RP: Seven of Pentacles
Characters: Rabastan Lestrange
Location: Muggle London
Date: 9th Sept
Status: Private
Summary: Leaving again.
Completion: Complete
Staring into mid air, Lestrange shuffled the deck. By the time he was done, it was starting to get dark. He lit a candle, holding the plaster lighter up to the flame to check how much fuel was left. The deck lay comfortably in his left hand as he reached for a cigarette. For now, the candle could help save lighter fluid. A few minutes passed, smoke curling up from Rabastan's lips as he took a card.
Seven of Pentacles. He dropped the end into the glass he’d been using as an ashtray and shuffled the deck while he mused over the card. A time for assessment and, maybe, a change in direction. The tarot had never held much weight for Rabastan. Or, rather, he let himself believe that. He hated his old deck and yet he always kept it around.
Where had he left that briefcase? All he needed was the essentials. With the right Charms, he could even fit the owl in there… Where was she?
Blood teamed down Rabastan’s hands and face as he locked the briefcase, taking a grim satisfaction in the way it squawked protests as he stood it on the desk. Without bothering to clean himself up, he seized the briefcase and headed for the front door. He paused in the doorway, brow creasing slightly as he tried to think of something momentous to say to the building that had harboured him for… long enough.
No, nothing. He was back on the streets, this time of his own volition.
Location: Muggle London
Date: 9th Sept
Status: Private
Summary: Leaving again.
Completion: Complete
Staring into mid air, Lestrange shuffled the deck. By the time he was done, it was starting to get dark. He lit a candle, holding the plaster lighter up to the flame to check how much fuel was left. The deck lay comfortably in his left hand as he reached for a cigarette. For now, the candle could help save lighter fluid. A few minutes passed, smoke curling up from Rabastan's lips as he took a card.
Seven of Pentacles. He dropped the end into the glass he’d been using as an ashtray and shuffled the deck while he mused over the card. A time for assessment and, maybe, a change in direction. The tarot had never held much weight for Rabastan. Or, rather, he let himself believe that. He hated his old deck and yet he always kept it around.
Where had he left that briefcase? All he needed was the essentials. With the right Charms, he could even fit the owl in there… Where was she?
Blood teamed down Rabastan’s hands and face as he locked the briefcase, taking a grim satisfaction in the way it squawked protests as he stood it on the desk. Without bothering to clean himself up, he seized the briefcase and headed for the front door. He paused in the doorway, brow creasing slightly as he tried to think of something momentous to say to the building that had harboured him for… long enough.
No, nothing. He was back on the streets, this time of his own volition.