Rodolphus Lestrange (nex_colubra) wrote in bearandbarnacle, @ 2009-05-28 08:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | arrival, luciusthread, other, rodolphuspost, rodolphusthread, sevthread |
Rodolphus Lestrange: Other: Arrival
He’d been on the run for so long it seemed he could scarcely recall a time when he wasn’t. After being left for dead at the Battle of Hogwarts, he’d escaped and managed to stay hidden until his wounds had healed. Then, he’d just wandered. Anywhere and everywhere it seemed. He’d fallen in with smugglers soon after he’d healed. Working just outside of Perth, he’d been an enforcer for a gang, a task he was eminently suited for. That had ended when a dispute over territory left key members of two gangs the victims of a group entrail-expelling curse. The dock warehouse had gotten rather messily redecorated and he’d gotten two suitcases full of money. So all in all, it hadn’t been too bad, even if he did have to work with muggles. Muggles! Merlin how he hated them! It was ironic that he was safer with them then with his own kind. And so he just…drifted. Glasgow, Edinburgh, Cardiff, Liverpool, Swansea. All the bigger cities where a stranger wouldn’t get a second glance. He avoided London though. No sense begging for trouble. He’d let his hair grow out and grown a beard and mustache as a disguise of sorts. But he had no purpose any more. All he’d held dear was gone. Revenge, of course he wanted revenge. That could wait though. Wait until they didn’t expect it. And it would be all the sweeter for the waiting. But there was something, some niggling something that seemed to be calling to him. Not all the time. Sometimes months would pass and he’d feel nothing. Then, out of the blue, there it would be and he’d be off again. He had no idea what it might be. He didn’t dare hope, he just went. Finally, finally, he came to Margate. Here, whatever it was that had been calling him seemed to tell him. It’s here. He walked down the streets, noticing the shops and inns that were being readied for the summer tourists. He saw nothing and no one familiar. He ended up on a lonely stretch of beach, with only the distant cry of seagulls for company. “Show me,” he murmured to the air. “SHOW ME!” he bellowed, his face reddening. The only answer was the pounding of the waves. He picked up a rock and heaved it angrily out into the ocean. Then, Rodolphus Lestrange turned and stalked off toward the town.