Roleplay[]
Dorian and Octavia[]
You know better babe than talk to it like that.
[ AGE ] 25. [ SPECIES ] Dhampir.
[ CAREER ] Artist. [ RELATIONSHIP ] not octavia.
Was this plan going well? Sure, sort of. He was pretty sure, no ninety percent sure, they were starting to suspect something. However, they'd gotten to more than half of them. When he says suspect–he means suspect them. He knew they were starting to think an auror had gotten into their ranks and he knew it wouldn't be long until they'd gotten to Octavia. The next question would be who let her in. He knew the answer, of course he did, it was him. He did it. And, sorry to say, Dorian had a desire to keep on living past whatever expiration date the universe gave him. Which meant he needed to start getting ahead of them, rather than the other way round. Of course, that was easier said than done. It had been a meeting. Both of them were front row, both of them believed to be other people, and a wands had been drawn. To be quickly pointed at the two of them. He'd went to grab Octavia but throngs have crowds pushed at them and it wasn't until twenty minutes later, until after Dorian had started hacking the people around him to pieces using whatever means he could find (his wand/his knife/his own teeth and bare strength), did he get to Octavia. He'd heard her screaming and when he'd gotten to her, there was her blood (he'd know, he has a very good sense of smell, even for a vampire). He'd done the one thing he could think of–get out. Grabbing her, he'd ran. Using all his speed that he could muster before apparating the hell out of there. To the one place he could think of–his home. Or what he'd consider it. No one would find them there. Dumping her on his bed, he stared at her briefly. He was pretty sure they'd used the crutiatis curse on her, but there was a handle sticking out of her stomach and he should probably deal with that first before worrying about whatever mental problem she might have. Well, not worry. He wasn't worried. This was a grievance, a mild irritation, at best. "Bleeding all over my bed sheets," he blurted out, really he was saying this to himself. Then he disappeared again before he came back with a first aid kit. "I don't...I don't have my wand," he mumbled, "they snapped it. I'm not very good at harnessing my magic without it. Not for something like this." He use to be better but it was the one of the downsides to becoming a dhampir. His own magic, he wasn't sure if this was a universal experience, had dimmed. "I'm going to make you scream and maybe one day it'll be in a good way." With that, he yanked the knife out of her. Did he have much medical history? No. Did he have some knowledge on how to stitch an open wound closed? No. He hated healing and other type of it. But he knew some basics, naturally, enough that he was pretty sure he could close the wound. Just needed to get the knife out first.
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