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Posted: Jul 28 2009, 04:37 AM

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Group: ADMIN
Posts: 570
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Joined: 10-January 09

x Lester Jonathan Finch-Fletchley, twenty
x Tameron Thomas Pritchard, twenty-five
x Venetia Eden Pritchard, nineteen

Lester Jonathan Finch-Fletchley propped himself up against the bathroom sink in his apartment. The twenty year old stared back at his reflection in disbelief. The man had been putsing with his hair alone for the last forty-five minutes, and earlier had spent an hour trying to find the perfect outfit. Was this really the life of the pureblood elite? 'Merlin, they're fucking nuts,' he thought to himself, straightening the tie on his suit. Lester ran a comb through his perfectly styled hair once more before exiting the bathroom. It was already eleven o'clock, he was going to be late.

Lester, with a pop apparated a block from his destination before starting to walk.

Today was the date of the High Tea at the Le Chattlier's. It was the opening of the new social season for the pureblood society. Only everyone who was anyone would be there. It would be social suicide not to attend such a prestigious event. The debutantes and their shadow straddling mothers would be there, along with the richest members of the wizarding community. And where you found the rich, you found the members of the blood-snob society. These people didn't give a flying fuck if you had talent, or a good personality- hell they didn't even care if you were good looking unless you had the history. By history they meant the purest of blood. They were devil's hiding behind their diamonds and expensive wine. At least, this is what Lester thought of them.

When news had reached him about the muggleborn attack, he knew something had to be done. Something those fuckers would never forget, nor could they ever ignore. It was risky what he was about to do, yes, it could cost him his life if he got caught. Hey, someone had to do something- and fast. A quick retaliation would hopefully send the message.

Lester looked dapper. He would easily blend with the high society crowd he was about to immerse himself in, knowing full well that he was not one of them. No, never. His family was considered traitorous. Associating and marrying muggles was apparently a big no no. Luckily for Lester, no one really knew who he was, not by appearance anyway. All these people saw was the expensive suit and hair-do. Lester had gotten a hold of a prized invitation simply by doing some mail digging. It wasn't that hard to pick out the invitation, the thing weighed quite a bit and was written on very expensive parchment.

Handing the invitation to the host, Lester was nodded at and allowed in. A hired orchestra was playing somewhere in the distance and the smell of fresh baked goods and imported tea filled his senses. He smiled a few passers by before beginning to execute his plan.


Venetia Pritchard was laughing a little too hard at the jokes that were being made amongst her peers. "I'm going to get some more tea," she stated abruptly, leaving the small circle and rushing over to the tea-bar. She filled half her cup with the expensive tea and the other half with rum from her tiny little flask she had hidden away in her clutch purse. Her brother would have been furious had she found out. Venetia smiled to herself 'But Tameron doesn't know- and he never will. I'm going to be good today.' She reassured herself taking a sip from the spiked liquid.

By no means was the girl drunk, well not extremely drunk. Venetia could still walk with the poise her family had taught her since she was a tot. She could still smile and curtsy to the passing men. The show most certainly could go on, even if she was getting a little buzz. Venetia began mingling again, half listening to the stories being told, and half thinking about setting up an appointment for a pedicure tomorrow. She wasn't invested in the Revolution. Any pureblood with a brain could see that's what this high tea was about. No, Venetia had remained quite neutral to the situation, for she had no reason to choose sides at this point.

Her eyes trailed the room, longing for someone to whisk her away to a more interesting conversation. She didn't care about this old farts gardening stories, she wanted the juicy gossip. The debs were still being flaunted, and none of her close allies were in sight. Jutting out a pouted lip, Venetia continued to sip her concoction of tea and liquor pretending to listen to what her peers had to say. Another ten minutes passed before she was able to slip away from the small group. The tea room was getting quite crowded with the fashionably late arrivals of the purebloods. The brunette floated across the room, and over to the coat closet to put away her clutch. It was becoming bothersome to carry around, and with the way she was starting to see and hear things, it was also time to put the flask away.

The coat room was empty- well empty save for the vast amount of coats and cloaks that had been left behind. Venetia strode over to where her jacket was placed and began digging for the pocket.

It all happened so fast.

A piece of cloth was thrown over the young woman's eyes and a hand slapped tightly over her mouth. Lester Finch-Fletchley had found his target. The man took a tight hold on the girls hair, and began to drag her out the back door that led to the deserted hotel hallway. Venetia screamed against his hand, but only barely audible sounds actually hit the air. "Shut the fuck up. Shut up or I swear I'll kill you," he hissed in her ear as he continued to drag her along on the wine red carpet.

Venetia struggled against her captor, flailing her arms and legs wildly. He was much stronger than her. She of course was not built to fight off the strength of a man. Lester flung the door of one of the many empty hotel rooms open and threw her inside before locking the door behind him.

"Wh...what are you doing?," Venetia cried, shaking with anger, she reached for her blindfold, only to feel a sharp pain to her ribs. Lester kicked the young woman full force to her side, forcing her down further to the floor. She shrieked with pain, grabbing her side. Another blow, this time to her back. The tears began flowing now. "Whyyy, why are you doing this?," her voice choking with pain. Lester grabbed her by her long brown locks again, pulling her to a standing position. He threw his fist at her jaw, making contact with her face, and busting her perfectly glossed lower lip.

His hair had fallen out of place now, Lester's oh so debonair appearance was long gone and an angry animal now stood in the hotel room, staring at his prey. "You and your little friends are about to learn a very important etiquette lesson," he snarled, the rage of all the resistance members flowing through him. This little bitch was going to pay for what was done to that muggle born girl. They wanted war? They got it.

Venetia held her jaw in pain, laying on the large king size bed, her mind still dizzy from the countless blows. The sound of a pant zipper being unzipped reached her ears and within seconds, cold rough hands were making their way up her legs. Once again Venetia began to flail her arms again, knowing full well by now what was happening. She was in shock, utter disbelief, that this was happening to her. She thought this sort of thing only happened to those other people.

Lester grabbed her hair again, pulling her against him, pushing her dress above her stomach. He thrust himself into her repeatedly, digging his fingers into her back, drawing blood with each hard push. She meant nothing. This helpless girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Fuck with the Resistance-" he pushed hard inside her again. "-and I promise we'll fuck with you and your little friends," the man gasped. The tall man pulled out of the girl. She was limp. The girl wasn't even shaking anymore.

The man raised his fist to her once more, punching her in the side of her skull. "Viva la Resistance," he whispered before letting her fall to the ground in a bloody, broken mess. The man zipped himself up before fleeing the scene. His job was done. No emotion was set on his face as he walked out of the hotel. He'd made his peace, and he could care less how that young girl felt. Lester Finch-Fletchley would sleep well tonight, knowing full well that Venetia Pritchard might fear to ever sleep again.


The classical music continued playing its soft and mellifluous tune, though only a few of the well-bred purebloods remained on the floor dancing in their designer shoes, and even fewer remained to watch as most had already decided to sit out in the courtyard for a cup of tea. Tameron Pritchard was among the crowds outside, sipping casually away at the steaming Earl Gray, as his eyes flashed over the groups of guests. He had mastered the art of conversation as most pureblood men had since they were young boys, and was able to laugh at the right moments and smile at the appropriate times, at least well enough so that the opposite party would think he was actually paying attention. But truth was Tameron was too busy searching the crowds for his siblings, taking it upon himself (as she was the eldest of the four) to make sure they were 'behaving'. His arm linked through his date's as he made a check list in his head. Silas, Regan.....'

It struck him that there was one missing, and it was the one that was most likely to be getting in trouble. He furrowed his brows as he realized one of the Pritchard's was missing. Removing his arm from his date's, he planted a light kiss on her cheek, muttering in her ear, "I'll be back soon...", before glancing back at there company with an apologetic smile. "Would you please excuse me for one moment, gentlemen?"

Spotting a familiar face in the crowd, Tameron made his way to the center of attention: Judas Lestrange. He was familiar with Venetia and in fact, she was his date. If he was to provide Tameron with any information, it would be quite useful. Scanning the well-dressed head of the Revolution, Tameron was quick to interject in his conversation. "Judas, have you seen Venetia recently?"

"I don't believe so...though the last time I saw her, Tameron, she was walking towards the coat closet, perhaps you should check there? Either that or she's chasing rabbits..." He teased softly.

"Thanks." But he left the scene quickly without a laugh, as fast as he could. Reaching the coat closet, no one was there. His heart started to race a little quicker. "Venetia..." Again, there was no answer. Tameron's voice grew louder as he searched the hallways even more, until finally she stopped, as she noticed one hotel room's door opened slightly. Tameron's heart froze, unsure as to enter or not, but there was an eerie silence that drew Tameron further into the hotel room. "Ven--"

His heart dropped, the view of his bloodied and beaten sister lying on the king sized bed, stripped of her clothes. Rushing to his youngest sister's side, knees buckling as he neared the poor victim. "VENETIA!"


Venetia was fast asleep in a private room at St. Mungo's. There were no cards and there were no flowers as Graham Pritchard had asked for visitors to be held away as Venetia made a full recovery. The only ones allowed in the room were those related to the girl by blood.

It was late at night, but Tameron remained sitting by his sister, taking his work with him as he watched over Venetia's sleeping form. He tapped his quill angrilly against the stack of papers, Constantly glancing up to see the victim and her bruises covering her arms, and her busted lip. It was too much for Tameron to handle. There was an uparalleled amount of anger building up in her veins as she kept an eye on Venetia and continued to snap the fragile quill's in half with rage. Finally, he took out every bit of his hatred on his quill and paper, scribbling in cursive in big bold letters.



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