Who: Lane Coote and Kalen Sloper What: Arrest and Fighting. Where: At work and then a government approved home. When: During the day. Why: Because the government is tired of them... Rating: R for language. Status: INcomplete.
Kalen Sloper was beyond angry. In fact, angry was subtle in comparison to what he was feeling at the present moment, sitting there in a chair (though rather comfortable) that was not his own. After however many pairs he'd had, the Ministry had gotten tired of waiting for him to settle down enough to even look at Lane. So they'd acted rashly by forcing him from the SHOP to the Ministry of Magic where he was quickly tried for contempt--or something--and given the option of a year in Azkaban with dementors galore or cooperating with Lane. If he didn't look at the girl or hear her or pay attention to her at all, his life might work out unscathed. So he agreed to cooperate as the dementors swam around the room, their movements odd and corrupt. Dark, dank robes hiding horrible creatures under them, they looked as though passing through molasses. It terrified him to be in the same room, that fear feeding them in a way that made him irresistable. He'd attempted to shuffle his chair closer to Lane, to smell her shampoo and be reminded of life without fear as intense as right then, the room cold and unforgiving. But as he tried to move, an auror from the back shuffled the dementors away, their high pitched shrieks hurting his ears. They listened to no one--except, well, Lestrange.
He still hadn't recovered, wrapped in his favorite red sweater, his feet up on the chair, his body practically in fetal position. He wished Evan could have been there or Lee. Merlin, Lee would've kicked Ministry ass to protect him. His twenty-two year old cousin protecting her twenty-seven year old cousin. It seemed dumb, but it was the truth. Something rustled in another part of the room and he shifted his gaze to glance at Lane. He wanted to say something, but everything was weak and dumb. So he opted for silence.
And the silence reigned in their not-so-huge-but-not-so-small Ministry approved and watched and guarded apartment. The place came with warnings and instructions. He wished they came with an easy button, but it apparently was not so. With a sigh, he moved from the chair and slowly to the kitchen where he requested a bottle of firewhiskey from the cupboard, which it eagerly supplied, and poured himself a glass over ice cubes that wouldn't dissolve under the harsh burn of the liquid within.
Finally. "Do you want anything?" he called from his position in the kitchen, the yellow and white squares of tile underfoot made him feel like he was at his parents' house. If only. At least he'd have his dog if he were at home. Briefly, he wondered if Lane liked dogs.