Post by Virginie Lefèbvre on Jun 2, 2007 12:03:34 GMT -5
Name: Virginie Désirée Lefèbvre
Nick-Name: None. Need friends to get nicknames.
Blood: Pureblood
Age: Seventeen
Year: Seventh
Birthday: June 19th
Gender: Female
Likes: +Drugs, because they’re cool.
+Booze, because it is equally cool.
+Girls? Are we supposed to put this on here? Oh noes.
+Smoking, because being addicted on three levels is obviously awesome.
+Playing the drums.
+Painting.
+Flying kites.
+The beach.
+Beans.
+Silver.
+Strawberries.
+Strawberry-flavoured lip gloss and things.
Dislikes: -Her paranoia.
-Twitching, fidgeting, that sort of thing. Makes you stand out too much in a crowd.
-Skateboarding. Skateboards are up to SOMETHING.
-Clubs.
-Clubbers.
-Most types of people, come to think of it.
-Human interaction.
-Animal interaction.
-Her family?
-Making an effort.
-Butterscotch pudding.
-Bananas.
-Fire.
-Mayonnaise.
-Pepper and peppers.
-Beans.
-Gold.
Hobbies: Painting, playing the drums, fidgeting, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, avoiding people, avoiding conspiracies, fighting paranoia, etc.
Favorite Food: Beans
Least Favorite Food: Butterscotch pudding.
Favorite Drink: Vodka or Mike’s Hard Lemonade (US import)
Favorite Class: History of Magic. Things from the past don’t USUALLY come back to kill you hard and good. Then again, you can never be too sure. Dun dun dun.
Least Favorite Class: Care of Magical Creatures. It’s not that she hates animals, or anything. They’re just always there, trying to kill you alongside everybody else. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you!
Favorite Color: Silver
Pet Name: N/A
Pet Race: N/A
Pet Age: N/A
Pet Description: N/A
Biography: Once upon a time, there was a happy little couple who ran away and got married real young. Like, we’re talking seventeen and eighteen, here. Anyway, the chick got pregnant pretty fast. As in, wedding night. Nine months later? Twin girls, my friends, twin girls.
The woman named them Virginie and Gabrielle, and they became the lights of her life, along with her husband. Living in Auvergne in France, the babies became what you could call inseparable. They certainly didn’t look alike, but they had slept in the same crib, shared the same toys, and often portrayed similar traits.
Their younger sister came along so quickly afterwards that neither of the eldest Lefèbvre daughters could have had a chance to remember their mother’s second pregnancy, nor how their parents would’ve reacted to it. Their younger sister, Stéphanie was born a month late, kicking and screaming.
And, so it turned out, her whole life was doomed to be rather like that. The kicking and screaming, that was. By the time Virginie was seven, her parents were going through a bitter divorce concerning their last child. Apparently, somebody had had some sort of affair, and thus Steph had been born. Whatever the case, the family was falling apart.
In a vicious battle for custody, the eldest two wound up with their father, and that ‘bastard child’ whom he so blatantly refused to take care of was shipped off with her mother. Now, the twins were allowed to visit her whenever they pleased – they just didn’t. Ever, really. Maybe once a year, if that. Their father moved off to Strasbourg in an attempt to keep them separate from that ‘whore’ who’d given birth to them.
For a while, things seemed alright. Virginie and Gabrielle, however, hit a few bumps in the road to being good siblings. They fought, they no longer agreed, the couldn’t stand to be near one another. Gabby eventually sunk into an angry stage of being, whereas Virginie simply sunk into depression and anxiety.
Thus came along her paranoia. Whatever the stressor had been – her parents’ brutal divorce, her sister leaving her – it didn’t matter. She became suspicious of things like shadows, and highly avoidant at the wizarding school she’d been attending. She got into the drinking scene by herself, sneaking into clubs until she couldn’t take them any longer, and began getting things carefully off the streets. She became a bit of a pickpocket, but always reasoned that those people were just going to get her later in life anyway, and she needed what they had more than they did.
The drugs came next, found in the pockets of certain individuals, as well as the cigarettes. By the time she was fifteen, the girl was a walking piece of… erm, trouble.
She was fine for a couple more years, before a combination of her sister’s attitude towards their father and her own crazy antics forced him to ship them off to Beauxbatons – a boarding school where he hoped they’d calm the hell down.
Personality: Quiet, shy, all of that sort of thing, you know? She drinks until things don’t make sense anymore because life sort of pains her, and she really would just like to forget. The drugs are another escape yet, and the smoking calms her nerves.
She suffers from severe paranoia, oftentimes fidgeting, twitching and shaking without some way of making herself believe that the people around her aren’t planning on harming her. Mentally, physically, emotionally? Doesn’t really matter.
Serious relationships don’t happen for Virginie, possibly because the only times she talks to people she either can’t trust them in the slightest due to her disorder, or she winds up snapping at them. Her theory? Best to hurt them before they hurt you.
Painting and playing the drums are stress relievers for the severely troubled young woman, and they’re a couple of things she’s developed for herself over the years. As such, people walking in on her when she’s doing something artistic or musical is never really that appreciated.
Submissive when it comes to the family dynamic, she’s the often unheard third party, occasionally offering some stinging remark or another as her only way in before retreating to her haze of smoke in a skittish fashion.
It’s believed that Virginie might actually suffer from some sort of ADD as well. Her attention flits about from place to place, and her grades suffer as a result. She is, however, and incredibly intelligent individual. Whether or not she could actually reach her full potential is up in the air.
Hardly motivated to pursue anything outside of her own little world (which consists of drugs, art, and music, thanks).
Appearance: Oh, sure, she doesn’t exactly look like your typical drug addict, but believe me when I tell you that she most definitely is. If you wanted some proof, you could note that her green eyes (occasionally flecked with bits of muddy brown to make them take on a hazel tint) are most often clouded. It’s always a great indicator, you know?
Her hair was, at some point, a darker brown, but it’s gotten lighter over the years. One could probably blame the amount of time she spends outdoors on that fact (it’s harder to run places indoors). The locks are now what most would consider a light brown or dirty blonde, coming slightly past her shoulders in wild waves. She rarely puts effort into straightening them, if only because she thinks flat irons are made to kill you.
She’s grown a bit more tan over the years, and to a height of about 5’8”. Pretty? Sure. Pretty crazy.
Other: Hi, it’s Lena? xD; Roleplaying sample’s from AE. Oh, and poster girl’s Jessica Biel, here. ^^
Role-Playing Sample: It wasn’t that she was stalking him – more the other way around, actually. She’d been down to the Subacquei just briefly, spoken with her father, and had promptly left.
She felt different. Whatever it was, she just… felt different. Not like her ‘old self’, who would fear her half-sister’s random outbursts, or care about friends. She had turned into herself, under some careful instruction, and remained there in some infernal cocoon-like state.
Did she mind? No. Why? Because living without fear was amazing. Living and knowing you had a plan for your life, that people all around you expected something of you… it drove you toward greatness. She felt as though she was traveling a beaten path, though deviating slightly to forge her own notch in the side of the rise of a new era.
The walk through Bruciarsi Forest was, as such, one of the smaller things she liked to do on her own. Her father may have been a consult, and her aunt may have been her trainer, and her uncle might have had his own fantastical ideas when it came to what she should’ve been doing with herself as a supposed Death Eater, but the young Allen knew this small thing was untouchable by all those people.
Not that she really cared that they put so much pressure on her. It made her strive to do better, of course. She’d trained so hard with the Third, and made such an effort to know her family and appease them on the whole. It wasn’t like she was trying to rebel. Just have a couple moments to unwind by herself.
Of course, he always had been a fan of ruining things.
“Lisa?” Brown peepers snapped open, spying him there and then, muscular body stretching languidly as he smiled in her direction. He seemed casual, even friendly and inviting, were it not for his eyes. The eyes of a predator, she noted, watching his green gaze in all its hungry intensity.
She wasn’t sure how to handle him. He whom she had loved, then feared, who’d made her feel so… weak. She hated him now, this much she knew. Unfortunately, nobody had left him the memo. “Hello Jacques.” Perhaps it was for the best. If he dared, she could handle it with the element of surprise on her side.
It was truly amazing how stupid he could be, though. How couldn’t he have heard? Did he live in a state of ignorant bliss? Um, hello? Morbid new sense of style?
“And how are we tonight?” he asked, leaning a hand against a tree as he cracked his neck. “Just out for a stroll? Careful. I heard rapists like to lurk around in the forests at night. Unless the poor little dyke’s not afraid of them anymore. I wonder if she thinks she’s grown-up enough to handle a man?”
Her mind begged her not to let her anger get the best of her. It really, truly did. And yet, each word he spoke was like having someone spit in her face. Heck, he may as well have been. He didn’t seem to notice that he was playing with fire. “What are you doing out here, Jacques?” she asked almost boredly, noting the surprised look that flickered dumbly across his face.
Sadly, he regained his bulky composure within moments, shaking his head and causing blonde curls to fall over his forehead a touch more. He’d trimmed them since last time, and it showed. The young Frenchman seemed more clean-cut, mature. But he was still as dirty-mouthed and dirty-minded as ever.
“I had a date scheduled,” he stated, shrugging. “Unfortunately, she was a little too drunk to, you know, perform. I was just taking the shortcut back.”
“The shortcut’s through the forest now?”
“The shortcut always seems to involve you, so I guess so.” He wasn’t even making sense anymore. He tossed those insults out there like it meant something. Like he had a clue what he was talking about. “While we’re out here, though…”
He wouldn’t dare. The black-haired young woman glanced upwards, eyes flickering dangerously as he quirked an eyebrow. “You done being a fucking lesbian yet?” Why was it that even his voice seemed to grate on her nerves? Sure, she was so much less short-fused than certain other members of her family (perhaps the least inclined to fight, in fact), but it was Jacques de Lioncourt here.
The boy who’d violently beaten and raped her after having someone else make her life a living hell through blackmail. Things she’d told him in confidence that he’d decided weren’t secrets worth keeping. Things that she had expected he would never tell another soul.
“Expelliarmus!” He blinked, staring at his wand hand in total shock, as if not knowing exactly when he’d managed to grab onto his wand, let alone who’d knocked it away from him so quickly. Anger overcame him, quickly staring at his ex-best friend as she stood there with her head tilted to one side and an eyebrow raised, challenging him. ’I dare you,’ the look said.
With an animalistic growl, he took a step forwards, hearing another curse cut through the still of the night and forest. “Lorzes!” His leg made a quick snapping sound, and he howled in pain as he went down. She’d broken it, the Head Girl realized with a blink. More power behind that one than she’d realized.
Evidently, she hadn’t moved on.
That, or her new wand had a bit more pizzazz than the old one. Whatever the case, her momentary pause to think had allowed him time to crawl over to her, pulling her leg and bringing her down with him suddenly.
She didn’t remember much, save a sudden knock from behind, the wind leaving her body as pain shot through the back of her head. There was a distinct sensation that she was in big shit as he crawled on top of her, yelling and growling, spitting as his fist came back.
She couldn’t help it, she was afraid. “Macero!” Their closeness let it hit him hard, as he howled again, sobbing and shaking suddenly. What – what was this? She’d never managed to successfully cast that one, really. And yet – oh God.
He gripped her arms, shook her as she lay almost numb beneath his weight, paralyzed by the fear as the shaking grew more violent. He was saying something, but his own choked voice was growing hard to understand. “Lisa, Lisa, I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, just please, please make it stop!”
She didn’t hear it. She heard the insults, she felt him there, remembered his fist coming for her… and she reverted just a bit to that scared teen she had been when she’d entered Anima Eterna. Screaming herself now, she pulled back, pointing her wand and shooting off the first spell that came to mind. “Macellarius Mactabilis!”
There was a sickening few snaps made as muscle and bone were ripped apart, followed by a few other noises the halfblood couldn’t have described if you’d asked her to later on. All she knew was that, in that moment, she couldn’t be the person she’d been trying to be the past couple of months. Why? Because she was coated in Jacques de Lioncourt’s blood.
Hyperventilating, eyes squeezed shut tight, she lay there a moment with him on top of her, feeling the warmth he’d once carried seeping through her clothing, splattered across her arms and face, pooling about her on the ground…
She never wanted to look. Maybe she could die there too, so that her eyes would never open and she’d never be faced with what she’d just done.
But she could feel it! And, hazarding a glance, she heard herself scream again, pulling away from his body and curling into the fetal position next to it. There was no point trying to revive him, since that spell wasn’t exactly made to cause small amounts of suffering. It wasn’t supposed to be something you could live through.
“Merde, merde, merde… shit, Jacques?” she whispered, shaking him nonetheless, seeing his eyes still open and staring at her and openly sobbing as she stared at him. She wasn’t a murderer, no, no she wasn’t! What on Earth? She wasn’t a murderer!
His body rolled off his front with her shaking, surprisingly light as he lay against a tree that promptly burst into flames, cuing her hasty and rather shaky leave from his side. There he was – entrails exposed because of how his ribs had ripped through his muscles, as if cut then pulled. They lay on the ground, some fizzing, others popping. A few simply crackled and sizzled while the flames licked their way up them towards his body, the various bones jutting out giving him a rather broken look.
“No, no…” she clutched her head, bowed it. The Spirito didn’t know what was going on here anymore, watching his flesh turn black and peel, eventually flake off around him. The tree was merciless, she noted. Just like she had been.
She’d panicked! That’d been all. She didn’t really hate him, she hadn’t really wanted to kill him! She couldn’t even have wanted to hurt him!
But she had. And who’d taught her those spells? Her aunt, her father, her uncle? Some combination of the three? She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want anything to do with them. And – oh God, she wanted her friends. She wanted Razel, and Catalina, and Janie, and Raph, and Clio.
Oh, Clio. She’d lost her too, right? Everybody? Oh God, oh God…
She wanted her old life back. She wanted Jacques alive, even if he was going to be an asshole about it. She needed him to be there. She didn’t want any of those last few months to have happened. She wanted Renée to beat on her relentlessly, not the other way around.
Hugging her knees to her chest as she lay on the forest floor, one hand made its way to the side of her head. She screamed again, before bursting into louder sobs, rocking herself just slightly. Wishing for better times as the corpse of her slain ex-best friend and rapist crackled and spit fire.
Nick-Name: None. Need friends to get nicknames.
Blood: Pureblood
Age: Seventeen
Year: Seventh
Birthday: June 19th
Gender: Female
Likes: +Drugs, because they’re cool.
+Booze, because it is equally cool.
+Girls? Are we supposed to put this on here? Oh noes.
+Smoking, because being addicted on three levels is obviously awesome.
+Playing the drums.
+Painting.
+Flying kites.
+The beach.
+Beans.
+Silver.
+Strawberries.
+Strawberry-flavoured lip gloss and things.
Dislikes: -Her paranoia.
-Twitching, fidgeting, that sort of thing. Makes you stand out too much in a crowd.
-Skateboarding. Skateboards are up to SOMETHING.
-Clubs.
-Clubbers.
-Most types of people, come to think of it.
-Human interaction.
-Animal interaction.
-Her family?
-Making an effort.
-Butterscotch pudding.
-Bananas.
-Fire.
-Mayonnaise.
-Pepper and peppers.
-Beans.
-Gold.
Hobbies: Painting, playing the drums, fidgeting, drinking, smoking, doing drugs, avoiding people, avoiding conspiracies, fighting paranoia, etc.
Favorite Food: Beans
Least Favorite Food: Butterscotch pudding.
Favorite Drink: Vodka or Mike’s Hard Lemonade (US import)
Favorite Class: History of Magic. Things from the past don’t USUALLY come back to kill you hard and good. Then again, you can never be too sure. Dun dun dun.
Least Favorite Class: Care of Magical Creatures. It’s not that she hates animals, or anything. They’re just always there, trying to kill you alongside everybody else. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you!
Favorite Color: Silver
Pet Name: N/A
Pet Race: N/A
Pet Age: N/A
Pet Description: N/A
Biography: Once upon a time, there was a happy little couple who ran away and got married real young. Like, we’re talking seventeen and eighteen, here. Anyway, the chick got pregnant pretty fast. As in, wedding night. Nine months later? Twin girls, my friends, twin girls.
The woman named them Virginie and Gabrielle, and they became the lights of her life, along with her husband. Living in Auvergne in France, the babies became what you could call inseparable. They certainly didn’t look alike, but they had slept in the same crib, shared the same toys, and often portrayed similar traits.
Their younger sister came along so quickly afterwards that neither of the eldest Lefèbvre daughters could have had a chance to remember their mother’s second pregnancy, nor how their parents would’ve reacted to it. Their younger sister, Stéphanie was born a month late, kicking and screaming.
And, so it turned out, her whole life was doomed to be rather like that. The kicking and screaming, that was. By the time Virginie was seven, her parents were going through a bitter divorce concerning their last child. Apparently, somebody had had some sort of affair, and thus Steph had been born. Whatever the case, the family was falling apart.
In a vicious battle for custody, the eldest two wound up with their father, and that ‘bastard child’ whom he so blatantly refused to take care of was shipped off with her mother. Now, the twins were allowed to visit her whenever they pleased – they just didn’t. Ever, really. Maybe once a year, if that. Their father moved off to Strasbourg in an attempt to keep them separate from that ‘whore’ who’d given birth to them.
For a while, things seemed alright. Virginie and Gabrielle, however, hit a few bumps in the road to being good siblings. They fought, they no longer agreed, the couldn’t stand to be near one another. Gabby eventually sunk into an angry stage of being, whereas Virginie simply sunk into depression and anxiety.
Thus came along her paranoia. Whatever the stressor had been – her parents’ brutal divorce, her sister leaving her – it didn’t matter. She became suspicious of things like shadows, and highly avoidant at the wizarding school she’d been attending. She got into the drinking scene by herself, sneaking into clubs until she couldn’t take them any longer, and began getting things carefully off the streets. She became a bit of a pickpocket, but always reasoned that those people were just going to get her later in life anyway, and she needed what they had more than they did.
The drugs came next, found in the pockets of certain individuals, as well as the cigarettes. By the time she was fifteen, the girl was a walking piece of… erm, trouble.
She was fine for a couple more years, before a combination of her sister’s attitude towards their father and her own crazy antics forced him to ship them off to Beauxbatons – a boarding school where he hoped they’d calm the hell down.
Personality: Quiet, shy, all of that sort of thing, you know? She drinks until things don’t make sense anymore because life sort of pains her, and she really would just like to forget. The drugs are another escape yet, and the smoking calms her nerves.
She suffers from severe paranoia, oftentimes fidgeting, twitching and shaking without some way of making herself believe that the people around her aren’t planning on harming her. Mentally, physically, emotionally? Doesn’t really matter.
Serious relationships don’t happen for Virginie, possibly because the only times she talks to people she either can’t trust them in the slightest due to her disorder, or she winds up snapping at them. Her theory? Best to hurt them before they hurt you.
Painting and playing the drums are stress relievers for the severely troubled young woman, and they’re a couple of things she’s developed for herself over the years. As such, people walking in on her when she’s doing something artistic or musical is never really that appreciated.
Submissive when it comes to the family dynamic, she’s the often unheard third party, occasionally offering some stinging remark or another as her only way in before retreating to her haze of smoke in a skittish fashion.
It’s believed that Virginie might actually suffer from some sort of ADD as well. Her attention flits about from place to place, and her grades suffer as a result. She is, however, and incredibly intelligent individual. Whether or not she could actually reach her full potential is up in the air.
Hardly motivated to pursue anything outside of her own little world (which consists of drugs, art, and music, thanks).
Appearance: Oh, sure, she doesn’t exactly look like your typical drug addict, but believe me when I tell you that she most definitely is. If you wanted some proof, you could note that her green eyes (occasionally flecked with bits of muddy brown to make them take on a hazel tint) are most often clouded. It’s always a great indicator, you know?
Her hair was, at some point, a darker brown, but it’s gotten lighter over the years. One could probably blame the amount of time she spends outdoors on that fact (it’s harder to run places indoors). The locks are now what most would consider a light brown or dirty blonde, coming slightly past her shoulders in wild waves. She rarely puts effort into straightening them, if only because she thinks flat irons are made to kill you.
She’s grown a bit more tan over the years, and to a height of about 5’8”. Pretty? Sure. Pretty crazy.
Other: Hi, it’s Lena? xD; Roleplaying sample’s from AE. Oh, and poster girl’s Jessica Biel, here. ^^
Role-Playing Sample: It wasn’t that she was stalking him – more the other way around, actually. She’d been down to the Subacquei just briefly, spoken with her father, and had promptly left.
She felt different. Whatever it was, she just… felt different. Not like her ‘old self’, who would fear her half-sister’s random outbursts, or care about friends. She had turned into herself, under some careful instruction, and remained there in some infernal cocoon-like state.
Did she mind? No. Why? Because living without fear was amazing. Living and knowing you had a plan for your life, that people all around you expected something of you… it drove you toward greatness. She felt as though she was traveling a beaten path, though deviating slightly to forge her own notch in the side of the rise of a new era.
The walk through Bruciarsi Forest was, as such, one of the smaller things she liked to do on her own. Her father may have been a consult, and her aunt may have been her trainer, and her uncle might have had his own fantastical ideas when it came to what she should’ve been doing with herself as a supposed Death Eater, but the young Allen knew this small thing was untouchable by all those people.
Not that she really cared that they put so much pressure on her. It made her strive to do better, of course. She’d trained so hard with the Third, and made such an effort to know her family and appease them on the whole. It wasn’t like she was trying to rebel. Just have a couple moments to unwind by herself.
Of course, he always had been a fan of ruining things.
“Lisa?” Brown peepers snapped open, spying him there and then, muscular body stretching languidly as he smiled in her direction. He seemed casual, even friendly and inviting, were it not for his eyes. The eyes of a predator, she noted, watching his green gaze in all its hungry intensity.
She wasn’t sure how to handle him. He whom she had loved, then feared, who’d made her feel so… weak. She hated him now, this much she knew. Unfortunately, nobody had left him the memo. “Hello Jacques.” Perhaps it was for the best. If he dared, she could handle it with the element of surprise on her side.
It was truly amazing how stupid he could be, though. How couldn’t he have heard? Did he live in a state of ignorant bliss? Um, hello? Morbid new sense of style?
“And how are we tonight?” he asked, leaning a hand against a tree as he cracked his neck. “Just out for a stroll? Careful. I heard rapists like to lurk around in the forests at night. Unless the poor little dyke’s not afraid of them anymore. I wonder if she thinks she’s grown-up enough to handle a man?”
Her mind begged her not to let her anger get the best of her. It really, truly did. And yet, each word he spoke was like having someone spit in her face. Heck, he may as well have been. He didn’t seem to notice that he was playing with fire. “What are you doing out here, Jacques?” she asked almost boredly, noting the surprised look that flickered dumbly across his face.
Sadly, he regained his bulky composure within moments, shaking his head and causing blonde curls to fall over his forehead a touch more. He’d trimmed them since last time, and it showed. The young Frenchman seemed more clean-cut, mature. But he was still as dirty-mouthed and dirty-minded as ever.
“I had a date scheduled,” he stated, shrugging. “Unfortunately, she was a little too drunk to, you know, perform. I was just taking the shortcut back.”
“The shortcut’s through the forest now?”
“The shortcut always seems to involve you, so I guess so.” He wasn’t even making sense anymore. He tossed those insults out there like it meant something. Like he had a clue what he was talking about. “While we’re out here, though…”
He wouldn’t dare. The black-haired young woman glanced upwards, eyes flickering dangerously as he quirked an eyebrow. “You done being a fucking lesbian yet?” Why was it that even his voice seemed to grate on her nerves? Sure, she was so much less short-fused than certain other members of her family (perhaps the least inclined to fight, in fact), but it was Jacques de Lioncourt here.
The boy who’d violently beaten and raped her after having someone else make her life a living hell through blackmail. Things she’d told him in confidence that he’d decided weren’t secrets worth keeping. Things that she had expected he would never tell another soul.
“Expelliarmus!” He blinked, staring at his wand hand in total shock, as if not knowing exactly when he’d managed to grab onto his wand, let alone who’d knocked it away from him so quickly. Anger overcame him, quickly staring at his ex-best friend as she stood there with her head tilted to one side and an eyebrow raised, challenging him. ’I dare you,’ the look said.
With an animalistic growl, he took a step forwards, hearing another curse cut through the still of the night and forest. “Lorzes!” His leg made a quick snapping sound, and he howled in pain as he went down. She’d broken it, the Head Girl realized with a blink. More power behind that one than she’d realized.
Evidently, she hadn’t moved on.
That, or her new wand had a bit more pizzazz than the old one. Whatever the case, her momentary pause to think had allowed him time to crawl over to her, pulling her leg and bringing her down with him suddenly.
She didn’t remember much, save a sudden knock from behind, the wind leaving her body as pain shot through the back of her head. There was a distinct sensation that she was in big shit as he crawled on top of her, yelling and growling, spitting as his fist came back.
She couldn’t help it, she was afraid. “Macero!” Their closeness let it hit him hard, as he howled again, sobbing and shaking suddenly. What – what was this? She’d never managed to successfully cast that one, really. And yet – oh God.
He gripped her arms, shook her as she lay almost numb beneath his weight, paralyzed by the fear as the shaking grew more violent. He was saying something, but his own choked voice was growing hard to understand. “Lisa, Lisa, I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, just please, please make it stop!”
She didn’t hear it. She heard the insults, she felt him there, remembered his fist coming for her… and she reverted just a bit to that scared teen she had been when she’d entered Anima Eterna. Screaming herself now, she pulled back, pointing her wand and shooting off the first spell that came to mind. “Macellarius Mactabilis!”
There was a sickening few snaps made as muscle and bone were ripped apart, followed by a few other noises the halfblood couldn’t have described if you’d asked her to later on. All she knew was that, in that moment, she couldn’t be the person she’d been trying to be the past couple of months. Why? Because she was coated in Jacques de Lioncourt’s blood.
Hyperventilating, eyes squeezed shut tight, she lay there a moment with him on top of her, feeling the warmth he’d once carried seeping through her clothing, splattered across her arms and face, pooling about her on the ground…
She never wanted to look. Maybe she could die there too, so that her eyes would never open and she’d never be faced with what she’d just done.
But she could feel it! And, hazarding a glance, she heard herself scream again, pulling away from his body and curling into the fetal position next to it. There was no point trying to revive him, since that spell wasn’t exactly made to cause small amounts of suffering. It wasn’t supposed to be something you could live through.
“Merde, merde, merde… shit, Jacques?” she whispered, shaking him nonetheless, seeing his eyes still open and staring at her and openly sobbing as she stared at him. She wasn’t a murderer, no, no she wasn’t! What on Earth? She wasn’t a murderer!
His body rolled off his front with her shaking, surprisingly light as he lay against a tree that promptly burst into flames, cuing her hasty and rather shaky leave from his side. There he was – entrails exposed because of how his ribs had ripped through his muscles, as if cut then pulled. They lay on the ground, some fizzing, others popping. A few simply crackled and sizzled while the flames licked their way up them towards his body, the various bones jutting out giving him a rather broken look.
“No, no…” she clutched her head, bowed it. The Spirito didn’t know what was going on here anymore, watching his flesh turn black and peel, eventually flake off around him. The tree was merciless, she noted. Just like she had been.
She’d panicked! That’d been all. She didn’t really hate him, she hadn’t really wanted to kill him! She couldn’t even have wanted to hurt him!
But she had. And who’d taught her those spells? Her aunt, her father, her uncle? Some combination of the three? She didn’t want to know, she didn’t want anything to do with them. And – oh God, she wanted her friends. She wanted Razel, and Catalina, and Janie, and Raph, and Clio.
Oh, Clio. She’d lost her too, right? Everybody? Oh God, oh God…
She wanted her old life back. She wanted Jacques alive, even if he was going to be an asshole about it. She needed him to be there. She didn’t want any of those last few months to have happened. She wanted Renée to beat on her relentlessly, not the other way around.
Hugging her knees to her chest as she lay on the forest floor, one hand made its way to the side of her head. She screamed again, before bursting into louder sobs, rocking herself just slightly. Wishing for better times as the corpse of her slain ex-best friend and rapist crackled and spit fire.
