amycus silences lambs (unplacable) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-03-23 23:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! . placeholder, ! [1980-03] march, alecto carrow, amycus carrow |
Who: Alecto and Amycus
Where: Howgill Fells, Cumbria
What: Picnic!
When: Monday afternoon
Rating: PG13 for potty mouth, shall we say!
Status: In progress
The wind was sharper than he'd expected. As soon as he appeared -- the physical manifestation accompanied by the grating crack of apparition -- Amycus found himself shrugging deeper into the confines of his clothes. He wore his usual bulk, and the outermost layers might have been shed if it wasn't for the breeze that diluted the warmth of the lukewarm sunshine; instead, with a muttered curse, he drew up his collar with fingers that were still speckled with the blue and red paint he'd used on the Albion posters. Albion. Fucking Britain -- fucking British bludgering weather and its wet miseries and ugh, what wouldn't he give to just take a long holiday from this game of lying (which was fun, really, but even games had their bleaker moments) and sleep for a week in a proper bed. Eat a proper meal.
The thought of a proper meal reminded him of one of the things he was meant to do here. Get a lamb. Grass was crushed beneath his heavy and thick-soled boots as he turned, casting the area around him a good once-over. This was sheep land; if he stopped his stomping around and remained still and quiet, he could hear bleating in the distance. Good. His previous attempts at grabbing one of the baby things had all ended in failure (and a mud-splattered arse), but he thought he could outwit one of the tender bleating things now.
Getting a lamb, however, was only second on his list. First was Alecto -- and bloody hell, where was she? he wondered as he trudged over to a small clump of trees.
Merlin, she was coming, all right? Keep your sodding pants on. Night shift meant sleeping during the day, not that Alecto was going to go doing something stupid like telling her brother she had her journal charmed to ring when his name came up. She'd still needed - desperately - coffee before she went anywhere, and getting trousers on (because like hell she was tramping around the wilds of Cumbria in robes) had still been a little bit challenging. Let's just not talk about lacing up her boots.
Still, she didn't think it was much more than ten minutes - fifteen, absolute maximum - before she was shrugging a satchel onto her shoulder, tying her scarf off, and gathering her concentration to apparate.
"Fucking hell," she gasped, as the wind welcomed her to Howgill Fells and she hurried to pull her coat tighter around her, hugging it close. Fucking Amycus, where was he, the little shit? Alecto shook her hair out of her eyes, looking around until she spotted a familiar figure waving from a copse just down the hill.
"I hate you," was her vehement greeting.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Alecto, and Amycus' head snapped round when he registered the sight of her. "AL!" came the yell, loud and hoarse and accompanied by a series of animated waves as he sprang to his feet. For once, he meant the grin that spread wide and lopsided across his face, and not even his sister's greeting and her glaring face could do away with the glee of seeing her (fucking finally, he thought; and it was not even her own delay in getting there that annoyed him, but the months their work had forced between them).
"Quit your lying, you old besom," was his reply, delivered just as emphatically.
"May Circe strike me down," Alecto shot back, but her coat was actually endowed with warming charms, and her answering baring of teeth was probably never going to be mistaken for a grimace when it was clearly a pretty delighted grin. Talking over journals was one thing, but there he was, hale and hearty and whole. "You look like shit," she declared, slithering the last couple of steps down into the stand of trees and grabbing Amycus's shoulder for balance. For half a second, before she bunched up her hand and punched him in it. Not hard. Well, not hard for Carrows.
The punch was met with a hooting laugh. "That it?" Amycus asked loudly, shoving her hand away so he could pay her back in kind, aiming for the opposite shoulder, fist lunging in-- and then stopping just short of contact and uncurling so that it could be patted -- though it was more of a smack, really -- against the side of Alecto's jaw. "Toothier than ever. I dunno how you do it." His voice had returned to its typically soft and slurry cadences, words punctuated by a short burst of chortling as he looked her over, not bothering to disguise the fact that he was assessing her health as much as she was assessing his.
"Find the place okay? I'm well comfortable now with this wildlife and shit."
Alecto shoved his hand away, but without the serious intent that might have heralded a good quarter hour of serious smackdown. "Oh, comfortable, is it?" she repeated, eyebrows lifting and still grinning. "Well then, I should just take all this shit back home again, should I?" She hooked a thumb under the strap of the satchel and lifted it over her head with a snigger. "Place is the middle of fucking nowhere," she pointed out. "You nearby?" It's an absent question, her attention temporarily on getting her coat collar - disturbed by the strap - out of her ear.
Her absent question was answered by the absent jerk of his hand that indicated the expanse of land that stretched and rolled northwards. Then that same hand closed around the strap that was giving Alecto trouble; Amycus eyed it with renewed appreciation when he felt its weight. "About as comfortable as some poor sod impaled on a splintery broomstick would be, Al," he explained, grinning back at her as he dropped down to the ground, fidgeting until his back was comfortably propped up by a tree. "So how's me least favorite sister been and what's she brought for me?"