Post by Soleus Lestrange on Aug 7, 2013 15:50:45 GMT
The small carry-trunk was resting on a low coffee table which had been pushed to the far wall of the dark room. Two flickering candles floated either side of the trunk, the wind easing in through the open doors in soft gushes. A squat crystal goblet sat on the mahogany side table, containing dregs of amber liquid which had dried out a few hours ago to become a sticky sort of coating in the bottom of the clear crystal.
Soleus was seated in a plush black velvet armchair, his left leg propped on his right, crossed at the at the ankle onto his other knee. His body was sunken into the chair as if he had been there too long, staring out the trunk positioned directly in front of him, a few feet away. He was wearing a loose-fitting grey t shirt that was more comfortable against the torn muscles of his abdomen, which were punctured in a half-moon shape, obviously the jaws of something big, had tried to take a snack-size piece out of his middle. A few centimetres up from where his heavy-booted foot rested, underneath his ripped-up black jeans, was another wound, not quite as deep. Last night had been a rough one, and as skilled as Thorfinn had been at looking after his wounds they couldn't be healed properly overnight- it would take at least a week and he'd be left with the scars for years unless he rubbed a fading ointment on them everyday. His face looked tired, his hair stuck up awkwardly, growing too long for the style he usually wore, it was dirty blond and shaggy-looking, and his stubble was becoming too messy to be called stubble anymore. His mahogany wand bounced nervously against his boot, making loud tapping noises as he breathed slowly.
These last few weeks had been tough on all of them, the Death Eaters, that is. The Dark Lord was becoming more and more powerful and his band of followers was growing exponentially. It was fantastic, in a way, of course for the Lestranges to see it all coming together. It was the sort of thing his mother would imagine up when talking to them as tiny children, much too young to even understand words, nevermind the actual suggestion. He did worry a little, seeing the new recruits, most of which looked like they'd never fought a day in their life, thrown into this chaotic world that they probably wished they'd stayed out of. Yes, Soleus was still young but he had trained for as long as he could remember and that put him above others. But Soleus watched on at meetings, seeing the ring around their Lord growing thicker each time, and pushing the negative thoughts away. This growing in numbers however didn't at all mean that the duties had been more evenly spread, if anything Soleus was away more, busier by the day. Plus he had been volunteering to help his newest partner-in-crime, Theodore Nott on a weekly basis at least, helping him train. It may have seemed helpful and almost kind on the surface but Soleus had an ulterior motive- as always -Theo was a fantastic back-up and if Soleus could help keep him alive until he was tougher, he would become a solid, reliable partner who could cover him and watch his back when he needed it.
A bang sounded from the floor underneath, far to the left of him, and he sighed, wondering who or what had probably broken something else in the ancient manor, or whom they had broken. Things here were getting messy. The manor was gaining more tenants daily. Soleus was just thankful that his quarters hadn't yet been breached, he'd warned enough people about delivering unpleasant deaths if they did. The room that he was currently hauled up in was his drawing room, and the doors that were loosely open led out onto his balcony area, his favourite place. From this side he could see all of the North East grounds, and the view wasn't as twisted as the view Tiffany's room had, of the large and dangerous patch of Devil's Snare they had been cultivating.
Last week, Tiffany and himself had been to an old abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley and failed to defeat a boggart, and it had been tormenting him ever since. The day after he'd nagged Snape for over an hour, while at school, hanging around his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom long after the class had ended to get his hands on another boggart, since Tiffany had took it out with the Killing Curse. As perfect as it had been delivered, it wasn't really the aim, and now they were a boggart down. Now he sat facing it, having a staring competition with the scuffed small trunk, or so it seemed. He had been letting it out every night that he could, coming back to the Manor for the evening. His bed at school was hardly getting used, the sheets still folded perfectly. He considered what his roommates must think- but most of them probably guessed. He had this front at school, putting them under the impression that he just spent the night in other girl's beds. He wondered if any of them were dumb enough to believe it. And last night he wasn't even here, he'd ended up back at Ashley's doll house, poruing dark red blood over her pink plush cushions. If he knew anything about foreshadowing, he looked back at the scene with a guilty feeling- the contrast of his blood, the mud all over his clothes and boots and the sweat on her carpeted floor made his stomach do an involuntary flip. His life spilling all over hers, staining it and ruining it, dragging her into something too big and too dark for her. He shut his eyes, his head tilted back, thinking for a moment.
He lifted his leg slowly, placing his other foot on the floor, leaning forward in his seat. His teeth were set, on edge, as he shakily got to his feet, the stitches in his abdomen sending unpleasant twinges to his brain. It had been a while since he'd been injured, and he forgot how to conduct himself. But it wasn't going to stop him defeating this stupid ass boggart. He walked forward, toward the trunk, limping slightly. He unlatched the trunk and took a shaky step back. He might not have been in the best physical condition but he had learned recently that defeating a boggart was nothing to do with his strength.
As he stood back, he waited for the trunk to open, but nothing happened for a while. The last few times he had tried, the boggart was always Tiffany, mangled, dying, blaming him. He was starting to get used to it, although every time he saw it it made something inside him break. But this time he felt prepared. He knew the cycle, through the women he cared for. Soleus swallowed in anticipation, and hesitantly lurched forward, flipping open the trunk lid. He inched back again, wand pointed.
A pale hand appeared over the edge of the trunk, and a strangely folded body peeled itself out of the box which was obviously too small for it. He watched in confusion, this wasn't usually how it started, it was usually his mother walking critically towards him, and then she'd die, suddenly, and morph, et cetera. It was disturbingly unfolding, limbs popping back into place. It was covered in blood and dirt, and he realised it was female, but lacking any kind of curves or softness. She was angular and bony, too much so, like a skeleton. When the girl lifted her head, he realised it was Ashley. But not Ashley. He'd not even noticed the blonde hair because it was so limp and dirty, covered in congealed blood and twigs and mud. her hair hung damply in her face, her eyes were cold and her face was bruised. Soleus narrowed his eyes, taking a step back.
It was Ashley, but it was all wrong. It was like Ashley with the life sucked out of her. He raised his wand to point at her heart, his jaw twitching a little. He knew why this was his fear now. It had been plaguing him even in conscious thought about what would happen to her. It was his mind's disgusting, overdone projection of a broken Ashley. An Ashley that could happen if she got too close, too involved in his world, his family and his loyal following of the Dark Lord.
Soleus looked determined and he seemed to act more quickly, now, as if he just couldn't watch any longer.
"Riddikulus." He said, his voice low and irritable as if he was angry at the boggart for attempting to be Ashley but making her so wrong, so alien. The boggart suddenly fell over, and when it stood back up, Ashley was more herself, her body more rounded and her eyes bright again. She wiped some of the blood from her face, revealing a thick layer of whitening makeup and false bruises. She grinned and laughed, and her voice chimed as she spoke
"Gotcha!" she smiled, and blew him a kiss, then jumped back into the case as if nothing had happened, the latch swinging shut behind her.
He let out the deep breath he didn't even know he was holding, a sigh of relief. He was pleased with himself. His expression softened somewhat and he sat down too heavily into his armchair. His abdomen cried out, and Soleus groaned, forgetting again about his injury. He picked out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting up, and then dropped his wand carelessly onto the side table. When did that become my biggest fear? He thought, taking a drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke roll around his insides for almost too long, his lungs screaming out for oxygen. He eventually gave in and let it out, and used his thumb to massage his temples, his head was aching.
He knew that he was getting too close to Ashley, caring too much about her and more importantly letting her care too much about him. Last night she had seemed so distraught, seeing him in pain, what if next time he didn't come back at all? He chewed the inside of his lip, between smoking, slowly, letting his thoughts worry him for a long while. He couldn't let this go on anymore. But he didn't want to upset her, and he was growing fonder of her everyday. Everyone had said he could do much worse, and he knew it too well. But he didn't want to let anyone that close to him, because they'd only end up hurt. Especially Ashley. She wasn't hard enough for this life. He had to find a way out, and fast. He'd marry anyone, eventually, even though it would never be as good as her, as good as they were now. She always said that she hoped she could try and eventually love him. And he'd never say it out loud but he knew that he would love her too, in due time. He already cared for her, and that was a step too far. He knew that one day he'd be married off but he wanted someone once his life was safer, and more secure. Once the war was over and they'd won, everything would be easier. Then, he didn't care what happened. But right now he knew that he couldn't let Ashley any closer. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette, smushing it unnecessarily hard in the crystal dish he had.
Soleus was seated in a plush black velvet armchair, his left leg propped on his right, crossed at the at the ankle onto his other knee. His body was sunken into the chair as if he had been there too long, staring out the trunk positioned directly in front of him, a few feet away. He was wearing a loose-fitting grey t shirt that was more comfortable against the torn muscles of his abdomen, which were punctured in a half-moon shape, obviously the jaws of something big, had tried to take a snack-size piece out of his middle. A few centimetres up from where his heavy-booted foot rested, underneath his ripped-up black jeans, was another wound, not quite as deep. Last night had been a rough one, and as skilled as Thorfinn had been at looking after his wounds they couldn't be healed properly overnight- it would take at least a week and he'd be left with the scars for years unless he rubbed a fading ointment on them everyday. His face looked tired, his hair stuck up awkwardly, growing too long for the style he usually wore, it was dirty blond and shaggy-looking, and his stubble was becoming too messy to be called stubble anymore. His mahogany wand bounced nervously against his boot, making loud tapping noises as he breathed slowly.
These last few weeks had been tough on all of them, the Death Eaters, that is. The Dark Lord was becoming more and more powerful and his band of followers was growing exponentially. It was fantastic, in a way, of course for the Lestranges to see it all coming together. It was the sort of thing his mother would imagine up when talking to them as tiny children, much too young to even understand words, nevermind the actual suggestion. He did worry a little, seeing the new recruits, most of which looked like they'd never fought a day in their life, thrown into this chaotic world that they probably wished they'd stayed out of. Yes, Soleus was still young but he had trained for as long as he could remember and that put him above others. But Soleus watched on at meetings, seeing the ring around their Lord growing thicker each time, and pushing the negative thoughts away. This growing in numbers however didn't at all mean that the duties had been more evenly spread, if anything Soleus was away more, busier by the day. Plus he had been volunteering to help his newest partner-in-crime, Theodore Nott on a weekly basis at least, helping him train. It may have seemed helpful and almost kind on the surface but Soleus had an ulterior motive- as always -Theo was a fantastic back-up and if Soleus could help keep him alive until he was tougher, he would become a solid, reliable partner who could cover him and watch his back when he needed it.
A bang sounded from the floor underneath, far to the left of him, and he sighed, wondering who or what had probably broken something else in the ancient manor, or whom they had broken. Things here were getting messy. The manor was gaining more tenants daily. Soleus was just thankful that his quarters hadn't yet been breached, he'd warned enough people about delivering unpleasant deaths if they did. The room that he was currently hauled up in was his drawing room, and the doors that were loosely open led out onto his balcony area, his favourite place. From this side he could see all of the North East grounds, and the view wasn't as twisted as the view Tiffany's room had, of the large and dangerous patch of Devil's Snare they had been cultivating.
Last week, Tiffany and himself had been to an old abandoned shop in Knockturn Alley and failed to defeat a boggart, and it had been tormenting him ever since. The day after he'd nagged Snape for over an hour, while at school, hanging around his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom long after the class had ended to get his hands on another boggart, since Tiffany had took it out with the Killing Curse. As perfect as it had been delivered, it wasn't really the aim, and now they were a boggart down. Now he sat facing it, having a staring competition with the scuffed small trunk, or so it seemed. He had been letting it out every night that he could, coming back to the Manor for the evening. His bed at school was hardly getting used, the sheets still folded perfectly. He considered what his roommates must think- but most of them probably guessed. He had this front at school, putting them under the impression that he just spent the night in other girl's beds. He wondered if any of them were dumb enough to believe it. And last night he wasn't even here, he'd ended up back at Ashley's doll house, poruing dark red blood over her pink plush cushions. If he knew anything about foreshadowing, he looked back at the scene with a guilty feeling- the contrast of his blood, the mud all over his clothes and boots and the sweat on her carpeted floor made his stomach do an involuntary flip. His life spilling all over hers, staining it and ruining it, dragging her into something too big and too dark for her. He shut his eyes, his head tilted back, thinking for a moment.
He lifted his leg slowly, placing his other foot on the floor, leaning forward in his seat. His teeth were set, on edge, as he shakily got to his feet, the stitches in his abdomen sending unpleasant twinges to his brain. It had been a while since he'd been injured, and he forgot how to conduct himself. But it wasn't going to stop him defeating this stupid ass boggart. He walked forward, toward the trunk, limping slightly. He unlatched the trunk and took a shaky step back. He might not have been in the best physical condition but he had learned recently that defeating a boggart was nothing to do with his strength.
As he stood back, he waited for the trunk to open, but nothing happened for a while. The last few times he had tried, the boggart was always Tiffany, mangled, dying, blaming him. He was starting to get used to it, although every time he saw it it made something inside him break. But this time he felt prepared. He knew the cycle, through the women he cared for. Soleus swallowed in anticipation, and hesitantly lurched forward, flipping open the trunk lid. He inched back again, wand pointed.
A pale hand appeared over the edge of the trunk, and a strangely folded body peeled itself out of the box which was obviously too small for it. He watched in confusion, this wasn't usually how it started, it was usually his mother walking critically towards him, and then she'd die, suddenly, and morph, et cetera. It was disturbingly unfolding, limbs popping back into place. It was covered in blood and dirt, and he realised it was female, but lacking any kind of curves or softness. She was angular and bony, too much so, like a skeleton. When the girl lifted her head, he realised it was Ashley. But not Ashley. He'd not even noticed the blonde hair because it was so limp and dirty, covered in congealed blood and twigs and mud. her hair hung damply in her face, her eyes were cold and her face was bruised. Soleus narrowed his eyes, taking a step back.
It was Ashley, but it was all wrong. It was like Ashley with the life sucked out of her. He raised his wand to point at her heart, his jaw twitching a little. He knew why this was his fear now. It had been plaguing him even in conscious thought about what would happen to her. It was his mind's disgusting, overdone projection of a broken Ashley. An Ashley that could happen if she got too close, too involved in his world, his family and his loyal following of the Dark Lord.
Soleus looked determined and he seemed to act more quickly, now, as if he just couldn't watch any longer.
"Riddikulus." He said, his voice low and irritable as if he was angry at the boggart for attempting to be Ashley but making her so wrong, so alien. The boggart suddenly fell over, and when it stood back up, Ashley was more herself, her body more rounded and her eyes bright again. She wiped some of the blood from her face, revealing a thick layer of whitening makeup and false bruises. She grinned and laughed, and her voice chimed as she spoke
"Gotcha!" she smiled, and blew him a kiss, then jumped back into the case as if nothing had happened, the latch swinging shut behind her.
He let out the deep breath he didn't even know he was holding, a sigh of relief. He was pleased with himself. His expression softened somewhat and he sat down too heavily into his armchair. His abdomen cried out, and Soleus groaned, forgetting again about his injury. He picked out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting up, and then dropped his wand carelessly onto the side table. When did that become my biggest fear? He thought, taking a drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke roll around his insides for almost too long, his lungs screaming out for oxygen. He eventually gave in and let it out, and used his thumb to massage his temples, his head was aching.
He knew that he was getting too close to Ashley, caring too much about her and more importantly letting her care too much about him. Last night she had seemed so distraught, seeing him in pain, what if next time he didn't come back at all? He chewed the inside of his lip, between smoking, slowly, letting his thoughts worry him for a long while. He couldn't let this go on anymore. But he didn't want to upset her, and he was growing fonder of her everyday. Everyone had said he could do much worse, and he knew it too well. But he didn't want to let anyone that close to him, because they'd only end up hurt. Especially Ashley. She wasn't hard enough for this life. He had to find a way out, and fast. He'd marry anyone, eventually, even though it would never be as good as her, as good as they were now. She always said that she hoped she could try and eventually love him. And he'd never say it out loud but he knew that he would love her too, in due time. He already cared for her, and that was a step too far. He knew that one day he'd be married off but he wanted someone once his life was safer, and more secure. Once the war was over and they'd won, everything would be easier. Then, he didn't care what happened. But right now he knew that he couldn't let Ashley any closer. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette, smushing it unnecessarily hard in the crystal dish he had.