(Untitled)

[9fingeredrat]

*enter: one man approaching middle age, quite short and skinny and weary-looking, with colorless, thin hair and watery tired eyes, wrapped in a thin black robe. When he speaks, his voice is squeaky, like a hinge squeaking after years of disuse, and it is filled with great dread

Comments

[sweariwontdie]

*bows* *thinks doesn't look harmful but the robes do give him pause* Bonjour, M. Pettigrew. I hope you find your... friend. Is M. Snape--if that's who you mean--friends with anyone?

I'm Armand St. Just.

[9fingeredrat]

*watery smile* Thank you, Mr. St. Just. I'm-- certain I shall.

[sweariwontdie]

Good then.

*nervous smile*

[it_took_five]

*knows he's going to regret this somehow*

Pettigrew? What are you doing here?

[9fingeredrat]

Prewett? *stares a bit; there are so many dead people here* It's no concern of yours what I'm doing here, it's-- classified.

Typist: Puppetese for "I have no idea, my typist forced me in".

[it_took_five]

Oh right. Did you die too?

*doesn't really sound convinced*

[thorny_beauty]

Well, well, well... look what the cat dragged in?

*chuckles*

[9fingeredrat]

*jumps* Evan? Is that you?

[thorny_beauty]

*bows with a grin*

Yep. How are you?

[siriuslyhot]

*growls -- and only manages to grit out one word* You.

[9fingeredrat]

*bites back a squeak* S-Sirius. Me, yes...

[prof_ssnape]

*rather flat expression*

Wormtail.