bellatrix lestrange. (ex_basejudea73) wrote in cm_logs, @ 2010-02-07 00:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | [char] bellatrix lestrange née black, [npc] |
rp log: bellatrix & cygnus
who. bellatrix & cygnus (as played by the INEFFABLE giaaaa) ...
when. 5 February 1981
what. cygnus is far subtler than his daughter.
where. the lestrange estate in st. ives.
status. complete
rating. g
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That Bellatrix's gardenshed had been massacred by fire-obsessed vandals was of little consequence as the barns were on the other side of the house, closer to the sea, and the only thing that had been singed was the collection of empty pots and garden utensils that had not seen the light of day since she had moved into the place. It was, however, the fact that she knew somewhere deep within her breast that it was Sirius who did it that chafed the relative peace she found in St. Ives. Even the assassination attempt on the Dark Lord and the ridiculous posturing by those who considered themselves first among his followers did not touch her (much) here.
It was with the barest flick of her wand that the shed began to reappoint itself, shutters rising out of the ashen remains of the wood (and wood, alike, reconstituting itself in its horizontal and vertical weatherbeaten slats). Satisfaction reigned brief upon her face as the wand was again concealed within her sleeve.
With that done, the rest of her day could be more fully realised. Valentine's warm breath, snorted against the the silken elbow of her jacket, gave her pause. She turned to run her palm down the horse's aquiline face, his fellow coming up to stand quietly next to him as she stretched out and took the reins. The horses had waited patiently while their mistress saw to her errand and now, as she swung into the grey's saddle, she smiled vaguely. For the Muggle church bell down by the coast had begun to toll. She expected him before its cessation.
-- and he, who made a habit of punctuality (and unconsciously aspired to never fail to meet his daughter's expectations), was made material on the third stroke of the bell, a sharp figure of a modest height augmented by the straight-backed bearing with which he carried himself. For all of the impression of tightly coiled vitality, however, Cygnus Black had always been a disciple of quiet, and the leather of his riding boots did little to disturb the rough grays and bleached whites of the pebbles that strewed the ground.
"Easy," was the undertone of a greeting as he, echoing in Bellatrix's movement, placed his palm over the second of the horses' face. His other hand found purchase on the toe of his daughter's boot, pale fingers delivering a brief squeeze before he, with a slight inclination of his head, indicated the newly restored shed that had been in ruins the last time he'd seen it.
"Why not get rid of it? Druella knows better than to lament your lack of love for gardening."
There he was -- expectation fulfilled -- and the icy metal inside her chest grew less chill. She shook the curls out of her face as he mounted, letting the reins slide back against the glossy black neck as she took up her own and made a jerk with her head toward the aforementioned shed.
"Not for Mother but to remind someone that his vile pranks will not be borne." Her smile, then, was swift (if brilliant) and she allowed Valentine to settle into a rhythmic, swinging walk, expecting him to keep pace. "I'm glad you came."
There would always be that singular ache in his chest for relatives cut out and dispensed with, but as Sirius had always been the family's great disappointment (succeeding only in causing such disillusionment), his own leniency for the boy who took too much after his own mother had been set aside a long time ago. Knowing that Sirius had had such a destructive hand in what was his daughter's property (never home, for that would always be the house in Henley-on-Thames, and Bellatrix leading a life here in this strange half-wilderness was, as far as he was concerned, an arrangement that wouldn't last -- another man's house was not where his daughter belonged) brought a spark of ire, and his tone was briefly very much like Bellatrix's in her stormier moments when he uttered a wish that the boy had been gelded back when he was still in their grasp.
"-- and where else would I be?" he continued in an easier tone. Settled into his saddle, he let Bellatrix take the lead, knowing that her familiarity with this land far exceeded his own. "I can only read the Prophet so many times before I have to come see you to judge for myself what this business in the Ministry is all about."
A minute expression of laughter -- smothered quickly into her shoulder -- was then met with the heel of her boot in Valentine's rib to step him closer to her father. His ire was not a pasttime for amusement (she had quaked beneath it in years past) but it was the delight to hear what she had so often wished spoken out by the most precious of people.
"If only."
But the hand that stretched out to lightly brush his elbow brought them out of Sirius Black and onto other subjects far more palatable. She did not wish to spend this time with her father in any but the most pleasurable of ways. "The crop of foals out of Arcturus's old stud will be born next month. I have cleared the schedule at the Ministry and barring any surprises I will be here. If I am not, however -- "
Mention of Arcturus, firm-jawed and possessed with as much humor as a sea-battered stone, and what he represented to the family, what he had spent his long life working for, served as a reminder of what Cygnus sought to discuss with Bellatrix. He would be lying to himself he denied being troubled by the goings-on that had shaken the nation -- events that had begun in the Ministry, his daughter's place of employ, and thus very much an object of interest to him. It was not the supposed threat of the Mudbloods that those such as they, who were bred into a certain way of life, were meant to fear, but something else entirely that settled heavily in his chest.
But Bellatrix had wandered so far beyond him that saying the words would take a measure of finesse that he wasn't sure he could accomplish, given that this was Bellatrix.
"If you are not?" he said, prompting her to finish that thought as he reined in his own mount so that he could keep a steady gaze on Bellatrix's profile. "Define surprises."
Valentine was likewise reined in and he spun slowly on his hindquarters so that she could see her father's face and return his steadiness with her own arched brow. "If the Minister requires me for something prescient. Or if the Mudbloods decide to go stampeding again."
But he gave her nothing in return for that raised brow, only a slight upwards tilt of his jaw as he regarded her, expression unchanging as she spoke. "And your work itself? Is it to your liking?" All the better if she thought he spoke merely out of a paternal concern for a child's well-being. A gentle smile bowed his lips. "Head of your office this year, head of the department the next?"
-- and to whom could she be more honest than her father? "It's a means to an end. Obliviation, I find theoretically interesting, but in practise ... ?" A shrug. "I do what is required of me. Thank Circe it does not involve five days in the office per week."
The office, he was aware, was little more than a front, but -- "Indeed. I'd never see you at all if it did. And we would become like all the others, father aging and forgotten as his progeny takes the world in her fist."
The sharpness in her face went immediately soft, her pale skin blanching as if the very thought of forgetting Cygnus (as if the very thought of him aging) both offended and wounded her. "What. No." Her hands fell to bury in Valentine's thick mane -- perhaps some latent guilt, here, that she did not see him as often as she would like? -- as her gaze too fell. "I could never. You." A sigh. "You will live forever."
"Merlin forbid." Any other would likely be heady with the power his previous words exerted over Bellatrix, but Cygnus experienced a faint surge of disgust with himself for so deliberately eliciting such a response in his daughter. There was, however, no other way that he could conceive of (and he had not the courage to follow through with a more direct way) -- the seeds could be planted, but the realization would have to be Bellatrix's own. That was how he'd raised her. "In any event," he continued after a beat, still studying her closely, "we might have less say than we'd like about our time together. Riddle can't help but usurp the attentions of his true followers --" careful emphasis on the word; "and I'm more than familiar with the natures of some of his oldest supporters. They are men who demand much."
"They are men who stoop to defend their own feckless natures," was her quiet response to the arching crest of her horse's neck before her eyes drew up again and she turned to him. "They have no power over me." She paused, curling a strand of hair behind her ear -- "I answer to none but the Minister himself, Father. You don't have to worry about that. The likes of Kenneth Mulciber and Augustus Rookwood are -- " she shrugged and loosened her reins to let Valentine stretch his neck out low. "Worthless. To me."
A smile fleeted across his expression as he, with a short nod, gathered up the reins in his hands and with a brief touch of his foot to the side of the animal beneath him, motioned the horse into movement again. "I've never had to worry about you," he conceded -- don't make me start now.
Valentine stepped with Cygnus's horse, keeping pace with the other animal as her smile turned wry. She took pride in her father's ability to trust her -- to know her better than herself -- and the statement he made was pleasing. " -- I hope to never make you."