#thread;pen

It was surprising how tiring weddings could be. Day long events, filled with socialising and polite debauchery, they wore down one's energy more efficiently than expected. But it was with a contented sort of bland fatigue that Rabastan finally conceded and paced through the ballroom, away from his parents and the witches his mother seemed to admire the most. If he must endure this procedure, he would do it on his own terms. So he observed those still milling in the room, a drink in his hand and an expression of passive resignation sprawling his features.

Mentally discarding option after option, he was almost ready to return to those selected for him. As loathe as he was to admit, his mother's judgement was peculiarly satisfactory and almost matched his own exacting standards. Absently, he wondered how Rodolphus had managed to escape this ordeal, and was fortuitously distracted by the sight of a wixen scurrying from the room in tears while their dancing partner paired away with another.

"Oh, dear..." With absolutely no pity, he downed the contents of his glass.

It had been a hectic few days. Rabastan liked to keep himself occupied, never one to sit idle. He despised laziness; laziness indicated deficiency. Rabastan was diligent, determined to succeed in his endeavours. He needed to work to remain in control, for while he was applying himself to other tasks, his mind was not roving over his intolerable state as an inactive Death Eater. The devil made work for idle hands. So he kept his engaged, lest he be tempted to wrap them around a Mudblood's neck.

Presently, he was sitting beside the fire in a quiet bar, in the sort of high-backed chair that looked comfortable but radiated shadowed hostility. He had turned its imposing frame to such an angle that he could see who entered the room. So he noted Pen promptly when they arrived, and that was enough to make him abandon his newspaper and place his ice-cold firewhisky onto the table beside him. Gesturing to the chair opposite, he indicated for Pen to join him. Though he didn't know them at all, he knew that they had been imprisoned and later released. He wanted to learn more. If Pen were like-minded, if they truly supported the Dark Lord's cause, he was sure they'd join him.