what are you waiting for, a kiss or an apology?
You think by now you’d have an A in toxicology

TAG: Rabastan Ashmedai Lestrange | OUTFIT

It was always impressive that Athena managed to stay so clean during her research. Looking down at the pale body on the slab, she lifted the eyelids. Beneath, the man’s eyes were rolled back into his head. The Department of Mysteries held so many secrets…so many dark, dark secrets, she thought as she motioned for one of her assistants to come over. A strong burly gentleman, he was able to pick up the body with ease and sent it effortlessly sailing into the Veil in the center of the room.

A breeze sent a shiver down her spine, but all Athena could do was smile. It was a familiar feeling — a familiar presence in the room.

You did this to me, Finley…

Her eyes moved quickly to the center of the Veil and her right eyebrow arched significantly. He wasn’t there…he couldn’t be there. He was dead…he had been for almost forty years. Carlisle Cabbott — the one death she had on her hands….well, physically (she was sure there were a few others that she had played a minor role in). She would recognize his pathetic voice anywhere. Putting down her instruments and de-gloving her hands, she lingered for a few moments in front of the Veil, her eyes watching as the wind shifted the tattered curtains back and forth. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like on the other side. She wondered just what sort of hell those people were living in.

One day, she would know. One day, they all would.

“That’s enough for today,” she said to the rest of the Unspeakables that were in the Death Chamber. Nothing more is to be learned from that one. She snapped off her gloves, checked the clock, which read nearly five o’clock, and decided that it was time to call it a day.

Now that Ares was no longer an every-day occurrence at the Ministry (and was so enthralled with his little halfblood abomination that he called wife), Athena needed to find other things — other people — to occupy her time. Sure, the bodies and the research were pleasant enough but sometimes she craved…warmth. She craved someone of a familiar social stature. Taking the lift she stepped out on level two and sought out a familiar face. Someone was going to accompany her to dinner tonight.

Fortunately — or perhaps unfortunately — Rabastan Ashmedai Lestrange was the first person she saw. “Ah, Mister Lestrange,” she said, falling into step with him as she walked in the direction he was already heading. “I thought I might find you up here,” although, Attie had no intention of finding anyone other than a captive dinner date.

Don't be afraid of the fear
that's a played out trap

outfit | Athena Zara Finley

Hit wizard was a career that suited the second Lestrange son well. He was quite handy with offensive magic...and killing people had always been a strength of the man. Apprehending them, not so much...for that fluffy nonsense the Ministry had aurors. No, his brigade of hit wizards were glorified assassins. They were bloody and vicious and he took great pride in them. Rabastan was even training his bastard son in the taking of lives. It was good familial bonding for the pair. Something strong and righteous they could share and use as a foundation for whatever relationship they might have.

The wizard felt no animosity towards Alecto for keeping the boy from him. Though, it was probably something he should have been outraged by. It hardly mattered, though, as he was not THE Lord Lestrange. That right, duty, and responsibility fell to his elder brother. Rodolphus had the obligation of carrying the familial name and bloodline into the future. His little brats were the heirs to the all that the Lestrange name held. Rabastan was just another second son. He had a duty to carry on the pure lines, but not necessarily his own by name.

Of late, he had been toying with the notion of finding a pretty little thing to take his name and bare him children. He did not envy Rodolphus having wed Andromeda--though she had once been promised to him. She had never been the object of his obsession. His with Bellatrix had not faded. He still sought magic to bring her back. Not that she had ever been his, nor that she would willing give herself to him if he was somehow able to reincarnate or regenerate the woman. But she spoke to him still--lived in his mind. The question stood unasked whether the voice was a creation of his own or a fragment of the late witch.

It was Bella's voice that held him captive, catatonic and standing stock still in the middle of the corridor at the Ministry. Her whispers were guiding him now to go out and sate his blood thirst. Icy blue eyes were glazed over listening to the long dead witch's words when an angel appeared in view in front of him. Her golden locks and bright complexion drew him from Bellatrix's steely grasp. He blinked and a wide smile birthed itself on his lips. He took a step forward and then another, heading towards the lift. The Lestrange was pleased when the woman chose to walk with him. He did not even correct the beauty when she called him Mister instead of Lord Lestrange. A lesser witch would have been crucio'd for the mistake. But Rabastan liked Athena nearly as much as he disliked the man she had been long allied with. Ares was an idiotic fool and the Lestrange had no patience for either of those things.

Bowing slightly to the woman "Lady Finley--it is most flattering that someone so lovely would be coming in search of me. What might I do for you?" The purist had learned all manners of high society in his youth. He had been a gentleman once--and was often one again when in company deserving of such behaviors. Though Rabastan was not wholly free of the damage Azkaban had wrought against him, he was much more himself every day.

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.

The power the woman had over him was not readily understood or even perceived by Rabastan. He knew, of course, that she unlike most anyone else could pull him from his catatonic states...that she would hush the whispers that buzzed in his mind...but though he knew those things, he did not consciously consider them. They were simply were facts easily ignored by his wandering mind.

So many questions hung unasked and unanswered-- Why could this woman distract him from Bellatrix? Why did he not dismiss her as tarnished in some way by the transgressions Ares committed? Why was he so much more who he had once been... before Azkaban... when in her company? Rabastan avoided consideration of these questions, because he had no inclination regarding the answers to such ponderings.

Athena was so much more powerful a woman than he usually kept company with. Of course, Andromeda was Minister now, but even living under the same roof, he rarely saw his former betrothed and the women who was now the wife of his brother. The woman that had been promised to him so long ago was now The Lady Lestrange---an honor he never would have been able to give her, at least not while Rodolphus or any of his heirs drew breath. Not that Rabastan had ever cared to give Andromeda anything, she had never held his heart nor his eye.

Athena was different. He did not necessarily feel as if he was viewed by the blonde at his side as a pawn, but he felt something more akin to being the brawn to her brains. He was wise enough to perceive the possibility for manipulation, but for some unknown or yet discovered reason, he trusted Athena. He did not always trust her to be perfectly honest, but he believed she would do right by him. Personally, he saw no purpose was in perfect honesty. It was something valued by the simpler folk. He saw great potential for any sort of alliance between the pair.

When the woman spoke of a dinner reservation, he smirked. "It would be my honor and pleasure to join you, milady. On this night, another's tribulation is certainly my gain." Rabastan was rather pleased to think of some other man who had been to enjoy the company of the woman now at his side writhing in pain, even if he had not been the one to subject them to it. The Lestrange had no shortage of those he brought to his bed--those he visited compliments of the Madame--but none of those inspired feelings of pride within him at the thought of sharing an evening and meal or being seen with one of them at his side. Both were the case in respect to Athena. He felt emboldened with her next to him. It was perhaps a dangerous feeling for the wizard as Rabastan was a man who would likely never be completely sane.

As the lift sprung to life, Athena found herself entirely too smug for her own good.

She liked games of cat and mouse — she always had. But this wasn’t that sort of game. This felt more like cat and cat. Two equally matched, but entirely different forces pitted against each other in some sort of contest. Attie had a sneaking suspicion that her new dinner date was quite aware of the game that she was playing with him, but he seemed not to mind. Instead, he wanted to play along. Was it healthy? Probably not. Was it deliciously entertaining? Absolutely.

She knew it would irk Ares. He wasn’t overly fond of the Lestrange family, especially now that Rod was the head of the Death Eaters over her brother. It was that sort of thing that spurred her on and made her even more excited to play with fire.

Athena looked down, feigning a blushing innocent as she shifted in her heels.

Rabastan was Rodolphus’ brother. Rodolphus was Andromeda’s husband. Andromeda was the new Minister. It could not have been more perfectly planned if she had orchestrated it herself. Attie knew better than to think that she could weasel her way back into the Minister’s good graces, especially given her connection (blood and professional) to the previous regime that had been overthrown. But she also knew if she was close with her brother-in-law, she would have no choice but to grant Attie some sort of respect or at least, some sort of audience.

With that respect, she would claw her way back up to the top and plant herself next to Andromeda…no matter how long it would take. She would wait — patiently — until the timing was right. One day, she would be at the top.

She was determined to prove to Ares that she didn’t need him. Athena had managed to navigate the political waters for so long without him. When he had come back, she had fallen into the same old trap of being his second. But no longer…she would advance herself without him. This time, she would choose to ally herself with someone different…perhaps even Rabastan Lestrange.

“Ah, my savior! I would have never lived down the social suicide of dining alone,” Athena said as the doors opened to the Atrium. She silently slid her hand into the crook of his arm, raising one eyebrow as she tested the waters, continuing to walk without inclining her head in his direction. She acted completely natural as if this was an everyday occurrence. “I’ve heard your delightful dinner company, though I’ve never had the pleasure of it myself. I consider this dinner years in the making!”

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.

Social status meant a great deal to Attie. From a young age, her mother had instilled in her the importance of being in the right circles. She had taught her daughter — and tried to teach her son — that the world opened up for those who played their cards right. She taught them how to behave themselves at social functions, which forks to use when eating the main course, the subtle art of conversation, manners. All things that Athena had carried with her into adulthood. But somehow, they had all been warped — tainted by her own personality. Now, when she did something, it was not because it was proper or polite, it was because Athena saw some advantage to be gained.

Today, what was to be gained was the company of a man she had long had her eye on.

Even before Andromeda and Rodolphus. Even before the fall of her dear brother and his puppet regime. Even before then, Attie had her eye on Rabastan.

He was a strange man. Nearly a year ago they had run into one another at the apothecary and struck up a delightfully macabre conversation about the nature of poison and death.

Strange, however, was often her calling card.

He didn’t frighten her the way that she knew he frightened others. She saw it in their faces even as they walked through the Atrium. It was as if they thought that he was some sort of…pariah instead of a Lord. Or perhaps they were looking at her…the sister of the man who’s little coup had lasted barely more than a few months before he was overthrown.

Perhaps they were more suited for one another than she had initially thought.

“I’m not sure my reputation could take another hit. Especially given the catastrophies of January,” she said, smiling ahead of her. It was an obviously forced smile as she thought of the coup, Andromeda’s entrance into her life and her demotion back to Unspeakable. But she didn’t let it bother her for long. Attie would rectify the situation. “My idiot brother,” she said, bemusedly as she shook her head. My idiot brother.

Feeling satisfied with the first step in their budding…friendship — and perhaps a second and a third — Attie drew herself closer, her icy blue eyes meeting Rabastan’s as they stood in the middle of the hall. She paused, a thin smirk on the corners of her lips. She was amused by him. He seemed to understand exactly what she was playing at and yet, for some reason, he was playing along. “Lord Lestrange, perhaps we should make this a regular activity. My mother always told me to dine with those you dote on. Though I suppose we’ll have to decide after dessert,” she raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, moving her hands to his shoulders. “On your ready, then.”

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.

Ares would always have a special place in Athena’s heart. He was her brother, after all. Idiot or not, he would always be hers. She couldn’t deny that there was always an unspoken level of competition between the pair of them. Even when the rebellion was in its infancy, she had been vying for the top spot. But her lack of marked arm made her the secondary candidate. Ares would always one-up her in that respect. But his little tirade — his little stint as the head of the Ministry for such little time — might have garnered her some new respect.

If she could escape from underneath his shadow, establish herself as Athena Finley instead of Attie, Ares’ darling little sister, then she would have the ability to gain some sort of power in the Ministry that was her own. Merlin’s Beard she was tired of waiting around for Ares to take care of her. She was in charge of her own destiny now and she would make damn sure that the rest of the world knew it.

The fact that Rabastan felt that he could speak candidly around her made Athena very curious. His words, though all true and agreeable, would have been considered treason only a few months ago. Now, they were like bait for a hungry bear. Attie latched on to everything he said, lapping it up in haste. She wanted people to tear Ares down. She wanted to see everything he had worked so hard for crumble. Because she had warned him. How many times had she warned him!

If this conversation had occurred months or even years prior, Athena would have quickly jumped to her brother’s defense. But she was spiteful — she wanted to prove to Ares that she didn’t need him. All she needed was herself and, perhaps at this present moment, one Rabastan Lestrange. “Your only offense is that you didn’t speak up sooner,” Attie said, smiling curiously. He could read her words as he chose. Not many people knew that she was vying for the top-dog spot all those months ago. She had assumed that Ares would want to lead the Death Eaters and leave the Ministry to her. And yet, somehow, she had ended up as the second to his Minister. It was…unfortunate. So she had tried to make the best of her situation, but he had refused to heed her warnings.

When he called her Athena, her blue eyes immediately met his. Her cool glance was laced with something else. Hunger, intrigue. Ah, Issa, She would take care of her later. Attie had a few tricks up her sleeve yet. “She’s nothing more than that. A whore who thinks she belongs in our world. But we all know what will happen in the end. Our society is a garden,” Attie smiled, her gaze drifting for a moment as if she were imagining the most gruesome of deaths for her darling brother’s wife. “And gardens need weeding.”

The air outside was crisp. A refreshing reprieve from the stifling air of the Ministry’s Atrium. Attie felt like she could breathe out here. If by instinct, she withdrew herself from the grasp of her date, though she chose to not wander far, granting him permission to guide her through the door with soft fingertips on her back. Her table was ready, as it usually was on Friday nights. Attie liked to bring dates — or little mice — here to play with. They were out in the open and she so dearly loved to toy with them outside of the Ministry. But tonight, her date matched her in wits, societal upbringing and perhaps even superseded her in name.

She was not above acknowledging the importance that Rabastan was a Lestrange. It was part of the allure. Sitting down, the waitress immediately brought them a bottle of white wine, muttering that it was compliments of the chef, himself. Attie did little to move but waited as the nervous little thing poured them both a glass and skirted away back into the shadows. “Tell me, Rabastan — as we are on first-name bases now — if you think so little of my brother, how could you possibly think any more of me?” She wondered aloud, her fingertips encircling the wine glass in front of her.

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.