 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Not a single word was said as Dante Zabini was escorted to the Ministry by the idiot Aurors. It was a right that he apparently had, regardless of the restraints that he personally felt were unnecessary and violated his rights. But there was no need for him to speak to them, nor did he even bother cracking into their troll-like minds. Today he wished only to speak with one person. He hoped his meeting would actually lead to something that would work in his favour. Prison was not a good look for him.
The viewing mirror confirmed as much. Just a few short years ago the Frenchman was in his prime: dressed in his finest, the highest-ranked Obliviator, an asset to the Alliance. He could barely recognise the person that was being reflected. His affluent garb was not present, his former significance nonexistent, and his physical appearance had noticeably thinned.
Hands folded, he remained quite still, oddly statue-esque. Dante's dark eyes were now closed, which would remain as such until Upstead decided enough time had passed for him to make an appearance. He had no interest in taking another glance at himself, and he certainly was not invested in the water or biscuits.
__________________
 |