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asgardeventide2013-09-17 09:55 pm
dilectio) wrote in asgardeventide2013-09-17 09:55 pm
SOS ALERT : VIDEO ][ about 3am, sorry for the blinky alarm, city
[ the trouble with ( temporarily ) owning a puppy is that they need to pee. all the time. and Iggy ( Iggy, short for Ignotus Peverell, for the record ) is no exception to this. so it's nearly three in the morning and Lily Potter is stuck crawling out of bed and taking him for a walk. well, bringing him outside long enough just so he can do his business and she can rush inside and back to bed. only... it doesn't quite work out that way. Iggy usually takes his time sniffing every little thing there is outside of the Freya house, trying to decide where the best place is to stop, what deserves his attention, what needs a good barking at, just in case it poses as a threat. but this time after a few long minutes of aimless wandering, he starts to tug a bit on his leash, pulling Lily in a very specific direction, and it's not too long after the puppy lifts his nose to the air that she's doing the same. if there's one way to wake up a sleepy witch, it's the smell of something burning, the sounds of people shouting. her hand moves to her hip, but her wand isn't there, which is still frustrating after all this time. no magic. which means, despite the way that everything inside her is telling her to run, go help, do something, she knows she can't. not yet. her adrenaline spikes, but she forces herself to think, be practical.
she has to get James, first of all. anything she plans on doing will be twice as effective with her husband there with her. so she whistles, calls the pup's attention long enough to coax him back into the house, up to their room, where-
well, it's-
she feels how cold it is in the room first, watches as a figure ( dark hair, white muffs over her ears? or those are her ears.. she can't tell. she can't comprehend much of anything just yet. ) climbs out of the bedroom window. everything in the room is in shambles, as if someone forced their way in through the walls, leaving nothing but splinters behind. but the strangest part, the worst part, is the sight of thick, dangerous vines twisted and knotted up against the far wall. that's when she feels everything start to s l o w. it's that sinking, dark, heavy feeling that comes with being told the worst news imaginable, walking in and finding something you never, ever wanted to see. her hands shake as she moves without thinking, quickly ushering the puppy into the bathroom between her shared rooms with James.
she can't tell what she's looking at, at first.
but it's as if- it's as if the vines are bleeding. that's what she notices, that's what she takes in. the blood. it's everywhere. and after she turns back to look at the rest of the room - that's when she notices the writing on the walls, in deep, red. sloppy, rushed.
the mudblood will be next.
which... doesn't make sense. it doesn't. she- they were supposed to be safe from this. this was their time out, their escape. this is where she and James would- ]
James. James!
[ it's not as if she wasn't aware that he wasn't there with her, it was scratching at the back of her mind since she walked into their bedroom. only fear is a funny thing, it makes a person zero in on the things it probably shouldn't. the vines, the damage, the messages on the walls ( in blood, that's blood, isn't it? ). only now the reality of it all has managed to slam into her like the whiplash of a nasty spell, makes her shout and look around wildly. but the bed is empty, and that damned window is still wide open, and did someone- take him, is that what happened?
no.
her eyes find their way back to that bundle of vines against the wall, and something makes her look harder, move closer. really look.
and that's when she screams.
anyone in the building would hear it - it's the scream of someone being tortured, someone feeling like a clawed hand is reaching into her chest and tearing out her heart. it's the sound of feeling like she's been hit with the cruciatus curse, white hot, impossible pain. it's the scream of someone who, once she really looked, noticed that her husband was tangled up in those vines, bruised and cut open and bleeding and not moving and there's nothing in the world that could stop her from immediately rushing closer, ignoring the sharp tug of the vines' thorns pricking at her skin as she tries to pull him free. her fingers slip over the blood-soaked vines binding him there and she can't-
breathe, she can't breathe. sobs rip through her throat and she can't be damned to stop it or try and calm down. it doesn't matter, she has to help him, she has to save him.
what's worse is that, once she does finally step back, once she clears herself from the vines and places a heavy hand against the nearest surface to stop herself from falling over, his body just disappears. it's vanishes. it's not quickly either, it's a slow fade, like maybe she's just imagining it, but a few hard blinks and she knows what she saw, she just watched her husband's brutalized body vanish, and she has no idea what to do. ]
[ it takes her a while ( too long ) before she thinks to use her bracelet to contact someone. it's. what does she even say? how can she be expected to talk to anyone right now? dread and fury and nine million other negative emotions that all revolve around James Potter was murdered and I wasn't here and I couldn't save him make her feel impossibly useless, like she's not even really there. this can't be real. this can't be happening. she holds down the SOS button and squints against the light of the screen that pops up, ducks her head to hide her face from the view of the camera because this isn't- she's been screaming and crying, she doesn't want to be on camera.
the view behind her is of one of that first bloody message on the wall, and at the bottom edge of the screen the entry-point of some of those vines can be seen, but she doesn't think much of it. she doesn't care.
there are a few seconds of silence before she finally speaks-]
I need to- [ she needs to talk, not whisper. she needs to blink through the blur and ignore the urge to scream again and do something. warn people. ] -I need to report a- a break in. A murder. [ she breaks off with a sob, the sound of a breath being forced out between clenched teeth. she can't do this. her hand rubs over her face until she's sure she isn't about to completely lose it again. ] My husband, James Potter, has been killed and he- he's gone, his body is gone. He was just here, I saw him. I know he was here! How is that possible?! Why would- Where is he!? [ who would do this?! she's crying again because it's either that or she focuses on her anger, lashes out and expresses her need to find out who did this and- and what? she's not a killer. but there's something inside of her right now that is seriously considering it. it just makes her cry harder. but she doesn't sound hopeless, she just sounds like this is her last option. get help. ] I'm in Freya House. Please, if anyone could tell me what to do- I don't know what to do-
[ the feed ends there, because she's a mess, she's coming apart and she can't pretend to be able to handle this in any capacity right now. her eyes move from that spot on the wall where James' body hung, over to the window again. the space between all those vines and that open window. more bloody writing, the lines that scare her more than the threat against her own life.
you were meant to stay dead.
the dark lord will always get what he wants. ]
she has to get James, first of all. anything she plans on doing will be twice as effective with her husband there with her. so she whistles, calls the pup's attention long enough to coax him back into the house, up to their room, where-
well, it's-
she feels how cold it is in the room first, watches as a figure ( dark hair, white muffs over her ears? or those are her ears.. she can't tell. she can't comprehend much of anything just yet. ) climbs out of the bedroom window. everything in the room is in shambles, as if someone forced their way in through the walls, leaving nothing but splinters behind. but the strangest part, the worst part, is the sight of thick, dangerous vines twisted and knotted up against the far wall. that's when she feels everything start to s l o w. it's that sinking, dark, heavy feeling that comes with being told the worst news imaginable, walking in and finding something you never, ever wanted to see. her hands shake as she moves without thinking, quickly ushering the puppy into the bathroom between her shared rooms with James.
she can't tell what she's looking at, at first.
but it's as if- it's as if the vines are bleeding. that's what she notices, that's what she takes in. the blood. it's everywhere. and after she turns back to look at the rest of the room - that's when she notices the writing on the walls, in deep, red. sloppy, rushed.
the mudblood will be next.
which... doesn't make sense. it doesn't. she- they were supposed to be safe from this. this was their time out, their escape. this is where she and James would- ]
James. James!
[ it's not as if she wasn't aware that he wasn't there with her, it was scratching at the back of her mind since she walked into their bedroom. only fear is a funny thing, it makes a person zero in on the things it probably shouldn't. the vines, the damage, the messages on the walls ( in blood, that's blood, isn't it? ). only now the reality of it all has managed to slam into her like the whiplash of a nasty spell, makes her shout and look around wildly. but the bed is empty, and that damned window is still wide open, and did someone- take him, is that what happened?
no.
her eyes find their way back to that bundle of vines against the wall, and something makes her look harder, move closer. really look.
and that's when she screams.
anyone in the building would hear it - it's the scream of someone being tortured, someone feeling like a clawed hand is reaching into her chest and tearing out her heart. it's the sound of feeling like she's been hit with the cruciatus curse, white hot, impossible pain. it's the scream of someone who, once she really looked, noticed that her husband was tangled up in those vines, bruised and cut open and bleeding and not moving and there's nothing in the world that could stop her from immediately rushing closer, ignoring the sharp tug of the vines' thorns pricking at her skin as she tries to pull him free. her fingers slip over the blood-soaked vines binding him there and she can't-
breathe, she can't breathe. sobs rip through her throat and she can't be damned to stop it or try and calm down. it doesn't matter, she has to help him, she has to save him.
what's worse is that, once she does finally step back, once she clears herself from the vines and places a heavy hand against the nearest surface to stop herself from falling over, his body just disappears. it's vanishes. it's not quickly either, it's a slow fade, like maybe she's just imagining it, but a few hard blinks and she knows what she saw, she just watched her husband's brutalized body vanish, and she has no idea what to do. ]
[ it takes her a while ( too long ) before she thinks to use her bracelet to contact someone. it's. what does she even say? how can she be expected to talk to anyone right now? dread and fury and nine million other negative emotions that all revolve around James Potter was murdered and I wasn't here and I couldn't save him make her feel impossibly useless, like she's not even really there. this can't be real. this can't be happening. she holds down the SOS button and squints against the light of the screen that pops up, ducks her head to hide her face from the view of the camera because this isn't- she's been screaming and crying, she doesn't want to be on camera.
the view behind her is of one of that first bloody message on the wall, and at the bottom edge of the screen the entry-point of some of those vines can be seen, but she doesn't think much of it. she doesn't care.
there are a few seconds of silence before she finally speaks-]
I need to- [ she needs to talk, not whisper. she needs to blink through the blur and ignore the urge to scream again and do something. warn people. ] -I need to report a- a break in. A murder. [ she breaks off with a sob, the sound of a breath being forced out between clenched teeth. she can't do this. her hand rubs over her face until she's sure she isn't about to completely lose it again. ] My husband, James Potter, has been killed and he- he's gone, his body is gone. He was just here, I saw him. I know he was here! How is that possible?! Why would- Where is he!? [ who would do this?! she's crying again because it's either that or she focuses on her anger, lashes out and expresses her need to find out who did this and- and what? she's not a killer. but there's something inside of her right now that is seriously considering it. it just makes her cry harder. but she doesn't sound hopeless, she just sounds like this is her last option. get help. ] I'm in Freya House. Please, if anyone could tell me what to do- I don't know what to do-
[ the feed ends there, because she's a mess, she's coming apart and she can't pretend to be able to handle this in any capacity right now. her eyes move from that spot on the wall where James' body hung, over to the window again. the space between all those vines and that open window. more bloody writing, the lines that scare her more than the threat against her own life.
you were meant to stay dead.
the dark lord will always get what he wants. ]
[Text]
[ she means his body, but, she can't put it that way. she's kind of just staring blankly at the screen, none of this feels real. ]
I did. It was a girl, but she couldn't have been older than fifteen. I don't think she could've done this on her own.
[ maybe if she was thinking straight she'd think about the different powers people have here, but, she's not. her mind goes to magic because there are spells that could do this sort of damage. but. that doesn't really help explain things here ]
[Text]
[He's sure those messages are a threat to her. They have to be. Kill the husband, threaten the wife, then later come back for her. Fear tactics. Tactics in the worst kinds of wars. He's seen them used plenty of times.]
Go downstairs. Wait for company. What did the girl look like?
[Text]
[ she shouted it before she reeled herself back in and typed it, but she's glad she's switched to text for now, she doesn't want to shout at these people who are only trying to help her. but it's hard to remember that, to be calm, to not push them away. it's hard to do much of anything when she's feeling so powerless ]
She had long, dark hair. Young, couldn't have been older than me, at least. She had something in her hair, some sort of fur.