Отправлено: 08.12.10 01:38. Заголовок: [Aprender a matar]

Time: 19.11.1972; 00.08
Place: the empty alley behind the bad "Barcelona", Muggle London, Britain.
Participants: Alexis Yaxley&Vasco Montserrat
Plot:

“Kill a man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a god.”

 Отправлено: 08.12.10 19:06. Заголовок: It was an important ..

It was an important day. A very important day. But – no fanfares, no encouraging words, no smiles. He was leaving home in silence. His sister, his mother, his father and brother – they were keeping silent and watched his every movement. Everyone knew why he is to go away from home at night: he went to make a killing, an awful unfair killing.
He didn’t know their names, he didn’t know their age – even their sex. They were two, and they were mud bloods. They had to die, and he – Vasco Montserrat, born Lopes-Marques – had to kill them. No feelings, no sorry – only scorn between last tears of his victims and green light. It was like initiation – he was a Death Eater, a first-time Death Eater. It was time to show, what he is for in this organization.
It was a crime. It was awful. It was monstrously. But he had to go. He was trembling – not of the excitation – of the horror. To kill people… Yeah, Vasco was cruel, Vasco in his eighteen was cruel and scornful to others’ sorrows and pain. But he was afraid. He wasn’t a killer. He was a young man, a very young and still almost good man, and two years ago he wanted to marry a half-blood. But Miguel… Miguel wanted him to become like his brother – a passionless, cynical monster, who could love only his family members and nobody else.
Vasco was staying in the doorway. He wanted his family to say something, to encourage him. He didn’t want them to hate him and his “profession”. But only Miguel nodded – go, brother, there’s no way back, you chose this way yourself. There was no way back, yeah. Vasco dressed himself quickly, waved the relatives irresolutely and transgressed.
Now he was staying in the narrow muggle street of London, where there were only drunkards and beggars. They saw nothing, they didn’t want to see. It was for what Vasco and Alexis Yaxley arranged to meet here. Nobody see anything. Blind, disgusting blind muggles. This scorn picked him up. He can. He can. He must.
Vasco waited. Nobody was near to say nothing about the beggars. He leant against the muddy wall and began to look around in hope to see his guide into the world of cruelty.

 Отправлено: 12.12.10 18:27. Заголовок: As I walk through th..

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I take a look at my life and realize there's not much left

Every Death Eater is a little bit damned from the start. From the moment they're born each and one of them can feel the hole in the world. The overwhelming, obsessive, almost drowning feeling of the emptiness inside grows with them, as if they are the ones with the hole. As if they are the world.
Alexis still remembers his first time. Sometimes he watches that memory, witnesses the murder unfolding right before his eyes. His next memory is from after the kill. He sees how he falls to his knees and finds it impossible to move. He doesn't really remember her. The girl. The victim. She's not even in his memory. Pretty thing, naturally, because they were always pretty little trollops. But she's a girl without a face. Smelled of cigarettes and fresh kills, but there's that faint little whiff of jasmine and rum that might be a later added snippet of memory. Can't really tell.
But that's not important. The memory, the knowing, the search for the truth - they're all just a way to feel again. That fulfilling feeling he got the first time he murdered - it filled the emptiness. Before the kill he could only feel that rush by solving a riddle or reaching an orgasm but even then it wasn't enough. The kill filled the hole and it stayed filled for so much longer than it did with shagging or riddles. For the first time he felt like he was in charge, like he was in control over someone, something, anything... And it felt so damn good, that he did it again. And again, and again, and again... And the thing with killing is - it never gets old. The rush? Never fades away. The feeling is always the same: like it's your very first time.
It was almost midnight. The plan is to meet in an alley behind a Muggle's bar in the central London and... practice. Those exact words were used. They were gonna practice killing. It may sound horrible, but Alex is actually excited, looking forward to this night. To pass on the wisdom of a killer to the next one - what better purpose can his life have at this point? None. He arrives to the place a bit earlier than planed, watching, seeking, waiting. He hates the waiting part though, it works like a wake up call for his conscience and he prefers his conscience dead or asleep. But at least shadows keep him safe. He will always have these shadows, hiding him away from the light, just like he will keep Vasco away from both mercy and distraction. They are gonna have to find that golden middle, that fine line between right and the law. At least that is the task of the day.
The younger Death Eater arrives a little past midnight and in a bad mood. Nothing Yaxley hasn't seen before. Montserrat leans against the wall and waits as well; probably for Alexis. Something tell the elder man to stay in the shadows just a little bit longer. He observes the young man and he doesn't like what he sees... There is no fire.
Killing is a passionate deed. Without passion, the kill is just a kill. But Lex believes, watching Montserrat, he knows that passion is in there somewhere. It must be, it is a part of being a Death Eater. It lies in all of them, sleeping, waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it stirs, opens its jaws and howls. It speaks to them. Guides them. Passion is what rules them all, and they gladly obey. What other choice do they have? Passion is the source of their finest moments. The joy of kill, the clarity of hatred and the ecstasy of being lawless. If they could live without passion maybe they'd know some kind of peace and goodness. But they would be hollow. Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion they'd be truly just murderers.
- Up, - escapes his lips, as he steps out of the shadows. Some Muggles turn around as well, but he doesn't really care. Vasco has his full attention, at least for now. - Good evening, Vasco. Long time no see.
He's not kidding, he hasn't seen the Montserrat boy in over a month. Busy month, you see. With the work and all. But he's here now, to teach out, to pass on the Olympic Torch, so to say.
- I see you're doing well. Lets hope that doesn't wear off. Follow me, please.
So they start walking further down the alley, to a place where darkness is consuming and absolute, while the victims are week and shallow, just like Merlin intended them to.

 Отправлено: 20.12.10 20:57. Заголовок: The night was behind..

The night was behind him as a shadow. He was in trouble. Should he stay here? May be, it is not time? He isn’t ready. Two years later… He’d try. Not now. Please, not now.
For a year being a Death Eater, for a year waiting for a Mark, he thought, that every minute they say “Kill!” he would be ready for this. He thought he would take off his coat and begin to work. Green light, the death, the howl of his victim – he thought, nothing could make him suffer, and nothing could make him be afraid of his own awful soul, his own awful heart and deed. But now... The deed was too close, it was whispering with its disgusting voice too near, too loudly to stay calm.
Vasco, Vasco, you never thought that waiting for the killing would be harder than killing itself.
When Alexis went out of the shadow, appeared in front of him, Montserrat started. He didn’t know why, but, may be, he was afraid, that the man would be an auror or somebody else who would stop him. And in spite of he wanted to end this deed quickly, in the at the bottom of his heart he wanted somebody to stop him. To take his hand and take him home. But nobody would do it, never. He is to. And he will.
- Hello, mister Yaxley, - said he irresolutely in a low voice. – Wonderful night.
He knew English traditions rather well, and now, in the awful night, under the scornful and cold sky, when the words stay in the mouth and never are to go out, he understood the tradition to speak about the weather. When it’s nothing to say, speak about weather, it’s funny and habitual! Oh, it was so hard for a young and passionate Spaniard to reserve all the feelings inside. He wanted to speak about his horror, to speak about his uncertainty, about his unwillingness to kill anybody. But all his hot and fervent feelings and words – he was sure – will break on the impassible wall of English pureblooded magic families’ mentality.
Vasco moved off a wall and followed Yaxley in silence. The man thought that Spaniard is well. That means that years living in England have taught Montserrat to hide his real feelings. That’s good. It helps to live, really. Nobody can see your weak sides, nobody can hit you more hard then all this not realized feelings hit you from inside like a bleeding heart, thumping dull and painfully. No passion inside – only pain, anguish and a dream to go away, to avoid a killing.
They were going through the night streets and alleys, under the misty sky and blurred patch of a young moon till they reached the tiny but clean bar named “Barcelona”. Vasco smiled wryly – this name reminded him of his childhood years in Spain. Laugh and smiles, plays and games and unforgettable smell of blooming acacias and cherry-trees…
Yaxley stopped, and Vasco too. The deed was coming nearer.
- Are we waiting for… them? – asked Montserrat.
Low voice, trembling voice. Like as he knew who he would be to kill.