#themoralthief

[estrela--marlene-blog]

✉️ owl | caradoc

So I guess it was true.

I’m sending this in some hope that you’ll miraculously get it and tell me it was all one big prank.

What’s happening is wrong. We can’t just stand idly by while this shit goes on.

It feels like the whole world is crumbling and I can’t even bother you about it. I’m so angry. At the world, at myself, at everything that’s happening.

Please, Doc.

Give us a sign.

- M.

[estrela--marlene-blog]

✉️ owl | caradoc

Doc,

Scarlett’s really not that serious. She’s not going to kill you. Maybe just seriously maim or injure. 

I’m not entirely sure what’s going on, but everyone’s worried. You’re a bastard for doing this, you know? Is this some sick lesson on how we can’t function without you? It’s working.

If this is some sick joke then you own me a cauldron cake. And also a packet of sugar quills.

Please write back. We need to know you’re okay. Any sign’ll do.

Waiting here, Marls. 

[silenciochang]

When: End of April 1977 Where: St. Mungos With: Caradoc @themoralthief

If he were bring truly honest, Bloise had given Caradoc up for dead a month ago. He wasn’t overly close with the man but he’d often delivered him ingredients and considered him a brother in arms due to their shared alliance in the Order. But, he was a private man. He’d grieved behind closed doors, even lit a candle in the other’s name and burned it full, then worked to move on with his life, all the more determined to see the monster’s who killed him pay.

Only... he wasn’t dead. The man had likely wished he was several times judging by the little he’d heard; he’d spent a hard day’s sparring to work through the small amount of news he’d been given. But what stuck with him most was the other’s new state: a werewolf.

He didn’t hold it against Caradoc, but the other now needed something specific, something he could provide: Wolfsbane Potion. It was complex and he’d not made it before but he’d studied up, using his own money to order extra ingredients and eventually managed to make several cauldron’s full of it.

He’d brought half a dozen small bottles with him as he was escorted to the other’s room and tensed at the sight of him, still sleeping but so far from the vibrant man he’d dealt with. Bloise sat rigid in the chair, not making a sound save the gentle scratch of a quill on parchment as he wrote out instructions to go with the potions he’d made, intending to leave those with Caradoc and not take up his time until he saw an eye crack open and look at him.

Bloise placed the parchment and quill gently on a side table and rested his hands primly in his lap. “Good evening, Mr. Dearborn.” he said quietly.