Those who labor under the impression that Snape is too obsessed with his personal dignity to be effective can shove it, because here he is, flying back home on an old broom, towing behind him a very large ship. He looks rediculous and he knows it, but hey, look, a magic ship. Hooray.
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"NORRINGTON!" Alright. Let's get the ship to stop moving...yes alright. And...we'll secure the rope to the new wall outside of the sheild, yes...
"Paragon. Stay here." Right. And into the sheild he goes.
As promised, here's Hips. With a box of fresh scones in one hand. And that's all that accompanies her. She navigates her way through the suddenly squelchy underfoot (what the smegging hell is up with THAT, anyway?), and gets closer to the estate.
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Then, as instructed, she stands about twenty feet from the front door and yells, one hand cupped to her mouth for maximum projection.
"HALLOOOO! SNAPE HOUSEHOLD! IT'S YOUR FAVORITE WACKY BLONDE FROM THE FUTURE. OPEN THE DOOR AND LET ME IN, OR I'LL HUFF AND PUFF AND THROW SCONES AT YOUR WINDOWS."
Hips? Silly? Nooooo...
In light of the recent invasion of pirates and piratical sea-folk, Norrington has decided that he should arm himself. Is there any chance of finding a resident who would be able to lend him a decent to good sword?
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"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me..."
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Snape leads the way onto the grounds of the Estate, past crews of pirates who seem to be working feverishly to 1) build a big wall, 2) dig a deep moat, and in the case of two particular unfortunates 3) restore a trampled croquet pitch back to its former verdant glory. The dirty men cast furtive glances at him as they go by, and it is very possible that he is smirking.
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The Estate, when viewed up close, doesn't seem as dilapidated as one might once have thought. There are lights in some of the windows, revealing tasteful window treatments and glimpses of fine furnishings. The front doors open onto a large foyer, a single grand staircase curling its way up to the second floor. If Norrington is particularly sharp, he will notice a number of large old portraits on the walls which all seem to be looking at him, and the particular quality of silence that comes when a room full of conversation suddenly abandoned.
"The Caer Gwynenid, Mr. Norrington."
((Open to all residents of the Estate.))
Between the two of them and several massive old frames secured (at some risk to life and limb) from the attic of the Estate, Snape and Some had managed to set up the knot-novels.
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"So the trills indicate tense?" Snape is frowning at one of the books. He is going to have to trill. This is a horrible, beastly language, clearly.
((The other post floated away, so here's a new one. It's the SAME LESSON, so this is happening a few days ago, for larger continuity purposes.))
To set up for the language lessons, Some brought mostly food. Cooking has a vast vocabulary, after all. Verbs, nouns, adverbs, adjectives, numbers. He also brought more books, childrens books and a few of the more complex knot-novels. He's really rather nervous about this.
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A small dormitory has been set up in what was once a large game room in the the old Prince Estate. There are six beds spaced three to a wall and seperated with semi-transparent curtains. All stand empty save the one nearest the door, which has its curtains drawn. Sunlight shines gently in from a window beside the bed, which holds a burned and bandaged man. Outlines and silouhettes can be seen through the curtains, but nothing else, allowing him a measure of privacy.
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For purposes of life moving on, I am going to don my modly hat and wave my jedi-mind-trick-hand and say 'This has Happened, and Here's How it Came Out.'
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( Now cut for your pleasureCollapse )
I invite the other muns involved to add on what happened with their pups also, so that contributions and reactions can be taken into account in future RP.
Edit: Added lj-cut as the half of my brain that actually deals with reality pointed out to me that this sucker is kinda long. ^_^
It had been months in the making. Enough time had passed that even the most tenacious investigators had cleared off, leaving the ruins a mouldering blackness on the Welsh countryside. Abandoned save for a few cloaked figures who moved here and there over the grounds, laying stones with runes at crucial junctures. All was in readiness.
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Madeline stepped forlornly through the wreckage of her world. She was wearing her best dress, and she had a little folding stool. She may have had the easiest job, she just had to find the center of the house, sit down, and let it all happen. The easiest job in return for the greatest sacrifice.
Severus Snape stood and checked the position of the sun. As it set, as evening drew on and the gloaming softened the walls between worlds, the spell would be cast. Gazing across the site, he sees Nadezhda, and his confidence doubled. This was their home, their spell, their work, and if there was one thing he had faith in it was their combined potential.
Doubled for a moment, before he saw the other figure. His little emigre, the younger self that had split off. The boy had offered to help with the spell, and all things considered, they could not ask for a better assistant, were it not for the added tension he brought with him. Fortunately, he'd also brought Nathaniel. While the rest of them would be occupied with summoning and directing, he could provide strength of of a different kind and be there for Madeline. An anchor and a heartbeat.
What had once been a grand and wonderous fixture of the landscape was now a charred ruin. Some parts still stood, supports that had somehow withstood the ravages. Picking his way through the remains, head down as he finally found what was left of the passageway to the underground lab.
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Dropping his bag, he tore away the lumber and bricks, the melted silver and broken glass. Not caring when he tore his hands, bleeding, sweating despite the cold. By the time he made a hole big enough for him to get through, his hands and arms were cut and bleeding and there was a gash cutting across one cheek. But there was a smile curving his lips as he wriggled and shimmied down the hole and into the dark, dank sanctuary of what remained of Sir's lab. It smelled of magic and herbs, musty and wet.
It smelled like home.
Pulling the robe out of his bag, he wrapped the woolen fabric around him and curled up into a corner. Perhaps the dreams would never come again. Perhaps he was truly alone. But at least here, he was home.
It was a cold, white day in London, as seen through the expensive lace dressings of the huge, stately mansion on London's Embankment. A sitting room had been chosen. Tea and sandwiches had been laid out. Snape had fresh, clean clothes on and had been in Nadezhda's presence. He was a great deal more like human.
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So. Now that the bare essentials had been addressed, it was time to begin re-assembling the rest of the world.
The house is overrun. Twenty deatheaters in total descended upon it during the quiet of late morning, startling the hell out of Lee and Madeline both. She'd been so stunned when they BLEW THE DOOR IN before she'd even sensed them, damn the impressive wards that had been up and around the Estate, that Lee had been hurt, gotten the cats, and set a good number of them on fire before Madeline had begun forming a response.
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The response, when it did come, was impressive.
So they'd gotten in. Fine. Let them stay, then. Once Lee was safely away, every door and window leading out slam shut. The anti-apparition wards could be gotten around but it would take some doing and she had absolutely no intention of letting any of them have the luxury of concentration. The doors close, the temperature drops to about 15 degrees, and all the hallways lead either up to the attic or down to the cellar. She takes the fire, which suddenly burns blue, and fans it, encouraging those who are not actively burning to scatter and scream.
It had been a while since she heard screams. She'd forgotten how lovely they could be.
Leaving them to their scattered running, Madeline stops repressing all of the defensive spells which she had been keeping quiet for Snape and his little pard. That freed up a lot of resources, and she splits herself into two, trusting the house to keep the fools occupied. Part of her goes down to the basement, calling and whispering and cajoling. There is old old power down there, in the foundations of what was once a castle proper. Some of those stones and old rooms were made before the people of Wales had the written word, and they had drunk the blood of history. She fans the malevolence and hunger that slept in those stones. It is not quite a spirit, what awakens, not entirely a ghost. It has no personality attached to it, simply hunger; for blood and for emotion, and the most savory emotion it knows is fear.
The other part of her flies to the attic. And it opens things. Everything. The trapdoor leading down. Every trunk. Every closet. Every box. There were many. All were full.
And then Madeline sat back. And watched.
She was tired and more than a little dirty as she returned from the warehouse. The kids had gotten into the flour, and played merry havok with the staff.
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She wanted nothing more than a long hot shower. The fifty new bags of flour weighed fifty pounds each, and she'd moved every. Single. One. Worst of all, the flour had shorted out her phone. She needed a new one, AGAIN.
"Nathaniel?" She called out, staggering up the stairs. "Madeline?"
Forcing his way back through the door, Snape comes into the Estate. He's been gone all night.
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He checks the wards, feels the streaming madness of them, and winces away. The house feels solid enough. Good. A loud crash from the balcony sends him spinning, wand in hand. Murgatroyd is there.
Forcing the door open, the stench of ether and ionized air coming from the creature nearly makes him gag. "You've...been flying through the wards." The thestral whickers, looking self-satisfied, and holds up the corpse of an owl. Tied to its leg is a note.
Where are you? Your presence is required.
"Oh fuck me, the Mark." It was burning yesterday. He'd forgotten. "No. No, I am trapped in my house Lucius, I cannot possibly get anywhere, your owl is dead and I cannot be reached. No. I am not going. Not this time."
He crumples the note and sets it on fire, throwing it onto the balcony. He turns to Murgatroyd. "Thank you. Eat the creature, or leave it for the foxes."
Mouth a tight line, he goes looking for Nathaniel. Or Lee. Trapped in this big old monster house all by themselves, who knows what state they were in.
She would be in NO end of trouble if anybody found out about this. Dead like Michael Jackson's childhood.
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Lee keeps her grunts of effort quiet as she carries her furry bundle silently through the house, to the attic. Snape's domain was definitely the basement, he wouldn't go up there.
She's going to have to tell Madeline, for certain.
Until then, she's not sure the leopard could handle anybody else around her. Her fur was already matted with sweat and small bits of blood where trees and branches had opened her skin. Luckily, she was past those soul-wrenching yowls that had led Jubilee to her.
Lee just hopes she'll shift and be coherent soon. She's not sure how long she can keep her presence a secret.
Madeline opens a door that seems to emerge from what was once some kind of shed. A large larch has grown out of it, making it useless. The house is perhaps 30 feet away, a drooping monster of an old building. This is the back yard, the door leading into a spacious kitchen. This room feels well loved, and is warm and tidy. Amarillo has taken dominion over one of the kitchen chairs.
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"This is the kitchen," she says, somewhate uselessly, leading him further into the house, up a creaking flight of stairs, and down more hallways. As soon as they are away from the commonly used areas, a sense of gloom, long disuse, and old magic grows stronger. The portraits move and point and whisper, and a dog in one of them begins barking madly. "Hush, Skipper! Down, you rude curr!" Whining, the dog lays down.
Snape bangs through the house, tears his way to the basement, throws up every ward that comes to mind, and proceeds to rip through his laboratory. Cauldrons overturn, glass bottles shatter against the floor and walls, notes go flying. Snape stands for a moment, panting, amidst the wreckage and steaming pools of spilled potions, before moving deeper into the basement in search of other rooms.
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Dumbledore had been in the Nexus.
Lee marches through the manor, purpose in her step, book clutched to her chest. She goes through the halls, down a set of stairs, straight to Professor Snape's laboratory door.
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She knocks loudly, determined. "Mr. Snape, I have to talk to you."