I locked the door, I shut all my windows but you creep in like a whisper

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*After exchanging an owl or two with Bellatrix and then the Ministry to dig up who Andromeda Black--Andromeda Tonks, apparently--was married to, and then who he was, and who his muggle parents were, Evan has the address and sends it along. Two minutes to midnight, he appears in a nearby copse of trees, masked and cloaked and ready. Under any other circumstances, he might be thrilled at the prospect of bonding with one of the Dark Lord's favorites over a lovely pile of steaming entrails, but tonight he feels strange.

He had to explain to Amrita this morning how to disable the wards around the flat, and gave her a key to the door. He's never done anything like it before, but it makes sense, and she's spending half her nights there anyway, and the other night he found himself unable to sleep for lack of her weight on the bed next to him. Whatever this thing is, working it through his system is most likely better than trying to play the martyr and shove her off or keep her at a distance. It's rather more fun this way besides. Nevermind the fact that he hasn't so much as looked at the stack of files copied from the Ministry of other city werewolves, and nevermind that he hasn't even tried to bring her hunting despite the current phase of the moon. Next month, or the month after, when there are not other things to attend to like Bellatrix and her fool's errands, maybe he will show her what he picked her for. Nevermind that the idea of picking her seems now less like a calculated part of a plan and more like providence.

Evan has never had occasion to lie to himself before, has always been totally at ease with all of his compulsions and motivations and indulged them or redirected them or stifled them as the need arose. Having to hide from himself now puts him ill at ease. The reason why this murder tonight will function as vengeance is because Andromeda fell in love with someone who she should not have, someone filthy and not worthy of her name or blood. Why it makes him uneasy, he does not want to think.

Still, if there is one thing Evan Rosier is good at, it is serving the Dark Lord and the interests of the other Death Eaters. If there are two things he is good at, it is that and killing. They are both his birthright, passed down from Dearborn. But he is grateful tonight for the mask, for its impervious and smooth surface pressed to his face, for its narrow slits sealed around his eyes. It has been his face when he could not show his own, and now, it hides him both from any authorities who might peer in and also from Bellatrix and himself. Something tells him his own face might betray him in a way his wand will not, and for that, he is thankful that he might hide.*

Comments

[ruined-siren.livejournal.com]

*Bellatrix just misses the trees, appearing with a crack in the middle of street. She is masked and cloaked, as well, but her sloppy Apparation attests to the fact that she feels strange, too. Murder, for her, has always been a sport. Like the way a Muggle hunts a deer, not necessarily to eat, but for the thrill of the hunt, the fun of the kill, and the pride that comes with a particularly marvelous job well done. Murder is impersonal because Muggles aren't people, but tonight has become personal, anyway.

A bit of it is revenge, which is as good a reason as any to kill. She can picture Sirius's guilt tearing him apart when he hears. But so much of it is more than that. This is punishment, for Andromeda, for that dirty, stupid man who stole her away from her family. This is an outlet twenty years' worth of anger and hate and sadness.

So Bellatrix stumbles a bit when she lands, but takes a deep breath and steels herself for the night's festivities. Distraction is not allowed. She's learned that lesson well, now. She glances around the empty street, hoping that Evan hasn't arrived, and that he didn't see the way her Apparation missed the mark.*

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*He does notice, but he's not about to mention it. Evan emerges from the trees, a twig snapping under his feet like a gunshot. He inclines his head to her as he approaches, and gestures to the little home.*

After you.

[ruined-siren.livejournal.com]

*She nods in response and strides purposefully toward the door. The lovely thing about Muggles is that their doors are always so simple to unlock. It squeaks open, revealing a small foyer and dark adjoining corridor. Once inside, she steps aside so that Evan can join her.

She pretends to ignore the photographs of Andy and Ted that grace the walls, along with the annoyance she feels as she begins to assume that Andy is close with her in-laws.*

Shall we start trying doors?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

Let's. Upstairs.

*To demonstrate his willingness, he begins to creep slowly up the steps and around the corner to the hall. A soft spell opens the door to a darkened and empty study, and he turns to her, gesturing as if to say, your turn.*

[ruined-siren.livejournal.com]

*She doesn't hesitate, and turns to the door directly across the hall and whispers her own spell. The door slides open.

Jackpot.

She smirks beneath her mask and steps into the room, sinking back into the shadows as she beckons to Evan. The couple is sleeping, snoring softly. Bellatrix tilts her head to the side and watches them curiously, before whispering to Evan.*

Is there one that you would rather deal with? The man or the woman?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

Man.

*There are death eaters who prefer to wreak their violence on women, but Evan is not among them. He will kill them, certainly, but there is no particular preference in him and the man is built rather like the picture he saw of Ted Tonks, the mudblood. Besides, judging by Bella's anger, it is best to leave her to anyone whose head she can replace with Andromeda.

His spell yanks he man from under his sheets so cleanly, he only gives a startled, sleepy noise until he's spread-eagled and pinned to thin air.*

I wouldn't presume to start without you, of course.

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

You're too kind.

*But even the pleasantry comes out different: low, from her throat, and her eyes are fixed on the sleeping couple as if Evan isn't even in the room. In the next instant the woman joins her husband, only she's upside-down, dangling by one ankle, wisps of hair trailing on the hardwood floor. Red, maybe, or brown, it's hard to tell in the darkness.

The screams are gratifying, and she has to raise her voice to be heard over them.*

Get the light.

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*Evan knows better than to ask why. He steps to the wall and flicks the switch, and the room is bathed in pale electric light.

The man's screeching is awfully loud and irritating. A pillow flies up and begins stuffing itself into his mouth. The first corner fits, and then more, but his cheeks begin to strain shortly and the corners of his lips split as the pillow keeps shoving itself inward and down.*

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

*The sudden light hurts her eyes a bit--it's cold, ugly light on a cold, ugly room, as soulless as any of the hundreds of Muggle homes she's set foot in--why should she expect anything different from this one? Bellatrix tilts her head to the side, watching almost idly as the pillow makes short work of the man's face. Not that she's as prim as Evan on this particular subject--but it reminds her to cast a silencing charm on the room around them before, almost casually, Crucio.

After a healthy bit of that, the screaming woman's arm is flapping in the general direction of a Muggle device on the nighttable, a funny thing with a circular dial, and Bella can't help laughing, a harsh and almost cawing sound.*

Why do they always do that?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*Evan shrugs. He could tell her about telephones--he's even gone so far as to use one once or twice, with Esmerelda's instruction--but now seems to be not quite the time.

He gestures, and the pillow comes out all in one, smeared with spit and blood. The man doesn't even have screams left in him, just desperate, weak gasping for air.

Evan takes out his knife and tilts his head.*

I was actually hoping to ask you a question, if you don't mind? Advice, more precisely.

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

*She's leveled her wand now with a bit more finesse, and the woman goes rigid and cruciform, her nightgown falling around her face and exposing grandmotherly undergarments and a pale, soft belly. The incantation is murmured softly, and strips of skin peel back almost delicately from each of the woman's fingers and up her arms. Her voice is absent, but cordial enough.*

Of course, Evan. Anything.

*Under direction from her wand, the strips weave and unweave themselves like ribbons around twin maypoles--there isn't so very much blood, but droplets of it begin pattering steadily onto the floor.*

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

I find myself--involved. With a woman.

*He approaches the man, and prods his abdomen. He finds the ribcage and slices neatly along the curve of it in a semicircle, through the membrane, through the muscle. It's a surgical, easy, practiced maneuver. When he's finished, the man's innards slump outward. A charm stops the bleeding that might make him die more quickly than Evan wants. The man could live for days like this.*

It began a project, of sorts, but I find myself more personally invested than I would usually be.

[fatalfrenzy.livejournal.com]

*Personally, Bellatrix views an excess of blood as mildly distasteful, but--well. To each his own. She takes a prim step or two back, so that none of it can get on the toes of her elegant boots. The strips of skin continue their gentle undulations, peeling back farther and farther up the woman's arms, widening as they go.*

Ah. Of course.

*It's difficult to make herself heard over the woman's gibbering and crying, so she seals her lips together with a flick of her wand--it doesn't eliminate the noise but dampens it sufficiently. She can't resist a quick little jab, but it's more dutiful than anything else.*

I do hope you've managed to abstain from poetry.

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*After shooting the Dark Mark above the house, he bids Bellatrix a quiet good-night--by her reaction, she hasn't even heard him. It's almost one, and he has a half-hour before Amrita reappears at his flat. Plenty of time to get cleaned up, have a drink, and ready himself to--hopefully--make some kind of progress, one way or another.

He Apparates directly into his flat, and, humming the danses des cygnes to himself, takes off his mask and bloody gloves and sets them on the side table to be cleaned. His cloak goes on the hook, and it only takes a moment to clean the wrists of gore. The gloves will take a bit longer, and he begins working on them, still humming.*

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

*Business has been bad at the Leaky lately--well, bad everywhere--and Tom's been letting her close up earlier and earlier. That's why she's in the flat now, having gratefully shucked off her battered boots and slipped into one of Evan’s shirts and settled into bed with a book off the shelf—-a history of Muggle unicorn and dragon sightings, and never even cracked by the look of it.

At the sound of his Apparition and the unmistakable coming-home sorts of noises, she looks up from her book. It’s only recently now that she has the key to the flat or can open the wards, and it still feels a little odd being here without him—-that’s why her voice is a bit nervous, as it drifts over from the bedroom.*


--Evan?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

Oh--Hello--I didn't know you were here--

*Evan thinks as fast as he can, ripping the last of the blood from the gloves as quickly as he can and shoving them into the pocket of his cloak. The mask is shoved haphazardly into a drawer, next to a selection of untouched potion ingredients. The entire cabinet rattles when he slams the drawer shut, and he bangs his elbow--hard--as he turns to the bedroom door to evaluate how much she may have seen.*

Fuck--

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

*The door was barely cracked, but now it opens and she appears behind it, frowning a little in confusion.*

Sorry, we've been closing early--

Er, are you all right?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

I . . . yes. I'm fine.

*He's rubbing his elbow, looking annoyed.*

I wasn't expecting you. You startled me.

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

*For a moment, her gaze flickers over to the cabinet--the drawer is off its track, what did he just put in there?--but then he seems cross and her face softens, instantly, transparently contrite. As she crosses to him her hand finds his arm as if on its own.*

Sorry Evan, I didn't mean to. Did you hurt yourself?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*She's not quite exactly wearing trousers, just one of his old, worn t-shirts, and it's thoroughly distracting from his annoyance once she moves close to him and into the soft light of the city filtering in through the window.*

Just smashed my elbow. I think the cabinet caught the worst of it.

You're home early? Not that I'm complaining.

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

No point staying open if no one's there. Business isn't exactly fabulous.

I thought I'd stay but I'm not tired in the slightest. And I missed you, besides.

*She says it a bit shyly, because the two truths are linked: the full moon is only a few days out and she's always a bit anxious, a bit wakeful, this time of the month. And if she's to be totally honest with herself--a bit lonesome. Lightly, she steps into his arms, murmuring it.*

Did you have fun?

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes. It's a shame you couldn't come with us.

*And that's not even a lie.

He puts one hand on her back, and the other under her hair, on the back of her neck, and strokes just under her hairline with his thumb.*

You're feeling all right?

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

Mmhmm.

*She's closed her eyes lazily, tucking her face into his neck where it meets the shoulder and breathing deeply. His touch is so pleasant and the smell of him is rather excellent and she's forgotten all about the cabinet and his swearing and, in truth, most other things.*

Another time, maybe, when I'm not working. . .

[dapperdeath.livejournal.com]

*He can feel her inhale and of course, it must be the smell of slaughter--they left the Tonkses house an abattoir--and that tiny inhalation is somehow much more interesting, much more delightful than all of Bella's sturm and drang. His words come out innocent enough but dripping with sly implication.*

You seem awfully wakeful. Not to mention affectionate.

[cellarandmoon.livejournal.com]

*Just because it's true doesn't mean it's exactly appreciated, and she stops the line of kisses she's been placing along his jawline and draws away from him.*

Yes, well, there's no accounting for taste.

*It's only just the least bit arch, though, and when she turns on her heel to disappear into the bedroom she fails to close the door behind her.*