▪▫▪ 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 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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