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Professor Pichardo

Saturday Night's alright for Fighting

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Professor Pichardo

This was probably the least favorite part of his job but he had to admit, when it came to things like this - exasperating circumstances - sometimes it was necessary.  

 

For several days Oliver contemplated just how to put the angry energy both @Jaxon Sinclair and @Ryszard Althaus-Valerio had to best use and it had taken him quite a while to come up with something.  It had been simpler to take the boy with the foul mouth and put him to work shoveling dung.  This took a fair bit more creativity.  Thankfully, his transfiguration and charms skills were well up to par.   

 

It was far too cold out for anything out of doors and thankfully one of the old defense classrooms was large enough for what he needed and that was where Oliver set up his conjured contraption.  An inflated and reinforced boxing ring complete with oversized and charmed gloves and a particularly useful ward that he'd concocted.  If a fight was what they wanted, a fight was what they'd get.  But, they were going to learn something from it.   

 

When the two slytherin's arrived (hopefully not in uniform as he'd instructed)  he quickly ushered them into opposite corners of the ring and ignored whatever eager faces they might have had at the prospect of being possibly given permission to continue whatever fight they had started.  He tossed the giant gloves and face masks at them and made sure they had both put them on before he gave them any further instructions. 

 

"I assume you both know what you're standing in and what those gloves are for?" The man waited for confirmation just in case he needed to clarify.  "Since you seemed so keen on beating the bludgers out of each other I thought maybe I'd give you a proper place to do it.  But it comes at a price.  Those gloves you're wearing have been charmed.  Hopefully you're both smart enough boys to figure it out quickly."  Every hit they were about to land on the other person, they were going to feel too.  They wouldn't be leaving any marks though, they were filled with air and Oliver wasn't actually going to sanction leaving bruises on students.   

 

"Don't try taking them off, I've fixed that too.  You won't be able to take them off or leave that boxing ring until you've managed to come up with at least three things... three positive things... to say about the other person."  

 

Yet another reason why he'd made sure this was inside, there was fairly good chance they would be here all night.   He waved a hand in the air to gesture them to begin and waves his wand behind him to summon a chair to relax into.   

 

------------------

 

Welcome to your detention.  Obviously your wands are not a part of this fight, gloved fists only and you won't be allowed to leave until both of you have mentioned at least three positive things about the other person.  We've had enough bad mojo around here.   Every punch you actually throw will hurt you more then it will hurt who you hit, but you probably won't realize that right away.   (That might ease up if you start talking).  Oliver is here to supervise and probably facepalm too.   Happy punching!    

 

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Ryszard Althaus-Valerio

There was something deeply fascinating about the way several of Ryszard’s scars lined his face. He knew Jaxon had more, and that knowledge wouldn’t let him rest. He didn’t care, however, and that was the whole point of it: Ryszard had stopped caring about what anyone thought the minute his sister had walked out on him. Now it felt like he was facing the world alone, backed up by nothing but his own recklessness. It only served to make him meaner and angrier, as he tried his best to hide away all his insecurities.

 

The owl had arrived later than Ryszard had expected, detailing the where and the how of his detention with Jaxon. He had let out a groan, wishing they could do separate detentions instead, since the last thing he wanted to do was spend more time with his roommate. It was bad enough the two of them had to share a dormitory; now he had to willing see him outside the Slytherin common room, possibly for hours? That sounded like the perfect nightmare.

 

It didn’t take long for the clock to chime the hour, sending Ryszard off to detention. He wanted to turn right back at the door, but unfortunately, this was one rule he wouldn’t break. He didn’t want another owl to find its way to Sheffield, where his father would be waiting with arms crossed and face pinched and lined with yet more disappointment for Ryszard. He figured he could build a mountain at this point.

 

When Jaxon walked in the door, Ryszard’s eyes followed his every movement. Ever since their fight, he had been acutely aware of what the other boy was capable of. He knew it was because Jaxon hated him, and it was certainly mutual, but he couldn’t understand why it had rattled him so much. He wasn’t scared of Jaxon, and the pain that came from a broken jaw or broken ribs wasn’t enough to convince him he was on the losing side.

 

What had shaken him so thoroughly was the way it had been like seeing the werewolf in action, and that scared him — not for himself, but rather for his sister.

 

Ryszard caught the gloves and face mask that were handed to him and went to stand on one side of the ring. It made him think of duelling, as his eyes were fixed permanently on Jaxon. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to the other boy, already choosing to mentally check out of their current predicament. He would check in later, when he was safely in his bed.

 

”I’ll start,” he said, sneering at Jaxon, as Professor Pichardo finished explaining what they were supposed to be doing. “You haven’t eaten any of us.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Yet.” Then, he took a wide swing at Jaxon, and as it always did in these situations, it was a direct hit. However, one anomaly that existed was the fact that, almost immediately, a vibration of pure, unadulterated pain went straight through his chest. For a moment, Ryszard felt like something had pierced through his heart, leaving him to blink back moisture that had sprung up in his eyes, uninvited.

 

Well, this was going to be a rather interesting evening.

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Jaxon Sinclair

Jack was less than thrilled.

 

If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have attended the detention at all, but his parents had gotten a letter home about it and while they weren't angry that he'd broken someone's jaw (because Ry had started the fight) they did maintain that he had to go to the detention.  They were likely hoping that he learned something about how he shouldn't antagonize people into breaking his nose.

 

That was why he ended up dragging himself to an old defense classroom on a day when he didn't have bloody classes so that he could spend time with his Mortal EnemyTM.  It was tragically unfair, especially when Ryszard's hatred of him spanned from two things:

 

1. Addy making her own decisions.  (Totally not Jack's fault.)

2. Jack being a werewolf.  (Also not Jack's fault.)

 

The fact that he'd been able to break Ry's jaw in the first place had nothing to do with being a werewolf and everything to do with Jack being built like a bloody linebacker.  So really, Ry hadn't seen any werewolf in action.  Seeing a werewolf in action would have required Ry to have been in the Great Hall or on the Quidditch Pitch back in November.  Alternatively, Jack supposed he could have slithered his way into the Hospital Wing on the full moon and gotten a good look at what they could be.

 

Except he somehow doubted Ry had the spine required to do such a thing.

 

Coward.

 

The Slytherin slipped the gloves and face mask on and wobbled out onto the inflatable boxing ring, glaring hard.  When Ry's first 'positive thing' was about how he hadn't eaten anyone yet, the blond rolled his eyes toward @Professor Pichardo.  "See, I told you," he pointed out.  "He's just a bigot and a—"  The air left his lungs in a woosh when the glove connected with his sternum and Jack stumbled backward, but it was Ryszard who seemed to be in pain, face contorted with it.

 

Oh, Jack thought.  Oh.  A wide grin spread over his features.  He could do pain.  The transformation was wicked horrific.  He'd broken every bone in his body and been shaped like sentient clay into something else.  Pain was tolerable, much more for him than for most people.  

 

He pushed himself to his feet and swung, glove connecting, and an ache exploded behind his eyes with the force of the blow.  "Right, positive thing," he said through his teeth.  "Well, you won't live forever, so eventually you'll gift the world with a human race that doesn't include you."

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Professor Pichardo

Long night probably wouldn't even begin to describe what they were in for and as Oliver crossed his ankle over his left knee he resisted the strong urge to palm his face into his hand as the first of the "good thoughts" made it's way into the air.   

 

This was going to be tougher then he thought, and with a wave of his wand a footstool conjured up in front of him.  At least, he noted as he glanced over the both of them and noted the blinks of surprise and shook looks they were carrying, that the gloves seemed to be doing the job.  If he was a betting man like @Mr Bhaduri he would have wondered how many shots it would take for them to realize the catch.   

 

"I think you can both do better then that.  Cannibalism and ancient music references are good tries but they won't cut it."  

 

Round one went to no one if he was keeping score.  

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Ryszard Althaus-Valerio

Ryszard was no stranger to pain. He had given as good as he got, and in fact, that was the whole reason he was here right now, being forced to spend more time with the likes of Jaxon. He knew that, despite the incentive, both boys were likely to just go right back to hitting and spitting at each other. The spin the bottle game had given a rise to a set of emotions that Ryszard hadn’t known he was capable of possessing; he had always been sensitive where Adrina was concerned, but it had never been this obvious.

 

He watched as Jaxon pulled on the gloves and made his way into the ring, and Ryszard grit his teeth. Just watching the other Slytherin was usually enough to make him angry, and he figured that maybe it would be helpful instead of self-destructive in this little exercise. It was absurd, when Ryszard really thought of it, but he would have to just roll his eyes and hopefully punch his way straight through this detention.

 

Complimenting Jaxon, on the other hand, would cost him an arm and a half.

 

The punch was expected, and Ryszard even watched its trajectory, but the pain that radiated through his gut still took him by surprise. He had forgotten how good Jaxon was at getting a shot in — or maybe he attempted to suppress the memory of getting his jaw broken and feeling it mangled, as blood had continued to flow down his chin.

 

He grinned when he noticed Jaxon gritting his teeth in pain, in much the same manner as Ryszard had just done. “Feel good?” He asked, a taunting glint to his eyes. If Jaxon wanted to play nasty, then he would do him one better.

 

“It won’t include you, either,” he shot back, swinging again, and aiming lower, this time. As soon as the punch connected, Ryszard could feel bells ringing in his ears, an almost blinding headache already piercing through his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again to glare at Jaxon. This was all his fault. “Another one?” He grinned, venom dripping down his chin with every word, replacing the blood that had coated it, only a few days ago. “You wake me up every morning on time for class by screaming through a nightmare.”

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