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 Aftermath, #GG
DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Oct 15 2016, 10:51 PM
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Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



I crumble completely
when you cry

The night sky was dotted with tiny pinpricks of celestial light, the heavens a background for a full moon that bathed Knockturn Alley in its ethereal glow. The sight was quite a rare one to see, especially in such an industrial city like London filled with churning factories, sprawling buildings, and hundreds of lampposts spewing artificial light. A figure cloaked in fabrics of the darkest black stood outside the paned windows of ‘The White Wyvern’ – one of the more popular bars within Knockturn. It was a busy night tonight for the pub, with a handful of patrons milling about outside the guarded doors in varying states of sobriety. Derio stared through the windows of the Wyvern, the pits of his eyes empty and blank as he took in the jovial festivities within. His gaze slipped past each individual as they smiled and cheered, clanking pints filled with ale together as they each celebrated the end of a workday. That image of joy juxtaposed sharply against the dour aura that the pureblood was emitting.

It had been a terrible night for Derio.

One filled with death and branding.

His left forearm still burned from the dark spell that had left a vivid red branding of a foreboding skull with a snake slithering out of his gaped mouth – the Dark Mark. The pureblood still smelled the reek of foul magic coming from the Mark, the scent not something quite specific but just the general stench of something plainly wrong. Running a frazzled hand through his mop of ebony hair, Derio turned away from the lively bar and continued walking down the cobblestone streets of Knockturn, his mind a tumultuous frenzy of activity. The young man still wore a shell-shocked expression upon his grim countenance, the horrors of the night leaving deeps rips in his fragile psyche. What he expected coming into his meeting with Rodolphus Lestrange had met all of his expectations but for the life of hadn’t expected the conclusion of said events.

He had taken a life tonight.

Just for the sake of a tattoo and a promise of allegiance.

Granted it was something he had expected – his father had told him stories of the events that led up to receiving his own Mark, with explicit details of course – but there was always a difference with what a person expected and what actually happened. The scene was very fresh in his mind, still wet with paint of the darkest crimson and the black of death. The young man hadn’t expected the wide-eyed pleading from his muggle victim, of the spittle being spat as he begged for his life as the man wondered what he had done to be placed in that predicament. Derio had silenced that man decisively with a precise cutting spell to the throat. Shaking his head in an attempt to banish the ghastly image, the pureblood turned into a dark and empty alleyway and DIsapparated with a faint pop.

Derio reappeared in an empty hallway in front of his apartment door. He was thankful that there was no one around to see him in such a state of distress, especially since he had many neighbors that where a touch above nosey. With a weary sigh, the young man fished his key from within his cloak pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. He needed to get blackout drunk and just forget the shitshow that was his day. With that idea in mind, Derio turned the key and entered his flat.

What greeted him inside was a residence in shambles.

“What in the fuck…” Derio stepped inside slowly, shutting the door silently behind him as he slipped his wand from within his sleeve holster and held it firmly within his dueling hand. Calculating eyes stared out at the chaos before him – a toppled painting of lilacs, one that Derio had seen Demetria touching up earlier today; an abandoned pallet on the floor, fresh purple paint upon it with rabbit tracks leading towards his work area; the sounds of a record player skipping, the needle jumping on that last groove as it attempted to replay the last song; Lysander Barnabas digging through his herb bag as he nibbled on the stem of a very expensive potions ingredient, tracks of deep purple still wet on his fur. Derio strode towards the bunny purposefully, picking up the wriggling creature and holding it tight against the crook of his arm as it attempted to flee. The young man walked towards the open door of Demetria’s room, anger bright in his eyes,

“Dem, why in the holy hell is the flat –“ His words died at the tip of his lips at the mess his twin sister’s room was in. Clothes had been haphazardly thrown about within the room as if a tornado had been summoned in close proximity to cause such a chaotic scene. Derio back away, brow furrowed both in confusion and worry. Demetria should’ve been back by now. Her schedule had stated that she wasn’t supposed to be working late this night…

He pulled away from the room and rushed towards the kitchen, chocolate eyes seeking his sister’s schedule that had been placed upon the fridge. Derio quickly found the entry for the day’s date, noting that she indeed did not have work at night. “Where the fuck are you, Dem?” He asked himself, eyes wandering their shared flat for any more clues to hint as to where his twin would be. His gaze laid upon an unfolded letter on their kitchen counter, one that he didn’t remember seeing when he left the apartment for work. Placing the rabbit gently onto the counter, he picked up the letter and began to scan it, eyes narrowing as they went further down. After a moment Derio placed it back unto the table and sat tiredly on an empty chair, his wand clattering upon the table.

A date. She was at a date.

…With Rabastan.

A Lestrange. A fucking Lestrange.

Consequences be damned, Derio fished out a cigarette from his near empty pack and placed it with a shaky hand to his lips. Lighting it with a flicker of wandless magic, he inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves as he fumed silently, eyes glues towards the door as he waited for his dear sister to return.

Demetria | 1179 | ]Tattoos

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DEMETRIA GREENGRASS
 Posted: Oct 20 2016, 08:36 PM
Quote
Ani is Offline

Ice Cream Parlor Worker
22 years old
Dating Rabastan Lestrange
Neutral
31 posts



HEY YOU
DON'T TELL ME THERE'S NO HOPE AT ALL. TOGETHER WE STAND, DIVIDED WE FALL.
The evening had been absolutely magical.

Sure, there was a whole myriad bumps and lulls and moments in which Demetria wished it was socially acceptable to apparate away and compose herself, but overall it had been a success. She had managed to be wined and dined without making a complete and utter fool of herself, which was what she was most worried about going in. This evening was her first ever date, and with its coming at the late age of twenty-two, there was obvious reasons behind it, and not that she was unlikeable. The worry of embarrassing herself by exposing parts of her was the biggest thing she had to fear in any situation. She was told she gave too much of herself away, and she often realized how much effort and time she put into things that other people wouldn’t even bat an eye at. It had hurt her, and she didn’t enjoy feeling the pain of betrayal and of false hope getting crushed.

Demetria was a worrier. Maybe that was why this sudden date had actually gone so well and in her favor. There was no time for her to fret over anything, or to sit around all day and worry herself to the point of being unwilling to show up. The notice of her date had arrived abruptly, and she had had to depart within minutes of its announcement. She hadn’t had time to build up any self-doubt, or to think out elaborate, failing hypotheticals. It had gone well without the preconceptions, with only minor mess ups, but they were spawned mutually, and so easement was in her brain.

And the idea of love was in her heart.

It had simply gone so well. Never before had she expected for anything she took part in to run its course so smoothly. Even with the occasional drop in casual conversation, things had seemed so easy. Rabastan was an easy man to talk to. He didn’t judge her multiple jobs, or her hobby of painting, and hadn’t tried in any way to exert his superiority over her. There was a civility there that she hadn’t been expecting in any pureblood male, and she respected that, admired it even. She had walked away feeling like a real person going on a real date, despite her being rather guarded and the interaction forced and arranged.

She was so happy that in that moment, she could’ve died. The weight of the date was lifted off her chest with its success, the worry of appeasing her lacking-temperament father no longer her main concern of the evening. She had served her purpose for the evening, and surely he would be proud of her- Perhaps for the very first time in her existence. That alone gave her the feeling of elatedness. It seemed she had worked her whole life for this very moment in which she finally felt this way.

From here, she hadn’t any clue where she would go. There was the hope that there would be more dates, maybe something that led to a marriage, one where love was present. It was for certain that Demetria could fall in love with Rabastan. She wanted to. To her, it didn’t matter if the odds were against her or if thinking these things so soon was desperate or adolescent. Of course she was smart enough not to tell him, or anyone yet. Currently she was planning on keeping the date on the down low- The two of them had both seemed to think that the best ideas, especially with mutual friends and other parties in the mix and reactions that may arise. Besides, they weren’t anything serious; not yet, anyway.

Demetria had made the executive decision to casually walk home, pleased with her current situation. It was a warmer night than usual in the city, and so she decided to enjoy it. The air was soft and crisp, with a slight wind that didn’t come into contact with any other skin than her face, as she was wearing a jean jacket. It hadn’t been formal enough for the restaurant, and both it and the girl were covered with dried paint, but for the quiet walk home it was nice. The whole evening was just . . . Nice. Everything had worked itself into a place, and so she decided to enjoy the giddy high she was currently on, and allowed it to continue as she happily walked along her way.

Even the the darker alleyways of Knockturn weren’t enough to deter her spirit. She kept to herself, her smile small and her gaze down on her shoes, but at the same time she was still attentive and aware of her surroundings. Derio had taught her to act a certain way when she was by herself to the buff and nasty creatures lurking the shadows that was the street their flat resided wouldn’t leap out and bother her.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she was nearing the end of her happiness without her knowing. While she had remembered that she had left the rabbit out, she hadn’t even began to dream up the possibilities of anything near the mess the flat had become in the past four or so hours. She pulled her key out of her shoulder bag, rattling the painted yellow object to produce the sound of metal on metal to let anyone in the flat know she was coming. After she unlocked it, she gently rasped her knuckles upon the wooden surface, then sucked in one last deep breath to push all of her overwhelming happiness down in an attempt to hide it.

After all, Demetria wasn’t going to tell Desiderio that she had gone on a date with Rabastan Lestrange.

She almost giggled as she walked in. She had been on a date! It was still difficult to digest, and it had gone so well. It was as if she was walking on a cloud and absolutely nothing was going to bring her down.

Toeing off her shoes, she neatly kicked them off of her feet before nudging them to be standing against one another with their tips touching the wall. The pair of black flats were about the only thing in order once she turned and looked to the flat. There was paint everywhere with her canvass toppled over and little prints racing about the living room. Walking further into the flat, she passed the kitchen without looking over to her brother hunched and personifying death in his dark under-eye circles and his darker eyes. Her single umber plait swayed as she looked about, absorbing the scene with her concerned caramel gaze.

Derio was going to kill her.

Remembering the letter still sitting on the counter, Demetria decided that was the first thing she ought to clean up. She turned on her socked heal, less friction than usual due to bright yellow socks causing her to spin and head that way. Upon entering through a low archway, she realized her worst nightmare had come true:

He was already home; Derio was going to kill her.

“H-Hey Derio. How was your day at work?” Her tone was soft, as if addressing some member of the elderly or a feral dog. Gingerly she stepped forward and more into the room, catching the letter out of the corner of her eye. If she was lucky enough, he hadn’t read it yet, but then again, luck never seemed to be on the brunette’s side. “Did you, uh, sell a lot of potions?” She also was terrible at acting normal, and it was almost clear what she was attempting to do. Demetria’s speckled nose wrinkled some as she saw him smoking indoors, especially when she had told him in the past not to, but she decided to let it slide.

From the look in his eye, it didn’t seem her brother was going to do the same and let her off easy.

Derio/#GG
XOXO
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DESIDERIO GREENGRASS
 Posted: Oct 29 2016, 08:30 PM
Quote
Nevin is Offline

Potion Master
22 years old
It's Complicated
Death Eater
38 posts



I crumble completely
when you cry

The concern that had bubbled up earlier in the pit of Derio’s stomach was quickly replaced with heated anger, the feeling itself a growing pandemic within his body that hungered to ravage his senses. This was certainly something that he didn’t want to deal with right now, especially after the hell that was his day. The young man had thought the worse had happened when he entered the shared flat, his wide eyes taking in the scene of chaos before him. Finding the letter placed hastily upon the table did little to calm his thumping heart, the beat heavy against his ribcage. There was nagging thought in the back of the pureblood’s mind that his dear sister didn’t want him reading the document. After all, she definitely knew how he felt about his father’s power plays, especially ones that involved either him or Demetria.

What in Merlin’s name was she thinking agreeing to this sort of situation? She had to have known what their father was playing at by her agreeing to this date!

Derio took a drag from his cigarette, trying to let the nicotine attempt to ease his slowly building aggravation that he felt for his twin. He leaned back further into the uncomfortable chair, the top digging hard into his back as a small cloud of grey billowed from his lips. The pureblood ran a frustrated hand through his thick mop of hair; the cigarette was surprising doing nothing for him. Usually when such a pesky scenario appeared before him like some sort of phantom from the mist, he would smoke either a joint or a cigarette just to ease those hard corners of his mind into soft, rounded curves. The fact that Derio of all people wasn’t enjoying his cigarette said something.

Derio was going to fucking kill Demetria.

A façade of calm crept slowly crept up to his features like a shadow in the dusk of night, the only thing that showed the tumultuous storm that raged inside of him was the slight twitch of his brow and the fierceness of his eyes. The paint splattered Lysander tentatively hopped up to the edge in front of him, the intelligent creature making sure that it didn’t topple off of the counter with the movement. The lilac purple heavily contrasted with its fur, the colour making the poor thing look almost waterlogged. Derio ignored the pet, his mind focused on crafting what he was going to say to Demetria once she returned to their abode.

He inhaled deeply at the sound of metal grinding on metal by the entrance, the telltale sound of a key being inserted into a lock obvious to Derio. The young man said nothing as his sister entered the flat, stormy blue eyes noting the bright smile crossing his sister’s lips.

At least one of them enjoyed their day.

It sure as hell wasn’t going to last long if Derio got his way.

He watched silently as Demetria kicked off her shoes and placed them gently against the wall, making no move to let his presence be known to her and instead just letting himself seethe in his anger. Derio continued to watch as she walked deeper into the bedlam that was their living room. She passed by the kitchen where he continued to sit, not noting that he was very much present within the room. It only took a handful of moments to tick on by before her coffee-stained eyes focused on him.

He chose not to respond to his twin’s probing questions, his countenance almost betraying a flabbergast look at her attempts to make light of the situation that she was caught it. Really? She was really trying to ask him about his day standing in the chaos that she had made for herself? Derio continued to remain silent, taking another hit off of his cigarette and flicking the ash onto the floor. Their apartment was already a shit show; what was one more thing added upon it?

“How was your…date, dear sister?” The pureblood’s words sliced through the silence like a sword through flesh, cold eyes staring at her as he put out his lit cigarette on the letter before him. He steepled his fingers together as he looked at her over the top of his hands, a disappointed sigh leaving his lips, “What the fuck, Demetria? You should know better than to fall for one of father’s tricks. A blind and deaf child could’ve seen and heard this attempt from a mile away but you…you fell for this hook, line, and sinker.”

His eyes flashed steel, wicked sharp and ready to stab and hurt.

“Like, really? A fucking Lestrange? Of all the orders to follow, you follow this one? A goddamned Death Eater? Do you really have a death wish or are you really just that curious on how fucked up a relationship you can have with this guy?”

The storm was raging within his chest, all lightning and fury and the swell, threatening to drown both he and Demetria.

And he just might let it.

Demetria | 847 | ]Tattoos
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