. (ex_rabid934) wrote in cultureic, @ 2016-10-14 23:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | fenrir greyback, jacob sloper |
WHO: Jacob Sloper & Fenrir Greyback
WHEN: Backdated to yesterday afternoon
WHERE: The Dibbles' old house
SUMMARY: gdi, Jacob
WARNINGS: Language. Fenrir.
As Jacob did one last walk through the Dibbles' old house, the emptiness of it seemed to overwhelm him. The blank spaces left behind by what little the family had justified taking with them, the loneliness of everything left behind; abandoned to possibly never be seen again. He didn't hold out much hope for the future, and didn't see much reason to. Things only seemed to get worse each and every day. Hell, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't even know if he was doing the right thing now; Whisking werewolves and their families away in the dead of night, helping them overseas -- helping them become fugitives. It kept them safe from the Dark Army, but was leaving everything behind and going on the run that much better? Lingering in the family's deserted dining room, he sighed. Couldn't anything ever just be easy? Fenrir Greyback was not happy. This wasn't the first house he'd been to where instead of the wolf he'd been hunting, there was only absence, signs of a lycanthrope long gone, as if someone had sounded the alert. This wasn't the first house he stepped into with the cursory ease of a master on the verge of asserting his claim -- as the alpha, by rights all wolves were his until he saw fit to expel them from the pack -- only to be greeted by silence and the slow-fading scent of a werewolf who was no longer there. Only this time, it wasn't silence. The sound of an exhale reverberated softly through the house, and Fenrir paused in the doorway, his powerfully hulking figure almost overwhelming the narrow space as he cocked his head and tasted the air. A new scent -- he knew it, but it was not entirely as he remembered it, but he knew the Ministry lingered somewhere in the aggressively applied body spray, and the growl was instinctive. Low, but not so low that the intruder couldn't hear him -- the house was too damn small for his presence to go unnoticed. As the growl reached Jacob's ears, he immediately tensed up, dropping into a fighting stance and backing towards the closest wall, hand tight on his wand. The smart thing to do would be to apparate out right away. The Dibbles had taken their wards down as they'd left, there was nothing stopping him. But he knew that growl, knew who was most likely to come calling unannounced, and he was itching for a fight. So he peered into the darkness of the rest of the house and called out, "Fuck off, Eric!" Sloper. Fenrir's face split in a leering smile and he strode down the corridor, nails of his left hand splitting the cheaply plastered wall in his wake. He slowed at the doorway, moving more slowly into the dining room, halting in place when he caught sight of the man. "Where are they?" Throwing off a quick stunner when his classmate drew closer, Jacob shifted to the side, keeping the dining room table between them as cover. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing." He shot back, trying to cover up his involvement in the family's disappearance. "Abandoned house, missing were, seems like classic fucking Eric to me." An easy, swift lunge to the side left the werewolf untouched as the stunning charm went crashing into the edge of the doorframe. "Slopes," he said, all but exhaling the old nickname as he approached the table, stepping carefully, lowering himself slightly in a position that all but screamed readiness to fight. "Where's Dibble, Slopes? He was mine." His gaze fixed keenly on Greyback, Jacob matched the other werewolf move for move, crouching low just as he did, making sure to keep the length of the table between them. "Funny, don't remember seeing your name on him last time he came into the office." He snorted in response, half a dozen different spells and hexes resting on the tip of his tongue, ready to be fired off. "Better my name than your Ministry brand." The words were barely past Fenrir's lips when he came to an abrupt standstill, disinterested in watching Jacob mirror him, more keen on seeing how he'd act next. After a swipe of his gaze around the room and a wrinkle of his nose -- "He's been gone… a week? What did you do with him? What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jacob tensed up under Fenrir's accusation, his back rigid and his wand gripped tight in his fist. "Don't know what you're talking about, Eric…" He shook his head, hoping the lie didn't sound quite as awkward as it felt, "Think you've been out in the woods too long. Starting to get to you." That goddamn name. Jacob Sloper was an over-muscled, soft-hearted chump, had been since their long-ago days in Hogwarts, and the dislike was as strong now as it'd ever been. Stronger -- Fenrir could see the lie all over Jacob's face, could taste it in the air, curdling sour between them, and if there was anything he disliked more than having something denied him, it was being lied to. This wasn't the first missing were, but fuck him if it wasn't to be the last. "Try again." And without further warning, he kicked out, sending the table slamming into the other man. Jacob let out a shocked yell as the edge of the table slammed into his stomach and knocked him back against the wall, pinning him there. Bracing his free hand against it, he raised his wand and shot a quick "Depulso!" at Fenrir, then shoved the table away hoping to get some breathing room. "Maybe--" He stopped to drag in a wheezing breath, "Maybe he took a vacation." The spell sent the werewolf crashing into the wall, left shoulder making contact hard enough to briefly stun a weaker sort of person. But for Fenrir, this sort of thing was little more than warm up, and his grin flashed wild and sharp as he steadied himself on his feet, his own wand, vicious and stained dark with old blood, now in hand. "What have you done with him, Slopes?" A spell sent the table ramming back towards Jacob just as Fenrir took a running leap forward, landing quick and heavy on the wood, where he kicked out, aiming for Jacob's head. "For the--" Jacob was quickly cut off, stopping the table just in time to catch a face full of Fenrir's boot. Staggered, bleeding, and blinded by the spots swimming in his vision, he lashed out with a growl, looking to sweep Fenrir's feet out from under him. "For the fourth time now, I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! I thought you took him!" "Liar," came the snarl, hand coming to cinch tight around Jacob's wrist even as the other man's assault brought Fenrir plunging down, dropping against the table-edge under the power of the Critter's attack. It was a move meant to destabilise; the press of his sharp-nailed fingers was a nasty bonus. It wasn't even that Fenrir particularly cared about the fate of Dibble, only that a werewolf was missing, and not by his hand. Someone had taken something from him, and the theft rubbed him raw. Getting to smash up this particular Critter's face in frustration only just took the edge off. Rearing back as Fenrir's 'claws' cut and tore at the soft flesh of his wrist, Jacob let out a pained yell and tried to quickly think over his options. Fireball. No, too close. Lightning. He was clamped on tight, he'd get shocked too. Right then… Giving in to his baser instincts, Jacob surged forward, head butting the other werewolf square in the nose and then following on from that with a few wild, harsh punches. Growled laughter was Fenrir's initial response, a sound that went guttural as a fist landed, and then another, and then he was wrapping his arms around the man's more powerful frame and hurling them off the table and onto the floor. Two bodies crash-landed with a heavy thud. Anyone else would have been winded, but Fenrir was hot for a fight -- this fight -- and he tightened one broad hand around Sloper's neck. Feeling the wind get knocked from his lungs as they slammed to the floor, Jacob let out a pained yelp-- quickly cut off as Fenrir's hand sealed around his throat and squeezed. Setting both of his hands on the other werewolf's arm and tried desperately to yank it free to no avail. Even as his vision went cloudy and his mind started to panic, he refused to give in. Fenrir may have been hot for a fight, but Jacob Sloper was a fucking inferno. So, planting one foot firm against the floor for purchase, he kicked up with every last ounce of strength he had, aiming for Fenrir's nuts. It wasn't hard to miss what he was aiming for. Nauseating agony crested over Fenrir's body, and attack swiftly became recoil as he snarled out in pain, falling back hard against the floor. Taking advantage of the sudden space between them, Jacob rolled away, coughing and wheezing until he got air back into his lungs. Then, with a final, snarled "Fuck off, Eric!" he disappeared with a 'pop'. |