you chip away the old version of you

[inkdamage]

Who: Severus Snape (tiny) and Lucius Malfoy (not tiny).
What: Eating death, basically.
Where: ?
When: Nowish.
Warnings: Premeditated murder; violence both physical and magical, mind control/violation interrogation tactics, references to assault, explicit torture.

If there was ever a time to want to wish for company - or for backup - it would have been weeks ago, when he set his odds against Bellatrix. Now, with the element of surprise and all the time and magic in the world against a handful of unpredictable but certainly mundane targets, he's got the upper hand by miles. But sometimes he's just dying to learn the hard way.

On the patio of a rustic, wooden diner, lurking in the dim light that does little to combat the night, Severus sends out a text.

Someone has been burning witches.

It's a little funny, he thinks, how adept he's gotten at using this thing; he was always the one who could sort through whatever simple Muggle artifacts hampered his acquaintances, causing in them both wonder and suspicion. Even though this sort of technology is decades off for him still, he's taken to it with ease - just as he does with magic. A bitter thought. Truly a child of both worlds.

Comments

[amourpropre]

A slow breath in raises broad shoulders as Lucius contemplates the immediate situation down the length of fifteen inches worth of mahogany. Ask anyone who knows him and they will gladly tell you that no, Lucius is not exactly infamous for his sense of compassion, not even for his fellow magic users, regardless of their breeding. But there are things that can and do offend him. The documents he uncovered beneath the floorboards offend him.

The man writhing at Severus' feet offends him. And so the incantation summons fire; it is not a spoken incantation, and it is not true fire. Flames of deep purple snake out from beneath the terrorist's clothing, smokeless, and instead of burns, it leaves behind bruises and sinks bone deep. A curse that can be flashily frightening and damaging, and thus, useful on the battlefield.

But not useless off of one, in Lucius' opinion.

[inkdamage]

He doesn't say it, but the bitter, detached thought flits through his head: No, I can't say I find any merits to letting anyone be unconscious, either.

It would have been one thing if Severus looked into his head and saw evidence that he felt assaulting someone that way was a mercy, but no; a grotesque coward through and though. He watches him for a moment, and then points his wand, casting a spell - a small, otherwise harmless one. An invigorating spell. No healing, no helpful adrenaline. Just making sure he's still completely and fully awake. The man makes a pained, miserable, angry noise.

Maybe none of this matters. He'll be dead soon anyway.

Outside a few drunk club-goers stumble down the street, laughing, oblivious to anything going on inside; this evening has become so nostalgic.

[amourpropre]

The prone form of the man under the unfortunate focus of the two wizard and their various curses twitches and jerks like a fish in its very last death throes, bruises colouring his arms, face, the expanse of skin beneath his clothing-- until Lucius twitches his wand with more determination and utters a sneered, "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green and then all is still.

It's not really a mercy so much as it is time management.

The sounds of the outdoors fails to make Lucius nervous, quietly confident in the spells cast to keep things outside from getting in, and things from within getting out. He gestures towards the documents. "Is everyone who knows of these dead?"

[inkdamage]

In perhaps disturbing contrast, Severus seems more at ease the longer this goes on; it's something he knows, that he doesn't have to guess at.

"In specifics, yes. There is at least one other individual, either an informant or superior, and his assistant. I assume that person expects these men to have kept notes somewhere." Almost absently, Severus shoves the now-dead man over with his foot, and stares down impassively at his face.

"I'll be interested to see if anyone has anything to say about this."

[amourpropre]

Either way, the men that injured the young witch are dead. Lucius is hesitant to offer more, wary of the glimmer of further investigation, but can't help but suggest; "If you make these documents a portkey, you could go fishing, as it were. Providing that anyone who knows where and how to look might attempt it, of course.

"That depends on your interest in loose ends, I suppose. Your friend can rest easily," a loose and sarcastic gesture about the place, "as things currently stand."

[inkdamage]

That's a fantastic idea, and Severus raises an eyebrow, appreciative of the suggestion, and intrigued at the potential. Instead of voicing this - "Are you accusing me of having friends?"

A flick of his wand and the documents float over to him so that he can inspect them without touching, and duplicate anything (potentially everything) he finds to be noteworthy. The portkey spell would be easy enough, but it's the end location that requires further thought. Surely, a secured location, one devoid of sinister shark pits or sharks with lasers, but something less than comforting, too. (Those details can come later.)

Almost absently: "What an infuriating example this place must set."

Everyone living together sickeningly peacefully. (Compared to wizarding Britain.) Handling this without living in a guerrilla combat unit. Existing openly, the integration of culture. How dare they all, etc and so on.

[amourpropre]

He glances towards the drifting documents and takes that as confirmation, the corner of his mouth upturning at mention of accusation. "Client," he self-corrects, delicately, and with only so much conviction. Lucius occupies his attention to taking the magical medallion he had pocketed that had so neatly defied the stunning spells, turning it over in his hand with curious fingers.

"Cooperation occurs on any level," he adds, wand flicking and another similar amulet rises from one of the corpses on the ground. "When it suits."

[inkdamage]

Curious, the sacrifices they make, magic to circumvent magic. But then- they all know the symptoms of sycophantic belief. The men in this room. The ones who await them, somewhere.

"What people can tailor themselves to has interested me more and more, of late."

[amourpropre]

"Quite."

Clipped, reserved, removed. What Lucius himself can tailor himself to has been a thing he's avoided thinking about in depth, and he will give the same careless lack of thought with regard to how comfortable he feels right here. Instead, he places the hovered amulet somewhere where Severus can reach it. "Whatever means you used to find the culprits behind the note," he says, "perhaps you might exercise the same on whatever wizard or witch was coaxed into making these."

[inkdamage]

Traces on magical items are easier to work, though he doesn't say so; whether Lucius can't or merely doesn't want to bother isn't his business, and this whole adventure has been Severus' undertaking, after all. But he takes the medallion and stows it for later pursual. That spell is one that requires a quiet moment.

In complete incongruity to everything-

"Thanks, Lucius."

[amourpropre]

"A pleasure." He has the decency to sound a little wry about it, but, the bar is somewhat low, there. Lucius gives one final glance about as if to survey the damage done and finding it to be satisfactory enough.

And it's true; his nature is to advise, and offer suggestion, and coax others into taking the lead, and following. Which doesn't make it not his business, when he adds, "I'll be interested to see where this leads." And with that, he takes it upon himself to go; reality bends a little around him in Disapparition, and he does so silently.