Ulysses Burke; world class buffoon. (vets) wrote in cultureic, @ 2016-06-28 07:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | !! group: death eaters, !! group: order of the phoenix, agnes cresswell, mundungus fletcher, ulysses burke |
WHO: Mundungus Fletcher, Agnes Cresswell, & Ulysses Burke.
WHAT: A confrontation.
WHEN: Tuesday evening, June 28, 2016.
WHERE: Knockturn Alley.
WARNINGS: Violence & death.
Ulysses Burke had been drinking. Truth was, he was always drinking, but this particular night, following a shouting match with his arch enemy, he’d had a few more whiskeys than normal. Agnes would know. She’d spent a fair amount of time establishing his movement over the last few days, polyjuiced into a variety of Knockturn residents, only one of which she’d nearly run into while she was wearing his face. She’d been hexting Dung throughout the night, short updates as preparation for the execution of their plan. It was finally time to give Ulysses Burke the treatment he deserved, and about time too. They had proof. There was no backing down now. As he got up to pay his tab and leave for the night, slightly more unsteady than usual, she followed at a safe distance, still hexting. [1] Leaving the pub now. Give him 5 mins. [2] On course. [3] [...] Nevermind. Taking a piss behind S&M. Because of course. [4] Back at it. 2 mins. [5] 30 seconds. There was enough people moving around for her to blend in, but she knew that once they went past Toxic Tapers, it would disperse, and that quickly. That was the whole reason they had agreed upon this specific location. As Burke approached the disturbingly decorated shop, selling nothing but poisoned candles, she backed into the shadows, her heart pounding. It needed to happen. That’s what Dung had been telling himself as he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his trousers, hidden away from view underneath the cloak he’d knicked from Cobb & Webb earlier in the day to throw off witnesses. Two birds with one stone, or sommat. It wasn’t an easy discussion, but the recent events had pushed and pull at Dung, and there was no choice left in his mind. Ros. Andromeda. Secret tribunals as the government fell into chaos. Benjy. Benjy. And even as all of those wore on him and worked him into a fervor he knew the most logical bit was the Azkaban breakout. It put everything into perspective with the dementor materials they’d found at Ulysses’ workshop. Of course he did. He brought the darkest of creatures off that rock to prey on innocents. More importantly, there was no safe place for those to be arrested and incarcerated anymore. So much for secure. It wouldn’t be right to say this was for any of those taken from him as he stepped out from the narrow split between two buildings and into the alley proper. With a shake his hand clenched around the cold, bone hilt of the weapon in pocket of his stolen cloak as he walked towards Toxic Tapers where his path would converge with another. This was larger, heavier, than anything he’d done in his life. High on his recent success, Ulysses felt better than he had in years. He’d helped to pull off one of the biggest, most successful Death Eater operations in recent memory, he had more - even bigger! - plans on the horizon, and his family appeared to be slightly less disappointed in him than usual. They were going on a trip! He’d come out of the pub after celebratory drinks with a spring in his step - what was one last drink before turning his luck around for good? Everything was coming up Burke. As he approached Toxic Tapers, oblivious to the fact that he was being followed, he whistled a jaunty tune. Contrast that with how Mundungus Fletcher felt his life was spiraling violently out of control. Things were getting worse, friends were dying, Death Eaters were emboldened and more rampant than ever, and what little optimism he may have clung to had been destroyed, shattered, over the past month. There was only one way to keep people like Ulysses Burke, Death Eater, from continuing on. Dung withdrew the Kindjali from it’s sheath. Agnes had provided the cursed weapon earlier in the week. Stepping inside a couple of other Knockturnians that were taking advantage of the early Knockturn hour to find a drinking hole or conduct reputable business. His palms were sweaty. So was his brow. For all Dung was, he wasn’t a violent criminal. Killing in combat was different than this, and yet he was going to go through with it. All it took was the thought that Ros, that Benjy, weren’t with them anymore. Killed by people like the man he’d just spied with a spring in his step, on top of the world at the thought of his misdeeds, to find that rage simmering once more. A good ten paces, and Dung’s hand moved in the low light as he readied himself. Five more paces. Two more. Dung withdrew the knife, accidentally pulling out some hissing cockroaches with it. The blade glinted for a brief second under a torch that helped illuminate the decrepit Toxic Tapers sign in the dingy light. The two men made contact as if they’d bumped into each other in a crowd, but there was no one else to avoid. One of them had purposely stepped into the other. The sharpened, cursed, double-edged blade slide easily through Burke’s cloak, and then into his skin, sticking with a slight twist to get between ribs. Dung withdrew it after a second as their eyes met, and then he continued on his way. There was a flicker of recognition, followed by the sudden realisation of what had just happened. What the fuck? What the fuck? The blade’s curse acted quickly, however, and Ulysses managed to stagger only a few steps further into the shadows as his blood froze. He collapsed beside the shop in a gutter he was no stranger to, a look of stunned surprise still frozen on his face. Within seconds, he lay still, except for the skitter of a hissing roach tucking itself into the folds of his robes. It was the last day of his life, but just another day in Knockturn. |