#evan 001

Andromeda couldn’t quite get where she knew the man from, she wasn’t sure, the only thing that she was sure is that they had met before. It was the way h moved, and the way his mouth cornered to pronounce certain words. Even the side eye he gave some of the people at the party. 

She knew she shouldn’t be staring, it was in poor education, but she needed her brain to stop screaming at her to match the face with a name. 

Being a healer made her see a million faces a week, but she was certain, without a doubt, that she new the person in front of her, more intimate than a patient, yet she couldn’t quite remember from where, and it was driving her mad.

when: 9 o’clock, saturday morning

who: @evancitron​

Carmen was never really quite sure why they called it a beach. As far as she was concerned if there was no ocean then it wasn’t a beach. Saturday mornings was also just about the only time it was empty - unless some poor freshman had decided to make a bed on the sand after a heavy night. But there were no happy campers that morning. Just the river lapping inches from Carmen’s running shoes.

She turned, ready to run the 5km loop back to Linden Dorm but saw that she was no longer the only person on the beach. Evan Citron had wandered into the clearing and it was the first time she’d seen him in months. She hadn’t been trying to avoid him, but she certainly hadn’t been seeking him out. Especially not since everything had ended so...catastrophically.

It was strange, looking at him after so long. And it was like time allowed her to see him differently, the way everyone else must do when he shuffled on by, a figure so quiet most did not notice him. That was what had made him so perfect.

Still, he wasn’t so invisible that she could just ignore him now.

“Hey,” she said, approaching as though he was a spooked horse, “Long time no see.”

@evandonahue​

@silenciorosier

She’d entrusted Cissy into Rab’s capable hands, knowing the younger Lestrange would take good care of her baby sister for fear of her wrath. Whose wrath specifically hardly mattered. When it came to the Lestrange men, neither sister was afraid to throw their weight around. 

Free to go exploring without worrying about whether she’d return to find Narcissa at some undesirable’s mercy, Bella thought she’d peruse the various stands. There were trinkets for sale and games to be won, treats and drinks and curious little oddities. For whatever reason --likely that she’d misplaced her better sense-- she’d expected at least some of it to be fun. The games were rigged, the trinkets were cheap, and she was bored.

Expelling a heavy, spiritless breath, she glanced about the crowd in search of some real entertainment. Chin propped against the heel of her palm, the fingers of her other hand tapped a listless beat against the table she’d plopped down behind to strategize. If Rod weren’t so busy moving about chess pieces in the Dark Lord’s grande Game, she could have at least stolen him into some dark corner and had her way with him for a while. But he was working and she could entertain herself in the meantime. She’d just have an easier go of it if she had some--

Summoned by her thoughts, Evan sashayed into view, materializing with a flourish only her dear cousin was capable of. A smile shot to the surface, wicked mischief as prevalent in her feline simper as it was in her sparkling eyes. Both hands on the table’s surface, she pushed herself up from her seat and rounded the table to rush her ostentatiously dressed cousin. 

Tarquin regretted not attending that wretched auction. He made it a point to avoid events like those like the plague- he had, had enough of Pureblood society as it was but he knew Evan had been present and the news of the Fiendfyre had jolted him. At least if he had been there he would have been able to keep an eye on him. He tried telling himself that Evan could handle himself and if he had been hurt, someone would have let him know but logic never stood a chance in front of his overactive imagination and his fear for Evan’s safety. 

It was too early for a visit but their friendship was far past formalities of any kind and so, Tarquin found himself apparating outside the manor’s doors, his mind a mess of jumbled up thoughts and worst case scenarios. Unreasonably, he dreaded the scene that would greet him and wasn’t particularly comforted as the house elf opened the door and it was the same as it always had been. He hurried past the creature, his footsteps echoing in the hall. “Evan!” He called as he headed for the stairs. He needed to see him, anything would be better than the worry gnawing at his heart when he received no reply. He took the stairs two at a time, calling out his name again. And then Evan, appeared at the top of the stairs. His heartbeat slowed down as he swept his eyes over his figure. He looked fine but that meant nothing. His knuckles were white from holding onto the railing so hard and he loosened his grip, letting out a sigh of exasperation and concern. “Would it have killed you to send an owl?” His voice was still tense, and his eyes sharp and intent. Evan looked exhausted but that was a different conversation. “Are you hurt?” 

Lounging comfortably in the padded booth, Valerian twirled the wine in her glass as her ceder irises perused the festivities beyond the scarlet organza curtains enclosing them within the space. The music that filled the sultry venue was seductive and primal. Percussion and string instruments played a tempo that was dangerously easy to sway your hips to. Tones and rhythm swirled like smoke, breathing it in, letting it fill you, was more than instinct, it was necessity.

Beyond the pillows, tapestries, and flickering candle light were other wixen eager for a good time. Several were dancing to the provocative beat, others were reclining in their own private booths, smoking cigars and schmoozing as inhibitions melted away under the establishment’s lurid ambience. 

She loved this watering hole above most others for how downright risque it was. The women wore so little, the men even less, oils and incense spiced the air, and wine ran like water. None of the regulars would confess to being so beyond these walls, and the establishment’s legatee was so selective that most weren’t aware that such a place even existed. 

Escorts, courtesans, chatelaines whose companionship all came at a price sauntered and flirted through the booths. The promise was that desires would be met, dreams made real, fantasies fulfilled and the number of Ministry officials, politicians, and societal pillars that purchased those promises was not at all surprising. So predictable, in fact, that it was exactly their purpose in attending tonight’s debauchery. They had a mark, and the more they baited the water the better likely they were to catch their fish.

Her rich brown gaze flitted over to Evan and the fullness of Valerian’s lips curled at the sight of him. The wizard really was a handsome male specimen. If rumor served, there was a good chance that their mark would have only a passing interest in her. Well, with the bangles, halter top, and Egyptian styled belly dancer’s skirt, she’d wager his interest to be marginally more than passing. 

After a long sip from her wine, she mused, “How long do you think it’ll be before he’s begging you to fuck him.” Her smirk grew, wicked and amused, as her expression darkened with her eagerness to get to the night’s main event. “I wager it’ll be less than ten minutes.”

@evanxmoss​