Cross the line

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Ravus Winterling

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The fairgrounds were overcrowded with people from all over the country; Muggles and Wizards alike, all bustling in and out of the same tents, impervious of the differences between them, each too delighted in all the amusement that the autumn carnival had to offer to notice anything at all that might have appeared to them as unpleasant.

“Look at them,” Ravus said in dark amusement, hardly bothering to lower his voice. “They are surrounded by illusions left and right and today they wonder how it is done. Today they know that a veil has been pulled over their eyes, and yet they still fail to see the biggest illusion of all, the one they live in every single day.” He sat on his heels beside his twin, entirely undaunted by the fact that the only force that kept him from freefalling to the ground so far below was a single cord of tightly woven leather, no bigger around than his middle finger.
 
“Safety,” Draven murmured, stroking the silver ring that glistened from the ring finger of his right hand without realizing that he was doing it, “It is indeed a dangerous illusion and one that we are all born into falling for.” Without knowing why, he scanned the crowds below, his eyes searching blindly for a face he knew he’d never see, the one face that would have made his blood run cold with shame for what he’d finally agreed to do, and on a whim no less. But that face wasn’t there among the crowd, just as he’d known it wouldn’t be. The dead don’t walk among the living, he reminded himself sharply, closing his eyes as he banished his conscience back into the darkness of his being once again before it could struggle free. They never have and they never will. She’s gone… and today will prove that. Today will prove that she was wrong… that everything she ever believed… was a lie.
 
Ravus nodded, his eyes never leaving the crowd. They all looked so tiny from his vantage point, like little wax dolls. He grinned cruelly at the idea knowing that soon he would become the flame that melted them into nothing but pools of blood. “Precisely,” he purred, leaning forward ever so slightly with anticipation, “and I say it’s high time that we burned that fragile little veil straight to the ground. Let them flee behind the embers and the ashes when we have finished. Before long we’ll stalk them to their deaths yet again, before the smoke has even cleared.”
 
Draven glanced up, his eyes hard and empty as ever, though the meaning of his twin’s words had taken him slightly by surprise. “You make it sound as if we’re going to attack in broad daylight.”
 
Ravus’ grin only broadened. “We are. Why else would I have brought us here so early? To see a bunch of juggling ninnies and a dancing bear, perhaps? Think again.” He turned his gaze suddenly, watching with an almost casual indifference as a group of carnival regulars finally took notice of them and began muttering uncertainly amongst themselves.

“What difference does it make to you whether we hunt under the cover of dark or under the sun’s bright glare? You court death, remember? There should be no difference to you, least of all when it comes to danger.” He went on, turning his gaze fully to his twin. “You said you wanted to hunt. And years ago, you made an oath,” he paused, tapping Death mark that was on the inside of Draven’s wrist, “that in return for the power to seek revenge, you would become Serpentes’ version of what a Death Eater ought to be.”
 
"I have fullfilled that oath," Draven replied bluntly, returning his brother's glare doublefold, "It is your version of a Death Eater that I have not lived up to."

He looked away for a moment, his eyes tracking the regulars that Ravus had noticed. They were approaching the guards now and he knew that soon they'd be in for some company.

"What do I have to do?" He sighed finally.
 
"You and I know best of all that humanity has a very fine line," Ravus said darkly, "And thus far you have made a remarkable point of remaining behind that line..."

He trailed off for a moment, watching in amusement as one of the guards ambled across the rooftop and approached the cord that he and his twin perched on, shouting something about how they weren't supposed to be there.

"I think its about time you cross that line," Ravus murmured with a malicious grin as he unsheithed the knife from his belt. Without warning, he slit the cord beneath them, shouting to Draven as they freefell, "You've said yourself that we're no longer human. So stop fighting and let go."
 
Penelope had went to the market to buy some supplies that she needed. She couldn't go by floo powder, because they had run out, so she had to walk instead. She laughed at some of the odd and strange things she saw on her way there, and saw some interesting things she may have wanted to buy.
 
Draven landed catlike on his feet, the gravel beneath his boots crunching into powder. He'd hardly risen to his feet when a group of security guards charged towards him. Pure instinct took over then. The first guard to reach him went down beneath his boot before he could even think about what he was doing; the second hit the ground with a shattered cheekbone thanks to Draven's fist and the uncellculated amount of strength behind it.

By the time the third guard got to him, Draven had lost all sense of his actions. When the guard tried to tackle him, he planted his feet and became a living statue. And when the guard collided with him, reflex made him grab the man's head, twisting it around until he heard the neck snap.

He let the body drop limply to the ground, his eyes snapping up, attracted to the paniced movement of the people who'd been near enough to see him. The venum was creeping through his veins like a flood now, its icy burn strangly intoxicating as it sharpened his senses tenfold.

How could his heartbeat be so calm, his breathing hardly winded? Letting go of humanity didn't feel nearly as hard as it should have been...
 
Ravus was already tailing the crowd, his knife still clutched in one hand and his gun newly drawn in the other. The crowd fled before him, parting like a messed up remake of Moses and the Red sea.

He didn't stay with the crowd for long however. He knew well enough from past experience that the pickings there were far to easy to be much fun and that a single mistake could bring him to the ground where he'd be at the mercy of everyone's feet. Not that being trampled would have done much to kill him, but it was an experience worth avoiding.
 
Draven cut around a few of the stripped tents, searching for calmer hunting ground. Everything had a darker tint in his eyes and yet, everything he saw was so sharp and clear. It was almost too much; painful, in a way, to his inexperienced eyes. He'd never let the venum go this far before...

A long twisting alleyway that normally served for a trail of horror served his purpose well enough, though he prefered not to think about the irony of it.
 
Penelope had gotten quite distracted with all the things she saw in the tent she was in, she never heard the first shouts, from some men. The thing that attracted her attention was the loud shrieks of others. Running outside the tent, she faintly saw many security guards fall before reaching a man, then two men running away.

Immediately, she grabbed a hole of her wand, in her pocket, and ran to where the ruccus had originally occured, and saw that they all died different ways. Immedately, she knew what caused it, but unsure of who.

Inconspicuously (sp?), she went in the direction that the two men went in, knowing they were wizards, but unsure whether they were what she thought they were.
 
Without warning Ravus tore through the crowd again, having already sighted his newest victim: tall, scrawny clown with wild neon hair and a brightly decorated face.

Through his painted smile the clown seemed utterly confused, uncertain as to whether to try to calm the panicked crowd or join them. When he caught sight of Ravus sprinting toward him with knife and gun drawn, however, the choice became the easiest thing in the world.

He fled.
 
Draven crept silently through the Hall of horrors, smirking in dull amusement at the pathetic array of skeletons and monsters that lined the path. Farther ahead he could hear a group Muggles scream as an employee of the fairgrounds darted across the trail ahead of them, dressed to look like some kind of mummy, watched them jump as a mechanical werewolf lurched out at them around the corner. Muggles were all too easy to scare.

Poor bastards, Draven thought coldly, a Ravus-style grin spreading across his face. They don’t even know that their worst nightmare is lurking just behind them.
 
Ravus trailed the clown from a distance, alternating swiftly from one side to the other so that every time the clown looked for him, he appeared to be everywhere at once. He might as well have been; he was moving so fast.

Instinctively, he dropped back a bit, watching the clown’s every move with careful precision, waiting for the moment when the fool would think he’d lost him. When the moment came, he tore ahead, careful to stay out of his victim’s line of sight, even though he was moving far too fast for anyone to recognize what he was, and ducked into the shadows of the nearest tent. There he lie-in-wait, knowing that the clown would take refuge in that same exact spot just to be safe.

Muggles, witches, adults or children, they were all the same. They all made the same stupid mistakes. Not that they had much choice in the matter, really; it was the way their instincts and sense of security worked.

Either way, it definitely wasn’t beneath him to use those little flaws in nature to his advantage. He was Ravus Winterling after all.
 
((only if you want to die))

Much to Draven’s surprise, the Hall of Horrors actually got better the farther in he went. So much so, in fact, that a glowing sign had to be posted every couple yards, discouraging young children from going any further.

Though none of it had the slightest effect on Draven, the Horrors definitely got more interesting after that: a stretch of wall featured a clutter of children’s dolls nailed at awkward angles against the wall. A second glance and the blood that stained their porcelain hands and mouths became more noticeable. At that point Draven’s nose told him something that made the whole thing seem so much more interesting. The blood was real. To be exact, it was only cow’s blood but that was considerably a more interesting touch than the watered down paint that most parks would have used.
 
((Quit it. It's hard to make a character scary if your laughing at the same time!))

Ravus didn't bother to stick very close to the shadows as his twin might have done. The clown wasn't facing him and for the most part seemed completely unaware of the danger lurking behind him. At least for the moment anyways.
 
Draven was still trailing a small group of muggles when an employee of the fairgrounds jumped out at him, this one dressed up to look like some kind of Vampire. Unamused, Draven stared the man for a minute, his eyes colder than ever. Slowly, his mouth twisted into sadistic smile, and then, without warning, his hand shot out, a knife clasped firmly within it. Moving faster than the muggle could blink, he slashed the blade across the soft, unprotected flesh of the man's throat. The whole while his face remained impassive and unmoving, even as the other man's blood spattered leapord spots across his face.
 
When the clown finally turned, breathing a miscalculated sigh of relief, Ravus was right behind him. He grinned, the expression almost matching a friendly one, but the intent behind it obviously wasn't what his face implied.

"I never did like the movie It." Ravus said casually, raising the gun in his hand to eye level. Unlike Draven, Ravus' gun didn't have the curse that killed its victums the moment the bullet pierced the flesh. His was the regular muggle kind, one that fired smoothly and quietly, lighting the darkness of the tent briefly as the gun went off, once... twice... three times.
 
Draven let the deadman's body fall lifelessly to the ground, watching though the dim light as the eyes of his victim slowly began to cloud. The venum flarred within his veins again, the pain and thrill of its effects growing stronger by the minute.

Stepping silently over the body, he pressed on, moving swiftly to catch up within reasonable distance of the muggles up ahead.
 
As he'd intended, none of the bullets pierced anything vital. Instead they drilled dead center into each of Ravus' targets. The first struck the clown in the hand, removing a couple fingers in the process and dampening everything within a five foot radious with a shower of blood. The second wasn't as messy but every bit as painful to the victim, the bullet puncturing the clown's stomach and grazing the spine agonizingly as left the body. The last bullet went straight for the throat, shreding the vocal chords as it embedded itself deeper and deeper.

The last bullet didn't make it out the other side as the others had, however, and Ravus was just about to waunder where it had ended up when the clown suddenly gagged, his face twisting with the pain of the effort, and coughed up the bullet. Huh, He thought cruely, his mouth twisting into a goulish smile, must of ricocheted into the bastard's throat.
 
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