❝ the fact that you doubt me is appalling in and of itself. this is child’s play compared to other evenings, shame on you for that passive aggressive judgement. ❞ marlene didn’t outwardly seem too affected by his comments, rather egged on by the underlying disapproval of her actions, following his lead and sipping on the sour liquid with little to no secondary reaction to the taste. ❝ i’m guessing they’d celebrate my intoxication at this point, especially if it meant i was temporarily unfit for duty. so sure, if i pass out, they’ll cover my bill. doubt that’s likely though, any respectable alcoholic can slide through these with little to no help. ❞
HER RESPONSES WERE SOMEWHAT humorous for him. or, possibly, it was the state of near-intoxication that made him far more fascinated in conversing, here. he hadn’t lost his usual snark through the alcohol. in fact, it only seemed to harness it all the more. eyebrows furrowed, head tilting, another sip of the liquid, like he were rehearsing some sort of ongoing routine. ❛ labelling yourself a respectable alcoholic yet sipping on your shots. seems quite contradictory, don’t you think? ❜ he was watching her carefully, watching her movements and actions, watching as they slipped up or proved points. ❛ that ego’s really busting through the roof. ❜
❝technically these drinks are on the ministry,❞ the brunette lined up the shot glasses atop the bar counter, giving the person beside her a soft shrug and a sly smile. ❝ one of the many benefits of being on paid leave. a little vacation of sorts. ❞
❛ AND DO YOU PLAN on downing them all yourself? ❜ with raised eyebrows he glanced towards them, lifting his own pint of who-knows-what to his lips. nothing better than the slow burn of alcohol weaving its way down your throat. like a silent but respected torture. ❛ i hope the paid leave covers your hospital bills, too. ❜
there was a queue behind mary macdonald, and she was well aware of it. she tried to filter out the sound of grumbles and tapping feet, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she fumbled in her coin purse. stupid wizarding coins. she’d forgot how much of a hassle they were. mary thought with longing of her credit card, and how straightforward and easy and light it was. she finally just tipped the contents of the purse into her cupped palm, ignoring a peeved cough from someone behind her as she sorted through the mess of gold, silver and bronze coins in her hand. her heart sank. just as she’d feared — she was short a couple galleons. she was still for a few seconds, trying to will herself into nothingness. it didn’t work. instead, she looked up at the shopkeeper again, giving him a charming, abashed smile.
❛ — SO, it looks like i’m a tiny bit short, ❜ mary began, keeping her voice low. already his face was changing into an expression of displeasure, and she hurried to continue, forcing her smile to stay bright and unwavering. ❛ — do you accept muggle money, by any chance ? ❜ the shopkeeper’s face had now surpassed displeasure and was well on its way to downright anger. she fished out a few bills from her pocket, hating herself and everything else in the world at that moment. ❛ — you can exchange it at gringotts, just down the street. and don’t worry about change, this is actually MORE than it costs, so you’d actually be – ❜ just then, someone tapped her shoulder, and she whirled, smile now bright and sharp enough to draw blood. ❛ — can i HELP you ? ❜
HE HAD STUMBLED UPON THE SHOP in a moment of free time, and despite amycus not particularly being the type to spend money on such mundane things ( he didn’t exactly find much pleasure in useless objects ) he had managed to find a new quill among the shelves just when he was in dire need of one. it almost seemed like luck. but, it seemed even more that the luck was beginning to cease after that. talking and talking. fumbling and fumbling. he was in line behind mary, waiting ever so IMPATIENTLY for her to finally fix the expenses and hurry away. it seemed, now, that that wasn’t the case. glancing to the shopkeeper with a similar look of disdain, that’s when he found the necessity to voice an opinion. after all, all he wanted was a simple quill. if it took so long to purchase, why not just come back later.
❛ i’m just providing a suggestion here, ❜ he hummed, voice anything but gentle. it was gruff and obviously irritated. but wasn’t it always, in a way? eyebrows furrowed, lips tight. ❛ but it IS possible for YOU to just pop to the bank, exchange them yourself, and head on back here. ❜ she happened to be explaining to the shopkeeper the simplicity of it all without considering undertaking the process herself, and despite his own lack of consideration for others ( he was a bit hypocritical, he supposed ) amycus thought her, well, rude. ❛ i mean, why waste this poor gentleman’s time? ❜
⟡⌜⇴ CHRIS WOOD ⌠ 29 & he/him ⌡: have you seen AMYCUS CARROW ? HE is an OBLIVIATOR who’s apparently also A DEATH EATER. When you see them walking around, be careful, because while they can be DILIGENT and FORTHRIGHT, I heard they can also be pretty ABRASIVE and CAPRICIOUS. ( emma & 20 & she/her & aest )
A lot of this is still being worked out so forgive me. I’ll add more over time and through plotting but here are the basics:
CHILDHOOD
Amycus was born and raised in a family of purists, consistently being reminded that blood defines all, and that he was one of the fortunate ones. He was some sort of ‘higher power’ among the wizarding world.
Having this ingrained in him since he was a child meant that Amycus learned from it. It became habit, believing this. And if he didn’t believe this? He would be taught to believe this, in painful ways that a child shouldn’t experience.
His parents were barely around, but when they were they truly made their presence known. They were intimidating, and young Amycus was whipped into shape simply by a look from his father.
Because of this, it was hard to say that his childhood was fun. All essence of the word was lost as soon as his parents returned home. He would roam around the backyard, return with muddy shoes, and learn to never do such a thing again.
HOGWARTS
Amycus was automatically placed into Slytherin, and really, there were no questions asked about that.
He was the golden child and he accepted that title. He wore it proudly. He walked the corridors with his head high and his confidence exuding.
It’s likely that, during his time at Hogwarts, during his experiences meeting others, his allegiances may have faltered. Ultimately, when reminded of his family, the loyalty would win out.
Because of this, he was likely the bully of the school. He would squash any ideas that others had with an immediate display of purism. He would become, in a way, his father.
Amycus was so filled with his own world that his grades were lacking. He wasn’t the smartest of the bunch, and that’s why he hadn’t ended up in Ravenclaw. But he was too proud to ask for help when he needed it, and too stubborn to do his work when he struggled.
ADULTHOOD
It was his family’s connections that got him a job as an Obliviator rather than any effort of his own. If they’d truly paid attention to who he was as a person they wouldn’t have thought twice about declining.
Amycus is basically every version of angst you can get thrown into a human being.
He faces a constant fear of not being good enough, whether that be in his family, in his career or in society. But he’s learned to be hardworking, and he focuses on these things in order to better himself.
He’s unsure whether the purist way of life is truly the right way of life, but with any attempt to shun his family’s values comes a storm of disaster, and he knows better than to do so.
He became a Death Eater purely to distill these values all the more, to ingrain them further into himself so he wouldn’t falter.
He keeps to himself quite a lot, he won’t talk about feelings unless he’s talking to someone he’s known for years.
He drinks and draws, artwork hidden in a small leather journal, tucked away in a locked cupboard in his room. He’s never really been one for intelligence, but that doesn’t mean he’s lacking of any skill.
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