Descole's Office (The Ministry of Magic, London- Creature control/Auror area )

Descole's offfice is a large area, almost like the Slytherin Common room. He both works and lives there.

In the first room, There's a large fireplace, with his favourite chair facing it and other sofas scattered around it. There's all sorts of mechanical things that he's spent time on laying around, as well as historical artefacts and all sorts of art and woodwork tables and things of the like.

The next room he keeps locked all the time, and is his bedroom. Though no one really knows what it looks like, it's assumed it looks much like the first room.

The last is his actual office, placed right across from the entrance.
It's similar to the first two rooms, only without a fireplace. It has a large desk and chair that he works at. It has all sorts of muggle trinkets and mechanical things, as well as his paperwork and hit-list.

He has a special journal (lol what a wimpy gurl) hidden in his room, which he writes down nearly everything in.
The first room is open to everyone, with the second always locked both magically and in the muggle fasion, and the third is locked when he is not working.


(( Anyone can play an extra, weather it be some of his 'henchmen' who work with him, or if it's other Ministry folk who might be his friends/enemies. Just really a place to goof off and interact with others or Descole himself as your character, or not as your character. Enjoy~ ))

The fire crackled gently, the glowing heat satisfying and rejuvenating.

Jean Descole sipped his cup of tea and looked through his book as it nothing had happened to him today.
His cloak was hanging on a coathanger near the entrance, and his belt was placed inside his room, locked safely away.

He crossed his legs, his eyes looking at the words, narrowed from behind his mask, taking another drink of tea.

His injured arm was wrapped in a steaming hot, wet cloth that soaked up the blood and soothed the wound with herbal soaks.
Yes, this was the life.

Jean Descole dipped the cloth in cold water first, cleaning out the blood, then rung out the water and soaked it in a bowl of hot, hot water.

Again, he rolled up his sleeve and wrapped up his arm.

Damned girl, it really did hurt.

Well, no one got off without a hitch.
Another sigh, Descole relaxed and looked into the fire, realizing for the first time how tired he had grown.

Morning. Finally.

Descole exhaled filing through his papers, stamping his special marks on pictures of the death eaters or other creatures that he had caught for the ministry.
On some he just gave his regular mark in black ink- the J.Descole with the slash through it.
On others he put the same mark, only with a small skull, all in red ink.

The regular had been caught.
The others terminated.

The man did this for a while before finally relaxing and taking his time to read the Daily Prophet with a nice cup of hot tea.


(( Again, feel free to come rp here weather as a npc or as your own character to learn about Descole, or just interact with him. I need to develop his character some more, so. c: ))

dead
captured
dead
dead
dead
captured
captured
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
captured
captured...

Descole paused and yawned, already tiring of marking down these papers and files.
But, well.... it needed to be done.

He paused and marked a few more before setting them aside again and picking up his tea, indulging his mind into Cynder's.

Descole gasped slightly, trying not to splash coffee onto his lap as something actually pushed him back, out of Cynder's mind.

His chair rocked back forward, giving him a rough movement forward.


His hands were shaking.

"... w-... what...!?"

-imagines Descole spinning around in an office swivel chair-

(( omg he'd have so much fun it in <333 ))

-insert awesome mental images here- ^_^

Descole's hands slammed onto his desk, open palms down.

He hunched his shoulders, breathing heavy, eyes narrowed under his mask.

"Why...?"
He rasped, shaking his head.

"Why...!?"

He slammed his hand again into the desk, snarling.

And he paused, gathering his thoughts.
And he gave a short chuckle. And then a laugh.
He wasn't finished.
Time to head back.

Descole gathered his things and snapped his belt in place, locking the bedroom door behind him.

There was quick breathing by the entrance and he turned.

A short, bearded ministry man looked with wild eyes to Descole.

"Descole, what happened to my son...?"

A pause, Descole scowled.
"Your son is dead, Reacmond."
His voice was blunt.

Reacmond choked and spoke with hurt.
"But how did he die?!? Our plan was fail-safe! He couldn't have died with our plan!"

"Simple," Descole spoke, "Your son sacrificed himself by drawing the Werewolves near..."

"That wasn't the plan!"

" That was my plan.."

Reacmond stood, shocked, before he let out a howl of rage and ran towards Jean Descole, his wand drawn.

The sword made short work of the man, and left him laying dead on the floor.
Descole sighed and took the man's wand, using a few unforgivable charms on a small spider in the room, ending with the killing curse.
He then used a spell of his own making on the man, giving him a false Dark Mark- a convincing one despite the fact it was a lie.

And he got several other aurors to clean up, and to make sure they got the news that Reacmon had actually been a death eater.

And when others asked about the incident where Descole had to 'defend himself from the madman', none of them questioned if it was real or not.

Another lie taken for truth- another raised payment for the death of a 'death eater'
and no questions or hiccups.

Just another day trying to get out.

Descole had returned to his desk.

Already, the Daily Prophet writers had started to swarm him.
There had been no way to get out.

Instead, he merely locked himself in his office and filed through papers again.


And now he puzzled over what he saw through Cynder.
That boy... had been Crest Strayer. The same boy from years ago, where he had let the other die to distract the enemies...
interesting...

Peace at last.

Descole snuck from his room, taking up his disguise now.
He used a simple charm to change his height and such and slipped the rubber-like mask over his face.

With another simple charm, he looked precisely like the boy he had killed in the forest. A simple first year.

Well, if this was how to get information, this was how.

Exhaustion.
Pure exhaustion.

Descole had not slept that night. He was fuming over what happened at the Hospital wing- granted, it was an old trick... but damn it, that Liria girl just could not keep out of everyone's business!

He rubbed his temples in frustration, the heat of the crackling fire and the steaming rag on his wound pleasing to his body.

He took a sip of the tall glass of wine and exhaled, trying to relax, his mind reeling.
Where was Cynder? And why was that Crest boy there?

It had been... years ago. Simply years.
Surely the silly boy didn't care? After all, he was a Strayer, and Strayers usually knew what was for the best.
Well... that one who's leg was sliced open at the Underground didn't seem to be that way.

Perhaps their bloodline was thinning, growing stupider and stupider.

He wouldn't doubt it.

Another sip of wine, Descole closed his eyes from under his mask and let his shoulders hunch as he leaned his chin on his hand, the soft music echoing from the gramophone in the corner.

would you like anyone?

(( dun care. if you want to, feel free~ ))

The knock on the door triggered the headache that had threatened to surface, and Descole gave a soft groan, again starting to rub his temples.

"Just fine..." He growled back, exhaling, his body tense again.

"If you need anything, come inside..."

The boy shuffled in, holding a flash of soup for the man, placing it delicately on the table in front of him before stepping back.

'Auror Cayden wanted to know of your plans, travel arrangements even.'

Cayden's my uncorrupt auror i use from time to time...

(( oh neat. CC: ))

Descole exhaled and looked at the soup momentarily, but instead took another drink of his glass of wine.

A pause, Descole scowled, "My plans are as always. To simply go to where the Death Eaters or half-breeds or such are, and get rid of them.."

And he didn't mention Cynder, but there was an air that he wasn't tellling everything.

Descole's look darkened and he straightened, crossing his legs and setting his wine-glass down.


"What does it matter to you or Cayden, anyway? It's neither of your business."

Descole snorted slightly, a frustrated look on his face.

"Head Auror or not, whatever else is on my plate is solely between myself and those involved. If she must know, though, I'm also studying the affects of The Elixir of Life, and an ancient hidden kingdom, said to have discovered it long ago."

A pause, Jean Descole seemed to remain calm, though threatening.

"... and what is this soup for, anyway? I don't need anything from anyone else right now, I'm perfectly fine with my own cooking."