marlene mckinnon: the firehappy herbologist (herbological) wrote in throwingstones, @ 2010-02-23 21:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! ic/ooc, [february 1979], aston mulciber, constantine travers, freya mckinnon, greta prewett, marlene mckinnon, rabastan lestrange |
Who: Rabastan Lestrange, Freya and Marlene McKinnon, Aston Mulciber, Greta Prewett, Constantine Travers
When: Tuesday night, 23 February 1979
Where: Valere Lestrange's holding cells
What: Death Eaters observing their poison victims
Rating: Puking and sickness and probably lots of swearing on Marlene's part, at least.
Status: IC/OOC log
Marlene wasn't sure if it was the smell or the overwhelming need to throw up that woke her up. Maybe it was both, or one lead to the other, but she realised very very quickly that she wasn't somewhere that she wanted to be. The cell she'd been placed in was tiny, not even wide enough for her to lay down straight in if she tried, and the walls and floor were covered with dirt and what she quickly realised were bloodstains, which only made the urge to vomit worse. There wasn't a toilet in the tiny holding cell, though -- just a small hole in the ground in one of the corners that probably lead to the sewer, based on the smell. Sitting up was a task in itself -- she was so tired and her skin was clammy and her entire body ached, and she didn't have the slightest clue how she'd gotten here. "HELLO?" Marlene yelled, her voice raw and hoarse as she tried the door. Locked. Oh god. Every panicked feeling possible ran through her head -- someone had recognized her the other night; they knew about the Order and that she was in it; they were going to torture her for information until she DIED; where was her sister?; where was she? Her hand immediately flew to her pocket for her wand. Not there. Neither was her portkey for Order missions (that was in her underwear drawer back at her flat) or her journal (which just seemed to be gone). "Fuck," she swore under her breath, trying to keep herself from panicking and fighting back the urge to throw up. She barely made it to the hole in the floor before the second happened. She crawled weakly to the door once she'd finished, resting her forehead against it as she tried (and failed) again to push it open. "Is anyone out there?" she called, curling her knees up and holding her stomach, trying to force the nausea away. "I don't know anything and would like to go home please." |