"Oh, it's not that it's a bad idea. No, no, it was my idea so it's bloody brilliant, but if you get there here just to have them killed immediately, it's a lot of work for no gain." He scratched at his goatee and broke his gaze, looking up at the ceiling. "I suppose you could apparate with them, though you always run the risk that one may wind up being the newest piece of art deco in the hallway."
Slaves. It had been an off-kilter remark on his behalf, and really Rabastan felt there was little use them. While he didn't care to do his own housework -- or cooking -- or cleaning -- or any of that, really, he didn't really care to have someone indebted to doing it either. That led to resentment, which could lead to a rebellion... and then not only was there the Order to worry about, but an army of angry muggles with forks.
He forced himself to think about other things. Quidditch. Ah, there we go. No snogging there.