layla 'double betrayla' fairbourne (boundless) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-24 16:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | layla fairbourne, mary francine goldstein |
WHO: Layla Fairbourne and Francine Goldstein.
WHAT: As the pressure mounts Layla gets desperate, but Francine’s not having any of it.
WHEN: 24 January, evening!
WHERE: Francine’s flat.
WARNINGS: Violence!
Robed and masked, and sitting in the chair Francine used at her writing desk, Layla waited for her best friend to come home. Impatiently. Things were rapidly spinning out of control for Layla, and she didn’t precisely know what to do anymore. She had a few gambits left — like this — to use. The waiting made things worse. Now she had to contend with her guilt of soiling Francine’s sanctuary as a Death Eater rather being a friend, her guilt that she was going to be heavier handed than ever before, and the fact that she sorely didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t simply Francine, it was all her friends, all of them had targets on their backs and any goodwill she’d stockpiled and was using to block attempts on them was rapidly expiring in the Death Eater’s ranks. And now, now, she didn’t know what Selwyn was playing at, if anything. Even if there was earnest affection that hadn’t stopped Richenza from happily, and un-guiltily, suggesting to boggart Francine. She was fucked, basically. Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. Maybe, just maybe, Francine would understand or take this as a final warning. It was all Layla felt she could do right now even if it wasn’t likely to work. For someone who prided herself on her excellent investigative skills, it took too long for Francine to notice that she had an unwelcome visitor. She had puttered about in the front hallway, then ducked into the small kitchen to put together a sandwich, and then made her way to her room before she finally realized that she wasn't alone. Sitting at her desk — HER DESK — was a Death Eater. Acting on instinct, the ham and cheese sandwich she had just made and was clutched in her hand was launched right at the intruder as Francine shrieked. "GO AWAY!" Layla let the sandwich hit her in the chest and then fall to the ground in pieces. If she hadn’t been so at the end of her rope she might have been amused, but now. Her wand, already in her hand since she’d heard Francine come home some time ago, flicked in her friend’s direction to summon her wand. A second flick had the bedroom door slamming closed. “I’m not going to hurt you, but we need to have a serious chat.” "I don't want to chat with you, WILHELM, and I don't want to HAVE SEX WITH YOU," Francine snapped, rushing to the door and trying to pull it open, only to find that it was locked. But she wasn't going to panic. She was Francine Goldstein and she had once spent two hours locked in a trunk once and if she hadn't panicked (that much) then, then she wasn't going to panic now. Besides, it was Willy Locke. She could just kick him and break a window to leave. “What?” Layla spat, incredulous tone seeping into her words. “I’m not fucking Willy Locke!” She stood up and only barely restrained herself from stalking across the room and smacking Francine upside the head. “One, I’m female, two, I shower daily.” This was serious business, and they needed to get past this stupidity before it was derailed— "Great disguise, then," she said, with a roll of her eyes that covered up how impressed she actually was that he had gone to these lengths. He'd never have to know the truth. "Who helped you out? Bellatrix Lestrange?" Francine rattled the door handle again, as if the sheer effort she exerted in trying to open the locked door would actually open the locked door. "Let me OUT." “It’s not a disguise, for fucks sake,” Layla snarled, taking a few strides towards where Francine was struggling with the door. Another flick of her wand had the door sealing further; there would be no leaving until Layla got through to her friend. She’d stay here all night if need be. “Take a seat, Francine,” she said, gesturing now with her free hand (keeping her wand away from her friend, of course) towards the chair she’d vacated. “Do you really think you can keep going on as you are without something worse happening?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Francine hissed, smacking the offered hand away and crossing her arms defiantly. The adrenaline that came with the anger was overpowering any fear that had also emerged, and being this close to a Death Eater (especially if it was maybe Willy Locke) felt like nothing. Francine’s slap didn’t hurt her gloved hand, but Layla recoiled it nonetheless. A split second of staring dumbly at her enraged friend melted away as her own anger surged. “This!” she spat. “This is what I’m talking about! I know you know this isn’t a game. They—” Layla didn’t notice her word choice in the heat of the moment “— will kill your mum, your dad, Daniel, have the Carrows torture Anthony, and then when you’re broken, they’ll maybe kill you. You need to stop this—” Because I can’t protect you anymore, she wanted to scream “— before it’s too late—” It was barely a decision in the split second she made it: propelling herself towards the Death Eater, tackling her down, and hitting anywhere she could reach while avoiding her flailing arms. Lacking any finesse in her attack, Francine was reduced to a series of aimless slaps in the midst of wrestling for the Death Eater's wand. "SHUT UP," she commanded, practically shouted. "I'm not scared of you or anyone else so just shut up about my family!" The move had caught Layla off guard, and so Francine barrelling into her took her off her feet, toppling her over and slamming onto the ground on her back with her friend on top of her. “Stop—” she sputtered, one arm trying to grab ahold of Francine’s own flailing wrists while she used the other — holding her wand — to block any incursions near her mask. “Would you ow!” One of Francine’s arms or elbows or fingers or something jabbed painfully between one of her ribs. Enough was enough. Layla had always been much more athletically inclined than her dormmate, and so she brought up a knee, folded, and pressed it to Francine’s chest as leverage to shove her off, roughly. The Death Eater was up in an instant once Francine’s weight was gone, and she breathed heavily underneath the mask, fuming. “Anyone else would be using, would—” she snapped, more to remind herself that she wouldn’t use anything right now. Her wand stayed in her grasp, but she made no move to curse her friend. She refused. And that lead to her swallowing her guilt. She shouldn’t have to be here doing this, either. “Don’t be scared of me, whatever, be scared of what they can and will do, for fucks sake!” The move caused Francine to fall back onto the floor, her limbs sprawled all over, knocking against the floor painfully. She scrambled up, fuming, and stared at the Death Eater with wide, angry eyes and her mouth set in a hard line. "If I'm not scared of you, I'm not scared of anyone else in your STUPID CLUB!" “It’s not a club!” Layla stopped herself, eyes blazing through the slits at her friend’s impertinence, before she got suckered into whatever Francine was doing to derail this from the point. And then, recognizing that look on her friend’s face, she flicked her wand again sticking Francine’s feet to the floor. “Why?” she challenged, then, desperate to find a way into Francine’s mindset to figure out how to make this stop before it was too late and Bellatrix, or Nott, or Montague, did something she couldn’t undo. Unable to move and trapped between a locked door and a Death Eater HELLBENT on lecturing her, Francine finally felt the fear that she'd suppressed under the rage and it took several deep breaths to reel it back in. Who knew what the Death Eater would do if she knew she was actually scared out of her MIND? Scoffing, she turned her nose up at her. "Because I'm just not. I've met scarier people walking to the shop." “No, you haven’t.” Layla began to pace, and then crossed her arms before… uncrossing them. Totally at a loss with herself of how to get through to Francine. Because frankly if she wouldn’t admit she was scared, especially if it didn’t stop her from fighting back, there was nothing she could do. And that thought hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. The fear creeped up the Death Eater’s spine — she didn’t want anything to happen to Francine. And yet, by the same token, she had to admit the fact that Francine wouldn’t cave was somehow wonderful. Even if it wasn’t helping things. “You’re going to burn yourself out, Francine.” "Please," Francine said, her fist clenching. "You don't know me at all then. I never give up." A large part of the Death Eater wanted to shout that she knew her better than almost everyone else in the world, and that was why she knew it would crush Francine if anything more happened to her mum, or the rest of her family. Thankfully the more rational part stayed in control. “I didn’t say give up, I said be burned out. Defeated. Depressed. Down and out. Whatever you want to call it.” "So? That's what you want!" She shouted, wishing that she could've paired that with a well-aimed headbutt. Francine tried to pull her feet out of its cursed state, tugging them with a force that was immediately exhausting. It didn't make sense what was happening — why the Death Eater was trying to talk to her, why she wasn't torturing or killing her, why she was just standing there, almost disappointed. She wanted to know why and to figure that out, without asking the Death Eater, she would need time to think, away from this trap. "Now," she continued, through gritted teeth, "if you're done doing… WHATEVER this is, let me go." Layla stared, a cocktail of emotions she couldn’t even begin to decipher. It was lucky it was hidden behind the mask — maybe that’s why they wore them? Francine was wrong, she definitely did not want any of that to happen to Francine, but saying so would put a nail in her coffin, and that would only do the very thing to Francine that she was trying to avoid. So she made to leave, a weave unsealing the door with a hiss. “Fine, as promised, I’m not hurting you. Death Eaters keep their promises, so remember that for what I said comes next.” Francine scoffed again, an exaggerated loudness to it, and ignored her words. Layla opened it, stepped into the living room. A loud crash followed by a scream, and then: “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!” "The fuck" was, in fact, a sock that, if stepped upon, started eating away at the shoe, and in the midst of the Death Eater's hasty departure, Francine couldn't even delight in the fact that one of her traps had gotten her. Or, she couldn't delight in it as much as she wanted to. "It's what you DESERVE," she shouted smugly, trying to turn around so she could etch the sight of a Death Eater falling into her trap into her memory forever. Layla was kicking her leg frantically — while struggling to keep her balance on one leg, but the stubborn sock refused to let go. She ended up banishing it into a wall with her wand, hopping one leg and nearly teetering over. Mortified, the Death Eater huffed, tossed Francine’s wand back to her, and then apparated out with a Pop. |