THIS MY EXCAVATION.

Evan Rosier. 27. Death Eater. you clambered out of the cold & into the fray with outrage & poisonous desire. through insomnia soaked nights and bruised hands, you choked the life out of your past, screaming for release, for deliverance. extortion is your magic & blood is your liquor of choice. look in the mirror, ask yourself this: are you happy now?

[evanrosiier-blog]

maya ;

Maya feels horrible. She knows what he’s doing, extending her kindness after kindness, olive branch after olive branch after she’d iced him out. It certainly doesn’t go unnoticed how different that likely is for Evan to do. She also knows that she’s only turning such things down and twisting them around to sate her own curiosities, to make good on her own secret plans. Her lips part, almost about to say ‘nevermind,’ let him come to hers as he suggested, maybe even offer to pick up his favorite takeout as a consolation for having to deal with her mess…and her cats. But she doesn’t do that – not this time. 

Fine by me. He relents. Just like that, just like she wanted. The rise and fall of her chest is a little more even now that she doesn’t have to have to face those hurdles with him today. His words pull an amused little smile from her as she rolls her eyes, “Pull it back, pretty boy, your vanity’s showing.”  

The mere prospect of having options has her perking up in his arms, ready and listening, lower lip still trapped between her teeth. Just thinking about Evan’s delicious cooking has her all about ready to choose but then…he spins her around, his body pressed full against her, practically knocking the gasp from her throat as she braces her hands against the printer. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, whimpering when his lips found her neck, fingers curling around the back of his neck. She’d almost forgotten how damn good he was at this part of the game. What’ll it be? 

“You ask that like you don’t know which one I want.” Maya needs him, she needs him now.

He laps up the way Maya reacts to his dominance, with her voice gone husky and head tilted back. It’s often the case that she leads, climbing on top of his body and demanding him to satisfy her. He likes that about her—no, he loves that about her: the fierceness behind brown eyes, the clawing of her nails on his back. And then there’s the flip-side of things: her pliant need to be taken, to be lifted in strong arms, to have someone who’s rough in bed. Evan can play both sides of the game, and do it well, but he does prefer taking control and making such a woman bend to his will. 

He smiles against her neck, one hand braced against the printer whilst the other runs flat down her abdomen, going lower, slowly. “Oh I do,” he murmurs mildly, nipping at her earlobe. “I just like to hear you say it.” It’s the validation, the fact that she can’t help but scream for him to ‘fuck me’ that turns him on, more than anything else. 

The hand on her body is moving down her thigh now. “Just say it. Say you want it, and then I’ll stop torturing you.” He’s growing considerably harder with her fullness against his groin, with her scent in his face. His fingers grope for the hem of her dress, waiting for her to say the words so he can lift it up and—

The door suddenly slams open. Evan’s head swivels over his shoulder, eyes landing on the red-faced, stammering intruder. A junior from Accounting. He has half the mind to laugh, but he prefers pushing his underlings around. They can’t stop him, anyway.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Evan snaps at him, and when the boy doesn’t say anything: “Get the fuck out!”

[evanrosiier-blog]

corban ;

“Yes, I’d think so. I’m afraid it must be someone from our side, to have even known I was the buyer in the first place. I do hate traitors,” they said mildly, as if they were talking about the weather. It was the only thing that they had come up with that made complete sense, though. It certainly couldn’t have been a member of the Order, unless there was perhaps someone playing the role of double agent, acting friendly to the Death Eaters but passing information to the Order. But for some reason it didn’t seem like that to them. They hadn’t given the information to the Order, after all, they’ve given it to a untalented journalist who seemed to selfish to be part of a radical group like that. It was difficult not to let out another deep sigh at the thought that someone they trusted might’ve been trying to destroy them. People were so constantly disappointing, Corban had to wish that they didn’t have to rely on other people so often with their secrets.

They took another slow drink, mulling over Evan’s offer. There was one name they had already come up with, someone who likely didn’t even know who had signed the invoice in the first place, but whose job was, nonetheless, to keep that sort of thing private. They had paid extra money under the table to keep things private, and the idiotic bastard had somehow let the invoice get stolen––he didn’t seem smart enough to do it himself. That man needed reprimanding, but perhaps not the sort that they would usually indulge in with someone like Evan or Amycus trailing along. “I’m thinking of a different method than what I’d call on you for, so I have someone else aiding me this week. I’m sure I’ll come up with a more directly involved name, though, and when I do, I’ll want to use a more typical method. There will be plenty of time for revenge for everyone. I appreciate your readiness to help,” Corban nodded. The words might not have sounded, but they were. Still, they were having trouble forcing their voice into anything other than vague annoyance at the moment, and Evan’s next question didn’t help.

“It’s just a half a Xanax, nothing new. They’ve never really change the anxiety meds for me, the antidepressants, though, are another story. But I only take those twice a day. I’m fine,” they insisted, not particularly wanting to think of the problem Evan had witnessed those months ago.

Traitors. Evan had known them in his own line of work. Clients who threatened to tell, suppliers who considered selling to competitors. He’d handled them all, either with his own hands or by more subtler means. In a way, his mind had been trained to find the guilty, the ones who harboured secret agendas. He nodded as Corban said that vengeance would come, a thin smile lifting his lips. There were times when he feared killing: it was in the quickness of the act, the way a soul left a person’s eyes because of the fingers wrapped around their throat. And then there were days when he welcomed it, felt alive because of his ability to take something so precious from others. And so he had developed a sick addiction to violence. He was being destroyed from the inside, yet at the same time he loved it. 

“Hm, sounds like you have things under control, considering how quickly everything’s happened,” Evan remarked, trying to instil some calm and reassurance in the older figure. He knew his words were probably far less effective than the box of pills in their pocket, but he knew how dangerous it would be for both of them if Corban fell into another relapse. Evan had been looking out for his own back as much as theirs when he’d decided to inquire about the drugs. “And of course. I always enjoy a chance to show my loyalty to the cause, and to drill some common sense into troublesome people.” 

Evan took in the defensive words, spoken calmly yet with a bite to them. As much as he wanted to believe them, he had to stay rational, and not be silenced because of a fear of being chastised. Besides, surely you’re used to that by now? “Ah, how often do they change up your antidepressants? I can imagine that would be quite annoying, what with the new side effects and all.” He nodded in afterthought. “I’m sure you’re fine. I just want you to know I’m here for you, not only as a hitman, but also a friend.”

[evanrosiier-blog]

florence ;

Florence hadn’t especially intended on hooking up with Evan again. They’d joked and flirted, but that was true for so many people, it was silly for either of them to take it at face value. His text messages had kept coming though. He wasn’t clingy. It wasn’t as if he messaged every day or even every other day. Just a little bit of flirtation every once in a while, and an understandable curiosity over the pictures of them. The invitation to visit his home had been one Florence couldn’t refuse. Her analytical nature knew you could learn a lot from someone’s home, and her curiosity implored her to see what his wealth had bought him, but there was something else too. Plain old desire. Their roll in the hay at Hogwarts had been unfortunately interrupted. It was an opportunity to make up for lost time.

“Evening,” Florence answered in return, noting his hand on the small of her back, the charming smile he wore. “At least you’re not a total scoundrel. I don’t mind a few gentlemanly qualities,” she answered, wearing an easy smirk as she allowed him to lead her inside. “But please don’t call it a mancave. It’s far too clean for that. Nowhere near enough empty pizza boxes and beer cans.” She grinned, giving him a light nudge in the chest. “I hope it’s wine or whiskey rather than beer.”

Her comments on his home were surprisingly complimentary, though maybe he was mistaken and she was actually having a jab at how snobby his place was. It couldn’t be helped; Evan liked the finer things, like the heavy wooden table painted a matte black, or the burgundy velvet luxury sofa set in front of a widescreen plasma TV. This was his kingdom, and he wanted it to reflect the years of soul-destroying hard work it had taken to get here. Because maybe, just maybe, all of this grandeur and spending could make him belong, and make him forget about the pools of blood on his hands. 

But tonight he had a different distraction, a much more effective one at that. Florence didn’t seem to be afraid of making physical contact, easily closing the distance to elbow him gently. “Well, I’m flattered,” he said at last, deciding to take on her kind words. “I try to keep things organised. See, I’m not alone in the house often, usually I have company over, for either business or pleasure.” He made a small ‘tsk’ and walked over to the dining table, pulling out a chair for her. “I have both, but here’s some red wine to kick things off.” He sat down next to her, uncorking the bottle and pouring her a glass, smirking. “So. How’ve you been since the whole fiasco at Hogwarts?”

[evanrosiier-blog]

james ;

James loved the city at night. It always looked bright, positively neon with the streetlights and billboards and club names buzzing bright in odd colours, both mystery and promising fun so thrilling, that even the line to KOKO — the worst part to any proper fun — looked rather alright. People had gathered around at the door, some too positively sloshed to get in, others smoking their cigarettes outside and, even better, no one had randomly approached him and pretended to be a ‘friend’ yet. Not one. This was going to be a great night.

He was standing by the doors when a taxi stopped, Evan stepping out of it, well dressed as often. James caught sight of him easily, grinning sharply and raising his hand high to catch his attention, but also so the man wouldn’t be caught in the awful mess of people trying to get in. He had the entrance fee and his ID in hand, kind of expecting the bouncers to ask for it, but maybe, in Evan’s company, they wouldn’t. Maybe he looked positively adult now.

“Evan!” James shouted as the other walked close, laughing easily. He was a bit shorter than the older man, not by much, so he had to lift his hand a bit higher to pat him soundly on the shoulder as greeting. “It’s good to see you– how’s the week?” He started, conversation coming easily to him as they stepped by the club’s doors.

Cold, blaring lights smudged the inky darkness as the taxi chased down their destination. Evan had already had a few drinks at his place, alone, but he’d deliberately paced himself before heading out. Maybe he wanted to get to know his clubbing partner just a little bit better—not too much as to make their conversations long and winding, but enough so that he could satisfy his curiosity, which became aroused in daring company. 

At last, he arrived outside the club. He was hardly out the taxi door when he was hailed by that familiar, hearty voice. His eyes landed on James striding towards him, looking smart and yet comfortably youthful. Evan smirked to himself as James clapped him on the shoulder: perhaps he could make a filthy gentleman out of him just yet. 

“Likewise, glad to see you’re up for a good time,” he replied genially, with a hint of a challenge. He liked to push people to their edges, see what they could do; it made him feel a little less guilty of the things he’d done. “It’s been busy. One of our employees decided to leak our designs to a competitor, right before Fashion Week. The designers have been bitching about it day in, day out.” They approached the doors together, though Evan walked slightly ahead. Bypassing the queue, he caught the bouncer’s eye and put his hand on James’ shoulder, feeling something like camaraderie as he did so. “He’s with me.” The bouncer nodded once and waved them into the dim drone of music and glaring spotlights. 

“But what ‘bout you?” Evan asked, raising his voice over the noise and leaning in slightly. “Found yourself a pretty little girlfriend yet?”

[evanrosiier-blog]

antonin ;

@evanrosiier

Two buses, three miles, an Uber, two miles. He’s crisscrossed back and forth and forth. No one’s tailing him, not anymore, at least. (maybe, maybe. he’s not sure. who’s that in baseball hat?) His skin itches, prickling with goosebumps (fuck). He darts into the first store he passes, winding his way to the back and out the door into the alley, ignoring the employee’s yelled questions. 

He sticks to the alleyways the rest of the way, still checking his back every few feet (behind you, behind you. that was definitely a noise. they’ve got you now. no, no just a rat). In reality, Evan lives about 20 minutes from him; today, it’s around four hours before Antonin’s standing behind Evan’s building. He’s not actually sure how long it’s been since he left his phone at home. Couldn’t risk them tracking him with that. No, no. 

He slips in through the service entrance when a janitor steps out for a smoke break. It’s probably too easy to pick the lock on Evan’s door; he should fix that (or is it a trap? is it all a trap). Once inside, he begins the same process that he just finished at his own apartment-checking for bugs. Every light bulb, the picture frames, beneath the table, the electrical socket, the vent. There’s nothing (is that a bad thing though. is there a reason they trust Evan? He’s told them something, hasn’t he?).

He carefully places the couch cushions back and sits to wait for Evan to get back. He’s left a bit of mess everywhere. He’s a mess, everything’s a mess. He feels sweaty and itchy and he didn’t wash his hair this morning and the split on his knuckles from when he punched the wall at work has started oozing blood again. His stomach hurts-a mixture of anxiety and hunger-and every now and then his eyes slip shut but he just sits there. Now that he’s sat down, he isn’t certain he can get back up. 

Evan steps out of the restaurant’s glass doors and signals for a cab waiting at the side of the curb. It pulls up to him slowly, like a hesitant insect approaching a dangerous newcomer. Evan crawls into the backseat, slouched back and watching the city lights roll away before the driver prompts him for his address. He obliges, but his mind is still distracted, unsettled by recent events: the leaked invoice, Maya’s distant behaviour, the photograph of him and Florence. Even an indulgent six-course meal at his favourite French-inspired restaurant (accompanied by a ten-year-old bottle of red wine) was not enough to lift his spirits. 

No matter. He has allies, and power, and money. He tries to reconcile himself that these things are enough to get him through whatever challenges the Order will throw at him. Besides, arrogance went hand-in-hand with vigilance. They can try their best to hurt him, but he’ll always come back, the ghoul that continues to haunt the rebellious. 

They arrive at his townhouse faster than expected. Evan pays the driver before strolling toward his front door, the keys tinkling noisily in his fingers. He slots one in, twists the handle, and enters the darkness. His hand searches for the switch on the wall. Click. 

Pandemonium. Mess. Someone has raided his home. Bare wires protrude from walls, lightbulbs lie cracked on the floor, his furniture has all been rearranged. For a second, Evan simply stares at his adjoined kitchen and living room, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest as he wonders if the intruder is still around. Flashes of fire cross his imagination. The enemy has found him. His eyes finally land on the figure slouched on his sofa, and up rises an unexpected plume of fury.

“What the everloving fuck have you done?!” Evan demands, slamming his door shut behind him as he strides into the room. He’s not angry at Antonin. He’s angry Antonin looks the way the house does: broken.

[evanrosiier-blog]

corban ;

Corban was silent for a long moment after Evan asked the questions, questions that they had been asking themself since they had seen the article the moment they woke up this morning. There were no answers that they could give, which felt like they were somehow failing, having to admit that they didn’t know what was going on, or how it could have happened in the first place. Every little detail of the mundane purchase was clear in their mind, they hadn’t even signed it in person, no one in the company could have known it was them. So who, indeed. They took a long drink of their caramel latte frostino, frowning as they did so, before putting it down on the table in front of them a little harder than necessary. After a second they reached into the inner pocket of their suit jacket and pulled out their little pill box, no reason to hide it from Evan since he knew about it better than most.

They sighed, not particularly enjoying the intense caramel taste lingering on their tongue from the unwanted frostino. It was a valiant effort that Evan was making, but it was difficult to see any way that he could help, when Corban was usually the one took care of other people’s problems. “I haven’t a clue, to be honest,” they confessed, flitting the pillbox between their fingers, eyes fixated on it. “Of course, I have names of the people who work at the company, names of the people whose hands that invoice had to go through, but as far as I can tell so far none of those people were the one who sent the invoice to the Quibbler. Still, I plan to make the people who should have been keeping that invoice private pay anyway.”

Silence for a second, and then they finally opened the pillbox, pulling out half a little white pill. They tucked the box back into their pocket, before taking the pill, swallowing it back with a deep drink of the too-sweet drink.

The alarm sirens in Evan’s head started ringing the moment that little pillbox made its way into Corban’s hand. He watched as their eyes fell down and tracked the small metal box, fingers toying with it back and forth like a pendulum. In some ways, Evan was humbled that Corban chose to be so honest with him, baring their chest open to show the wounds bleeding beneath civilian cloth, ever since the crisis. He remembered that night at the gala, dim lighting accentuating the history of that grand estate: deep velvets, liquor floating through the air like perfume, influential figures as far as the eye could see. Slipping into a private room and catching Corban sprawled lifeless on an antique chintz armchair. 

Evan contemplated how to proceed. They knew each other well enough by now to be able to voice their opinions, but Evan wasn’t blind to the hierarchy present. Or maybe it was just the remnants of his past holding him back, reminding him that he wasn’t like them, that he didn’t come from a line of elite, powerful men. But you’ve proved yourself now, haven’t you? You’ve fucking killed for them. “I suppose whoever did leak the invoice would have planned it well in advance, or would’ve known what we were going to do,” Evan replied grimly, though a small smile appeared at their proposed punishment. “Ah, that’s the Corban I know and adore. Can I be of any help in that matter, or have you got someone else on it?” 

And before he could think twice again about it, he pressed on, “What are you taking? Something new?”

[evanrosiier-blog]

maya ;

The air around them was changing, shifting, thickening with each passing second. It was instant. Electric. That’s the way their dynamic worked, inherently unable to be in each other’s presence for long without touching, without tasting each other, just a little. It could be the suaveness to his movements or the cockiness of that grin or perhaps it was a combination of that and more. but it had her in his arms in record time. Every time.

One of the beautiful things about Evan was that he was led by his whims. His actions go without extensive thought, nine times out of the ten. She hated that she was depending on that, hated that she was exploiting that. But she simply wanted him to abandon his accusations. Maybe it was because she was selfish, or maybe because she was scared. She was scared of telling him how much she knew, scared of how he’d react, scared of upsetting him…losing him. Maya knew Evan, she knew he wouldn’t let any of this go if she didn’t divert his attention elsewhere. So that’s what she did, played with the desire she knew he had for her, the one that mirrored for him in her eyes now to carefully lead him off-path. It was just easier this way. 

He’s smiling, his hands sliding down her frame and Maya can’t help but press closer, mold herself to him. “I thought you’d like that,” she hums, pausing for a beat before shaking her head, “Let’s go to yours this time, my work is all over the place. It’d be too distracting, which kinda defeats the ‘all yours’ part.” She smiles though, appreciating his uncharacteristic thoughtfulness, but she has a plan, and it starts with looking through Evan’s things – she can’t quite do that at her own place. But her scheme is banished to the back of her mind as she feels her back gently thud against the printer, lower lip captured by her teeth as she looks up at him through her lashes, “I do spoil you, when I think you deserve it. I hope you intend on thanking me.”

He does an inward double-take when she turns down the offer to go to hers. A part of him (the childish, indignant part; the part that’s leftover from years of being bullied and pushed over) is stung that she continuously refuses to accept his little parcels of kindness, especially after the way she kept her distance. But then again, maybe she’s just trying to tell him that, at the end of the day, she still trusts him. And that’s just the thing: no matter how many partners they may have, or however many faults they've accumulated, they still trust one another (or so he thinks). The sentiment is reassuring, and at last he allows himself to stop worrying, to succumb. 

“Fine by me. I’d hate to have you focused on anything other than my pretty face,” he muses, pleased to feel her heat against his body. And the way she bites down on her lip as he pins her against the printer…well, he can only hold back for so long. “Oh, I do intend to, believe me. Here’s your two options: another Rosier home-cooked meal where you get to choose the dish, or a more immediate show of gratitude.” 

With his last words, he grabs her elbow and twirls her around so that she ends up facing the printer. He melds his body to hers from behind and grinds his hips, once. As much as Maya loves making him weak at the knees, he has a burning desire to do the same. Perhaps they’re both a tad egotistic, but that’s what makes this all the more dynamic. “What’ll it be?” he murmurs in her ear, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, waiting. 

[evanrosiier-blog]

closed starter: @florencevane date: friday, august 25th 2017 time: 9:30 pm 

‘Wanna come over?’ The words glowed on his screen, a simple phrase that promised both mischief and pleasure. His thumb pressed the send button, and away the little message flew, finding its recipient in the night. Evan was banking on the fact that Florence would be free, or at least interested enough to abandon whatever plans she had to come visit his luxurious riverside townhouse. His intentions were the following: first fun, then business. The fact that the invoice with Corban’s signature came out around the same time as the photo of Evan and Florence simply could not have been a coincidence. If Florence had any leads on the Order or whoever else might’ve been responsible, then Evan wanted to be the first to find out. 

Half an hour later, his doorbell rang, a shrill cry of a sound. Evan got up from the dining table (where a bottle of red wine and two glasses stood waiting) and opened the door to find the fresh-faced investigator peering back at him. “Evening,” he greeted her, putting a hand on her back and guiding her into his spacious living room, adjoined to the kitchen. “I’m glad you could find the time to see me again. I told you, you’d receive an invitation to my man cave, didn’t I?” he added, his eyes twinkling. “I keep my promises, see?”

[evanrosiier-blog]

IF I WERE…

If I were a colour, I’d be: midnight black

If I were a city, I’d be: new york

If I were a time of day, I’d be: 3:00 am

If I were a pet, I’d be: a bernese mountain dog

If I were a car, I’d be: the bugatti chiron

If I were an item of clothing, I’d be: an ermengeildo zegna bespoke suit

If I were a dessert, I’d be: tiramisu with gold leaves

If I were a deity, I’d be: chaos

If I were a phone app, I’d be: tinder

If I were an element, I’d be: fire

If I were a flower, I’d be: opium

If I were a number, I’d be: three

If I were a beverage, I’d be: scotch whisky

If I were an emotion, I’d be: vengeful

If I were a scent, I’d be: smoke

If I were a random aesthetic, I’d be: manic emo revival stoner bunny

[evanrosiier-blog]

maya ;

The animal in him seems to recoil before her very eyes, not roaring anymore. All his demands, his adamant curiosity, it all seems quelled by her words. For a moment, as she observes the relaxing of his broad shoulders, Maya thinks that he truly believes her, just like she’d wanted him to. It was the effect she wanted her words and her touch to have – to deflect, to distract him from such negative things that threatened to ruin this. She’s almost surprised, knowing how much Evan liked to fight, that he wouldn’t push her more – but then again, the man never liked to fight with her. 

But if Maya knows him like she thinks she does, this won’t be over. This won’t be the last of his questions – and it certainly won’t cease her own. Why would Cissa warn her against him? How bad of a man could he truly be, when he’s so good to her? “Yes, you should. I’d love a front seat to that confrontation.” Imagining Evan giving their Judas of a designer what for, delighted her more than it probably should have. But Maya can’t help linger on how he says the offense. He doesn’t want to catch the culprit for their traitorous behaviors, he wants them caught because their actions kept her away from him. 

Finally, he’s smiling down at her, he’s touching her, and Maya feels like things are slowly but surely righting themselves. A laugh escapes her at his impatience, and she twists to face him, arms draping easily around his neck. “I almost want to make you wait more,” she hums, rising on her toes, nose brushing against his own, “You’re so cute when you need me.” She’s teasing, of course, the coy curl of her lips saying that and more as she pulls him closer. “How about tomorrow night?” No one can say she’s not merciful. “My work will stay here, I’ll be all yours. How’s that sound?” 

It has to be said that things can be volatile when they’re together. One second they might be catching up over their respective weekend activities, the next they might be entwined in each other’s arms, all breathless and eager for skin. Even now, with Evan’s mind still teeming with unanswered questions, she’s pressed up against him and leading him down a sweeping, familiar current. It’s like she’s pulled a blindfold over his hunting eyes, subjecting him to her smell and touch and voice. And of course he always caves, despite the nagging itch that’s warning him something’s off. It’s just easier this way, to ignore the possibility that she might know more than she’s letting on. 

Which is maybe why she’s offering to meet up tomorrow, at last. To distract him from the real issue, whatever that might be. Evan’s voice catches in his throat a little, imagining how he would take her in bed after so many days of distance. “I could say the same for you,” he tells her, the hands on her hips slipping a little lower as he breaks into a wide smile. He thinks of the times when she would purposefully walk by his office to catch his attention, her heels clicking as though in reminder: look at me. Things are a little different now, but maybe she’ll tell him with time. He realises now that his desire far outweighs whatever apprehension he has over her behaviour these last couple of days. Call him stupid, or call him hungry, whichever you prefer.

“That sounds fantastic. Do you want me to come to yours? It could save some time and hassle, since the lady is so busy,” he replies, surprised by his own thoughtfulness. He takes a small step, moving them both so he feels her bump the printer behind. “But thank you, for making the time. You do spoil me too, you know.”

[evanrosiier-blog]

corban ;

It was a small mercy that it was Evan who they saw when they finally looked around and not anyone else. If it had been anyone else, they were fairly certain they would have literally gone off at the poor person, but seeing Evan actually grounded them even just slightly. They took a deep, almost shuddering breath and gave Evan a rather tight smile.

“As of now, it seems that she doesn’t have what I’m asking for, but I appreciate the offer nonetheless,” Corban said, voice strained, like the bloody frostino was what they were truly upset about. Before they could say anything else to Evan, the barista reappeared, with a drink in hand that was certainly not the drink they had asked for.

“I’m sorry, Mx. Yaxley, I checked again and we don’t have any fudge left today, but here’s a caramel latte frostino on us. And I promise we’ll have more tomorrow,” the barista said timidly, gingerly setting the frosty drink on the counter in front of them. Corban stared at the drink for a long minute, then looked back up at the poor girl, before letting out a sigh and taking it, a half-hearted nod given in thanks to the barista.

“Yes, alright,” Corban sighed, turning back to Evan. And if they maybe looked a little like a petulant child, holding the caramel latte frostino, deep frown on their face, well that wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to them today. Of all people, after all, they were glad it was Evan who had found them in this Costa before they could cause a real scene. They nodded to the table they assumed Evan had left and went over to sit down. “I have a moment or two to talk. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes on the matter may illuminate other options.”

When the barista reappeared, Evan thought for a second that Corban might actually hit the girl. Their displeasure manifested into a long, awkward silence, in which Evan’s eyes darted back and forth between the two. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the situation or to have a go at the barista. Even he had to admit, this behaviour was most unlike Corban, who was usually so suave and charming (then again, who was he to judge, when he often threw fits at his underlings over the amount of milk in his coffee?) But before he could speak, Corban took the matter into their own hands and was already walking toward the table. For good measure, Evan shot a cold look at the barista before following suit. 

Evan sat down in his original chair and sighed, running a hand across his jaw. In truth, he wasn’t sure how best to help. What could he offer? A public oath that he believed in Corban Yaxley and that this was all a huge misunderstanding? Or would that just reinforce the idea that all the Sacred 28 members were linked in some hidden spider’s web, spinning disaster after disaster? Still, he had to try, if not out of the goodness of his heart, then certainly because he wanted to impress the older Death Eater.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve thought about it from every which angle possible,” Evan started with a sympathetic grimace, reaching for his own cup of coffee. “I just wonder…who was it? Who was fucking stupid enough to risk their life and send that invoice?” If it came down to it, Evan would find great pleasure in tailing the culprit and pinning them dead, a puppet dangling off the wall. In revenge, killing was easier. “Do you have any guesses?”

[evanrosiier-blog]

james ;

&& Evan ???? ( @evanrosiier ) August 25th, 21:47pm Potter’s Residence

The worst thing about friday nights were the utter bore of them when all his friends were either unavailable or, otherwise, such as Remus and Peter, never to be invited out clubbing again — Pete was too shy, and Remus was an old man at twenty-two. Sirius was sometimes his partner in crime, but he had been away since morning on one or his anarchistic crusades again, something about a tripleM ad or whatever. It really left a bloke bored outta his mind sometimes.

So James had made club friends, people he bumped into times enough in the London nights yet never knew more than a nickname and a phone number. One of these friends, an older guy who had quite the party spirit, Evan, had just texted him — they had bumped into each other often enough that a conversation had started, and they hit it off well. James never talked anything of importance in his clubbing nights, not that he was a Potter, not that he approved of the Order and especially not that he looked down at the Sacred 28′s elitism; clubs were an alternative reality, and his problems stayed at the door. Evan had the same no-work policy — the man meant easy laugh, terrible humour and James really thought himself mature for hanging out with a guy five years older. He never bothered with who he met in shoddy Camden Town clubs, they were little people and so he pretended to be too.

He thumbed a reply to Evan that he’d meet him at KOKO in thirty and moved off the couch to get himself dressed, something casual and nice.

It was no secret that Evan was a night owl, notably one that liked to venture into the dirty heart of the city. And on those moonlit excursions, he had had the chance to run into a whole variety of people: old, divorced women who liked to lie about their age and ex-spouses; young souls with vigour in their eyes and dreams swirling in their mouths. 

James belonged to the latter group, and fun seemed to follow that messy head of hair more so than your typical twenty-something. Far from deterring Evan, though, the chaos surrounding James into only seemed to attract him, like a moth to flame. They were of the same make, intrinsically destructive and careless in their wake. Evan, of course, had learnt self-control, but only to a certain degree. Besides, James reminded him of his university glory days, basking in the talk of other people. That wasn’t to say he knew much about the man. It would’ve been easy to find out more, but Evan preferred to keep things the way they were: mysterious, simple, blind. 

Evan glanced down at the text and smiled to himself. Good. He was used to going to clubs on his own (company tended to find him by the end of the night), yet it made a nice change to exchange in nonsense banter, to feel young again. Maybe you’re not so different to those old cougars, he thought, pouring himself a measure of whiskey and tossing it back, the kitchen lights blurring in the swift tipping of his head. He stood there for a second or two, feeling the drink purge his throat, before throwing on a jacket and stepping out the door. A taxi stood waiting for him, gleaming beneath the streetlights.

[rivertate17]

text @ evan

[evanrosiier-blog]

florence ;

Florence: I’m sure we can take some better ones.

Evan: I like your way of thinking. I’m holding you to that.

[rivertate17]

Wake Up Call || Florence & Evan

[evanrosiier-blog]

florence ;

“Police stations are definitely full of swearing,” she agreed, still vaguely watching through the window as the droves of alumni emptied out onto the lawn. Some of them had never been to bed and it was evident in their swagger, in their amusement, in the way they seemed to be continuing the party on the lawn. “But my boss likes me to at least try and make a good impression. Women have a much lower threshold for what’s deemed ‘acceptable’ than men. All about being 'lady-like’.”

She rubbed her eyes. The smoke and the lack of sleep was starting to make them sting. She stubbed out her cigarette, opening the window just enough to throw it into the gutter outside and finally pulling on her leather jacket. “I’ll keep the invitation very safe,” she answered with a smirk, gesturing for Evan to follow her as they made their way outside. She didn’t really care who saw them together at this point.

“It’s just a bit of vandalism, Evan. Nothing to get dramatic about. Just… drunk idiots being drunk idiots.” She had no idea just how wrong her words were. But she was about to find out.

( FIN. )

[evanrosiier-blog]

narcissa ;

“Perhaps you are taking on too much?” she suggests offhandedly, and she isn’t questioning his ability to do his job but she certainly is asking whether Evan Rosier is really ready for the life he’s currently leading. Compared to those he runs with, powerful people with sharp eyes and no time for nonsense, he is young and prone to letting his desires and his heart rule over his head. But Narcissa gives a dismissive flick of her hand before he can answer, not wishing to delve further into the topic (or her own concern, for that matter). “Book a week off and spend some time in the sunshine. A holiday never fails to make me feel better.” The answer was impersonal and generic, entirely by design. As much as she loved Evan in her own way, her affection would forever be placed safely out of his reach.

His reminiscing prompts a small smirk. It dances at one corner of her lips, even as she shakes her head. “You are terrible.” She silently sympathises for the poor soul who had shared the room next to him during his time at university – they no doubt would have slept with earplugs in. “I can assure you, darling, that whatever it is you think I got up to during my years at Hogwarts, it isn’t the case.” She had been on a handful of dates of course, kissed with the taste of vodka on her tongue, but that was as far as Narcissa had been willing to take it. Finicky by nature, she wasn’t the sort of person to let anyone into her bed unless perfectly satisfied that they were up to her standards. “Good,” she chirps, pleased that he agrees with her idea. “I’ll look into it whilst you think of ways to de-stress and take care of yourself. You’re good at taking care of our finances, Evan.” There’s a small pause, her gaze settling on her computer screen. “We can risk losing you.”

( FIN. )

[rivertate17]

text @ evan

[evanrosiier-blog]

florence ;

Florence: Probably just someone from school having a laugh. Daisy Hookum has never forgiven me for snogging her crush behind the greenhouses. Florence: [image attached]

Evan: How scandalous of you. I approve very much. Evan: Ha, I was expecting better. It’s not even a good photo. Evan: Thanks anyway. I’ll save it for the album ;)

[evanrosiier-blog]

ALECTO: I have fucking hickies everywhere.

ALECTO: Why the fuck is wrong with you?

EVAN: Funny, look who's talking.

EVAN: You could've gone easy on the scratching.

EVAN: My back is on fire.