over at the frankenstein place

[truemask]

Who: Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Marquis de Sade
Where: Corridor amongst the cabins
When: Backdated to when stuff is still crazy
Warnings: Attacky violence.

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[bestlieutenant]

A shape less dark than the murky obscurity that surrounds and shrouds it comes just into view thanks to the conjured light at the tip of Lucius' wand. And the figure freezes in its tracks as though that light means something to it.

And it does.

Bellatrix can recognise the illumination charm for what it is, and there are only so many people she's aware of having the ability to produce it. It could mean either good or ill, depending upon the wielder. In this case, the probability of this being a fortuitous situation is much higher.

The light reflects in the whites of Lestrange's too-wide eyes, wild but without panic. She hunches her shoulders, as though she could shrink in on herself to avoid detection. Short of magic, such a feat is quite impossible, of course.

[truemask]

Lucius stops short at the first sign of movement, arm extended its full length and the light charm's glow flaring even brighter, reflecting off the spiraling, decadent descent of ice flakes. He can see her better than she sees him, and Lucius only relaxes by withdrawing his wand slightly to share in the light. He appears unharmed, if frazzled, his jaw tense and pale eyes flashing with too much attentiveness for someone who isn't on their guard. Which means he is.

"No dances today, I take it?" is asked of her, low and only gently mocking. His heart isn't in it.

[bestlieutenant]

That much is received and returned with a flat look. But it is what passes for friendly banter between them, and the circumstances do not call for hostility. Not toward each other. "I see very little to dance about," she responds. Another way of saying you were right.

Frost and ash cling to dark curls gone dry and bushy from the artificial climate. Bellatrix approaches cautiously, still decidedly sans wand. "You've accepted the offer?" But the question isn't a question, but phrased more like a confirmation. Offering a bit of her own is the black pendant around her throat, flawed red deep in the centre.

She's determined it represents a writhing snake.

[truemask]

"What are you talking about?"

Impatience, then. But this place inspires impatience. The sound of footsteps echoes behind him, and he turns swiftly from Bellatrix, the lumos charm stealing light off her and briefly showing up one of the faceless figments disappearing across the mouth of the corridor. Lucius' fear is only detectable in the way he clutches his wand, which is white knuckled, and bad form when one should instead wield it like birds were perched upon one's hand.

But he lost some of his duelist finesse in the past few months. It doesn't work very well, when others don't play with the same rules.

"Offer," he prompts, only glancing over his shoulder rather than turning back to her.