Rufus runs on scotch and grumpiness and babies (isentropic) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-06-05 23:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-06] june, alastor moody, mireille gibbon, rufus scrimgeour |
Who: Rufus, Mireille, Moody
What: Threats and fulfilments. Oh, and blood.
When: 5 June 1980, night
Where: Womens' centre
Rating: R
Status: Complete
Mireille was pretty sure everyone was going to die. Either the terrorists were going to kill them and then get killed by their families, or everyone was going to get killed in some sort of ambush. She didn't believe this was going to turn out well (and was pretty sure that she had some sort of Seeing ability, because all of her worries the past few months had been about terrorists and now look at them).
She also did not like to be doing menial house-elf chores, but if none of the ladies made the food, who knew what they would end up eating. So there Mirielle was, slicing some fruit for the crackers and cheese, trying to figure out what they needed to do. She could understand that Araminta and Corbina were sort of the de-facto leaders, but something needed to be done. Why hadn't their families come to get them?
Mireille had been spared from the de-fingering, but who knew how long that would last? She glanced over her shoulder at that man, hovering over her preparing. What did she think she'd do, kill herself? Certainly it would be apt to save them the time.
Rufus had come away from the front window at first in shock, but once his journal had been updated, shock turned into a cold, embittered fury, and he was storming through the central room, ignoring whatever pleas from the more nervous women that followed in his wake, until he reached the kitchen. No more cozy fun-times. No more kindness. No more acquiescence. He didn't care if these women were pregnant or if they had palpitations without their crackers. He didn't care if they were victims of their husbands and brothers' indoctrination. They would have no more privileges. Not after this.
The man guarding Mireille took a step backward and nodded in Rufus's direction, but he didn't care about the guard.
"Put it down and get out," he said with sharp, abrupt gruffness to Mireille. He did not wait for her to respond, reaching out for her arm to make clear his seriousness.
Mireille was shocked when a man actually touched her. That was just out of bounds. This man was not her husband or intended, and certainly not her brother or father. There was no reason for Mireille to be touched by anyone here. Of course, it was that one, the cranky leader.
"Excuse me, don't touch me!" she said in a loud tone, tugging her arm away from him. "You allowed me in here, do not think you have any right to force me about!" And well, ignoring the fact that he was armed with a wand and she only had a kitchen knife, of course he didn't.
Something inside of him snapped. Did this woman think she had any rights? Did she think she was going to get special treatment when every. single. one. of the Death Eaters' hostages were going to be sacrificed as mercilessly as those murderous bigots were able? Did she think this was a game?
Jerking her arm and pushing her back against the cutting board so that she could look at him -- really look at him, and the grief-tinged fury that was blazing across his now-stony features (for Rufus had no doubt that sooner or later Moody's wouldn't be the only mother suffering for her son's alleged crimes) -- he leaned in close and enunciated so there would be no mistake.
"I do not care about your rights any more than your people care about ours. Move or I will move you, and I assure you that you will not like it when I do."
Mireille glared back at his hate-filled face, and were she any less of a lady she might just spit in his face, but when the man shoved her back against the cutting board, a true shock of fear ran down her spine. Was this man really going do something to her.
She lifted her chin defiantly and stared back at him, a sudden streak of courage bubbling up. "Your people? There are only two people, those with magic and those without. Your people just can't live up to what is expected of them. Not everyone wants people to die, but you go too far."
"But right now, you all have a death wish." Still gripping the knife and not really thinking about anything beyond this situation right now, Mireille twisted her arm out of his grip and shoved it forward into his body.
An unfamiliar sort of shock shuddered through Rufus's body, and his grip hardened on the woman, if only to keep himself upright, if only to keep her at bay. He should have known better. Twenty five years in the service and he was going to die from sheer stupidity and in anger. This was not the way he'd intended to go.
Survivalism swept through him and he was blind to his own actions. He was dragging her to the floor, he was shoving his wand into her side while the guard next to him stood and stood and then screamed. Rufus was alone and all he had before he was gone was a girl who represented everything he hated about the death eaters and everything they'd done to the country. The country he'd sworn to protect until his dying breath. Well, that breath was coming...
"Sectumsempra," he forced out through bleeding lungs.
Mireille had hardly time to scream as the blood appeared and she actually realised she had just stabbed a man. There was nothing to do but stand there in shock and scream, until the pain hit her side - that sneaky bastard terrorist -
She tried to continue to scream but she couldn't get any air and was gasping as she collapsed into that man's arms, unable to get away. No, no, no! This couldn't happen, she wasn't married and she hadn't seen her gallery open - what would Ferdie do without her. Mireille pressed her hands to her side, but soon the blood-loss caught up to her and she fainted, her ragged breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps, until there were no more.
Rufus rolled over, panting, holding his chest. Fucking worthless guard, what was he a goddamned secretary? Where was Pepper when he needed him? Where was Elle or Moody. Oh God, he wasn't ready yet.
The screams had drawn Moody's attention away from the goings on in the other room and with the skill that was slowly becoming second nature to him, he looked through the door and into the kitchen, where he saw both bodies sink to the floor while a third stood aside, the source of the screams he was hearing. Without a word to the others, he took off toward the door, shoving his way into the kitchen where he limped his way across the room to the two.
"Don't just stand there," he said, barking at the guard. "Use your two good legs to get out there and keep them calm."
Without waiting to see whether the guard would obey his orders or not, Moody sank heavily to his knees next to Rufus, ignoring the girl whose blood crept across the floor toward them. Though he had seen many an injury and death in his day, seeing the handle of a knife coming from Rufus' chest made his mouth go dry -- were there anyone else he'd have considered indestructible, Rufus would have been it.
Without hesitation, Moody reached out for the handle. If they didn't fix that wound up quick, Rufus was going to meet the same fate as the purist brat lying next to them.
"No!" Rufus wheezed, grabbing Moody by the shirt and dragged him closer. Blood smeared everywhere and he felt so warm on the outside that it only piqued the coldness that was drenching him. "Get me owls. Get them NOW."
"Now is not the time to be time to be sending notes—"
"THAT IS AN ORDER, ALASTOR MOODY," Rufus roared, and he felt his insides tearing with the effort. Thickheaded, one-eyed idiot. "NOW."
Now was also not the time for Moody to feel a surge of defiant indignance -- he didn't take orders from Rufus. He didn't take orders from anyone. But if owls would make him shut up and let himself be healed before he bled out completely, then owls it was.
"Fine," he said, and got to his feet to hobble out of the room and find him some bloody owls.