come on. You've got more to say."
It was irritating him that his brother wasn't fighting back, not with the same fury as him. There was so much pent up anger, and hurt and so many bottled up feelings Taff was starting to leak out to anyone that came near him.
"This IS me Trist," he exclaimed, spreading his arms, "Everyone changes! Except you. Am I a disappointment enough for you now I've 'changed? Huh? Cause I fucking disappoint everyone else don't I? What's one more on the pile!" His subconscious self-loathing was reaching critcal mass. He'd been picking fights, offering himself for Ginny to crucio, putting himself in the position to be hurt by Anthony, but no one offered him the punishment he wanted.
He kicked a nearby chair, despite the fact it had done nothing to him, and turned to his brother, "c'mon Trist, what's wrong? If you don't like me then hit me again! If you're so sick of looking at me, then why don't you make sure you don't have to for a while!?"
Tristan rolled his shoulders, casting his eyes towards the door. He reached for his wand, flicking it at the door, locking it. "Alright-" he said, putting his wand aside again. "You really want to do this? You really want this? Will it make you feel better? Make you feel like a man? Cos you know what, Taff, you're just a kid. Not only that, you're a pissy little bitch." He shoved Taff once. Twice. "Doors locked. Noone will disturb us. Fuck m-" Tristan choked on his own breath. He caught himself. "Come on. Show me what kind of a man you are."
Shoving Taff was just like throwing stones at a hornets nest. He fumed, almost visibly. A little imagination and you could almost see the air around him shimmering with the heat of it.
"I'm more of a man than you are," Taff shot back, trying to wound his brother's pride as well as his body, "at least I had the guts to apologise to the people I've hurt and admit it was my fault. You're just happy to act the victim." He shoved his brother back, hard, not bothering to hold back his strength. He finally had someone willing to fight back, even if it was Tristan, he had no intention of letting it go. "Does it make you happy to be such a fucking coward?" He hissed.
Tristan let out a little bark of amusement. "I'm not going to apologise. Even if I knew all the people. I'm not going to apologise. But you, you'll roll over to keep your pussy little friends happy. Apologise and you get to fuck them? Oh, no, I'm sorry, you make love, don't you?" He sneered patronisingly, patting Taff's cheek. "I don't think that makes me the coward, do you?"
Taff punched him the moment his hand tapped his cheek. He pulled his fist back and slammed it against Tristan's breast, but it was a stupid shot and did more damage to his hand than it would his brother. He pulled back and gripped his hand, practically roaring with anger. "Fuck you! Fuck, I hate you!" He screamed, but he didn't mean the words. He didn't hate Tristan. Hell he loved him so much it hurt. "You're so fucking jealous of me and Ant. We're not even dating anymore and you just can't let it go can you? God you're pathetic!" He spat.
Tristan hissed at the jolt in his chest with the impact of the fist. But again he forced out a laugh. He straightened himself up, shaking his head before drawing his fist back and swinging for Taff's head, catching his temple the first time. "Jealous? No, no I'm not jealous-" he lied. "I pity you." He swung again, another dizzying smack to the side of his brother's head. "But look at you now, Taffy. Swinging fists. Wholesome. Proud of you. That's the fire- you are a Rivers after all."
Taff wasn't expecting Tristan to swing the first time. His brother hadn't seemed as angry as him, or as prepared to fight. The dull thud against his skull made stars dance behind his eyelids for a brief moment and left him defenceless for the second. He yelped in pain and stumbled back. But that was just what he needed. He needed someone to fight back!
"If being a Rivers means I have to hurt people and save my own skin all the time and be like you, then I give up this shitty name right here!" Taff growled and darted forwards, trying to grab Tristan's wrist. He wanted to twist it, wanted to hear his brother in pain. His other hand, well that went for Tristan's throat. Apparently, Taff was a throat boy...
Tristan yelped as he felt his wrist twist and click in Taff's grip, gasping as the other closed around his thoat.
"You want to kill me, Constantine?" He hissed through the pain, the jolt of his head hitting the wall opening the cut on his lip again. "You hate me that much? Do it. Kill me. Wipe every part of being a Rivers from your mind. Kill. Me."
Taff once again has his fingers around someones throat, and the anger was pulsing through him. It was all he knew, consuming him so much he thought he might burn up and die. He leaned close. He could smell the blood on his brother's lips, feel Tristan's body pinned against the wall with his own. He squeezed, slowly, gritting his teeth.
And then he broke the spell, releasing his brother without warning. Constantine stumbled back coughing, his head pounding, a cut on the side of his temple leaving a small trail of blood down the side of his face. He turned and rushed to the door, yanking pointlessly on the handle. "Let me out," he whimpered, unable to open the door from his brother's jinx, "let me out, fucking let me OUT Tristan!"
Tristan groped for his wand again, waving it to unlock the door, sucking in deep breaths to try and calm his heart rate. He watched his brother go, clutching his wrist. He should go to the hospital with it but he really- he just wanted to sleep for a while. He worried though. What if Taff got into trouble? What if someone caught his brother in this mood? But Tristan couldn't hold those thoughts.