Who: Walden Macnair and Ralph Merridew
When: This evening-ish?
What: :X
Where: Ralph's!
Rating: Uhhh PG-13?

As he came to, Ralph immediately began to struggle to piece back together the events of the last hour. Macnair had been--- here. In his house. He had followed him home. No, he had been--- waiting. In the kitchen. And then... Ralph stopped for a moment, trying to recollect what had happened next; he couldn't exactly remember. Shit his head hurt. Duel? They fought? Most likely. Maybe he had won, and now, he was at Mungo's. Or he had lost, but either way he would be at Mungo's, since he was still alive. These thoughts reassured him greatly, so much to the point where Ralph decided to see if he could jingle his fingers and toes (always the marker to know if you still had your limbs).

He could move them, but with restriction. Like he was still wearing his shoes and--- a heavy realization hit him painfully, and Ralph held back a gutted gasp. His hands were--- definitely tied behind his back. And empty. That wasn't a good sign, was it? Ralph tightened his eyes under his closed eyelids, trying to give his brain time to refocus. And possibly tell him whether he was sitting right side up or upside-down, because this was obviously not a hospital bed he was sitting on. Calm, calm, stay calm. He needed to open his eyes to find out where he was, then--- just start from there. Maybe he was--- dreaming. Yes.

Slowly, painstakingly, Ralph twitched his eyes open. He didn't need long to recognize the floor underneath him, and this time he couldn't hold back a low groan as emotional and physical pain set in. That was his rug, his red rug and--- fuck it all he was still here. Tied up, which meant he was still here and holy shit. With a deep breath, Ralph kicked his head back from its slumped position, eyes wide. It didn't take long for him to focus on the only other person in the room. Unable to speak just yet, Ralph simply glared as he took deep low breaths.

"I was beginning to think that I'd have to get dinner on the go before you woke up, Merridew," he drawled lazily, closing the book in his lap that he'd been reading -- he'd pulled it off of one of Ralph's shelves after he'd set everything up -- in order to give the other man his full attention. Ralph hadn't done anything specific to him this time to invoke his rage, but let's face it -- a bored Walden Macnair was never a good thing. The other man's name had been the first one to leap into his head.

He grinned toothily over to Ralph. "Comfy? I know I am." He was seated across from Ralph, legs crossed patiently. With one hand, he fingered the box of matches that he'd picked up from some teenager after scaring him half to death. "But you know ... it's a little cool in here for my tastes."

He lit a match and watched the end burn. "These really are fascinating muggle inventions, aren't they? So very ... destructive and compact."

Walden flicked the match onto the carpet and watched it burn a small hole in the fabric ... before fizzling out.

"But so unreliable. Don't you think?"

How disappointing.

Ralph sucked in another deep breath of air, eyes never leaving Walden's hands. Oh--- yes, he had stopped focusing on the other boy's face for almost two years now. It made things much easier, for Ralph anyway. At the least, feel not as uncomfortable when forced to be in the same room as him. Ralph's eyes trailed down from Walden's hands and--- yep, there was his wand, jutting out Walden's pocket like a sore thumb. There would be no way for him to reach it, or even get it back for that matter...

"You're going to set me on fire," Ralph replied in a deadpanned, almost bored tone, now focusing on Walden's shoulder. It was really all he could muster at that point. He had given up after a few seconds of twisting his hands every which way to get them out of the ropes; it would be impossible if Walden had used his wand. Which he obviously had. "Honestly, Macnair?"

What a fucking day. He had to quit his job lame job, get a permanent tattoo burned onto his hand (which, by the by, had hurt) and now he was most likely going to die from burning to death because Walden Macnair decided to pop back into his life randomly, for giggles. Great, just great. A wonderful final day.

To be fair, Walden could probably think of a long list of reasons to light Ralph on fire if he thought about it for more than a few seconds. Unfortunately for Ralph (or fortunately, depending on who you asked), Walden wasn't feeling all that patient. He licked his lips and absently tucked Ralph's wand back into his pocket again.

"Tsk, tsk. Petty insults mean very little when I'm about to burn down everything important to you, Ralphie." Walden tugged a bottle of something clear and odourless out of his pocket and began to pour a neat pool of it around the other man's feet. The organization of it dissolved quickly, though, and soon he was simply dumping the rest of the bottle (probably enchanted to hold more than it looked like it was able to) haphazardly on the walls.

"And more specifically, I'm going to light your house on fire. You just happen to be ... in it."

Pulling his lips back tight, Ralph restrained himself from responding. As he focused on the disappearing puddle of what looked like water, one clear thought settled in his mind. No, Macnair wasn't burning down everything important to him, just his house. He couldn't get to his parents, or Miranda, or his friends--- just material possessions. What were those, anyone, in comparison to people? Ralph continued to focus on Walden's one flaw in his plan to take away from the blaring fact that his fate was looking grimmer by the second. Just-- calm, he would be able to think of something, this surely wasn't how he was suppose to die.

In an attempt to slow down Walden, Ralph finally reacted, scrunching his nose and squinting his eyes even tighter together. "I personally would have expected better than you, Macnair," Ralph stated in the same tone as before. "Lighting a house on fire isn't memorable at all." Maybe... someone would notice something. Anything. Why his neighbors would, he had no clue, since they knew his parents were away and he was home alone. Not like they could do anything about it anyway even if they noticed, they were muggles.

Dedalus. Maybe he would come. They had talked about getting together earlier in the day, though neither of them had seemed to go through with the plans... Dedalus, that was his hope.

"Why do you care about some stupid muggleborn?"

"If I cared about a stupid muggleborn, I'd waste far more time on you. Peel your skin off layer by layer and stuff you full of sawdust or something," he muttered as he finished up with the bottle and tossed it to the floor, smirking just a little. "Make you into a sculpture to hang in my flat. Personally, seeing your face every day is something that I never want to happen." So he'd make it impossible for people to identify who he was. It was a good plan, Walden thought.

"I really just wanted you to be awake while it happened so you'd be aware of it. No sense letting you sleep through burning to death." This time when he lit a match, he tossed it into the pool of liquid and it ignited in a bright, quickly spreading flame. Walden took one step back, then another. Things would probably go up fast considering the accelerant, so that meant he would have to split soon. Pity.

"And try not to wake the neighbours with your screams, Ralphie."