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she put the gun to her head
said make me pull the trigger, make me blow myself away, so you can murder me
4th-Oct-2010 06:39 am

L'Île-aux-Marins,"The Island of the Sailors", was a small island in the Atlantic Ocean, long since labeled a ghost town when the inhabitants of the city fled in the 1960's. Despite the fact that they had abandoned their lodgings and buildings, one could imagine they wouldn't have wanted to see their lives work being devastated, destroyed until it was seen as mere ruins, as it was that evening. Though the one causing the wreckage felt remorseful as to the mess he was causing, and the history he was destroying, he knew very well that it had to be done. If not here, then within another quiet piece of land that had long ago been forgotten.

The church was nearly made of windows, it's stain glass even a sight all these years later. The dust and years of neglect had done very little to wash away the beauty or the originality in the art pieces, however the magnificence of the church wasn't what had brought the only living person in the town to it. The fact that it was desolate, the fact that no one would be around to hear if the walls came tumbling down, and the fact that if he screamed, no one would hear him, had. Dennis rolled onto his side and sucked in a deep breath when he felt the burn on his hip come in contact with the floor. It was odd to be in so much pain, and know you were the one causing.

Keeping the groan inside his throat as he pulled himself to his feet, Dennis breathed deeply and peered around the long, one room building Every mirror he had found inside the small town he had brought to the church, and were currently hanging everything with a sticking charm until you could no longer see the walls - just mirrors and windows. The long benches had all been pushed to one side of the room and stacked on top of each other, and light was trickling in from several fresh holes in the ceiling that had come from ricocheting spells. Shaking his head, he readied himself, his wand held firm in his hand. He raised it quickly, his hand flicking, and muttered, "Confringo!" A burst of orange light shot from his wand and went flying toward the mirror in the font of him, bounding off the glass. He raised his wand and blasted the same mirror to his right before throwing himself back and dodging the first as it came hurling back toward him.

Smacking the ground on his rear, he flipped backwards, his legs swinging over his head just in time to avoid contact with the second. Lunching forward, he raised his wand and fired another one at the back mirrors, three spells not bounding about the room, looking for something besides class to come into contact with. He nearly missed the first as it came bounding back toward him, and fell gracelessly to the ground, rolling away as the second crashed against the floor where he had fallen and leaving chunks of wood and carpet where it had died. Cursing, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled as the first landed squarely at his lower back. Gritting his teeth, he fell forward onto his hands and breathed through his nose.

Get control. Laboring his breathing, he opened his eyes and caught the last spell as it ricocheted off the stain glass of one of the north facing windows. Forcing himself to his feet, he ran at it full speed until it looked as if they were going to collide. At the last moment he summoned a shield charm and sighed with relief as he managed to get it off this time, the spell dying around him. The last attempt to take the spell head on his timing had been wrong and he'd knocked himself unconscious for ten odd minutes and blasted his arm open, which was mended by sore. Breathing heavily, he stood, looking as if he had fought a battle, but having only fought himself. Training had been so much easier when he'd had a brother by his side, teaching him things and dueling with him.

He tried to push away the pain of not knowing where Colin was. It ate at him almost every day. They had been together for three years, alone with only each other for comfort, and then suddenly he was gone, out of the blue. Who knew picking up supplies would last almost a year. The wound was deep despite the fact he told everyone who asked about it that he was fine. Despite how many times he said he knew Colin had to be fine, because he didn't. Not until he saw him alive, not until he saw him laughing again. Colin had been amazing to Dennis, he had been his hero growing up as Harry Potter had been Colin's. He sighed deeply, all the pain etched on his face. Both physical and emotion.

He let himself fall backwards, grunting as his back hit the ground but not having the strength to get up. After reading what Anthony had posted he had been so angry, unable to control himself in the settings he had been in, and what better way to relieve stress then to do something physical. No including the fact that he really did need to work on training, on being ready. He wanted to be useful. He allowed his eyes to close, but didn't let himself drift away. It had been nearly two hours since he had begun, and though he was exhausted, he couldn't bring himself to give into the pain and the sleep he needed. All he could think about was those people in Azkaban, of Gabrielle in Azkaban, and that they were probably one hundred times worse off then he was right now.

He didn't have time to sleep, anyways, he needed to change his clothes and head for The Keiss Castle in Scotland for the Order meeting.
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