(Untitled)
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.
( across the floor across the tiles // the man is dead and the razor smiles // a shiny love song a quick incision )
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!]
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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.
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// 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.
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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.
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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"
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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.
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