* do i divide & fall apart ?

This was what happened when Alecto was left alone to her own devices. Rabastan had gone away for a couple days with Emmeline to Italy, leaving her to uncontained chaos that needed to be released. Restraint teetered, tugging in both directions, emotions that seemed suffocating, and even after the torture she ensued interrogating with him, it was never quenched.

There may have been requests made and she would not wish to break them, yet it didn't hinder her to discover loopholes. The witch sauntered down the dark streets of London with Bellatrix at her side. The two together, death reapers on the prowl, meant only demise would trail behind. "I need a challenge. I thought mudbloods had stronger wills." She huffed, annoyance lanced in her tone. Her words were a lie, mudbloods were like flies, easy to pick off, but she was bored. "At least the last had more resemblance."

Bellatrix listened to her pointed kitten heels tap on the concrete, the sound bringing her serenity as her cushion-charmed feet took them steps closer to their glorious plans. It was shaping up to be a divine evening already, Bella's rage by-proxy simmering deep in her ribcage, spurred by a series of unfortunate encounters over the past week. Where Alecto was picturing one specific witch in their targets, Bella was picturing everyone who had recently pissed her off.

"Please," Bella drawls, followed by a scoff. "They're vermin, little more than rats." She tilts her head, studying a few of the muggles passing them by, their tittering making her cringe. "Less than rats, actually." Crossing her arms, Bella feels her wand stir, safely concealed deep in a robe pocket. The garment was subtle enough to still represent her position as a witch to any of their kind, but still muggle enough to pass as a long jacket.

He leaned in and whispered into Bellatrix’s ear, “That laugh was horrendous. You should practice. Or not. I like you without the laughter.” He stepped back. “I would never deny you foreplay, my dear wife,” he looked her up and down as she bit into the strawberry. “This is more like it,” he commented with a sly smile. Bellatrix may have not cared much about marriage — neither did Rodolphus — but he was lucky in marriage. They say love kills and that’s exactly what they did best together.

“Oh, fantastic event, I must admit,” he rolled his eyes. “But make no mistake. They will be too busy with a child to do anything worthwhile. We’ll still be the best pairing. Always.”

“I only call you darling because what I actually want to say is too vulgar.” She glares at him, not even bothering to hide a smidge of her ire. There was nobody around, and even if there were, she dares them to make any sort of judgement about her marriage. To the public, her and Rodolphus showed a flawlessly united front. It wasn’t much different from their actual lives -- they had a kinship she doubts she’d find with anyone else.

Still, she can’t fucking stand him ninety nine percent of the damned time. No one had to know she'd much rather eat him for dinner than she would cook him a meal. That's what they had house elves for anyway, even if they were ugly, vile creatures. No uglier than a child of Lucius bloody Malfoy would be. Pointy and pale. She only hopes for the bloodlines sake it takes after Narcissa, in both personality and looks.

At that, Pandora finally turns to look at Bellatrix, expression contorted into innocent confusion. "No," she replies easily. "You must have him mixed up with someone else. My friend Regulus is possibly the least disgraceful person I know. Nobody in their right mind would ever identify him as such."

Bellatrix shrugs, tone flat. "We've always known this was Narcissa's fate, to be doted on by an unnaturally blond man with a collection of peacocks," she drawls. "That's what we're bred for, isn't it?" She understands all too well what Pandora means. Bellatrix still feels a longing for her true surname, a need to make the family proud, to somehow dominate the patriarchal structure and make it anew. In a perfect world, Bellatrix would be Lady Black, head of the household and her husband would be subservient to her. "It's almost written in prophecy itself."

As the silence passed, he also took a canapé, then reached for a bottle of something sparkling and alcoholic. Turning it indolently, he observed the label then generously filled his own glass before offering it to Bellatrix as she permitted the conversation to continue.

"Good. The most pressing: I am working on a scheme which will require duellists, while I attend to breaking curses and enchantments. May I count on you to join me? I will ask only the most trusted and the most skilled. It will not be easy. I will tell you more when it is almost time." He pushed the bottle back onto the table, not waiting for her response before continuing. "I also require your opinion on two potential recruits."

Bella takes the bottle from him and then places it back down on the table, crossing her arms. She remembers an earlier conversation, remembers her newfound dedication to watching her damn drinks. She trusted Rabastan, of course; only so far as you can trust a man, that is.

"Of course you can, though I dislike not being kept in the loop." She shoots him a mild glare before letting her gaze stroll around the room, mind idly picking out all of the adept duellers she sees. There weren't very many. Bella hated conceding, hated not knowing exactly what was happening, when it was, and where. Often the one leading the charge, Bellatrix found it hard to give up control... Having it was one of the finest points in life.

the dim, smoky interior of the leaky cauldron buzzes with hushed conversations and the clink of butterbeer mugs. rita sits in a shadowy corner, her quick-quotes quill poised over a piece of parchment. her jeweled eyes glint in the candlelight as her eyes dart from table to table, hungrily seeking out the next juicy tidbit of gossip.

a smirk plays on her lips as she overhears snippets of conversation – whispers of ministry shake-ups, rumors of dark magic resurfacing. her quill scratches furiously, embellishing each morsel of information with her trademark flair for the dramatic.

suddenly, the pub's door swings open, admitting a gust of chilly air and a figure shrouded in a traveling cloak. rita's eyes narrow as she recognizes the newcomer – a potential source, or perhaps her next unwitting subject. she takes a sip of her gillywater, mind spinning.

with a practiced flick of her wrist, rita tucks away her quill and parchment into her handbag. she stands, smoothing her top and plastering on her most beguiling smile. time to work her magic – after all, the truth won't sensationalize itself.

Bellatrix pauses for a moment, looking the woman up and down, her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Rita Skeeter, Bella remembers, at the exact same time she feels a chill go down her spine. Not of fear, of course, but of the nagging feeling she is about to be annoyed to an early grave.

It wasn't often she came into the Leaky, hovel that it was. Bellatrix was an hour early for a pre-planned work meeting. She wanted to come inspect the location before agreeing to sit and eat here, not willing to be poisoned by — gods forbid — greasy pub food. Her eyes leave Skeeters person and flicker about the room, a look of disgust on her face as she takes in the baskets of vinegar-soaked chips. Repulsive.

A sigh as Zafar was brought up, her eyes catching sight of him among the milling crowd. "The parents latest matchmaking scheme." She shook her head, lifting her glass to take another drink of champagne. "I thought perhaps they'd give up after two but alas here we are." She was eager to be rid of him already, but all in good time. It was tempting to be close to Bellatrix, drawn in by her dark and alluring presence. It was rare to find the witch not in the presence of another, she wanted to take advantage as long as she could. "Congratulations are hardly necessary, but thank you." A flash of a smile as her eyes returned to Bellatrix. "Your family once again has thrown the event of the year. Still I must admit I'm counting down the minutes til it's considered acceptable to leave."

"True," Bella agrees with a smirk. “They might not stop until there’s an heir." Merlin help Cygnus and Druella Black, for if they ever tried to marry Bellatrix off again, they’d find themselves handing off their fortunes to her sad, widowed self — posthumously. Bella was not against patri/matricide, it was simply the beautiful, thrilling cycle of life. "Pop one out, watch as poor Zafar accidentally ingests some hemlock — nasty stuff, that — and get on with your life."

Threatening someone public wasn't her best work even if it wasn't directly to their face, but Bella was a few wines past caring what other people overheard. She'd deal with the Dark Lord later, if he had anything to say about her upfront behaviour. He'd never complained about it when he benefited from it, that's for sure. If only there was a Lady to report back to. Bella might actually have a bit more respect for the pureblood cause, then.

It's something only Bella could yearn for, a life alone... but she supposes Rodolphus was rather attentive to her needs, as sadistic and depraved as they were. If she had to pick any amongst the pureblooded litter, it'd have to be him. Power seeks power and corruption breeds corruption. They were perfect.

She’s scouring the room for signs of her friends to help silence her mind, but her eyes land on Bellatrix instead. Wrong move, it seems. “I — errr, okay,” she says, eyes averting so she’s talking to mid-air as she continues. “But I promise I wasn’t looking at you. Just searching for my friends. I’d really love to keep my arms if that’s okay.”

She watches Pandora curiously, chattering on as if Bella gave a sickle what her thoughts were. She resists the urge to burst into uncontrolled laughter, both fatigue and adrenaline spurring her more unsavoury thoughts. "I'll allow it this once, since I'm feeling celebratory," Bella says, knowing damn well if she truly was feeling celebratory, it'd make her want to break some arms even more. She pities the younger girl, she was weird, and the worst thing you could be in society was different from everybody else.

“I’d want to go out by fire,” she says after a moment of thought. “Uncontrollable, wild. I can’t think of anything more humiliating than being shot down by an Avada.” She wrinkles her nose, disgusted at the mere thought. Any sort of death brought on by another would not be good enough for Bellatrix Lestrange. It would be a weakness – it would embarrass her entire family line, being put down like one would a hunted animal. How distasteful. No, Bella wouldn't be found dead like that, nor would she be caught dead strangling another man. That would be unfaithful to her doting husband.

"It's not the 1800s," she says, rolling her eyes. "Women don't fall over themselves from exertion. She smirks. “I’d give you thirty seconds before my beloved hits you with a slicing hex. Blood red does go so well with wedding white." Bella crosses her legs and arms, forgoing her pureblood etiquette for a bit of comfort. Still, she feels her governess's hex tingling on her fingers like an unmourned ghost. Stubborn, she keeps her arms closed anyway.

Branimira Antonova

Alecto spent the night with her champagne glass that was filled with sparkling water, the thought of alcohol making her nauseous. "They shall be disappointed." A teasing tone to her voice, taking a sip of her drink. "We must deny their deepest desires." She was certain that was not on their minds, but who knew when it came to the Lestrange brothers.

Bella raises her eyebrow at Alecto and pointedly looks at the glass of sparkling water. She highly doubted the woman was denying any of her brother-in-laws deepest desires, but she keeps the thought to herself, playing nice. It wasn't like she was jealous of Alecto — how could she be? Bellatrix was Lady Lestrange now and the eldest daughter in the House of Black. She wasn't jealous of Alecto's condition. Of course not. Was she?

He had lost Bellatrix in the crowd. Not that they were the type of couple who were up each other’s asses but he was wondering where she had wandered off to. Perhaps she could bring some unintended humor and bitchiness to the circumstance they found themselves in.

In searching for her he saw the brunette with a scowl on her face. Perfection. Just what he was hoping for. Not that she would be all sunshine and butterflies anyway. His beautiful wife was even more beautiful when she was looking out for number one — which was always.

Rodolphus walked up to her with his scotch in his hand. “Oh come now. You wouldn’t want to have scotch on your dress. Blood, sure. But scotch?” His lip curled to the side. “I love that you’re having such a beautiful time at this glorious event,” he said with sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"Darling husband," she greets, tone dripping with equal parts sarcasm and faux sweetness. Being at a family wedding meant having to play not only the dutiful older sister but the devoted society wife. She lays a hand on Rodolphus's arm, lets her head fall back and laughs delicately, seeming as brainless as she possibly could. Bellatrix then bats her eyelashes playfully, a cat-like smile on her pouted lips. "You'd deny me a little foreplay on such a historic occasion? How unfair." She picks up a strawberry, popping it between her teeth and biting down gently, letting the juice flow over her fingers.

She hadn't been necessarily avoiding him all day, but she wasn't seeking him out, either. If she managed to make her way slyly to another side of the room on the occasions she saw him trying to catch her eye, that wasn't really her fault, was it? She simply had so many people to attend to. That's how godsdamned dutiful she was. Bellatrix licks the juice from her fingers and hums. Cherries were her favourite, they provided a darker red, but strawberries would suffice... though nothing compared to the rarer red she adored most.

Slipping away from a few of her co-workers with a feigned smile and excuse, she made her way over to the bar to grab herself another glass of champagne. Spotting Bellatrix she made her way over, a delighted laugh slipping past her lips at the comment. "Careful Bella, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were flirting with me." She flashed the gorgeous woman beside her a devilish smile, eyes on her even as she took a drink from her flute. "You do look gorgeous this evening." No one else was around, she certainly had no shame in flirting.

Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't in the business of handing over compliments, nor was she with returning them. She always found it an awful ordeal, people telling her something she already knew. She was well versed in social scripts, in the ebb and flow of small talk and body language. Bella lets her eyes speak for her, roaming from Evelyn's legs to her eyes in one long, carnivorous sweep. A challenging smile follows. “Flirting would insinuate a watered down desire.” She was well versed in the art of seduction: broken limbs, stab wounds, hair pulled so tightly around a closed fist it nearly rips out. Bellatrix wanted with a consuming, destructive sort of violence. Like phoenix to fire, Bella burns.

Stubbornly, he'd refused to let the day go to personal waste. Since there were so many of their circle in the same place, he'd attended to various Death Eater matters while circulating. Thus, savage topics interspersed greetings and congratulations, and by this point, he felt almost as though he had achieved a something selfishly worthwhile. But he had not yet found a moment to speak with Bellatrix. Finding her loitering beside the refreshments, he wasted no time in joining her and reached across to examine the offerings. He paid no heed to her words, aside from a wryly arching eyebrow and a sly curve to his lips.

"Very well, sister. I will look at you no longer. But that will make it rather difficult to converse." He then pulled a platter towards himself with a lazy tug of his finger, clearly not intending to share, though it did remain between them. "Of course, if you don't want to hear about my work for the cause, I will leave you in peace." It made no difference to him. He would simply seek her when she was in a more preferable mood.

Great, now the spare was talking to her. Bella didn’t really see the point in Rebastan. The Lestranges had one perfectly good heir, why in Salazar’s name would they try for another? Surely they knew second sons were only good as a failsafe if your eldest was stupid enough to keel over. Rodolphus, she knew, was practically unkillable. She’d thought about trying four dozen times at least. Perhaps the Lestranges were trying for a girl to add some purpose to their miserable, testosterone dominated family. She couldn't blame them, the men in her own bloodline were nothing short of disappointing.

"You're creative," she says flatly, not bothering to pay attention to him. "You'll find a way." She takes another treat from his platter. "Or you can close your eyes and picture me instead. I don't care."

He took a slow sip of his own drink. “I am good at what I do, you may call me the best if it feels more natural. I’m sure the thought of drowning me brought a smile to your lips or as close as you can get when not pursuing your hobby.”

Inferior creatures, of course, but muggles were fascinating. Drinking in the detail like she would fine wine, Bellatrix's eyes are rapt with attention. She's fully tuned into him now, regardless of his typical nonsense. “Anything?” She wasn’t the biggest fan of poison, wanting more to see the effects of her magic — whether it be slow-rolling physical injury, delirium, or on the best occasions, decapitation. “How repulsive. They really are like wild animals, aren’t they.”

She follows his eyes to the glass she’d just drank from and lets out a sharp laugh. She felt perfectly fine. As much as she… trusted her fellow death eater, she’d have to be a bit more careful from now on. Bellatrix was often fully welcoming of her own recklessness, finding her thin escapes from death to be both exhilarating and nice learning opportunities. She wonders if it would feel as good as looks, the siphoning of a life force.

Refusing to let the distaste show on her features, Bella's stare is blank, unyielding. She tilts her head, a question on the tip of her tongue. Swallowing it, she lets out a quiet hm of agreement. Despite Emmeline's established reputation and proximity to her brother in law, here was no amount of loyalty the half blood could pledge to excuse her sorry excuse for a bloodline. Bella watches the others movements like she would a lab newt: observant, purposeful.

Of course the witch didn’t like crowds. Who would, sticking out like a feral crup? How she was allowed to join the circle was beyond her, but Bella wasn’t in the business of questioning her Lord’s decisions, asinine as they were. Typical man to put aside your values when it serves your ego.