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wunderkind

STUFF GOES IN HERE

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From:

jurisimpudent

[His mouth twists - not into a smile, but something that looks a bit like a smile - mirthless, joyless.]

No you don't. Not as you are now. Not with you being so afraid.

From:

doggedly

[The silence is heavier this time. Sirius stares over at Edgeworth, his jaw set.]

Afraid.

From:

jurisimpudent

Afraid.

[He sees he's gotten a bit of a rise; there's a touch of cruelty in the deliberate emphasis he gives his accusation.]

Do you deny this? Everything you've said has been motivated by fear. You cling to that which makes you miserable because you fear that the loss of it will be worse. You're fearless on the Quiddich pitch, Mr. Black, but when it comes to your life, you're a coward of the first order.

From:

doggedly

I'm not a fucking coward.

[He practically snarls it. Everything about him is tensed again, his lip curled a little, his hands clenched at his sides--]

You can't understand anything. You've made that clear. So don't pretend as if you know anything about me. I'm not afraid of losing anything. I'm not afraid, of anything.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth just looks down at him. He tries to sneer - can't manage it. Instead, his voice is just quiet.]

Everything you do is motivated by fear, Sirius. You don't do what you do for the joy of belonging; you do it out of the fear that you'll not belong any longer.

[There's a moment of quiet, and then he says:]

That's a sad way to live.

From:

doggedly

[He stares at Edgeworth for a few moments of silence, his ears ringing--and then all at once, he heaves himself to his feet, his movement fluid and smooth, like a spring suddenly uncoiling--and his hands go for his shirtfront, to try to grip at him--less savage than taking him by the throat but still angry--]

Fuck you--

[He spits it out, nearly a snarl.]

I don't want your pity, I don't need it-- you're so much better? I'd rather be me than you, miserable, alone, so alone that no one's going to care, if you go off and get yourself killed--oh, they'll be sorry, but they won't mourn you--

From:

jurisimpudent

[And yet there's a sort of power that despair does give you. Sirius Black is held captive by his hope. He believes that his parents will, one day, approve of him. He hopes to receive some sign of their love. And this hope makes him twist into shapes that aren't his.

Miles doesn't have that.

So he looks to the side, the muscles in his jaw jumping, as Siris says that, but he doesn't fight Sirius - just lets the boy grab him. And he reacts, but he doesn't rise to the claim. Just - ]

Do you think that's news to me? There's been no one to mourn me since I was eleven years old.

[And then he looks up to meet Sirius' eyes. There's no anger in his face. Just sorrow.]

If I had a family, I might be as cowardly as you. This isn't condemnation.

From:

doggedly

[He's always after some reaction, something that pushes back against him--positive, negative, it doesn't matter. A connection with someone, a rejection from someone--anything that runs on high, that can feed into his emotion and react, get him to react in turn. Anything less is boring, not worth the time.

So when Edgeworth sort of sags, and looks away--what the hell does he do with that? When he gives in, when he looks back at him with that expression--that's too close to something that Sirius understands; that's too close to being in his head, and he lets go of him, abruptly, as if burnt, he steps back--]

Shut up.

[His lip curls, he tries like hell to hold back any greater show of emotion.]

Just, shut-- up. [His hands are still balled into fists; there's a tight feeling in his throat and he swallows, hard, fighting it down--and then, all at once, answers him, fiercely:] If you go, I'm stopping you.

From:

jurisimpudent

[For just a moment, Edgeworth's gaze turns confused and curious. Not at the threat, the promise, whatever it is - he's surprised that oath hasn't come sooner. No: rather, it's at the timing of that oath. Of all the things to push Sirius into swearing he'd stop Edgeworth, why was it that comment?]

No, you're not. I'm a quicker wand-hand than you.

[He smooths down the front of his robes; his hand pauses and lingers over that badge on the front of them, that P, and for one strange moment his face twists with utter, abject grief. A moment later, he composes himself again - drops his hands.]

Look. I'll do my utmost to ensure my presence there doesn't come back to you or your family. Is that not satisfactory?

From:

doggedly

No, it isn't, actually.

[And if he were asked, outright, why he's doing this, he might not be able to say. The answer is unclear even to him. By all rights, he should be glad to be rid of Miles Edgeworth, once and for all--or else rid of his family, no matter what he feels about fitting in, or not fitting in--

But instead he thinks of that stupid memory of breakfast, of a kid smiling at his father.]

You're not going. Quicker wand-hand or no. If Dumbledore's not going to stop you from chucking your stupid life away on this idiotic mission--one that's going to get you nowhere--then someone has to. You're not worth much but you can at least die without embarrassing yourself on some last-ditch fucking effort to play the hero.

From:

jurisimpudent

[It would be more dignified, wouldn't it, to say that he felt confusion? Or annoyance. That would be even better - annoyance at Black's arrogance, at his sudden inconvenient sentimentality. That would be the feeling that an Auror would have, or the freedom fighting hero he's trying to make himself into now - just irritation at this foolish, pointless sentiment.

But he's not a hero. Not an Auror. He's just someone who's been jealous for five years of the people who still had people to worry about them. And so he knows he has to scoff, to reject this...And yet on some level, on some incredibly stupid level, he's - so grateful.

Really pathetic. Really, really pathetic. Especially when the person he's grateful to is Sirius Black, and especially when it's couched in not worth much.

He drops his gaze.]

I'm not sure if you've noticed, Mr. Black, but it's not precisely your place to dictate what I can and cannot do. I cannot envision a way in which you'll be able to stop me.

From:

doggedly

[He snorts, a little roughly. It isn't sentimentality, he would swear to that on his life. It isn't anything that he can put words to or understand, either, it just-- is.

Something to do with being in Edgeworth's head. Something to do with understanding in a way he never wanted to understand. Something about-- that same stupid memory, that kid in the sunny kitchen, the feeling he had. Buoyant, proud, hopeful. And what remains of him, what there is-- it's such a small thing, a little corner of it is the only thing that remains. Why should he care to preserve it? It's nothing to do with him.]

Then you're underestimating me. You're not going.

From:

jurisimpudent

[And Edgeworth doesn't look up, but his lips tighten. When he speaks again, his voice is taut, strained.]

Mr. Black, I will curse you if necessary.

[But it's a weak threat. Maybe it's a deliberately weak threat. Maybe he hopes to be stopped. Pathetic as well, isn't it?]

From:

doggedly

Yeah. All right. Good luck. But standing there saying you'll curse me isn't exactly the same as doing it, y'know.

[He folds his arms over his chest, his jaw set.]

From:

jurisimpudent

[And Edgeworth hesitates a moment - and then his hand goes to his pocket, for his wand. He lifts it out, looks up, meets Sirius' eye - points the tip of his wand at the boy's chest.]

I'll turn you into a dog again. It was easy enough the first time. You know that I'll do anything to catch Dark Wizards. You know I'm capable of anything. If you don't back off, I'll do what I'd planned originally and take you with me.

[But they're staccato threats, ground out one after another, and each one has a faint air of desperation.]

From:

doggedly

[But Sirius simply stares back at him, resolute, his arms still folded over his chest.]

So do it.

From:

jurisimpudent

[The tip of the wand wavers, dips slightly. He forces it up again.]

What business is it of yours, even? You've made it clear you're not going to help us. If you're not helping us, then the only way you'll be involved in the situation is as an enemy, which means I oughtn't be listening to you at all.

From:

doggedly

[He snorts, unimpressed. Something of his haughty air has returned to him, in the way that he keeps his arms folded, and holds his head.]

You're an idiot. That's the only two ways about it, it's really so black and white as all that? I can not help you and make sure you don't get your arse killed.

Call it a favor, since you're a mental at the moment and can't seem to reason anything out or plot beyond 'suicide'.

From:

jurisimpudent

And here I thought the Blacks were only charitable towards the mad in their donations to St. Mungo's.

[Which was supposed to be sardonic, scathing, tough - but it's hard to be scathing when you're highlighting remarkably consistent generosity on someone's part. Even if the people are a bunch of hidebound racists who keep their son in emotional chains, it's still not great as insults go. He shifts, cognizant of his poor showing in the verbal battle.]

Here's the thing: you've still not explained why you care.

From:

doggedly

[He smiles, thinly--as retorts go, Edgeworth's is lacking, and he's not yet cursed Sirius or run off. Not that this is at all unexpected; he'd known nearly from the start of this stand-off that it would end this way.

Not because Edgeworth is a coward. He knows that. But he also knows so much more about him, more than he'd ever wanted to know, why he should prevent him from going--why Edgeworth wants to be prevented, really, somewhere in him, beneath even heroism. Loneliness is a stupid weakness, but Merlin, Sirius knows it.]

I don't have to explain.

From:

jurisimpudent

Yes you do. If you don't, then I'll just...ignore you.

[But his wand lowers altogether, dipping down to point at the ground. His gaze follows a moment later. There's a long moment of silence, then he says:]

It's what your parents would want, you know. Letting a mudblood run off to his death. They'd be proud to see it.

From:

doggedly

[That's the most effective thing Edgeworth has said yet, and something deep within Sirius twists--worse than a knife, like something alive twisting in his chest. His face might pale a little, and perhaps there's some hint of it in his eyes--but his mouth keeps to that firm hard line.]

You're bound to do something else entirely stupid, someday soon. You can get your death then and I'll stand by and everyone will get what they want.

From:

jurisimpudent

So why not start now?

[What's he pushing for? For Sirius to give up? Miles, in spite of everything, isn't actually suicidal. He's got grand plans and ambitions. He's driven by his need to be a hero, to stop all of it, but he doesn't actually want to die, and he doesn't...want to go there, to the party, not really. It's pride, perhaps, that keeps him protesting - and that stupid, pathetic need to hear something better than just...keeping you from your natural idiocy. Which is idiocy in its own right. It's - God, it's using his own life to some unconnected bystander into saying I care, and that's beyond pathetic, it's sick -

And it's that realization that makes him, finally, crumble. He stares down at his feet, disowns his previous challenge with a shake of his head.]

It's...Fine. I - I won't go.

From:

doggedly

[It should feel like a victory, for Sirius; it should feel like a defeat, in the name of his family and all that they stand for. It doesn't feel like anything. Sirius stares at Edgeworth and only feels a curious emptiness, one he can't put a name to.

He looks away, as if he's got to give Edgeworth some privacy. There's a muscle working in his jaw, he can feel it. He swallows, hard, and stares at some point off in the distance, a discoloured bit of stone on the castle wall.]

I'll go.

From:

jurisimpudent

[Edgeworth's gaze snaps up; he says, fiercely, immediately - ]

No.

[Which is a stupid answer. Because he's saying one of two things: either I've decided that following Voldemort is the best course of action, in which case the proper course of action is to not argue but rather to take out his wand again and curse Sirius and drag him before Dumbledore, or he's saying I'll spy for you in which case a celebration is in order, and a thank you, and a jolly good to hear let's get started. In neither case, a desperate and ferocious no, a no that brooks no argument.

He hunches his shoulders a moment afterwards, as if trying to negate that prior knee-jerk reaction.]

For what purpose would you go.