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Dax Gordon

Don't switch the blade on the guy in shades

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Dax Gordon

Dax had long ago accepted that his classmates were actual spawns of Satan and The Worst™. They were stupid, they stank, they were ugly and full of themselves and not at all worth the air they breathed and he was thrilled that he was two short terms away from being rid of them forever. Hhe'd weathered their poor jokes, their weak physical attacks, their incredibly annoying mud-related pranks—all with the grace and good humor that was expected from The Dax Gordon. But.

 

But.

 

There was one thing—one! single! sacred! thing!—that they just! kept! doing! to well and truly get under Dax's skin: over and over, they kept stealing his sunnies.

 

Once, Rowan Allard had stolen them right off of his face and he'd retaliated by going full Godfather on her heeleys. Once, Jak had broken a pair and Dax'd toe-flossed with his toothbrush for an entire summer break. His sunglasses were everything, they were meant to be untouchable, and only the trash in his year had the guts to push him harder and harder towards the edge by continuously targeting his sweet, signature sunglasses.

 

Even worse! Salt in the wound! Ollie effing Celeste used her unfairly secured power to snatch his best looking pair right off his face (because UnIfOrM cOdE) and had the audacity to wear them—uniform code his arse.

 

He tried to be the bigger man, to turn the other cheek, but the Ravenclaw's blatant smugness made Dax straight sick to his stomach and he just couldn't ignore the insult any longer. It was the principle, the fact that she disrespected him so much! She couldn't be allowed!

 

“You stole my flacking sunnies.” It was best, in his opinion, to cause a scene; and, so, he waited until the Great Hall was mostly full for lunchtime to confront the thieving prefect and show her the error of her ways. There were enough people around that she'd be so embarrassed by her actions, she'd have no choice but to apologize fully and publicly and give Dax his sunglasses back right there in front of everyone.

 

Her only other choice was exposing what a terrible human she was to everyone there—not that the entire school didn't already know B(

Edited by Dax Gordon

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Ollie Celeste

Being a prefect was supposed to denote responsibility. Every year it was the prefects who welcomed the newly sorted first years, who planned and organized an array of activities, and who had to patrol the castle in despondent darkness. There was expectation of authority when it came to the badge that at least one of the newly appointed students seemingly aimed to disprove at every turn.

 

When it came to flipping the bird at the word of law there was no better student than Ollie Celeste, who appeared to thrive from shunning whatever rule she could and argued with authority on a daily basis. There were a number of things she was expected to enforce that she simply, morally, objected to. Ollie did not believe in automatically giving respect to someone just because their age or position, she had been known to get into a fight or seventeen outside of the dueling chamber because sometimes people were dumb, and she rejected all uniform because it ruined all independence.

 

And yet, a week prior, the blonde had enforced the uniform code for the first time in her life in order to deprive Dax of his sunnies. Since then she had worn them everywhere and yes, her big head had stretched them sorry not sorry. Whenever she saw him in the corridor she’d give him a wave, as she strode into shared classes she would shoot him some finger guns to look even cooler. Ollie even donned them at lunch despite the hall being lit by candles, making her vision almost black.

 

Unfortunately they didn’t entirely block out Dax’s ugly mug as he approached her that day.

 

Knowing it would no doubt send his blood pressure even further through the roof, Ollie dropped the chicken leg she had been eating and without wiping the grease from her fingers, pushed the sunglasses further up her face before turning to look up at Dax Gordon. “What sunnies?” 

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Dax Gordon

She was a monster.

 

A disgusting, awful, dirty, terrible monster.

 

What kind of human touched greasy fingers to glasses lenses? Didn't she know that they would never quite wash clean? Did she just not care?

 

(Dax was suddenly, completely, struck by the horrifying possibility that he was dealing with something not of this world, an evil so great and so powerful that even he had no chance defeating it. Whatever hell Celeste had clawed her way out was depraved in a way he'd never be able to understand.)

 

You're—” He was half tempted to snatch the sunglasses right back off of her face and cradle them in his arms; it wasn't like he was afraid of any political retribution. What did losing points mean to him? Or detention? School was but a blip on the timeline of life and not nearly as important as asserting his dominance and making it clear who really in charge.

 

Don't touch them like that, you hag,” he choked out. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool despite his indignation and the curious glances his scene was beginning to attract. “Those are mine and everyone here knows it.” Dax jammed a finger at her face—not quite touching; he didn't want to give her an excuse to draw on him—then motioned toward his chest, where an identical pair lay folded and hung on his shirt.

 

Check-mate, Celeste. Proof.

 

They're just the same, see? I even carve my initials into the temples there so vagrants can't get away with stealing them. You have my property,” cue the raised voice, “and I would like them back immediately or I will have no choice but to take this to higher authority.” His father would be hearing about this. Or maybe, like, Juan? They were probably still cool enough for him to pull a favor or two.

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