Post by Rabastan Lestrange on Sept 3, 2014 0:40:52 GMT -5
cause i'm done with being done with the funerals
a t l e a s t f o r n o w
Rabastan was going to kill whoever thought it would be a good idea to tell a dying person that they got one last wish. He was going to ban himself from making any such foolish promises on the edge of a chuckle when asked. Because this? This cleaning up after affording them such was ridiculous. His form was bent over the sink of the unfamiliar apartment, white sleeves rolled up to above his elbows in a much messier state than the immaculately pressed fabric would normally be treated, crimson sloshing off the skin of his forearms as he hummed under his breath- intermittently interrupted by a frustrated exhalation of air. He had thought, when the boy had croaked out that question on the edge of a pained breath, that it was some kind of joke, something easily taken care of. After all- what did a sixteen year old squib have to ask for that would be so difficult to accomplish? Of course by the time he'd stuttered and wheezed the request out of his gore caked lips Rabastan's chuckling had died entirely, eyebrows slanting down over the suddenly stormy eyes. He couldn't have asked for the barbed wire to be uncurled from around his naked torso- or begged for a more quickly carried out end, couldn't have asked for some kind of word to be sent for his family. No the boy had some sort of plan or something twisting up in that brain of his, some kind of scheme or hope or something that he thought he could manage to get by with by asking what he had. Because as mangled and torn and desecrated as his body was he must have thought that by just getting out of Rabastan's apartment he was making some sort of bid for a chance at being saved. Which was probably why he was a squib in the first place. Malfunctioning brain or something of the like. Asking to see his mother of all people even. Just one last time. If he'd even left it at that. But no, he wanted her to see him too. Or at least what was left of him. Because certainly he hadn't asked for Rabastan to make sure he was recognizable or that it even be that same day- no he'd left it as ambiguous of a time frame as before he died. Cunt. Rabastan could have easily made it to where that was months and months on end of the cold steel and biting spells tearing into his flesh. Could have healed and re-healed and drawn out the entire process for as long as he cared to keep up with the frail body and the delights he could take from the pale flesh and high-pitched screams. He liked to think that he was a little bit more forgiving on those who were just too young to know their place properly yet though. Although it certainly hadn't stopped him from mangling that face up a good bit more out of irritation from the 'final wish' he'd uttered. He'd played it true enough to the words though, brought the fucker back the very next day and everything, early morning when the shops were just opening up, pulled him up the back fire escape and into his momma's kitchen just as she was putting away the breakfast dishes while her husband opened shop up downstairs.
Those screams had almost been sweeter than the ones that came before and the ones that followed combined.
Almost.
He let them say their goodbyes and then, to show just what an understanding person he could be he slit that woman's throat in front of the boy on his last breath. Families deserved to die together after all. At least when you couldn't leave a body behind and alive when you left. She might be a mudblood but her husband came from a decent enough family- regardless of the fact that he'd gone and squandered it away on the whore. He'd get to live for that at least. Well... for that and the fact that he wasn't here to witness any of this, minding his own business in his shop downstairs like he was. It was too bad he couldn't have taken longer with this part, but then he hadn't exactly had time to plan for it. Or move locations. His breath gusted again as his fingers encircled his forearm, dragging down and pushing the rest of the blood spray from his flesh, breaking hold only to pump some more soap into his palm and run over the skin from elbow to the edge of fingertip again, running under his nails to pull the last of the diluted mixture from beneath them. He took his idle time drying off as well, shaking the droplets from his hands and rubbing off the moisture with the cloth folded over the oven door's handle before refolding and replacing it. Apples. Why would she have gone and gotten apple decorated kitchenware? Apples weren't even all that interesting to look at. A slight headshake before he turned back around to see the two bodies slumped backwards over the kitchen chairs, jaws agape as they stared sightlessly at the ceiling above them. They were much more attractive now than they had been while breathing, but he didn't have time for that either, his fingers working deftly at unrolling his sleeves and smoothing them back into place- eyes catching the small splatter of crimson on one cuff and sighing in irritation. Because the bitch had to move right before the knife hit her and cause him to hit more than one damned artery. At least it was small enough to be overlooked or explained away if his coat came off. It wasn't until his cuffs were once more immaculate that he brought his wand out of his pocket, eying the bodies for another few moments before he began his work- watching the forms slowly meld into their respective new shapes- because what respectable baker wouldn't eat the pies left for him by his wife? Fitting- he'd get to keep them a part of him forever- or at least until he digested them completely. And it gave Rabastan time before the two missing members were fully noticed. It was almost poetic, what he was doing here for the older man.
Rumors would abound, aided by him- fighting in the shop early in the mornings, threats to take the child away. It was all common enough. Almost routine. It was a good thing it wasn't a routine he could tire of. The pies were moved, placed in the center of the kitchen table before another few well placed spells had the blood that had made its way onto the kitchen surfaces completely eradicated. No trace. Although the pies did look delicious... but he wasn't a cannibal for Merlin's sake. The depravity. He shook his head slightly, moving back the way he'd first entered and leaving only the two pies and absent woman as a sign that anything had transpired in that kitchen at all. Because he could be merciful like that and grant a dying wish. Sometimes. He dropped to the ground from the wrought iron easily, hands going to the insides of his pockets as he exited the alleyway in favor of the now bustling streets. He supposed he'd been inside for longer than he thought after all. Shame. That meant he'd even foregone his morning coffee for the little prat's request. His lips pulled only slightly as he weaved around a too occupied couple, passing the shop fronts with little interest, his eyes instead roving the bodies he was passing, lighting on faces familiar and un with equal parts boredom and displeasure both. He had hoped to have finished conducting the entire sordid affair at a much earlier hour- would have made everything following throughout the day to be that much more complacent. As it was… it must’ve been nearing mid morning now, the sun shining down on the still frosted ground he was making his way over, turning without thought towards the cup of coffee that had so been denied to him due to the matter he had been forced to attend to. He should have invited his twin for the day, woken him from the slumber he’d only just barely fallen into before Rabastan himself had exited the apartment and demand that his presence was necessary. Would have made for a more entertaining following to be sure- although he very much doubted that there would have been any sort of pie left on that counter had he done that… pity. He barely acknowledged the opening of the door before him, sliding into the warmth of the familiar coffee shop with a resigned air.
are you tired of being alone?
i'm the living ghost of what you'll need
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tag OPEN
word 1464
notes
outfit to come
song shake it out, Manchester Orchestra
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