▪▫▪ 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 02:52 am UTC (link)

Grayson Wilkes knew exactly who he was looking for the moment he stepped on the battlefield. Having to wait until today to finally finish off Dearborn had been ... annoying, but it had certainly given his anger enough time to boil down and concentrate. That meant that the moment he spotted him, conveniently cornered ... Grayson didn't hesitate in tossing curses at him as he strode down toward the man.

He too felt reasonably calm, but probably not for the same reasons as Caradoc. He was so certain in what he needed to do that he wasn't at all worried about anything going wrong. He was an experienced man in battle despite being quite young and he knew that much. His other hand slipped into his jacket, squeezing the handle of the blade beneath it once before he fixed his gaze on Caradoc once more.

This was going to be fun.

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docstheword
2009-01-12 03:39 am UTC (link)

This had to be Wilkes.Grayson, of course--- not Amery. Though Amery could be driven by Grayson's embarrassment all the while. But no, because at this point, it would only be fitting for the first person to find him to be Grayson. Anyone else would cease to be important, or interesting. They were, if it wasn't apparent yet, obviously unknowingly creating some great story here. So Grayson would be the only person that would fit to be his first, or last depending on some variables, attacker.

Well. Maybe there would be a book written about all of this later.

Throwing up a shield, even though if this was Grayson, it really wouldn't matter, Caradoc began to slide away from the wall. Standing with his back up against the wall was... unfavorable, to say the least. There was a patch of trees and bushes just a bit away from where he was standing; that could be to either his advantage, or disadvantage. It wasn't exactly like he wanted someone blasting his head off from behind him. But for now, he would take his chances. Why the fuck not, he apparently was in the mood to fight back, so at least he could be tactful.

"Expelliarmus!"

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glovesmandatory
2009-01-12 03:49 am UTC (link)

Well, Grayson Wilkes had always been one who liked the dramatic. Most of that stemmed from the fact that he was an impatient man with a one-track mind -- seeing Caradoc inflamed his desire to bring grievous harm to the other man.

He licked his lips. "Incendio!" Whether it was aimed toward Caradoc or not (hopefully he'd hit the other man, but if he just hit the bushes he was probably thinking about hiding behind ... that would be fine too) was up to the casual observer to decide.

Damn, he hated how this mask cloaked the sensation of everything around him and dampened the colours just a little.

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docstheword
2009-01-12 04:44 am UTC (link)

While Caradoc did not catch on fire, it felt like his back had. Behind him in a matter of seconds, the vegetation burst into flames, producing a very hot, and extensive flame. Well--- going over there was out of the question now. And it felt like he was already forming third degree burns (a realistic assumption or not, he couldn't tell) from just standing there. And no doubt the bright flame was going to attract attention, bad attention more than any good.

It had only been three seconds, and already he was being set up to lose. Wonderful. Nothing was better than dying in the hands of Grayson Wilkes. Oh wait--- anything was better than that. Because dying a slow, painful death was never enough for him, no no. That was too easy.

Blinking furiously (he was so hot) through the sweat, Caradoc shook his head and continued to move, not staying in one spot for too long. If one good thing came from the small forest fire happening behind him, at least it lit up the Death Eater's body, and any more that would approach behind him. Caradoc twisted his hand to throw a few hexes, many of which he was sure would barely hit the other man. At least they had been nonverbal.

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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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Dorcas

misterprongs
2009-01-12 05:02 am UTC (link)

Godric's Hollow---James was born here, and he was probably going to die here, he had a feeling. Everything seemed to come back to here; coming home when his mother died, being abducted from his own house, the fight the night Sirius was returned. It all just seemed to happen here, and, well, James was beginning to find that a bit odd.

Did Voldemort really want to destroy every childhood memory of his? Really? The plaza was lit with spells and hexes and jinx, trees he'd climbed in were bursting into flames, he could see his old house---where his father was probably sound asleep with no idea...Dorcas' parents were nearby too, maybe her mother would realize what was happening, they were one of maybe--maybe two, three other wizarding families in the area. Honestly--if your town had become a hotspot for death eater activity, you would move the fuck out of there too.

James spotted a death eater crouching behind a short, stone fence, and he shot a quick stunning spell into his back. He watched as the figure fell, and James made to tie the man's arms up, but was shot hard in the side, sending him flying into the side of a---thankfully wooden fence.

Still hurt like a fucking bitch, though, and James laid on his stomach for a second to regain his senses. His glasses had flown off, and he patted the grass for them, crawling, shifting around in the under brush. James felt the branches of a bush scratching against his head, at least he had that cover---

"James? James Potter, is that you?"

The sickeningly sweet voice of Lord Voldemort seemed to crack straight through all the sound of the fighting going around them. James felt his stomach tighten and his fist froze around his glasses (he never, ever found them that easily), hand hovering over the blades of grass. No, no---

"Come on out, James, I haven't seen you in such a long time..."

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dorcasm_
2009-01-12 08:46 am UTC (link)

Only a few things had ran through Dorcas Meadowes's mind during her time of capture, even when the sadistic Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, had shot curses and hexes at her, laughing while she struggled to free herself and screamed and cursed in pain. Of those few things were Derek Dobbs, the love of her life, and that she was damned if she did not get out of this alive to marry that silly fiancé of her's. She also thought of her beloved, goofy cousin James and his best friend Sirius, and how they wasn't as goofy anymore. Her family also came up.

And as she had thought about them, she had almost felt an air of finality about it all. But that was silly thinking, yes? The Order was coming, the cavalry and all, to save her. They would rescue her, she would escape. However, in the dark hours where she would lie alone and aching, working to gradually free herself of her magical bonds, with the Death Eaters mercifully gone for the briefest of times; she had wondered if this was really it. Being in the Order... she had sworn to give her life and soul to the cause. Marlene McKinnon had valiantly gave her life, and the tiny brunette (she still couldn't think of her late friend without a twinge in her heart) had been among their best.

She had drifted in and out of consciousness, until she heard noises. They had come, this was it. The Death Eater standing guard over her had her wand, and as he advanced towards her, she used all her strength to free her loosened bonds. She hopped up and punched him in the nose before he knew what was happening. As he went down she snatched her wand. In a relatively short amount of time she was out there too, running with all her might. She was badly weakened from lack of proper food and water, as well as the painful curses she had endured.

She would make it out of here all right. She would collapse at St. Mungo's, then at the Order House, then reunite with Derek.

Well, bugger those plans.

Gasping for air as she furiously ran, she came to a sudden halt, as before her eyes were her baby cousin... and Voldemort, not more than three yards away from her. A hot sun of rage burst in her chest, and she quickly closed the distance between them, stepping in front of James, facing him.

"I believe it's me that you're looking for," she said coolly, dual emotions of anger and fear coursing through her.

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misterprongs
2009-01-12 01:46 pm UTC (link)

It hadn't taken Voldemort long to find James; the man had a feeling that the Dark Lord would be able to seek him out with a bloody thumbtack on a different continent. James couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Voldemort---lies, it was last summer, after their wedding, after Lily's parents' faces had melted away----James forced himself to not think of the times he had to deal with Voldemort (How many was this? Three--four?), but it was all he was able to do as he bent forward in pain in front of him.

He was asking him again. To join him, to help him. A good, pureblooded boy like you should not be wasting his time with the likes of the Order. Didn't he want to be a success?

"No!" James shouted again, immediately falling to his knees as another course of pain shot through him. It stopped though, it stopped almost immediately, and in James' confused and shaken mind, he couldn't help but think that Voldemort was just going to end it now instead of playing with him any longer.

"You've escaped?" Voldemort's voice rang out, sounding clearly irritated by--what? James forced his neck to crane up and he was jolted back into life at the sight of Dorcas. Dorcas! No--no she needed to get out of here! He was supposed to be saving her!

"Dorcas!" James croaked, but Voldemort must have completely lost interest in him, because with a miniscule twitch of his wand, James went soaring into the bushes once more.

"Dorcas Meadows," Lord Voldemort said, as if the name burnt his tongue, "You have been quite the pain in my side, and I've grown tired of it---means you're about to die." He took on a dueling stance, free hand twitching toward himself as if begging her to attack. "Do feel free to try and make it out of here alive, though."

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dorcasm_
2009-01-13 10:07 am UTC (link)

Dorcas Meadows had not even lived a quarter century of her life, yet here she was, facing Voldemort and knowing that she was about to die. The knowing made it better, in her opinion. The biting, icy fear that had consumed her not but a minute ago had already begun to fade; in its place a numbing rush of acceptance.

Tonight, Dorcas Meadows was going to die. She was going to be the second Order victim to fall to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, right after Marlie, dear Marlie. Dorcas stood tall and taut, staring at the Dark Lord straight in the eye, hoping against hope that her little cousin would make it out alive.

Was she stupid? Dumb, perhaps, running to face death when she knew that the Order had come in to rescue her?

Yes. But she also knew, with great certainty, that if she hadn't come between Voldemort and James, Lily would have been a widow and their child - their little boy - would have been without a father. Dorcas would never have that chance. Not with Derek, dear Derek, her beautiful Hit Wizard, the love of her life; their wedding, they hadn't even planned it, she had just been too happy that he had proposed to her, and now they would never...

They loved each other, she loved him so much, and the fact that they... that they would never...

She was consumed with a sudden urge to sob, but she knew that she couldn't, nay, she would not in front of him.

A full moment of silence passed since Voldemort spoke, and she took a deep breath, knowing that it would be the last full breath she would take. She was doing this for the Order, she was doing this for Derek, she was doing this for Marlie, she was doing this for James, she was doing this for James and Lily's little boy, and she was doing this to fight the good fight.

She took a swift glance behind her back. James had been flung somewhere out of sight. Good.

"Let's just get this over with, huh?" she said, struggling to make her voice cool and scornful, her mouth curling in a sneer. Only her eyes could betray her mask of aggression; they stung with unshed tears. She raised her wand swiftly, knowing that the motion would be utterly futile.

Goodbye.

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