And so this is Christmas
Dec. 24th, 2010 02:14 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
notquitefacist.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
bait_backup*Remarkably, the simple concept of maintaining a façade has remained almost universally successful as a way to convince others that everything is merry and bright, even in the darkest of times. Tonight, in one of London's grandest Wizarding hotels, everything certainly looks the part. Enormous deep green wreaths decorate the walls, elves circulate the room dressed as very small porters carrying trays above their heads, and soft dots of snow swirl down from gilded ceilings only to fade away before reaching the guests, their delicate passage not at all deterred when passing by the great chandeliers holding hundreds of candles each that wash the Ministry's finest in gleaming candlelight. Even Bernadette looks rosy and almost healthy in their glow, and his son would too if he would hold still long enough for anyone to tell. For once, however, Barty is not the person he is least pleased to see enjoying the fruits of his position.
Though he keeps a weather eye on his son, that prize belongs to the members of the aristocracy tonight - those with enough money to hold great influence and enough arrogance to presume that makes them neighbouring forces in the political world Crouch Sr. has dedicated his life to controlling. Their presence here among the men and women who have done more than donate and bribe to achieve their power, himself being at the top of this list, occupies a great deal of his obsession tonight. He, like all those with authoritarian blood running in their veins, is a hypocrite, and believes that this façade of righteousness should be his alone to exercise. After all the fear the attack on the ICW had fuelled, tonight is to remind those present and the public at large that no government in it's right mind would celebrate after disaster unless it truly had the upper hand and had utmost security even when threatened.
Christmas to him is the public relations opportunity of the year, and he will spend it in plain view of all, watching the moves of everyone in the room who he knows have some hand in trying to destroy him. They may be protected, wrapped in various different ways in this world of reputation and power, but he will see them all with their defences stripped as his grow stronger. Crouch Sr. celebrates this cheering thought of the season with a drink.*
Though he keeps a weather eye on his son, that prize belongs to the members of the aristocracy tonight - those with enough money to hold great influence and enough arrogance to presume that makes them neighbouring forces in the political world Crouch Sr. has dedicated his life to controlling. Their presence here among the men and women who have done more than donate and bribe to achieve their power, himself being at the top of this list, occupies a great deal of his obsession tonight. He, like all those with authoritarian blood running in their veins, is a hypocrite, and believes that this façade of righteousness should be his alone to exercise. After all the fear the attack on the ICW had fuelled, tonight is to remind those present and the public at large that no government in it's right mind would celebrate after disaster unless it truly had the upper hand and had utmost security even when threatened.
Christmas to him is the public relations opportunity of the year, and he will spend it in plain view of all, watching the moves of everyone in the room who he knows have some hand in trying to destroy him. They may be protected, wrapped in various different ways in this world of reputation and power, but he will see them all with their defences stripped as his grow stronger. Crouch Sr. celebrates this cheering thought of the season with a drink.*
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Date: 2011-01-16 04:38 am (UTC)*He lets go of Narcissa's arm to take two flutes from the tray, handing one to her. The sudden change in weight makes the elf bearing the tray overbalance and totter, sending glasses crashing to the floor. Lucius, unmindful that it was his fault in the first place, curls his lip and whips his robes back out of the way quickly. It's only a keen awareness of the public eye that keeps him from kicking the little wretch for nearly spilling alcohol all over him. As it is, his rebuke is harsh, if kept low.*
Mind yourself, you useless little lump!
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Date: 2011-01-16 04:55 am (UTC)Poorly trained.
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Date: 2011-01-16 06:42 am (UTC)If Dobby did that....
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Date: 2011-01-16 06:48 am (UTC)*The inference, of course, is that they've trained him better. One of the many advantages to being a Malfoy is superiority in... oh, everything.*
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Date: 2011-01-16 06:59 am (UTC)*Trying to let it go for her sake, he takes a sip of champagne - that's decent, at least - and glances around the room.*
So, the Minister - do you see him anywhere?
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Date: 2011-01-16 07:16 am (UTC)I saw him when we first arrived... ah. I believe he's just on the other side of that Quidditch player who's name I can never recall - do you see?