Gerald Avery (tenebrisme) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-21 20:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | evelyn mulciber, gerald avery |
WHO: Evelyn Mulciber, Gerald Avery, Morgan & Carol Robards
WHEN: Tonight, 1/21
WHERE: Their house
SUMMARY: The IC sends its regards to G. Robards
WARNINGS: Character death đ
The evening was still; snow-packed and silent, one of the last Winter had in store for Britain. And certainly the last in store for Gawain Robardsâ parents. The house was picturesque - a tumblestone cottage with a slick of smoke coming from the chimney - and one of those landscapes a budding painter might have chosen to represent old Britannia. But Gerald Avery could spot a counterfeit from 500 yards. He turned to his companion and offered a mild smile. âI await your word.â "Patience, Gerald." Evelyn took her time examining the wards. They were considerable and done well; there was no tearing through these without care. Robards the father was former DMLE, after all; he knew what he was doing and surely had an escape plan if he had any sense something was wrong. It took some time and immense concentration to bring each part down one by one. It was exhausting work, even shared between the two of them, but in the end, they could stroll right inside, still ready for a fight. "Shall we?" Gerald lent his wand, leaving Evelyn to the delicate spell work as he ensured that the space she had to work was clear in both bodies and magic. When the wards were disassembled, he smiled at her and gave a quick wave of his hand before his face. There, his silver mask covered his face and he turned his attention toward the door. Good, sturdy oak. It melted like wax, puddling into the sitting room, the contents seeking the people inside to trap them where they stood -- or sat. Gerald strode in and followed the path of the waxen door substance. The Robards family was enjoying a quiet evening at home, as it was, completely oblivious to the lurking danger about to enter their home. They had good wards, set up by their son, and beyond that they were blending in with muggle Cardiff. Nothing had happened for years. And yet, Morgan Robards felt tense. Maybe it was simply the paranoia getting to him, but his instincts had served him well in the DMLE. Always trust your instincts, heâd told Gawain countless times. Morgan closed the book heâd been reading, put it on his nightstand, and stood up from his armchair. âStay here, love.â He reached for his wand, and then turned to exit the living room. âMorgan, is—â âSomeoneâs here.â Carol made to extradite herself from her knitting. A locating spell brought the Death Eaters to the right room, meeting Morgan Robards at the door with a fiery curse. Evelyn, trusting her compatriot to complete his part of the task without her oversight or involvement, blasted a hole in the wall not far from the door Morgan was trying to defend. She stepped through it and in seconds was at Carol's side. Through her mask, her altered voice still rang icy clear. "Do as I say and we won't have to hurt you." âCarol!â Morgan cried, frantically looking over his shoulder at the sound of a Death Eater breaking through the walls. He made to go to his wife. But that thick, viscous substance which had been the Robardsâ front door, sprange forward at Geraldâs behest. With a flick of his wand, it trapped Morganâs feet and encircled him up to his knees. âNow that the ladies have their time, shall we do brandy and cigars, Morgan?â Gerald remembered Morgan Robards as a vital, energetic part of the DMLE and was, as such, prepared to do good battle with him to make the point that he and Evelyn had intended. âYou wonât be needing your wand, of course. Accio!â But Morganâs grip on the wand was firm despite the magical tugging against his grasp. âExpelliarmus!â he cried even as he fought against the Death Eaterâs spell. Morganâs attempt to disarm him was slashed away with a downward strike of his arm. It wasnât the first spell he would use in such a situation. But he didnât share the compunctions of purportedly noble people such as these. Disgusted, he now offered reprisal: âCrucio!â And short upon, he growled out âExpelliarmus!â For all his efforts during the pre-war period, Morgan had never tasted the Cruciatus curse. Heâd heard about it, of course. Tales and accounts by others, mostly Aurors and victims, of dark wizards. Nothing prepared him for the real thing. When he regained any form of control over himself, Morgan felt his throat burning raw, his nerves flaring up as if they were still under assault. He gasped for breath, and then his wand slipped away from his grasp. But he still stared up at the Death Eater from his position on the floor defiantly. Never back down. Gerald sighed. These Robards men. While he would have preferred to kill him slowly, sending piece after piece to Gawain, letting him stack his Wizengamot office high, there was such a thing as time. And if he were an officer of any calibre, heâd have charms to know when the wards were tampered with on his familyâs property. Such was the coin on a cord tied round Geraldâs wrist. He further estimated that Morgan would crack like a rotten egg with 5 more applications of the Cruciatus curse; first to sternum, then to joints, then to the soft and fleshy bits in his face. But to hasten without making haste was the name. As Morganâs wand floated into his grasp, he smiled. âJust like that, Morgan. Give your son something to strive for âŚâ And with a flourish of his wand, he cast a curse that would turn the man from flesh and blood to a statute made entirely of bronze. A nice, agonising way to go without all the pomp of the Killing Curse. âYou wonât—â Morgan growled, still fighting the after effects of a powerful Cruciatus curse. But that was before his flesh and bone began to change, tightening and hardening. And then nothing. Silence. There Morgan Robards knelt, hands fisted at his sides with that defiant glare. A job well done. He called into Evelyn ââ -- do ask the wife if sheâs got some spare parchment, wonât you? Otherwise, a strip of her shirt will do.â "Do as I say and we won't have to hurt you." Carol screamed, dropping her knitting needles, complete with half-finished scarf for her son Gawain, onto the floor in front of her. Sheâd barely had a chance to get to her feet before she was face to face with a second Death Eater. The dust from the wall blown inward still hung in the air giving the terroristâs swift motion to her side an even eerier quality. Her voice hitched in her throat leaving her unable to speak except for a strangled sound, and she trembled. "Well, that's a good start," Evelyn mused. She supposed she'd expected more of a fight from the woman, but fearful compliance would make her job easier, if a little bit less fun. She bore down on the woman, close enough that Carol would have no choice but to fall backwards into her chair again. "Sit down." There was a flicker of hesitation at the command, but eventually Carol complied, sitting down as if exhausted in her rocker. But as soon as the second Death Eater began to cast spells, she suddenly lunged for a knitting needle on the chair-side table, and made a move to shove it into the other womanâs thigh. And it hit, digging deep into Evelyn's flesh as she let out a strained cry. She forced her leg away from the woman's grasp. Blood trickled, then poured down her leg and fury burned through her. She forced her wand against Carol's throat. "That was stupid." In seconds, red-hot cords bound the woman's wrists to the arms of her rocking chair, her ankles one to the other. They tightened as they burned through the fabric of her sleeves and met the flesh below. Evelyn needed the time to tend to her stab wound; Carol's attack came far too close to important arteries to be ignored for long. The cords hissed against the womanâs skin as they bound her tightly to the chair, and Carol gave a muffled cry of pain. Struggling was futile, and she had no more objects within her grasp. There was only one card she could play: âMy son will come.â "Oh, Carol," Evelyn said with a mocking pity as she lied through her teeth. "We've already got him. You'll be with him soon enough." She held her breath and yanked the knitting needle out, then charmed some makeshift suturing over the wound. She glanced over at her compatriot and his challenger; she and her prey would have a little longer to wait, it seemed. "If you want to say goodbye, my dear, now is the time." Carol Robards wasnât stupid. She knew that trusting a Death Eater at their word was silly. And yet when the masked woman said those words something flickered in Carolâs eyes. Her worries for the past decades, especially in the last months, had lead her to believe that outcome was likely. âNo,â she breathed, barely a whisper. And then her husband started screaming under the Cruciatus curse, and Carol couldnât hold back any of her tears. Evelyn sighed dramatically. Leave it to Gerald to play with his food. "I really do mean it, you won't have much longer. Or, well, he won't." âYouâre animals,â Carol sobbed, but focused her attention on her defiant husband. âMorgan I love you! Hold on, please hold on—â The tears consumed her. Evelyn allowed the woman her tears as they watched Gerald's final flourishes. If it were to her, she would have preferred to kill the Robards who had actually done the offending himself, but the noble sort suffered more when someone else took their martyr mantle for them. Still, Carol would survive. For a time. â -- do ask the wife if sheâs got some spare parchment, wonât you? Otherwise, a strip of her shirt will do.â "Oh, I've just the thing," Evelyn preened. She limped toward the new statue (her leg still crying out from the blasted knitting needle) and produced a special prop she had brought just for this occasion. She handed him a ballot from the Nott/Robards election. âWondrous.â A short note scrawled on the ballot, meant to give Gawain all the more anxiety, indicated that his father had the better of it, and further suggesting he might get be saved. Giving both Carol and Evelyn a nod, Gerald gestured toward the door. âStow the Mum and I will leave it all the better for him, Evelyn dear.â Gerald was already weaving the spell; one that would bring the room to a controlled burn without bringing the structure down or melting the bronze father. âWell done.â âYou wonât, you canât—â Carol choked out, sobbing in earnest now. But her struggles subsided as the glow from Evelynâs wand allowed a surreal feeling of calm to roll over her. Everything was fine. |