Run for Cover --- Athena & Rabastan

Athena knew that she was beautiful — it was part of her allure.

From a young age, Katrine had taught her how to use her beauty and mind to manipulate those around her. She learned the subtle art of seduction, the not so subtle art of destruction, and her personal favorite: the effortless art of subjugation. Her mother taught her everything she knew…but if she only knew what she had done.

By the time Katrine had realized it, she had already created a monster. Athena knew how to get what she wanted — she knew how to take and take and take. She knew how to manipulate the world into doing her bidding. The only one who wouldn’t bend to her will was Ares. Damn him, he always seemed to go off and ruin things. When her brother had first taken over the Ministry, things had been good — they had all gone according to plan. As his Advisor, she had held part of the reigns, moving her pawns, bishops, and knights into their proper places…but he was impatient. He was too quick to exact his revenge for what they had done to him. That was the reason that he had been so quickly usurped.

Athena knew she would have to play her cards differently this time. There was too much on the line. She couldn’t lose again.

Rabastan Lestrange was…an enigma to Athena. They had crossed paths over the months, even seen each other in their youth. They had grown up in the same circles, after all, and both being pureblood, it was difficult to ignore one another at social functions.

He was dangerous — that was, of course, what all the papers said. But Attie didn’t believe that. No, Attie knew what danger looked like to her. She knew of twisted, thorned branches that wove their way into the politics of this world and poisoned them from the inside out. She knew of secrets that could topple empires. She wasn’t afraid of a man and his demons. Silly little girl, She could hear Ares’ words echoing in her head, and she smiled.

Danger didn’t have to be what everyone thought it was…and that was what made it quite so deadly.

“You’ll never guess the misfortune,” Attie lied, walking towards the lift with Rabastan. She assumed that he, too, was on his way out, which made her plan even more plausible. “A reservation for two ruined by a case of Dragon Pox. You wouldn’t happen to be free, would you? I could use a gentleman like you at my table at the Chutne Jidlo.” As they stepped into the lift, she gently pressed the button for the Atriums' floor and smiled up at Rabastan: a sweet, Athena Finley smile.

Whatever Athena might have been up to, Rabastan was pleased to be along for the broom ride. He believed that no matter what the vixen had in mind, it would be entertaining. That carried great value to Rabastan these days. He had spent great stretches of his life alone in a tiny stone box. No light. No sound. No anything except for himself. Now that he was free of Azkaban, free of solitary confinement--- he sought to distance himself from those tormenting memories. He filled his life with decadence. He indulged in debachery. Entertaining him was the quickest way to gain his favor. And Athena...well, she entertained him simply by her existence. She was a puzzle box, he was eager to get lost in.

Her smugness was matched by Rabastan's own. He felt quite pleased with himself to have been sought out by the woman for an evening in the public eye. Though the pair would not likely grace the cover of the Prophet for their dinner together, the grapevine of hushed gossipy whispers would carry the news quickly that the pair of purists had shared what would most undoubtedly be labeled as a romantic dinner together at the finest dining establishment in wizarding London. It was no secret that Rabastan was still an eligible bachelor. With his sister-in-law heading the Ministry and his brother leading the Death Eaters, betrothal offers from families seeking an alliance with the Lestranges had began to flow in. Most of the daugthers presented to him seemed far more afraid of him than anything else, which was interesting in a very short lived manner. He had plenty of scared toys at his disposal. Those types would not make for a proper, useful wife.

Rodolphus had taken a moderately young wife in his second marriage and then an older one in his most recent one. Rabastan had seen the worth each woman put forward as he could perceive it. Andromeda was certainly more useful outside the home and he assumed based on the discreet, but rather constant presence of his brother's mistress at the very least willing to accommodate the sexual needs of a pureblood wizard. Perhaps he could follow his brother's lead.

Thoughts of rumors moreso than thoughts of marriage were in his mind as the lift continued it's ascent upwards. What could Athena want from these rumors? His mind twisted and turned and Bellatrix tried to catch hold of him. But he would not allow her to dominate him. He saw the signs of the catatonia coming to grasp his body. Of late, the man had been making more attempts to fight losing himself that way. It occurred less and less, but still hours could be lost---frozen, unseeing the world around him, caught inside his own head.

Rabastan laughed at the comment regarding social suicide by dining alone. It might have been a different life he was living now, but he was not quite so far removed from his many years of incarceration to find the idea of a meal solo at Chutne Jidlo to be unspeakable to endure. "I have known worse things, but I'm happy to be the one to save you from any smudge against your reputation."

The man barely suppressed a smirk when Athena's hand came to rest on his arm. Instead, he gave the blonde a look of approval and escorted her towards the apparition points. "It is nothing shy of a tragedy that we have not managed to spend an evening enjoying one another's company before now. It is surely long over due." As they reached the point where the wards faded and apparition was possible, he drew himself a bit closer to Athena. "If you do not object to side-long apparition, I will transport us to the restaurant." The man made the offer with his attention fully on his companion. A smile even graced his features as he made another play as the perfect gentleman.

In years long past, social standing and reputation had meant a great deal to Rabastan. He valued the respect and admiration of his fellow purists. He had wanted the esteem and validation from those around him. He had walked tall and proud, a pillar of the community. He had been drawn in to the most inner circle of the Dark Lord. He had stood beside Bellatrix and Rodolphus--they had been evoked pride in the masterful wizard. Then that had all been lost...

All luxury--all comfort--all stripped away. There are not words to properly express the suffering Rabastan was forced to endure in Azkaban. To say his incarceration would always be with him was a gross understatement. The months of solitary down in that wretched hole buried deep within that prison still haunted him, both in his waking moments and those of slumber. It was inhumane to have left him there for a day, much less the great stretches of time he endured in that tiny enclosure. Dark, dank stone walls and floor and ceiling all pressing down on him. There was no door in that place. To come or go, a wall was removed. Days went by with no light. No sound. Not even rats could descend into that catacomb of desperation. The cold of that place lingered in his bones. Rabastan would always carry that place with him still. Solitary confinement at Azkaban had been the stuff nightmares were made of.

In that place, in that absolute seclusion, time did not exist. Detachment from the world was forced upon him there, sequestered in that coffin of a cell. The vulgarity of what he had been forced to endure had forever changed the Lestrange. Times had come when he had been sure he was dead...that he lay in a sarcophagus--that the overwhelming, oppressive emptiness of his existence there was the torturous reality of eternity. He lived now--and lived free...but such things one is never truly free of. Not even the strongest Euphoria draught could wash away what had been endured. Scars marred his soul now, whatever there was left of it.

Rabastan, as he was now, was far more appreciative of the pleasures life afforded him than he had been before his time on that dreaded island. The company of a beautiful woman--perhaps even a friend--held great value to him. He acutely felt the weight of the hand on his arm---and felt it to the very core of him. Absolute seclusion from any other person--even long ago as it might have been--had birthed a hunger and need in him for human contact. He savored the simple gesture and felt more present in the moment for it.

"Yes, indeed--your idiot brother...I will speak plainly and you may take offense should you wish, but Ares is a bloody fool. He has always been such. He has no mettle about him." Rabastan had never been fond of the Wentzell. Upon their very first meeting after the Lestranges had been released from Azkaban, the Death Eater had been baffled by his compatriots following Ares. The whispers into Rodolphus' ear of him being a more worthy leader for their merry band of wickedness had started immediately. Rabastan would much prefer to follow his brother than any other man breathing. "It is my opinion, Athena--if I may be so bold as to call you by your given name--that he was never deserving of your allegiance...and you are wise to wash your hands of him--and his halfling whore, do pardon my vulgarity. I have quite strong feelings on the matter and my years away from society have perhaps eroded some of my manners."

His offer to transport the pair of them seemed to be well received as the witch moved a bit closer to him. The man's smile did not waver. His gaze met Athena's, and he searched her, searched for answers, searched for secrets, searched for signs of what was hidden just beneath the mask of her undeniable beauty. It would be far too easy to get lost in that aesthetic perfection. A wiser man might have made to guard himself against the danger, but Rabastan was far too happy to throw any caution to the wind. He would welcome whatever this woman brought into his life. Good or bad, it would surely be entertaining.

Her amusement and perhaps pleasure was matched by his own. Tiny signs of such showed themselves on his aristocratic features. The man might have been weathered by his years of imprisonment, but fine breeding and superior genetics gave him the aesthetics of his ancestors. He looked the part of a distinguished gentleman. She made an eloquent stroke to his ego and the shift of her expression to that delightful little smirk and arched brow did things to a man. The innuendo he read into her speech motivated the man to mentally endear her a playful minx.

He kept any clever retort he might have made to himself, not wishing to overstep in their careful tango. His smirk spoke for him as he placed his hands on each of her hips--though his mind wish to wander to musings of more explicit contact, Rabastan focused on their destination. The familiar pull to the navel did not serve to disorient him, and the departing sharp pop was their farewell to the Ministry.

The pair landed gently just outside of Chutne Jidlo, and though one of Rabastan's hand fell away from Athena's body, the other shifted to the small of her back. Ever one to make small gestures to show off, he outstretched his free hand and wandlessly opened the door. It was a little thing, not complex magic in the least, but it showcased for the woman his ability to focus and master his magic even without a conduit. "Shall we," he suggested, guiding the pair inside the restaurant. The host greeted them immediately with overly exaggerated humility and humbleness. The behavior earned an eye roll from the Lestrange. If he had wanted himself orally pleasured, he would have gone to see a de Lis girl.

Had the rolls been reversed, Rabastan would not have taken well to any derogatory talk about his brother. His loyalty to Rodolphus had always been absolute. It had even always superseded his obsession over Bellatrix. The elder Lestrange had possessed the wife Rabastan longed for, but never did Rabastan move against him. Never did he try to really take Bellatrix for himself...not that she would have accommodate such an advancement. As captivated as he had been by the late Black beauty, she had always seen only the Dark Lord. Halfblood that he was...He still had her in ways no other man ever would.

Rabastan had never hid his dislike of Ares well. It was no great secret he had never cared for the man. He kept his tongue when the wizard held authority within the Death Eater ranks, but only publicly. In secret, in whispers, from the moment of his release, Rabastan had sowed discord against the Wentzell. He had never feared Ares, but he had respected Rodolphus's request to keep the disruption to a minimum until they were rid of Durant, until they were truly free of Knockturn. But now--there was every reason to be emboldened. There was no cause to hold his tongue, save the desire he felt to keep that smirk playing on Athena's lips. He did not wish to anger her, but if his true feelings would upset the witch, best to know now as he had no desire to play pretend about his rather strong opinions.

The Lestrange felt there was as much unsaid as was being spoken aloud in this little eloquent dance they were taking part in. He looked to see what he might perceive behind the mask of the witch's smile---offering this justification for his previous silence: "I had doubted that you would be a receptive audience to such sentiments, or I would have conveyed them long ago." Perhaps if he had given his tongue leave to express his true sentiments, it would he standing as head of those marked and masked, and the woman before him would be Minister of Magic instead of THE Lady and Lord Lestrange holding such honors. Such thoughts were dangerous to entertain. What if's served no purpose in this life. So, he put the notions away.

It had been a test of sorts to speak her name. Both to judge her reaction and to taste it on his lips--there was an intimacy to speaking a given name, especially in the world as it was now. The reclamation of titles had given such airs to the purists around him. He was annoyed by it in many ways. He was arrogant, yes---but prison had hardened and strengthened him in so many ways. He had little patience for men he saw as soft and weak prancing about pretending to be worthy of respect, when they were little more than lazy ponces and untalented prats.

The reaction the woman gave did not disappoint. The flight of her eyes to meet his own penetrating gaze pleased the man. He devoured the myriad of unspoken responses given by the witch's visual riposte. Wading through the mystery that was Athena Finley intrigued him, her depths coaxed him closer, drawing him into what could surely be a most deadly quicksand. But he felt no fear, no hesitation--only adrenaline at this new and interesting development between the pair. His body reacted in a most carnal way to the witch's seeming musings over a macabre end for her brother's wife. He was a man who did enjoy his vices of which violence had long been one. He did not believe the woman at his side to have the same murderous tendencies, but at the very least, she had some understanding of the pleasure and satisfaction that could come in exacting the ultimate and most final dominion over another in the taking of a life.

The show of service the restaurant gave to them was tiresome for Rabastan. He did not judge there to be much--if any--sincerity in it. He accepted it with reasonable graciousness all the same. That was to mean he did not verbally lash out at or hex the server nor the maître d'. In time, the pair was left to their own devices--and for this, Rabastan was thankful. He enjoyed the company of pretty things quite often, but Athena was much more than just beautiful. She was dangerous--she was ambitious--and she had a wit about her. It made her formidable. For a woman to be recognized by this rather chauvinistic man as formidable spoke volumes. He believed most women to have little purpose beyond ornamental and the sating of men's needs. The women he saw as greater than that were in the league of the illustrious Bellatrix---such women could garner devotion and admiration from him. They could birth the seed of obsession in him, by which his loyalty could be guaranteed.

Reclining in his chair, Rabastan looked at ease, but still commanded a presence of power. This aura had come back to him as time away from Azkaban passed. The danger of him, of his very nature, was easily perceived to any who looked upon him. But this did not seem to alarm his company. The woman appeared equally content with their circumstances. Her question earned a low chuckle and left a deadly smirk on his lips. These flirtatious expressions were weapons made for this friendly battlefield. "Simply put: you are not your brother." He lifted his glass towards her--"And I do believe that is worth toasting to, so cheers: here is to us, we are neither of our brothers." The clink of crystal against crystal prefaced the man taking a sip of the Chardonnay. It's buttery silkiness had always pleased him as a precursor to a meal. It was not quite as fruity or dry as some white wines--but still light enough not to ruin the palette. His palette for both wine and fine food had returned quite quickly once he was able to attain such finery once again. Now, after meals of maggots, he had an even greater appreciation for the delicacies establishments like Chutne Jidlo had to offer him.

"If you wish a more verbose explanation--I am happy to provide it." Rabastan leaned towards his companion a bit. His pale stormy eyes sparkled with a telling mirth. "Ares never seemed to make wise decisions in who and how he forged his alliances. Time and time again, I would see him make a choice that was wholly nonsensical. His preference for halfbloods is only the blatant tip of that iceberg. I do not know that you brother has any real foresight. Something a leader should surely possess." He made the slightest motion with his wrist, causing the wine in his glass to swirl, rising slightly up the sides of the glass. When he stilled, the wine wept down the crystal. He watched it as he formed his next words. "You allied yourself to him--for he was your blood. Though, I felt--and hindsight validates, such a decision was not wise...It is one that any can understand. Yet, when he was ousted, you remained. You returned to your former work. You did not allow your pride and his folly to wholly ruin you. That showed a wisdom--and an ultimate allegiance to self over others. That, lovely Athena, is a trait I can both appreciate and understand."

His eyes went back to her--piercing into the woman. "Perhaps I give you more credit than you deserve with our limited intimacy, but I believe you to know your strengths--to recognize where others have power that you might lack. Self-awareness is not a trait I ever associated with Ares. He believed he could lord power over men far more wicked and weathered than himself. We who survived far more adversity than he has ever known--much thanks to you, I do believe--were never going to be satisfied with him. He could have used a marriage to gain allies, but he took a worthless bride. He could have bartered your hand off to gain allies, but you sit here unwed. I cannot fathom how he believed his seat at the head of our proverbial table was safe." There was a passion undercurrent in his voice as he spoke now. The charisma of the man he had been before his time in prison rising and showing himself again. Rabastan Lestrange was still himself, sometimes.