knights in white satin...
It still boggled Regulus's mind to think that one day the Island would be a Winter Wonderland and the next it'd be back to normal. It was sort of disappointing in a way as he was kind of hoping to keep the snow and cold around for awhile. It reminded him of home. Well, not home exactly because it was still the Island, but home in a sense. Like being stranded on a the Hebridies Isles in Scotland only without a Macfusty in sight.
What confused and befuddled him more was the sudden presence of a package with his name on it in the hut (formerly a cabin, Regulus was particularly sad to see this go) he and his brother shared when his brother could be arsed to come home to it. Yeah, the guy had been through a lot and Regulus was being petty and bitter and particularly selfish but as the younger brother he had every right to.
His conversation with Voldemort on New Year's still sat with him too. So when his 'gift' from the island turned out to be a set of tattooing supplies (with plenty of different colours of ink and spare needles) his world seemed to spin out of control. Metaphorically of course.
As a Death Eater he had some kind of purpose with his life. Sure, all his duty really was consisted of offering His Lordship what he could in the way of physical comforts and killing the odd muggle or mudblood. In fact, it wasn't until he'd been forced to prove his worth by going after his brother that he'd realized he was in too deep and decided to do something with his life.
He sat cross legged on the floor in the rec room of the compound with the case his gift came in and several crumpled up sheets of paper torn from an unlined journal he found on the shelf surrounding him.
It'd be inappropriate to let his gift deteriorate like that and just plain rude really. It was nice and new and if he spurned it the Island might see fit to screw with his head some more. Open on the page in front of him was a sketch of the Mark. A skull with a snake coming out of it. It wasn't as accurate as it could've been if Regulus still bore his or had Rabastan's or even Voldemort's to look at, but it was close. He realized, of course, that he'd be equally tactless to brand himself with that again especially after all he'd sacrificed in getting rid of it in the first place.
But he'd had purpose then.
And purpose...here in this place was something he was severely lacking. He wasn't a doctor, so he'd be no good in the clinic. He wasn't a writer or singer or even had the slightest idea how to wield a hammer properly. He was a pretty little rich boy, pretty and incapable (if you asked him) of any practical application of his life. He just was and if he were a Zen Bhuddist or something it might be enough to just be but it wasn't.
[ooc: open to anyone. particularly looking for: sirius, JAMES POTTER, hermione, bill weaseley, rabastan, ianto for no other reason than =D ianto, and...anyone else who feels like it. actually a pretty good time to meet him.]
What confused and befuddled him more was the sudden presence of a package with his name on it in the hut (formerly a cabin, Regulus was particularly sad to see this go) he and his brother shared when his brother could be arsed to come home to it. Yeah, the guy had been through a lot and Regulus was being petty and bitter and particularly selfish but as the younger brother he had every right to.
His conversation with Voldemort on New Year's still sat with him too. So when his 'gift' from the island turned out to be a set of tattooing supplies (with plenty of different colours of ink and spare needles) his world seemed to spin out of control. Metaphorically of course.
As a Death Eater he had some kind of purpose with his life. Sure, all his duty really was consisted of offering His Lordship what he could in the way of physical comforts and killing the odd muggle or mudblood. In fact, it wasn't until he'd been forced to prove his worth by going after his brother that he'd realized he was in too deep and decided to do something with his life.
He sat cross legged on the floor in the rec room of the compound with the case his gift came in and several crumpled up sheets of paper torn from an unlined journal he found on the shelf surrounding him.
It'd be inappropriate to let his gift deteriorate like that and just plain rude really. It was nice and new and if he spurned it the Island might see fit to screw with his head some more. Open on the page in front of him was a sketch of the Mark. A skull with a snake coming out of it. It wasn't as accurate as it could've been if Regulus still bore his or had Rabastan's or even Voldemort's to look at, but it was close. He realized, of course, that he'd be equally tactless to brand himself with that again especially after all he'd sacrificed in getting rid of it in the first place.
But he'd had purpose then.
And purpose...here in this place was something he was severely lacking. He wasn't a doctor, so he'd be no good in the clinic. He wasn't a writer or singer or even had the slightest idea how to wield a hammer properly. He was a pretty little rich boy, pretty and incapable (if you asked him) of any practical application of his life. He just was and if he were a Zen Bhuddist or something it might be enough to just be but it wasn't.
[ooc: open to anyone. particularly looking for: sirius, JAMES POTTER, hermione, bill weaseley, rabastan, ianto for no other reason than =D ianto, and...anyone else who feels like it. actually a pretty good time to meet him.]