"Let's Paint the Town Red" - continued

[mrs_morsus]

(This thread is linked hereThe party had been a grand affair, even by Pureblood Malfoy standards. Millicent was entirely delighted with the evening so far, and most anxious to rejoin her fellow like-minded Purebloods as they decided on their next diabolical move. She had memorized the way here, in this very secluded and private spot, knowing

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[our_discontent]

Was it possible to freeze solid, the coldest and densest iceberg in the world, and at the same time to burn with all the fire of the angriest volcano?

That is how Draco Malfoy felt when dear Aunt Bellatrix touched him, inched her vice-like fingers over his shoulders and caused his nerve endings to spasm out of control. His body reacted of its own accord, no matter how much control he issued over fiercely from his mind. It was useless against her touch-she was the familiar and ominous black widow, and her venom paralysed the senses.

Shoved rudely into the heady midst of the upcoming display, Draco was loathe to show any weakness. But he spared a narrow glance over his shoulder at his aunt. All his life she had taken far too many liberties with him. He feared her more than he could express. But with this fear came insurmountable hatred. It boiled within him now, restrained by his grooming, his lifetime of polish and political poise (even if it never reached his father’s standards).

One day there would be a retribution against her, too. He would bide his time and do as they wished, planning, fortifying. Coalescing his many selves into the next, dark phase.

Draco turned toward this Ministry leader, this political tool who had entirely too much sway over the government for one so tainted, so vile. That was the storyline, wasn’t it? The thesis? He was an ideal start-someone the others looked to for an example, someone in which they took great pride, who had won great merit with the public. He was, in effect, an inspiration. After tonight, he would surpass all this. He would inspire so much more, Draco knew. He would see to it, as would the others. This was the narrative. Draco smiled grimly into the shadow of the plot before him, gazing up at the sagging figure suspended by chains.

“Look at you,” he murmured quietly, his voice slithering outward in mockery as he stepped closer, “just look at you. Exalted as ever, bearing down upon your populace, ready to lead, swift to act. Lead, you will.” Draco tilted his head to one side and aimed his wand at the man’s protruding ribs-when had he drawn it? His movements were too subtle while he had been speaking. In a mere moment, he conducted a silent hex, and the victim jolted into an animate demonstration of anguish as if electrocuted. Volt upon volt shot through him, and his body shuddered, reacting.

“Act, you will,” said Draco, satisfied. But not nearly fulfilled. “A new role of leadership awaits you, pigmy,” he drawled. “You have something to teach wizarding society. A very dire situation is at hand-the people are corrupted, and in turn commit atrocities against their own kind. You are one of these atrocities, you must know that,” and he aimed his wand higher, uttering a spell that caused the man’s face to contort in a hideous fashion.

“We, benevolent motivators that we are, give you the chance to absolve yourself. With this chance, you will do our wonders.” And Draco smiled a very strange and unsettling smile after quoting the muggle Bible itself, turning its own words against it. The reading he had done lately was interesting enough, and he thought it only appropriate in the manner of insulting the muggles and mudbloods themselves. He would go full stop in this scheme. He had to, didn’t he.

He paused with a calm hand resting on his cane (still very much in costume save for the abandon of his mask), giving any other party member the chance to contribute.

[mrs_morsus]

Millicent was impatient. Impatient to act, impatient to feel the man suffer under her unregistered wand, and impatient to see at least some part of the Death Eater cause, the superiority of Purebloods, survive the death of their Dark Lord. While the delicious Lucius put forth suggestions like a Chairman of the Board in his own private Board Room, and Bella LeStrange used the opportunity to reacquaint herself with family, Millicent kept her focus on the prey at hand, ignoring their words and posturing, she listened only to the rapid beating of her own heart at the thought of renewed pleasures too long abandoned.

She didn’t care what targets were chosen, nor what acts this tool of their destruction was cursed to perform. She only cared, for the moment, that they actually accomplished something. It had been far too long since the Death Eaters had played a role, any role, in their own society or destiny. This, at least, could be a first step. For this reason alone had she risked being out after her curfew. She’d apparated back to Morsus Mansion to make sure her registered wand was showing as “present and accounted for” at one of her chosen locations. She wanted this business attended to without delay.

Draco, acting at the daring urging of his Aunt, finally raised a wand in pain against the victim. She had hoped it would be Montague as she felt more of a vicarious thrill at such actions when it was her husband who tortured their prey, but it had been too long of a drought for her to care at the moment. When Draco finished, she stepped up to take a turn.

“As the Ministry appears to favour jewelry, perhaps you’d like some decorations of your own.” She flicked her wand in the air and growing welts filled with searing pain appeared around the throat, ankles and wrists of this lesser being, making the shackles he wore additional instruments of pain and suffering as they compounded the injuries she caused him. As the man cried out with it she turned to hide her satisfied smug expression behind the antique fan she still carried. A careful observer could detect her sadistic thrill from the shine of it in her eyes as they peered out from behind her obscuring mask.

[la_morte_bella]

A smirk crawled across Bellatrix's face as the small dungeon was filled with the sounds of screaming. It was particularly those noises caused by her nephew that caused a particular swell of pride, though she'd never admit it. They had so much to work on still. He was severely lacking in the qualities that made a Death Eater great. But, perhaps, he had promise still. Perhaps.

She waited patiently in the corner as each dark figure in the room took their turn at the shackled lump of a man, each one trying to make the screams they earned the loudest. It was truly a sight to see. Nostalgic. Only her and Lucius, however, were old enough to remember the old days. But this was so much like it. Bellatrix could still hear the voice of their Lord as sharp and clear as crystal in her ear. He was their conductor, choosing who would go next, who had made him the proudest, and in the end it was he who made the final (and usually fatal) blow.

But now, it was Bellatrix who took that role.

When the screams had died down she took her first steps forward. A knife had been pilfered from the nearby table Lucius had arranged so proudly, a sorry replacement for the wand she couldn't use. It would do for now.

She stood behind the slumped figure of the once proud auror. A pathetic sight-- the grown man weeping. His noises stopped abruptly as she neared. She was close enough that he'd be able to feel her presence. No word or chilling breath necessary. His spine went rigid as he could feel the pressure of the sharp blade against the fabric of his costume. The threads separated easily under the sharp point of the blade, all the way down, until the fabric hung limply from his torso.

"Don't cry," Bellatrix spoke softly, her bare fingers ghosting over the exposed skin. "It's unbecoming of a man." And with her words her fingers curled, cutting into the tender skin with the sharp of her fingernails. Despite her orders, he still screamed, and screamed again as her hand moved down his back, taking layers of skin with it.

"Disgusting excuse for a wizard. You disappoint your own kind." She said in a whisper. Though everybody in the room could hear her, she spoke only for the man in front of her, her lips inches from his ear. "I bet you forgot what it was like to be afraid. To truly fear. But you remember it now, don't you?" Warmth began to pour over her fingers, down the back of her hand. It was a sinful feeling, one that stirred her insides. It was a sweet harmony to hear each drop hit the floor.

With a gentle sigh she pulled her hand away from his wounds. Streaks of his own blood decorated the once beautiful costume as her fingers trailed along the fabric while she circled him. "It won't be the only present you receive from us. Oh no." She stilled just in front of him. Her hand rose to tilt his chin up, leaving red smudges on pale skin. "You'll have the pleasure of reminding others of what you're feeling now." With the quick movement of a muscle, her hand was gone, leaving his head to fall back down against his arm.

Bellatrix's attention turned to the shackles that held him. The tip of her knife was pressed in the first one, turning the rusty lock until it clicked, and the metal open. His arm fell to his side as though it had long been dead. "Muggle sympathy has started to become an overwhelming weed amongst us, don't you agree?" she asked, tracing the edge of the collar with her red fingers. "Not that it matters if you do or not. It will still be you who attacks them-- who will destroy their lives. It's a great honor, to be chosen for such a task."

At her comment, the auror shook his head. It caused a frown to crease Bellatrix's features. In a sudden swift movement, the tip of her blade was plunged into the man's shoulder. Not fully, but a couple inches deep, into the muscle, causing the man to scream. Just as quickly, the knife was pulled from him. "You bloody fool." She said, shaking her head. She moved again, and he flinched, just as he should. But she didn't move to hurt him. Rather, she unlocked the second shackle. He fell into a pile on the floor. The remains of a man.

[la_morte_bella]

"You will do it," Bellatrix said softly, crouching down beside him. "You will attack who and where we say, starting with that pathetic excuse of a shop this... Hannah owns. And you will wait for our word, ever day, praying to whomever you believe in that one of us doesn't come and kill you while you sleep." She stood, dropping the knife beside him, stained with his own blood and rust from his shackles. "We always get our way."

Bellatrix's eyes lifted to the man in the doorway. He'd remained silent during their parade. When, exactly, he'd arrived, or even if he was at the party was anyone's guess. But he was there, and with a nod from the Death Eater he stepped forward, a wand at the ready.

"Imperio!"