𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬, 𝑩𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑿.
The night was the best time for her to do business, many liked to stick to the shadows and out of sight, which was more than fine by her. But tonight it was about planning and working a new angle for the cause, having spent quite some time in the concealed wine cellar at the White Wyvern going over all the facts they knew now with Regina in their grasp. As she was leaving though, she did have to dodge a few drunks stumbling out of the establishments after last call but she didn’t expect to see Larkin lurking about as well. “Relax, Mulciber, no need to use that wand.”
⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅
UPON catching sight of the raven-haired witch, Larkin lowers his wand at once, not wanting to seem impertinent. “I apologize,” he replies, visibly tucking his wand back into his coat. “I’ve been a bit restless…” he admits, letting out a hurried, uncharacteristic sigh. “I thought a walk would remedy my agitation.” Out of his fellow Death Eaters, he held a great amount of respect for the oldest Black heiress. “I suppose it’s because progress feels slow.” Larkin is impatient, especially when he is bored of his daily tasks.














