the route of least property damange | lestrange + greyback [august 8th, 1978]
Bellatrix did her best to wear simple clothes. They were high quality, yes, but the illustrious witch deliberately avoided the delicate yet ornate design favored by other witches of her stature. She was a Death Eater, not a trophy - not like so many other woman in the upper echelons of pureblooded society. And yet, her ghostly skin and darkly lined eyes tended to garner unnecessary attention anyway, even amongst the cold blooded creatures like her that were drawn towards the Dark Lord like moths to a bright, distant flame. Frowning at the younger members, who sat preening as though by being present in these meetings they’d managed to become his confidants, the Lestrange crossed one leg over the other, ebony silk spilling over her boot laced feet.
They could never be that, not as long as she sat closest to his cold presence, pale wrist resting against the mahogany table, fingers curved like talons. As usual, Bella was... restless. Across from her, as close she was to her lord, sat the disgusting mongrel she only barely tolerated for the Dark Lord. His forearm was not marked with the conviction the others had, and despite her irritation towards the younger members, at least they respected their brilliant leader by marking themselves appropriately. Greyback didn’t.
The meeting ended as it always did - a reminder to be patient, that their time was coming, that soon the world would be cleansed of the filthy mudblood taint. She nodded, smiled in a way more reminiscent of a feral baring of fangs, and stood after he did, robes settling around her angular figure. As she left the room, werewolf close behind her as he often did in some sort of mockery of chivalry, Bellatrix could feel that restless energy buzzing beneath her skin; the raven haired woman had always had a sense of her magic this way, constantly humming in her veins. In a low hiss, so low only one with heightened senses like Greyback would hear, she reminded him of their usual appointment.
“Our usual place.”
With that, Bellatrix strode forward, and soon as she had passed the wards binding the location of the Death Eater meeting, apparated mid step into a clearing in the West Woods. Surrounded by the deceptive calm of beech trees, a faint whisper of leaves carrying through the air, the witch felt far more at ease - here she could be the wild, passionate warrior she was meant to be. Her fingers twitched, calming when they touched the cool metal of her dagger, secreted in the holster of her forearm, along with her wand. She removed it from its sheath, appreciating the beauty of the metallic form when she became aware of the sudden silence. Bellatrix turned to face her companion, twirling the dagger lazily in her hand.
“I’ve found a couple new spells - but I don’t think I’ll need them today.”
