(Untitled)

[lestrangestone]

Who: Bellatrix lestrangestone , Heine stray_gunner 
When: Sometime after this post
Where: Just outside the Outlander Block.
Format: I'll start with paragraph, but I'm adaptable?
What: Bella's skulking around. Apparently so is Heine?
Warnings: Possible (ha!) violence.

Comments

[stray_gunner]

It's cool outside - chilly, almost, and enough to make him pull on a jacket that partially obscures the guns hanging off of the back of his belt. Heine doesn't mind most weather, really. Resistance to illness came with the package, the whole spine implant.

It was one thing he could thank the old hag for, at least.

The rest of it? Well, after all this time, maybe he'd be better off dead.

Heine snorted quietly in irritation and continued down the street, trying to shake off such thoughts. And it was on this road that he caught sight of the woman kicking what appeared to be a dead body.

Not appeared. If that man wasn't dead, then he was an idiot.

Well. Others might argue with him on that point, but Heine just scowled and gave the woman a once over. Disheveled, maybe, but she didn't look terribly threatening...

But appearances could be deceiving, so he walked towards her warily and not without a few misgivings.

"How did you kill him?" is the first thing he asks. He can't pretend he's not interested - he doesn't see any injuries, and killing has been his business, after all.

[lestrangestone]

She turns, caught off guard by the presence of another, and ...unused to being caught off guard, as such.

Heel prodding one more time against the crisp-cut edge of a pinstriped hem, before she steps the slightest bit toward the ...boy?

More than a boy, perhaps? Yes. Young man, older than Draco. Thin. So pale. Almost ghostly in the darkness here. And doing what? Skulking about under cover of night? Unafraid?

It was becoming (painfully?) clear to her that this was not the world she knew.

Forge in one hand, screen dark and silent, and her eyes flicker over it before catching the young man's gaze. Fingers of her other hand twitching against her wand.

"How did I kill him. I'm not sure I did ...entirely. He left the game early. Spoilsport."

She pouts, holds out her forge, and tilting her head a fraction, asks "...can you put the pieces back together again?"

[stray_gunner]

Heine's eyes narrow, red and almost gleaming in the darkness. They focus easily on the woman - senses trained to zero in on an opponent, on prey.

You should kill her now, the dog says almost thoughtfully. But he knows that the dog doesn't think, it only moves and rips people (a girl) to shreds.

So he shrugs uncomfortably, trying to get rid of the twinge of pain (almost ticklish, almost playful) from his back.

"Maybe he didn't want to play," he points out, hooking his thumb through a belt loop. "Maybe he thought you... didn't play fair."

The black dog laughs and whispers something, you don't play fair either, and he sighs quietly, maybe at the voice, maybe at the broken Forge.

"I'm not the best at doing stuff like that. You could just ask on the - no, wait, if it's broken, then - just ask around. I'm not your caretaker, do it yourself." He frowns, conscious of the fact that he's talking to a killer. Admittedly, it's true the other way around, but he can tell that this woman is even less stable than he is - at the moment.

[lestrangestone]

She watches his face change. The subtleties beneath the skin, and the incarnadine glow of his eyes. The eyes. They almost remind her of someone.

In the end they don't, because she's distracted. Uncomfortable. She's not used to feeling ...afraid?

No. Impossible again. Not here. This was nothing but a test.

"I asked this man." She lets the wand (not hers, not fitting in her palm as it should) point toward the corpse as she takes another step in the pale boy's direction. "I asked him ...several times. Do you know, he almost seemed ...afraid of this little thing?" Fingers closing around the forge again.

A puff of cold air from her nostrils as she blinks. She arches a brow at his impertinence. His---

Lack of respect.

"Myself? Why should I? It's clearly not magical. It's ...something else." And she almost trails off completely, her gaze dropping for just a moment as her voice lowers to an irritated whisper, " Are you of noble blood? Even so, you'd do well to respect your elders, child."

But it's back to his eyes again, and she's smiling on the last syllable. "You're saying you can't help me? Or you ...won't?"

[stray_gunner]

He's used to talking to shooters, to knife-wielding crazies, to the smiling suited men who are more than they appear. A sensation not unlike the scraping of nails on chalkboard makes his fingers twitch, and Heine pushes down the curious dog within.

Don't let her say anything more, but he only adjusts his footing so that he can stand more firmly. A slow breath, and then the dog quiets, slowly, too unwillingly.

If you'd only let me -

"It shouldn't be broken already. I can only guess that you were the one to do something to it." His tone is clipped and harsh, and he looks decidedly uneasy - her voice is as slow as hers, as calm, as deceiving.

So he only snaps another reply, arms crossed and shoulders slightly hunched, a stray animal with its hackles up.

"Yeah, well. Find someone." Her use of the word 'magical' makes him narrow his eyes again, and he tenses at her smile. "Both," Heine mutters, and he's already turning away.

Bad idea, master, the dog sings, but Heine is uncomfortably aware that it would be so, so easy to just wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze, but he doubts that the woman is defenseless and the dog wonders why the man is dead and would probably smell it, like a real dog, and he's heard somewhere that some dogs eat dead bodies, to save space and energy, so he wants to get out of the alley and away from the woman and fast.

Instead he turns back and says, "You might want to not kill so freely. So... obviously."

[lestrangestone]

"I ...might not want to..." she breathes lowly, almost singsong, her grip on the forge turning her knuckles paler still. The shadows show that her thumb is bleeding as it presses against the now cracked screen.They may show true, or they may not. It matters little.

What matters most is that her amusement and her interest have faded. Something dismissive in the young man's tone, reminiscent of--

Sirius?

That disgraceful ...dog's good and dead. Won't be long before his nephew follows!

No. not Sirius. Sirius, nor Potter (and the sneer is evident on her face as his name is recalled) were here. And neither, at the moment, was Lord Voldemort. What was here was a spectral looking youth of dubious parentage to be sure, and he was daring to suggest that she was...

...somehow responsible for the state of this metal puzzle she'd been left?

It didn't matter that she was. It mattered that he had pointed it out. Scoffed. Had the audacity to refuse her request---

---no, demand! It had been a demand for aid! And he had refused her! Twice! And in the same breath! Well---

HOW DARE HE TURN HIS BACK?!

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" It's more of a hiss than intended, but it's sharp and accurate, and the borrowed wand births forth a brilliant stream of sickly green - striking the retreating man squarely between the shoulder blades before it ripples once (curious) and curls inward upon itself into nothingness.

"...then again. I might." she laughs, before turning her back to another dead, unhelpful ...thing.

[stray_gunner]

He feels something strike him between his shoulders, perfectly on target, an attack that would be a death blow with anything particularly sharp, pointy, or heavy. He doesn't feel any of those things, though, and is surprised (in a strangely morbid way) to find himself crumpling to the ground.

The darkness that he's come to associate with his many temporary deaths descends quickly, quicker than usual, even, because he usually either heals before he would die, or he writhes in pain for a few minutes while someone (usually Giovanni) discharges clip after clip into his chest.

It's fast enough to startle him, though, and he finds himself looking at the dog again - his replica, not even a mirror image.

Dead again? Maybe you should let me do some work. It laughs, a sound echoing in the vast black world - no horizons, no ground, nothing.

"Fuck you," he grumbles, and finds himself waking up again already - nothing physical, then? Something had killed him, somehow. He would have wondered why, but even as he started feeling the cold ground beneath him again, he could feel the dog's fingers scratching at his neck and well, I'll let you go, but give me just a little taste of her blood, hm?

So he only snarls angrily, wild and inhuman, and picks himself up off the ground. He sees the woman turned away, silly of her, really, but you did the same thing, idiot master, and he pulls his gun and fires.

It's nowhere near her heart or head, because he's still shaken from whatever killed him a few minutes ago, and the dog wants to see her bleeding before she's dead.

And there's no question that if it can, it will rip her into pieces. Heine grins suddenly, and when he speaks, it's fast and low and so, so happy to see you again, miss.

"That was odd. I didn't expect something like that to be able to kill..." And he laughs, breathy and uneven, and lifts the gun again.

[lestrangestone]

Bella stops. She ignores the man's voice carrying across the distance between them because she know that he is dead, and because her head is often full of voices, so this is nothing new.

So it's certainly not cause for alarm.

Until she feels the hair stand up on the back of her neck - as if she's being watched - as if Greyback were breathing down the back of her--

--Ridiculous. She'd never even considered being afraid of Greyback. He was a beast, to be sure, but nothing more, and no threat to her.

It's barely a finished thought when she feels pain rip through her left shoulder, fast and burning and exploding stars all bright and swirling across her field of vision as it tears through the other side.

A tiny thing --- a Muggle thing --- as it strikes the pavement in its exit path, small and harmless looking. Wet with blood.

Her lip curls - snarl giving way to whimper as the blood keeps flowing - a withering, humiliating weakness in her knees as she turns back to the one who should be dead as a mudblood's doornail.

Eyes wide in the wake of HOW CAN THIS BE, but instead of fear it's rage. Blinding, searing incomprehensible rage as she feels what only her Lord could have felt before her.

"You..."

"YOU SHOULD BE DEAD! IT IS A KILLING CURSE! WHAT ARE YOU THAT YOU ARE NOT DEAD AT MY FEET, BOY?" and voice reedy with pain, a hiss before she strikes again. Because she wants to know.

She has to. Know.

"...whose love is it that protects you?" she sneers, before she raises her wand again, wordlessly.

[stray_gunner]

Love? Doesn't she remind you of someone, master?

He grits his teeth but he feels himself smile, wide and showing teeth that have been used before to tear flesh and rip limbs. Like a predator.

Hmm? Are you trying to forget her? It's no use, you know...

"Killing?" He draws out the word, an amused drawl coming from a beast's mouth. "I rather like doing that, you know..."

And he fires again, this time aiming for her torso - gut wounds are some of the most painful, because they were rarely lethal immediately but allowed copious bleeding.

I would like that, it says thoughtfully. Do you think her blood looks the same as hers -

He breathes slowly, murmurs something like mother said she loved me, and barely flinches when a burst of cursed flame (not that he knows what it is) rushes into the alley.

And he laughs again, well this is new, and is ready enough to rush into it with no regard for pain.

[lestrangestone]

Smiling. He was smiling through the wake of fire.

Smiling as the chimera-blast shot from her wand, its only warning a low rumble before it had taken shape - and she wonders, just for a moment if it's this wand that's caused her spells to fail - first to not kill, and now...

But the thought slips out of mind as quick as the next bullet tears through her robes above the hipbone. It's a quick burn - a strange burn - and she imagines it not unlike the Fiendfyre that's coiling its way around the pale, smiling--

SMILING

--man - his lips still moving in something like a venomous whisper from behind the whirling flames. There's no tiny, clinking sound of a muggle-thing dropping to the street. This one's stuck inside.

His smile alone is enough to elicit a scream of rage, and the fact that he's still standing is just another brick in the burning alley wall (not so much on fire as it is being passed over with flame) that she's wild now, her eyes black and wide and fixed on him.

On ..it.

Couldn't be human. Couldn't be fully human and stand through this.

There's blood at her feet, a palpable weakness washing over her in waves only to be beaten back by pure rage and the barest bit of curiosity.

What is it?

Hissing under her breath - unsteady breath to match unsteady steps - she's crouched, bleeding, and smiling back at the man as a roof above his head catches fire.

What does it look like on the ...inside?

"You're not a man. Not a human one." she spits, fingers pressed against this newest wound, slick and sticky and red-black in the (cursed) firelight.

So. Not a muggle, either.

Her eyes are on the muggle-thing, now. The noisy, painful, messy metal-ejector that she may or may not recall is called a gun.

"Reducto!"

[ooc: She's trying to blow up one of the guns. Your call as to the end result. Also, I think my tag-lag is blessedly over!]

[stray_gunner]

The fire - fire in shapes, of beasts, maybe, he doesn't know - rushes towards him, running along the wall like something alive. Maybe it is. He wouldn't know.

Pain sears through his legs, his arms, his skin - it doesn't bother him, even as it keeps burning away long after it should have been extinguished.

A twinge of uncertainty almost makes him falter, but the dog pushes on, all snapping teeth and curling fingers. He can feel what humanity he has left slipping, you never really had any in the first place, and pushes on.

The blood makes him grin wider, barely glancing as charred flesh starts to heal, ash falling away from raw muscle in twisted metamorphosis. She's saying something strange, the dog noted. Better do something quick -

There's something crashing into the gun in his left hand - 'magic,' was it? He lets go, letting the weapon swing from the chain connecting both guns, and simply fires with the other one.

He's close now - too close, and he tries to remember what it was like to think clearly.

[lestrangestone]

A quick step back - oh, she's quick but not that quick -

// this one's a real piece of work, he's not nearly as slow and clumsy as Potter, or any of his brat schoolmates, yes, this one's far faster than I, and not really a boy at all //

- another step and she's still watching - watching as muscle rebuilds itself from ash like a fool wizard's phoenix - oh, and one of the metal things (guns?), it's exploding against (within? without? it's difficult to tell) the wall of fire.

But the other one - oh, yes, there were two, Bella - it seems to be working just fine.

A near-miss, but the bullet's grazed her temple, and it's only a moment until the eye below is full of blood. Now she's watching everything through a curtain of red, too.

"CRUCIO!" She's screaming it, her face skeletal in the blaze-light, blood in her hair, running over her lips and between her teeth as she laughs.

[stray_gunner]

Hurts, doesn't it? But you should be used to it, master.

But it does hurt, enough to make him suck in a breath fast and harsh and almost double over before the dog screams something cold and angry don't stop, don't crawl like the mangy mutt you seem to be, at least try, won't you? and he keeps moving, feels ash falling away from raw healing flesh.

He screams, and it's pain and fear and happiness and pure, pure rage rolled together and it sounds, he figures, like a madman's scream.

Maybe it is.

But Heine just moves in closer, ready to launch himself literally on top of her because shit, that hurts, going to rip her to pieces now, master? like you did to her, maybe? this might be fun, and in some way he is having fun.

And so his jaws snap together, feeling flame both real and just under his skin burning, burning him into something mad and happy.

[lestrangestone]

She doesn't care that the fire is spreading - it'll stop eventually, and if it doesn't - well, that's not really her concern, either.

He's flesh and ash and burning afresh as her advances, the sweet duskdark coppermeat stench in Bella's nostrils - blood singing high and sharp beneath her veins - heart pounding in time with the man's growl - the song of his screams.

For a moment she's reminded of Azkaban.

It's blood and fire and the gnash of teeth again - step back, and back and bloody hell make it stop her legs are shaking again. Unsteady steps, unsteady breath, and an unsteady hand on her borrowed wand.

Another step back - quick and over the dead thing - no time to grind her heel into his eyesocket.

(oh yes, she'd wanted to)

//Not my daughter//

And now she's spinning again - the redheaded Weasley bitch is shouting - and there's a sudden, tight, sharp focused moment where the scene falls away and Molly Weasley's replaced by a bestial ghost-child.

Blood seeping sickly along brow and bone, hip and shoulder - heavy and ragged and the fucking burn of it.

"You..."

It's involuntary, really. The hissing, whimpering whisper, all laced with malice and disappointment, weak and wavering and full of impotent rage.

A flare an a flash of light that she's not quite ready for - still screaming into the air as she's ripped away from the alley and cast coldly down upon misty, gloom-wrapped steps.

Spitting blood on stone, knuckles white as they grip, Heine's screams still tingling along her spine, twining around the sound of a woman's cries before the edges of her vision are swallowed up into redness.

//Not my daughter//

"...bitch"

[stray_gunner]

It's a high, unstoppable race of words now, nothing but kill rip tear her to shreds drink her blood bite her neck and remember her, master? rememberhersmile and variations thereof. At any other time he might say something like be a little more creative, would you but he sees only the woman disappear, leaving flaming walls and blood on the ground.

you left only her head and her smile -

"Fuck." He breathes, slowly, feeling a rush of pain actually hit him full force, after the dog backs down, disappointed (she left the party early) and he glances down, belatedly, at the dead man on the ground.

pitythefool and he groans, leans against the fire-scarred brick wall, knows that his hands are shaking, and his eyes close slowly, trying to block out - everything.

It doesn't help.