Alastor "Agent 04041953GU" Gumboil (loose_cannon) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-12-05 22:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-12] december, ! group threads, ! npc, alastor gumboil, walden macnair |
Who: Al Gumboil, Walden Macnair, NPC!Rhisiart, NPC!Woofie
When: 5 December, 1979; after this.
Where: Werewolf camp; Welsh border
What: Alastor comes back to the camp after an important capture.
Rating: PG-13/R(ish)
Status: Complete
Alastor apparated back to the woods just off the camp. His was was torn and tattered from the "fight" and he was vaguely bruised. But he felt brilliant. And he needed to tell the Order. What he was worried about was the blow-out when he had to tell the rest of the pack that he'd just gotten Tabitha Pryce thrown into Azkaban. But he already had that much planned out; if they tried to attack him, he'd fight and then run. And if they didn't, he very much thought that he'd be unlikely to be alone at any time ever. His journal was out of the question. So Rhisiart was his last option before he actually returned to whatever was left of the pack. Which hopefully, would be in tatters within the next couple weeks. Then he could go home. And get married. Al glanced around the dark - unsure if Rhisiart would be here yet. He thought that this was generally where the vampire loitered this time of night. "Rhisiart? Can I speak with you?" he finally called, turning in a slow circle. Rhisiart was rather bored. It wasn't an entirely uncommon feeling for him but it was one he wasn't overly fond of. If he'd been here for his own purposes he'd have already left and perhaps gone to London to see what was happening in the more genteel vampire circles this fine night. But he wasn't here for his own purposes, he was here because Abe had asked him to be here so that the young wizard who worked for Abe would have a contact when needed. He liked Abe and he liked that young man so he was willing to be utterly bored. He saw the young man in question long before he got to this area of the woods and he amused himself by practicing his lurking skills. His choice of attire this evening certainly helped with that. The black pants, boots, shirt and cloak blended well into the dark and even his burgundy velvet jacket concealed him effectively. He waited and watched as Al glanced around then gave a tiny amused smirk. "I don't know... can you?" he drawled, that amusement colouring his voice. "Early evidence says that you can but I suppose you never really know unless you try." Al turned in the direction of the voice. He still wasn't seeing the old vampire... but then he supposed that he probably didn't have to. At Rhisiart's answer, it took a rather large amount of self-control to keep from rolling his eyes. He still didn't know what to make of Rhisiart - except that he knew he probably ought to give him as much respect as possible. He was sure he was about to have a lot of angry werewolves on his case. Better not to upset a mostly neutral vampire as well. "Well, I've got a fun bit of news is all. I don't think I'll be able to journal anyone from the Order and it's quite urgent... Ca--.. Will you pass it along to Abe for me?" Rhisiart chuckled at Al's quick correction of his own grammar and emerged from the shadows of the trees. He'd contemplated emerging with a dramatic swirl of his cloak but he really wasn't feeling overly melodramatic tonight and Al didn't quite possess Abe or Severus' command of sarcasm so he wasn't likely to get the snide response that he would have found amusing. But then Al didn't know him well. "A fun bit of news," he said with an elegantly arched eyebrow. "I'd imagine Abe could do with a bit of cheering up. Do tell and I will pass it on to him." "Tabitha Pryce," Al started, "And two others, just as violent but not as public. Lured to Godric's Hollow and captured just..." he eyed the sky - he was getting better at that, now. "A half hour ago. We didn't get out completely unscathed, but everyone will be fine. And dear Mrs Pryce," the words might have had a trace of bitterness clinging to them, "Will rot in Azkaban if they don't just hand her over to the Dementor's for a little farewell Kiss." He paused for a moment, glancing in the direction of the camp. "And I'm going back, to take care of the rest of them. That ought to cheer Abe up well enough, don't you think?" "Well, well," Rhisiart said, both eyebrows rising slightly. He glanced over in the direction of the camp but it seemed quiet from what he could tell. Obviously the news hadn't reached them yet and likely wouldn't until Al returned and told them. That would be an interesting time for the young man. These werewolves were largely savages. "Greyback and Pryce, eh? That will cause a few conniptions amongst that lot. Yes, I think Abe will be quite pleased with that news." He looked rather cynical for a moment. "Though from what he's said, they didn't hand Greyback over to be Kissed so I'll be surprised if they do that to Mrs Pryce." He inclined his head gracefully. "Do be careful. Abe would be quite upset if you were to be damaged as a result of this." "Yeah, well I think the other Pryce is next in line. We'll see what we can do. If nothing else, they'll end up in their own little cages for the rest of their lives. I could be content with that." Why, yes, there was still a bit of anger there. They'd ruined his life after all and Merlin only knew how many others. Grady Bell, certainly. And Agnes... who he hoped Abe would think of tonight when he got the news. "Do my best, of course," Al answered with a nod. "I might be damaged. But they won't kill me. I'm the only one left that saw the faces of their captors. Imagine the revenge they'll be after." A bitter smirk played at his lips. Yes, by now, he knew how their minds operated. "Thank you, Rhisiart. As soon as possible, please. I'm sure they'll want to have some sort of drinking party to celebrate. Don't rob their night of fun from them." And this time, a more genuine smile. "Indeed," Rhisiart said with mild interest. He was somewhat indifferent to werewolves as a whole. He disliked Greyback and his ilk though he found werewolves like Al to be far more tolerable. He thought the caging of Greyback and his pack was a good thing but also a fundamentally useless gesture. Nature had a way of allowing vacuums to be filled and he had no doubts this would be as well given time. After all Greyback had filled a vacuum when he had come along. But he also knew there was little point in mentioning that. Humans lived such short lives that they didn't really see the long term picture very well. And they tended to get inordinately irritated when it was pointed out to them. "I shall send a message as soon as I am clear of the vicinity," he said inclining his head briefly. He disappeared back into the shadows of the trees. "Good luck." Al nodded and watched the vampire as he disappeared. Idly, he glanced up at the sky, collecting his thoughts and excuses... and then he trudged toward the camp, putting a fake limp in his step. All for appearances. And hopefully, this wouldn't go over too badly. Rachel had been lying on her back in the forest, staring up at the sky through the gaps in the tree branches and trying not to detest the sight of it. Lord how she missed cities, missed having a home and a family - but all that was gone now, and she would just have to accept that. At least here she was fighting for something, with people who understood her. She frowned a little as the breeze carried new sounds to her. Voices, and though one was familiar (new wolves were one thing, but new wolves who were also wizards was rare, and though she hadn't really approached Alastor she had paid him enough mind to learn the sound of his words) she couldn't place the other at all. She rolled, twisting so that her hands and legs got under her to push herself up into a crouch, moving towards the source of the noise. With the quiet of the night she didn't have to get very much closer to hear, and for a few moments she listened, her already dark mood darkening further as she realised what was happening. Traitor. Her mouth twisted into a silent snarl; further proof that wizards could not be trusted, ever, when even the ones who were victims of their hatred and prejudice acted as bad as the others. As much as she hated being here, it was the only home she had now, and the pack was her family, and some upstart freak who thought he was special because he could wave a stick and play with spells was not going to take this away from her too! Rising fully to her feet she started moving, long loping strides carrying her back through the forest towards the camp. Walden Macnair, who might have been a wizard but at least really was on their side, would very much like to hear about this. Walden was also staring at the night sky, wishing that he could change things. He found himself in a sea of thoughts, each new image reminding him of the things he'd lost. His best friend, his sister, and he even thought about his father and uncle. He often thought about Clement because it was hard to completely forget such a prominent figure in one's life. When he'd taken Tabitha and Alastor to his uncle's old estate it had brought him back to his childhood and he realised how much he missed the older man. Would he be proud of his nephew? He'd gone home that day and dug out a small trunk he kept. It was filled with random trophies and items that Walden had collected over the years and though he was not all that sentimental he did have a few trinkets that were close to his heart. He had one item with him now, a hunting knife that had been given to him by his uncle upon his first kill. He'd never been one to carry a weapon other than his wand but with his excursions in Norway and other out of the ordinary missions he had decided it might be a good idea. Walden was running a hand lightly over the ground next to him as he stared upward and he was quickly pulled from his reveries as the girl werewolf approached. Rachel, he remembered she was called. He scanned her face and her expression unsettled him and he rose to his feet. "What's happened?" Rachel slowed to a halt a few feet from Macnair; he was looking at her straight, head-on, rather than dismissive glances that said he had better things to think about than the pack's problems, and she could respect that even if there were many things about him that she couldn't. Still, she didn't waste time with small talk. She had been blunt in life and she was blunt now, moreso as the matter was pressing and urgent. Alastor would be back very soon. "The new wolf is a traitor," she said simply. "I saw him speaking to a vampire who isn't ours about Tabitha Pryce. He said that she was captured in a trap and they'd be sending her to Azkaban. Said 'Abe' should be happy." There was no need to describe every back-and-forth of the conversation. She trusted that Walden would grasp the situation without that, and if he needed more complete information he would ask for it. Walden felt his entire body tense at the news that was being delivered and by the time she was finished speaking he was sure that the slightly worried look had melted from his face, only to be replaced by a murderous glare. He found momentary comfort in the fact that his name and involvement with the Dark Army had not been known. How could he have been so naive? Bellatrix had been suspicious from the minute Walden spoke of the new pack member but he'd trusted Tabitha's judgement. He was furious, both with Alastor and with himself. Tabitha was imprisoned, or would be, and there would be a traitor in the camp with very little restriction and so Walden made a decision. The wolf would have to be dealt with in the only way Walden knew. "Thank you, Rachel. Please don't speak this to anyone else. I will take care of the traitor and then I will inform Aaron and the others of what has happened." He gave her a rigid nod and then reached into the pocket of his jacket. He could feel his wand there and he gripped it lightly as he scanned the borders of the camp. Alastor must want very much to meet the wizard running the show at the Dark Army camp and Walden was finally ready to introduce himself. Al made his way slowly back to camp. This would be fine. He didn't expect to get out of this without being interrogated. Part of the job. He signed up for this. He'd volunteered for this. And he'd gotten one of them put away. So he "limped" back, appearing from the woods within a few minutes and finding nothing particularly out of the ordinary as he approached the camp. His wand was tucked safely in his arm holster (it felt good to have that back where it belonged) and he was more and more confident about this plan as he made his way in. That was, anyway, until he spotted someone he hadn't seen before. Or rather... someone he had, but certainly shouldn't be here. Years of working for the Ministry meant that you rather got to know a lot of people and a lot of faces. And that one looked familiar. Al stopped in his tracks, twenty feet off from Walden and stared, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. "....What're you doing here?" he asked finally, eyes narrowing in suspicion. It wasn't an especially incriminating question, anyway. He'd been here a few weeks. He knew who made their camp here and he had been trained to remember faces. Walden kept back the smile threatening to spread across his face. The other wizard was clearly not expecting to see him there and his reaction was amusing. Unfortunately he was still in over his head and nothing he could do or say would save him. "Working with dark creatures is my job, which I'm sure you know. You could consider this camp a sort of extracurricular activity, I suppose." He took a few steps forward to get a bit closer to Alastor, though they were still a comfortable distance apart. "Why, what are you doing here? Once a hitwizard now a bloodthirsty killer?" Al listened carefully, still looking suspicious but relatively calm. His mind and heart, on the other hand, were racing. Walden Macnair. Dark Army extraordinaire? It made some bit of sense. And Al had never seen the face of the wizard that had apparated he and Tabby from their first meeting place. Slowly, it all fell into place in his mind and the bottom of his stomach seemed to have dropped out. This could either be very good... or very bad. For now, he'd keep up the act. "I live here," he replied slowly, ignoring the accusations of being a killer. "Just like anyone else, looking for somewhere safe, yeah?" Walden was not a fan of small talk and he found that he didn't much care about Al's reasons for moving to the camp because they were all lies. Every word out of the boy's mouth would be a lie and it would be a waste of time to sit and indulge him and his stories. He decided to move straight to the pointing of fingers. "So you're looking for your new place in life and you've chosen a camp in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by creatures you clearly want tossed into prison. I don't feel as if you've completely thought this entire thing through, Alastor. Do you have any idea what your evening's brilliant plan has done? You've locked up the queen and then come back to the kingdom expecting to slip in unnoticed, unpunished. Not a wise move." Al was listening... sort of. Walden Macnair was in charge of the army. He needed to tell someone. Someone needed to know. What if he could drag him in? What would this pack of dogs do then? Three leaders behind bars. It could disintegrate into chaos. And as Walden's accusations became more and more clear, he realised what had happened. And just how careless he's been, talking to Rhisiart without checking for listeners. But perhaps the mistake could be rectified. As he let him go on, Al felt more and more tension in his muscles. He could do this. And the second Walden's last sentence left his lips, Al went for his wand. He was pulling no punches, for a moment putting some of those animalistic reflexes to use. His wand was in his hand far faster than even he'd expected. With a flick and a near-growl, Alastor sent a Jelly-Brain Jinx at Walden. His cover was gone. But that had been his own fault. The best he could do now was turn this into a victory as well. Walden was thankful that his hand was already on his wand but even a counter would not have been fast enough to protect him and so he threw himself to the ground with no grace whatsoever. He landed hard on his shoulder but remained unharmed save a bruise or two he might have in the morning. This all happened in a matter of seconds and he rolled himself and thrust his wand forward, casting a blasting spell. He didn't take the time to see if it made contact but instead quickly scrambled back to his feet and took a few advancing steps towards Al. Al cast a shield charm and moved out of the way of the blasting curse. It hit the ground two feet to his right, and the dirt and snow sprayed up, marring their battleground. Just as well. He took a few steps sidewise, almost circling Walden as he advanced. But he wouldn't be crowded. He needed room to work and if he let the older man get too close, this could get messier than it had to. So, tried and true, Al thought "Incendio," effectively sending a short stream of blue-red flames at him in an attempt to keep him back. The fire came dangerously close to catching and sure enough Walden took a few steps back. He wondered how many members of the army were watching the sudden onslaught. One moment the woods had been characteristically quiet and the next there were explosions and fire. Al's flames reached a nearby bunch of shrubbery and the leaves sizzled as the colourful fire spread over the branches. Walden felt the small amount of heat behind him but ignored it and lifted his wand again, thinking Crucio. The voice in his head was an aggravated snarl and he watched Al carefully through the fading smoke as the light shot from his own wand. Al too, was beginning to notice the attention they were drawing. He didn't like this. He was going to be surrounded by these monsters. And that was just enough break in his concentration to make him just a millisecond too slow. The curse hit him full in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Al landed in a heap on his side, screams tearing from his throat as his very veins seemed to ignite. He thought, perhaps, he heard a crack of some sort. In his pocket, the extra wand, the fake he'd given Tabitha snapped in two. But that wand was the least of his worries, as the pain only intensified, spreading through his bones, leaving him helpless on the ground. The older wizard extended his arm and he focused the curse as best he could while watching Al writhe on the ground. Walden had never been one for torture or drawing out the pain but on occasion the mood struck him and he enjoyed himself a bit. He wanted this man to learn a lesson even if he weren't alive long enough to use it in life but he also wanted to make an example of him. Those who betray will be punished. This was worse than anything. This was worse than being attacked and bitten and worse than those full moons alone when he tore himself to shreds. Every fibre of him seemed to burn. Dimly, Al was aware of his wand, but as the older man focused the curse, even that was gone. He could focus on nothing but the pain and how he couldn't seem to get a full breath. The smile that Walden had been concealing earlier was now spreading across his face and he wanted to creep forward and watch the pain on Al's face more than anything, though he resisted the urge. He held the connection for another moment and then he wiped his mind, lowered his wand, and ended the pain. "Is this worth it?" His voice echoed through the darkness. "Fenrir and the rest of them will be released and then this little act of bravery is going to be for nothing. How does that make you feel?" Al lay still for a moment, panting and shaking on the ground as the curse was lifted. He couldn't have moved if he'd tried, muscles aching and tense from the Unforgivable. He wasn't even paying attention to what Walden was saying any more. But as the seconds ticked by, he realised his wand was still in his hand. Come on, Al. Push. It seemed to be his brother's voice. So with a massive amount of effort, Al just flicked his wand at Walden and muttered "Confringo." He just needed time; a few seconds to get back on his feet. The blasting spell crashed against Walden's stomach and it threw him back with ridiculous force. He controlled the fall to the best of his ability and managed to keep his head from smashing against the ground. The rest of his body hit hard and in the attempt to save his head he turned his body awkwardly and the impact was completely on his left side. The pain was instant and breathing was almost impossible. The blast had knocked the wind from his body but he didn't have the time to regain his normal breathing patterns. He pulled in a deep breath and his chest caught fire. His ribs were broken. There were at least three fractures, maybe more. He bit his lip and rolled to his knees so he could rise to his feet. The movements were laboured and each inhale was more painful than the previous. Walden's feet dragged, disturbing a bit of the rubble at his feet from the various explosions. With a quick movement he pointed his wand at the rocks, both small and larger, and arced his arm to propel the debris towards Al with a decent amount of force. Al was slowly picking himself up at the same time as Walden, realising that yes, he had a few seconds of advantage, but also not trusting himself not to cock something up before he'd properly gotten his feet under him. It seemed that there was perhaps two seconds where the two men were silent and panting. And then they might well have been on even footing again. The debris hurtled at Al, but he cast a shield charm, effectively protecting him and sending the rocks crashing to either side of him. But he'd had enough of this. This needed to be over as soon as possible. So his next several spells were cast in quick succession. Conjunctivitis, Stunning, Expulso. He wasn't being as methodical with his aim any more, only hoping to tire the older wizard out. The first two zipped by without threat and by the third Walden had already pointed his wand and cast a spell. His own Expulso screamed through the space before him and the sparks collided with Al's. There was a crack like thunder and a flash just as extreme and Walden felt the comfortable grip on his wand disappear. It was almost like a shockwave or a nuclear blast caused by the meeting spells that caused Walden's wand to launch from his hand and land somewhere along the tree line. The blast from the two hexes colliding and exploding sent Al stumbling back, nearly falling. In his hand, he felt his wand splinter just before it too, went flying in another direction. A thick smoke curtain seemed to hang between the two men for a moment. Al stood still, at a loss for what to do exactly. But adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. So his decision was made in a second. He bent to pick up a fist sized rock, holding it tightly and then sprinted at Walden, lowering his shoulder to catch him in the chest to knock him down and throwing weighted punches at his ribs. Walden found himself on the ground for the third time and he had no time to recover before Al started an assault on his previous injuries. Each blow to his ribcage was like being stabbed with a glowing hot poker and it took all of his willpower not to scream out in agony. His lungs fought against each breath he took and with limited air it was difficult for him to muster up the strength to fight back. No, he killed pests like Alastor Gumboil and then clocked out for lunch break. He wasn't going to let this kid best him, especially in front of the army that was finally starting to accept him as an ally and not some outsider. He took another shot in the chest and then forced his arm up and into Al's face. He felt the man's nose under his knuckles and he hooked his arm, following through with the sucker punch. He didn't care what damaged it caused if any but he needed to distract Al from the rib assault. Al backed off for a second, blood pouring from his nose. He spat to the side, bright red from his lip mashing against his teeth. The sucker punch knocked him off, forcing the breath out of him in a rush and it took yet another three or four seconds for Al to try to struggle to his feet. Walden watched the blood streaming over the lower half of Al's face and he pushed himself up off the ground so he was level with his opponent. His posture was less straight than normal, which was saying something, but he did he best to stand tall and then after a few moments of composure he lunged for Al, his fist balled with the man's stomach his target. Al managed to, for the most part, deflect the punch, sending it skidding off his side. Rock still in hand, he swung at Walden's face, aiming for a cheekbone or his jaw. It seemed as if every frustration he'd had in the last four months was being dumped into his punches, all the anger turning into physical energy. He was relentless. "Fuck!" The swearing was muffled but still understandable and Walden's hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around Al's wrist. He twisted the werewolf's arm without mercy until the rock dropped to the ground and then he let go and threw another full force hit into the centre of his face. Walden's mind had been surprisingly clear during the battle but as his face throbbed and his ribs burned he could feel the betrayal and unwavering fury washing over him once more. His wand was gone and so a slow and simple death was out of question. His next option was to bludgeon the boy to death but he wasn't sure he had the patience. Then, as if a light had clicked in his mind, he bent over with a groan, pulled his uncle's knife from his boot, and stabbed the silver blade into Alastor's stomach. He gripped the handle hard enough to push the blood from his knuckles and the glistening metal was buried completely. With another sound Walden yanked his fist up and twisted, dragging the knife up. His eyes never left Al's and he watched his face carefully as he stood there with just the weapon connecting them. The punch knocked Al's head back with a crunch - if his nose hadn't been broken before, it certainly was now. It left him dazed, practically seeing stars from the force. And then he felt the blade, burning into his stomach. Alastor let out a cry of surprise and pain, gripping Walden's shoulder if only to be hanging onto something. Suddenly his heart was beating too fast and he couldn't breath. The knife, deadly to anyone but especially poisonous to him twisted and forced upwards, tearing through his organs. The noise that escaped his throat could only be described as a whimper, and then his mouth was filling with blood, further inhibiting any chance of another breath. He was looking at Walden without seeing him, eyes surely starting to glaze as his vision quickly faded. His heart seemed to pound in his ears, but then, as the seconds ticked by, it abruptly slowed. Alastor realised, in that half second, that it was over. He felt oddly numb, his only real focus on the knife and the intense burning it was spreading. Blood poured from the wound and in quick succession Alastor felt light-headed... and then drowsy. In the failing nerve-endings of his brain, he remembered her smile. The hand on Walden's shoulder lost all strength. And Alastor was gone before he hit the ground. The knife clung to the body like a magnet but finally Alastor sank to the ground and the knife stayed, now dripping with the blood from the other man. Walden stood over the body and for a moment he forgot about the pain he felt, both physical and emotional. It was supposed to be a routine visit to camp while Tabitha was away. This was not supposed to happen. Nevertheless he didn't regret killing the wolf. He'd broken the rules and there was too much at stake. He finally turned from the body, and he dropped the knife to the ground next to him. He spent a good five minutes searching for his wand. He finally found it and started towards the residential part of the camp only to stop in his tracks. "Do not touch that body." He glared at the wolves and vampires, knowing how that metallic tinge in the air must be affecting them. Walden found Tabitha's tent and rummaged for a bit of parchment and a quill. He scribbled a quick note, being very careful of blood on the parchment, and then changed the handwriting with his wand. The extra effort drained him even more and he felt himself waiver. He needed to drop off the body and get to Antonin. Moments later he found himself at Alastor's side once more. "Tell Aaron I'll be back." He placed a hand on the other wizard's shoulder and then with a crack they were gone and the clearing was silent once more. It had been mere moments since Walden had ended the battle. It had been a short lived contest but Walden was exhausted. He wanted a healer, a bath, and a brandy. He would get there but right now he had to deal with the body. Most people would have left him in the field to rot or be eaten. He'd considered it but this was about lessons, after all. The streets were dark and empty and he stood at the back entrance of the Hog's Head. Abe would be happy indeed. The body had Apparated alongside and he positioned it in the walkway, surely to be found upon opening. He knelt down and slipped the bit of parchment into Al's hand, closing the still warm fist around it. Your plan killed this boy and he is not the first and he shall certainly not be the last. How long will you let this go on? Walden sighed. There was blood everywhere. He was even covered, which was not ideal. Alastor's face was a mess but he was identifiable. They would know which of their men had fallen. He staggered slightly, the pain almost unbearable. Antonin's, back to the camp, and then home to rest. Another dead because of stupidity and stubbornness. He stole one more glance at Al and then he was gone. |