amourpropre: (before i could read you wrote the book)
lucius malfoy ([personal profile] amourpropre) wrote in [community profile] multiversallogs2011-11-25 05:13 pm

i think back home they think i've lost my mind

Who: Lucius Malfoy (Sr) and "Vanessza Bernát"
What: What's the use of kind turns, if you can't call in a favour? A little bit of patching up ensues.
Where: Eventually, Syriac Well.
When: Veerdi night.


It's a good thing, Lucius Malfoy reflects, that he had advocated to her the benefits of the kindness of strangers.

Or else this might seem unusual.

Not that there is much unusual about his current circumstance. A normal Veerdi evening in Baedal should see a wizard peeling back the mock up bandaging he's fashioned from conjured silk, soaked through with blood, and evaluating the damage. More complaint in the furrow of his brow for the torn fabric than broken skin, but then again, he isn't looking at that latter thing as closely as he ought, and he's already magically numbed the injury so as best to carry on with his fucking day. The charm had worn out by sundown, however, and he can feel the encroaching beginnings of human pain needling at his senses.

He runs the tap to let red come off his palm and spiral down the silver drain. A train has pulled in at the station, audible even in the public bathroom he has claimed for himself and magically locked against unwanted intruders. In the narrative, this implies a state of crossroads. Except he usually Apparates.

Hand clean, he takes out his CiD. Hesitates, as is only fitting. They call him 'family'.

you implied you are a doctor


And waits.
asklepios: ᴀᴄᴛʀᴇss ɴᴀᴛᴀʟɪᴇ ᴅᴏʀᴍᴇʀ; ʙʟᴏɴᴅᴇ (perform a cancan at the top)

[personal profile] asklepios 2011-11-25 04:26 am (UTC)(link)
Benevenuta's CiD buzzes as she's in the process of letting herself into the neat, furnished apartment that she's taken in Syriac Well; she's coming off a shift at the Glory Shada, thinking about groceries and bills and how much she'd like to have a shower. She pushes the door closed behind her with her hip, fishing the interruption out of the bottom of her tote and scrolling for the text from...right, yes, she remembers him. The gentleman who spoke French and recommended a pawn shop.
Emergency medicine. What's wrong?
Well, with a lead-in like that.