[courtney amyca caraway]

AND I'M THE ONE YOU CAN NEVER TRUST

cause words are ways to reveal us

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[atrb=width,100] words; 769 words muse; FeigiDei is my muse for today! =) tags; Damien! open! comments; Teh is my homie slice...lover boy...road doggie...cheese skilet! outfit lyrics; Breakdown by Seether

[atrb=width,240] Heels clicked on the linoleum floors of the Ministry building as Courtney Caraway made her way in to start her shift. We really need a more sophisticated way of getting to work. She thought as she chafed at the idea of coming in and out through a toilet again. Especially now that security was out of control. She recognized that the joke here was that the Ministry was a piece of shit, but no one wanted their privates analyzed so thoroughly. Everyone was screened coming in when they deposited their tokens and then coming out at headquarters. There were more checkpoints heading to the individual offices and you were subject to random, individual scrutiny at any time. Whatever it took to find the last remaining Death Eaters or individuals under the influence of the Imperius Curse, as Shacklebolt declared. But it was all to no avail. The Death Eaters were regrouping. They weren't defeated, not by a long shot. As long as she had breath in her body, Courtney would make sure the Caraway name was something to be feared and hated by all these Muggle loving ingrates. Many were inferior to her by their very nature and blood, but the rest she loathed more for supporting the riff raff. They were less than her by not acknowledging their greatness and accepting their call to right the balance of the world. The strong survived and the weak lived out their days in torture and suspense trying to maintain their insignificant existence. As was such in nature. Anyone who said differently needed to have their neurons reprogrammed. Finally making it to her desk, Courtney narrowly avoided being hit in the head by a flying note or message to some other department before being called out by one of her superiors. With a sigh of resignation, Courtney counted to five, because she knew he wouldn't give her the luxury of ten, and told herself one day she'd be able to Avada Kedavra his ass right into the crypt next to his departed wife. Turning with a slow, burning smile, Courtney answered. "Yes boss! What can I do for you?" His lingering expression spoke volumes and she recoiled inside at the thought of touching such a disgusting Muggle-born creature. And the sound of her mother's last name instead of her proper one grated on her ears. But she had to keep her cover identity. Besides, it's not as if he could handle her type of fun anyway. Properly done, none of her partners ever did. "Don't yes boss me Newheart! Where are my reports?" Killing him really was a bad idea and if she told herself that enough, it would be true. But luckily for all of them, Courtney was a realist and a strategist. When she developed a plan of action, she stuck with it. Rarely, if ever, was she wrong, and rarely, if never, did she change her strategy. So, she stuck to the plan. "On its way. Just waiting for confirmation on a missing man's death certificate from the records department and then it's all yours." Her cheery smile and vivacious tone seemed enough to cow his concerns for now. With a nod, he was gone and she had the luxury to silently bury him in a multitude of horrendous, loud and messy ways. By the time she got to version number six, she was her usual calm, cool and collected self. Normally, it took more to rile her up, but she'd spent the weekend covering for some fellow Death Eaters who'd picked the wrong time to torture a Muggle. The Dark Lord was gone and things had be to be covert once again. Didn't her brethren all realize that? Covering their tracks and redirecting the Ministry's efforts had been time consuming and painstaking. That was the report she as doctoring for that Muggle-born idiot now. Plus, she hadn't had her coffee or Sunday crossword yet. She'd saved it from yesterday because she knew today would be a bad one. Picking up her mug, the world seemed to begin to realign itself in the right direction, but looking around her desk, Courtney realized the puzzle was gone. Breathing in deeply and holding back from grabbing her wand, Courtney said slowly and with ice in her voice, "Okay guys. Very funny. But where is my Sunday crossword?" She knew an answer would come soon. People liked to laugh and joke with her and a couple even flirted. But no one. Absolutely no one. Save one idiot. EVER messed with the Sunday crossword. It was a sure death sentence.

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY MERCY OF WONDERLAND

[alexander]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; height: 400px; opacity: .9; background-image: url(http://i528.photobucket.com/albums/dd328/Zafrina_HL/sddds.png); border-top: solid 3px #1b1b1b; border-bottom: solid 3px #1b1b1b; border-left: solid 3px #1b1b1b; border-right: solid 3px #1b1b1b; filter: alpha(opacity= 100); -moz-opacity: .50; opacity: .50;,true] [style=font-size: 17px; text-transform: uppercase; ]Labeled malcontent, by bastards of decent, excuse this place I stand, words are to elude you [/style] Bored senseless as he whisked through the file's pages - Damien searched for evidence. Times had changed. After Lord Voldemort's takeover of the ministry even he, a first rate skeptic, had believed victory within reach and had taken liberties he should not have taken. The Second Wizarding War ended in a crushing defeat, with the Death Eaters now little more than a shattered organization - a quivering voice in the dark. Damien had kept his wife oblivious to it all, knowing fully well that Maddeline would not come to approve of his actions - not now, at least. Not at this point in her life. He would be better equipped to deal with the hardship of Azkaban, than he would be able to handle an empty house. During the war he had made sure that his lovely hufflepuff remained at home, fearing that she might end up on the wrong side or worse - killed wounded or otherwise hurt. He was cautious with regard to his life at home, and would much rather jump in front of a freight train than risk the loss of his wife. His desk was sparkling clean, as he preferred it. Damien was known to favor a tidy workplace, and had always had severe issues with anything dirty or out of place. Lucky, he could keep it under control and they often joked about it. The world was under scrutiny and even the aurors themselves could not escape the watchful eye of their comrades amongst the department - yet they managed. It was little more than pointing fingers and calling names, for the Death Eaters had left little records, or witnesses for that matter, of their acts. Many were put under the imperius curse and those who seemed full of treacherous intentions were quickly removed from their post - the official line had been that they had 'resigned', of course. It had been a fun time, at least, to him. One could better be careful, though. The office had since apprehended many of his former colleagues and comrades within the organization and the Ministry - yet he had managed to keep some of them out of prison. Eyeing their boss as he chastised his favored coworker - he too was repulsed by the mere fact they were now under supervision of a man born to muggles. A travesty to all he held dear. What inspired love for such a creature, doomed to walk between two worlds. Muggle-born wizards were to be pitied, more so to be eradicated. Animals they were and animals belonged in a zoo, or in a stew. The sunday paper was most boring of them all, containing within little of value. Yet - Courtney seemed to thoroughly enjoy her sunday crossword, of course such an opportunity was too good to pass up and they had made a habit out of making it disappear. "I am afraid that I must inform you that we ran out of toilet paper." Damien retorted with a slightly smirk while he straightened his tie - as if strapping in for the storm surely to come. [style= text-align: justify; font: normal times 10px; line-height: 12px; padding-top: 20px; padding-right: 5px; padding-left: 5px;]Hey there! So here's 519 words for Courtney. The Lyrics in this template are from Enemy by Drowning Pool. The only other thing I have to say is I am still getting into teh charrie. This template was made by Mercy of Wonderland. [/style]

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[courtney amyca caraway]

AND I'M THE ONE YOU CAN NEVER TRUST

cause words are ways to reveal us

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[atrb=width,100] words; 670 words muse; is simmering with hate and discontent over the crossword and requires a sandwich as penance! tags; Damien! open! comments; Teh is an EVIL INGRATE who deserves a most painful and gruesome DEATH by no less than beheading AFTER being drawn and quartered for messing with the SUNDAY CROSSWORD! outfit lyrics; Breakdown by Seether

[atrb=width,240] This was the one thing about being a female in a male dominated society. It didn't matter if you were 'good' or supposedly 'evil' if you were 'right' or 'wrong' and if you were a 'teacher', 'auror', or 'death eater'. This was something that men understood and women just dealt with. But in any job that required combat like law enforcement, military, espionage or covert take-overs, dominance and rank had to be established. Courtney and secured a comfortable spot in this office. She wasn't the bottom of the barrel, but she wasn't at the position where she had to to constantly fight to keep her place either. She didn't have time for office politics when she was helping to keep Death Eaters out of prison and Ministry Officials from coming home to their families at night while not implicating herself, her mother, and fellow operatives. But every now and then you had to stake your claim and fight for it too. Now was one of those times. The Sunday crossword was her personal weekly sanctuary. It was part of her religion and it was as necessary to her as eating. It helped to keep her sane and served everyone's best interests when she was happily engrossed in his mentally stimulating beauty. So, a point had to be made here today. An example had to be shown. She couldn't let this go on much longer and keep from blowing her cover by the jinxing the entire office to catch on fire when everyone was present. So. She said nothing to this pronouncement that her beloved source of calm and relaxation and stability had supposedly been reduced to a level of worth synonymous with a tool for refuse. Courtney simply looked blankly in Damien's direction. He was a handsome blond with dark eyes that could only see his Hufflepuff wife and the children he hoped to one day spawn with her. Courtney despised children. They merely served an evolutionary purpose and were the means by the which the Earth had chosen to repopulate itself over the aeons. It didn't mean she had to agree. Children tended to dislike her and the feeling was mutual. Damien would make a good father though. If she allowed him to live that long. And if he continued to mess with her Sunday paper then surely they were not a reasonable expectation in his future. Standing up, Courtney made her way over slowly to his desk. Men pushed each other to get out of her way and most of the office silently watched to see what would happen. Leaning over Damien's desk, Courtney took the opportunity finally get her silent count to ten as she looked straight into his eyes. "What exactly did you say happened to my Sunday crossword?" Each word was clear, concise and to the point. Only the sharp edge to her voice belayed exactly how pissed off she really was. And just as he was answering or about to answer, Courtney picked up the large siphon of coffee on the desk and upturned it on his head. She was so sad to realize it was no longer scalding. It wasn't even hot. And just as she sat back down, she lifted her hand grabbed a memo that was whizzing by towards her desk. Shaking it in his face with a smile she said, "Oh lookie. Here is the death certificate." Her emphasis on the last two words made her meaning clear and she turned swiftly on her heels and made her way back to the desk ignoring Damien like nothing had happened. She went back to work humming a little ditty and looked up at the collective silencing noting the people who had hidden smiles or soft snickers at their desks. Some were openly smiling in the corners. Well. At least I know my place and rank in the pack is secure for at least another day. She thought to herself as she finished her reports to deliver to the Muggle-born.

THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY MERCY OF WONDERLAND

[alexander]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; height: 400px; opacity: .9; background-image: url(http://i528.photobucket.com/albums/dd328/Zafrina_HL/sddds.png); border-top: solid 3px #1b1b1b; border-bottom: solid 3px #1b1b1b; border-left: solid 3px #1b1b1b; border-right: solid 3px #1b1b1b; filter: alpha(opacity= 100); -moz-opacity: .50; opacity: .50;,true] [style=font-size: 17px; text-transform: uppercase; ]Labeled malcontent, by bastards of decent, excuse this place I stand, words are to elude you [/style] Smiling widely as the woman seemed to go mad with anger. He had known her long enough to know that she was merely counting to ten. "I thought the gist would have been quite clear the first time around?" Damien jeered gleefully, yet with a face that seemed as if made of steel. Baiting his coworkers' anger was a hobby even his closest friends were sometimes subjected to - for they always did bite. It seemed most of humanity could not appreciate his humor. One had to face it - only his wife was ever safe from his sadistic sense of humor. "I wiped my bottom with it." The younger Byrne remarked gently and with an even wider smile, putting a sharp emphasis on the word 'bottom'. "You understand what I'm saying, Amy?" He questioned, rubbing in his minor victory by the use of his nickname for her. "I took it into the bathroom, which was terribly lacking in toilet paper really, and I then used it for purposes I do not see fit to share with the office in full." Damien stated - rubbing it in sadistically. Office work bored him, it displeased him and thus he had to play pranks to kill the time he would otherwise have to spend working. "Would you like it back?" He offered - his icy blue eyes meeting hers as he smirked - knowing all too well Courtney was about to get very angry, or cold-war-calm. "I must warn you, though." Damien added quickly, but gently. "It might just smell terrible!" Cheerfully he continued stamping the papers that had been on his desk for hours, his prank having been played. Now would come the aftermath, his peer's very revenge. Or well, truly the humiliation suffered could not be avenged quickly. It would require meticulous planning to prank a prankster in its optima forma. "How exceptionally mature of you!" He remarked in a sarcastic manner as he wiped the coffee from his face. "It's a very good thing I never drink hot coffee, don't you think? You ma'am, should've known this." Damien noted, quite unhampered by her silly revenge. It really did not do it justice - the subject they all seemed to be dealing with. Taking an orange from the fruits he had taken along for lunch he aimed for Courtney's head, and then pelted it at her with top speed. He had always been an excellent beater. [style= text-align: justify; font: normal times 10px; line-height: 12px; padding-top: 20px; padding-right: 5px; padding-left: 5px;]Hey there! So here's 406 words for Courtney. The Lyrics in this template are from Enemy by Drowning Pool. The only other thing I have to say is I am still getting into the charrie. This template was made by Mercy of Wonderland. [/style]

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