Choose ((India & Cyrus))

[Drake Manning]

Rock bottom. The term was relative, all depending on the situation. For Drake, he'd have claimed to hit rock bottom time after time again. Yet, every time things got a little worse he had to admit that the previous 'rock bottom' hadn't been the worst of it all. It seemed that, no matter what, things could always be just a tad worse. It was almost like the opposite ends of infinity. No matter what way you looked at it, things could always be better or worse. There was no absolute zero. No absolute goodness or absolute evil. There was always room for things to improve. Or, in Drake's case, always room to decline.

If it wasn't the damned confusion that he felt around India, it was the death of his arranged wife. Granted, he and Brianna were definitely not meant for one another, but that didn't make it easy for him to watch her die. Not literally, of course, but knowing that she was dying and spending a good chunk of her last weeks with her was clearly taking a toll on Drake, even a few months later. His school work was slowly declining. Quidditch was a joke (then again he never really cared much about that in comparison to other things). Drake's life was just one failure after another. Some of the things were a lot more significant, but when they all added together, it was rather depressing. Lucky for Drake, he lived in a state of apathy, which made it hard for him to feel too depressed. Instead, he just felt empty. Worthless. Emotionless. But, that was all just a lie that he was living. In reality, he was a mess inside. A tied up knot of denial and self-loathing. How pathetic.

The latest thing that fate had thrown his way was a lost sketchbook. Art was an outlet for Drake, and now he didn't even have that. Sure, he could make art with something else. Merlin knows there are more sketchbooks in the world. But Drake's art was a ritual for him. He needed his book. He needed the rest of his art to help him cope. If he'd have realized it, Drake would have known that his art was his therapy. A conscious effort to make things better for himself. And now that was gone too. He hated the thought that somebody had found his book. He never let anybody see his art. Rather, he rarely did. Sometimes he was too drunk to stop himself from letting one of his girls-of-the-moment see the book.

In a rather frantic effort, Drake was flipping cushions on the sofa with his wand, checking to make sure the book hadn't slid into one of the creases. He didn't remember having it in the common room, but he had already turned his sleeping quarters upside down looking for it. "Where in bloody hell could it be?" he fumed. He was about to take another look in the dormitory when he nearly plowed right through a passerby.

"Oh... it's you," he said grimly, looking at India. Where was she going? "Cyrus isn't up there," he added coldly, not really sure what he was trying to get at by saying that. Sure it was some sort of jab that he intended, but Drake wasn't one to normally speak out of spite. He was pretty careful with his words. After all, they were one of his main masks a lot of the time. Speaking his mind only let others in.

He was about to walk away, preferring to find his book rather than talk with India, but her words froze him in place. Damn the fact that he wasn't able to just keep walking. Damn the fact that she had that control over him. Damn India Nightingale in the first place for ever entering his life.

[India Nightingale]

India lay in her bed, alone with nothing but a book open on her lap. But it was no novel that she was reading, nor a textbook. Rather than containing text of any kind, it was a book of art. India's eyes observed each individual drawing carefully, sometimes running a thoughtful finger down the edge of a particularly moving piece. Her heart shifted in her chest, causing her throat to constrict. She swallowed the discomfort and ploughed through the sketchbook. It took her over an hour, lying almost motionless in her bed, to leaf through it all, and when she was finished, India closed it and stared up at the plain white ceiling, just thinking; thinking about the person that was Drake Manning... the person who had touched her life and, despite everything he said and she denied, she would forever be linked to. He was a man India would never forget, even though, after James, after Duke, she had sworn to herself she would never let a man touch her heart.

Not that India was in love with Drake Manning... She couldn't quite admit that yet, or understand it. Sometimes she thought she was, but then she'd get scared at such a conclusion and would immediately begin to deny it furiously. Love? India hadn't known love since... She couldn't remember. She had never loved a man romantically, at least - she was sure of that. Her relationship with James had been short and brief, and although his betrayal had hurt, she certainly hadn't been in love with him. Her love for Duke had been that for a father, and her love for Skye was that for a sister. India loved Devil too like she would a friend, if she had any. But she had never been in love, and perhaps such a concept would always frighten India...

At the sound of the dorm door opening, India hurriedly stored the sketchbook away in her trunk beneath her bed and pushed it out of sight. Faith Ellison entered the room and India stared at her dormmate, indifferent and expressionless. Faith was equally distant, moving towards her bed. India watched her for a moment, then left her bed, slipping on her shoes and leaving the dormitory. With Faith's entrance, her private space and bubble had been broken, and India could no longer feel comfortable in it. She would, perhaps, go and find Devil... She had nothing better to do, as usual. Now that she was not so motivated to be the best in class, India didn't spend her days cooped up in the Library, poring over textbooks. Sometimes she sat with Devil and just stroked his head to calm herself; sometimes she and Skye sat in the Courtyard together and read in silence (eliciting many nosy peers from other students who could barely distinguish them); sometimes she preoccupied herself by writing awkward letters to her mother. At least India was trying.

Just as she left the stairs towards the dorms, someone bumped right into her. India stepped back, feeling the strong impact of a taller man knocking the wind out of her frail figure. Looking up, India's eyes widened as they landed on the familiar face of Drake Manning. Before she could speak, his words cut right through her, and at that, her expression began to close up, reverting from surprise to careful coolness. "I was just leaving," she told Drake icily, brushing her robes down from their previous contact. "And I wasn't looking for him." She felt a strong need to defend herself. She knew what Drake might think, and although a small part of her enjoyed the fact Drake was frustrated with her seeming relationship with Cyrus Thorn, for the most part she wanted him to know there was no one else in her life... Just him. It would only ever be him.

"It's not what you think," India told him quietly, aware of the other people in the Common Room. She surveyed the scene, saw the wand in his hand and the frustrated expression on his face, and immediately guessed that he was looking for it - his sketchbook. A tendril of fear and guilt curled in her stomach but she ignored it, focusing instead on staying calm and not making a big scene in such a public place. "What you saw the other day was... not like that," she repeated again, eyes darting around the room. When Drake appeared to begin to move away, India's mind filled with images of Drake's art, splashed angrily across the pages, filled with sorrow, and she couldn't let him go. Unexpectedly, she moved forward on impulse, her smaller hand grasping his and pulling him back. "Drake, I--"

But, as fate would have it, another familiar voice interrupted her before she could finish, and India's head whipped around to see the smirking face of Cyrus Thorn. Her eyes narrowed and her heart leapt in fear. Damn. Damn damn damn. She swore under her breath, then recoiled away from Drake, her hand falling from his. The contact had been brief, but India could feel his larger, coarser palm against hers, and knew she would not forget it. For now, though, she chose to direct her sharp gaze at Cyrus, determined to keep as cold and biting as possible. "What do you want, Cyrus?" she asked defensively. India remembered their deal, but... but no, she couldn't hug Cyrus right here, right now, in front of Drake! He had to go. "If you'll excuse me..." India began firmly, then looked at Drake, "We need to talk. I... Come with me." Then her eyes were on Cyrus again. Was he going to get out of her way and let them go?

[Cyrus Thorn]

Cyrus loved watching the Common Room at this time. He hated it in one sense; but he was too interested in why he hated it and what exactly made it so repulsive to him, that it pleased his odd mind to lean casually against one of the white stone pillars and just watch. All those lower years running about like house-elves for the uppers made him smirk and feel incredible dislike to them. It was not a new sight for the Slytherin Common Room, of course. The hierarchy that had been around throughout the house regarding the different years was always easy to spot here. Even Cyrus did the odd chore or two when he was younger and, now at the top of the school, it was too easy to get what he wanted with just a few words. In a way this irritated Cyrus because he liked to try, he liked a challenge. That was what made him dislike the lessons these days and what made him skip them if he felt like it; there was not a challenge. The teachers were predictable, the questions far too easy to answer, and the wand work rarely needed the accompanying incantations – it was possible to do the spells in their minds now.

Although he thought it daily and even almost hourly, the notion that the school was boring came up in Cyrus’ mind and for what felt like the billionth time, he pondered it, hoping to come to a new realisation or theory that he had overlooked before. But there was nothing in Hogwarts for Cyrus anymore. The only thing that crossed his mind when it came up was how much he could not wait to leave. Only recently, it seemed, had there been something… or rather someone that actually inspired and interested Cyrus. India Nightingale was simply adorable. Her little lover’s feud (could it be called that?) with Manning was constant amusement and entertainment for Cyrus, and the fact that India seemed to be denying her love for Drake even more so. It didn’t even stop there – Cyrus had the impression that India was even immune to him… she really was a brilliant actress. His mind slipped away to the first time the two had really ‘talked’ properly about the situation, that lovely little day in the dormitory that now seemed so long ago. She was empty, a stone… ice, as Cyrus knew many liked to call her. But to Cyrus it was not mature or proud, or anything even remotely remarkable. It was rather stupid and almost immature, the way in which she held herself and spoke, the manner and attitude she kept in class and out.

To add to the stupidity in India’s handling of the ‘Manning-sketchbook’ situation, she was now hugging him in public. The hugs were the most hilarious things Cyrus had ever known. The physical contact itself was enough to make him chuckle, but India’s torn, stubborn expression fighting so hard to be indifferent; that was just too much. Only sometimes when Cyrus himself was in an off mood, contemplating his ‘paths’, if you will, did he feel India’s stony grasp across his waist and wonder at her expression and the look in her eyes. He had often asked himself; would she be this way embracing Drake Manning? He sorely wanted to see that moment. Cyrus didn’t know if he had ever seen the two touch each other, even just a light hand-on-arm. He doubted they ever had.

He soon had to eat his words. Almost out of sight but fortunately just in view, his narrowed eyes had finished surveying the Common Room with a look of haughty distaste and had now latched onto a surprising sight… India reaching for Drake Manning’s hand. Was this real- he wasn’t imagining things? He was sure he had only had the usual to drink and eat that day and so ruled hallucinations out with a snigger. Without hesitating, Cyrus lavishly pushed his weight from the pillar he had been leaning against and ambled lightly to where Drake and India stood. Once there his mind confirmed what his eyes had initially seen; that India was indeed clasping Drake’s hand tightly beneath her own thin fingers.

“Well well…” Cyrus grinned wildly. He was glad his earlier thoughts reflecting on India and the situation he saw before him now hadn’t been wrong. It would have been a shame to be wrong… but then, there was always a first time for everything. “Isn’t this cosy?” He smirked, eyes flashing pointedly at the couple’s hands. His words were cut off with India’s own harsh tone and his head snapped to look at her with a mock expression of care and devotion in his eyes. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” He paused. To Drake this pause would have no doubt been far too long. In it, Cyrus’ eyes did not let go of India’s. He knew she had not forgotten about their deal so soon. She had to embrace him again and she knew it. His lips curling, Cyrus slowly spoke in his aggravatingly playful drawl, his eyes not once leaving India’s. “Drake… I’ve been meaning to discus some matters with you…” He trailed off again and allowed India more time. If she threw her thin arms around him now and let go of Manning’s hand then he wouldn’t have to spill the beans. It really was quite simple. “- nothing dreadfully important, but I’d rather have a few words about it now. I’m sure your little conversation can wait a little while. In fact,” His eyes flicked to Drake’s and his nose wrinkled joyfully at the expression he saw there, “the two topics might be somewhat related.”

[Drake Manning]

Denial spilled from India's lips as Drake paused to decide whether or not he cared. The words that she spoke indicated she had a reason to defend herself, but Drake wasn't ready to admit anything. Admitting that her actions mattered to him would only give her more reason to provide excuses. Lame. Excuses. He tried not to become angry either because that was just another indicator that he cared. His stomach flipped at the thought.

Without a word, Drake was ready to pull a way, India's cold grip on his hands weakly holding him in place. And then, when he had thought he could just walk away from it all, the one person who could set him over the edge arrived right on cue. Drake stopped as Cyrus' smooth voice glided right through him and tightened around his last nerve. Steely eyes met Cyrus' own glance of amusement and Drake felt an auditory growl escape from his lips. "Shut the [expletive] up, Thorn," he shouted, surely drawing all attention from the rest of the common room.

Ripping his hand from India's, Drake didn't know who to release his anger on first. India's back and forth antics had him dizzier than a drunk and he was tired of even entertaining the drama that seemed to surround them. As for Cyrus, Drake was simply irritated by his arrogant words and stupid grin. He was half tempted to punch it off his face. In the end, the anger was directed toward Cyrus.

"If it's not important, then I don't give a [explitive]. If it's India you want, you can have her. I'm not going to put up a fight." His gut told him that Cyrus was in this for something more. Something different. Some sort of twisted pleasure. His blood pressure was rising, and Drake's anger was making it hard to talk. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted out of the damned school. "And as for you..." he turned to India. Frozen again, Drake starred at her face, unsure of what to say. From the first time they had went for a drink over a year ago, Drake had never been able to fully understand her. And now, it was no different. The woman in front of him was a bigger mystery than himself, and he had run out of answers. "... just... just leave me alone." He blinked back what might have been a tear, but he was determined that it wasn't. "Please. Stay away from me."

Drake felt the darkness closing in around him. Nothing would ever change. He could sense India and Cyrus' stares, but he didn't care. And, if they had said anything back, the dead silence in his own head had blocked any of it out. He turned again, stealing one last glance at India before brushing past Cyrus, bumping shoulders in the process. So much for finding his sketchbook. Drake had bigger things in life to worry about than a damned sketchbook. It was too bad that he would only keep running from those things.


((Sorry... my odd mood elicited this response. I know it kind of cuts the post off when it's just starting. Gah... if you guys hate it, I can see what tomorrow's mood might bring for Drake. ))

[India Nightingale]

"You know nothing," India spat at Cyrus immediately, but her hand continued to cling onto Drake's, unwilling to let go. Her feelings of turmoil directed at Drake were, as usual, affecting her ability to control herself. Fighting Cyrus was always difficult, and in Drake's presence she could not do it without exposing herself. "Nothing," she repeated with a snap, bristling at Cyrus' new nickname for her; it made her cringe, made her want to claw at Cyrus' handsome smirk until she found blood. This violent urge only increased at Cyrus' words directed at Drake, and unconsciously her grip on Drake's hand tightened. "Get lost," India finally hissed dangerously; for the first time, Cyrus had really managed to crawl under her skin and break her. She had always maintained her cool - never let his sarcastic comments and playful ploys reach her heart. But India had snapped and she was having none of it anymore; enough of hugs, enough of smiles, enough of emotional blackmail - this had to end. "Shut your mouth and get the hell out of my way." India's glare turned ice-like and simmeringly angry on the object of her rage. "Or I will make you." Cyrus could talk to Drake later - when she was done. India needed to speak to Drake, she needed to confirm her fears and suspicions. Cyrus was an obstacle; it needed to be removed. "I could have hurt you last time," she continued in a low voice, staring straight up fearlessly at her enemy. "But this time, I will not hesitate. Do not underestimate me, Cyrus. You are not God and I have business to attend to that does not involve you."

India was angry at Cyrus; very angry. She hadn't been truly angry for a long time - since Drake, last year. It felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe it had been... A different life, a different time; a different India Nightingale. However, what India had forgotten was that, if anyone could push her to the brink of eruption of all her control and carefully disguised emotions, it was Drake Manning. At his own angry words, India felt rage spill like oil and fire into her chest. She couldn't believe her ears; they burned, she could hear nothing but the sound of her beating heart, ramming painfully against her ribcage. "How dare you?" India found herself hissing in disbelief and anger. A flush of dark red coloured her usually pale face and she pulled her hand away from Drake's to face him square. "You will never change, Drake Manning!" India declared shrilly, her voice increasing in tempo, beyond her control. "What do you think I am? An object?! I thought you were better than that! You're not much, but you're better than him!" A shaking finger directed itself accusingly at Cyrus. "Let me tell you something, Drake," India continued, unconscious to the audience beginning to surround them curiously. "I was never yours to begin with. If memory serves," she sneered at this, truly malicious and bitter, "I rejected you. So don't act like you dictate me, like I belong to you, because even if I've changed, I would, and will, never let a man like you make my mind up for me. I will decide if I want him to 'have' me, not you!"

India's finger on Cyrus fell by her side, but the fire in her eyes was far from extinguished. An ugly expression of rage had settled itself on her face, and it was still directed on Drake with fury. It did not falter at his command; in fact, her anger only worsened, uncurling like waking beasts in the pit of her stomach. As Drake began to walk away, India felt a wisp of fear twinge in her chest, but her overwhelming rage quickly extinguished it. "You are a [expletive] hypocrite, Drake," India snarled viciously at his back, mimicking his use of strong language as though he had infected her, taken over her mind so she was no longer herself. "You, who practically stalked me last year, want me to leave you alone?" A loud, grating laugh left India's lips. What a joke. What a sick joke. "I'm not going to leave you alone," she continued bitingly, relishing the feeling of revenge singing in her bones. "I'm never leaving you alone until you answer my questions. If I can stop running away then you can, you coward." She bit the last word with an intention to hurt, to push Drake to the extreme. She needed him to break; just like he had broken her. She just needed to find his weakness, the thing that 'made him tick'.

India hadn't forgotten Cyrus, though. She turned her angrily cold glare on him, daggered-eyes piercing through his arrogant composure. "Go on then," she taunted sneeringly. "Tell him. I don't care. I'm sick of this game. It's over. I give up. I am never touching you again, Cyrus." Repressing a deep shudder, India turned on her heel and stalked furiously out of the Common Room, leaving the two boys behind to have that chat Cyrus had been so keen to start. She found herself uncaring to its consequences. All she cared right now was the ache in her heart as she stormed, step by step, back to her dorm and slammed the door shakingly behind her. A few seconds later the sketchbook lay on her bed and India's finger held the first page in her hand. She was going to tear it to shreds, she was so angry at Drake; at his words, his actions, his damn cowardice. She hated him and goddammit, if only he didn't exist. However, just as she began to make the first tear, her arm trembled to a halt. She couldn't. She hated him but she couldn't. It was a lie; her anger was hiding the truth. Feeling a sob rise in her throat, India swallowed and fell into her bed, closing the sketchbook. She held it to her chest and buried her face in her pillow. She would not let go. Ever.