(no subject)

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Who: Death Eaters and Affiliated
What: Reactions to the Dark Mark activating.
Where: Wherever they happen to be at the time!
When: Newdi Evening
Notes: Reaction drabbles / logs
Warnings: Bumbling?

Reactions posted as comments.

Comments

Antonin Dolohov

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

Antonin Dolohov was, unsurprisingly, well on his way to 'low-functioning drunk' when he felt the Mark begin to burn. It wasn't exactly what he would classify as a burn - it did, in fact, feel quite different. However, he wasn't one to quibble with the Mark. When the Mark did anything, it wasn't a good idea to wonder why it was behaving oddly. Ignoring it could mean standing next to Barty Crouch, Jr. for an hour while the Dark Lord proselytized. That was punishment enough without a few curses thrown in for insubordination.

He jumped up from his seat, sloshing liquor across the surface of the table in the process and earning himself the stink-eye from one of the employees. Not that it mattered. He was pleased to discover the Dark Lord was here. This was thrilling. They could begin to do something about the surplus of Muggles and subhuman creatures.

He Apparated in the regular way, using the Mark as one might and expecting it to take him directly to Voldemort - and not being particularly careful about eyewitnesses. It was a wonder he didn't splinch himself. With a pop (and bottle of vodka still in-hand, which he quickly hid behind his back) he found himself in...a public loo.

Antonin lowered the bottle, his brows drawn together in confusion. The Dark Lord wasn't at the sinks. He wasn't standing at the urinals. Antonin had a disturbing thought: when Voldemort had risen again, did he come with all of his plumbing? He took a swig from the bottle to drive that image away, then called out, "My Lord?"

He waited, frowning rather stupidly.

"My Lord, are you in here?" He took a few unsteady steps toward the nearest stall and rapped the bottom of his bottle against the door. "My Lord? Do you need toilet tissue?"

[last-libertine.livejournal.com]

Evan has never actually felt a physical, visceral chill like this before. He is halfway through a meal when it comes, the summons, and he doesn't even blink before he slaps money down on the table (way more than what was owed) and Apparates to the Malfoy townhouse. Bursting in the way he does is most likely distinctly rude, but circumstances must allow for that. Quite possibly they do not allow, however, for Evan standing in the foyer, slamming the door, and shouting up, "ARE YOU FUCKERS FUCKING WITH ME?"

He does regret it almost immediately, and stands there dreading any response.

[vanities]

As well he should; Narcissa is in the midst of a quick meal and a drink before an appointment when the door slams, and between that and the shrieky swearing in the foyer, a shattering wine glass prefaces her arrival in the doorway, white wine dripping down the side of her dress and an expression that suggests she doesn't even need much of an excuse to invert Evan from the testicles out.

"I beg your pardon."

[last-libertine.livejournal.com]

The requisite fawning and apology and obnoxious 'charm' do not make the appearance they should. Evan stares at Narcissa, then through her.

"Where's Lucius." How tense and clipped his dismissal is has everything to do with how genuinely afraid he is. He has, in the past, thought this through, what he would do if Voldemort showed up — not that he really thinks that's happened. He's pretty sure this is some kind of sick joke, mostly because he refuses to confront the sad reality that would be taking up Death Eating again. The idea is preying on his mind, though. "Or those lunatics, or — fuck, fuck Antonin! Whoever the fuck just sent up the fucking Mark!"

[vanities]

She stares blankly back at him for a moment in the face of that - Evan's seriousness in and of itself isn't shocking (it isn't as though she's never seen it before), merely sufficiently sobering that she forgets she was about to tear strips off him for soaking her dress to her thigh with wine. Then, her eyes narrowing: "If Bellatrix has done it again--"

[amourpropre]

The silencing charm shuts out most ambient noise of the townhouse, and it goes both ways; Lucius, the elder of the Lucii that remain there, would have his conversations go private. For all that he's the only one present with real intent to invade any privacy.

"I won't be sharing a floor with anyone; don't be absurd."

It's difficult to maintain standards on a budget, but adaptation has stretched enough for Lucius to carry out conversation with the real estate agent over CiD which has, he will grudgingly admit, turned out to be quite useful. But rather than write at length about purchasing living space in a nicer, perhaps even urban corner of Baedal, narrative twist dictate the scenario turn more interesting when sudden, signalling pain lances beneath white scars gone black.

He gives a shout that goes unheard against his own spells, the device forgotten and fallen, and eventually, the guy on the other end may just roll his eyes and hang up. The conversation for Lucius is all but forgotten as he wrenches back a sleeve to confirm what doesn't need it.

Intellectually, he immediate deduces it is not the Dark Lord. There is no familiar urge, no direction, and there is something not quite correct about the nature of it.

All of which counts for nothing as low, simmering panic immediately sets in, quite resembling that constant state of his final year at war. Quite cold beneath his own skin and physical nausea entirely of his own making flood senses, leaving him sitting abrupt enough on bedroom ground, back against his bed and hands shaking at the very idea of the Dark Lord's return, seeing as the bastard ought to stay dead.

Doesn't he deserve that much? 'He' being either one of them.

It doesn't occur to him to take down the silencing charms and run out and see who else is feeling this. Quite the contrary, he remains right where he is, until the unpleasantness is quite over, and things return to a normal pace.

( text → private )

[inkdamage]

False alarm, experiment backfired, everything fine.

( text → private )

[amourpropre]

i will wring your neck if you experiment in sucha mannr ever again

you'll have stirred the anthill in hellsing as wlel

( text → private )

[inkdamage]

(Well he could TRY.)

It's being taken care of.

[vanities]

After her dress is dry and the wine-glass has been repaired, Narcissa (with a sudden lack of appetite) cancels her appointment for the evening and, after making her apologies and rescheduling, sends two messages.

First, to her husband:

Was it Bellatrix again?

And then, to the senior version thereof:

Do you know anything yet? Are you all right?

[byrightsinhell]

The text from Lucius returns, locked:

I don't think so. I'm going to see - I got a worrying text from LeMat.

Given the context, it can't mean anything good. He doesn't intend to wait 10 minutes, but unfortunately, he isn't sure where Sebastian is at present, and it's going to take him a little to find out.

Lucius smoothly but quickly apologizes to the citizen whose wards he was working on, assures him that he will return to finish them posthaste, and heads out to work on a location charm or some variant thereof.

[vanities]

A few minutes later-

I expect to hear from you soon.

private

[byrightsinhell]

Of course. How is Lucius? Was anyone else home?

[amourpropre]

It takes a moment, but he's collected himself a little by the time Narcissa has sent off her messages. Enough that he can bring himself to remember the blasted machine.

it isn't him

Because that's all he knows/wants to believe. Her second query goes untouched.

[vanities]

Likely not.

After a few minutes, she sends a second message, after debating exactly how on earth she's meant to clarify between them in conversation with them - for some reason specifying 'my husband' strikes her as peculiar:

Jr is investigating something. Shall I tell you what he finds out?

[amourpropre]

It takes a few seconds of staring for Lucius to parse what that means, before apathetically accepting its meaning and considering the message, especially in relation to Snape's response.

The answer is easy:

yes

thank you.

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[vanities]

You've got everyone in a proper uproar. What on earth happened?

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

[subtlescience]

In the kitchen of the strange, new house in Sobek Croix - new, which is to say, unfamiliar, as it is quite an old structure - a glass drops to the floor and shatters. It isn't out of fear or shock, however; Severus has more decorum than that. Rather, it's due to the involuntary flex of his fingers against the feeling of his Mark activating. It's unexpected under normal conditions (particularly since his own death), but the way it feels now is nothing short of unpleasant.

Unnatural, if such a thing can be called unnatural.

His right hand claps over his left forearm as though he can both stop the sensation and hide it from view, and for a brief moment his confusion is evident in his expression. It gives way to anger, and then, finally, nothing. Neutrality.

[toldastory]

The sound of the shattering glass made Martha turn on her heel to see what had happened to Severus, and she'd opened her mouth to say something. A quick teasing comment, perhaps something about not holding his drink but the sparkle in her eyes died before the words could pass her lips. His expression, watching the shock play out in it, made her worry and it showed on her face.

The hand on his arm left the reason for what had happened easy to identify, and Martha quickly moved over to his side, touching the hand that was clasped over it.

"He doesn't know you're here, even if he is. Maybe he isn't...." She was trying to be hopeful, but she was aware of the fact that if Voldemort was here, and he was from after his death, the amount of danger in their lives had just risen exponentially.

[subtlescience]

One emphatic finger shot up, warning her. It wasn't a controlling gesture or even one made in anger, for that matter, but rather due to something close to panic. She was echoing his thoughts, making irrational fears seem more real just by giving them voice. "Not - another - word."

He swallowed hard, trying to decide what he should do. What would he have done, years and years ago? He would have waited for Dumbledore, obviously. And had the old man not been present, he would have gone. But everything was different now. Voldemort might well know he was a traitor and spy, and Severus had far more to lose these days. Things he wasn't quite willing to part with after coming so close to losing them once, already.

And there still remained the question of why it had felt so different. He should contact someone - but who? Who could he ask? Xenophilius would know nothing of the Dark Mark, and the Lestranges...well, that was completely out of the question.

To give himself time to think, he drew his wand and, with a practiced wave, tidied the mess on the floor.

"It wasn't the same," he said finally, hoping she understood without requiring an in-depth description of how it should feel. "Something's happened. If it was, indeed, the Dark Lord, then something has gone very wrong."

At Hellsing

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

Once he and Severus have parted ways, Sebastian flags down a cab to make sure he's able to get back to the Guild Hall as soon as possible. If they're going to cover this up among the Death Eaters, he'll need to talk to Lucius and make sure that there's a consistent story for all parties.

After over tipping the driver for navigating so quickly and with a headache still ringing, Sebastian and Velcro arrive at the Guild Hall and make their way towards one of the more out of the way rec rooms.

[byrightsinhell]

Lucius has every intention of calling Kirk when he finds Sebastian.

On the other hand, he has every intention of being the one to find Sebastian first. It's not unreasonable for Hellsing to want an explanation, but there are a few things Lucius needs to know first, and alone.

To that end, he's been keeping an eye out for awhile, and is making a circuit of likely places in the Guild Hall that Sebastian might go.

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

Lucius will mostly likely spot Sebastian standing outside the mess hall, collar turned up against the chill, and having a smoke as he tries to get his head wrapped around what he needs to do. He's a little pale and shaken, but he's not looking too worse for wear.