Seren Fawcett (wao_fawcett) wrote in wandsandorder, @ 2008-01-01 22:18:00 |
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Current mood: | groggy |
Current music: | Mr. Self-Destruct by NIN |
Entry tags: | graham pritchard, seren fawcett |
Happy New Year, my Love
Who: Seren Fawcett & Graham Pritchard
What: Seren's dumb for not listening to Theo and Graham's not having the best day. (I.E. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder kicks in and it goes all bad)
Where: The Fawcett-Pritchard home
When: late 1st January into early 2nd January
Rating: R for Character Death
Status: Closed; Complete
Warning: Spousal torture and death.
The world swam and Seren hadn't even stood up. She hadn't opened her eyes, just shifted on the hard surface beneath her and her equilibrium went all to hell. There must have been eighty bludgers all loose inside her head, careening against her skull, trying to beat their way out of it. Why did her head ache? She didn't remember much, overcome with the feeling that she'd been asleep for a long time. A pitiful groan came as Seren got her hands under her shoulders and pushed herself up. Smooth, a little cold, maybe wood? The room felt empty. Cold. Not cold enough for her to shiver but enough to wish she had a jumper on, had anything more than a tee shirt and a skirt on. "What the--?" Her voice was hoarse, throat raw. The cold could have done it but it felt too severe to be caused just by frigid air.
Cracking her eyes open with monumental trepidation, Seren looked around quickly, trying to remember where she was. The door was made of bars. There were bars on the windows. All the furniture had been removed. There was a single box in the closet that she could see where the door stood ajar. The room was achingly familiar. She'd blame it on how long she slept or the headache she had but Seren knew this wasn't the last thing she'd seen. What was the last thing she'd seen? The sun was setting outside, the orange light licking at her through the windows and around the black, metal bars. "Home," the word was more air than sound. This was definitely home. Spare bedroom. Didn't we have boxes of stuff in here?
It was shaky going, trying to stand. The redhead managed it though and stumbled over to the box. It was full of books, specifically history books. Graham's. Where was Graham? She froze. That was the last thing she'd seen. Graham. He was...he wasn't right. He wasn't Graham. He was but he'd...snapped. Should have listened to Theodore. Should have stayed put. She reached around to the back of her head where those bludgers inside of it seemed to originate. It was slightly sticky, cold. Her fingers came away with blood. He must have hit her with something. Gone mental and still doesn't use charms?
Tucked in the back of her skirt's waistband was Seren's journal. The book was pulled out and buried in the box of Graham's books. She didn't have a quill or ink but at least she'd know where it was if she needed it. Need? I need my-- Where was her wand? Her hands groped all over for it but it wasn't there. Graham must have it. Or she must have dropped it after apparating back to the house. Seren walked away from the closet, not wanting to get caught near it if Graham came by and was still off. Instead she moved slowly to the window and let her forehead rest against the bars. "What's going on?" she muttered to herself in Welsh. If no one was going to answer there was no point in speaking English. As her brain crawled out of the warm depths of unconsciousness the memories started to add up, float back, reminding her how she'd gotten here.