RP Thread - Battle at the Commune Who: Roman, Dorcas, Sirius, Rabastan, Barty When: Friday 28 March, night What: Battle of the commune PART 2 Where: Soho, London
Rating: R - graphic violence, bloodshed, death Status: Inompleted, logged
Feel free to comment here with additional parts and I will add them in
Sorry this is split up but the post is too large, ha!
The first thing Dorcas did upon returning home and finding her and Marlene's flat conspicuously Marlene-less was to check her journal for a note or something as to where Marlene was. A bit protective? Perhaps, but it was difficult not to be somewhat protective in times like these, and it was a good thing that Dorcas did check her journal because upon opening its binding she read a post from Marlene detailing that Death Eaters were attacking Agnes and Stubby at Agnes's commune, and they needed help. Dorcas felt the colour drain from her face as she quickly threw her work bag to the floor, wrapped her fist tightly around her wand, and apparated to Agnes's.
Dorcas's heart was racing in her chest as she arrived at the scene which had already broken out into chaos, hexes flying left and right. She wasn't particularly scared for herself, though perhaps maybe she should have been, yet she couldn't help but be more concerned about the well being of Agnes and Stubby. She had no idea whether or not anything had happened to them between the time Marlene sent word of the attack over the journals and her arrival. She didn't know whether or not Agnes and Stubby were alright or where they even were and her lack of knowledge and security made her feel uneasy.
Rushing through the halls, Dorcas dodged other Order members and people who she could only assume lived in the same complex as Agnes. It didn't take long for Dorcas to spot a Death Eater standing only a few feet in front of her, she wasn't sure who it was specifically, but it didn't matter much to Dorcas. She quickly whipped her wand out of her robe pocket and pointed it straight at the man, whipping a leg locker curse in his direction. The moment the spell left the tip of her wand Dorcas had it poised and ready to emit a more lethal curse, once the Death Eater was unable to move as swiftly as he would like, should the curse hit him, that is.
Roman growled as he dodged another spell thrown his way, only to find that the sleeves of his coat had caught on fire. He ducked out of the line of sight and removed it, debating leaving it before banishing it. As much as he was sure that he was the only person who knew how to dress in this world, it was very distinctive and he would be damned if he would be caught by some low class commoner because of their filthy hands on his coat. He heard a yell and a bright red light shooting towards him and he ducked out of the way again before breaking into a run, away from that mass of people fighting there.
He ducked into an offshoot of a hall and turned, looking for someone to attack. He wasn’t the greatest up front dueler, preferring to keep to the element of surprise. And surprised he was when he felt a leg locker curse hit him and his legs were suddenly stuck together. He scowled, turning, the motion unbalancing him but he managed to lean against the wall, catching sight of some mudblood lover standing there. His want was up and an Incendio leaving his lips, followed by a blasting curse before his mind even had a chance to process much else. He had no shame, no conscious when it came to this sort of thing and so he did not care if she died, or was badly injured. She would pay for even daring to come near him.
Dorcas let out a curse when the Death Eater's incendio scathed the side of her arm. She quickly pulled out her wand and muttered "Aguamenti," putting out the embers that had caught on to her robes with a gush of water. Before she had much time to recuperate Dorcas felt herself cascading backwards by a blasting charm. Dorcas's eyes widened as she fell so far back that she very nearly fell down the stairs, but she managed to ram her foot into the wall and the friction caused by this action kept Dorcas from tumbling downward, though she did come precariously close to falling.
Completely ignoring the pain that she knew full well wouldn't be quite so easy to ignore once the adrenaline died down, Dorcas jumped back to her feet. Dorcas tried not to dwell on the fact that she very nearly cracked her head upon, but pushing the thought from her head didn't keep her heart from pounding. Dorcas aimed her wand right at the Death Eater's chest "Diffindo!" she cried. It was a nasty move and she knew it, but she was pissed now, and if she was going to be an effective member of the Order she was going to have to learn how to stomach some of the nastier spells. She quickly followed up the curse with a swift "Expelliarmus!".
Roman grinned when he saw the fire and then frowned at the sudden lack of it, but then she was almost falling down the stairs and for a moment he was sure he had won, only she managed to right herself. He pushed himself, trying to regain enough balance so they could continue to move before he heard the Diffindo and saw the light. He brought up his arms instantly, the curse cutting into them, leaving numerous open wounds. And then he heard the second curse and he brought up a shield, the Expelliarmus hitting it before dropping it.
“Stupid whore,” he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up a bit more with one arm, ignoring the blood flowing down it, as well as the pain. He pointed his wand at her, his grip a bit slippery now but he ignored it. “Impedimenta,” he roared, anger evident in his voice. “Crucio,” he said scant seconds later, wanting to hurt her as much as humanly possible.
Dorcas scarcely had time to release an aggravated "Fuck!" before she saw a red light come rushing toward her at much too fast of a pace for her to be able to dodge it when her body refused to move at normal speed. Nevertheless, knowing full well the curse that accompanied that ominous red light, Dorcas's body made an instinctive lunge to the side, attempting to avoid the torturous red light that was rushing toward her, but it was no use. It was as if Dorcas's body was moving in slow motion and the Death Eater's spell hit Dorcas square in her side, Dorcas hadn't even been able to dodge the impact a little bit.
She emitted a blood curdling cry of pain as she crumbled to the floor. The pain was beyond anything Dorcas had ever experienced in her entire life and it washed throughout her body in horrible waves, causing her limbs to jerk and twist. The sensation of the curse was so horrible that Dorcas could scarcely hold onto a thought that was even slightly more profound than a basic survival instinct. However, Dorcas's will to live was the very thing that kept her from letting go of her wand. She did not falter her hold on her wand even slightly, in fact, she was gripping it so tightly it was a wonder that it did not snap in her palm.
Roman’s grin twisted as he watched her crumble to the floor and instead of gloating about it he pointed his wand at his legs, dispelling the curse as he stood up, and shook his legs. He watched her for a moment, take pleasure from her pain before raising his wand. This time the stupid mudblood lover would get what was coming to her and he would be damned if she was going to be alive, or in one piece, when he was done with her. Of course there would be precautions needed, he didn’t want any more blood on his clothes, already the white material of the poet shirt he was wearing was sticking to his blood soaked arms, but it was fine, they were acting as a sort of bandage.
He took another step closer and raised his wand, intent on casting the killing curse on her when suddenly he felt heat bloom across his shoulders and he yelled, turning and shooting a hex at the unknown person before casting a water charm, feeling himself drenched all of a sudden as he turned and pointed his wand again, his back smoking and his usually calm features twisted into an ugly scowl.
The pain eventually subsided as the curse began to wear off and a rush of relief surged throughout Dorcas's body. Dorcas did not allow herself to lie there and enjoy the feeling of the cruciatus curse leaving her body, however. On the contrary, Dorcas scarcely gave herself a moment to catch her breathe before she pointed her wand directly at the Death Eater and cast a defensive charge. Dorcas knew now that she had to work quickly, the Death Eater had made it quite clear what he was capable of and Dorcas would have to defeat him before he got the chance to use a more detrimental unforgivable.
Although Dorcas's body still ached all over, she managed to pull herself up to a standing position so that she was no longer so vulnerable just lying there on the floor. Clutching to the railing for support, Dorcas sent a Conjunctivitis curse the Death Eater's way. She needed to gain the upper hand, and the only way she would be able to achieve that in her weakened state was if she sent her spells quickly and precisely and saw to it that the Death Eater would be rendered incapable of doing the same; and if her Conjunctivitis curse hit his impaired vision would be enough to make her a hard target for him to hit directly.
Before he got the chance to recuperate and before Dorcas could even tell whether or not her spells had hit him she called out "Expelliarmus!" once more in an attempt to take away his weapon. Without his wand he was nothing and if she got it, the fight was as good as over. Although, Dorcas was infuriated enough with this vermin that even if she did disarm him she might just be feeling sinister enough to cause him his own share of pain, rather than simply bind him up and leave him there as she initially intended to do.
Roman wasn’t able to process Dorcas’s curse before it hit him and suddenly he couldn’t see. He blinked, rubbing his eyes a couple of times trying to get some of his vision back but it seemed only to make it even worse. He moved, stumbling against the wall with a small oompf and then he heard her cry out and he moved before he thought about it, only to stumble directly into the line of her path. He held onto his wand for as long as he could but then it was grabbed from him by her magic.
He screamed something unintelligible before he realized he was blind, bleeding and wandless and this was not good. He didn’t want to get caught, and so he began to move, stumbling in the opposite direction, hand on the wall to guide him. He could hear sounds around him but everything was blurry and then he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and he yanked his arm, only to hear a familiar voice.
“My wand, she has my wand,” he said to whoever it was that had grabbed him. He heard a shouted curse followed by an Accio and then a few moments later he had his wand in his hand and then suddenly he felt the squeeze of side along as he disappeared out of there.
Dorcas was just about ready to send the Death Eater scum's wand flying over the banister to the mess of fighting and slew of spells flying bellow when she felt it being pulled out of her hand by some unknown force. "Damn it," Dorcas growled as she clenched her fist, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. She whipped out her wand again and was ready to start fighting once more when the Death Eater disapparated.
"Coward," Dorcas mumbled as she squeezed her fist tighter. Dorcas knew that for all intents and purposes she had beat that Death Eater in their individual duel, but it didn't make much of a different in the long run; or at least not to Dorcas. He had gotten away and that meant he was just going to keep this shite up until someone finally got him locked away, and Dorcas had really almost had a chance there to be that someone. She ran her hand through her hand in frustration, and decided that she was doing no good getting all wound up about it. Dorcas turned around and although she knew she was more or less useless in battle, she had her mind set on getting as many innocent people out of the building as she possibly could.
Barty & Rabastan/Sirius
Usually, sitting down with his journal and a cup of coffee was a good hangover treatment, but instead of a relaxing cup and a laugh, there was what he would refer to as an ‘oh shit’ message from Marlene, saying some idiotic terrorists were taking their inadequacies out on Agnes’ place. Dumping the coffee on the table, he pulled his boots on and apparated over. There was no point in wasting time – if and when Remus saw the message, he’d join them. What was more important was getting enough of an Order presence down at the commune to send the Death Eaters into retreat and making sure minimal injuries were sustained. The humour of reading the Order mission objectives through in his mind before running, or apparating, as the case was, into a duel wasn’t lost on him. Sometimes he needed a reminder that this wasn’t a Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch match and that the stakes were slightly higher.
If he didn’t know better, he’d have said people had been having a great deal of fun in here. The place looked a shambles, the people were panicked and it was complete chaos. That worked well for him though; he quite liked chaos and it could be advantageous when you were trying to keep a low profile. Hearing loud noises off to his right, he sprinted that way to find a couple of the robed ninnies. He whistled loudly; it was a crude but effective way of distracting all parties. He didn’t need people running in front of a firing line. He swiftly sent a full body-bind curse out, rather wishing he didn’t sound as if he’d swallowed a frog. He made a quick glance to see if anyone else from the Order was around – or even to see if Agnes was – but there were too many things going on and far too many people around for him to be able to tell.
Barty loved the chaos of a Death Eater attack, but he absolutely hated the mess that came with them. Honestly, wasn't it possible to have all the havoc and all of the righteous exacting of proper vengeance without as much of the breaking, and the shattering, and the blown-apart doors scattering all over the scene? He could handle such mind-bending wreckage for this, though: Madame Lestrange's husband had been viciously slandered by the wretchedly undeserving voices of Stubby Boardman and Agnes O'Hare, and they needed to have their just comeuppance for even daring to raise their voices on this matter. It was what Barty wanted, underneath the awful circumstances -- a chance to prove himself to his mentor and, hopefully, to everyone else. For that, he would more than suffer the mess of the attack; he'd just deep clean and reorganize something when he was allowed to go home for the night. His personal comfort level was infinitely less important than the success of Madame Lestrange's attack.
When summoned for the attack, Barty reported immediately and ran right into the fray of things, trying to ignore the fact that things were going to break and the mess was utterly unavoidable. He hadn't been in O'Hare's 'commune' five minutes before he found himself in a duel with what he presumed was one of the residents. Studying on his own proved to be very useful, as he fired off hexes with a proficiency that he was certain he never would have gotten from the regulated education and skillfully dodged them. He was certain that he was close to a final success with the resident when a loud whistle echoed through the area; the resident ran and, given the fortunate warning of the whistle, Barty swerved out of the way of a Body-Bind Curse. Turning to see who had sent it in his direction, he grinned underneath his mask. Well, if it wasn't Regulus's Blood Traitor brother. He'd been upset about losing his initial effort, but this one was so much better. Heartened by this new turn of events, Barty shot a Stinging Hex towards Black. What better way to start things out than with pain?
Much like his fellow Death Eaters, Rabastan arrived on the scene immediately after being summoned. There were things in life that one could procrastinate, and one's duties as a loyal Death Eater was not among that list. Considering that his attack was organised as direct retaliation for slander (or was it libel? Rabastan couldn't really care about the particulars, it was the viscous nature of the broadcast) against his brother.
Agnes, Stubby, and anyone who was in the way - or worse, yet, anyone stupid enough to attempt to interfere - would feel the weight of their decisions. They had a place in society, and it was time that they were taught exactly what it was.
Rabastan was smirking underneath his mask, as he stood along side Barty. It was kind of satisfying, to have the elder Black brother as a target - to teach him a lesson for leaving the elite behind. Traitors were, undoubtedly, worse than mudbloods; at least the foul creatures couldn't help their lineage. Sirius, and other traitors, were born into privilege and threw it away as if they were better than the high social status that was given to them? Absolutely disgusting.
Barty could handle the traitor, certainly, but Rabastan felt that Sirius deserved to feel the pain more so than most of the other scum around, so he, too, shot a hex at Black. This would be fun.
Well, shit. That didn’t go precisely to plan because now it looked as if he would be doing this by himself and he’d never been a fan of biased odds unless it was in his favour. He winced at the stinging sensation, sending back a couple of stunning spells to give him a moment to recollect himself. They want to play? That was fine by him. It was a weak spell as it was; childlike. Who uses a stinging hex, but someone who wouldn’t know a real duel if it hit them in the face? It was almost laughable. That didn't mean that the sensation wasn't distracting though, which he supposed was the point.
Sirius flexed his fingers, pulling feeling back to them. He needed to even the odds, to make things a little easier on himself. He aimed his wand at the wall behind, “Expulso!” as quickly as he could. Moments could count in this situation and it really was a matter of how quickly you could get the words out. There still seemed to be people running around them; he’d have to keep that in mind, he didn’t want something collapsing on someone either.
As much as Barty knew that he was both perfectly human and perfectly capable of needing help while running into a duel with a Blood Traitor who was older than he was, he couldn't help but feel somewhat challenged by the fact that Rabastan had seen fit to come and join him. True enough, Rabastan was also older than he was -- as well as taller and heavier, which could also be said of Black -- but having assistance completely defeated the point and purpose of what Barty wanted to do. How on Earth was he meant to prove himself to Madame Lestrange and the others if he had an assist in taking down Regulus's idiot brother? It was bad enough that he already had his entire name potentially working against him -- after all, he was exactly named after his family-denying, Dark Magic-hating, lying, self-righteous, hypocritical wretch of a father, right down to sharing the same, familial middle name; who was to say that he wouldn't abandon his ostensible devotion to the Dark Lord and go the same route that the Bastard had done? -- the utter last thing he needed was to be shown up as well, even if it was by Madame Lestrange's brother-in-law.
He wasn't at all going to stand for that happening and jeopardizing everything he'd ever done to gain favor and show that he had the potential to be a great Death Eater, to be great, period. Deftly dodging out of the way of Black's hexes, Barty cleaved to his wand, knuckles slowly turning white. Black was far from being in the best of sorts, and how much better to bring down the arrogant than when their defeat had just as much to do with their own failings as with Barty's strength? Black deserved whatever he got, and, so help him, Barty would be the one to deliver the best of it. Aiming properly this time, more around Black's chest, Barty called out a Banishing Charm, focusing intently on how Black deserved this. Hopefully, he'd hit something hard. That would make Barty's next idea all the sweeter when it was executed.
It was in that moment that Sirius proved to be more than just an idiotic traitor - and not in a good way. He was a traitor and a woman, because a real man would not aim en explosion hex at the wall behind his targets - but a hex directly at those he fights. Perhaps even labeling him as a woman was too kind. Despite Rabastan's disgust for women who don't understand that their proper place is as a housewife and a mother, Bellatrix was better at fighting than Sirius. Clearly, so, if Black's first attack was at a wall. Yes, coward would be a better term, Rabastan decided.
Sirius Black was nothing but a cowardly monkey. This was almost laughable. To think, if Sirius had been smart enough to stay where he should have -- smart enough to be sorted Slytherin, and smart enough not to associate with the filth he ran around with... he could be standing along side them, and not fighting against them. He could have been properly trained to fight; he could have been great.
It was a bit sad - in the pathetic sense - that he walked away from everything he could have been. He gave it all up, and for what? To become a cowardly monkey who rolls around with mud.
Rabastan hadn't noticed that a piece of the crumbling wall had struck him in his left shoulder, the pain hadn't even registered. It was one of those annoying types of scrapes that was likely to bother him later, but he had moved away quick enough to avoid the brunt of it. "Oh how the mighty have fallen," Rabastan taunted with the disguised voice behind the mask. He did not attack Sirius, this time, but directed his attack toward the idiot with hero complex that looked like he wanted to interrupt Barty's and Rabastan's efforts on Black. With a substantial amount of force he sent the man flying across the room. With that, Rabastan's attention returned to Barty and Black, moving closer to them once again. He would watch his younger contemporary, give him a chance, and step in with another attack later.
Things were about to get messy. He had hoped for a moment that he was just dealing with a couple of snotty kids behind those masks but apparently, things were about to get a damn sight more interesting than that. It didn't seem to have much of the desired effect. He wasn't known for his restraint but he wasn't used to this as much as he felt he should be either. It was all well and good to practice with your friends but this was a situation where you wanted your opponent to hurt in a way you couldn't do with a friend. He wasn't accustomed to failure and he wasn't about to become accustomed to it now.
He should have been paying more attention, as he reacted to the blow backwards which almost knocked him unceremoniously on to his back. He'd have never lived that one down. Instead, he fell against some of the gathering debris that seemed to be amounting in the complex. Reacting on instinct, he pulled back towards to the caster and fired off a blasting curse towards to lower half of the body. Disable mobility, if he was lucky.
His attention was brought back with the voice attempting to mock him. Well, that was fine with him. This tirade from someone who was too afraid to even show who they were was a joke; megalomaniacs casting spells in the dark, that was all they were. He turned in time to see someone go flying. That was just what they needed, more people getting hurt. He attempted a disarm - he didn't want that happening again!
Watching Black fall over onto his back was a thing of beauty; Barty couldn't properly imagine what sort of pain the Blood Traitor was in, or how much of it came from being knocked backwards while simultaneously having his pride wounded, but he knew that Black had to be in some kind of pain -- and that thought was more than enough to make him smile intoxicatedly behind his mask. Although he kept his eyes open, he made the mistake of getting distracted. Just the thought of what he could do to Black, now that he had Black lying supine before him -- he could do grievous injury to this other young man, this idiot who had run out on a family that Barty only wished could have been his own, and he be commended for it. Regulus and Madame Lestrange would, most likely, be pleased, though they could, potentially, take issue with the fact that they had not been the ones to give Black his just vengeance and punishment. What would it have looked like to see him bleed? It stood to reason that a Traitor's blood looked no different from that of a normal Pureblood's, but there was still the chance that--
That had been when Black struck back with a Blasting Curse around Barty's calves. It landed more towards the floor than towards Barty, but it still had the element of surprise: hearing the floor behind him crack as it reacted to the curse, Barty snapped violently out of his thoughts and attempted to get out of the way. He managed that, but not before some debris from Black's curse had hit the back of his calf. The shock made him clumsy and, as he went down, he felt his ankle slip and spin out from the rest of his leg while a small stream of blood began flowing from the wound. The sound his knees made as he hit the ground was distinctly other than pleasant.
Barty hunched over, taking several deep, heated breaths and keeping himself up with his arms. No, NO -- this could not be happening. He wouldn't let it! He'd come here to impress his superiors -- and he'd almost gotten knocked down by a Blood Traitor. A Blood Traitor! How on Earth was he meant to be impressive and successful if he let himself get taken down by Blood Traitors. Bartemius Hallam Crouch, Junior, was not to be defeated. Grimacing, he stood up -- both his ankle and the muscles in his calf were very much against this idea of his -- and choking back the pain, he limped over to Black and stood above him. There were a million things that he wanted to say to this trash, but none that he could let himself say without giving himself away. Instead, he just pointed his wand at Black and called on a Slicing Hex. Black had made him bleed, and so he would bleed as well.
Sirius had to smile as the idiot went down. It was allowing him a reprieve, just enough time to check he was still in one piece. Mostly bruises, a few cuts and a couple of over-sized splinters to the hip; nothing too bad but something that needed to be dealt with. Mostly his pride has been wounded but that could be fixed easily enough. He tested his footing and found it uncooperative. That could be a problem with Masked Madman number two trolling around somewhere. He looked around swiftly but he wasn't in his direct line of sight. Perhaps gone to deal with one of the others; he was sure he heard the sounds of other people coming in and they were making too much noise to be Death Eaters. Either the authorities had been alerted or more of the Order had been; either way, it was a boost to his spirits. He had one knobbled Death Eater and all he had to do was find the other.
Unfortunately, this caused him to be slightly distracted until he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Apparently he wasn't ready to give up yet, despite the fact he was moving in a comedic fashion that caused Sirius to choke a laugh back. He had to get up now, there was no choice about it. Pushing over on to his knee, he reached for his wand but his opponent was just slightly quicker and pain ripped across him, causing a gasp of surprise that he felt completely humiliated about and caused him to shut his eyes in a wince. He could feel the open air on the cut and blood seeping into t-shirt and trickling down his arm. I'm bleeding... In a moment of blind panic, he checked for a fatal cut. The shirt was ripped and he could see a lot more of the inner workings of his shoulder that he wanted to and it seemed to reach on to a part of his back and chest, but no where that would kill him. Bloody painful though; he had to fight the urge to gag.
He couldn't move his arm properly. That could be a problem with wand work, one he couldn't afford. There was a tirade of curse words running through his mind and he was aware that his heart hammering in that way was not about to help the blood loss. It was pathetic, petty but he kicked out at his legs; he didn't expect it to hit, he wasn't sure he was close enough but he had to do something.
Unfortunately for Barty, Sirius both managed to hit his mark and kicked at the bleeding leg with the bad ankle. Barty had no idea how he managed it, but as he came down onto his knees again, he managed to keep from gasping, screaming, or -- worst of all -- yelping in pain. Merlin, he was going to have a wretched time successfully explaining this to everyone who remained ignorant about his membership in the Death Eaters. After all, it wasn't every day that the dutiful, sensitive, upstanding sons of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sustained mysteriously sprained ankles (which was hoping that it was only sprained) and gaping wounds on their calves. He would have to work out the specifics of his lie later; whatever it took, he would handle that with the same grace that he always handled getting out of sticky situations.
Right now, he would handle Black. He imagined, judging from the choking noise Black had made as Barty had hobbled over to him earlier, that the Blood Traitor felt entirely satisfied with himself for having brought Barty to his knees twice with his peevish, immature shenanigans, but Barty had no intention of letting him stay satisfied for long, not when he was bleeding so beautifully. Really, it was almost artistic. It would've been a downright shame to deprive the world of further artistry, especially not when the person on the receiving end of it deserved it as much as Sirius Black. This time, Barty didn't even waste his energy trying to stand up again: he simply kept himself kneeling, aimed his wand again, and called out another Slicing Hex, focusing intently on how much Black deserved this. He'd tried not to laugh at his superiors. He'd acted a right fool when getting into a duel. He'd turned on his family for the likes of James Potter. He'd turned on his Blood, and, as such, he did not deserve to keep his blood; he deserved nothing short of pain and misery, for all the pain and misery he'd given his poor family.
Rabastan's first thought at the initial slicing hex sent by Barty toward Sirius was one of triumph. There was a brief moment in which he smiled behind his mask, silently praising his contemporary for such a well-placed hex. Despite the stumbling around prior to it, the hex itself - was almost a thing of beauty. Still a bit sloppy, as it didn't cut anywhere fatal, but damaging.
And painful.
Of course, watching Barty fall again, the smile immediately faded. Rabastan internally scoffed at the carelessness of the younger Death Eater. Apparently he shouldn't have trusted him to take care of Black and Rabastan should have take care of him by himself. So much for giving the younger Death Eater a chance to prove himself.
Then, about the time of the second slicing hex, came the sticky wet feeling from the sleeve of his robe. Rabastan glanced down and realised that Barty had spilled the traitor's blood on him. Rabastan had the filthy blood of a traitor splattered upon his robes and he was irate; seething mad. Barty owed him new robes, at the minimum, and Rabastan was sure to make sure he knew it later.
Indecipherable curse words spewed from Rabastan's mouth, and in his anger he shot out the Adavra Kedavra curse toward an elderly woman who just happened to be too close to them at the moment and her movement just happened to catch Rabastan's eye. Without hesitation his wand was raised and the green light was spilling out of the wand toward the older woman. If he had known at the time it was Agnes's grandmother, he'd be all the more pleased, but there was a sick satisfaction that came when she fell to the ground.
Rabastan's attention turned toward Sirius. He was next. He was no longer going to allow Barty to mess up this one. Rabastan was going to make certain that Sirius Black would have no more blood to spill on those who were worth more than his life.
Spoiling his plan, another vigilante resident stepped into Rabastan's line of sight and directly into the path in which Rabastan was pointing his wand. Fuck, Rabastan thought, wanting nothing else to cast this spell at Black. He couldn't risk it now, not with some prat with a hero complex coming to attempt to aide the traitor. "Avada Kedavra!" Rabastan shouted again, the second time in the span of five minutes.
Bellatrix said to kill all who stood in their way today, and as far as Rabastan was concerned, if he could help it, the only ones leaving out of there alive would be his fellow Death Eaters.
Sirius only had a moment to enjoy his little victory. Kicking some idiot for their deranged actions only brought him a little happiness, but in situations like these, a little happiness was more than enough to give you the strength. He pushed on his arm, giving this standing up lark another go but it wasn't much use. His arm was shaking and he was feeling light-headed already. This t-shirt is never going to be wearable again, he thought in a daze.
Unfortunately, this is when the other slicing curse hit him square in the fucking chest. Sirius felt his throat constrict at the sudden shock to the system at the same time, causing him to gag and bend forward. It would serve the son of a bitch right if he vomited last nights festivities all over him but he was quickly reminded there were two of them. He saw the light, turning back to see an elderly woman hit the ground. It was senseless murder and he couldn't understand it. To kill for revenge, for some misguided notion of superiority, this he could understand at the very least but that was bang out of line. Why we fight, he reminded himself.
He yelled a disarming spell at the bastard who'd managed to cut him open. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open - he needed to get out of here while he was still in one piece. There was nothing he could do and he despised that. There was nothing he hated more than running away from a battle. Now there was someone trying to help him? He was humiliated! Another pointless death. "Who's disgusting now?" He noted hoarsely. Disgusting was the only word for it. He needed to get out of here while he still had enough blood to do so. With a burst of adrenaline, he apparated out, thankfully in one piece. They were going to have to pay for this, it just wouldn't be today.
Barty felt sick -- absolutely, unrelentingly sick to his stomach with that hideous turn of events. Not only had he let himself be injured while he was meant to be proving his worth as a Death Eater, but he'd let Black live and, more importantly, he'd let Black get away. Madame Lestrange had put her faith in him, she'd trusted him not to let her down, and what had he done? As his wand went flying away, he was only vaguely aware of the fact that he'd been disarmed; the only thing that mattered at all was that he had failed. He'd failed the Dark Lord, he'd failed Madame Lestrange and her husband, he'd failed all the Death Eaters because, like an idiot, he'd let Black get away instead of using the Unforgivable Curses like he rightly should have.
Only when he went to hex the nearest something did he notice that his wand was, in fact, ten feet away. Doing his best to ignore the fact that he was in pain -- the wound on his leg was bleeding faster now, his ankle was practically on fire, and his knees very much did not want to cooperate -- he made his way over to his wand and gathered it up. ...He'd have to wash it extensively; the poor thing was absolutely filthy, yet another thing that he'd fouled up instead of making Black suffer as he should have. Hardly thinking about his actions, he fired off several curses into the crowd of bystanders before putting a numbing charm on that wretched, irritating ankle. He'd handle explaining it later; now, he had to take out as many as he could manage, to make up for losing Black to the Traitor's damnably effective cowardice.