#culturewars (culturewars) wrote in cultureic, @ 2016-11-26 14:10:00 |
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If there was one lesson Elsie’d learned that week, it was that she needed to exercise more caution in how she carried out her orders. She didn’t want to be killed. She didn’t want Effie to be alone again. But she also wanted the vigilantes to die, which brought her full circle. She was back to her orders only shortly after having been released from St Mungo’s. And she was keen for a fight by the time the vigilantes reared their ugly heads. She scanned the crowd for an opponent she could take on and eventually, her eyes landed on one making a rush for the stage. “Not so fast!” Elsie’s voice rang out into the din of other voices, so she aimed her wand and sent a tripping jinx in the woman’s direction. Embarrassingly, Robin stumbled. There were times when it was a little funny to have sat through what felt like a million years of training, of working her ass off to get into an exclusive programme, of spending last year dragging her ass through it's paces to become a little better at front line work instead of being behind a desk. Situations like this? It wasn't funny. It was humiliating, dangerous and made her puff through her nose with irritation. She knew that voice. She was pretty sure that voice was meant to be six feet under. Or going to be if she got in the fucking way. One of these days someone was going to a study on their year and the polarising opposites it produced, but for now she had to deal with the ire that flared at being tripped on a job by Elsie needs to learn the value of italicising Flint! On the bright side, it was unlikely she was going to recognise her. Without her signature red, clipped up hair and slapping on makeup like an Essex girl on the pull, she wasn’t wholly recognisable. But she knew full well what have given her shit before. The same thing she’d complained to Gawain about: her accent is pretty fucking distinctive. So wandless magic...that’s limiting. She sent back a shoe sticking charm and a slicer for good measure. With any luck, it’d do the job this time. Robin’s first spell stopped Elsie in her tracks and the the second came dangerously close to re-opening the wound Beth had had put there a few days earlier. She could almost feel the ghost of pain, her throat tingling with magic. As she struggled to regain her balance after leaning out of the slicer’s path, she trained her wand and sent a fireball shooting at the vigilante and anyone else foolish enough to get in its way. A moment later, Elsie freed her shoes and pitched forward, landing face-first on the ground. Robin saw the fire coming towards her and ducked out of it’s way. Then remembered the sheer fucking amount of civilians and spat out a foam spell. Who knew that was good for anything but New Years at shitty clubs? “Move your asses!” she growled at them, more annoyed with herself than with the actual people who might be getting toasty because of their proximity. Then she saw what she can only describe as a fucking beautiful sight - Elsie Flint go arse up. For the first time, she was thrilled she wasn’t dead. She wouldn’t trade that image of anything. She couldn’t stop the (incredibly badass, she’ll insist later, thanks very much) giggle that slipped out. “Expelliarmus!” Elsie was shaken by the fall, but not enough to let herself be disarmed in the middle of a crowd of people. She blocked the spell with just enough blast of shield charm from the end of her wand to intercept it. Scrambling to her feet, she put them both solidly — demonstratively — on the ground and shouted, “You think it’s so funny? I’ll give you something to laugh about!” A tickling spell erupted from the end of Elsie’s wand, and with barely a breath between them, a tendril of flame shot after it. Robin moved again, but not fast enough. Flames hit her jacket, erupting it up in flame. She had to stop, waste precious moments ripping off her John fucking Lewis jacket. Moments should be fighting back. Moments she should be helping. Moments she should be putting out -- her hair! She patted it frantically while trying not to burn herself or launch herself at Flint to rip a piece of her own out. This was not an episode of Eastenders. She’s a goddamn Auror. (A goddamn Auror who had taken all year to grow her hair out and had just gotten it to a length she happened to like) She tossed the still burning material back at Elsie out of sheer spite. Blisters be damned. Elsie batted the jacket away with a swipe of her arm. But the smoldering pile on the ground gave her an idea and with a flick of her wand, the sleeves of the jacket split in fours and grew into eight spiny legs. With a wicked grin, Elsie sent the spider galloping for Robin. Spiders. Why did it have to be fucking spiders? Blasting curses around this many civilian folk was going to be a really fucking terrible idea. She weighed her options against the ideas and started firing off ice blocks left right and centre, aiming one directly for Elsie’s head in among the defensive move set. “Cool off, Flint!” She even managed not to laugh at her own pun and not get her face clawed off by fucking Shelob 2.0. Elsie had no trouble with stifling her laughter, particularly as one of Robin’s blocks of ice struck her in the chest and sent her flying into the mob behind her. She felt her ribs crack as she hit the ground, but she couldn't give into feeling dazed. She couldn't let the vigilante get the upper hand. A banishing charm took care of the ice and from her perch on the ground, Elsie pointed her wand at the spider again. It was injured as well, but it did as she asked and lunged toward the other witch, venom dripping from its fangs. Robin spun her arm to pull up the shield charm, when the fucking thing slammed back into her. Specifically, said arm. She buckled a little under the force of it, forcing one foot backwards to steady herself. It took an embarrassingly long ten seconds to realise it had teeth in her skin. Who knew what kind of nasty shit that total fucknut had put in there? It gave 'this sucks' a whole brand new meaning, and personally, she prefered any and all biting to be consensually agreed upon beforehand. She blasted the damn thing. And part of her arm with it. It may have been too late, it might already have spread. It would explain the wooziness. Then again, seeing one's bone would make anyone feel a little light-headed. If there was anyone on the great green earth that Charity Burbage absolutely hated, it was Elsie Flint. She'd hated her when they were eleven year olds in Hogwarts robes, she'd hated her more when they were grown women and Charity's sister Faith decided she'd rather be seen with the Flints than with a blood traitor, and she'd hated her on a level she'd previously thought impossible ever since Henry had died. All this to say: it was enormously satisfying to blast the hell out of her from behind with an electroshock spell. When the spell hit, Elsie forgot where she was — it was eerily similar to the spells Henry’d left on her flat. She clenched her teeth as electricity swept through her, leaving each of her muscles rigid and her pulse racing. When it finally stopped, she didn’t have time to recover before sending several haphazard slicing charms behind her at the newcomer. Fuck. Charity had done her due diligence in training since joining the CAV, but there wasn't really anything that quite prepared you for being sliced. She managed to dodge most of the spells, thrown blind as they'd been, but one nailed her in the thigh. Charity grit her teeth as she reached for Robin, her free hand pressing down on her own wound to staunch the bleeding. "Come on!" she hissed to her friend, and then with a pop they were gone. The crowd was dense, dense, dense and Bertie, wearing her favourite glamour (a rather plain looking brunette - the joke was that they could have doubled as relatives), and a red scarf, scanned the faces about her for danger. People were, at this point, at risk of being trampled to death as pandemonium struck, and the great swell of people surged violently forward as Death Eaters appeared, and a dragon hovered overhead. There. He wasn’t doing much, but he had his wand clutched between his fingers, and a mask obscuring his features, and Bertie threw herself toward him, her wand snapping out and releasing a burst of birds from her wand, their beaks sharp as arrows, their target the Death Eater before them. Davey, behind his mask, was there for one reason: to ensure that the execution went as planned. He watched the crowd through a film of hazy — but pleasant — calmness, only concerned by the moments of screams and chaos if they moved too close to the stage. That was, until a group of birds attacked him, causing some deep lacerations before he could dispel them. He focused his attention on their source as he aimed his wand and cast a flaying curse, because she was getting in the way. The curse - a thin jet of red light - exploded against her Protego Horribilis, and she retaliated quickly, hurling a “STUPIFY” at the Death Eater. Her lips were pulled back, part grin, part snarl; the tiny Gryffindor was aching for a fight. If she had known the cloaked individual she faced was, in fact, not a Death Eater at all, but Davey under the clutch of an Imperio, she might have considered being slightly less ferocious. Sidestepping the stunner, there was a smile underneath the mask as he calmly aimed a series of slicing hexes at the Gryffindor, aim not too particular other than at her with at least one whizzing into the crowd behind her, another slicing a thin, red cut across her shoulder. The imperio didn’t allow much for being concerned. As panic and fear had rolled through the crowd, Cam had tried his best not to get caught up in it. He'd trained for this. He was ready for this. He had to be. So instead he took a deep, calming breath and started trying to usher people out of the trample and the chaos before they hurt themselves, his head high and his wand at the ready. When the hex shot off into the crowd, he stepped forward to meet it, quickly lifting his wand, "Protego Horriblis!" Once it was taken care of and he was sure noone had been hurt, he glanced around for the source of the spell and made a beeline for them. Letting his glamour drop as he stepped up beside the woman facing down the Death Eater, he conjured up another quick shield charm to cover them as best he could. "Mind if I help?" Bertie blinked back her surprise (and a sharp rebuff of I got this) when Cam’s glamour slid from his features, and she grinned. “By all means!” And she added an additional charm to strengthen their dual shield, nodding toward him, before sending a flurry of ice-spears whistling toward Davey. Davey’s own shield blocked some of the ice-spears, but not all of them. There was a flash of pain as one imbedded itself in his shoulder, but it was dulled by the imperius. To stop the now two people in front of him was more important and he aimed blasting curses at the both of them. Gritting his teeth as the blasts flew their way, Cam focused on their shield, strengthening and maintaining it, making sure it held steady as the curses burst against it. "I'll shield us, you kick his ass?" He suggested, sticking close to Bertie's side, but ready to step out of her way if she needed room to work. “Darling, you're spoiling me!” Bertie huffed a sharp bark of a laugh. Then, at their masked attacker: “Volnero!” The slashing hex sliced deeply across Davey’s chest, and there was a small flutter of panic as he raised his hand to the wound and came away with thoroughly red fingertips. But the panic eased a moment later, buried back under the calmness of the imperius. Aiming his wand, he cast a few bone-shattering curses at the pair. Cam’s shield held firm, and the curses bounced against it like rain on a glass window. Bertie, suddenly very grateful for her friend indeed, conjured a great length of fire from her wand--her favorite spell, this, a blazing whip of impossible heat-- and sent it cracking through the air to lick at the ankles of the Death Eater. The imperius curse could make Davey a very many things. He could use a very many spells that he couldn’t normally do to achieve the things the Death Eaters needed him to. But it didn’t suddenly make him a good dueler. The fire wrapped about his ankles, knocking him off balance and burning him severely and there was — again — a slightly larger flutter of panic that took slightly longer to ease. But it did ease. Steadying himself, he conjured a series of knives, shooting it off at the pair. “Dipulso!” Bertie countered, and the knives scattered, dispelling into the wind. Then: “Incarcerous!” Davey threw up a shield but he still felt unsteady. The pain kept flickering in and out, interspersed between the moments of pleasant calm. The earlier lacerations continued to bleed. He aimed a mess of slashing curses and stunners at the pair and then, quickly, he apparated away with a pop. Keeping his wand arm high and steady, Cam kept murmuring incantation after incantation, intent on keeping their shield fast and strong. The Death Eater's last minute, lightning-quick salvo tested it to its limits, though and as it faltered for a moment, a couple of the curses skittered along its edge, altering their trajectory enough that they cut into Cam's arm. Biting back a curse, Cam decided to focus on the important part; The Death Eater had fled. They'd won. Flashing a brief, slightly giddy grin Bertie's way, he nodded to the crowd that had started to thin out around them. "Want to help me make sure everyone gets out of here safe?" Bertie responded in kind, her answering smile bright and bold and blossoming with exhilaration. “‘Course!” She answered, running a healing charm over the thin red cut seeping slow and red on the side of her arm. “I think you and I make a pretty fucking good team. Let’s go!” Following rules had always been something Cora had prided herself upon. She wanted to be in the good graces of authority, which almost always meant doing exactly as they said. It had been difficult to reconcile her instinct to go along with whatever she was told to do — trusting blindly that her superiors knew what they were doing and wouldn’t steer her wrong. But things had been turned upside down and the wizarding world didn’t seem any better for it. People were going to be executed right in front of them. That was the Ministry’s plan. More people would die. And then no doubt more people would die. Cora couldn’t let it happen. Still, she swallowed hard as she stood glamoured in the crowd, knowing what was about to happen and anxiously awaiting the signal. When the first of the vigilantes began rushing for the stage, she spun around to find the Death Eater she’d located while they’d been waiting. She glanced at Afon next to her before she cast an incarcerous curse, hoping to keep this fight as clean as possible. It wasn’t meant to be, as the Death Eater caught the sharp glint of her spell coiling ropes through the air, and batted them away with insufferable ease, turning his attention to the glamoured pair with fierce set of his shoulders. Unfortunately for the woman who wanted a clean, efficient fight, she was facing a man who enjoyed quite the opposite. “Eicio Aruspices!!” Afon was ready with a shield to catch the curse. He wasn’t as interested in a clean fight, not after one of these people had come after Beth a few days ago. He was even less interested in cleanliness after the Death Eater attempted to expel his wife’s entrails. With his wand trained at the other man’s wand hand, he sent a silent bone-shattering curse. It caught the Death Eater in his left wrist, and with a sound reminiscent of boots on gravel, the delicate bones in his hand crumbled in on themselves, crunching and crackling and punctuated by a howl of pain from Leland. Rather than incapacitate, the agony only served to enrage, a flint like focus centering the set of Leland’s shoulders. In wordless retaliation, he threw a jagged snap of lighting stuttering through the air toward the two of them. Cora had only just recovered from the near miss of the entrail-expelling curse when the Death Eater’s next spell came flying at them. She hastily cast a blinding spell and a severing charm before Afon’s shield gave way and electricity shot through her. She fell to her knees, every muscle in her body tensed as she fought to take in air. Even though she was wearing someone else’s face, the sight of his wife brought to her knees made Afon’s chest clench. The satisfied smirk of a spell well-volleyed wiped from his face, he sent his own bolt of lightning back at the Death Eater. The blinding spell staggered Leland, and before he had a chance to recover the razor sting of a poorly aimed severing charm cut through the layers of cloth at his shoulder. Soon, the warm tickle of blood began to slither down his arm, and he ground his his teeth together, barely managing to knock back Afon’s spell back, and with an audible grunt. His left hand throbbed, every beat of his heart sending sickening waves of agony down his arm. He needed to end this--but more than that he wanted to see who he was truly fighting. And so, with a growled incantation, Leland cast a disillusionment charm with a broad sweeping gesture. Gasping for breath in the wake of the lightning curse, there was nothing Cora could do to stop the inevitable. As the Death Eater’s spell washed over them, the glamours she’d taken such care to cast melted away. She wanted to hide her face, flee or vanish on the spot — she had to protect Megan — but the damage was done. So she set her jaw and lifted a defiant look to meet Leland’s. Her wand came next. “Confringo!” And the Death Eater was hurled backwards, his robe coming alight. Afon managed to look similarly defiant, chin thrust forward as he pointed his wand at the Death Eater, but he was freaking out and fighting his own flight urges. He was wishing, desperately, that they weren’t face to face with Evan or Jonah and hating himself for it. They needed to be stopped, too. But he had to know. Behind Cora’s blasting curse was another from Afon’s wand, aimed right at the Death Eater’s mask. It shattered. The sound that ripped from Leland’s throat was more animalistic than man, the red hot blasting curse both burning his mask away and the flesh underneath. He scrambled back, boot heels finding desperate purchase on the ground beneath, broken hand clutched to his chest, breath ragged and wet from his mouth. “CRUCIO!” he roared, blind in his target, agony turned to ferocious intent. There was barely a moment to even attempt to discern whether the bloody mess behind the mask was one of the Death Eaters Afon knew. The cruciatus hit him square in the chest and he broke his silence with a strangled cry. It was a pain he couldn’t clamp his jaw shut around, that brought him to his knees without him realizing he’d fallen. It was a pain that eclipsed the pricks of pain at his fingertips as he broke his nails scrabbling at the ground. The sight of him struggling through the pain brought tears to Cora’s eyes. “Stop it!” She screamed at the Death Eater as she scrambled to her feet. She didn't know who he was, but she wouldn't forget his face. And she wouldn't let him get away with this. She swallowed around the panicked lump in her throats and thought what would a vigilante do? The answer was obvious. Slicing her wand through the air, Cora went back to her first encounter with the Order, and strewn the ground in front of the Death Eater with the caltrops she knew would hurt. A smokescreen followed — she hoped enough of a diversion to break their opponent’s focus. The woman’s scream (he tried his best to commit her face to his memory), served only to strengthen his rage, and, in turn, his crucio, and the silverite cord of his spell blazing ever brighter. The smokescreen did nothing; Leland had trained after Araminta, after all, a woman insane enough to demand he learn to cast spells amidst all manner of noxious gasses. The caltrops, however, were another matter, and as Leland righted himself, stepping forward to direct a series of vicious slashing curses at his victims, now obscured from view, the sole of his boot came into direct contact with a spiked point. It ripped easily through the leather, and sunk deep, into the soft flesh of his foot. He yelped - it was the only sound still within grasp of his lungs. He was losing this fight. Had lost. And so, heart pounding a warsong of fury, Leland disapparated. The Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures stood close to the front of the crowd along with a few other recognisable faces: his back straight, hands clasped behind him, chin tilted up to watch as the speeches went on and the prisoners were dragged out. Spinks and Cresswell. Apart from vaguely recognising the latter as Dirk Cresswell’s older sister, Avery didn’t know these two. Didn’t give a damn, either. The Head looked almost bored as he watched their fates unfold, his expression flinty. It wasn’t until some sort of signal went out and they felt a ripple go through the crowd, a surge of movement like the tide in the sea, and he heard the first cry, that he finally wondered What— And pain exploded in the back of his shoulder, the bones shattering and almost disintegrating, as the yellow beam of light continued to make contact with flesh. The perpetrator behind the attack, Tristan, didn't hold back as soon as she saw Avery in the distance, knowing full well that his fellow Death Eaters were roaming the crowd not far away. Regardless, she had to go for him, before he hurt anyone else. Among the chaos, someone bumped into the former Auror, causing her to lose concentration momentarily, the bright light flickering out and the man stumbling away — but she wasn't done with Avery yet. Before he could wiggle out, she threw out the stinging curse as she yelled, "Morpungo!" He was scanning the crowd, right arm now curled useless by his side, when another impact hit his chest and heat burned into his skin from the stinging curse. The man winced, but then finally saw her: a woman standing stock-still while others fled. She glared right at him, but even as he met her gaze, Avery saw one of those eyes outright disappear as a black eyepatch flickered into view instead, the glamour fading— “The Order,” Avery growled. “Of course they fucking would.” It had been too long since he’d crossed paths with a vigilante directly. His hand itched, craving a fight. And so despite his injuries he started striding right for Tristan, left hand dipping to retrieve his wand, and flung a few jolts of electricity crackling over the heads of the bystanders. Chaos was erupting around them, spells flying left and right, the crowd seething. One bolt struck Tristan's left hand, and it took her approximately two seconds — almost an eternity, in this scenario — to realise that she was losing sensation among it. She snarled, trying to wave it off, almost too distracted to see the figure heading towards her. Instinctively, Tristan lunged forward at the Death Eater, her right arm swinging forward as her fist collided with his mouth, shoving him backwards. Knuckles grazed against teeth, his lips bloodying her hand. Her left arm stung at inopportune times, but this was no time to worry about that right now; not when she could potentially capture Avery. She kicked his leg, mere moments later, throwing him off balance. Tristan shouted "Luxacaeci" to blind the Death Eater, making sure to withstand the spell for a few moments as she calculated her next move. Blinded by the burst of light, he threw another smattering of spells in the vigilante’s direction, but she easily sidestepped the wild, disoriented casting. His jaw was throbbing; he’d cut his lips on his teeth and could taste his own blood. Anger and futility throbbed in his skull as Avery squinted through watering eyes. They had lost too much. He had lost too much. So the moment he could see again, the Death Eater didn’t wait another moment: “Avada Kedavra!” Tristan's shield was up before she had processed the Killing Curse, her Auror senses kicking in before anything else. But there were too many people in the crowd, too many fights overlapping on fights and bystanders spilling over—ricocheting, that burst of green light hit some nameless citizen instead. And as the lifeless body fell to the ground, Pip found that all he felt was a vague irritation, though his counterpart screeched in horror upon realisation that the Death Eater had just killed someone. “Well done, you,” he said, spitting blood onto the ground, trampled by so many feet. His shoulder ached. He couldn’t feel his right arm anymore. “Good fucking show. S’pose you’re getting away with the two prisoners, then.” Avery's words awakened Tristan from her reverie and she managed to look away from the lifeless body, her attention now focusing on him instead. She wanted to punch him again and again and again, as though he were her personal punching bag, but she settled for throwing a weak bone-twisting curse at the same arm that had already been damaged. He couldn’t hold back the groan of pain as his steps faltered, his arm feeling like it was on fire, the bones grinding and grinding alongside each other. "They're innocent, you bag of dicks!" she shouted, moments later. "You and your trash friends are the ones who should be executed!" “I’d like to see you try,” he said, through those bloodied teeth. The Death Eater was wavering on his feet now: challenging, recklessly goading. “Seriously: just fucking try!” And he kept coming, blind in his anger, even though his left hand was now pressed against his agonised right shoulder, wand no longer trained on her. "Done with your villainous monologue, Avery?" Tristan asked, half-amused, though she was sure as hell ready for whatever he had in store for her. However, a commotion towards the stage caused her to look away, and she realised that Camilla and Agnes were no longer there. They were safe, she realised, which meant that — A soft pop! sounded and Tristan disappeared, leaving behind nothing. Prior to the plan going into motion in earnest Dung had infiltrated the crowd under his standard glamours of a shabby, middle-aged ginger man. Dressed drab to keep attention low, he’d slipped through the crowd to a decent position near the front where he’d stopped Rabastan mulling about. Standing behind him with his hand tucked into his pocket on his wand, Dung waited for the sickening show to reach the point of no return. He couldn’t actually bring himself to look at Agnes. He was not going to lose another friend to this and so he’d naturally volunteered to be on the scene in some of the thick of it. All at once things sprung into motion, but Dung ignored the panic, shouts, and screams rising from all around him at sat his sights on the Death Eater he was going to prevent from rushing to aid his brethren. He drew his wand and cast a stunning spell as quickly as he could manage. Rabastan caught sight of the wand being pointed in his direction and deflected it with a sharp whipping motion of his wand. Then he lashed back at Mundungus with a slashing curse. Someone screamed nearby, but he ignored them, instead pushing through the throngs of frenzied people to get to the man who'd tried to stun him. "Ossisverso!" He screamed. Cor. Dung knew he should have known better about Lestrange’s reaction time. It was all he could to bring up his wand in a flick to send the retaliatory slashing curse spiraling upwards harmlessly away from people. Said crowd had already panicked, screaming and shouting while jostling to get away via apparation or other means. Dung’s defense against the second curse was non-existent as an older woman accidentally took a step into his side jolting him off balance; Lestrange’s curse began twisting his femur. It needed to stop, and so with another flick of his wand he sent a cascade of ink towards his opponent. Ink splattered across Rabastan's face, running into his eyes as he spluttered and hiccoughed. For all intents and purposes, Dung's efforts worked; Lestrange had been distracted and his bone-twisting curse lifted. It was sweet relief, like cresting the water's edge after running out of air to breathe when submerged. But it didn't last long as Rabastan, angry from the inkspill, lashed out at him with another slashing curse. Sweet relief though it was it was quickly replaced by all-too-familiar sensation of his upper chest opening up from a slashing curse as Dung lunged forward. His arm had drawn back with his hand forming a fist. The light gleamed off the snake-themed brass knuckles as he swung with his body weight behind it. Knuckled fist met the broad span of Rabastan's chest, striking him hard. He stumbled back, gasping breathlessly for air, his mouth aping a wordless 'O'. He stepped back again, dropping his wand and collapsing upon the backside of the person behind him. He fell to the ground as he tried to relearn how to breathe, still gasping for air and clutching at his chest with empty hands. A quick glance down from Dung alerted him to the fact that his robes were staining red around the tear, and he knew it was deep. Rabastan never messed around. That was bad; he needed to leave. The distraction was a success at any rate. He made to apparate— — just as Clara Avery appeared on the scene, as she tried to weave through the spells, and avoiding being struck by anything. Her heart felt like it was thumping against her ribs, her feet hitting the ground in a hard, un-lady-like manner, unaware of just where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get out. Her eyes caught someone familiar, and she immediately stopped in her tracks, a scream just at the tip of her tongue. She glanced at the attacker, not too sure who it was, but her hand reached for her wand, nonetheless. "STUPEFY!" she yelled, though it missed her opponent. Damn her unsteady hand. It did, however, stop him from vanishing on the spot giving Dung threw up a hasty shield only to see the stunner miss anyway. “Scram,” he snarled even if it was hardly intimidating with all the blood on his robes. It was met with a proper glare, though another look at Rabastan made her stomach churn. She willed herself to look away from her pseudo-brother, and further pushed thoughts of her brother who may have been a similar situation just months ago, because she needed to be present. And her anger and frustration was just about ready to boil over, so without much goading, Clara screeched, "CRUCIO!" The red flash of the unforgivable Cruciatus curse wasn’t something Fletcher expected to see from his opponent — Rowle’s sister, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised — and there was little time to process let alone react. His nerves burned and inflamed all at once dropping him to his knees with a scream. Perhaps it wasn’t the most skilled use he’d ever felt; he wasn’t incapacitated as quickly as he figured he ought to be. A blessing that likely saved his life: he managed to slash his wand and stab it forward. The pale yellow light of the curse lept forward, racing towards the younger woman. Try as she might, Clara was unable to dodge the light as it caught her, right below her rib, like a hot knife through butter. It caught her by surprise, and her breath caught in her mouth, and she gasped for air. Her eyes widened, her wand dropped to her side, and she fell to her knees. One hand reached for her side, the other weakly attempting to reach for her wand. It seemed to slip away further and further, and the world seemed to be spiraling in her head. Somewhere close, Rabastan finally moved to his feet with wand more firmly clenched in his hand. "Clara," he rasped, his gaze stuck on her as she collapsed. He needed to get her somewhere, he needed to bring her to a Healer, but all Rabastan could see was red. "Aduram Virga," he growled as he let loose a hot whip of fire in Mundungus's direction. Dung had barely pushed himself unsteadily to his feet when the whip looped around his midsection and contracted under Rabastan’s expert control. With a smoking sizzle it burned through his robes like a hot knife through butter and began to cut through his flesh. He could smell what he was sure was him being cooked alive as he reached for the Order portkey on a chain around his neck. Rabastan could easily overpower him. There was no time to interject any witty rebuttal, no time to monologue about the futility of running away. Rabastan didn't even have time to think; he merely let instincts take over. With a determined stare, he flourished his wand and let loose one last attack: "Ossisquasso." The tug around his burned navel only added to the pain, but it was nothing compared to the loud snap and and crack of his ribcage breaking apart. His scream spiraled off into the void, gone with Dung himself. With his target now gone from sight, Rabastan moved quickly to join Clara's side. Her wet side, the side slick with blood. His heart leapt into his throat, but he swallowed it back down to its rightful place. He couldn't fix her, shouldn't dare to try. He'd take her to a Healer. To her sister, though Britta would probably try to kill him for letting her baby sister get hurt. "Hold on, Clara," he instructed her as he lowered his blonde head and scooped her up into his arms. Within seconds, they were gone. He wasn't in his Death Eater regalia, but at this point Rodolphus Lestrange was so well known as a Death Eater his robe and mask were only used to create fear, not hide his identity. There was no reason for that anymore, secrecy being a tiring burden he was glad to finally part with. These days he felt satisfaction from the melding of his two halves, and only now did he see the (minor, negligible) disadvantages it had: he was less relaxed in a fight when he wasn't behind his mask, and also being infamous made him a bit of a target. Rodolphus found this out the hard way. One moment he was standing beside his brother in the crowd, the next chaos had broken out and he was barely able to defend from a spell thrown his way. WHAM. Adam Goldstein was somewhat out of practice after all this time away from the force, but weeks behind a translator's desk at Gringotts hadn't dulled his unflinching desire to kick the absolute shit out of Rodolphus Lestrange. The only thing that would make it sweeter was if he'd been wearing his own face rather than a sleek blond glamour, but better safe than sorry. His blasting curse had struck true, and Adam raised his wand again. "Hold it right there, Lestrange!" Wand up, shield cast. Rodolphus turned to the voice, letting out a small laugh as he turned toward the person addressing him. "Stop right there?" He asked. "Like you've caught me red-handed doing a crime? Really, vigilante?" Letting out another chuckle, he sent a stunning spell at the man. Dodging left, Adam feinted right and fired off a stunning volley of his own, trying and failing to catch Lestrange flat-footed. "Oh, but I have, you fascist prick," he spat. "And I'm fairly certain the history books will agree with me, not with you." Keep him talking. Adam was an accomplished duellist -- you had to be, to work in law enforcement -- but Rodolphus Lestrange was a high-ranking Death Eater, and Adam knew he'd need a bit of luck to make it out the other end of this one. Realigning his shield charm, he aimed a blasting curse directly at his opponent and let it fly. "The winners write the history books." Rodolphus argued, Adam's spell hitting his shield. The shield held. "And we're the winners, vigilante. You're the bad guy now, attacking innocent civilians in a crowd. How many people will die today because of your actions?" He stepped deftly to the side, sending a cruciatus at the man. Adam had been hit with a crucio before, and he knew if it connected he'd be done for. He dove to the side and deflected it by summoning a chair from the now-scattered 'audience' to the grisly public affair. "Revolution always starts as rebellion, Lestrange," he said, readjusting his shield again and firing off a stupefy. Without missing a beat, Rodolphus countered Adam's stunning spell, his bolt of light hitting the other man's and ricocheting away. They parried back and forth for a few more spells, two trained duelists though with drastically different styles. For Rodolphus, a usually stoic man, he duelled with more intensity than most had ever seen from him, and usually hidden behind a mask. Now it was out in the open, for the first time, his private self meeting his public persona. It felt fitting. "And that's exactly what we've done," the Death Eater growled, between breaths. "A revolution. Bombarda!" There was a witty little rejoinder about dictators or something on Adam's lips that was utterly lost when his shield charm failed to absorb the shock of the explosive spell. The shockwave knocked his knees out from under him with a sickening crack and a wave of agony, and when he came to his senses a moment later he realised he was on the ground because his legs were extremely broken. Broken in about six places apiece. Gnashing his teeth, he scrambled backward on his hands, desperately trying to get away from the advancing Death Eater. The man was toast, and Rodolphus wasn't usually one to waste time, but this time he could spare a moment. A very brief moment. He pointed his wand at the man, staring down at him. "It's been nearly six months since I last killed someone," he told the unknown vigilante before him. "I really didn't want to break that streak, but you've forced my hand." He smirked. Just behind Rodolphus, a fleeing gawker had dropped a flask of firewhisky. It poured rich and thick now onto the floor, soaking the floorboards as Adam realised, all at once, that he did not have to die if he was willing to do something drastic to this man he had once called a friend. And he was. "Incendio Maxima!" The fire burst up from the ground like a living thing, wild and untamed and full of the pain shooting up and down Adam's shattered legs -- and Rodolphus Lestrange was in the centre of the inferno, screaming in agony. The agonizing scream caught Luca's attention, amidst all the chaos surrounding him, and he glanced at the direction it was coming from. He recognised who it was — it was impossible not to know Rodolphus, but to see him surrounded by flames was horrifying all the same. Luca rushed over, instinctively reaching for his wand. He was trained to save people and as disgusting as the Death Eater was, he was a human… as Luca's internal monologue continued, his eyes caught sight of an unfamiliar man, which made him forget about Rodolphus altogether. He rushed over to the other man's side, who looked to be in terrible pain. "Where does it hurt?" he shouted, making sure he could be heard above all the chaos. "We should get out of here, come on!" "My legs," Adam gasped, doing his level best not to look at the man he'd set to roasting. "Broken, I think. All over." He looked up at Luca with wide eyes, running purely on adrenaline now, his pain centres firing hard. "I'm with the CAV. I need to go to the clinic. You know the one." Luca nodded, as he wrapped an arm around the other man. "Hold on, yeah? I'm going to Apparate us out of here." His gaze fell towards the Death Eater once again, but Luca's guilt would only be around for a brief moment. Seconds later, both the Healer and his companion had disappeared out of sight, leaving behind no trace. The scene had turned into pure chaos, though Octavius had expected that. Despite the gravity of the situation, it was also a bit thrilling and he wished he could see the looks of shock and surprise on the Death Eater’s faces behind their masks when they realized their execution plans had been canceled. Maybe he could after his wife and he took one of them down. “Perurio Introsus!” he shouted as he aimed his wand at the first Death Eater to enter his field of vision. Antonin didn't see this as their execution plans being canceled at all. On the contrary -- this was just an opportunity to get rid of even more pains in the Death Eaters' collective arses, as all the various breeds of "vigilante" appeared to try to save the day. A spell that sent the feeling of his wand arm being on fire chose Antonin's target for him, as he whipped around to face Octavius. "That was a mistake, young man," he scolded the younger man as he sent a flaying curse in Octavius's direction. Normally, Vivi would have chosen someone else besides her husband to partner up with. It wasn't that he was a shit duelist, just that Vivi was easily distracted by trying to make sure that the people she loved were unharmed, which meant that she spent less time thinking about her own safety. Luckily, Death Eaters were predictable, you could always count on them to bring the dark magic to the party. Without a second thought, she had a strong shield charm up, something that could protect the two of them from almost any sort of dark magic the Death Eater sent their way. “Thanks, love,” he said with a smirk that was still distinctively Octavius even with the glamour. With a wink, he took a step toward the Death Eater and pointed his wand directly at him. “Vertigo Totalum!” "Young love. So sweet," Antonin replied, his tone absent of any sort of sarcasm or mocking. It was nice to know that if these children were going to be foolish enough to resist against them, that they'd die having had the chance to love and lose, rather than to never love at all. The vertigo spell caught Antonin off guard, though, and he stumbled a moment as he tried to regain his bearings and blink away the dizziness. "CRUCIO!" he spat out, once he found his balance and readied his aim at the pair. "Welcome, love," for a moment Vivi let herself be distracted by her husband, she could imagine the smirk that was hidden beneath his glamour and couldn't help but flash her own cheeky grin back at him. The Death Eater's words barely registered in the back of her head, but she didn't really pay him any mind until she heard him cast the Cruciatus. Without enough time to cast a strong enough shield charm she settled for pushing Octavius out of the way, taking the brunt of the Unforgivable and screaming in pain. Stepping backwards, Octavius tumbled downward and as he hit the ground he heard his wife scream. He quickly scrabbled back to his feet and focused all of his attention back at the Death Eater. “Angor!” he shouted because it was the first curse that came to his mind through the growing cloud of anger. Antonin choked on the next spell incantation before it left his mouth, Octavius's spell hitting him clear in the throat. A few moments to struggle through the feeling of drowning was nothing compared to what he was going to do to the two of them. "INCENDIO! EXPULSO!" he yelled, shooting both a fire and a blasting curse in their direction. Out of everything she had ever experienced the Cruciatus curse had to be the most painful, and she'd been kicked by centaurs and lived through an almost evisceration via werewolf. But for the very brief time she'd had that piece of dark magic aimed at her she'd wanted nothing more than to die. Luckily her wonderful husband was there to step in and save her, buying her some time to get her bearings. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to dodge the fire curse and it caught her clear across the stomach, burning through her robes and reaching her skin. "You know, things didn't have to be like this for you," Antonin notes, twirling his wand in his fingers before shooting a bone-twisting spell at Viv, smirking behind his mask. "You really brought this on yourself. I hope you spend some time thinking about that." And with that, he apparated off, feeling as though he'd done enough for the moment, and assuming from the chaos around him that his healing skills were going to be needed quite soon. The Death Eater's words were enough to piss her off and the bone-twisting curse did nothing more than amplify that anger as well as the pain. Thankfully, the curse was short-lived though she would definitely be feeling it—in tandem with her burns—for days to come. The departure of the Death Eater was probably a good thing as Vivi would've definitely attempted to get back up and continue fighting, injuries be damned. Instead, she gave her husband a pathetic look and made grabby hands at him. "Take me home, please." Dropping his arm, Octavius took a few deep breaths as he tried to reign in the anger he felt toward the Death Eater for the pain he had inflicted on his wife. It wouldn’t do him any good now, so he tucked the feelings away for now as his attention returned to Vivi. Offering a small smile, he crouched down so he could scoop her up into his arms. “Yeah. Let’s go home,” he said as he stood and the two of them disappeared with a crack. If Emma hadn't been there for work, she would have avoided this altogether. The crowd has been tense and she didn't actually want to see someone die (why did it seem like all of these people did, that was just gross). She had, however, been taking notes on the proceedings dutifully when the fight initially broke out. And since Emma was a wandless Muggleborn, she'd decided to do the only thing she could. She'd decided to hide. She'd ducked under a table someone had set up and hoped that no one came looking for a fight under there. If so, Well, she'd be completely fucked. Hell, even with a wand she would have been. “This is my table,” Effie calmly pointed out, crouched underneath the same table under which Emma had taken refuge. She had her phone out, which she’d been using to both furiously hoot about the proceedings and take notes for what would have been an award-winning article about the gritty realities of wartime vigilantism. Nevermind that Effie didn’t actually want to see someone die either. “Um shouldn't you be out there with them?” Emma asked her eyes wide. Never mind that if Effie was really a Death Eater that was a very stupid thing to say but the point stood. “Excuse you?” Effie asked, glancing up at Emma from her phone. “Why would I be out there?” Her eyes slid over Emma’s shoulder, calculating how hard she would have to push her to kick her out of her table. She knew exactly what Emma was implying. “Why do you think that I think that you would be out there?” Emma asked as the table shook and she barely ducked her head to see if things out there had improved. They hadn't in the slightest and she instantly regretted it. Why has she decided coming for work was a good idea? “Because I want to hear you say it so I’m justified in shoving you back out there,” Effie snapped as she tapped away at her phone. She glanced up again. “But if you come up with something less insulting I’ll let you stay. I know you don’t have a wand, after all…” Her legs were starting to hurt so she shifted and primly sat down on the cold ground and went back to her phone. Okay so Effie wasn't a Death Eater? Emma had been so sure that she was. Being called a Death Eater was insulting? What was happening? But she needed to come up with something so she thought quickly. “I just thought maybe nothing would happen to you out there and you could get a better story if you were out there,” Emma settled on. She still wasn't sure that Effie wasn't going to strangle her though so she pulled out her own phone and hexted Niamh. “Hmm,” Effie said as she leaned forward to peer out from under the table just in time to see an alarmed man get caught by friendly fire. “I suppose you can stay.” She wrinkled her nose down at her phone as she took a few notes about the man. “But I’m not going back out there. I’m sure you’re not the only one who thinks that,” referring to Emma thinking she was a Death Eater, “and my manicure is fresh.” “Your nails do look very nice,” Emma said, feeling the need to suck up to Effie now. After all, Effie was somehow the only thing standing between living and, well, being out there. She wanted to ask if Effie really wasn't but she knew that line of questioning would get her nowhere except out in the cold. “I think people assume the worst about people, it's easy to,” Emma said. She glanced up at Effie. “I suppose,” Effie said slowly before glancing down at her nails to appraise her manicure. After a beat, she shrugged. “And I suppose I don’t blame you. I did do all those horrible things to your desk.” Emma sighed. Of course Effie had done that, she wished she was more surprised. “So you just draw the line at pranking people?” “Yes, basically,” Effie said. She shrugged again. “Eudoxia —” She purposely mispronounced the U in Eudoxia’s name to be a dick. “Was gone so I had to get back at her somehow.” Emma was too scared to roll her eyes. She needed to stay on the other woman’s good side. Emma glanced at Effie before looking outside again even though the noise was enough to make it obvious that the fight was still going on. “Okay Effie,” She said. It didn't make sense to her. “I’ve never done anything to you.” “It wasn’t personal,” Effie said, turning back to her phone. “She shouldn’t have touched my desk.” No but I didn't touch it Emma thought to herself. For half a second she debated asking Effie if she could just Apparate them out but she didn't trust Effie to take her anywhere even if she wasn't a Death Eater. “I'm sorry she touched your desk.” That would keep the peace. She hoped. The look Effie gave Emma was an amused one. “Thank you?” she said with a laugh. She definitely wasn’t going to apologize for the whole desk thing. She leaned forward again, her attention going to the stage. “Oh, it looks like the executees are gone and I don’t see their heads anywhere. That’s going to be awkward.” “Yeah a little,” Emma said, sticking her head out from under. Things seemed to have not stopped despite that, at least not enough for Emma to risk going out there. “Someone will be very unhappy about that.” More than one person probably. |