Ulysses Burke; world class buffoon. (vets) wrote in cultureic, @ 2016-06-09 17:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | abel meadowes, louise wilkes, ulysses burke |
WHO: Lou Wilkes, Ulysses Burke, & Abel Meadowes.
WHAT: Lou receives a gift in person.
WHEN: Today, Thursday June 9, late afternoon/early evening/second shift.
WHERE: Knockturn Alley, then the Hitwizard Office.
WARNINGS: Blood, Death Eatering.
Ulysses skulked along several metres behind his target with the ease of a man who’d spent his entire life in the vicinity - he was neither apprehensive nor hesitant; he was a man on a mission. As she reached the end of the block, his steps quickened. He loomed closer. And just when he was nearly upon her, he greeted her with a loud and deceptively cheery, “Louise Wilkes! I thought you’d left us,” hoping to get her to turn around. His wand was at the ready. Lou turned at the voice, startled by the unexpected intrusion to her thoughts. “Mr. Burke,” she greeted cautiously, immediately aware that he was holding his wand. “What do you mean you thought I’d left?” “Left Knockturn!” Ulysses said. “We missed you at the party. We thought perhaps you’d left the neighbourhood.” An unnervingly chipper smile. “Oh, I was there, but I left early. I was pretty tired.” Not to mention uncomfortable. Much like she was now. Mr. Burke knew her parents, but he had never taken any interested in her before. “I better get going. I hope you have a nice day.” “Oh, I will,” Ulysses said. “But first - ” He raised his wand. Lou arrived at her desk newly charged on powdered sugar and caffeine. Her never-ending pile of work loomed before her, but she didn’t mind. Paperwork was all part of the deal. Pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment her hand froze as she went for her quill. Her eyes glossed over, her mind obeying a command she didn’t remember receiving. She pulled the long black quill out of her bag, forgoing ink as she began writing directly on the parchment in front of her. The quill wrote in red as she continued to write, each letter slicing into her skin as her blood marked the pages. The lull of the imperius kept the pain from registering as she wrote line after line, page after page. Over and over the words were repeated, the cuts in her flesh barely having time to heal before being reopened again. Her mind remained oblivious as her body protested, hand ghost white as she continued to write and tears dropping down to create a grotesque watercolor on the pages. There wasn’t a single place where she was safe. Not even here. “Lou, do you have the…” the question died on Abel’s lips as he looked up from the folder in his hand, eyes catching on what should have been the familiar pose of Lou hard at work at her desk. Familiar, except for the blood. It took only a moment for Abel to catalogue the deep red scrawl of the quill, each bloodied letter blooming confidently and consistently across the page. Lou’s other hand tore open repeatedly, the cuts so frequent it was like they never closed, and the woman in question stared absently through each one. Abel snapped the folder shut and lunged forward, understanding little in that moment, except that his coworker was hurting herself. “Lou,” he tried, hand closing around the one with the quill gripped tightly between her fingers. Abel was stronger, but the will of the Imperius seemed to pay such things little mind. “Lou,” he ordered evenly, eyes trying to catch her unseeing ones. “Stop.” Write until they make you stop. Lou jerked back sharply as she came to, clutching her injured hand to her chest as she tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Her eyes were wide with panic as she looked up at Abel, everything in her body telling her to run even if her mind said he was a friend. She slowly looked out at the scene before her. The words as biting as a smack to the face, her stomach dropping as pain throbbed up her arm. Why would she write that? She wouldn’t, not unless — Someone had made her. Someone had gotten to her. Here. Here where she was supposed to help protect people. In the chaos of her mind it all seemed so hopeless. The words mocked her. Mocked her failures and her shortcomings. A purist in name only is no true purist. She was no true purist. She’d never be a true purist. Not like they wanted. In that moment all she wanted was away from it all. She stared at the scene before her until something snapped, an anger overwhelming her as she pushed out at her desk, knocking it over with a bang as files and papers scattered to the floor. Abel betrayed a small flinch at the sound, but otherwise remained steadily focused on Lou’s face. Unconsciously, he widened his stance, hands already lifting, coaxing as he took a step closer. “Lou,” he said gently, knowing to wait. Lou snapped her head to him at the sound of her name, eyes blinking and expression blank. “I need to go home,” she said flatly, her voice eerily calm as she looked at him with her hand cradled to her chest. She had to go home and she had to move. “I’ll clean this up when I get back. I just need to go home.” “Okay,” he agreed. “Don’t worry about this stuff, it’s not important eh? I’ll take you home.” He came another step closer, eyes still firmly on hers. “Can I do that?” “No,” she said, stepping back just as quickly. Someone hurt her and she didn’t know who. “I just need to go home.” Abel stopped abruptly. “Okay,” he repeated, a worried, aborted attempt at a reassuring smile. The white knuckled grip she hand on her injured hand tightened, and Abel swallowed down the urge to push. “I’ll let Nico and Alastor know.” She nodded, stepping back all the same. “Imelda and Johna will want that.” The evidence. Evidence. Because someone wanted hurt her. She grabbed her wand and left abruptly, heading to her home that could no longer be her home. She wasn't safe there. She no longer belonged. |