▪▫▪ c ε d (docstheword) wrote in valesco,
@ 2009-01-11 17:44:00

Entry tags:

caradoc dearborn, death eaters, dorcas meadows, grayson wilkes, james potter, lord voldemort, roderick dearborn

DEs + Order!
What a strange feeling.

In the middle of all this chaos, Caradoc felt quite calm. Incredibly calm, actually. Whether that was a positive or negative, he decided not to care to divulge into that inner meaning. All he cared to know was that it felt good. Unrealistically good. There was nothing else running through him, he had efficiently locked away all resolved issues, emotions with them. So now... no, the battle surrounding him did not effect him one bit. It felt like he was watching this all from afar, or from behind a protected screen. But when in reality, a red jet of light had just missed his leg by a few meters and he hadn't even moved away from it.

That should have gotten his heart going, shouldn't it? But it... didn't; Caradoc knew what he was waiting for, who he was waiting for. Nothing else seemed to be that dangerous. And if he was accidently killed while he was standing here? If he could be so lucky. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long, and there was no reason for him to bring attention to himself. They would know he was here, just like how he would have known that a traitor had finally decided to make a public presence. Call it something of a sixth sense, but you don't just waltz into a battle undetected when the other side was desperately grasping to kill you. Nope, it just never happened. Life wasn't easy like that.

Though-- this suddenly came to him as something of a side note--- for some reason, he hoped Dorcas would make this out of it alive. Perhaps it was this new mood he was in, or maybe it was just the fact that he knew his death was coming, but either way, he figured he could forgive her now, of all times.

Caradoc, wand in hand and back up against a high stone wall, looked away from the street for a moment. But once he looked back, two jets of light were already heading straight at him. He deflected and moved away from them easily. Again, while by instinct his body jerked into action, he was not scared. This death eater wasn't going to be the one to kill him, he was sure of that. He had made this very personal to the Dark Lord, no doubt they were told to bring him back still breathing.

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glovesmandatory
2009-01-12 04:51 am UTC (link)

Non-verbal, how completely annoying. Grayson continued to approach the other man with a frown, flexing his fingers around the hilt of the knife once more and then full-out lunging forward. There was no slashing today, though -- he was going for impalement. No need to make things ... well, harder than they really had to be.

The fire was a sure way to keep other Death Eaters from approaching their little game, he hoped -- nobody really wanted to put themselves at an unnecessary risk unless they were going to get something in return, and the smoke would soon enough cloud the fact that Caradoc Dearborn was the one who was hiding in the smog.

He wasn't going to get away that easily. Grayson let out a wheezing laugh from beneath the mask. "You're irritatingly hard to kill, Caradoc."

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docstheword
2009-01-12 05:19 am UTC (link)

Holy shit, holy shit--- now, Caradoc felt his body begin pulse and throb to life because he was now, without a doubt, cornered with no where to go. Grayson kept approaching as if walking on water, completely unaffected by anything that Caradoc threw at him. And before he knew it, there Grayson was, standing just there in front of him, pulling out a knife in almost slow motion---

Caradoc's heart began to thud louder, as if calling to it, showing it where to go in every way possible--- why couldn't he move, why couldn't he move, he could do something about this, he could stop it, he could avoid it, he could--

howl.

He felt himself take in one shaking breath, refusing to scream out in any more pain than he already had. That would be letting him win--- though honestly, Caradoc was fairly certain Grayson (yes, it was him, he knew that now) had won. There was a gigantic knife jammed somewhere into his body (not his heart, no, he could feel his heart still pumping madly), while Grayson Wilkes hissed in his ear and thrust the blade further into his body.

This--- was--- painful. Grasping for air, Caradoc felt Grayson let go of him and he slipped to the ground almost immediately. Though that-- no, no, it felt like he couldn't breathe, his lungs hurt, they felt filled with--- smoke, or blood, he couldn't tell but it was painful. Not painful enough for him to lose conscious-- oh no. Again, that would be too easy. Which meant there would be more.

Despite himself, Caradoc groaned again as his hands automatically went to cover where the pain was coming from. Blood, blood--- so much blood.

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glovesmandatory
2009-01-12 05:26 am UTC (link)

Grayson felt the familiar rush of blood running just underneath his skin -- pushing up his throat to his cheeks. It was so exhilarating. He grinned brilliantly beneath the mask and leaned in against Dearborn for the moment, enjoying the way that the knife pushed into the other man's skin. He could feel the dampness through his gloves and although that almost spoiled the experience, the smell -- the coppery tang filling his nostrils and making him shudder -- wholly overcame any disgust he might've felt for the moment.

Oh yes.

He pushed with one hand as he pulled the knife out, unwilling to part with it for the moment. Like hell he was going to let someone find it in Dearborn, besides -- that had never really sat particularly well with him. He could feel his own eyes tearing from the smoke and he coughed beneath the mask, a dry sound (compared to the wetter one of Dearborn's, he imagined) that filled his lungs with fire. The sheer knowledge that he'd scored a winning hit was enough to motivate him to move forward again with the knife, circling Caradoc like a hungry jackal.

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docstheword
2009-01-12 05:53 am UTC (link)

He couldn't even-- his eyes burned, his head was pounding harder than his heart, he felt his throat gurgle in his own blood, but nothing compared to the distinct agony that was erupting from--- his entire body. Caradoc's legs had ceased to function properly, they might as well have be broken. His arms seemed to be filled with lead, because suddenly they became impossible to lift up. It was impossible for him to defend himself, to even lift up his hands and stop Grayson in any way, or take the knife from him.

He was--- he was--- dying. Was this what it was suppose to feel like? So much pain that your entire body went numb? Caradoc felt his mind stress to think, to keep going, but it too became too tired, filled with lead, and the only thing he could understand was that he was dying. Like a broken record, the thought kept playing over and over in his head. Dying, dying, dying--- finally. Twenty-one years wasn't that bad, he had experienced more than most people would, with just missing out on one thing, but--- dying, he was actually dying.

Perhaps Grayson had begun dig into him again, but at this point he was struggling to keep his eyes open, focusing for a few more seconds. At least--- reflexively, he felt himself cry out again with a new sharp pain, but not as loudly. Were his ears failing? Everything was failing, why, why try, it was pointless he couldn't fight it, everything was just--- over.

Over. That one word took place on the broken record, eventually dying out with Caradoc himself.

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glovesmandatory
2009-01-12 05:58 am UTC (link)

This was just too good. Grayson couldn't help that his smirk was almost making his jaw hurt it was so wide -- he was pleased enough in the haze of smoke to watch Dearborn die, to watch his life fade away from him slowly until there was nothing left.

He hadn't been able to watch his first -- well, victim, he supposed -- die, but that was before he'd understood how to properly channel his hatred into this -- this -- it was perfect. He was far too engrossed in this to hear the footsteps behind him, heavy and even, until he felt something hard splinter against the back of his head.

Grayson barely had time to see spots before he was down on his knees wheezing, spitting out blood that just pooled in the chin of his mask and ironically enough gave everything an odd red tinge. He groaned, bringing his hands to the back of his head.

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maintains
2009-01-12 06:03 am UTC (link)

The fact was that Roderick Dearborn grew quickly annoyed with just how focused Grayson Wilkes got on his so-called 'work'. Ignoring outside variables was the number one way to -- well, get yourself knocked out with what looked to be a discarded bedpost. It had taken him far too long to find Caradoc in the mess; it was only seeing the smoke and fire that he realized he might've been missing several members of their little 'party'.

At least his mask kept most of the smoke from his eyes (most of it, not all of it) and made it easier for him to find his nephew -- apparently too late. He gritted his teeth, irritated, and lowered the bedpost to one side, tossing it next to Wilkes. There wouldn't be much time until the man was back on his feet, he knew, so he grabbed his cousin by the front of his shirt and hauled the still-bleeding man up onto his shoulder, still keeping his walk steady and calm. No need to cause a scene.

The burning bushes actually gave quite a convenient cover for his apparation. They were headed to an unmarked, unoccupied building in the Muggle district a good distance from this place. He'd help Caradoc clean up and then ... well, he'd return here to the battle and hope that nobody had done anything irreparably stupid except for him.

Nobody ever needed to know what had happened here today. Nobody.

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