Russian Roulette
Augustus Rookwood likes muggle pubs. Especially the seedy ones. No, wait, just the seedy ones. They are the ones with the arrogant imbeciles sitting in the corner playing cards, or snooker, or something of the sort and daring people to challenge them. And Augustus Rookwood always does, because he can, and he knows he'll win. He never even bothers to use magic, because he doesn't need it. The fates have blessed him with uncanny luck and skill at these sorts of games, and he accepted the gift gratefully, refining his skills over the years.
But just a year ago, when he had reached a level of near-perfection, he became bored, and decided to raise the risks. After all, risk makes everything worthwhile. So he found the guys in the pubs who would happily (try to) kick the shit out of him, and beat them at whatever game they fancied themselves best at, because Augustus Rookwood is the fucking boss.
And he's not just being arrogant. Well, he is, but he's got the skill to back it up. So it's with a confident swagger that he enters the seedy muggle pub, and right there, smack bang in front of his face, is his newest catch, a shiny new toy. And it looks like the fates have blessed him once more, his victim is drunk enough to be a massive dick (figuratively, because Augustus is pretty sure the asshole's actual penis is tiny), but sober enough to be coherent and slam a pistol down on the table, loudly challenging anyone who'll listen to a game of Russian roulette. And this is another reason why Augustus likes seedy bars, because no one shrieks, no one tries to call the muggle aurors, because they've done worse, seen worse, and they just don't care.
But the imbecile is still calling out for a game, so Augustus decides to indulge him. He sits himself down on the only empty seat at the table, right across from the idiot and looks him dead in his (slightly glazed with alcohol) eyes.
'If you're ready.' he says, always the gentleman.
His victim laughs. 'Sure, kid. Hope you're prepared to meet your maker.'
'Always.' Augustus decides not to take offense at being called a kid, otherwise he might as well blast out the idiot's brains here and now. The woman on his left looks decidedly nervous, like she was hoping no one would challenge the idiot to a game, because now she has to play too. The man on his right is too drugged up to care.
'Say, what's your name? So I can put it on your grave!' the man laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world.
'Rookwood.' Augustus answers flatly, not entertained. Sure, he's heard worse, but he's also heard a lot better.
'Pretty name, pretty kid. But you know what, pretty boy? The nice dolls are the ones who break easiest. So remember this name, the name of the man who sent you to your grave...' he pauses for dramatic effect, so Augustus fills in the blanks for him.
'Dickface. Cool. So, Mr. Dickface, will your companions be joining us?'
Dickface growls. 'Name's Harrington. If you weren't so silly, I'd break you. And yeah, of course. That's Isabella, and Ross.'
Normally, Augustus would take offense to being called silly, but again, he doesn't want to kill too soon. It's no fun unless they think they've got a fighting chance, after all.
'Right. Let's play, shall we?' Augustus smiles dangerously, but Dickface is too thick or drunk (or both) to notice.
'Yeah, whatever. You first, you're the challenger.'
Augustus decides not to tell Dickface just how much of an idiot he is, but instead shrugs and picks up the revolver. 'If it makes you feel better.'
He spins the cylinder, smirking. This is the most fun he's had in a while. It's not often he finds someone willing to play Russian roulette.
Augustus doesn't flinch as he pulls the trigger, he's too confident to believe that the fates would fail him now, and he's right. It's an empty click. He slides the gun across to Ross.
'Hey, Ross.' Dickface nudges his companion.
'Ngh...' Ross mutters unintelligibly, but raises his head off the table, spins, and takes a shot.
Blood splatters over the table and its remaining occupants. Isabella flinches and takes a large gulp of wine, and Dickface looks a little less composed, but Augustus doesn't even bother to wipe the blood off his face. He's grinning now, there's another name to add to his list.
'Your shot, Dickface.'
Dickface doesn't bother to correct him, but snarls, spins the cylinder, and pulls the trigger. Augustus is a little disappointed at the empty click, but shrugs. The longer they play, the more entertaining.
Isabella takes another gulp of wine before picking up the revolver, hands trembling slightly, whether from alcohol or nerves, Augustus can't tell. It could be either, or both.
She spins, and hesitates.
'Don't worry, sweetheart.' Augustus leans in, his lips brushing her cheek. 'You can close your eyes if you want. Hell, if you're really that nervous, I can pull the trigger for you...'
She gives the tiniest shake of her head, and pulls the trigger, dropping the revolver on the table as soon as she can, knocking back the rest of her wine.
'Good girl...' Augustus purrs. He knows he's scaring her, but he doesn't care. All part of the fun.
'Quit it.' Dickface growls, and pulls Isabella towards him possessively. She pushes him away slightly, but he pulls harder, and she gives in, letting him cradle her against his side. 'Just pick up the fucking gun and kill yourself.'
'Feeling a little threatened, are we?'Augustus starts laughing, spinning the cylinder again, and taking pleasure in the empty little click in his ear.
'All yours.' Augustus gestures to the revolver sitting on the table.
Dickface scowls, and Augustus can't help but wonder if his face is stuck that way.
'Whatever.' Dickface says, but Augustus can see that his bravado is just for show, and that he's terrified. Augustus laughs harder, and Isabella quivers.
Dickface's head seems to explode into a mass of flesh and brain pieces.
Augustus calmly pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to Isabella, who accepts gratefully.
'Can we stop?' she asks quietly. Augustus considers, and nods.
'Sure, sweetheart...' he smirks again, and cups her face in his hand. He pulls her in slowly, and she doesn't resist as he kisses her. His lips are forceful and vicious against hers. She is his prize, after all. He won, since she pulled out. He knows that she knows that it was either this or dying, and she's made her choice.
He pulls her away from the bloody mess, and tosses a shining nugget of gold on top of the remains of Dickface's head as a tip to whatever poor soul has the job of cleaning this mess up.
She's clinging to his arm as he leads her out of the pub, and into an inn across the street. He doesn't bother requesting a room, he just leads her straight up the stairs as if he's got the right to be here, and no one stops him. He knows what they look like, well dressed but ruffled, like they've spent the night drinking. Augustus smiles at how well this has all worked out.
A silent alohomora, and the door to suite 27 clicks open. Augustus leads her in, gesturing for her to sit down on the bed. He decides to be a good host and makes her a cup of tea.
Isabella grips the cups in both hands, and sips at it. She's still anxious, he can tell.
While she drinks, he pulls a piece of parchment out of his pocket. It's a list, titled 'Happy Fun Time List'. He takes out the muggle pen that was on the kitchen bench, and adds two names to the list: Ross and Dickface.
He stuffs the list back in his pocket, and approaches Isabella, bury his face in her hair. She smells like blood, he notices, and that pleases him.
She places the cup on the bedside table, and turns to face him. She presses her lips to his, and he holds her tenderly.
'Close your eyes.' he whispers, and she does.
He traces her face with a finger, then pulls out a knife and slits her throat viciously. Blood spills onto the crisp white sheets, and he's pleased that he chose a posh hotel. Red on white is such a lovely combination. He's always worried about the aesthetics, he likes things to look just right.
She's gasping, not quite dead yet, but he leaves her, knowing that by the time he walks back down into the lobby, she'll be another corpse.
He ignores her struggles, and walks over to the kitchenette. He washes his knife carefully, it simply wouldn't do if it was stained with muggle blood. When he's satisfied, he pulls out his list again, and adds Isabella's name to it.
Augustus blows her a kiss, and leaves, locking the door behind him. His shoes click on the faux marble stairs, and no one gives him a second glance. When he reaches the lobby, it's empty save for the receptionist.
He walks over to the desk, leaning on it. She looks up.
'You're not very good at your job, you know.' he says casually. 'You let a murderer up those stairs. Oh, and he didn't actually check in.'
Her eyes widen when she realises what he's saying, and she stands up, knocking over her chair. She reaches for the telephone.
'Oh, don't bother.' he says, pulling out his wand and pointing it at her. 'Avada kedavra.'
She slumps to the ground, very much dead, and he picks up a pen. He left the other one in the suite with Isabella.
'You don't mind if I borrow this, right?' he asks the corpse.
Taking silence to mean yes, he pulls out his list again.
Useless receptionist, he writes, and smiles, disappearing into the night.