keep riding the ride ;

Dorcas knew better than to rise to anger around certain people, even if she was annoyed and frustrated enough to explode the way that Sirius Black seemed to. Or Brenton Avery. Or anyone else who seems to be fighting with each other all over the castle. This is what they want. They want chaos, they want tensions to be so high that no one trusts anyone, everyone fights with everyone. Dorcas doesn’t want to fall prey to it. So she kept her mouth shut, eyebrow quirked, as she walked closer to Lucinda. “You’d know all about accusatory, wouldn’t you? You Slytherins have been pretty good at it lately.” She kept her tone even, almost playful, as if not to get confused with someone filled with some sort of prejudice and hatred. It wasn’t like she had seen Lucinda act like some of her other housemates. 

At Lucinda’s idea, Dorcas’ lips turned upward, a smile on her face as she recalled the last time Slytherin and Ravenclaw played. “Play for the pitch, huh? Do you really want to get beat again, Talkalot? Last time Ravenclaw played you, we won and you lot played dirty.” Vocals held some sickening sweetness covering them, like honey-coated thorns, as she began to enjoy this sort of interaction. “Unless you want to play one on one? I may be a beater but I could play chaser if I wanted.” 

Dorcas was one of the players she respected, herself a competitive individual that dreamed of going professional. It was why she was involved with the Death Eaters--they were the gateway to a better life, a better future, all while riding the robe tails of the Dark Lord and hiding the fact she was halfblooded. But because she was halfblooded Lucinda played the facade as if she were pure, not quite as violent or prestigious as the upper class, but that whole ‘better than you’ persona. “Is that an intellectual observation coming from a Ravenclaw? Color me shocked.” Lucinda feigned a gasp, her own tone even and playful, but while she didn’t have blood pride, she had House pride and she was just like every other Slytherin. Only less likely to get into it unless provoked, playing safe should her secret be exposed. 

“Playing dirty’s fun and makes it more worth it if you lose. There’s victory in beating someone without tallying up points.” Injuries could be traumatic, and what a Death Eater mindset she’d developed. Or Slytherin one, as Dorcas could interpret. “One on one?” The idea was intriguing, and she could practically see Emma’s glower in her agreeing. “I’m down.” Gave her all the more reason to agree. Her captain wasn’t around, and it wasn’t like she cared about Emma’s opinion anymore. “You ready to go now? Could kick out anyone practicing.”

With a grin, Brenton let a few sparks fly out the end of his wand. “Got to keep you on your toes, Talkalot. Oh, yes, that’s where I keep all my dangerous creatures. A couple of werewolves, a vampire, a manticore.” He drew his feet up onto the sill he was sat on and laughed. “I’ll tell her I warned you. Reckon I can convince her I’m nothing but the owl delivering the message.”

She was on her toes plenty without the assistance of Brenton Avery. “How’d you manage to sneak them in here without any of the darling Prefects, professors, and Head Couple noticing?”

Where: Hogwarts corridor Who: Brenton && open

He was sat on a windowsill, one leg jigging repetitively so that his foot kept hitting the wall and picking away the peeling paint from the window frame with a frenzied focus which was broken by a high-pitched squeak and some movement out the corner of his eyes. He cast a lazy hex at a mouse, almost hitting someone who just happened to be passing at the same time.

“I wouldn’t go down that way if I were you,” he said in a sing-song voice. 

“Bloody hell, Avery--I’m not a Bludger, watch where you’re going.” She said grumpily, arms folding over her chest with his sing-song warning. “No? Got monsters lurking there? Suppose I do, then you’ll have to inform Vanity why I’ve ended up in the care of Madam Pomfrey.”

If he hadhalf a brain to the matter—he’d accuse her of playing a game with him she won’t win. Rabastan wasn’t interestedin the give or take. It was more of a securitykind of thing. The way that if she went to someone else, tried to be withsomeone else, he might consider many approaches. Killing whoever stood in theway was a chance. He daren’t think of whenshe sunk her hooks into him, but she did. Lucinda was the one he wanted. Surely,he’d marry Ros, do what he could to keep her happy. But she sought freedom in asense as he did. They knew their jobs, their roles.

Didn’t meanhe couldn’t have a fun along the way. And it’s where he had her now, where shecouldn’t simply run from him as she so willingly did in the past. Was that last night? Must’ve slipped mymind. His jaw clenched. If she was going to make him work for it, it only persuadedhim to keep her closer. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me, Luc—“ He leaned in closer, unaware of what somewould consider personal space in favour for taking what he wanted. “I might getoffended to that, you know.” He brushed a stray tendril of her curls away, asardonic grin on his lips. “C’mon, don’t be so mean to me. I’d never be something as such to you.” And it was amask, much like the other one he bore proudly.

“You’redaring to suggest you wouldn’t want an afternoon of my presence, I’ll have totell you I don’t appreciate liars and I won’t take to it very well.” He would’vestolen a kiss if it wasn’t for the scatter of students within the Common Roomnow, ones he didn’t want to have to answer too should they run off and spillstories of rumors around him. His arm snaked from her shoulders, pulling hercloser, eloquently enough to make the movement as smooth as possible. “I thinkwe’re at a standstill.” He murmured the obvious. “You and I both know we don’twork like that.” Because she won’t let itwork any other way. He thought stubbornly. Sometimes all Rabastan wanted,as his narrowed gaze settled on his expression, was to see inside her mind. Knowwhat she was thinking and when. Orbetter yet—if not about him—who?

Hedidn’t disperse his thought process. “We should just go upstairs and work thisout the best way we know how.” Or just jump to the obvious. “I’ll service you when you do the same to me. Wecan call it your apology for not showing up the other night.”

Lucinda wasn’t aware of just how much Rabastan owned her, unaware of the lengths he’d go to ensure her devotion to him. For her, he’d been her saving grace after the she’d all but burned the bridge for her and Emma, developed feelings unintentionally for him, yet again a grave mistake, fled now in an attempt to eradicate them and focus on her life and cementing her family’s legacy. To make her father proud and aide the Dark Lord in making their world a better place again. 

Rabastan could easily lead her, pave that path and single-handedly give her what she wanted on a silver platter. But her blood was tainted, a filthy half-blood he’d surely carve into her corpse if exposed. An infiltrator, one who wanted to help but an example of what needed to be cleansed. If Rabastan didn’t know, if he never found out, that was for her safety, and Lucinda would always look out for herself. “Oh, I tolerate you, Rabastan.” She fought to physically shudder under his touch, relishing in the attention. He wouldn’t be mean to her, hadn’t had a reason to be, but Lucinda wouldn’t give in to Rabastan’s ego.

“Who says I’m a liar?” She questioned, brow cocking in a challenge, ironic that Lucinda Talkalot lied often and every single day of her life. He hit the nail on the head, calling them out for being at a standstill, Lucinda cutting him off cold turkey, fearful of getting to close. And cue him jumping to the suggestion of shagging one out. “As aroused as I am with that eloquent offer, I’m going to decline. Happy to hang out with you in other ways, Rabastan, darling.”

dorcas & lucinda // @lucindatalksalot· // january. courtyard.

She had booked the Quidditch pitch and only just recently found out that the Slytherins were trying to get in on her time. Of course, Quidditch should be the last thing on Dorcas’ mind. Between the rumors tearing up the school, certain order obligations, and the fact that she still needed to make her N.E.W.T.s to be an Auror; why would she occupy her free time with Quidditch? Maybe it was the growing anger that needed a release and sometimes hitting a bludger was that release. Dorcas couldn’t find Vanity anywhere, wanting to talk captain to captain, but she did find at least one person on the Quidditch team. “Talkalot,” she greeted, a slight smile on her face even though it wasn’t wholly nice or welcoming. “You haven’t seen Vanity, have you? I booked time on the pitch for Ravenclaw and you lot are trying to steal it.”

She didn’t care about reservations or politics when it came to Quidditch and the precious pitch, she followed her captain, and all Lucinda wanted to do was fly, leave the ground behind on her broomstick. Amusing that the Slytherin’s were more riled up to stir up agitation by breaking the rules after the Dark Mark’s appearance and students being brought in for questioning. 

Lucinda was all but prepared to sprint off to the locker room and don her Quidditch equipment when her name was called by Dorcas. Her own slight smile there, and her head tilted, feining shock. “Us? Steal it? Rather accusatory, Meadowes.” Still, being asked, out of habit, did attempt to look for Vanity, vaguely out of that whole exes pride and not wanting to be caught. “Nope.” The ‘p’ popped off her lips, shrugging with every ounce of sarcastic regret. “Guess that’s between Captains.” And an idea popped into her head. “Could always play for the pitch.” 

He wasn’tgoing to hide the fact that he was blatantly seeking her out. His parents couldtie him down to Rosamund, darlingRos, her inherently easy need to allow him to go forth, do as he pleased—and whohe wanted, literally. That he grinned, jumped at the chance with his fellowhousemate. She lingered like an enigma. Something he wanted. For all the thingshe had repressed, all the things he was denied from his home life—a workingrelationship with his father, his brother—all else Rabastan came across, hewould hold onto with an iron grip. Soit made it known, an arm across her shoulders, shooing the staggering studentsthat lingered, as he tilted his head towards her. “You didn’t come to the partylast night.” He referenced his family’s party. “You were invited by me.”

But he wouldhold quarrel for another moment, another time. “Oh, you’re doing all the right things to rub me the wrongway.” With Lucinda, there was a give and take. A notion he would never get his way with her and a humbleneed to make it so. He liked that,lived for that, enthralled by that. Gaze narrowed slightly. “You could tortureme at Madam Puddifoots if you’d like, so long as you promise to join me forsomething I would want to doafterwords.” Which was clear, as suggestive tones got. He leaned in, pullingthe textbook from her hands to demand her attention, as he grinned. “You coulddo what I want when I want and I would be everso humbly at your feet, you know a bastard like me would love that.” None of his suggestions placated an apology from him, but they benefited them both, and nothing made him happier when it benefited him. Like a true Lestrange would do.

She knew the risk, and what a thrill it’d be to be chosen by a Lestrange if it weren’t for his engagement with Rosamund Nott, even more taboo for her to develop feelings after rolling around in shared sheets. With Rabastan it was effortless to relinquish control, turn off her mind and worry about her own needs instead of making sure she was one step ahead of anyone else should they find out her secret. To all others, Lucinda Talkalot was pure of blood, and her naked body held no indication of her filth. 

But she wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t willingly put herself into Death’s hands by waltzing into a party of elites. No matter how badly she’d wanted to attend, especially since Rabastan had invited her personally. She could’ve used that as a crutch, but her father had persuaded her to avoid the risk. “Was that last night? Must’ve slipped my mind.” It was easy to dance around Rabastan, to play a mutual game of cat and mouse, having him as a connection was just one step closer to getting what she wanted, even if she frequently risked wanting something more. 

“I thought this was a give and take sort of thing--you give, I take.” A loose smile curled on her lips as she let her book fall shut. “So I were to join you at Madam Puddifoots, as you so eloquently asked me to, you are merely giving me something to take, not necessarily something I want.” Reluctant fingers relinquished the hold on her textbook, challenging eyes never once leaving his. “Sounds like you’re wanting me to service you, Lestrange. Why not take a chance for a new year’s resolution and service me instead and give me what I want when I want?”

With how pale Emma’s complexion was one would think she would be cursed with always feeling her cheeks heat and allowing the world an inside to her thoughts. Luckily enough, she wasn’t cursed at all. Well, very few had managed. Lucinda was one, but that had been another time. The compliment was enough to get her to smile, but that was about all she’d show. Compliments were never a way to get under her skin just because Emma knew she looked good, but she also took a moment to look over the other girl. “As do you,” she commented after a moment, letting the words linger in the air. So often the redhead was accused of being cold and closed off from the world. Perhaps Emma was cold, but she wouldn’t agree that she was closed off. Just exclusive to who she let in. 

“More times than not my departure isn’t mixed with an invite to join.” Pale shoulders lifted in a shrug and Emma sipped from her goblet— not completely against enjoying herself, but certainly more cautious than her peers. The Slytherin rarely could be seen ‘letting loose’ as much as others unless she was around a group of few close friends. “And you would think if someone was to spike the juice they’d pick a better liquor.”

The smile was a small victory in itself, and hearing as do you Lucinda felt that familiar swell of emotion, nostalgic recollection when Emma used to compliment her appearance, make her feel beautiful when she otherwise didn’t care to be. There had been a tenderness shared between the two of them, intimate and closed off to a world they were both externally callous toward, exclusive to those they let in. 

Unfortunately Lucinda had chosen the Death Eaters over a chance at happiness, had chosen herself above all else as a means of survival for her family legacy. And the Dark Lord was someone who could make all of that happen. She wanted to play Quidditch, she wanted a name that rang in infamy and caused heads to turn. Trivial wants for a half-blooded individual who was merely following her father’s orders and wishes, brainwashed to believe them herself and stop at nothing to achieve it.

“It isn’t? I must’ve followed you out of necessity then.” She replied casually, hinting at the times the two of them would leave a party or event together. It was easy to keep her flirting light and airy, easily dismissed as a joke. She’d always been just out of Emma’s reach, hadn’t she? “I think there’s something about a poor person’s idea of a party, purposefully using terrible liquor to get everyone drunk. What’s the word--ratchet?”

              ❝Please don’t…❞ Regulus said with a chuckle, there were very few who got to see this more relaxed side of him, so few that he could count the with one hand, his classmate one of those. Perhaps it was the fact that they didn’t really like a lot of people, and often found themselves making eye contact when a classmate would do something stupid, they were eye-roll mates, if there was ever such a thing. ❝Wait am I supposed to ask who is taking you?❞ he wondered raising an eyebrow. Maybe if he hadn’t been set on making dear mother angry by attending alone he could’ve asked Lucinda, they could’ve at least made fun of people and couples together while sipping champagne.

“Seem a little shy there, Reg. Is it a big secret?” Lucinda teased with a waggle of brows. If her blood weren’t so tainted, the male beside her was one she’d consider pursuing, but she’d done her research, knew how the Black family ensured their purity. She could only lie so much, students were easy to fool, but a family that knew who was who in the world wasn’t one so easily tricked. “Me, myself, and I.” She answered simply with a shrug, having toyed with the idea of asking Emma as an olive branch, immediately shot down when she remembered why she’d ghosted her in the first place.

Having had two options due to Emma’s first dress having the potential to be hung up at the seamstress for too long, she had a red dress hanging in her dorm for the past two weeks as a backup. There was nothing wrong with the dress— it was bold, striking, and would go with her hair. Emma Vanity never minded standing out among a crowd if the time called for it, brought up in a life which taught her to hold a room’s attention. Luckily enough the dress Emma wanted showed up on time— a light green shimmering number shaped perfectly for her.

The Slytherin had been speaking to one of the Ministry Officials posted at the ball— even during an event Emma was supposed to enjoy herself she always found time to talk business. It was better than the endless small talk which went around the room. She had walked away to get a drink when a familiar voice caught her ear and the redhead turned, gaze lingering on Lucinda for a short period. “It arrived the other day,” Emma commented casually, picking up a glass before bringing it to her lips to take a sip. Catching the Slytherin off guard, the girl hadn’t expected the juice to be spiked— she even made a face initially. “I figured I’d go without one. It makes leaving when you want less of a hassle.” Her mother also wasn’t around to hound her about saying yes to the first suitable man who asked.

Fresh off the press. Leave it to Emma to choose a dress last minute and for it to be jaw dropping. “Well you look breathtaking, Vanity.” She had to use the formal, had to stop herself from the intimacy of using the other’s first name, halt it from falling off her lips. Just another means of protecting herself and denying how she really felt. Terrible at this, wasn’t she? Like a cat in a lukewarm bath Lucinda felt extremely out of her element and it wasn’t like her to tiptoe around anyone. 

Watching Emma’s reaction to the punch was amusing, but Lucinda chose not to comment on it in an effort not be observant, and instead drank her own. “Don’t know who’d think leaving with you would be a hassle, but I did the same.” She didn’t have family members to impress though.