03/09/79 | Devising Bloodshed | Bellatrix + Rabastan.
They were given a communication assignment. Orders were easy enough to follow: masks to stay firmly on, meet upon one of the many rooftops of Knockturn Alley, and discuss how to make the streets run red. It was stupidly simple, really. Even with the given information orders were just that; orders. Rabastan had learned at a young age that when given an order, one must follow it; whether the order was from a parent, boss, teacher, or leader. He had learned quickly after graduation to add the word ‘especially’ before the listed word: leader.
And with that said he slipped on two masks: the silver snake-eyed mask given to each Death Eater after initiation and the metaphorical mask he had become a master at hiding behind.
He ran his hands through the black locks that was his hair to slick it back for it to be unseen in the unlikely case that his hood could somehow slip off. Next was the black cloak he snapped on and finally the hood. He gave himself a look in his mirror, nodding his head in approval at the fact that he would now blend in with his accomplice. Only one thing left, he thought as his hand was brought up to silence the charmed violin that played in the corner – to ‘Apparate’ to the given position.
Rabastan brought his hand up holding out two fingers, impacting them against his wrist bone causing it to flinch. A punishment for thinking such a thing as the orders of the Dark Lord as stupid simple earlier in his thoughts. And with the atonement of his transgression the process of ‘Apparition’ could begin.
The world went black. His chest tightened uncomfortable, inhibiting him with the ability to breath. If he had inhaled or exhaled – he figured he would be in a lot of pain. He’d never get used to the feeling of the immense pressure to his head, the buzzing in his ear that made him wish he were deaf, and the feeling of being slammed against several walls.
He landed on the roof of the Knockturn Alley shop, stumbling to the side and expertly catching his footing to straighten his body. His hands moved to straighten the nonexistent wrinkles on his black robe before his eyes darted about in search of partner for the night. He had become used to seeing in the dark, which made it easy to identify what was a cloaked Death Eater with their back to him and what was just a chimney pipe.
Turned out his search was futile as he was the first to the spot. He brought his sleeve up to reveal the silver wrist-watch he often wore, reading the hands to find he was a few minutes early: 2:56 AM, it read.
All there was left now was to wait for his partner. So with his sleeve dropped, he leant against one of the earlier mentioned chimney pipes, his hands resting together in front of him, giving him a patient-stance.Â