The Gaining of Profits in Order to Survive

Ne'Os sat at the meeting table in Malfoy Manor. He had a pile of books in front of him. Some were on rare plants and creatures that could hold a clue to solving the virus that afflicted him and most of the wizardry world. The ones in front of him at the moment though were very recent account records for the Death Eaters. It appeared that no one every kept any sort of record before. Though he did know that the Malfoys handled most of the finances.

At the moment however the Malfoys had vanished. A few of them still existed but not the ones who had the keys to the vaults. He needed to find a new backer, and he needed ideas. He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt. He was disgusted his skin was green, and he knew other people noticed. He drew his wand and placed it on the dark mark. The green skin on his arm was briefly replaced by the tattoo. He knew the others felt the call. He just hoped they would answer his call.

He continued his work with a sigh. He turned to look in his robes that he had hung on the back of his chair. He took out a bottle and took a sip. He could feel his need to cough go down enough to allow him to continue ignoring it. He stared across the table as he waited for people to show up.

-----------OOC--------
I thought it easier to put the setting here instead of in my post. Call it lazy i guess


It is late afternoon and the sun is now setting. the room is more of a gold and there are rays of light as the room is rather smokey. Ne'Os has had the fireplace going as his fever is making him cold.

The dismal outdated decor that the Malfoys had hung onto for far too long had been eliminated. It had been replaced with the traditional elegance that the home deserved. Lorcan had hated that the place had looked like a damned iceberg on the inside. The blatant stark advertisement of evil was gone. Being a Death Eater was not about that. It was about retaining proper British and Wizarding world ideals. It was about beautiful woods, stained glass, timeless and classical antiques, tapestries, crystal--the best of everything. Every room had been redecorated in the finest tradition of a royal castle. It was beautiful. It was everything Lucius had never embraced and Narcissa had never been allowed to do.

He and his family had combed all over Britain to bring in the pieces that should have been in the house all along. Proper house elves, a whole bloody staff of them. Lorcan was pleased. His new lady was upstairs, dressing for the evening, as were some of his children. This needed to be done properly. As for him, he had chosen a charcoal colored Italian suit. He came down the large impressive grand staircase abd went into the meeting room.

Emof was already there. Already at work--but he looked truly miserable with the illness.

"You look like hell, you know," he said dryly. "You look like either you're out of potion, or that you need potions that are a bit stronger."

Ne'Os chuckled at Lorcan's comment "What I would give to be a vampire again. Nothing like living for three centuries young, beautiful, and mostly unable to get sick" he said placing the bottle from his robes infront of him. "Luckily I do have potion I just don't use it unless I am actually planning on interacting with the living."

He looked around the beautiful room It was truly the way any upstanding wizard should live. "I am still impressed by how you have managed to pull this place together. I would have done it myself but my families money was locked away when I was brutally murdered by that phoenix member." He closed the book in front of him "I called the other Death Eaters to discuss our financial issues. I felt they would want to have a say."

"There truly are advantages to being a vampire," Lorcan smiled. "I seemed to have inherited the positives of that, without enough of it to pose large deficits. I don't think I would want to be without it. But I have more potions here if you run out. We do need to keep our leader up and running.

"I am glad you like the decor. I think Lucius must have cowtowed to Voldemort's tastes. I think the Death Eaters deserve a worthy headquarters. Oh, and Narcissa's old sitting room across the hall has been turned into a very fitting office for you. After all, we are the ones who are the keepers of the values and the history that made our world the stuff of legends. As its leader, you deserve a very impressive space to command from. If we are again to be taken seriously, then we surely need to learn to take ourselves seriously before anyone else will. I am just glad I can be of help to you.

"The others are coming? Good. I am looking forward to this," he said.

Remy Devaul was utterly miserable. And she was green.

Those two things were quite obviously related, but still distinct enough to be bothering Remy independent of one another. Ever since this illness had taken over the magical world, the way she survived in this world was becoming less and less feasible. She had been asked not to come back to work at Satan's until she got rid of whatever it was she had (no one thinks the bartender is hot when she had a severe case of verdigris), and she hadn't been able to seduce any men in her current, feverish, cough-a-minute state.

So with no one to foot the bill for a lifestyle she couldn't afford, and most of her usual clientele sick themselves, Remy had been surviving the way she had when she first left home. She stole most of what she needed as far as food and lived in houses of families on vacation or those that had been deserted by their tenants for various reasons. She had no money for the potions that could help to relieve her symptoms, and no magical talent for relieving or masking them herself. Thus, she was full on green.

At the very least, her motorcycle was still running on gas pilfered from the muggles in the nearest village (who knew that muggle physics nonsense would be useful one day?) and she hid the bike in the bushes as usual before approaching and entering Malfoy Manor.

As soon as she was in the door, she realized that things had changed since she was last here. Everything seemed... newer, like someone had taken to redecorating. It didn't seem like Draco's taste - and Remy knew quite a bit about what that man liked - so someone else must have taken control of it. No matter. Other than looking around for small objects she might be able to pocket and sell in Knockturn Alley, Remy wasn't really paying the decorum all that much attention.

When she entered the meeting room, Ne'os was already there, accompanied by a man she knew was Lorcan D'Eath. They had never met formally, but Remy was only as good to the Death Eaters as the information she gathered, so she made it her business to know most people of power in the magical and muggle world. At least until she no longer needed them anymore.

It was summer, so naturally it was hot, and since there was no hiding her illness, Remy was wearing jeans and a white tank top to try to beat the combination of fever and summer humidity. She could see she was underdressed for the occasion, but she was too annoyed to care. She didn't have a chance at seducing either one of these men under the present circumstances, and a low-cut blouse wouldn't have changed that.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one who's in hell," Remy said conversationally, with a empathetic smile for Ne'Os as she gestured at his green skin and took a seat at the lower rungs of the hierarchical table, where she belonged.

It was a well known tidbit that long-haired dogs did not like the summer months and felt better when shaved. This was how the dainty werewolf felt as she strode into Malfoy Manor. She usually combated the summer heat by wearing a serious decrease in clothes, but with a green rash now spreading over her, that would not do. She wore her leggings and cloak as though she knew no other way to dress, however, and tried to keep the flush out of her cheeks and the sweat from collecting.

Naomi was tired of getting nowhere with these Death Eaters. What she wouldn't give to storm into the manor on a full moon, just once, and have her fill and take some prisoners. Until then, she could only fantasize. She entered and took her place among the others, her eyes of steel revealing nothing of her inner workings.

Aaron felt much better than he had been feeling over the past few months, and that was only because of Lorcan and his potions, without Lorcan he would probably be one of the victims at St. Mungos. His cough was still prevalent and his body was still weaker than normal but overall he was feeling much better. He could actually function and interact with other people as opposed to being grumpy and hardly able to talk. So when the call for the next meeting came, Aaron was quick to apparate to the manor, and he did so in usual fashion.

He walked in, casually, in the normal business suit and the slight smirk on his face. He looked around the room to see Neos, Lorcan, Remy, and Naomi. He knew all of them but not all very well. Lorcan he was secretly working with to try and discover a cure for the illness. He was hoping it would not be revealed at the meeting because Aaron did not want the power hungry fools getting in the way. The others he only knew from meetings. Naomi seemed like a firecracker, always acting and never thinking, but she was young. Remy and Neo's he knew even less of.

Aaron took a seat on the other side of Lorcan, but next to Neos, and he smiled at everyone in attendance. "Everyone looks like death." He said with a smirk before turning to Naomi. For some reason he always felt like he had to antagonize her. There was something about her attitude that Aaron found fascinating and he enjoyed enticing her to anger. "And how is the always aggressive wolf?"

Sofie looked up at the manor, checking the little slip of paper. She tucked the paper away and picked up her small briefcase, staring up at the beautiful gates with her large, deep eyes. The blue pools slid through the bars and touched on the stone walls of the manor. It was very different from the sites she had seen, most of which were rather run down and dingy. This place was not exactly well kept, but there was an elegance to it. A small smile graced her lips and she glanced down at her Borzoi pup, Boris, who faithfully looked up at her. "Seems more along the lines of home, doesn't it?" The dog sat, not understanding and she looked back up.

She shifted the weight of the briefcase and nodded to herself, steeling herself. This was the first step on a very long journey. So much of her life had culminated to get her to this moment. One of her long hands alighted onto the rails of the gate and she pushed it open. Boris stood but she turned to him. "Myesto," she softly commanded. The dog's ears pricked at the Russian word and he dutifully trotted inside and sat, intending not to move. She smiled, always proud, and slipped inside, closing the gate behind her. She waited a moment, her hands between her and the gate as she leaned against it. Then she pushed off, as though preparing for a dive, and made her way inside.

She had to follow the faint murmur of voices that echoes in the large halls, else she would have surely been lost. She pushed on a door and entered into what looked like the meeting. She only knew one of the men- Ne'Os. Her father had known him, as leaders of these often do. She recognized him but he had no idea who she was, she was sure. They were mostly silent, but her entrance had interrupted one man, just a bit older than herself she guessed. Whatever he had said had been enough to incite a brooding glare from a girl with crazy blonde curls. The woman was distracted by Sofie's entrance however, and looked up. Sofie felt the uncertain feelings and immediately made to correct them/

"Um," she said softly, before realizing she was not certain how to begin. 'Come, Solnyshko, I raised no mice, but strong lions' she could practically hear her father saying. The thought of her father steeled her and she spoke up. "Mr. Emof. I am the daughter of Gregor Elkin, the leader of the Russian Death Eater force. I am sure you have heard of my father's death. The Russian Death Eaters are all but extinct so I have come here." She pulled her arm up to show the mark she had received before she left Russia, knowing she would need proof. "I hope my presence here is welcome. I intend to join and faithfully serve." She pulled her shoulders back, just slightly. 'Good, Solnyshko, my little sun.'

"If he is not familiar," a familiar female voice behind Lorcan said, from the doorway of the room, "I am. Zdrazveetyet, Ms. Elkin." He turned to see her enter, and he liked the grace in her step and the ice in her heart. Her tall slender form was draped with a long, gunmetal gray maxi dress. it was form fitting and styled as a long sleeved tank style dress. A wide silver belt hung at her hips. He offered her his arm, and she walked over to him and took his offered arm. "I knew Gregor, but it had been some time since I had seen him. He was a brilliant man. My condolensces on your loss. I am Zada Forbes."

Lorcan figured her presence in the Death Eaters might not come as entirely welcome, but frankly he didn't care. Neither did she. He wanted her here. He escorted her to the meeting table to a place at his right and then took his own seat. Lorcan had been looking forward to this. He had missed being a more regular part of this, and he felt the allegiance to the Death Eaters was going to be much better served with Emof in command. It felt good to be around the meeting table again.

He looked at the faces around the room. It did look like he needed to break out the pass-around size bottles of potions to reduce the symptoms of the plague. Some of them looked relatively well, and some of them looked like hell. Lorcan did have bottles of potions that reduced the symptoms but had not been effective in his own research in finding a cure. That still eluded him. He cast a slight glance at Emof. If Emof wanted potions brought, he would send the house elves for them.

Alistair knew very well how these sort of functions went and as a rule they never went particularly smoothly; someone always had something to say. They’d all turned out, laboured though the effort was. It was then that Alistair realised how far the Death Eaters had fallen, how little of the believers still remained. Could anyone be recruited now? It seemed desperately unlikely. Alistair was well aware of how uppity the Death Eaters had a tendency of being and so he found himself leaning against one of the support beams that held the now intricately decorated ceiling, his wand flicking idly about, adding to the light to the room and making sure the Death Eaters were well aware of who they would have to contest with should they disapprove of his father’s business venture. Alistair was not naive – he knew he was not taken particularly seriously by the Death Eaters – but he was confident that he still posed a threat, and a big one at that.

Zada, naturally, waltzed in at an appropriate and suitably dramatic time. Alistair smirked a little and shook his head before flicking his wand in the direction of an oil burner that promptly burst into flame. His eyes had been momentarily distracted from the room by the newest of entrants. No, not Zada, he knew her terribly well, but the little mouse of a girl that was... Russian, apparently. That was just what they needed. The amount of Oestrogen in the room was on the up every time the Death Eaters met, it seemed, Alistair knew it made some of the lower ranking Death Eaters uneasy just as it did him – though for completely opposing regions.

Maintaining his role as an informal force or body guard, Alistair said nothing, merely eyed Zada and the rest of the room lazily as he twisted his wand in his fingers.