Note: I own nothing! And just to let everyone know...I was onstage for SA for the first time a few days ago! It was so amazing... :)
Hanschen had left Ilse silent on the log, and his legs couldn't carry him fast enough. He dare not break into a run, as that would create suspicion. That was the last thing he wanted. His mouth was strained tightly and his face was flushed pink, breath labored and heavy. Luckily, no one glanced out their windows as he passed, no one care to knew where the odd Rilow boy was off to. The edge of the woods were in view as Hanschen scaled the hill, disregarding any length of mud that caused him to slip.
His mind reeled. Questions of why he felt so strongly about Melchior's actions, and what exactly he was planning to do when he found Melchior. Hanschen had never been one to fight physically. Only the boy with the witty tongue and clever sneer, but Hanschen had a feeling his words would not help him in his endeavor. As he entered the threshold of trees, the small blonde unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, balling his hands into fists in fear of an attack from any angle.
A voice groaned to his left. Hanschen screeched to a halt, breath frozen in his lungs. He glanced to the side, and felt his arms tense up.
"Hanschen...Hanschen Rilow."
Hanschen let out a stiff breath and backed up a few steps. He nodded his head to Melchior Gabor, who had pulled himself up against a tree. He pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth, carefully crossing his arms over his chest. He had to push away the look of disgust slowly creeping across his face, and remain stable and characteristically blank.
"Can you--can you come here?" Melchior rubbed his side with one hand, a spot of blood appearing on his white shirt, now stained terribly.
Hanschen observed the other boy carefully, before taking the few steps over to him. It was easy to see the damage up close. Before, Hanschen had only spied Melchior in passing the clearing, laying there. But up close, it was a different story. It was apparent where Ilse had done her damage, as there were muddy shoe marks on his side and groin. It looked like he had hit his head pretty well on whatever he had fallen on. A sense of pride swelled Hanschen, pride for Ilse, that she had done this. He deserved it, Hanschen thought .
"Melchior Gabor. Long time, no see, hm?" Hanschen gained some confidence, he had a slight advantage over the bigger boy.
"Yes, yes, Hanschen. Could you help me?" There was an annoyed tone in Melchior's voice which made Hanschen want to raise his fist right there.
Instead, Hanschen nodded and offered his shoulder for Melchior to lean on. With the weight of Ilse's assailant on him, it was hard to keep his head level and his expressions neutral. He licked his lips cautiously.
"What happened to you?" Hanschen questioned as they hobbled over the twigs and leaves together.
Melchior spat angrily, a look of bitterness plastered on his face.
"That bitch..that little bitch." He shook his head, leaning heavily on Hanschen's shoulder.
Hanschen gritted his teeth and turned his head slowly to look at Melchior.
"And by bitch you mean...Ilse?"
Melchior's head swung in Hanschen's direction, a bewildered expression was returned with a fist as Hanschen dropped his shoulder and swung hard. Melchior rolled to the ground, hitting his bruised side again on the way, making him cry out.
"What was that all about?" His side ignored, Melchior's hands now cradled his cheekbone which Hanshcen had hit square on.
The impact of bone on bone certainly injured Hanschen's hand but his fuming breaths made no indication of the pain. Though his knuckles throbbed, Hanschen threw his hand down again on Melchior's jaw. The broken rebel on the ground jarred as his body was thrown the other way.
"What the hell, Hanschen?" Melchior yelled out loudly, too surprised to fight back.
Hanschen kneeled down to whisper fervently, hands still in fists, waiting to strike at any second.
"Ilse told me what you did, Gabor. Taking advantage of another girl puts you down as a damn right wanker in my book."
"A wanker?" Melchior cruelly laughed and momentarily forgot his slowly bruising face. "Shall I draw you back to the memories, Hanschen, of the third class?"
The blonde flinched as the memories of embarassment and shame came flooding back to him, his fierce look quickly fading. This egged Melchior on even more.
"Oh yes, Hanschen, third year. Georg opened your desk to borrow some chalk, didn't he?"
"Stop." This was the experience that gave Hanschen his hard skin, the reason his skin prickled whenever another boy rooted through his things, and why his hands used to sweat around Melchior because he was one of the only boys who didn't make fun of him. Now his brow was damp with anger and his forehead prickled as his skin tightened up, the memories of this story were his own personal Hell.
"And instead of chalk Georg pulled out those photographs, yes, Hanschen."
"Stop, Melchior."
"What were they of again? Oh yes, I remember...some from a certain maga--"
"Stop!"
Hanschen lifted his arm again, planning to ram his palm once more into Melchior's face. But something caught his arm on the way down. Melchior's fist closed on Hanschen's small arm and wildly waved his other, trying to make contact. Both boys cried out in surprise, anger and frustration, as both of their plans had backfired humiliatingly. Melchior mustered up the strength to roll over on top of Hanschen who had no choice but to turn his head away and punch blindly with one hand.
"You---" The Rilow boy screamed his words throughout the struggling. "-killed her!" Hanschen made a connection to Melchior's nose as the hand fell from his wrist. "Wendla Bergman! Wendla is dead because of you! Dead, Gabor!"
Melchior stared down at Hanschen with hatred, silent.
"Too much of a bitch to fight back, Gabor?"
With that, Melchior's fist connected with Hanschen's nose and it immediately began to bleed. The smaller blonde boy cried out and pulled his hand to nurse his now bloody nose. In an instant, another balled fist hit Hanschen's temple and his head swung to the side, arms flailed out. His eyes closed and his mouth hung open, a thin line of blood outlining his pink lips.
Melchior dropped his hands and gasped. He lowered his ear to Hanschen's mouth, listening for a faint breath. The light air tickled his ear and Melchior breathed a sigh of relief and rolled off of him, and stiffened as a crunch came from in front of him.
"What's that? Who's there?"
Melchior panicked and stood, the rush to his head making him dizzy and disoriented. A figure stepped timidly from behind the tree and dropped his mouth open at the sight.
