Who: Rabastan & Verity Where: His place When: Sunday evening What: Rabastan is both annoyed and bored Rating: Medium
Rabastan wouldn't call Verity embarrassing, but she was certainly annoying. It was incredibly annoying when other Death Eaters pointed out her insolence, but it was maddening when they blamed Rabastan for her behaviour. Did they really think he stood around watching when and what she wrote? The Dark Lord had provided these journals, that was good enough for him. Rabastan could hardly care less what the girl wrote. She was a slave, his slave, when all was said and done. Did he expect her to like it? No, most certainly not. Did he expect her to behave? No, or else she would have been smart enough to stay free. Both his and Rodolphus' slave were the exact same - loud mouthed imbeciles. Had they been a little less outspoken, they wouldn't have been made slaves. They had their own "sticking it to the man" to thank for that.
Like most weekends, Rabastan had been elsewhere. He travelled plenty, and he frequented clubs and took women to hotels. Rabastan had never cared for a wife, but he did not particularly enjoy being "alone". He enjoyed sex as much as the next man, and he wasn't the type to forgo call-girls. Therefore, Rabastan spent a lot of downtime in hotels, in and out of the finest clubs, and being seen at the best places. Tonight was Sunday, and he'd always made a rule to stay at home Sunday evenings. Alone, or with company. Tonight, Rabastan was alone.
"Girl!" he called, meaning the slave. He hated using her name; it just tasted of filth in his mouth. "GIRL!" he bellowed, annoyed she hadn't shown within seconds, "down here, NOW!" Rabastan's voice boomed through the manor, and though he didn't want her for anything in specific, he felt like playing with his food.