OWL: To Pansy Parkinson
Characters: Rabastan Lestrange, Pansy Parkinson
Location: Respective locations
Date: 12th October, 1999.
Status/Warning: Closed/Some swearing
Summary: Rabastan needs somewhere to live
Completion: Complete
Sat on a bench in the middle of a park with an owl on your shoulder made you rather noticeable. Rabastan had worked that out days ago, but now he was tiring of it. One cocky bastard had been staring constantly at him for about fifteen minutes and did not look away when he refused to break eye contact. For a moment, he considered the possibility he was trying to stare out a blind man. That theory needed to be tested. As he neared the end of his cigarette, Rabastan examined the glow at the tip for a moment before putting it out on his tongue. The bloke eyeballing him winced and turned away. Success.
Anyway, where was he? Letter, right. Biros wrote very strangely on parchment, even more so when they were green and he used his thigh as a desk. But still.
Miss Parkinson,
Or Parks. Whichever you prefer, I'm not entirely sure.
He squinted at what he'd written so far. He could write formal letters, he could write informal letters. He could not write letters to almost-strangers that sounded both reasonable and formal at the same time. And these days he was having trouble caring either way.
Having recently made myself homeless, I'm in search of some form of residence. Preferably in a primarily muggle area. The death count is fairly low these days and I've not really been looking to increase it by a huge degree - I think I can survive without being in the centre of the wizarding world for now. Just need to anchor myself somewhere.
Consider me indebted to you, should you decide to help a wanted man without a nom de plume - I'm still working on the last part. If you felt at all inclined to meet with me on the corner of Knockturn on Monday evening, I shall be there from seven onwards. Too early for you to be mugged and too late for me to get collared.
Sincerely,
R
And that was that. Alas, no wax. Which was unfortunate, because countering his own precautions by using his family crest would have been mildly amusing at the moment. He folded the letter carefully, making sure it couldn't just fall open before just writing 'Good Evening' on the front.
"To a Miss Pansy Parkinson," he told the bird on his shoulder as he transfigured her feathers, "If you have trouble finding her, try Knockturn."
That bird, Rabastan decided as he closed his briefcase, was probably not going to come back. He didn't really blame her.
Location: Respective locations
Date: 12th October, 1999.
Status/Warning: Closed/Some swearing
Summary: Rabastan needs somewhere to live
Completion: Complete
Sat on a bench in the middle of a park with an owl on your shoulder made you rather noticeable. Rabastan had worked that out days ago, but now he was tiring of it. One cocky bastard had been staring constantly at him for about fifteen minutes and did not look away when he refused to break eye contact. For a moment, he considered the possibility he was trying to stare out a blind man. That theory needed to be tested. As he neared the end of his cigarette, Rabastan examined the glow at the tip for a moment before putting it out on his tongue. The bloke eyeballing him winced and turned away. Success.
Anyway, where was he? Letter, right. Biros wrote very strangely on parchment, even more so when they were green and he used his thigh as a desk. But still.
Miss Parkinson,
Or Parks. Whichever you prefer, I'm not entirely sure.
He squinted at what he'd written so far. He could write formal letters, he could write informal letters. He could not write letters to almost-strangers that sounded both reasonable and formal at the same time. And these days he was having trouble caring either way.
Having recently made myself homeless, I'm in search of some form of residence. Preferably in a primarily muggle area. The death count is fairly low these days and I've not really been looking to increase it by a huge degree - I think I can survive without being in the centre of the wizarding world for now. Just need to anchor myself somewhere.
Consider me indebted to you, should you decide to help a wanted man without a nom de plume - I'm still working on the last part. If you felt at all inclined to meet with me on the corner of Knockturn on Monday evening, I shall be there from seven onwards. Too early for you to be mugged and too late for me to get collared.
Sincerely,
R
And that was that. Alas, no wax. Which was unfortunate, because countering his own precautions by using his family crest would have been mildly amusing at the moment. He folded the letter carefully, making sure it couldn't just fall open before just writing 'Good Evening' on the front.
"To a Miss Pansy Parkinson," he told the bird on his shoulder as he transfigured her feathers, "If you have trouble finding her, try Knockturn."
That bird, Rabastan decided as he closed his briefcase, was probably not going to come back. He didn't really blame her.