Ffwcia oma

Lena hates bringing Bastien to Wales to see Maman and Papa. She's full of nothing but disdain and wants nothing to do with the baby... I do not think that she knew what she was getting herself into when she trapped me into this marriage.

She's mine. As surely as if she had a shackle on her ankle, heavy iron and locked and only I have the key. I will not let her go. I will not let Bastien go. I did not know that I would become this attached to a small human. Even more so these last months that he lets me sleep.

I've decided and this weekend I will tell Lena. If she doesn't want to take care of Bastien during the day then she can stay with Maman in Wales until I am done with work. I am not giving over the care of my child to a nanny or an elf. And I refuse to fight about it any longer. She's not in Russia anymore.

And she damn well better start working on her English and French.

Gorgeous,

I heard through the grapevine that you are getting married. I want you to know that I wish you every happiness, even thought he looks like a wanker.

Aidan

*the note comes with a decorated bottle with a poltergeist captured inside*

I have a son. A son. Ozymandias Bastien Hart. And he's taken up all my spare time from the moment he was born on the 8th of May.

Lena didn't want me in the room during her delivery, and I gave her that and the choice of first name. And a pearl necklace. She said that Ozymandias was a favourite name of a favourite aunt. I don't know that I'm fond of it, ( so I've taken to calling him Bastien instead. )

Jesus fuck. I've turned into one of those saps that I hate. It has to be the lack of sleep. Children turn even the best men into babbling idiots when they've donated their genes to the creation of one apparently.

I'm not used to the weight on my finger.

I'm not used to seeing its match on her finger.

Or feeling it against my skin when she slides her hand up my arm.

Or watching the way mine glints in the light as I run my hand over her stomach, not yet rounded.

Nothing is what I thought it would be.

*sound of the door opening followed by a pause and footsteps*

Don't you ever fucking knock?

Je suis piégé.

( No one can say that when the situation warrants it and if it can be turned to her advantage, Yelena Karkaroffa doesn't know how to get what she wants in the fastest and simplest manner. )

Je suis piégé mais cela ne me dérange pas.

Fuck.

*translated from the russian*

*sound of the door closing*

How was dinner with your family?

*a groan*

Go back to sleep and stop poking me. Really, I mean it.

Rats are, without doubt, the most despicable creatures.

They are also a good reason not to piss off any member of the Dolohov family because one is likely to find them on top of their person after waking up in an alley after being beaten bloody.

And then one finds that the brother of his former paramour has checked him out of his hotel.

I fucking hate the Dolohovs and Karkaroffs and any other family connected to them which I am sure is half of the fucking country.

( Apparating while bleeding, light-headed, and being overall fucked up is also not a recommended mode of travel. )

And now I am at loose ends.

Marcellus!

There you are. I've been looking for you. I have something that you might want to hear.

It was wrong. So very wrong. So beautiful in just how wrong it was.

( Her breasts heavy in my palms... )

I've been summoned to the Manor. And I've stories to tell.

*translated from the Russian*

*sound of someone pushing through the crowd*

Excuse me, but you're blocking the bar. *a pause* You want something to drink since I'm laying down my money anyway?

Oh no! Don't you even think about running off. I fucking showed up and attended Mass for you, Lenchka, you owe me a word.

Fucking kill him. Wrap my hands about his throat and squeeze and probably end up bloody in the interim because the fucker fights back. ( The little shit. )

Jesus fuck aren't you finished yet? It's bad enough that I was sent along on your coattails, but at least you could make the experience entertaining.

A miniature, detailed bouquet of purple hyacinth, primroses, and red calla lilies that are silvery, sparkling, and bright. Upon closer inspection it becomes clear that the bouquet is made up of miniture individual jewel and platinum flowers and can be worn as a clasp on a robe. There is no note.

The delivery is refused.

Yelena, open the fucking door.

Nothing's changed in regards to the internal investigation. People are bustling, but too many of them are politicians and completely against taking orders. Well, I suppose if I were to be exact, and that is why I am still about watching, it's an even split between cooperation and not. Unfortunately, it occurs to me that it'd be for the best if I was to disappear from the premises, so the game ends. After all someone is expected momentarily. However...

1) Didn't I mention not to trust what you see either on a piece of paper or with your own eyes? One would think that in my current disguise, I am a brilliant example of such.
2) Yes, Grisha is a fucking incompetent arse. This should not be news.
3) Aren't they used to the fact that he's escaped their grasp time and again? One would think this wouldn't come as a surprise. He is rather famous for doing such, if I do recall.

But I am being lax. The commander of this mission has asked that I keep my fucking mouth shut about this, and as we all know, I am never one to flout direct orders. My apologies, o capable one.

I am extricating myself from the situation inside. It's a bit complicated, so I will meet you at the other pub. On the other side of town. The safe one. Where there should be beer waiting. If I'm to go to my doom, I want to be prepared for it.

The Fool

*translated from the Russian*

Your planning? Utter shit.

The main target wasn't even here. Safe and sound with his little precious family and far far away from the machinations of your Uncle and Our Lord. He's being pulled back now when we've no chance to make any further attempts.

I told you I could've done better than the lot of you. At least I would have made sure he was here.

"Yelena Iosevna's fool"

Your uncle is a pompous windbag.