http://dapperdeath.livejournal.com/ (
dapperdeath.livejournal.com) wrote in
bait_backup2011-03-18 12:31 am
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
Entry tags:
I locked the door, I shut all my windows but you creep in like a whisper
*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.*
no subject
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.*
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
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.*
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)