Miss Georgina "pompous arse" Wilkes (thesundowner) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-05-11 08:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-05] may, evan rosier, georgina wilkes |
Narrative; Georgina & Evan
Who: Georgina Wilkes and Evan Rosier.
What: They carry out the orders to eliminate Agnes O'Hare's mother and grandfather, as per instructions.
When: 10 May 1979, late afternoon.
Where: Soho, Westminster, London.
Rating: R.
Warning: Violence and murder.
Status: COMPLETE.
Evan. Evan knew the plan well and considered it to be, in its very essence, perfect. They had surveyed the commune, watched Agnes's family (as well as the other inhabitants' comings and goes), catalogued its escapes and had summarily rendered them unusable. After having cut through the thick wards surrounding the area, he stalked to the small "main" entrance (where they knew Agnes's family would be) and with a swift kick, knocked the flimsy door upon its hinges. Shocked silence billowed into the room with the filmy summer sunlight. He smiled - this was going to be good. It was his responsibility to do away with O'Hare's father before he could do them any collateral damage. His wand was quick, thorough and his spells indefensible. Agnes's father's body leapt with the arc of his wand and flew through three full storeys before coming to rest somewhere above them. "Taken care of," he murmured, turning his wand toward the door to give Georgina the signal - a shower of crimson sparks. She was through the door more quickly than even he anticipated and smiled to see her stalk the old man as if she were a lioness and he merely the prey. ... that left him the snivelling mother. The mother. It seemed fair that Agnes's mother would die as his did; the Dark Lord could give and he could take away. Agnes certainly deserved worse than this for her insolent mouth, for her propagandising little radio program and mostly for her appallingly ignorant behaviour when it came to understanding social code. "Mrs O'Hare," was soothing, a calm purr as he stalked toward her and made any way of escape (for she certainly would not go through him) impossible. "You must know why my associate and I are here." The woman screamed. With a roll of his eyes he murmured "Silencio!" and then "You must listen to me now. " He could feel the urgency in the tiny room fly up a few notches as Georgina continued to - there was no other word for it - play with her victim. The woman opened her mouth again and instead of a scream, a mere breathy hiss filled the beat that it took Evan to catch her by the throat and squeeze. "Shhh, it's going to be alright." His wand tapped a rhythm in time with the scattered beatings of her heart. "You can thank your filth-loving daughter and all of your dirty ideas for this. If she would have kept her mouth shut, you could have lived, darling. You could have continued your pathetic, unclean existence without so much as a whisper from us. But now, you're going to die." A wave of terror seemed to emanate from the woman's body, washing over Evan to make him miss half a beat. This was Agnes's mother no longer - Penelope's face stared at him, her eyes wide and pleading even as her mouth gaped for sound that would no longer come. He allowed himself to feel grief - the most minute and exquisite pain - for but a moment. His mother would not flap, she would not tremble or weep with such gusto. She became Agnes's mother again. "I'll tell you a secret, He took my mother too. And because I am merciful, this will be over quickly. Rest, I think, if your kind has a rest to go to." He paused, gathering his strength, wand firmly pressed into the woman's chest as his Killing Curse filled the room. The body - for that was all it now was, merely flesh - sagged in his arms and he laid her down carefully, arranging her arms over her chest and closing her eyes so Agnes would at least have the comfort of seeing her mother respected instead of being merely slaughtered. With arms crossed, he waited until Georgina finished her work. "Well done," he rasped, grasping her by the arm to send them both back to the protective anonymity of his flat as they awaited the news of their deed. Georgina. She had fallen into that strange sense of quiet again. The Muggles nearby were so used to strangely dressed people loitering about that they paid no mind to the cloaked figure standing in the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. Their eyes were drawn to the silver mask that obscured Georgina’s face from view but they seemed to shrug it off as another form of theatrical flair that the inhabitants of Soho were accustomed to. Evan had disappeared into the bar across the road a moment or two ago, with the reassurance that he’d give her a signal when it was safe. A smirk tugged at the corners of Georgina’s mouth, part-amused and part-flattered. She listened impassively as she heard the slow build-up of panic as Evan began clearing the place. A couple of Muggle men dashed out and she flicked her wand carelessly, causing them to topple unto each other and fall to the ground. Grunting in pain, they stood up again and dashed off, casting terrified glances behind them. She heard the sound of splintering wood and the trickle of crumbling cement, the warning shouts and eventual screaming became a distant and muffled buzz at the back of her mind. Her wand felt strangely weightless in her hand and her hand twitched whenever there was an escalation of noise within the bar. Restlessness was beginning to grip her, it had only been minutes but a degree of paranoia began to creep in. Had Evan done everything himself? Georgina shuffled on the spot irritably, waiting. There was a lull in the bar across the road before a shower of dark red sparks flew out, upsetting the sign that hung near the door. Finally. Georgina hurried across the road, sweeping her wand left and right to deflect the Muggles who were curious (or foolish) enough to wander close by. The Ministry would need to do a lot of work here, she thought, a wry smile crawling up her features. And rightly so. Rightly so. The Wizarding government was becoming far too meddlesome in their cause, almost as much as the idiots who dared defy them. Georgina was sharply reminded of the O’Hare’s woman’s impertinence in the journals and her anger deepened into a seething rage. The nerve of the things: their belief that they were of the same rank and that they were worthy of having the same opportunities. It was nothing short of ridiculous. The bar was layered in a fine coating of dust and rubble littered the ground. There seemed to be a large hole in the ceiling and Georgina hazarded a glance upward only to see three nearly identical holes on the other storeys. A bloody arm, twisted in an unnatural angle was barely visible as it hung limp at the top floor. She cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Evan although aware that he couldn’t see her expression beneath her mask. "Hm," she murmured in a deceptively innocent manner, "Which one is mine then?" A middle-aged woman had backed into a corner, her face resembling her insolent daughter’s and the expression remarkably the same: defiant. Georgina snorted delicately and nodded to Evan. She had become slightly annoyed by females' higher-pitched voices; they tended to irritate her ears. Her eyes wandered around the half-demolished bar, vaguely skipping over the shattered glass and broke furniture, before resting on a brittle old man leaning against the wall. His face was set into a mask of grim defiance but his eyes betrayed fear, Georgina barely contained her amusement. How long would it take, she wondered, until he’d be whimpering like a child, begging for death? She moved fluidly to the other side of the room, gesturing to Evan that she’d take care of the older one. The old fool seemed to splutter in disbelief and began to bargain. Clearly, the sight of Evan’s much more imposing figure against the woman across the room was causing him great distress. "Quiet," Georgina hissed disdainfully. She had had enough of Mudbloods and their ceaseless bid for speech. The man quailed at her voice. Ah, but who would have expected a woman in Lord Voldemort’s ranks? She flicked her wand like a whip and the man was sent sprawling to the floor, his grunt of pain serving only as encouragement for Georgina. She tutted quietly before waving her wand in another careless gesture, slamming her quarry against the wall and this time, she distinctly heard the crack of bone amidst the man’s scream. He crumpled once more to the floor and she watched him as he tried, in vain, to stifle his sobs. A sharp jab of sympathy shot through Georgina—an unbidden and reprehensible emotion. She recoiled, stepping back a moment to gather her thoughts. Berating herself for even entertaining the thought of empathy for these animals, she redoubled her efforts. "You should have taught your granddaughter some manners, old man," Georgina snapped, her wand slashing viciously through the air. Angry gashes appeared across the man’s torso and blood bloomed on his threadbare clothing, his frantic attempts at staunching the flow only acting to smear the sticky liquid on the dusty floor. The man’s breathing was becoming more and more laboured as he struggled to keep himself upright. A breathless, and oddly exhilarated laugh, escaped Georgina, eliciting a frightened glance from the man. "Crucio," she whispered and the old man’s screams of pain filled the room; she drew the moment out as long as she could, until the man’s screams had died down to hoarse whimpers. "You are a disgrace to Wizarding society," Georgina said, her voice had a lazy drawl now, as if she had tired of the nonsense, "Cavorting with filth, living in this hovel, flaunting your debauchery." She would have continued along this vein had it not been for the wheezy sort of giggle that emanated from the heap on the floor. A twinge of irritation was enough to set her off. "Very well," Georgina whispered, "Very well. Crucio." The screams were harsher, more desperate now but she did not abate the strength of the spell. A pause and she cast the Cruciatus Curse again. And so it went on until the old man was curled up into the foetal position, his extremities twitching slightly. Her conscience had taken leave of her and she felt justified in her actions—no one was to stand in the Dark Lord’s way and expect mercy. The new purist society would not be borne from appeasing these disgusting individuals who continued to mar the integrity of the magical community. She tilted her head to the side, a gesture that might have suggested innocence and cluelessness but looked completely chilling now. "Enough?" Georgina murmured, a self-satisfied smile spreading across her features. A groan escaped the figure on the floor and a broken-looking hand seemed to reach up before curling into an obscene hand gesture. She let out a disgusted laugh. "So be it." Georgina slashed her wand through the air and the old man was lifted off the ground and slammed to the concrete wall more forcefully than ever. Once he was writhing on the floor, she raised her wand and said, "Avada Kedavra." A flash of green light illuminated the room momentarily. The old man lay rigid and motionless on the floor. |