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[the-other-black]

He laughed cheerfully at Atticus reaffirming his faith in the non-existence of their abilities to socialise. Who knew, they would probably make such a fool of themselves that it would serve as distraction enough. He did raise an eyebrow at the other boy she he saw a gleam of speculation enter the blue eyes, but decided that he probably didn't want to know what that was about. Some things were better left unknown.

"Clearly they underestimate the potency of Arithmancy," Regulus said solemnly, knowing that it could be both taken in jest, and the truth beneath it. If only certain wizards were better with numbers. Maybe the Obliviators would be less overworked. Though he had to agree that no one ever suspected Ravenclaws, or Hufflepuffs for that matter, of doing anything that could be counted as devious. On the other hand, Gryffindors were, more often than not, considered to be the most effective pranksters around, and Slytherins, frankly, had a rather... nasty reputation. Oh well, at least the Ravenclaws didn't always get blamed for things that they didn't do.

He moved towards the doors as quietly as he could, after Atticus. Instead of moving amongst the crowds, he opted to move toward the walls and walk in the shadows; even though he was probably as much as a loner as the Ravenclaw when he had a choice, more often than not he still had to socialise with some of these people in attendance, and he didn't want to run the risk of meeting someone who recognised him, as rare as that could be, and end up having to have yet another useless conversation about everything and nothing. The night was far too cheerful for things to be spoiled by one stuffy idiot or another.

Arriving at one of the quieter corners of the school almost utterly deserted away from the party, both of them set to work, casting various spells to modify the appearances of the most basic features. Before long, they were done with a passable impression of the Amycus and Sean. At least, he thought that Atticus did look quite a bit like Amycus, though there always one thing missing; the way he looked at people. That was the one thing that was impossible to duplicate, and he could only hope that the boy was far too tipsy to take note of details like that. Or that he didn't now Carrow well enough to know how the boy looked at others.

Walking back into the party, Regulus headed straight for the canary boy and friend, grimacing slightly before reminding himself to act more like the idiot he was impersonating. It wasn't that difficult though, to mimic the way the boy he was impersonating walked and talked; he had the typical swagger of overconfident prats, which was to say most of his House, though perhaps Regulus was more than a little biased. Still, it wasn't that difficult to move in the same gait and plaster on the same expression on his face. He didn't even blink as he lied in that strange voice.

"Hey, you know that bird Annie?" He smirked slightly when the friend turned around to stare at him. There seemed tone no shortage of people of questionable intelligent this night. Leaning forward, he whispered conspiratorially in his ear. "I heard that she's a-waiting you at the Astronomy Tower you know."

He could barely resist a gleeful smile as he watched the other boy take the bait. Oh, this was too easy.

Paradise will be a kind of library || Regulus and Atticus|| October 28th, 1978 || Halloween Para

[the-other-black]

He could practically feel Atticus' horror radiating off him, but, well, he should have expected it when he signed up for this. They weren't exactly a club for friendly kids, and most of them had some mental issue or another. A stomach for torturing was practically a prerequisite, and easily picked up besides. He was sorry that the Ravenclaw would have to force himself to accept this fact while still a student, though he was still one too. In many ways, he was older, so very old, and much more suited to tasks like this, not just because of his experience, but because he'd been raised to fight this kind of wars, to do anything to achieve his goals because he was a Slytherin and a Black, and to never question the strange paradox of killing your own family when blood is prized above all. In many ways, Atticus would have a much harder time in trying to kill a man who had his friend's face and look of betrayal, than he would torturing the woman right here, with a much too familiar face and her damned grey eyes.

But he would have to learn. They all did eventually.

Still, he felt a little guilty from his corner of the room when Atticus looked like he was approaching his doom. Oh well. They weren't exactly going to have an easy ride in the first place. But, well, as long as Atticus did something, they could definitely speed up the process. After all, no one said anything about how they had to get this mess done.

Anyhow, watching the other boy's hesitant movements was quite painful, and he wondered, not for the first time, why would someone like him, who could still retain some semblance of a conscience, want to join them. After all, he doubted if he had any kind of duty towards anyone or anything, and certainly he didn't have much to prove, going by what he knew of his friend's social circles. So it was strange, and somehow disheartening too, to watch Atticus trade whatever was left of his peace of mind, to try and fit in with what was probably the wrong crowd for him. Perhaps people always did make choices that made them unhappy. Even he himself wasn't deluded into thinking that this was a very healthy way to spend the remains of their childhood.

He couldn't help but smile appreciatively at Atticus' tactic; it was effective, if a little pointless in this situation, and perhaps his sharp eyes and sharper mind was what the Death Eaters were after. He also couldn't help but think that his words were too heavy with meaning, but he opted to ignore it, Whatever way the other boy was choosing to cope was his own business. So long they didn't botch this up and did the job well enough, the higher ups would leave them be.

Dorea's screeching jolted him out of his thoughts, and he scowled unhappily at how similar they were to his mother's rages, right down to her bloody vocabulary. The high pitch was relentless and grating, and this time there was no where else he could hide, no room he could run into and no one else to take the brunt of her wrath because this time the anger was directed at him, and this time, the words like 'betrayal' and 'stupidity' and 'foolishness' were all for him and him alone. She was angry at them both, she knew, because Atticus was Potter's pal too, but there was a deep-seated bitterness and sadness in her voice that was reserved specially for him, and it made him more irritated than ever. Merlin, he'd almost forgotten how much of a pain in the ass family gatherings could be. He could have kissed Atticus for silencing her and defending him. It was much easier for him to simmer in his own frustration than have her yelling at him too.

He smiled grimly at Atticus' suggestion before speaking. "If you wish to. We have got to be quick though. Blood congealed too fast after they die. Charlus' might before dear old Dorea's does though."

Blood Will Tell // November 14th // Regulus and Atticus

[the-other-black]

✖

Regulus is pretty good at hiding his discontent or anger at others, because he knows that it is easy to exploit someone. He also tries to suppress the feeling because he knows that he can get careless if his judgement is impaired. Spiteful as he is though, he often comes up with little plans to get back at whoever is responsible for annoying him.

[the-other-black]

Character Questions

Send these around to everyone at any time! :)

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☂  what are your character’s rainy day activities?

≈    does your character prefer lying on the beach & sunbathing or swimming?

♪    does your character have any musical talents?

☾   what is your character’s fondest memory?

†    what is your character’s religious beliefs?

➢   how is your character’s relationship with their parents?

⋈    alcohol or no? if yes, why did your character start drinking in the first place? for fun?

✣    is your character a forgiving person?

ღ    how is your character in bed? do they like it rough? 

♥     is your character the kind to sleep around? 

♨    is your character a warm and friendly person? or are they the ones who keep people at an arms length. 

✯     for their birthday, does your character prefer to have a huge celebration with all their family and friends, or do they prefer a small gathering with close family and close friends only?

⌘      what kind of books and/or music does your character like to read/listen to?

[the-other-black]

True or false: those with the most capacity for violence have the most capacity for nonviolence?

I think it’s neither here nor there, because it depends where that large capacity for violence comes from. If it’s out of sheer sadistic joy, then probably not. On the other hand, if the capacity stems from a willingness to do the most appropriate thing to handle a situation, regardless of what it is, then yeah, they would probably have the most capacity for nonviolence too.

[the-other-black]

Character head canons!

Send these around to your fellow RPers at any time :)

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☾ : Sleep headcanon ☠ : Drinking/drunk headcanon ☼ : Childhood headcanon ☯ : Genderbent headcanon ⋆ : Sex headcanon ☮ : Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon ☄ : Any AU headcanon (modern, school, medieval, and so on) ♤ : Cooking headcanon ⊕ : Talents/hobbies headcanon ☻ : Mood headcanon ✚ : health headcanon ✿ : happiness headcanon ✖ : anger headcanon ♆ : body headcanon ϡ : mental state headcanon ღ : love or sexuality headcanon ♡ : relationship with (give name or url) † : religion headcanon ✄ : pet peeve headcanon ☂ : food headcanon ♒ : Any other question of your choosing

[the-other-black]

"Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die."

“Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep”, Mary Elizabeth Frye. 1932

[the-other-black]

I suppose that will be all, owing to how we really don't know each other well. It's a shame, really; I've heard so much about the brilliant Lily Evans, and you seem fascinating, but it would appear that neither of us is able to carry this conversation any further, so farewell then. It has been a... pleasure speaking to you.

Wonder what gutless prick was my Secret Santa.

[the-other-black]

"Yes, I suppose it is a rather… unique experience," Regulus said carefully, looking at the cheerful little girl. It was still a little jarring to see the happy expression on her face, belying the rather morbid topic they were speaking about. Still, she was kind of sweet, and he couldn't say if he was happy, or disappointed, when she moved to stand with the rest of the packs, their eyes brightening at the impending hunt.

He shimmied up a tree to perch on a branch as the pack split up, watching quietly as two of the girls, and a boy, sped away from them and disappeared in the distance, and the rest of the pack moving to their own positions and out of sight. The anticipation hung as heavily in the air as the stillness did, and even he felt uncomfortable, itching to see what would happen next.

Eventually, a few cries broke the silence in the clearing, and he grinned excitedly. This was going to be good. The hikers burst out from the trees, their eyes wild and frightened even from this distance; they were prey by nature, inclined to run and hide instead of fight. Not that they stood a chance anyway. He relished in the woman's desperate screaming as the pack moved in for the kill. Perhaps Emma was right about women, after all. He usually preferred it when they were killed last, because the horror on their faces as they watched their companions being butchered, one by one, was always highly amusing, but it was a large pack, after all, and they couldn't wait for the hikers to be killed, one by one. He was lucky, then to be at his vantage point, watching the feast.

"I'll pass; I ate before coming," Regulus called back to Fenrir, not exactly fond of human flesh. Or at least, he didn't know exactly how it tasted, and he was pretty keen on it staying that way. On the other hand, it was too good an opportunity to mess with a corpse. He didn't usually have the chance to examine the dead, and the human body simply fascinated him.

Landing on the forest floor, he walked quietly over to where Fenrir was and sat on the other side of woman, tilting his head in curiosity as the blood pooled beside her neck and she gurgled and cough, spraying more blood out of her mouth. He used his wand to conjure a few vials, and then again to make a small incision along her jugular vein, before putting the vial there to collect the crimson liquid that spilled into the glass container. After it was filled to the brim, he stoppered the container before picking up the next one to repeat the process, doing it over and over again before the flow slackened and she began to spasm.

Wiping his bloody hands on her shirt, he made sure that little of the sticky substance remained before looking up at Fenrir and lifting up a vial to him with an ironic smile. "Have some more while it's warm. It's also less messy."

Curiosity Killed the Cat || Regulus and Fenrir || June 17th, 1976 || Flashback para

[the-other-black]

Well, I thought the gift should have been tailored to the receiver. But since you so heartily disagree with what I had picked out for you, why don't you tell me what you think would be appropriate?

Wonder what gutless prick was my Secret Santa.

[the-other-black]

Yes, of course. Surely you know what my parents would prefer me to have gotten you. I think it is fairly obvious, no? 

Really? I am surprised you think you would not forget. Sometimes, from the way your lot acts, I would think that you believe yourself to have been born into a wizarding family. It's good then, if you truly won't have what you are, accidentally slip your mind. It's sad though, that you think that the little poem isn't creative enough. Perhaps you would like to give me some advice on what exactly is a good gift?

Still, I have to clarify that I wasn't trying to insult you. To quote Shylock, for I am sure you know of him, 'I would be friends with you and have your love,' and yet you insist on assuming the worst. What more can I do then?

Wonder what gutless prick was my Secret Santa.

[the-other-black]

Ah ah, my cousins are only bad to you because they have their... reasons. And I'm pretty sure none of those reasons apply to me, so I'm afraid they aren't quite big, or bad. Though you can rest assured that none of my relatives had anything to do with my choice of gifts. I'm hurt that you would think me incapable of choosing a present on my own!

Honestly though, i've heard so much about your intelligence. Tell me then; what do you think are the odds of my parents having even heard of a muggle painting before, let alone know where to get one?

Wonder what gutless prick was my Secret Santa.

[the-other-black]

I give up || Open

Okay, who is the one who thinks I need some kind of guidance? It would be nice if you could explain what you meant. I'm a bit... lost.

[the-other-black]

Not at all. I was simply trying to find you an... appropriate gift. Did you not like it? It took me ages to find that painting, you know.

Wonder what gutless prick was my Secret Santa.

Bet you think you’re real cute, don’t you?

[the-other-black]

Regulus,

I reckon you might appreciate some light reading over the holidays. It isn’t broken, Muggle pictures don’t move.

Merry Christmas.

Atticus

He smiled slightly at the note. Oh well, seems like Atticus got him quite the gift. This was sure to be more interesting than most books he could have gotten his hands on. 

[the-other-black]

Merry Christmas!

Love, Emmeline Vance

Well, she was friendly, and the gift looked rather pretty and delicious. He didn't know her, not in the least, but it would only be polite to write a note back to her. 

Thank you very much for the gift, and merry Christmas to you too.

Yours, R.A.B

[the-other-black]

"Your face is going to be stuck like that," Regulus said dryly, back to his usual mood now that Atticus seemed less worried or uneasy. It was nice having his friend being normal again, not antsy or uncomfortable, but his happiness was contagious, and he had to struggle not to smile back. This wasn't exactly the time to start being a cheery little thing, after all. "Are you sure you didn't lose too much blood?" he asked sardonically, just waiting for Atticus to start bouncing around in sheer glee. "You look a bit light headed to me. Don't float off the ground please. You might bang your arm against something, and I don't think it will appreciate further trauma."

Regardless, he did understand what Atticus was trying to say, and allowed himself a brief smile to acknowledge the other boy. As his friend stepped away, he watched him carefully, just to ensure that he wouldn't fall flat on his face and knock his brains further out of place. As his steps grew steadier though, the happiness faded from his face, and he looked quite sober once again as his eyes swept across the room. No doubt the task had just re-registered in his brain, and he sighed quietly at how Atticus' face fell as his gaze landed on the motionless pair on the ground.

"Yes, we do have a job to do," Regulus agreed, keeping a calm expression when his friend looked towards him, more than a little panicked. Truth to be told, he didn't feel much for the two pair, though he would definitely be more comfortable handling the older Potter than Dorea. He was sure that the reverse was true for his companion, so between them they should be able to do a quick job of it before the night was over. At least, they had better. After all, failure was not an option.

Still, he kept mum and watched Atticus' actions, cataloguing the boy's expression and actions. He could hear the viciousness in his voice, and perhaps the almost, but not quite, cruel edge to his words was a good thing; he had what it took to finish the assignment, in the very least. Whether or not he was comfortable with it was both a whole new matter and a rather irrelevant one at the moment. They could deal with that later, probably by getting sloshed and then puking. It was a foolproof plan.

He finally stepped out of his spot when Atticus turned to him, looking half mad and fearful. Putting a careful hand on his shoulder, he leaned forward to speak quietly in the other boy's ears, still keeping his eyes trained on Charlus. "First, you need to calm down. And then, learn to have fun."

Moving away from Atticus again, he walked towards Charlus Potter instead, wearing a bland but pleasant smile on his face. Crouching down in front of the man, he was pleased to see him flinch slightly, and put a wand under the older man's chin before speaking conversationally, as though this was yet another social occasion at which they had met. Both of them had plenty of practice making nice when they didn't mean it.

"So, you heard Atticus. He's right you know; we don't have all night, and therefore, by extension, neither do you." He widened his smile predatorily before continuing to talk. "You see, we have the unfortunate task of having to make your corpse as messy as possible. Oh yes," he feigned surprise, "Did I mention you and your wife are going to die tonight? My friend has been a little hasty, because he is kind. Unfortunately, we can't afford any more kindness around here because of time constrains. Don't you worry though," he trailed the wand down to the left forearm of the man before beaming falsely. "We'll keep your face largely untouched. Wouldn't do for it to be unrecognisable, would it?"

He whispered an incantation softly, relishing the way Potter screamed and writhed as the words appeared slowly on the arm, as though someone had taken a knife to carve them into the flesh, with crimson liquid dripping down onto the floor slowly.

Blood traitor.

Standing up, he sauntered casually to where Atticus stood before grinning wickedly.

"Your move."

Blood Will Tell // November 14th // Regulus and Atticus