Icebreaker
When Regulus Black was fifteen his brother ran away. It was inevitable, and Regulus knew this. He did. So when he woke up one morning, and his brother wasn’t in his room, the place ransacked, draws empty, bedsheets unkempt, wardrobe bare, it wasn’t a surprise for him. He knew it would happen eventually. What he didn’t know was that his brother wasn’t planning on taking him with him.
And that was fine. Truly it was. After all his brother had done for him, it was only fair that he did something for him in return. Even if it was to become heir to the noble house of Black - the richest, purest, most valued family in society. Attend fancy balls, marry another rich, noble, pure girl, and produce an heir to continue the family line. Which doesn't sound too bad.
However, what society didn’t see were the fights, the beatings, the torture, the verbal abuse, the lessons after lessons on posture, attitude, the correct way to eat, what to eat,when to eat, step by step instructions of how the Blacks were supposed to behave and lead their lives. The lack of freedom, the loss of identity. The strain of trying to keep up with the standards, while trying not to fall under the pressure.
So, you can see why of course, his brother ran away. But, as you maybe can’t see, is why he left Regulus behind to endure that alone.
Whatever, Regulus isn’t one to hold a grudge - actually that’s quite laughable. And anyway, it’s not like his brother ever came looking for him, especially after his parents died.
When Regulus was sixteen years old, his parents died. He wasn’t sad. Actually, when Walburga and Orion Black met their demise, Regulus was laughing. Cackling. He hoped that the neighbours could hear, In fact, he hoped that the whole world could hear. When Walburga and Orion Black died, Regulus was the one with the gun. Metaphorically speaking. That would be too boring of a way to kill such disgusting people.
Walburga and Orion were nailed onto a wooden cross, one on either side. They had it as a symbol to their children so as to keep them in check, God was always watching, and one wrong move would result in them going to hell.
Markings, symbols, names carved all across their porcelain skin, a perfect sheet to cover the vile creature within. Regulus was always an artist. He left their mouths uncovered, he liked to hear them beg, to scream, to plead for their release. This was his awakening for his future career path. He pulled their fingernails and toenails out, one by one, slowly, the pool of crimson blood beneath was a pool of liquid gold to Regulus. After the torture was complete, after hours of relentless pain, Regulus finally was satisfied.
He doused them in alcohol, the wet liquid seeping deep into their wounds, singeing the raw flesh beneath. He held the match between his fingers, the match to start the next chapter, he paused, not from hesitation, in admiration. The sight before him, the pain in his parents faces, the pleading in their eyes, the regret on their faces.
“Regulus, mon amour, please.” his mother sighed. But Regulus just smiled.
“Oh mother. What did you expect?” And he dropped the match.
Standing outside the house, the screams of his mother and father echo in his ears, a never-ending loop, the sound he had been longing to hear.
He laughed and laughed and didn’t stop laughing as the house became engulfed by the flames, the golden glow lighting up the night sky, his star no longer visible. It was perfect.
He couldn’t stop laughing when the sirens faded in from the distance, he couldn’t stop laughing when he was slammed onto the ground, blood dripping from his mouth, handcuffs wrapped around his wrists. He couldn’t stop laughing in the back of the police car, nor when he was taken to a cell, nor when he was being questioned. The only time he stopped laughing was when Sirius had come to visit him.
He could barely remember what was said, he didn't think anything was said at all. He just remembers the look in his eyes, the fear, the innocence, the shock buried in his icy blue eyes as he stared into Regulus's hard, grey ones. The only thing Regulusemembers members said was from Sirius, a soft, “Thank you.” before he stood up and left him there, alone, again.
He spent only a few more hours there, for that night, he was broken out. He didn’t know who it was at the time, but it turned out that it was Dorcas who orchestrated it. He didn’t know how high up Dorcas was then, but she must have been somewhat important to have requested his removal.
The few months after were brutal, he remembers it all in excruciating detail. This was the difference between him and Sirius, while Sirius blocked out all negative memories, Regulus was haunted by them, they caressed him, hugged him, gripped him like a lover would. They consume all waking moments until it all spills out of him and he goes on a rampage. He manages well now, the boxes and boxes stacked away at the deep deep centre of his soul.
The training consisted of 6 hour combat training, each day was switched to a different method, hand-to-hand, knives, archery. You name it, they did it. They had set meal times, 30 minutes for breakfast, 30 for lunch and no dinner in the evening. They had things to do in the evening, practical, on-the-job training, if you will.
They had to workout for 20 hours a week, though some did more. However, Regulus liked how skilled he was when he was smaller and less obviously strong. But don’t mistake him, he was very strong. The pain was immense, but his body kept up.
By the end he was the best assassin they had ever trained, though he didn’t know who they were. All he knew was Dorcas was incharge of the training of them, and his handler was Pandora.
Pandora was sweet, she was very well spoken, but daydreamed lots. She didn’t look very threatening, which is why it was all the more shocking that she was one of the most deadly.
She remained his handler to this day. And she was due to Regulus's flat any minute.
Regulus lived in paris. He had a very expensive, very exquisite flat. The interior was dark, sleek. Wooden floors, nothing on the floor, no mess, no dust, the walls were lined with charcoal grey cabinets, hanging plants, shelves and shelves of books, and candles that have long been unusable. The leather sofas were classy, elegant. The place was perfect, clean, tidy. It bored him.
He only kept it this way out of necessity. He would be off travelling around all sorts of countries for his job, staying days here and there in different hotels. He could go months without staying in his flat. So, in order to prevent a heavy cleanup when he returned, he kept it simple, but nothing about Regulus was simple.
Regulus was chaotic, yet calm, frustrated, yet serene, insane, but it was all hidden, his mind was a whirlwind, thoughts flying around, swarming his senses, overpowering his sanity, it drove him mad. He never had a quiet moment, a moment where he had one singular thought. The only time this would ever happen, was when he felt life leave someone's body, watching the soul disappear behind their eyes.
But anyway, Regulus was sitting outside the cafe, looking in through the window. He could see the target inside, sitting down, though he couldn’t see who he was talking to. He waited a moment, before slipping round the back of the building, sliding off his coat, revealing the three broomsticks logo on his polo. Regulus hated polo shirts, he wouldn’t be caught dead in one. Yet here he was, for a mission, in a polo shirt.
He moved closer to the door, the one dividing the back of the coffee shop to the area where the target was sitting. He listened in, trying to overhear the conversation.
“Um, yeah I think I can do that.” someone said.
“Brilliant. I’m going to pop to the loo for a moment. Don’t worry about any more drinks. Got a bit of a stomach ache.” A man, Regulus didn’t know who, announced loudly as he got up and nodded to Benjy, and walked into the bathroom.
Regulus wandered out of the door, silently, smoothly, not a single customer or worker would notice him, and slipped into the bathroom after the man. He didn’t know why, as he should be searching for the target, yet something lured him astray, into the bathroom.
He made his way over to the sink, washing his hands, as he watched what he believed to be the most attractive man ever to walk the earth emerge from the cubicles.
He stopped dead in his tracks, leaning against the wall as he watched Regulus finish drying his hands. His hair was unruly, a mop of dark brown curls that somehow hung so perfectly, despite being untamed, they gave him an innocent, boyish look. Hazel eyes bore into his own, calm, collected, eyes that smirked even when he wasn’t. That mischievous glint, a spark that only made Regulus more intrigued. His lips were seductive, all Regulus wanted to do was change the maroon colour of them to a bruised purple and red. The man was staring at him, and of course, Regulus was looking right back. A smirk formed at the corner of the man’s mouth and Regulus reciprocated it. He wore an orange shirt, done up to just below his chest and a black dress trousers. Regulus nearly fell to his knees as he dragged his eyes across the man’s chest.
He turned around, looking at him dead in the eye, and walked over to him, reaching for the man’s hair.
“May I?” he asked with a sly grin. He smelt enticing, of eucalyptus and some strong aftershave, the freckles speckled along his cheeks and nose more apparrent when he got closer, all Regulus wanted to do was trace the constellations they formed. It was infuriating that someone could be so majestic, so beautiful.
“Go ahead.” The man smirked and leaned into Regulus’s hand.
He fiddled around with the man’s hair until he was satisfied with the way it sat.
“Better?” he smirked.
“Much.” he replied, gaze fluttering down to the man’s lips.
A moment passed between them where they did nothing, just stared at each other, eyes switching between each other’s eyes, then their lips.
Regulus knew he shouldn’t. What about the target? But all he wanted was this man. The chaos in his brain had quieted, the insescent ringing gone, all that was left was the tsring of pleads, Please, kiss me, destroy me, kill, me, slice me open, let me kill you, let me love you, please, please. And then, he said fuck it and leant in.
They stayed like that for a while, a fierce battle, a war that had never felt so little like one, a fight that he knew he would never win. They broke apart when a crash was heard from outside, and Regulus didn’t want to. He wanted to stay there forever, buried deep into this man and never to be released. He wanted to lean back in, cling onto him, but the moment had passed. Oh how pathetic he was. He nervously rustled his hair and smirked, and the man sighed before leaving. Regulus stayed, he was stressed, anger at himself brewing, festering depp within him.
Why? Why would he do that? The target has probably fucked of now the stupid bastard. That man would be the death him, he knew it. He heard the bathroom door open and Regulus slipped into a cubicle. After a moment, he peered over the top to see who was nextdoor. Low and behold, it was his target. He walked out and leaned on the sink, waiting for him to come out.
And when he did, well, Regulus was ecstatic. The look on his face was priceless, the fear swept over him, eyes widneed, a soft whimper escaped him. Regulus smiled, maniacally, and surged forward, slamming him hard into the wall behind him, his head smacked hard against it and crumpled beneath Regulus, a shivering mess, a useless heap on the floor as he stared uop at Regulus. Regulus admired the sight, the panic, the stress all oozing out of him. It was like artwork. And then he got to work.