then I stop to think and I ask myself why; it's one of those things that darling, you must try.

[last-libertine.livejournal.com]

Who: Antonin Dolohov and Evan Rosier, plus any other Death Eater around if they make it back to the house! YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED
What: WELCOME TO BAEDAL, ANTONIN, I BROUGHT YOU SOME CHAMPAGNE
Where: the Valhalla Inn, possibly elsewhere
When: shortly after Antonin's post to the network
Notes: "I realized something. Antonin is older than most of the death eaters. HE'S THE ONE BUYING BOOZE. That's why everyone likes him. He's the older brother with the car and the beer bong." we are the most serious Death Eater RPers
Warnings: a probable lack of beer bongs, but no promises


Whenever Antonin finds his way downstairs, he may find Evan lounging in the public room, drinking pink champagne straight from the bottle. He is slightly less rumpled than he was over the CiD, having reasoned that commanding Antonin to take a shower requires a certain level of appearance so as not to be hypocritical. So he's wearing most of a suit, just in a careless way, but with no robe, only a long jacket. In deference to the manager, he's keeping his shoes off the coffee table, which is in any case taken up with what is presumably Antonin's 'surprise'. It is a very graciously decorated basket containing bubble bath, fruit, and some possibly mysterious foil packets.

(There is, incidentally, a banana, in case questions arise.)

His expression before he registers Antonin's presence is pensive — not, perhaps, exactly a look he commonly wore in public, and certainly not around Antonin. The difference in their age is significant enough that he never considered Antonin a peer, and he wasn't very close with his peers either, in any case. It's kind of worse now that Antonin's gone through an extra fifteen or so years and Evan hasn't changed at all, but that's nothing he's going to address right now, unless he's forced. And he's sure Antonin won't.

"Drink?" He offers the bottle. It's very nearly full, implying he hasn't been drinking very long, but the perpetually refilling nature of it, thank you, gods of Baedal, means that is a definite lie. Not that it shows with Evan. It's only champagne, anyway.

Comments

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

It takes Antonin a good fifteen minutes to work through cleaning himself of all the grime, between fancy spellwork and good, old-fashioned hot water and soap. Another ten to deal with the stubble on his face. He looks considerably younger without the beard, though he isn't certain why this is important. Perhaps it's to do with the relative age of his fellow wizards in this strange place, and a surge of vanity.

Or perhaps he simply wants to look pretty.

Whatever the case, he's past-due when he manages to meet up with Rosier. He has absolutely no intention of staying here at the Valhalla Inn (not with the invitation from Narcissa), and thankfully there's little to pack. He's dressed entirely too much like a Muggle for his own tastes, but it's better than going skyclad.

At the offer of liquor (one he would never turn down) he takes the champagne, but also grasps the younger man by the wrist and gives him a yank upward, upright, and into an short but fierce embrace.

He's not heartless, after all, and Evan Rosier has been dead a very long time.

[last-libertine.livejournal.com]

Evan makes a sound of amused surprise, but secretly, he's touched, despite himself. When he draws back, he's grinning.

"All right, all right," he says a bit helplessly, ducking his head. For about .003 seconds, and then he's back to his customary general sauciness. "Here, your welcoming gift." At this point, he shoves the basket at Antonin, as if Antonin doesn't already have the bottle to deal with. "I don't know why only I got champagne. I really think it would help. But anyway, you'll thank me soon. So, straight home, or stop at a pub first?"

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

For that momentary lapse, he's back to his gruff self, thumping Rosier once on the back and glancing down at the basket. He stares at it for a moment or two, then snorts appreciatively. It's as close to verbal thanks as he'll give.

"Straight home. Lucius will be looking for us soon. It'll be like old times." Thanks in another fashion - taking Rosier along, buying him drinks. Or possibly it's just unwillingness to let him wander off just yet. Antonin isn't quite convinced this isn't a dream.

With that settled, he takes a long swig from the champagne, failing to notice that the bottle's not getting any lighter. True-to-form, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve and offers it back to the other man.

[last-libertine.livejournal.com]

Taking it back, he drinks again himself, which just goes to show that even fussier personalities than Antonin typically is can willingly be drawn into similar habits.

"Come on, then, they don't like us to apparate inside. Understandably," Evan adds politely, in case anybody's listening, which may make clear to some degree the level to which he's now accustomed to 'accommodating' what are in his mind non-magical people, or at least, not the proper sort of magical people.

The cobbled streets of Mog Hill are poor but clean, not at all to Evan's taste. 'Quaint' would be the kindest word in his vocabulary for it. He puts his hand on Antonin's forearm, at the last moment twitching a little because, well, it's that forearm, the marked one, even if he can't see it right now. But as before, that's something he's not going to talk about. Instead, he takes his wand, and with a crack, they reappear several decorous meters from the Malfoy townhouse in Sobek Croix. Evan should probably not be apparating all over like he does, but he doesn't like public transport, so there you have it.

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Antonin has just enough time to snatch up the gift basket and cast a disdainful glance around the public room before following Evan out. He may be affable and nostalgic, but his politics followed him to Baedal. It's almost a relief to be surrounded by people he knows; it's become obvious to him in such a short time that this is not a wizard-dominated city.

Filthy as he was when he arrived, Antonin takes it more as a testament to his breeding and sense of decorum that he doesn't spill the basket when they Apparate. A good wizard may be disgusting, but he lands on his feet after a portkey, and doesn't drop his things when he Apparates.

"This is the place?" he asks, eyeing the building. It's certainly not the manor. Then again, after the last two years, he's not so sure the manor would be a welcome sight.