Caution: Danger

Thwack.

Letting out a little growl as he hit the baseball, he twirled the baseball bat around in his hand, moving forward to smack the next baseball that came firing his way.

This wasn't necessarily calming, but it was June 17th, he didn't want to be calm. Monique's face swimming behind his eyelids and her words replaying in his head, the baseballs came flying faster in his direction. Smirking slightly, Julian only advanced closer, sending the baseballs careening back into the wall.

But as much as he blamed all the pent up anger on the Valée, she wasn't the only reason he found solace in destroying a room. At least part of it could be blamed on the asshole he had of a father. The man could hit him, sure, because he deserved it half the time. And he wasn't even there most of the time, so it really didn't matter. But the second it was Dilly or Tristan - well, that was completely different. They couldn't fend for themselves like he or Madeline could.

Anger darkening his blue eyes, he scowled, continuing to hit the baseballs as hard as he could.

Outfit

She had entered the room a few minutes ago, though the boy was too caught up in his anger to notice her arrival. For some reason, Ondrea just wanted to make him stop; stop being so angry, the air was rank with his emotions; stop swinging the bat, hitting ball after ball.

"Just stop..." Ondrea murmured softly. She stepped closer to him, well out of range of the bat, unless he threw it at her. She'd be able to hear a ball flying through the air before it hit her.

"Julian," the girl spoke a bit louder, this time, "are you alright?" Her tone was uncharacteristically compassionate, as opposed to the manner in which she usually addressed him. Granted, usually, they were bickering with one another.

Ondrea sidestepped a stray ball without looking at it, gaze fixed on the boy. She didn't even know why she cared. Perhaps, because she herself was feeling vulnerable.

He barely even noticed her. The only sound that he acknowledged was his own breathing, the sound of the baseballs against his bat and the wall. And the more he hit the baseballs, the angrier he seemed to find himself.

It just seemed that the more he tried, the more things he could find about his crummy life to make him angry. Eyes flashing, Julian let out a growl, smashing his bat into another baseball.

At the sound of Ondrea's voice, he jumped, whirling around to face her. The baseballs, all fine tuned to his emotions, paused in mid-flight. Raising an eyebrow, he gripped the baseball bat tighter, stalking towards her, "Why," he drawled slowly, his blue eyes blazing, "would I ever tell you?"

Ondrea didn't even flinch as he stalked towards her. She raised a brow at him, purposefully glancing about the room. "I don't see anyone else checking up on you," she pointed out.

"It's not like I'm asking for your life story, Rousseau." Her tone had become detached, expression neutral. "I asked if you were alright. So, what? Because I'm not one of your - what is it you call them? Angels? - you can't even tell me even that much? How could I possibly forget our interactions with one another can only consist of traded barbs and the occasional, nonsensical snogging fests? So sorry for acknowledging that you're an actual person.

"Whatever." She stepped away, starting back towards the door. "I have my own issues. No need for me to stay here. I'm sure one of your little fans will come and fawn all over you soon enough."

"I don't need to be checked on." Julian growled, more to himself then to the girl in front of him, "I'm not some sickly child who can't do anything by themselves. If I'd rather wallow in my own self anger, then let me be."

Shrugging, a momentary sense of calmness that came with just talking to someone dissipated as quickly as it had came. Glaring at her, he swung the bat in his hand, his gaze shifting down to it, "I forgot, you're new in town," he smirked, the malice not difficult to hear in his voice, "or new back in town, same difference really. People know to avoid me on this great glorious day." Snorting, he let out a little humourless laugh.

"But if you really want to know," he said, flicking his gaze towards her, "I'm great. Never been better." He obviously wasn't, but she'd asked a ridiculously stupid question. No, he went and did this on a daily basis because he found this fun.

"I must have missed the memo," Ondrea said dryly.

She turned back towards him, gaze perhaps growing a little more amber as a smirk pulled across her lips. It was clear that whatever thoughts were going through her mind, weren't exactly kind in nature.

"Really?" she drawled, stepping closer. "Brilliant. I'm great, myself." Suddenly, Ondrea lashed out and yanked the bat from his hand, hurling it across the room.

And then, she tackled him to the ground.

Flicking his gaze up from the baseball bat, he glanced at her, scowling, "You've been back almost a year," Julian snapped, "get with the program and get the memo."

Frowning down at his feet, he completely missed the shift in her eyes. He wasn't necessarily angry at her, but at this moment, he was angry with practically everyone. Hell, if - if Dilly had walked through that door, he probably would have had a hard time keeping his temper under control.

Letting out a little yelp as the baseball bat was ripped from his grasp, he'd raised his gaze up to Drea's moments before he found himself on the ground and underneath her. Glaring up at her, he scowled, struggling to push her off of him, "What are you doing? Get OFF of me! Right now. That - attacking a prefect? 40 points from Angelique. Get. The. Fuck. OFF. OF. ME."

Ondrea leaned down, face coming within inches of his. Her eyes were distinctly amber, now, where minutes before they'd been a chocolate brown.

"No," she said emphatically. "Points? Really? It's the end of the year. Furthermore, I've never cared about points. You angry that I tackled you? Then, fight. Make me sorry. The door is closed, and I won't even tell anyone.

"Come on, Jully," Ondrea spoke, tone persuasive and the slightest bit taunting. "You're bigger than me. Surely, you won't let a girl get the better of you?"

Frowning slightly at Ondrea's eyes, a million questions flickered in his eyes. Her eyes - he could've sworn they'd been a different colour. So unless he was going crazy, wouldn't she be a metamorphigus? One who really didn't use it. Unless of course she'd been using this to become people and no one had been the wiser.

Raising an eyebrow at her, Julian's expression of annoyance and anger barely changed, despite the thoughts running through his head. He wasn't going to hit her. Even if she was asking for it. Just because she wanted a fight didn't mean she'd get it. But he wanted her off of him right now and he'd do practically anything to achieve it.

Scowling at her, his hands still trembling from the anger that always seemed to be present on this day, he opened his mouth to snap at her, all his anger focused on her. But before he could actually say something, the baseballs he'd momentarily forgotten about came flying back into his view on a crash course collision for Ondrea's head. Smirking slightly, he reached up, placing his hands on her shoulders before pushing her with all the strength he could muster, the baseballs still careening towards her head.

Ondrea smirked fleetingly down at the boy as he pushed her upwards - into the path of the baseballs. And then she pulled away from him, jerking back and snatching two of the balls from the air. A slight cracking sound accompanied one of the impacts. Lithely, she dodged the others, then hurled the two she held down at them so they each barely missed the sides of his face.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Ondrea yanked him bodily to his feet and then slammed him against the nearest wall.

"How very typical," she snarled in his face, forearm pressing into his collarbone. "Julian Rousseau would be far too prissy to hit anyone, himself. Why not set the bloody room on them?"

Her pale, bright amber eyes glinted angrily, her teeth bared slightly. "What if I had been someone else, hm? You know what several baseballs to the head could do to a person? Didn't think of that, did you? You never were overly bright.

"You're a coward, Rousseau. Either fight with me or don't - don't try to make it look like an accident."

Looking up at Ondrea, the shadow of an expression of awe and amazement graced his face. He had to admit, that was pretty cool. Making a mental note to ask Karma if they taught them how to do that at Hogwarts, his thoughts of praise evaporated the moment she began throwing baseballs at him.

Flinching, Julian snapped his eyes closed, only letting go of the breath that he'd been holding when he heard the baseballs swoosh past his ears. Opening his eyes, he barely had the time to glance at the baseballs on either side of his before he was picked up and smashed into a wall.

Oh - oh God. This - this wasn't happening. Not - not again. He - he couldn't - not now. Not today. Flinching and trying his best to ignore the memories flashing behind his eyes, he glared at her, barely hearing her words over the yells of his father running though his head.

"Shut. Up." Julian snapped, and for a moment even he's not sure if he's talking to Drea or to the voice of his father that kept replacing in his ears. Hands trembling from a sudden flash of anger, and before he knew what he was doing to stop himself, he was raising a hand and smashing it down across Drea's cheek.

Ondrea didn't even have time to retort to his command to shut up before his fist connected with her cheek. She staggered back, surprised though that was literally what she had asked for. Though, she stared at him, stricken, for a long moment, the thoughts running through her head had little to do with him.

'It was bad enough when she a stammering mess - now, she's that... that thing. She's dangerous. Ill-tempered and violent.'

'Mother!'

'Don't "mother" me. Mark my words; that child will find a way to spoil everything she touches, just as she's always done. Owen ought to be the one still alive. If you had to lose a child, it should have been the adopted one.'

Ondrea blinked slowly, uncertain how long she'd been lost in her thoughts. She brought a hand to her cheek, forcing out a short laugh.

"Wow, Rousseau." Her tone wasn't nearly as nonchalant as she was aiming for. "Didn't know you had it in you. Sure you're hand's alright?" The girl turned quickly away from him, this time blinking rapidly to ward off the tears that suddenly threatened her eyes. She would not cry in front of him. Bastard would probably think it was because of the pain.

It wasn't, though. Ondrea wasn't even sure why her eyes were watering, in the first place. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. Not her cheek, nor her hand - not anything. Ondrea didn't hurt, at all.

He - he'd actually hit her. What - what was wrong with him? As she staggered back, he, who'd been raised up off the ground by her, came crashing back down. Slinking down the wall into a sitting position, Julian splayed his legs out in front of him, staring dully ahead.

He couldn't have been - well, he knew how old he was. He'd been eight, and he'd just trashed that piano. And - and - that - that monster of a father that he had - he'd almost killed him. Closing his eyes, he hugged himself, caught up in one of the memories he tried his hardest not to.

The first thing he noticed when he came to was that everything hurt. Everything. Groaning, Julian blearily opened his eyes and then instantly closed them again, his head spinning. He was in that room again. He barely had the room to turn around, let alone stretch. Leaning against a wall, he bit his lip. He - he had to open his eyes sooner or later. Because everything ached and - he could hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

Forcing his eyes open, he cowered against the wall, worming as far away from the door as possible. Glancing down at his arms, he let out a slight whimper before clamping his hands over his mouth. They were all bruised. And he had a feeling that if he pulled up his shirt, he'd find his stomach all bruised as well.

And - and then the door was being pulled open so hard it almost came off it's hinges. And Julian had barely looked up at the man towering above him before he was pulled up by the collar and smashed face first into the tiled floor.

Drea's words bringing him back into the present, he gaped up at her, "I - I -" swallowing hard, he pulled himself up, shaking. God, he was turning into that monster. He'd just hit her. Where was he going to go from this? Smacking random people he saw on the street?

Swaying on his feet, he bit his lip, staring at her back. He - he didn't - he couldn't face her. Not - not after what he'd done. "I'm sorry." he choked out, suddenly fighting back tears. "I am so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Ondrea spoke quietly, voice the slightest bit strained from her attempt to maintain her neutral mask. Her gaze, which was slowly darkening to its natural brown, was fixed on the floor. "It's mine. You wouldn't have hit me if I hadn't keep egging you on.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. It's my fault - I spoil e-everything I touch." Her voice broke a bit despite her efforts and she had to blink back more impending tears.

Raising an eyebrow, Julian let a snort of laughter, even though the situation he was in was far from humorous. Using the moment to compose himself, he rubbed at his eyes. "I hit you. That makes it my fault."

Frowning at her, he walked around her to stand in front her. "Ondrea Mon - Ondrea, just listen to me." He couldn't say her last name. It - it reminded him of her. "You do not ruin everything you touch. That is nonsense. And nutty."

"I do!" Ondrea snapped at him, removing her hand from her cheek. A bruise was starting to form. "Since when do you hit people? Never! But I wouldn't leave you alone. The fact that you were positively seething was literally oozing from you and I still had to push you!

"I'm violent an-and ill-tempered, and I spoil everything. That's why you've hit someone, and the reason Owen is dea-"

Dead.

She broke off, an agonized sob tearing its way from her throat. Stepping back, Ondrea wrapped her right arm about her middle, holding her left hand (which was also swelling a bit) away from her body.

"I-I-I'm th-e one who should be s-sorry..." Ondrea stammered out. Even she knew Julian Rousseau was not the sort to hit anyone; she'd ruined him... just like she ruined everything else; her family - families - her best friend and brother, poor kind-hearted Ty... "I just... I'm sorry."

She turned, eyes locking on the door, on the escape. She started towards it.

Wincing as his eyes fell on the bruise on her cheek, he stepped backwards, mouth flapping open and closed. Speechless couldn't begin to describe him. Julian's mind had just went blank. Nothing was going through it, and no words were going to come out.

"I - I hit Nine once," he croaked, beginning to nervously ramble, "but - but I guess I didn't actually hit her. More like I hit her with Diffindo, and I can do a hell of a lot more damage with a wand then with my fists -" looking back at her cheek, he flinched, shaking his head before continuing, " - but I guess that doesn't really - well it matters to Nine, but not now at this moment."

Rubbing his eyes, he pulled them away, raising an eyebrow, "Aren't we all ill-tempered? It's why I get beat up so often." His breath hitching in his throat, he glanced down at his feet, biting his lip. Flickering his gaze back up, he tilted his head, "......Owen?"

Oh God, she - she was crying. He didn't do tears. Because when people - at least, when it was his Angels, (most other people didn't cry in front of him) - started crying, he started crying and it just ended up being all blubbery.

"Stop, please, stop." Shaking, he slunk back down to the floor. "Stop apologizing and don't - don't leave."

Ondrea couldn't have immediately answered his question to who Owen was if she had wanted. The words caught in her throat and wouldn't come out.

She obediently - for once - halted at his words, drawing in several slow breaths to bring herself back to calm. Once achieved, the girl turned back towards him, letting out a soft breath. Closing the short distance between then, Ondrea took a seat on the floor near the boy, her left hand coming to rest in her right in her lap. She had broken one of the bones while catching the baseballs and it rather hurt.

"Hey," Ondrea spoke lightly, nudging Julian's foot with her own. "I told you not to beat yourself over it. A little bruise salve, and it'll hardly be noticeable tomorrow." Maybe even without the bruise salve... "Besides, if it had been your fault - okay, wholly your fault - I would hit you back. Trust me; I don't hit like a girl."

Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily as she finally elected to respond to his earlier query. When they opened, again, her brown gaze focused on her hand. "You should remember Owen," her voice was very quiet. "My brother? Guess you wouldn't have really known about him - he attended Hogwarts when he was in school." Ondrea prodded experimentally at the swelling in her hand. She sucked in a shuddering breath, and shrugged one shoulder.

"Now, what, then? You show me your wounds, I show you mine?" Her humor wasn't entirely forced. "I think I'll pass on that, if it's all the same. It's your annual PMS day, and I feel the need to pick fights with people. We should probably leave it at that."

She'd actually - well he hadn't expected her to actually stay. But he wasn't about to leave, not when she was talking like that. People who talked like that ended up dead. And he'd rather not have her dead and feel like her blood was on his hands.

"That doesn't really make it better," Julian admitted, nudging her back, "Like you said, I don't hit people. I might be a heartless bastard, but I'm not violent." Laughing bitterly, he grinned at her, "Yeah, I have a feeling you don't."

Tilting his head at her, he frowned, "Never heard of him. But I just learnt the names of everyone in our year, so I guess I'm a little behind."

Letting out a little sigh of relief, he gave her a slight smile. "Good, I wouldn't have told you even if you asked. Though," Julian frowned slightly, "there are about a million reasons why I'm here, so I might just humour you."

Shrugging, he fiddled with the chain around his neck before looking back at her, "You know, your eyes change colour. From what they are now," he gave her a slight nod, "to an amberish sort of colour. It's cool."

"Yeah, well... no one really hears about him, anymore," Ondrea said quietly, not quite managing a smile.

She gave an amused huff. "I have no need to know about your personal problems. Gossiping really isn't my thing. Those who gossip, usually get gossiped about."

"They do that, sometimes," Ondrea replied, "when my w- when I'm angry, and just throughout the month, as well. Kind of an oddity I've developed, I guess." She laid back on the floor, gazing at the ceiling, knees bent.

The girl considered her words a moment before speaking. "Anger doesn't suit you, very well. You should stick with light-hearted arrogance. Whatever makes this day so awful... well, I guess some days will always be awful. I think I'll just avoid you, next year." Ondrea offered a wry smile.

His frown deepening, Julian stared at her, his head tilted to the side and for the life of him resembling a very confused five year old. "Why's that?"

Shifting his legs underneath him, he frowned, propping his head up with his cheek, "Hey! No insulting my personal problems! They're rather - well, they're not really that important to anyone who's not me, but they're still - I don't know." Shrugging, he continued fiddling with the chain, "For all anyone knows, I could be dying."

Grumbling, he said, "Lucky. I'm stuck with boring, boring blue eyes." that will, without fail, remind me of my dear family.

"Good idea," he nodded, glancing down at her, "join everyone else in their avoidance of me." Despite the rather glum words he'd said, his tone remained rather neutral as he continued to play with the necklace.

Ondrea fidgeted with the fingers of her injured hand, allowing her mind to wander off to calculate about how days it would be before the bone healed. Four? Maybe less. Perhaps more, if she re-injured it. She drew in a deep breath, returning to the present.

"Well, that would be because... he's dead." Her tone had grown very soft and her gaze remained fixed on her hand. "Guess his death wasn't 'important' enough to make the French edition of the Prophet. That makes... kind of mad, actually." Tears pricked her eyes and she promptly blinked them back.

"I'm not insulting your personal problems. I'm just not prying into them, either, Mr. I-could-be-dying."

Ondrea looked up at him, meeting his gaze for a moment, before looking away. "I like your eyes," she stated.

The girl gave a soft laugh. "Either you want to be left alone or you don't," she pointed it out. "You can't have it both ways, Rousseau. If you want company, just say so. I'll be there." She shrugged.

"Oh," Julian said softly, staring at her before quickly looking away. What was he supposed to say to that? Reaching over to her, he paused, his fingers millimetres from her shoulder before he seized up. He wasn't - not after - he wasn't going to lay a finger on her. Pulling away, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Um, I - I'm sorry."

Meeting her gaze, he smirked slightly, "Of course you do. Never met a person who hasn't."

Shrugging, he glanced at his feet before flicking his gaze back to her, "Stay if you want. I can't really make you leave if you won't." Rubbing his hands together absentmindedly, he added, "And thanks. Sappy, but still, thank you."

Ondrea shrugged. "It's been almost two years, already," she said. "I still talk to his portrait. Almost like having him around, still." Her tone clearly stated that it wasn't the same, at all. She opened her mouth as though to continue, then closed it again, shaking her head. She wasn't about to play the sharing game with Julian Rousseau - especially since the sharing would only be going one way.

"Of course you can't," Ondrea grinned up at him, her gaze softening slightly. "And you're welcome."

She gazed thoughtfully at the far wall. "So, baseballs, huh? My dad wanted to take me to a muggle baseball game, sometime - so I would have some 'exposure to my roots' or some nonsense. At the time, however, people terrified me. Especially muggles." The last bit was spoken very quietly, more as a distracted afterthought than something she'd meant to actually say.

"At least you still get to see him." Julian said in an effort to make her feel better, giving her a very slight smile, "I mean, sure, he's still dead, but it's not like he's really, truly dead if you can still talk to him."

Following her gaze towards the wall, he shrugged, tracing the letters on his shirt with a finger, "I used to play baseball with my brother when we were younger." Grinning a little from the memory, it faded as soon as it appeared as he thought of how Corin was today. "But I don't really see him that much anymore." Shrugging again, he glanced back at her, "Why not just go now? Not now now, but you know what I mean."