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[retrieverchef]

WHO | Eliot Spencer and Draco Malfoy
WHAT | Trying to spare the kid some trouble
WHEN | The evening after this video
WHERE | Rooftop garden at the Training Complex
WARNINGS / NOTES | Possible language

Eliot wandered around the garden, keeping fairly close to the elevator in case the blond kid actually came. He couldn't say he expected him to show up after their conversation on the network but he'd said he'd be here just in case. He really hoped the kid would show up soon. He had an overnight appointment starting shortly before dinner.

Comments

rude. lucius is totally scary. 8(

[mudbloodhater]

"I'm not a bloody child," he snapped, wishing more than anything that he had his wand on him, that it worked, that his magic was more than just a familiar tingle flowing through his veins. It was like he was stopped up at the edges somehow, unable to make anything more than the most basic magic work. His ire was getting the best of him, showing not just through his face, his voice, but in the faint waver of the nearby plants as they reacted to the magic radiating off him in palpable waves.

"And you would do well to remember that."

He didn't want to think about them forcing him to do anything. He didn't have any business being there in the first place; they weren't the Dark Lord, and they didn't have that power over him.

He has a wand. That is no scarier to Eliot than a gun. He can move fast enough to dodge any spell.

[retrieverchef]

Eliot looked closely at the boy. "Maybe not," he conceded. "But you're not a man yet either. Look, do what you want with what I told you. Just... Be careful. And don't assume that who you are back home means anything here."

He started walking toward the elevator. Time to see what Valeria had picked out for him to wear tonight and hope it wasn't too ridiculous.

tsk. those spells are pretty quick, bro.

[mudbloodhater]

The warning had lodged itself somewhere in the back of his mind, but like anything, Draco wasn't about to acknowledge that in any regard. Especially not from this prick of a man who thought he could tell a Malfoy what to do, or threaten him with thoughts of getting whored out. He was a Death Eater, after all - he was capable of things no one was giving him credit for. The last Arena was a write-off; he hadn't been prepared, he hadn't understood, but this one would be different. That's what he told himself as he glared at Eliot's retreating back, sneering at him all the while. He didn't deign to offer a response; he just turned away, moving to circle the gardens on his own time, acting as though he was too good to be anywhere near there.