| Details for The Rough Stuff, Part 1 |
| Summary: | What starts as a consensually-underhanded sparring match/brawl between Genevieve and Ulysses devolves into a misunderstanding and then a discovery of shared interest. |
| Date: | 16 February, 1939 |
| Location: | Club Room, Hogwart's |
| Related: | Continued in The Rough Stuff: Part 2 |
| Characters |
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This large room has a variety of uses, and can be setup differently for each club that uses it. Large storage doors around the room each hold a different club's equipment, to be setup with the wave of a wand. When the Athletics Club is here, for example, the room is full of gymnastics, weight, and other sports equipment. When the Domestics Club is here, however, stoves and cauldrons and workstations are more likely to be found here.
"Gonna break your fingers, Solomon," Rastlin warned, casting a bemused if slightly condescending grin in the girl's direction. The club room was at current in control of the Athletics's club and as a result, Jenny'd gotten cozy in the corner with some tape for her knuckles and a punching bag. The tall chaser turned seeker was engaged; a loose fitting tank top and a pair of baggy pants that made it easier for her to move.
She'd fallen into Athletics with the kind of driven narrow minded passion that suggested she could have been there all along, even if she wasn't. It showed in the way a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her body and her hair bounce in the pony tail that held it up.
For his own part, Ulysses had been on a run with several others for the first part of their scheduled time, and thus was dressed accordingly: thin, long-sleeved shirt but baggy enough to allow his skin to breathe and sweat, along with a pair of matching gold pants, the trousers just as baggy as the shirt. A simple tank was under the former, but not visible at the moment. As he enters the club room with a few others he laughs, looking over the room. Shoes come off immediately, set into a corner, as does the overshirt.
Taking a moment, he starts into a series of stretches, letting his body cool down from the run for the moment, although he does look up at the sound of Rastlin's 'encouragement'.
It's Dastan's habit to stop in and observe the various clubs, though he claims membership in none of them. The Seventh year has been here a little while, taking notes on a parchment scroll. He looks up as Selwyn returns, lifting a hand to greet him.
"You're just jealous it's not your face," but there was the kind of edge riding in that which removed any possible implication of flirtation. "It could be, you know."
"After the way Dante laid you out a couple weeks ago?" The tone was mocking, but the point carried and with a roll of her eyes, Jenny set another resounding crack against the bag that she'd been punching.
The sound of laughter from the door though, drew her attention and the girl looked over her shoulder, pony tail bouncing to glance towards the newest occupants; a slight upnod given the group. That was the downside of Athletics. It was mostly boys.
His stretches done, Ulysses stands again, his torso moving back and forth as a few pops emit from his spine… and then he looks over to the punching bag. Pity it was taken, that was usually his next stop. However, reaching over to where a bag had been left in the room, he pulls out some cloth to wrap up hands and feet… no tape for this boy.
A nod is given to Dastan, and then he looks at the other, saying "He wouldn't have, if you'd not let him get up under your defense like you did," he then looks to Rastan, "I tell you, we should still be focusing on teaching people to use balance and counterbalance rather than just brute force. Simple boxing is just too… simple."
Dastan looks up as the group starts to discuss past fights, lesson plans and tactics. His eyebrows raise a little- he's clearly never given much thought to the idea that hand to hand engagements could really have the same level of complexity as, say, a wizard's duel. He- surprisingly- sets the scroll aside, glancing over at the next nearest person- Jenny- and leans closer a touch to make it clear whom he speaks towards. "Solomon- mind if I ask what they're talking about?"
"It's therapeutic," Jenny countered, looking towards Ulysses. "But if you're worried about it being simple, stick to dirty. If the Prefect hadn't been moderating, I'd have simply kneed him in the nuts and been done with it." And that brought a series of sympathetic groans from several of the boys who filled the space. Some of which shot her dirty looks, for which she seemed oblivious.
"They're talking about fighting, Meli—-" Jenny surmises, in response to…Sy's cousin, somewhat short and a tinsy bit to the point. "I didn't think you were in Athletics."
"He's not," Ulysses offers as an explanation, as much as it could be. Unlike the others' responses, Lys actually grins at her counterpoint. "Now, see… that's the kind of fighting we need be be encouraging. The kind of fighting that gets you out of tight corners. It's not about who can last the longest, take the most punches. It's about who can end the fight as quickly as possible and live to fight another day."
Lys turns a wicked grin to Jenny then, wrapping one of his bare feet now, "Although now that I know you'll use the tactic… don't expect to be effective against me."
"I-" Ulysses answers for Dastan, and he offers a lopsided smile. "- like Selwyn says. I sit in on most of the clubs from time to time. If nothing else, it helps to get a wide variety of ideas surrounding the magic we all use, and in some cases, leads to interesting topics on its own. I'd not really thought of a fistfight as something with much complexity layered into it, and it sounds like I was distinctly misinformed. It actually sounds rather fascinating- the parts without getting kneed in the sweetbreads, anyway."
"I won't, Selwyn. Word is you're neutered anyway," Jenny countered, flashing a cheeky little smile Ulysses way, before the girl's weight settled on the ball of her foot and the lines of her body followed through to deliver a kick that was head height - for her.
"But I agree that's what ought to be done but of course," and there she rolled her eyes, "Can't have the kiddies squabbling at school." But there again, the Meliflua was talking and just, damned if she… "How's your cousin doing?" Someone hit her. Now.
"Neutered, you say? Trying to get a rise out of me, Solomon?" Lys asks, chuckling lightly. Feet and hands wrapped up, he bounces back to his feet… literally bouncing as he tests his balance and perhaps to get the blood pumping a bit again, "And you ask me, it's no different than a wizard's duel, assuming both parties are trained and willing to use it as a means to resolve the issue. Doesn't always have to be random acts of violence." Because he's never been guilty of those. Ever.
At the mention of a cousin, a brow raises, but he waits for an answer.
You paged Dastan with 'Not sure if you would know ICly… but your cousin Silas was dating her. This was the guy in the courtyard the other night who looked like he was trying to put on a brave face.'
"Last I saw? He seemed gloomy." Dastan isn't the best one for gossip, but he also doesn't really think to not share what he knows. "He mentioned heading down to Hogsmeade to get a drink, but without company. Like I said. Seemed gloomy, trying to play it off. You know how he does." Dastan offers a bit of a shrug, glancing towards Selwyn as he explains further. "Really? You can get as complex with hands and feet as you can get with the complexities of spells and counter-spells?"
"Might be," Jenny answered Lys, "If there were anything there to rise." Another jest, but it was playful, tongue and cheek without having any real weight to it. And in the wake of it, she fell quiet, listening as he explained the similarities between dueling.
But it was Dastan's answer that made her frown. A thoughtful sort of expression on her face. Gone drinking. Again and for the second time, alone. Occasionally Jenny picked up rumors and certainly enough when they seemed out of place to what she knew. Frown lines increased.
"Sounds like a glum guy." Lys observes, not really knowing which particular Meliflua they might be referring to. Set up now, he walks over closer to where Jenny is with the bag, and smiles, "Care for something a little meatier to pound on? Or still a bit sore from your last bout?"
Of course then, Dastan's response distracts him, "Of course there is. It's the same with any sort of conflict. Verbal, magical, physical… it's all a matter of anticipation and out maneuvering."
Dastan is, without his face shoved into his books and scrolls, relatively conscious of those around him. He watches Jenny's reaction and frowns faintly, unsure what caused it. He suspects perhaps his cousin has to do with it. "Not normally quite as morose as he is now. He's always been relatively serious, though gloomy?" Dastan shakes his head. "Would you mind if I observed a match of your first fighting?"
"Meliflua," Jenny really pulls no punches, "Do me a favor would you and shut the hell up about it? I mean, he's your cousin, right? And if he's sad, he's family and shouldn't you be, I don't know, checking in on him to make sure he's okay? And if you tell him I said so, I'll break your nose." It wouldn't do, of course, to have Silas think that she was trying to check up on him. She wasn't. Not…really. She just, wanted to make sure he was okay. Survival only works when you stop thinking about yourself. Though some might argue trying to caretake from a distance wasn't all that healthy either.
"I would love something thicker to play with, Selwyn." Change of topic! One that had her stepping away from the punching back and closer towards the boy. "You volunteering?"
Lys eyes the exchange between Jenny and Dastan, perhaps just a tiny bit bemused by the interplay. Clearly this cousin was a sore spot… that he immediately filed away. But in response to her question, he smiles even wider showing perfect teeth in a shark's grin. "No. I'm just posturing, and playing the bowtruckle here."
He takes a step back, over towards the mats, and beckons her. Then to Dastan, "It's an open room. Just don't get in the way, or get any ideas about being the gentleman, either." Because he can already tell, she's one who'd take him being easy on her as an insult.
"I don't at all mind talking on something else, Solomon, the topic is and has been up to you." Dastan frowns as Jenny turns the request to talk about Silas on its head to swear, criticize and threaten him. He moves to find a safe place to watch the practice match in the works, taking up the parchment again and scratching down a couple notes. "I'll see if I can get a feel for what you mean, Selwyn."
"Then, a word on silences. When someone doesn't fill the silence with more questions, the topic's done." And that was that. Her attention settled on Lys and as the boy moved over to the mats, beckoning but also turning his attention back towards Dastan…Jenny took advantage of the moment to dive headfirst into something stupid. Literally.
So she ran at Ulysses at full speed, literally aiming to pounce the seventh year.
Lys wasn't born yesterday… play with dirty fighters and raise a few… and certain little tricks are almost instinctive. And so, even as he turns his head back to Jenny, he sees her approach. Instantly, he's down on a knee, knowing he's not going to be fast enough to dodge her, but given her immediate commitment to the move, he's hoping the use her momentum to snag her by the collar and the waist, and flip her over his head.
Dastan doesn't respond to Jenny's retort- despite the fact that someone -had- continued the line of discussion, she had her opinion and he suspected she wasn't likely to back down. She wasn't entirely wrong anyway- it might have been best to look after his cousin instead of stay with his sister. So, instead, he gets ready to observe the match, only to see Jenny rushing Ulysses head-long. That was a surprise!
Whoosh. Was the sound that Jenny's body made when it was caught up and then, going through the air and SPLAT was the sound that came when she landed. Uly's all too keen sense of instinct more than caught her up, not to mention his hands, but she's ropey and she's cheap and when he made to fling her, those small fists caught in against the top of his tank top with a death grip that refused to let go. Intent on using the momentum he created, to take him flat with her
"Ha! Good!" is the cry that escapes Lys' lips in what could only be called pleasure as his own gambit manages to both succeed and fail simultaneously. The result of her grab means that, for that instant, he, too, is pulled off-balance, smacking a shoulder against the mat as he does.
There's no hesitation, however, as Lys simply goes to grab at her again, this time by an arm and under a shoulder, depending on his own strength to try to continue to keep her off guard, twisting to pull her up and over him to land on the mat opposite her current position.
Dastan spends his time taking rapid notes as he watches the fight develop, particularly intrigued at the rapid play-counterplay of their grapples. The rapidity of his notes suggests that he has a very good parallel thought process connecting his dueling experience, limited as it is, with what he sees in the fight.
There's a flicker of triumph that was in Jenny's eyes, if only for the briefest moments, when the sound of Uly's body hitting the mat rang up to her ears but then it was gone, because he was trying to ragdoll her around again.
For the most part it worked, too. He had both size and weight, which made staying where she wanted to be impossible, but she had legs though and those she knew well how to use. Twisting in the middle so that her foot hooked against the edge of his knee. It became a hard hook, too, where her leg slid in beneath his, despite the pain that flashed through her shoulder; as her weight smacked in against the top of his thighs. She'd lost her grip on his tank top, too. But it didn't stop her good hand, the one that -wasn't- tangled in his grip, from going for his throat. At least she looked friendly and like she was having a good time.
There were a number of people there, and frankly, the brawl going on between Jenny and Lys was good entertainment. Considering both seem to have smiles plastered on their faces while they slam each other around, it might just be that everyone else is dropping what they're doing to observe.
The hook of foot to his knee /hurt/, and despite the smile a growl of pain escapes him. She'd meant it she she suggested she played dirty. And so will he. As the hand goes to his throat, he actually lets it, the cords of muscle there actually flexing to protect it as he dips his chin down. Instead of defending against that, that hand that was hooked into her armpit from the last throw shifts, thumb digging in to find the nerve cluster there, to steal any strength that choking hand might have had.
"Ow!" Jenny shrilled, when Lys' grip tightened in against that sensitive bundle of nerves and it was…cheap and yes, maybe someone would eventually would go get a Prefect for their decidedly hands on contact and maybe because it looked like she was trying to strangle him and the whole thing had become an expression of fighting dirty but…
It was really only going to get worse. He needed to leggo her arm! It could be felt too, the way her grip weakened but then she went for the really cheap shot, too and dipped her head and aimed to sink her teeth into the top of his hand to /make/ him let go.
There's fighting dirty… and there's wounding. And indeed, there's likely to be intercession now, as the moment those teeth so much as touch his hand, Lys pulls it back with a sharp hiss of anger as teeth manage to score skin, and without even thinking, the hand reaches out again, it's backside first, to slap Genevieve across the face if it lands. Shock, surely, as moments later he's crab-crawling back across the mat. "The hell is wrong with you?"
Dastan blinks as the bite comes across as somehow entirely horrid when -none- of the other maneuvers did. He gives an openly puzzled look across the two of them, more shocked by the slap than the bite itself. THAT had social connotations, to which he was more in tune.
Land it does, when backed by a seventh year's strength and size, when added into the fact that he's a boy. The girl's head snaps to the side, color filling her face the size and shape of Uly's hand, but it's effective. The recoil is as instantaneous as the sudden flare of anger in her eyes, before it tempers and instead, as she settled on her heels. "So..when you said you'd deal dirty, and would be fine with a shot to the nuts, you meant that you're selective and prefer to pick your own rules. Aren't you fun."
A glare aims itself directly at Genevieve, where he shows his bleeding hand. Without so much as a thought, he's removing the wrap from that hand shifting it to make a bandage while those around them blink in shock, "There's playing dirty, while having fun… and there's going too far, Solomon." Lys respond, his voice low, and the tone perhaps just a touch dangerous. "And I was having fun, too."
"And I was being fucking playful," Jenny countered only to hear, "Language Solomon," from the Prefect watching the dispersing crowd. The girl rolled her eyes, but obliged and then, looked back towards Ulysses. "Your hand was wrapped, you could have let go, you could have pressed up against my chin, there's countless things you could have done, but instead, because it wasn't your idea of fun and now you're bleeding, it's perfectly acceptable to slap me in the face and tell me it was my fault. Alright, Selwyn, so it was. But you needn't have been such a whiny spoilsport about it."
"I'm not sure I understand." Dastan is frowning, still not at all sure what exactly just happened. "Why is it poor form to bite when what was happening could have dislocated or broken something without much effort? They're all injuries easily fixed in the infirmary; the only lasting mark in this entire match is going to be the literal slap to the face. At least as I understand it."
Grumbling Uly nods, "Since when is biting considered play—?" And like that, it snaps into the young mans head, and he actually nods, grinning. "Okay. Point yours. I took it as things going too far. And so I reacted in kind. My apologies." Snapped, but there's a touch of good humor behind it. He stands, walking over and offering a hand to her.
A withering look then goes to Dastan. "You'll just have to figure that out yourself, then, boyo."
"Little slow on the uptake there aren't you, Selwyn?" Jenny inquired and in the wake of that dawning smile, all thoughts of retaliation drifted away into nothingness. Other girls might talk about how the dreadful boy slapped them and use the bruise to garner sympathy and attention but all Jenny did, was taken Lys' hand when it was offered and push up to her feet. Grinning.
"It was for the shock factor, wasn't it?" That smile is knowing. "Because unfortunately, being slapped is a girl thing. It could have been effective too," she teases, "Except that I don't much think like a girl. Next time make a fist." Wink. Companionable, at ease and without even an ounce of temper. She was still grinning when she looked in Meliflua's direction.
"See and that's a white knight thing. Instinctive reaction from most. S'all good, Meliflua. Wipe the frown off your face."
Though aftwards, "We should do this again." Remarked in Ulysses' direction.
Dastan doesn't have any lingering reservations about the exchange once both prove amenable with the outcome. He still doesn't understand what precisely just went on between the two of them, why it went from atrocious to amusing- or whatever Ulysses' grin had represented- much less why the Gryffindor had gone from sharing his insights on something Dastan admittedly knew nothing about to glaring at him for asking a question about something that seemed counter intuitive. But it isn't the first time someone's lost patience with his questions, and it won't be the last, so at his direction, Dastan just nods and jots down a couple more notes before blowing on the parchment and rolling it up.
Jenny's response to him brings another nod and, judging by his expression, the acceptance of the idea that for now, he's just not going to understand what exactly just happened. Her immediate insistence that she and Selwyn face off again later? That he can understand, and that leaves him with a grin.
With something of a shrug, Ulysses let the smile grow wider. "I can be. But don't you dare let my siblings hear you say that. It'll be the end of all the control I have over them, if you do." Playful, the banter. And enough so that once she's up on her feet, he places a hand on the outside of her shoulder and looks around, "All right, folks? Nothing more to see here. Just good, honest fun." This, of course, is offered to the few remaining onlookers.
Squeezing the shoulder, he nods, "And it was. Usually works like a charm, too. But you're clearly not even remotely close to average." Then a grin, "Hell, you've got bigger balls than half the guys in this club. That move, with my first flip? Genius. Damned right we should do this again some time."
With Dastan's silence, Jenny's focus went back to Uly, her hand leaving his once she was on her feet, to dust at the wrinkled settle of those baggy pants. Like her appearance matters. Honestly. That hand to the shoulder was returned with a light clap to the outside of his own; opposite.
"Of course I do. Bigger than yours, too." It came with a cocky grin; the kind that put a dimple in her cheek and left the whites of her teeth on display. "I've just got them tucked up so high so that they'll fill out my chest."
One of the boys, who'd lingered and had still been watching from the back of the room all but choked on his laughter at that point.
Dastan unrolls his parchment a moment and takes his dry quill to a blank spot, writing nothing. He simply scratches it on the paper for the sound and murmurs, clearly intending to be heard and just as not-serious, "Note: Blackmail Selwyn… into hand to hand lessons… his secret… is out." He rolls the parchment back up and looks back up at the pair, smiling as Lys banters about the size of Jenny's balls. When she turns it on its head and owns the joke, the fellow off in the distance isn't the only one laughing. Dastan's laugh is clear and sincere, if short-lived. The grin stays, though, as he watches the pair interact. There's a balance-counter structure here, too- more than a little intriguing, even if he's sure he's still missing something.
"Could be," Ulysses quips back, laughing at her joke, "Although I don't know if we're close enough yet to actually compare sizes." A quick, appreciative look is then given… evaluative, perhaps. "May be a while yet for that."
His eyes glance at the others around, seeing them still the center of attention, before he walks over to the area where he left shoes, shirt, and bag, "Care to join me for a cool-down walk. Solomon?" He sits on a nearby bench to unwrap his feet and at least the one hand, and put his shoes on.
Genevieve is oblivious to that look, though her jaw works to stretch the still reddened skin of her cheek, the suggestion of a bruise to come but one that like as not won't last out even mid-week. A little ice later and some witch hazel will see to it. "A long while." And while there's a grin, while there's still humor in her eyes and the tone comes no where near insulting, there's a suggestion in there of 'never' that is so sincere it's impossible to ignore.
"But a walk sounds good, so long as it ends at the pub, over drinks because I'd like a good stiff one, before the week starts up again and then it's another two, before we're allowed back out." This time she intended to set out multiple stashes and accio by brand.
Dastan stands as the others get ready to disappear on their walk to the pub. Sitting in on a club meeting is one thing, but intruding on their walk is another and it's pretty clear- at least it seems pretty clear- that they're not looking for company.
"Thank you, everyone, for letting me sit in, and you've all my apology if my presence or questions were any bother."
And oddly enough, even with the kindness, many might take offense at the suggestion, but Uly doesn't appear to at all. He retains the smile, and works on getting his other shoe on. "You have a deal. Broomsticks, or Hog's Head? The glasses may be cleaner at the Broomsticks, but you can't beat the strength of the Head's drinks." And sure, it may have a poorer reputation… but still.
And it would be nice to have an excuse to go out there. Everyone else gets to, after all. He smiles, stuffing the shirt in his bag while pulling some winter robes out of it. "Will you need to stop by the dungeons at all to change first?"
Then a look back to Dastan, although his only answer is, really, a grunt and a shrug.
"I'm fine with the Head." There are so many layers of wrong in that statement that just, but it's an agreement, one issued without…issue. "Cheaper, too. Which well, I'll not complain of." But when did she start caring about the price on things?
"I'll be fine." To which she meant there'd be no call for stopping to change and went on to prove why, by heading over towards the door, to collect her satchel, atop which robes rested. Comfortable, casual and by no means fancy but good enough to slide into for an outing. She'd little care for what was underneath and it wasn't as if she needed to impress him for some kind of date.
"You comin' Meliflua?"
"You know, I think I'd like that." The rolled up parchment slipped away into his robes. Dastan continued by pulling a small, tight roll of vellum from the same pocket and unrolls it, examining the list there. It's rolled up and tucked away in short order as he moves to catch up with the pair. "It's been a few months since I just sat down in town and relaxed. I'd like that a lot. I'll pick up the first round, if it's all the same to you two."