Who: Rabastan Lestrange and Octavia Borgin
What: Engagement, murder... your run-of-the-mill daily activities
Where: Esculentus!
When: Today! Thiiis morning?

His mother believed that his intentions behind visiting Esculentus was to present Octavia Borgin with an engagement ring; Rabastan's real intentions were that of murder, but he happened to think that marriage and death were synonyms, so he felt no need to correct his mother's thoughts. He'd never been to the restaurant, though it would be a lie if he said he hadn't heard reviews of the place from his peers. Rabastan did not care if this Octavia woman could run a four star restaurant, he did not care that she seemed just as opposed to the match as he (though the thought irked him greatly; you should not be irked by an engagement to a Lestrange), and he did not care that it was what he was born and raised to do.

No, not his bloody destiny.

It wasn't hard to convince one of the waiters to bring him to the back, the kitchen where he immediately spotted Octavia giving out orders. If he wasn't supposedly engaged to this woman, he would've found her attractive, even beautiful, but just being in the same room as her made him absolutely appalled.

"May I have a word, Miss. Borgin," Rabastan stated lowly as he accosted Octavia, gripping her elbow just enough to grab her attention without alarm. No need to cause a scene so early on.

The staff were at her mercy this morning. Although Octavia was by no means a kind owner, she was usually well-tempered when dealing with her underlings, and more liable to demand solutions to problems, rather than just yell. Today, however, she stalked about the entire building in a furious daze, shouting at whoever was doing something she didn't approve of, and even firing one worker (though she claims he had it coming to him). All of this behavior could be chalked up to her engagement, over which a few of her hostesses she found gawking at the society announcement in the Daily Prophet. The garbage they printed in those things, honestly! Her mood turned progressively sourer.

But when her intended grabbed her by the elbow, it was very nearly the last straw for her. "How did you even get in here?" Octavia hissed under her breath, turning her head to glare at Rabastan. That was another firing that was going to have to occur. She cast an eye towards the rest of the kitchen, only a few of whom had spotted the outsider, and decided that a row in front of her staff was unprofessional. After a few moments, she said, very reluctantly,"Oh, very well. I suppose the storage room should suit your purposes just fine."

As they passed out the kitchens and into the stairwell leading to the room up the stairs, Octavia gave Rabastan's steely grip a disdainful look and turned her gaze to his face. "Do you mind?"

Jaw tight, he let go of Octavia in a quick show, fingers flexing as his hand dropped to his side. Rabastan didn't know what this woman though, bringing him to a small, secluded area, but it was her own demise. Of course now, he'd probably have to obliviate everyone in the kitchen, or who had been in and out of the place, but it was easily done. Sources to various alibis around the country (and the world, really) could have him spotted anywhere but the restaurant, so he really wasn't too worried about things.

It was becoming obvious that this was a favorite past time of his.

Rabastan took a look around the room, never having thought about what went on behind the scenes of a restaurant. Normally he was very inquisitive about the life surrounding him, but he was so used to the idea of house-elves being the source behind the food and comforts provided, that people who actually worked in these kind of establishments simply reminded him of the creatures. His gaze dropped back to Octavia, a faint smirk slipping onto his face. Oh, yes. She was merely a house-elf to him, now.

"I think it's only polite to offer you the chance to refuse the engagement laid upon us, face to face," Rabastan said quickly, crossing his arms over his chest with a calm demeanor. "The fact that you thought enough of me to do it immediately and not through an owl or journal, will say millions about your character."

She shut the door behind them and turned to give him an appraising look. To say he didn't unnerve her would be to lie. To say, however, that she was intimidated or alarmed by him was not necessarily the truth. Nevertheless, she nodded in business-like consideration of his proposal. "That was ever so kind of you to do, Mr Lestrange, but I wonder if you have fully considered the implications of being the one left behind? You possess the good fortune to be both male and wealthy... there's hardly a thing you can do to damage your reputation, save for some distasteful crimes committed against small children. Conversely, if I were the one to leave, surely the public will wonder what this good man, this virtuous and productive citizen, was lacking in order for him to drive away his fiancee. Nay, they might even begin to doubt the worth of said good man."

Octavia clasped her hands behind her back, her eyes now on him, "But myself, merely the flighty daughter of a deceased shopkeeper," albeit a wildly rich one, whom half the high society crowd had been both dependent on and befriended, "surely no one will question why you chose to leave." She stepped back, raising an eyebrow.

"You--" he started out sharply, but pressed his lips together almost immediately. No, she was not going to be allowed to see how much she infuriated him. Rabastan, if given the time to think, would be able to see that Octavia didn't want this just as, if not more than he did, so why was he fighting with her? It would be easy to see that they were on the same side, were it not for the blinding rage that nearly always consumed him when he was wronged. Acting upon this fury had never been a problem before, but he was finding himself a bit---constrained.

He really shouldn't visit his mother before he set out for a murder. He really shouldn't have her shrilly cries echoing in his head, reminding him about how lonely she is, and how grandchildren would make life wonderful, and that Bella was never going to be the daughter she never had and maybe this one would---No. Rabastan turned away from Octavia, his rapid-paced mind moving even faster than it normally did.

Stuck. He was stuck because of some lifelong urge to be the favorite child was emerging and consuming his every thought. Rabastan spent nights upon nights in Hogwarts plotting on how to gain his mother's heart, most ending with Rodolphus' demise. Even if he tried (which he had, oh--he had), his brother always proved to be the better dueler, the smarter one. No---no not smarter. Rabastan was smarter, he was the Ravenclaw, he was the one that scored the highest and read the most and---Rodolphus just knew how to fight, he was the fighter so he--won. This could could be it, though. Bellatrix hadn't produced an heir, she bloody terrified everyone that took a glimpse at her, Rodolphus was failing at his job as the first born son and it was Rabastan's chance to replace him in his mother's eyes.

He had to marry this bloody wench.

Rabastan turned sharply back to Octavia, ready to shout at her again for being insolent and rude, because that was not the proper way to behave, but found that he got the urge to...play some more. Just because he decided that he wasn't going to kill her, didn't mean that she needed to know that.

"Why don't you want to marry me?"

She snorted. It was a question she could very easily have asked him, though Octavia believed she had made her objections to the match much louder than he had made his.

"I don't like being told what to do," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "I don't like people telling me how to run my business, I don't like people telling me how to conduct my affairs, and I don't like people telling me who I have to marry."

It was a large part of why she had rebelled so strongly against the iron-fist ruling of her uncle--when she was a child, Edward Borgin had insisted on controlling every aspect of her life that he possibly could. Having always been blessed (or cursed, depending on who you asked) with a spirited complex, Octavia had never taken kindly to his attempts at smothering her, attempts she was now very close to escaping. The man in front of her possessed the same threat, and while it would help her escape the initial one, it was a false freedom. She was well aware of that, so she would play Rabastan's game, to make her point.

"For you see, you wouldn't enjoy being married to me at all. I am not, nor will I ever, be the perfect trophy wife, and I make no pretenses of catering to that image. I will not stop managing my place of business, and I will not change my manner of living to suit you in the slightest. I am an independent, Mr Lestrange, and I intend to stay that way."

She really didn't know who she was getting involved with, or attempting to avoid, actually. Rabastan didn't hide his amusement at her supposed 'threats' or whatever it was she meant to do with describing her tendencies. Rabastan had never been one to attract toward docile woman, not in the least. He couldn't think of the last time he'd been with a woman, even for one night, that had been anything but a...well, bitch.

When you had Juliana Travers and Prisca Pucey on your resume, you really couldn't avoid such language.

She didn't like being controlled? Well, he could fix that quite easily, and it would settle most of their problems. Well--no, it would probably cause her more problems than it caused him, because he knew that he could honestly take care of Octavia if he really felt like it, but there really was a simple solution to all of this. It would keep people from giving them any sort of trouble, and---no, there really weren't many positives. Life was over when you were married, he was told, he knew.

"I wouldn't make you quit your business," he said cooly, taking a step forward to examine a box of utensils, things that he had no idea what they could possibly be used for. Rabastan picked one up, twisting and turning it in his hand and between his fingers before looking over to Octavia again. "I wouldn't make you change anything but your last name."

Octavia had secretly been hoping for a fight over her continuing to work--anything that prevented her from having to agree or get along with this man. But now that he had swiftly yanked that from her line of arguments, she was forced to change tactics. Of course, she didn't truly believe that she wouldn't have to change anything-- headstrong as she was, Octavia had spent her whole life hearing how all she needed was a strong man to beat it out of her. Oh, the man standing in front of her would do the job well enough, but would that she would marry Kirby Catchlove before she ever allowed herself to be so submissive. And, cocky as Rabastan may be, she would be more than an annoyance to deal with it, and the sooner he found that out, the better.

"All right, then," she said, her tone considering, "work for it."

As if he was going to do any more than he already had. Didn't she know how lucky she was, that she was still breathing? By some stroke of ridiculously dumb luck, sending Rabastan's mind on a mental tangent that showed him the benefits of the match, Octavia was still alive and well to be her annoying self. Well. He was absolutely not going to put forth anymore effort tonight, as he was slightly disappointed at missing the rush of the kill. What could he say. There had to be some fun gained from it, or else he wouldn't do it so often.

Maybe he would owl Grayson when he got home. No need to let the feeling go to complete waste.

Rabastan pushed his hand into his pocket and his fingers grasped around the ring box his mother had provided him with. He'd taken a look, which had nearly made him go blind with rage against his mother, but he supposed that women were sensitive when it came to jewelry, and that this ring could maybe appease Octavia for the moment. All he needed from her was to walk down the aisle, and then she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Except sleep with other men, because then he'd really have to kill her.

He tossed the box over to her, not caring to notice if she'd caught it or not. "I'll send you an owl inviting you to dinner with the family," he said, barely over his shoulder as he turned to leave. Yes, he could actually see himself dealing with this. Absolutely ridiculous, but he could.

Her hands reached out to grab the box automatically, quickly taking in its size and dimensions and--oh yes!-- the entire reason the asshat of a man had come down here in the first place! Well, she simply wouldn't give him the satisfaction of opening it in front of him. In fact, Octavia's expression was one of downright boredom and contempt. "Fine," she said in an annoyed tone. "Dinner with the family it is."

If Rabastan was counting on access to her womb, he'd better put a bit more effort into this. She opened the box just a smidge, and promptly closed it with disgust. Of course he picked out nice jewelry, of course he did.

Stupid man.