s c a r l e t t (rabastans) wrote in valesco,
@ 2009-04-25 14:56:00

Entry tags:

group, octavia lestrange, rabastan lestrange

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He had a wife, now.

Rabastan rolled his eyes at the thought, something that he never believed would become a fact in his life. Octavia was his wife, and by the looks of their extravagant wedding and reception, it was going to be a bloody long ride. At least she was pretty, beautiful, even. Rabastan would have had a much bigger problem if he had been stuck with a dog-faced woman like Parkinson was, or a woman who was mousey and quiet, with no opinion at all. As much as he showed his apparent disdain for his bride, Rabastan knew that he had lucked out.

Ugh.

The guests seemed to be having a delightful time, how very good for them. Rabastan knew that his brother was around somewhere, ready to humiliate him in some manner. Maybe Grayson could provide a wedding gift in the form of a deceased Rodolphus...that would be most pleasing.

His eyes lifted as he was approached, but he made no movement from his slightly slumped over position. His chin in his hands kept his head up, and Rabastan was quite sure that it was the only thing doing so. He wanted to go to bed, but since he could not, he would drink, and was already on his third, or fourth--whatever it was, glass.

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incharge
2009-04-25 09:49 pm UTC (link)

This was hardly worth it., Octavia thought, annoyed, as she looked around the reception hall. The wedding had been a nearly effortlessly planned event on her part, and she pushed every lavish boundary she could think possible (Thank heavens the port keys and floo lines had proved to pass along smoothly, she added). The result was passable, nothing moreso, but that was fine. If she (or anyone else, for that matter) thought the day she was to become Octavia Lestrange was going to be anything exemplary, she (and they) would've been sorely mistaken.

Octavia supposed that there were worse things that could happen. If he were terribly old or extremely vulgar looking, problems would have arisen. If he wasn't exorbitantly wealthy, problems also would have arisen. In fact, she very much doubted that she would have gone through this sort of arrange marriage poppycock to anyone else but Rabastan Lestrange.

And that thought infuriated so that she twisted her linen napkin almost to the point of tearing it in her lap. But it was fine. if need be, they'd hardly have to speak to each other, she'd be able to properly collect her inheritance from her meddlesome, cruel, and irritating uncle, and the added prestige of her wedded name allowed her to overcome the service industry affiliation of her maiden one, which should aid substantially in her business.

She eyed her new husband in a manner that was both amused and critical and said, "You can drink as many of those as you like, but the cold, hard truth of the matter is we'll still be wedded when you recover from the hangover."

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rabastans
2009-04-26 12:05 am UTC (link)

His eyes remained locked on Octavia's face as he down his latest glass, making sure to stretch the event out as long as possible. Rabastan held the glass to his lips for a few moments after the last of the liquid was gone, and with a sigh he dropped it back to the table, where it immediately refilled. Ah, magic.

"I am simply attempting to loosen up, my love," he drawled, sitting up and once again casting a glance over the reception. There were very few people there that Rabastan didn't hate, and were surprisingly only a few more that he knew. Who actually knew that his mother would be able to form such a guest list, though Rabastan supposed that Octavia may have had the ulterior motive of making sure everyone in the proper wizarding world knew that he was about to enter the end of his life.

Brilliant.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Rabastan looked back and over Octavia, eyebrows lifting. The dress she picked out was extravagant, to say the least, but it was nothing less than extraordinary. He would say it left him breathless, were he not already holding his breath in hopes of passing out and dying.

"Would you like to dance," he said, not moving from his seat.

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incharge
2009-04-26 02:15 am UTC (link)

She stared back pointedly, as if waiting for him to do something other than cock his eyebrow at her in that infernally confident manner. Octavia tried to picture their married life, what it would be feel like waking up next to him for the next however many years of their lives, eagerly awaiting his arrival from work after her own time at the restaurant, going to bed with him at night.

It felt retch-worthy, that's what.

Except she couldn't quite reconcile the queasy feeling with that little jolt of adrenaline she had every time they engaged in a verbal sparring match. Just imagining how that might manifest itself physically, well... The whole thing read like a bad romance novel, anyway. Who was she to put a stop to the tawdry fun now?

Not, of course, she'd like to point out, that her feelings on Rabastan Lestrange had changed in the slightest.

"If I have to, I suppose," she replied, remaining in her sitting position, head held quite high and very much refusing to look in his direction now.

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