multiversallogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Edited 2011-11-15 05:21 (UTC)

"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.

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."

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.

"Frazzled," he finds himself repeating, a little preciously. Maybe he imagines himself to be better put together than that ha ha no.

More likely, it seems too innocent a word, but that would only be polite. "I suppose worrying about any arrival is damn near useless." Right? Lucius' pursuit of confirmation is dull, however - he shall take comfort from the act of conversation itself and the properties of alcohol. He had thought, before coming down, to do up the cuff of his shirt before arrival, although Azkaban markings at a row on his throat are harder to cover up.

"I'll have that cigar, if you wouldn't mind."

She obliges him with the box, not stirring herself much further than that; between the strain she's been under and her acute awareness of her husband's stresses, this just feels like a dam bursting of utter absurdity and she doesn't feel inclined to do much more for the time being than sit here and get quietly drunk. Because she's allowed, that's why- tomorrow, perhaps, she'll smile at Sebastian until he gives her the full accounting of his own delightfully free will, but tonight she is so very bloody tired of it all.

"I developed the taste for them quite recently," she observes, thinking of LeMat's world, and Moody, and Italy; she'd always enjoyed the odd covert cigarette (a terrible habit and favourite vice to be privately indulged), but not cigars, before. She wonders if his Narcissa has a preference, if she'd discovered the fancy some other way. She must smoke, she supposes, since he doesn't blink now.

"It's new."

Quasi-answer to unknown question as Lucius extracts a cigar from the box. It is not a habit he has, for all that yes, his Narcissa does smoke now and again, but it is also a social practice and he prides himself at being good at those when the setting calls for it. Carrying no lighter or wizarding equivalent, he instead uses the end of his wand and wordless charm enough to generate flickering flame, smoke rising for the ceiling by the time wand is sheathed once again.

Back to getting quietly drunk, then, which he is content to do. The peace is kept until his CiD breaks it, and after minor hesitation, it's extracted.

Looked at.

Put away again quietly, and his glass finished.

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