Death Eater Express, Day 12, Prompt:
Amycus / a broken picture frame / a dead Muggle / "Remember when Halloween was about pumpkins, not murder?"
word count: 513
Hallowe'en, sometime in the early 70s
Conor Mulciber flopped onto the blood-stained sofa and propped his soiled boots onto the low table, knocking over a picture frame and crushing the glass under his heel. "What are you doing?" Amycus asked him.
Conor slipped his mask upon to his head underneath his hood. "What does it look like, Carrow? I'm having a sit-down. Where's the Bitch? Think she'd fix me a cuppa?"
"You shut up about my sister," Amycus growled at him.
Frederick Nott walked down the stairs carrying a partially dressed witch's body. After he'd tossed it on the floor next to the mangled bodies of her dead Muggle husband and children, he brought his hand to his cock to adjust himself.
"Ah, gross, Fred, did you really fuck her after she let filth stick its cock in her?"
He shrugged. "It washes off. And Carrow," Nott said, directing his attention to the recruit, "don't take the sister comments personally. He's been saying the same thing about mine since Hogwarts."
"That's 'cause your sister is a bitch, Fred."
"Whatever, she just wouldn't let you stick your prick in her arse." Nott looked around at the macabre scene before nodding to himself, approvingly. "Where is your sister, Carrow?"
"I'm right here," Alecto said, joining them from the kitchen with another dead child. "Merlin's bloody ball sack, what did you guys do?" She dropped her haul on the pile and raised her upper lip in disgust at the mess.
"Mulicber likes to think of himself as a butcher," Fred said, grinning at her. The woman on the floor moaned and stirred and they watched as she started to come around. When she was aware enough to notice her fingers were pressing into the blood-soaked carpet and she was looking into the flayed chest of her husband she started screaming in terror.
"Ahh, nothing quite like the sound of half-blood blood-traitor screaming in fear in the early hours of the morning," Conor said as he tipped his head in appreciation. The women tried to stand and slipped in the blood, painting her bare skin scarlet. "Na ah ah," he said in a sing-song, "You stay there with the rest of your filth." He cast a silent curse that dropped her face first in the muck. She whimpered in fear.
"Just kill her and get it over with," Amycus said, impatience written on his face.
"You've got to learn the art of torture, boy," Conor said, "It's the time spent waiting between pain and death when your subject's mind can contemplate the true horrors of their situation that makes it sweeter." He sighed. "Avada Kedavra," he said casting the spell at the prone witch with a bored nonchalance, "but you're right. We do need to get going. Hey, Bitch, when we get back to headquarters, do you think you'd be up for a fuck?"
Alecto looked at him, taking in the viscera clinging to his robes and the fabric saturated with Muggle blood with revulsion plain on her face before she turned to her brother, "Remember when Hallowe'en was about pumpkins, not murder?"