multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Antonin Dolohov, Lucius Malfoy Jr, Others (?)
What: Drinking!
Where: ...A...pub (The Ankh?)
When: Evening
Notes: I shall edit this bit once I know the whens and wherefores.
Warnings: None as yet.

Antonin Dolohov stands waiting outside the Malfoy Townhouse, a coat slung over his arm. The material serves to conceal the way his fingers are curled around the handle of his wand. He isn't expecting an attack, but in spite of his jovial - almost friendly - behaviour towards the locals (and other kidnapped souls), he has been conditioned for years to be ready for anything.

He had no trouble settling in to the new surroundings of Baedal; better here than dead, he decided upon arrival. Of all the embarrassing ways to die: at the end of tiny duellist's wand was downright humiliating. Yes, far better to be here with his comrades-in-arms than moldering in a casket somewhere.

He turns back to the door and calls out, "Hurry it along! Haven't got all day!"

Turning back with a snort and a sneer, he mutters to himself, "Bloody ponce." His words are without any venom, however; in fact, they're almost cheerful. The fact is, Antonin likes his fellow Death Eaters. He enjoys the camaraderie, though that may have more to do with his personality than with shared politics or the temperament of his colleagues. He has grown to manhood around these men; they're as close to family as he has, short of his parents.

Even torturous, black-souled murderers have a little heart.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What constitutes 'too' polished, pray?" he asks, half laughing.

"Using words like 'pray' when you're sitting in a pub." Pointed comment is pointed. He takes a long drink from his glass and goes on, "Someone has to bring up the quality of our organisation. Better you than me."

"We all had our parts to play," he says, with a smile but a bit more absently. The forthcoming (for him) second war was a tricky subject. Safer to stick with the first, firmly in both their pasts.