regulus black is in ur DEz, stealin ur sekritz. (sparethenheir) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2009-08-10 20:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !group, *death eaters, marcus yaxley, regulus black |
RP Log: Marcus Yaxley, Regulus Black, Margaret Burbage & Assorted NPCs
Who: Marcus Yaxley, Regulus Black, Margaret Burbage, and assorted NPC DEs Macnair, Avery, Gibbon, and Travers
When: 10 July 1980; early-evening
Where: Cardiff: Wales
What: A Muggleborn's mother is made an example.
Rating: R for violence
Status: COMPLETE
Y ddraig goch ddyry cychwyn. Everyone who'd ever been to Cardiff knew what that meant. It was plastered and etched and scratched on walls and rock and gravel all around the city, though no one really paid any mind. Margaret Burbage eyed the carved stone outside of Pete's market as if she'd never noticed it before, and funny, she really couldn't remember it once. Perhaps ole Pete had hidden it behind produce, or maybe dust and mud had made the mouldings its home until he'd decided to give it a good hosing down. Whatever ignorance had brought Margaret to pause didn't matter, the fact remained that it was a good pause, what with her old hip giving her trouble. The summer time was especially bad for it, the heat always setting the muscles aflame. Even her cane didn't help much, but by God, she could still walk even if she was in pain, and that's what she intended to do after this quiet little break. Then again, winter was just as bad, joints locking up. The red dragon will lead the way. Charity had once told her mother that there were a great many dragons in Wales, so many that they'd created a preserve for them some centuries ago in the mountains. For the longest time, Margaret wondered if Cardiff's motto wasn't something literal twisted into metaphor when the Wizarding World went underground. Except, Charity had told her proudly one summer when she'd come home from that funny school that made her so happy, that Welsh dragons were green. So much for that. Margaret continued her old-lady-with-a-hip-problem pace, shuffling down the street to the small row of houses she'd lived in since Charity had been born. The war and hard times had seen little in this neighbourhood change except the people. They'd been lucky, however, they survived the Cardiff Blitz with minimal damage, where Llandaff Cathedral hadn't been so lucky. Margaret had refused to leave, despite having a wee one to take care of and one on the way. This was home, and always would be. It was nothing special; in fact, it was very plain and brown. It would mostly go unnoticed without the help of any charms. With a jingle of keys, Margaret noted that Charity had gone out somewhere. She'd been there when she'd gone to the shops, or had she mentioned that she was going out? Probably to help those poor Muggle parents who needed convincing that Hogwarts (and the Wizarding World) was safe for their children. Or maybe, if Margaret was lucky, she had gone to see Caradoc. A mother could hope, she told herself despite that it had been years since hope could even be possible. Marcus knew the plan. Kill the Mudblood Burbages' mother and send up the Dark Mark. He was ready for this, ready to do more than just cause chaos and to prove once and for all that he was a Death Eater like the rest of them. He could do that by killing her himself, it was as simple as that. However, he wasn't the only one sent to take care of this and Marcus had to consider what the others wanted to do, how they wanted to kill her. He was glad that this little event was taking place at a time he should have been at work. Although he had left early to come to Cardiff, the chances were he'd be called back to obliviate any muggle witnesses of the Dark Mark. It would be such a shame to erase those memories. Even muggles should fear them as much as the wizarding world already did. Despite wanting to be in Cardiff rather than work at the moment, Marcus wanted to be home with his wife and daughter. Ultimately, he was doing this for them as a means of protection. For him, today was going to be the proof that one should be on the same side as the Death Eaters, not against them. They didn't have much longer to wait to do their jobs as Mrs. Burbage came home. Regulus Black, on the other hand, was hoping to be oblivated himself. All morning his stomach had roiled at the thought of his upcoming task. He had assured himself that Mrs. Burbage must be some sort of important person to warrant an execution, but as soon as he saw the small lady hobbling up the walkway, a wave of slow-moving horror washed upon him. He felt blood rushing to his head, his fingers loosening around his wand. An important person? This was a little old lady. Surely there had been some mistake. Regulus looked out of the corner of his eye to gauge the others' surprise, but they didn't falter. Marcus remained steady. MacNair's eyes were narrow beneath his mask. There had been no error: this was Burbage's mum, and this is who they were to kill. A little old lady. Regulus felt his lips thin, and he stayed put. If anyone was going to make the first move, it wouldn't be him. There had to be some vital piece of information that he'd missed. Surely there had to be a reason to murder this woman in particular? No, not murder - he mustn't think of it as murder. He needed to think of it as cleansing. Regulus swallowed as she fumbled with her keys. Gibbon nudged Regulus in the side, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. This would be so bloody easy, and that damned Mudblood would be out of the way for a while. Maybe she wouldn't even be able to continue on with life and end it all in some dramatic way. One less bit of trash in their world. Margaret set her keys in the little dish filled with marbles on the table near the front door. Somewhere in the house, a cat meowed, alerted to its owner's arrival. Unfortunately for the cat, it would never see its owner as Gibbon had locked it in the toilet. Maybe he was a Death Eater, but he wasn't MacNair, and he knew that Walden would have had too much fun torturing it. They were not here to play with the pussy, after all. Maybe Margaret sensed that something was off -- from the cat's meow or just the way that blind people sense that others are around -- but she clutched her cane just a little tighter. "Charity? Love, I thought you were out for the evening?" Xavier was going to let the younger Death Eaters take care of this and was mostly there to be sure that the job was done, first with the death and then the Dark Mark. This was going to be just one of many and he hoped that his daughter's husband would be one of the many as well. He doubted that this would take very long, with the six of them and only one of her. Travers was ready to do it now, after all the older woman was home now. He looked at the others, not sure if it was time begin. Well, whether it was time or not, he was going to make the first move. Marcus had to admire Travers. He had expected Avery to tell them when to go, as he was the oldest. It didn't matter. He wasn't the first one to make any movement, although he was doing rather well with hiding the nervousness that had come over him. Not much longer now. Macnair grunted. What he lacked in intelligence and patience he more than made up for in good old-fashioned bloodlust. With all the finesse of a caveman, he raised his wand and fired off a blasting curse. There, that'd alert the old bird that something was off beyond her Mudblood daughter not being 'round. Margaret Burbage had seen her daughter manage a fair number of spells, but never a Blasting Curse, and never so near her head. Fairly screaming, she lunged around as best she could with her bad hip, holding her cane with both hands in front of her. "Who's there? What have you done with my daughter? Come out so I can see you!" She was a feisty thing, Gibbon decided, grinning once more from ear to ear. He'd just about been ready to pop MacNair a good one for going out of turn, without the order, but this was much more fun, scaring the pants of the woman. With a giddy laugh, Gibbon piped up, "Your daughter's dead." Sure, she wasn't -- at least not yet -- but the old woman didn't know that. "Just like you're gonna be." Following Macnair's lead, Travers fired off a blasting curse of his own. Scaring the woman before killing her was going to be fun. He decided his next move was going to take the cane away from her, not that it was going to help her against them. Leaving her "defenseless" would make it even easier. Gripping his own wand, Marcus cast the Cruciatus Curse. He might as well join in with this curse as everyone else's curse was meant to torment the woman. The torture curse was fitting for the situation and he had a feeling that Macnair and Gibbon would probably use the curse as well. "We will have you begging for death." He looked over at Regulus after he spoke, expecting him to do something as well. But the heir to the Black family did nothing - he stood as still as a Muggle portrait, his eyes wide and his breath hitching strangely in his chest. For as motionless as Regulus appeared to be, his thoughts tumbled one over the other like rats trying to escape the swell of the ocean. She's just an old woman. She's nothing important at all. Just a helpless nothing. As Mrs. Burbage began to scream, Regulus unconsciously drew his hands toward his ears, as if the action might blot out the horrific sound. Just an old woman. "What are you doing?" he yelled much more loudly than he'd intended. "Stop it! Stop it! We're supposed to kill her, not..." torture her "...wait for someone to hear the commotion! This isn't what was intended!" Gibbon had to agree. It was one thing to toss around threats, quite another to actually start torturing her without a good spell to keep the rest of the Muggles from hearing it. The woman screamed, and though it was fitting and proper for filth to screech like there was no tomorrow, Gibbon waved his wand in a wide circle over his head, and every single noise outside of the tiny flat disappeared. "That's better," he grunted, glaring in Marcus's direction. "Fuckin' tosser." Merlin, he really hated these first-timers sometimes. He gave Black a good hard shove in the woman's direction, nearly knocking the teenager off his feet in the process. Regulus stumbled forward; he'd not been paying a whit of attention to Gibbons' whereabouts. He'd not been paying attention to anything, really, but the contorted face of Mrs. Burbage. Macnair gave another grunt, secretly wishing that he'd been the one to have cast that Cruciatus Curse. Still, however green that Yaxley kid was, he showed some guts, which was more than some of the Dark Lord's followers. Maybe Puffs weren't a waste after all. "C'mon then, don't go soft on us," he said lazily to the Black kid just standing there, his eyes flashing wide beneath the mask. Margaret Burbage could only think of one thing -- one stupid and ridiculous thing -- as every nerve in her body was aflame. The red dragon will lead the way. Why, she had absolutely no idea, but when you could barely crawl in the direction on the one who was tormenting you, could barely feel the end of his robes between your fingers, your mind played tricks on you. Gibbon merely laughed, smirking beneath his Death Eater's mask and took a step back. What a good way to induct the youngest Black into the circle. By the time that Regulus realised that Mrs. Burbage was crawling toward him it was already too late. His robes were in her shaking fingers, and he couldn't look away no matter how much he willed himself. The lack of sound was worse than hearing her scream. Her mouth worked, her eyes pleaded, but there was nothing but the sound of Macnair's boots on the floor, the yowling of Mrs. Burbage's trapped cat, and his own panting breath. If Regulus could have apparated on the spot without being murdered for disloyalty he would have. He would have closed his eyes and thought about a place far, far, away, and would never have come back. Macnair grunted. This was a right disappointment. So much for the perfection of the Black family name. "Too good to join in? Very well. Yaxley?" Fine. He'd make up for his mistake. Marcus rolled his eyes. Even when he thought he was doing something right, it still turned out wrong. "Avada Kedavra." At least he had it in him to do the killing himself. Better than Black not doing anything. After the woman was dead, Xavier looked over at Regulus. "Will you put up the Dark Mark, Black?" The boy had to do something and this was easy enough. If not, he could easily do it himself. "Our work is done here." Regulus blinked slowly, as if he was waking from a nightmare. There lay a weight on his expensive shoes, and that weight was a dead woman. Her fingers still twitched though her heart had stopped beating, and even in death her eyes were wide. Pleading. Accusing. The others were asking something of him. It took him several moments to figure out what. Regulus swallowed, his throat as dry as if he'd been the one to be screaming. Raising his arm into the air, he intoned: "Morsmordre." Any of the Death Eaters who had previously worked with Gibbon would know that he had a fancy for setting the scene, and since the old bag's face was twisted in the middle of a scream, he thought this was as good a time as any to leave his mark. With a boot-covered toe, he shoved the body over until the old woman was flat on her back. Then with his wand, he carefully arranged her hands against her cheeks as if she was in a real life version of Edvard Munch's The Scream. Once the writhing snake was in the air, Gibbon gave a throaty chuckle and lifted his Silencing spell. All around them the sounds of the Cardiff streets came alive. Car horns, people shouting, music, someone's television was blaring the news of the kingdom. Bet this was one bit of news they wouldn't be covering. "Let's get the fuck out of here," Gibbon grunted, poised to take off at any moment, only waiting for Avery to give the word. Xavier wasn't at all surprised by what Gibbon did, having witnessed it several times before. It wasn't something he felt necessary, but to each his own. He nodded his head towards the others. "Lets go," he said, agreeing with Gibbon. Xavier was more than ready to return to his own home and soon after the words left his mouth, he disapparated. Marcus and Travers followed suit, neither wanting to stay in the muggle woman's house for longer than they were needed. Marcus was rather glad it was over with. He wanted to go home and relax after having killed his first person that afternoon. Regulus Black, on the other hand, was really quite certain that he'd never be able to relax again. |