The IC Anon Fanmail Meme
The IC Anon Fanmail Meme

This meme is similar to the Anon Questions Meme, except that the characters get anon fanmail instead of anon questions.
[The Rules]
1. Post as your characters, and write down the name, canon, preferences, etc.
2. Go around and find another character, go anon, and send them IC anon fanmail. The fanmail can be as sincere or insincere as you wish. The anon characters can de-anon anytime the mun wishes to do so. Staying anon till the end is fine, too.
3. Tag away, and be excellent to each other! No wank, please.
Bad habits? You? Surely you kid.
I have no doubt you'd let me know. I'll watch my tongue.
[When he's not doing that weird tongue thing with it, at any rate.]
I think he's a useless dolt, so we are about even.
[It's her word choice that irks her more than anything else about this. Little boy. Might as well be junior. There's heat over that, alright, because he does have a temper and a dangerous one at that. But he also knows how to keep it in check, how to only let it explode when he has use for it. He'd be of no use to his Lord without self-control.]
What do you think?
[And he steps closer to meet her eyes. Not wary of her as most others might be.]
no subject
[Nothing wrong with the weird tongue thing. He wouldn't seem like himself without it.]
That's fair.
[Knowing how to keep his emotions in check is a great advantage, not least over her. Bella's self-control is a finite and exhaustible resource. Sooner rather than later, it will run dry. She can manage for now, only for now. Her restraint will soon crack, along with her sanity, and then she'll act on impulse — she'll be unsubtle at all times. She'll make a show of her every feeling, whim and prejudice. It's going to be exhausting, actually, for many of the witches and wizards around her.]
Why should it matter what I think?
[It's inexplicably so proper to resist the question when she does; so ladylike. She's made it sound as though he flatters her, by lending her opinion such gravity. It's a lie she tells with her whole body, but there's sharp musicality in her voice, which hints that she's delaying only to taunt him.]
Not a boy, Barty. More than that, but less than you'd like.
[And then she looks away, exposes her profile; harmlessly rakes her nails through her hair. No attention whatsoever on him. Completely unafraid that he might respond in anger, as though she's invulnerable.]
no subject
[He doesn't pay much mind to her mock coquetry, seeing through it, clearly. She might be a lady, but she's also his senior, a powerful witch, high in their Lord's esteem. Her opinion of him has to matter, not that he'd openly admit just how much it does.]
Not a boy anymore, no.
[Although he's still young, very young. Much younger than her and in some ways kept younger in his mind still by first his father and now his Lord, while at the same time his bitterness has aged him above his years.]
As long as I'm enough for him, it should be enough for me as well.
[And enough for her, although he doesn't voice that part.]
no subject
You resent being treated and spoken to like a child.
[An obvious fact, but it's unusual for her to acknowledge someone else's feelings like this. It's especially rare that she makes an effort to discuss them, or to change her own behavior accordingly.
Barty isn't wrong about himself, or anyway she doesn't think he is. It's a fine and correct thing he's said out loud. He shouldn't be discouraged by the fact that her reply is somewhat contrary.]
What is ever enough for him?
[That's not bitterness, it's reverence. If she could, she'd hand her master the world, then ask — the very next moment — what else he wants.]
How much more does he deserve than his loyal servants can ever provide?
[Likewise, albeit for entirely different reasons, nothing is enough for her. Nothing she can ever hope to have. She's unmanageable, impossible. Without meaning to, she'd make anyone miserable who sought her approval. Narcissa's only immune because she earned her eldest sister's affection years ago, when it was more readily given.
They are permitted to make their own assessments of each other, distinct from their Lord's opinion — provided, of course, that their Lord's opinion is the one they act upon. His judgments are less fallible. Or infallible, more likely.]
no subject
[But of course Bella is right, so he doesn't argue. It's a bigger thing for him than for most. Wanting to be grown up, his own person. He has such potential, he feels it, and no one has truly recognized it until the Dark Lord found him.]
Nothing ever should be. But we can strive.
[And he does strive. For his Lord's approval, now, more than anything. For punishment of those he considers beneath him. For notice, finally, for dread in his father's eyes. All things this path will give him, or so he thinks.]
If I could give more than all I have, I would.
[There is a reason that Bella and Barty do understand each other, in a way.]
no subject
But it's not something she would've shielded her sisters from, obviously. Andromeda's forgiven for nothing.]
A child has the freedom to do many things without ever being suspected of having done them.
[She's feeling generous.] If it will satisfy you, I'll suspect you of everything. [Like a grown up. Like he wants.]
It's our task to wring more out of ourselves, and give that too.
You would, wouldn't you?
[He doesn't have to answer. On her part, this is a simple acceptance of a mutual truth. She has no tolerance for empty vows and platitudes. If he proves less than equal to his declaration, she'll hurt him in every way. That's what comes of speaking to her. She holds everyone to everything, and permits no change.]
no subject
He was supposed to be his father's legacy, but he had been rejected as not cut out for it, not for anything deemed proper, long before he had grown enough to prove that judgment right and now he might be his mother's treasure, still, but he has grown beyond caring for that. He doesn't think about family, not the one he has and not of starting one of his new one. All he wants is to further his Lord's goals any way he can. If he asked him to take a wife, he would, but only then.]
The freedom? I've never been that kind of child then. [Reverse it and it might be closer to the truth.] I'll gladly take that satisfaction.
[He answers the question, but with just a nod and no words. It's not needed, he knows she understands.]
And if you know a way to wring out more of me, I might embrace it.
no subject
A child suspected of many things, without ever having the freedom to have done them? Yes, that fits much better. He'll have to forgive — she knows who he is, but she doesn't appreciate fully what that means. She doesn't care, either. Not any more than Barty would care about her life. They're preoccupied, invested in more important matters, and proud of it. They can hold a conversation, but that's all it is. No sharing-learning-bonding sentimentality.]
Pity.
[That's a dreadfully powerful understatement. Bellatrix was born vicious; even as a child, she had to appease that and make frequent little offerings. There's how and why she abused her freedoms. It was nothing like rebellion, which would've been stamped down.
She trembles a little with muted laughter. It's a shrill and unpleasant sound at any volume.]
Think I'd tell you, if I knew the way? You, first and above all others? Why give you that chance and no one else?
Ask me again when I owe you a favor — if I ever.
no subject
Yes.
[Her laugh bothers him, like nails across a blackboard. Goosebumps along his spine, but he doesn't show a reaction otherwise. His tongue flicks out to wet dry lips and he shrugs, as if she doesn't intimidate him at all.]
If we can help each other out, Bella, I see no reason why you wouldn't ask me. How many of the others are deserving and capable?
no subject
Help.
[The word escapes her mouth in such a tentative and testing tone, as though she's never heard it before, and she has no idea what it might mean.]
You think highly of yourself.
[Or little of the others, whichever. It's another plainly apparent observation, but at least she's paying attention. Hasn't bored her to death yet.]
I shall have to consider it.
[She doesn't deal in polite or gentle discouragement. She wouldn't pretend to weigh something that wasn't worth thought, and definitely not to spare his pride. She'd have no qualms about rejecting this outright, if that was what she wanted. Hence: yes is yes, no is no, and later truly does mean later. He won't have anything from her, if he insists too soon. She's asserting her superiority a little.]
no subject
He doesn't think much of Lucius and many of the others who think they are held in high esteem by their Lord. Bellatrix is different. He recognizes her insanity, but in his mind it only makes her more dangerous. More effective. Her loyalty is indisputable and that, more than anything, ensures that she won't lose the standing she has with their Lord. A useful power to have on his side, however fragile that bond might be.]
That alone is an honour, my lady Lestrange.
[More formal now, but he does allow for a smile. This really was the right place for him.]
no subject
Barty, with the love of a son for his surrogate father, and Bellatrix with a love that permits no other, and burns brighter in futility. Through his most willing servants, the Dark Lord exploits the only force he cannot himself understand.
Malfoy's already proven himself an opportunist. That's a horrible trait in these times (not to mention, a bad influence on Cissy) but she doesn't actively dislike him. She has no idea, truly, why he doesn't like her; or why he sometimes flinches when she speaks. Bellatrix is the dark counterpoint to every note her sister hits. It's possible that's uncomfortable for him, being confronted by a mad and hateful inversion of the qualities that endear him to a person. Who can say? It's a mystery.]
Oh, lovely. At last, someone with a bit of charm. You know precisely what to say.
[She sees the possibility that he's trying to sway her, but awareness doesn't mean the effort's wasted. The natural suggestion of disdain on her lips softens somewhat, at the edges. It's a good thing; a better thing, in fact, than her predatory smile.
It is the right place for him, yes. It has to be, doesn't it? There's no opportunity to back out, and his father's certainly not going to give him what he's looking for.]
There's your proof, honestly. Little boys don't know how to speak at all. Don't know the art of it.
busy days~
But naturally there is more to her. There is the way she strikes fear in people, there is her undeniable power, her insanity, that only serves to make her an even more dangerous opponent instead of proving to be a flaw. He did indeed, in some ways, even admire her. It wasn't just a show he put on to please her, but through that truth it might be that he actually managed.]
Most don't, even after they've grown.
[He makes no show of hiding that he thinks himself better than her husband, better than the others, either. Their lord had shown him his favour, so why would he not recognize his own worth, if Voldemort himself did?]
And they fear you too much to show what manners they have.
I know how that goes. You're always worth the wait, yourself.
Fear's another politeness. Showing fear where it's owed. Even some of the filth can manage that. Screaming before I've cast a thing or laid a finger, as if they already know what the pain will be.
[There's a great deal to be done with fear, speaking practically. It is, for her purposes, much more useful than respect. She'll accept it with pleasure from her allies as well as her enemies.
It's her turn to take a step closer to him, but she tries more than that. She moves to brush Barty's cheek with the back of her hand. It's both unduly familiar and an unexpected invasion of his personal space. Her own sense of propriety — something she'd resent someone else for forgetting — having apparently failed her. Given that he is observant, it's possible he's seen her do this type of thing to others in the past. It's no intimidation tactic, although it might seem so in light of her question. Her voice pitches slightly higher, but nowhere near its shrill worst.]
And you? Since you've shown me your manners, am I to assume you have no such fears?
As are you, naturally! And... Merlin help me, I ship it.
Which do you prefer, then, my lady Lestrange? The ones that scream and beg or the ones that don't want to break?
[An honest question, asked with actual interest. But then his mind is rather overtaken, for the moment, by watching her as one might watch something venomous. He has seen her do it before, but so far he'd never received that much attention. Perhaps it had been a mistake to draw it on him, but he can't find it in himself to regret it. His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips, but there is no show of nerves aside from that and even that is more a quirk than anything else.]
The only thing I fear is disappointing our Lord. Would you have me fear you?