multiversallogs | from the palace to the riverside

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from the palace to the riverside

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and Severus Snape α
What: Creepers will creep.
Where: Somewhere in Badside.
When: Now. Sundown.

Rain clings to steel and shakes off in earnest by the time heavy footsteps are coming down the zigzagged fire-escape-turned-main entranceway.

The sky has deigned not to open up its downpour for the moment, but the smell of water and ozone hangs in the cooling air and the sky remains angrily clouded. Lucius' coat is damp from earlier in the day, a black garment of too fine a make for this end of town, almost snagging on the grimy stairs as he descends, shoes finding asphalt, as does the end of his cane. He arrived with nothing and leaves with nothing, thus making whatever business he had inside the red-brick apartment complex somewhat mysterious, but wherever he is going to next, he is clearly in no rush.

He walks. Eventually, there will be somewhere interesting he can slither into. A bar. A bookstore. A quiet restaurant. A brothel. (No.)

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Ah indeed, and Severus just raises his eyebrows at him like yes, Sherlock, that would be the case.

"Lack of quarrel does not imply support," he says, his tone dull. "If you'd rather go back to playing house with them, by all means - I'll not be at the apothecary much longer."

Meaning Lucius won't be able to find him, after this. Severus - this Severus, this strange, young one, that's exhibiting a sort of jagged-edged confidence even in his anxiety here, born of murderous intent and an even darker heart - may have been clumsy at first, but he's learned, now, thanks to the elder Malfoy. He won't make the same mistake again.

And he doesn't know what he'll do if he's rejected, right now, but that's... something else to examine, later, or perhaps never.

The near compulsive scowl that twists the corner of Lucius' mouth is probably enough to communicate how he feels about playing house with the Other Malfoys-- or being accused of it.

"Believe me," he says, his voice dry, with its own particular edge to it that only developed in the last few years of his early 40s, "that playing house with them is not a choice I freely made." Slowly does it, he rests cane back into a more neutral and walking stick-like position, the end sinking into damp grass as he lifts his chin, regaining something back of gentlemanly conversation as opposed to wolfish wariness. He spends a lot of time fighting the compulsion to withdraw.

Or not fighting it, alternately. "What's wrong with the apocethary?" Hint of a smirk.

Part of Severus is still screaming that this is a terrible idea and that he shouldn't reach out to anyone, ever, that it's best to pull away and bury himself deeper in this city; they'll never notice, Lucius is the odd one out, he can take care of him just like he's done to dozens of people already -

"It doesn't pay well enough for the work I do, and if you can find me there, anyone can."

Or he can be wholly, bluntly honest. Whichever. His voice is flat: this is the reality of it.

"I take your point."

It is likely Lucius doesn't quite suspect what's playing out in the younger man's head. He isn't even sure if he suspects there is anything off about this one; it's been a while since he's stared down the young man before him and that's after some several months since the contemporary version himself died under Voldemort's brutality. Lucius is also no kind of Legilimens.

Then again, maybe it wouldn't matter. "Why hide?" Or perhaps a better question would be why stop, but, all in good time, and it's an undercurrent to his tone.

"I have important things to attend to, and I have no patience for politics of any kind."

Feeling irritably exposed suddenly, he creeps a bit closer - not menacingly, of course, and he looks over his shoulder as he does, as if he expects someone to burst out from a hedge with a binding spell as he does it. In this proximity, whatever is off is even more difficult to discern; his face is younger, but the weight on his shoulders is somehow older. Whatever he's done to himself, it's all internalized. When he looks back at Lucius, there's something weighted - maybe apologetic - in his gaze.

"You know me to be dead, don't you."

The question has Lucius hesitating, vaguely uneasy, but he states, flatly, and without his usual-- or what used to be his usual-- decorum, "The last time I saw Severus Snape, the Dark Lord had sent me to summon him. To talk." How that ends doesn't need to be spelled out. Lucius fared better but he can count it amongst his injuries. "The Second Wizard War took many... casualties."

He glances passed Severus as if to follow paranoia, but, as established, there is no one.

Both hands fold on balanced cane. "I'm quite weary of politics myself, I'm afraid." No, he sounds significantly less apologetic about that than prim British wording implies.

He's quiet for a moment, taking that in, watching Lucius' gaze adjust, move, refocus.

"I have seen many futures," he says finally. "And I have accepted what my end is to be."

Of all the possible disturbing things for him to say.

Quiet for a bit more, then-

"We shouldn't speak in the open, politics or not."

It is strange, being known by this handful of young things as 'the future'. For Lucius, it is the dreary and painful past, the bleak present, and for Merlin's sake, he's barely mid-40, this isn't old by modern, Western standards; he isn't an end game. But this is more suitable to find aggravating in the Other Malfoys than Severus Snape.

For him, it truly is.

"Shouldn't we," he inquires, although his tone doesn't deign to make it a question. Asking Severus to explain that, in the open, is a kind of conversational stupidity Lucius prides himself in avoiding. "You've a venue in mind?"

He steps closer still, non-threatening, and there's something in his eyes - his face, like a not-quite-flinch - as he looks at Lucius. Maybe he, too, is looking for more familiarity than he's finding.

(It's clear that Severus is, at least chronologically, the matched set with the other Malfoy couple, but he just can't.)

He extends a hand.

"We can't walk there."

Of course.

Old paranoia-- or relatively new paranoia, it is a matter of perspective, truly-- rustles up at what appears to be a reasonably harmless offer of conversation. Should Severus wish him ill, and perhaps he does, all things considered, then Lucius could well be playing into whatever it may be.

And yet, he changes cane from one hand to the next, and extends the one freed to grip secure around Severus' wrist. Not so long ago, he wandered into eldritch fog too with a bunch of mouthy strangers and ink monsters. For money.

He can handle following one Severus Snape in the name of curiousity.

He doesn't waste time, and the second Lucius has a grip on his wrist, Severus apparates them.

They re-appear in what appears to be a basement, but what could also just be a loft flat, except that it's impossible to tell with the windows blacked out like that. Whatever it is, it's tidy and tasteful and already crammed full of books - it could pass as his professor's quarters at Hogwarts, if a bit less refined. There's a sitting area near a stove, even, and...

No doors.

Hm.

(It is also, if Lucius feels like noticing, warded as fuck. No wonder no one can get in with Severus personally teleporting them.)

He notices. Lucius has been occupying his more boring hours with breaking his younger counterpart's wards, and their invisible, oppressive presence tunes into whatever wizarding sixth sense that you develop after a certain age. Lucius withdraws clasp and turns his back on the other man to better take in new surroundings, picking up on details that are as expected as the organisation of the apocethary, and others that are not.

The lack of doors sits somewhere in between these two extremes.

"Charming," he comments.

"I decided I didn't want to be bothered."

Yes, well. That much is obvious, Severus.

He makes a slight motion as if he's inviting him to sit down, but sometimes it's difficult to tell with him; hospitality is not his strong point. His quarters (spacious, even if it is mostly one large room, sectioned off neatly) have clearly been designed to suit him, but there's more than one chair, at least.

"I suppose I should apologize for my age."

Ha is not a thing Lucius says, but there is a huff of something that resembles it. "You will be the first," he states, moving then towards the seats, and how they expect to be occupied by more than one person. It's one of those snide thoughts that never make it to expression or verbalisation, but get filed away for later use. He sits without resting his cane on anything, never setting it down far from him, nor letting it even leave his hand.

Which isn't personal - he does much the same in the townhouse he's been resigned to calling home. Even over tea. "I've no apologies for mine."

"I should hope not."

There's no offense in his voice - none of that usual kicked-dog, grudging acceptance of the little bribes and put-downs that Severus should be used to; he's not combative, either. He just is.

"Would you believe me if I said it's good to see you?"

Finally, he sits.

"Yes."

Lucius is being a bit dry when he says that, as if this doubled, some, as commentary on the nature of Baedal and the company it keeps. "I had hoped, when I left my name with your assistant," and the emphasis, as per usual, is italicised disdain, "that something would come of it, if only for the variation. How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to be surprised at the number of us falling from the sky."

'Us', not them or you. Despite the fact that he's kept to himself so viciously, he has no illusions of true segregation. Severus knows what he is. What they all are. (Dead, dying.)

"Have you said anything?" About him. Is the obvious implication.

The obvious implication is, indeed, picked up on, and Lucius allows only a second for Severus to worry about it before he shakes his head simply. "Tempting though it had been to inquire, I wanted to see what you made of my message first. Given choice," and not stupid error, ignorance of the network and the presence Death Eaters had already made here, "I might have kept to myself as well. For a time."

He's relaxed a little. A fraction. There is a disconnect somewhere, here, and it is not age, but not enough of one for Lucius to recoil or reject conversation that is otherwise comfortable.

"They've carved their place in Baedal quite neatly, haven't they."

If there's any visible relief, it's slim; Severus isn't inclined to be terribly emotive unless he's furious, and he's far from it now. (Paranoid, yes, but that's the default state of things.) He's made a bit more easy by that, anyway - while he might not hate seeing Narcissa, or even her husband, of his contemporary age, and it isn't as if he ever hated Rosier, there's just... too much, already, welled up in his life like dried blood waiting to crackle back open. He must stay apart still.

It helps that he can tell Lucius isn't lying.

(Because he can tell when anyone isn't lying.)

"As you say." They. He knows where this man stands, at least. "I'm not inclined to it." Under some bizarre Muggle woman's thumb, leashed along with her pet monsters.

Edited 2011-11-08 05:11 (UTC)

"To their credit," because for all that Lucius has a special resentment for them being what they are and his own being what he is, they are Malfoys, "I suspect it is simply an adaptation. There was a time when I had to pander to a government full of officials besotted with the very agendas I opposed, but one retains their status or one hears nothing, acts on nothing."

He is careful, mid-sentence, not to speak specifically of Muggles. Severus' agency was a point of contention, in the end, with some saying one thing and others saying quite differently, but as far as Lucius was concerned, the other man was simply dead and he delved no further. Now, one wonders.

But there is time to figure it out. "However. That is simply one way." And he's very tired.

The way Severus reacts to Lucius' remarks concerning his extensive duplicity is... interesting. Halfway between watching a science project and trying to puzzle something more personal out. Severus doesn't wear human interest well, and for a moment it's plain that he's considering something - whatever it is, he doesn't speak of it.

"I have my own research to attend to," he tells him. "Unpleasantly, it's what landed me here." C'est la vie. "It needs funded, obviously, so I work." He tilts his head. "I hear you went into the fog."

'I hear' is a very curious way of phrasing 'I've viciously stalked all of you to the fullest extent of my long distance capabilities', for the record.

'I hear' gets a raised eyebrow, but considering what was mentioned earlier, about Lucius' taking time to leave the boundaries of Hellsing, it seems a little late to complain about the complete lack of rumours that Severus is working from. Lucius' fingers lace together across silver snake head, breaking eye contact to crawl study over the room as he responds.

"And here I am, quite whole and unharmed. Yes, I went into the fog. You've a mind to scavenge for spare change too, have you?" Well. Spare change by Malfoy standards.

Just because he doesn't appear to use the cohort network doesn't mean he isn't fully capable of observing what goes on over it, Lucius.

And here Severus falters a bit, looking (and feeling) much more like one might expect him to at his age.

"-No, I went, some weeks ago, but just to look at it." ... Yeah that sounds awesomely safe, okay. "When you knew me in school, after you'd graduated and I hadn't, near when I was first marked-"

Subject veer, then- "Did you know anything of what I was doing in between terms?"

And Lucius goes picking down memory lane, head at a contemplative cant as he tries to figure out anything particularly remarkable about this time, for Severus, or what he did between school terms. All the same, he follows the direction of subject veer - he doesn't have much remarkable to say about ink monsters and teasets.

"Studying for the next year, I wouldn't wonder. No, nothing stands out to me."

Ahahaha.

(Severus does not actually laugh.)

A smile, slightly forced and seeming to imply Oh Merlin if only you knew- well, at least he has the good graces to seem somewhat incredulous at himself.

"Different universes, then." Because not even Severus in all his disdain for the world at large would imagine Lucius to be that unobservant. "Which we could spend the next several hours discussing and getting a headache over, if that interests you."

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