Who: Rabastan Lestrange and Bellatrix Lestrange When: Monday, August 1, afternoon Where: the Lestrange flat, London What: Planning a special event Rating: R Open/Closed: Closed
He slipped inside, humming a small nameless tune, damp physically but much cheered mentally. There was nothing Rabastan enjoyed more than a bit of cat and mouse with a Muggle, ending in a very satisfying death by his own hands. She had been a cheap bit of a tart, a waitress, and he'd managed to get her not only leave work, but sneak into a wet alley with him. Once there, it had been far too easy, and Rab had enjoyed carving her up, shredding the front of her to the point that her blood pooled around both of their feet. He had left her there in the dim light, apparating away, leaving her to lie in her own filth and waste.
He was ready for a pint and a shower and then to spend time pondering more, really scheeming, how to frame the bastard that still held his cherub Theo captive as it were. Rabastan had slipped off his damp cloak, coat and boots, to hear the House-elf scurrying to gather the things he had tossed off. He was working on his shirt, noting that he had blood on his white cuffs when he realized that he was not alone in the room. He froze, pulling out his wand, his shirt unbuttoned, his stance rigid.