(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

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[vanities]

Afraid not. Bella is doubtless combing the city for her Lord as we speak.

I will.

A few minutes later:

I hope you're wearing a coat.

[amourpropre]

oh




and was that a bit of wishful thinking or simply a result of boredom

Being dry humoured about Bellatrix Lestrange is, at least, a soothingly normal occupation, regardless as to which wife it is with.

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

[vanities]

An effort to locate any others in the city, and I must admit my own suggestion; I thought it more discreet than firing the Mark into the sky in a city we knew nothing of yet beyond the fact we'd walked out into the plague chaos.

But there weren't so many of us yet when she and I arrived.

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[vanities]

Oh, I know. Go do what you must.

[amourpropre]

who knows what will come out of the woodwork, all things considered

if it was antonin i will harm him

[vanities]

Evan will help, I expect, he flung open my door swearing just the same thing. Why Antonin is the first thought of anyone is beyond me.

private

[byrightsinhell]

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

PRIVATE → text.

[vanities]

Evan came bursting in, he had a fright. Malfoy the Elder seems well enough.

Sebastian has promised me a full explanation; I intend to hold him to it.

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[byrightsinhell]

A few minutes after:

Tell me which direction to head.

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[heardmermaids.livejournal.com]

( text → private to Malfoy Jr & Mrs Malfoy )

[byrightsinhell]

Do I need to bring anything?

[Bandages? Healing potions? Headache medicine for himself?]

[amourpropre]

he is most likely to be both loyal and drunk at the same time

it's also amusing

[vanities]

A thought occurs.

Does anyone actually know where Antonin is...?

[amourpropre]

are you truly worried

there was no direction to the call so merlin knows

[vanities]

Well I expect if he gets into any remarkable trouble we'll hear about it, but I do wonder. I haven't heard from Rodolphus either, but he's always gone his own way.

Where are you?

[amourpropre]

perhaps that too will be amusing if we don't need to harm him

i am upstairs

And with his position given away, Lucius sets about taking down the silencing charm with a few waves of his wand which is-- collected up off the floor.

[vanities]

A few minutes go by, then:

Why are we texting if you're in the house? Come downstairs, I cancelled all my appointments after Evan threw his fit and I'm going to get drunk. If you're good you can have a cigar.

[amourpropre]

i thought you might appreciate an absence of men in histrionics but i see evan ruined it already

It is probably dangerous to want to go down to join her as much as he does, because even though this device and the way it is used is quite alien, the words are Narcissa without the added strangeness of anyone visibly younger attached to them. This is thus scrutinised a moment, before he, as with so many things lately, decides he doesn't care.

Wine and cigars will do.

coming

The light is shut out and the door closed behind him as he emerges from given room, and heads downstairs.

[vanities]

It's too chilly out for Narcissa's preferred way of ending a day as long as this - why have a garden or a balcony if one doesn't make proper use of them? - but she's set up near the broad glass doors out toward them regardless, sinking deep into the sofa and dangling her high heel from her toes, legs crossed. She already has a cigar, because she deserves one, and she could so easily be a scene from his own past.

There is a glass waiting. If he questions her choice of wine, he doesn't have to drink it.

[amourpropre]

Less than a minute after the last text sent her way, Malfoy elder approaches with a flick of a glance to see if he must also deal with other people. That this isn't immediately the case does relax him, if not especially visibly - it may take exactly half of whatever Narcissa is drinking before that happens.

Wordlessly, Lucius sits down next to her, resting needless cane against the arm of the sofa and taking up wine glass. Her choice only paid attention to by the time he is actually drinking from it.

No complaints from him.

[vanities]

"What a place we live in now," she observes, apropos of nothing in particular and everything that's happened this evening; she doesn't quite look at him, but it's less avoidance than it is some natural complacency about his company and no especial need to look up to adjust to his presence. In itself, it's oddly disconcerting - that it's still true, she supposes. It feels as if it shouldn't be.

[amourpropre]

This gets the barest of musing sounds graveled at the back of his throat, chin lifting to observe the window as he relaxes back into his corner of the sofa, an arm hooked against its back and other dangling wine glass off the end of furniture arm. The air is stained with the scent of both her perfume and cigar. He allows himself a second sip of wine before contributing with; "When the war ended, truly, there was celebration even more obnoxious than the first go round.

"But this time even I could feel relieved that all that mess was quite finished. Baedal," he says, in a weighted tone, "offers new and disturbing possibility, does it not? Considering the company it apparently attracts."

[vanities]

The second war feels both unreal and distant and chillingly close, for more reasons than just this living relic of it beside her; Narcissa doesn't remark on the celebrations that must have inevitably followed it beyond a sound that mirrors his, unimpressed. It's not a war that'll have any true victory for anyone.

"Fancy living here a hundred years," she speculates, turning her cigar in her hand, "and dredging up this history with another frazzled veteran every decade."

What a horrible damned thought.