Post by Ashton Wentworth on Aug 4, 2011 0:25:07 GMT -5
He was never going to let Stavros live this down; he hoped that point would come across without him having to say anything at all. He just stood, glowering. The other man looked like he was far too busy getting himself dressed again to say anything. “I know that you’re desperate but damn” he laughed darkly “You’re going to break one of their hips” The granny thing he wasn’t going to let go of either, but it was less likely to stick with him for the rest of his life as the fact that he owed Ashton his life. He had no desire to watch the man get dressed, but he needed to make a point. . “I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing and memory Wentworth, but rest assured, unfortunately I won’t.” Nodding once he turned on his heel and started to leave, he could already see the scowl on his boss’s face at the end of the corridor. He didn’t want to hear his droll voice for the rest of the day any more than he wanted to go about the rest of the tour, or to have his breath cut off again. “With that said,” Stopping in his tracks only a step or two outside of the tiny makeshift room he listened, he didn’t want to see the look on his pompous face whenever whatever arrogant dribble was about to come out of his mouth. “I hope you don’t forget either. I commend you for being able to fool all these bastards for as long as you have. I’m sure your master must be very proud.” He felt his blood pressure rising again, for just a moment, he wished that he was a DeathEater, then he would have a valid reason to rip him to pieces, to carve little chunks of flesh out of that stupid face piece by piece until he was so horribly disfigured that nobody would ever look at him again, rip out his tongue, just for good measure. He hated the prat with every single fiber of his being. He wanted to let the creatures that he was so often faced with, just have ten minutes alone with the douche in a locked, windowless room. See who was so smug then. He was not going to waste his breath on explaining to the idiot one more time that they were technically working on the same team, even if they would never work together. There was something seriously wrong with the man’s head since he couldn’t seem to process that simple information. “Your luck is going to run out soon though Wentworth. Mark my words.” He wanted to laugh at such a lame attempt to intimidate him, but no sound came out, which was likely for the best since it would have still hurt if it had come out. Wetting his throat he forced out a simple sentence “Don’t need luck when you have this much raw skill”
“You’re gonna get yours sooner than you think.” At this, a laugh came out before he could stop it, followed by a couple coughs. He shook he head, he wanted to punch that smile off of that ignorant head, rip the sleeve off and choke him with it, see how it felt. He didn’t move, nor flinch as Tristan came close to him; he wanted to make a comment about how Tristan was gay, but to preserve his voice he refrained. “Nice marks you got there. Shame they couldn’t do anything to fix them.” The urge to head butt him again was rising to him, but that would no doubt undo whatever good the healer wench had done previously, and he wasn’t willing to risk almost dying for the third time today. He had enough run in’s with whatever lay beyond and he wasn’t it’s fan. “I got your number.” He scoffed, what was that supposed to even mean? He was such a git. As Tristan shoved past him, Ashton made a face “I got your number” and rolled his eyes, his tone mocking. He continued his earlier path toward his boss, who was already in a fluster by the fact that Rutherford had just pushed past him and moved on, leaving Ashton to deal with whatever form of muted rage was bound to come spewing out to the man’s mouth, since he was supposed to be shadowing for the day, he could do nothing but stand by and listen, his hand pressed at the bridge of his nose, in silence as the lecture raged on and on. It must have lasted a good hour before the stout man paused even to take a breath. He had been inching toward the elevator, desperate to get away from the sound of the other man’s voice. It was beginning to irk him and since he had already been worked up once today, his fuse was a hell of a lot shorter than it normally was on a decent day. Couldn’t the man see that he was in pain? He didn’t need to be adding to it! He grimaced, wanting nothing more than go get away and hide out within the safety of his own office, he hoped that there wasn’t going to be too many repercussions to his little fight, and whatever he got, he hoped that he would know that Tristan was getting a lot worse. Grimacing in silence he could feel his teeth grinding together. This was not a good start to his new career here. He wanted to drop kick something, just for good measure. Whenever he had managed to drag the two of them onto the elevator and pressed the button for their floor. I seemed that Rutherford was too busy huffing and puffing about the indignity and humiliation that the two boys had caused him, and how thee was a reputation to uphold that he didn’t even glance up at the change of their location. He didn’t seem to be protesting over the fact that Ashton wasn’t taking them to the top floor to complete the tour.
Once they reached the first floor within seconds, he stepped off, Rutherford matching his every pace, whenever they reached the office that was monogrammed with his name, and nothing else he went inside, he was sure that Fordie wanted to follow him, but he shut the door in the man’s face, effectively blocking him out. He didn’t want to hear the end of the tirade, and whatever was going to happen, was. This last act wasn’t going to change anything, it was obvious he was upset with the two young men. Turning the lock on the handle he fell into his chair as soon as he could get next to it. Burying his face within the darkness of his cupped hands, it didn’t do much good for the pounding in his head, but it calmed him down a fraction. Once he felt stable again, he removed his face, and glanced around his desk. It was a small office, but he supposed it was soon to be his home away from home. Damn he muttered under his breath, he had been hoping that his wand would have been brought up here to him, left on his desk or in his Drawer where it was normally kept, but there was nothing. In anger, he shuffled the folders on his own desk around looking for the slender piece of wood but it was nowhere to be found. He only hoped that it wasn’t lost permanently he would hate to have to explain that one to the wand maker. Kicking the corner of his desk, which he instantly regretted because it brought back the headache he had been managing to suppress until this instant he was going to have to go to Rutherford and beg the man to retrieve it. If Tristan had it, and he most likely did, Ashton’s going up to that office was just going to end in another fight. Who knew if that one would be able to be stopped or not. It had most likely been placed on Tristan’s desk because there was no way of knowing who the wand belonged to just by looking at it. He was too frustrated to plead with Rutherford now; he was just going to have to wait. He didn’t wish to leave the building without it; Tristan was likely to hex it into oblivion. He briefly considered just letting it go, writing it off and purchasing another one tomorrow on his lunch hour. He decided to just wait until tomorrow, he would suck up then. Today, he was going to throw a bag of frozen peas on his forehead, and sleep it off.
