The IC Anon Fanmail Meme

[museboxy]

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. 

 

Comments

[liquidsky]

Who doesn't?

[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.]

[sadistic]

[She shrugs, as if to say she wouldn't mind. In point of fact, it would agitate her, but she doesn't know that. She has no strong memory of being spoken down to by her own parents. Those memories have passed into oblivion. The treatment she most resents came after childhood. Some archaic traditions are inseparable from purist ideology. Boys are the legacy of the father, girls are the vanity of the mother. When her politically like-minded male friends ceased to be friends and became her prospects, it was hard not to feel sold.

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.]

[liquidsky]

[His own family, well, the situation is complicated. His father does't trust him, would barely let him leave the house if not for his mother's protests, and how would it look for his father's career if his son ended up marrying into the wrong family? Pureblood, but not wanting to become attached to the wrong family, in such difficult times.

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.

[sadistic]

[Barty's off the hook then, because there's no reason to order such a thing. Worst case scenario, his relative eligibility might be remarked upon in passing; made the subject of a little group joke.

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.

[liquidsky]

[He inclines his head in acceptance of her 'pity'. Not much else to add to that and he knows how little she actually cares one way or the other. He likes to understand the others, just as their Lord does, to know them inside out and to perhaps be able to use them to his advantage. But care? No, this isn't the place for that. It's not friendship that binds them, it's a common goal, common methods and the Dark Lord.]

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?

[sadistic]

[The same as anyone, she laughs when she's amused, or when she means to mock; often deriving a laughing kind of pleasure from the act of mockery itself. It's immaterial, whether the sound disquiets and sends shivers. She cannot speak as to his sensitivities. He's doing well to hide them.]

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.]

[liquidsky]

[He keeps his smile in check, never mind how triumphant he feels. Talking to Bellatrix always felt a little like playing with fire. There is, to him, an undeniable attraction in the risk, especially when the outcome is worth it and he has a feeling it would be.

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.]

[sadistic]

[Any fool who values his life — any servant too fearful to disobey orders — might eventually be called loyal. But it isn't out of fear that they submit. Their only fear is disappointing their master. And if they should fail, the agony of failure itself would be far, far worse than anything Voldemort could mete out as a punishment. She knows this is true of herself, and feels in this moment that it must be true of both of them.

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~

[liquidsky]

[Their devotion, born out of love - if not entirely of the same nature - is what they have in common. More than their ideals, their goals and backgrounds, a deeper bond than the robes and masks and their pure blood. He recognizes her as his only equal where true and absolute loyalty is concerned and for that alone, even if for nothing else, he would respect her.

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.

[sadistic]

[She wouldn't speak of her feelings openly, but they're no source of shame. Who among them wouldn't choose to love their master in that way, or in any way, if it were within their power to choose whom to love? It's another kind of reverence. It would only be insolent if she expected something to come of it. She doesn't dare.]

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.

[liquidsky]

[Oh, Barty does quite enjoy watching fear in others. It is, perhaps, part of the appeal that led him down this path. Intimidation, authority, all the things he hates about his father... They feel quite a bit different when the ball is in his court.]

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?