Morbid tendencies (Alice).

[sirius black]

It was weird, how much Sirius enjoyed spending time at the cemetery. Creepy, actually. It would be the type of announcement that would cause everyone around him to give him that 'I'd-never-want-to-encounter-you-in-a-dark-alley' look his family was prone to receiving, and they'd back away slowly, hoping to never run into him again. Cemeteries were supposed to be a place of mourning, a sorrowful place to grieve and think upon the dead without anyone judging you for it, not somewhere one would willingly spend their days.

Most people just assumed he had someone to grieve for. A close friend, maybe, or a family member. One of the kids who died during the infamous fire at the Cosmo bar, maybe. But, truth be told, Sirius didn't know death. He'd been told a few times in his life, of course, that one random relative or another had passed away in their sleep, or in a terrible accident (one he was sure was brought upon themselves, of course). It slid over his head during breakfast in the morning, as though a random newscast about various strangers. 'Your great-uncle Romulus passed away last night in a duel.' It was spoken as though he knew appreciated the members of his family, or even knew them personally, but Sirius always continued on with his breakfast as though the news hadn't been spoken.

Maybe that was why he often visited the cemetery in his free time. He didn't bring anything with him; he just sat himself in front of a grave, different every day, and stared at the gravestones, deep in thought. Maybe it was because he didn't understand death, thought of it as impossible or deserved. He created different scenarios for each death, different deeds they'd done wrong that had ultimately brought upon their demise. They were all evil people, rude and uncaring, pureblood elitists like his parents. In his eyes, they'd all deserved their deaths.

But that didn't explain why the teenagers in the Cosmo Bar fire had burned. He'd known a couple of them vaguely; hell, he'd been in the bar, underage at the time, the very day it had fallen, though hours earlier. They had been like him: careless and free, with no mind for the future, death the furthest thing from their minds as they sought a good time. What had they done wrong? And, perhaps more importantly, did that mean he deserved to die as well?

Sirius wasn't known for deep thinking, but his thoughts always led to the same place; today was no exception. He was seated, legs sprawled on either side of the grave marker, dirt clinging to his loose jeans, clouds hiding the sun from view. His eyes were narrowed in concentration-- or, to the random passerby, in an attempt to fight back tears, as it undoubtably seemed-- as they passed over the name of the randomly-chosen grave today. Marianne McDougal. The name struck a chord, though he couldn't place a face to it, so he began devising a random death for her. What would it be today...?

It was official; Sirius Black should've been sorted into Slytherin, just for his morbid tendencies.

[alice logan]

Alice was well-acquainted with death. Or, rather, with loss. She'd lost her childhood, at her mother's hand. Just the thought of the woman made Alice grimace; by the time she was five years old, Sarra Wrightwood-Logan already had her sitting ramrod-straight in her chairs and crossing her feet at the ankles when she sat. By the age of seven, Alice had finally gotten it through her head that her mother wasn't the affectionate type, nor was she the type that smiled and laughed. Her mother simply stared, and if Alice pleased her, she nodded in acknowledgment. She had learned that she was supposed to act a certain way at home, and an entirely different way in public, though there wasn't much difference in the two in her opinion, just in the way her mother worded them.

With her mother distant and cold, Alice had turned to her father for comfort and for the paternal figure she needed. He wasn't always there, seeing as he had a job with the Ministry and was often gone for most of the day, but he took the time to play with her and make sure she went to sleep with a story floating around in her mind. He taught her of the magic she would one day be able to access herself, with proper teaching. And she'd been amazed by all of it. What had her confused, though, was why her parents were so drastically different. Her father made her smile and laugh, and brought her things home when he went away on business. Her mother all but ignored her unless she did something to displease the woman. She had learned, eventually, not to think too much into it. The matter only upset her in the end.

Currently, Alice found herself in the cemetery. She didn't visit often, and when she did it was only for one person. Her father's sister, her favorite aunt. Cathryn Filicitae Logan-Rothwell had died due to a potion backfiring. Instead of curing the bout of flu she'd contracted, it had worsened it, something having happened during the making of it. Alice had been thirteen, old enough to know what was going on and not ready to deal with it. She'd loved the woman, as she was the closest thing to a mother or a sister that she had, and the loss had taken a part of her with it. She had gotten over it, of course, but she still missed the woman greatly.

As she stood in front of the grave, tears didn't come. They hadn't for some time, even when she'd found out that she was pregnant. She was scared, yes. Who could even think of bringing a child into the world with a war going on? But she couldn't get rid of the child. She couldn't take an innocent life just because she was afraid. She'd be just as bad as all of those sodding Death Eaters if she even thought of that. Subconsciously, Alice put a hand to her abdomen, the most tell-tale sign of pregnancy not yet showing there, biting her bottom lip lightly before moving the hand and pulling her coat more closely to her. She'd never been a warm person; she was always cold, except when she was nervous or anxious. Then, she was freezing. Now, she was simply chilled, thinking of her deceased aunt, and of the child growing inside her. It didn't even have a name yet, nor did she know if it would be a boy or a girl. She figured that she would like a boy best, as they didn't have as many of the problems that pure-blooded daughters did when growing up. She didn't think pure-blooded because she was an elitist; Alice was far from it. But Frank was pure-blooded as well, so the child would be.

She almost laughed, remembering with disgust that she was 'promised' to another. Her mother's doing, obviously; her father didn't want her to be unhappy, to be stuck in a loveless marriage as he was. He still hadn't answered her as to if she was to be made to go through with the betrothal she'd been forced into or not. She'd been anxious about it for all of two weeks, waiting for a response but not getting her hopes up. It wouldn't be easy for him to pull her from it, and her mother would be furious. Alice shoved her thoughts of this away, not liking the direction they were moving in, away from a future with Frank toward some dim and unhappy existence with another man. It made her heart thud painfully, just bringing the notion into her mind, and it left a bad feeling with her, just as thinking of Margot did.

Alice stepped back from the grave, blue eyes still on the marker as she turned, before moving to follow the direction change. As they did, they caught sight of a familiar figure by another grave, and Alice smiled faintly at the sight of her cousin. The relation was distant, but Sirius was one of the few of her still-living relatives that she could stand. He wasn't like the others, power-hungry and ruthless. He had a soul, and his eyes weren't constantly cold and condescending. She stepped towards him lightly, almost making no sound on the ground, and she was still smiling slightly as she reached him. She knew how much time he spent here, just from hearing other people talk of it. She didn't realize what was so bad about it; it was quiet, a place to get away, no matter if you had a purpose or not.

"Hello, Sirius. Visiting again?" Her voice was quiet, as not to startle him, though he was staring so intently she wouldn't have been surprised if he did jump a little.

[sirius black]

Okay, first things first: what had Miss-- he checked the name on the tombstone, just to be sure-- Marianna McDougal done to deserve her death? Sirius thought it over briefly. What if she was a murderer, and had killed a member of his family? He immediately shook his head at the thought; if she killed a member of his family, she'd be deemed a hero, and thus likely still alive. She had to have done something terrible... he thought for a few more minutes, then decided she was a Death Eater, a murderer of the innocent people in England. What could be a worse crime? Yes, the woman beneath the Earth he was currently sitting on had killed muggles for sport, and so deserved her fate.

But what was her fate? It was another thing Sirius could make up, and often times he spent more than a few minutes sitting down, thinking up creative deaths that fit the crimes they'd committed. He'd decided the woman was a Death Eater, so she deserved the worst death he could think up. Avada Kedavra was too easy; one flash of light, and you'd fall to the ground, not even realizing what had happened, more than likely. Crucio was an option, to feel some of the pain she'd dealt out, but that didn't seem enough... A few more moments, and the lightbulb went off in his head, a grin sliding cleanly onto Sirius' face. She would be body-bound and tossed into a crate of hundreds of Blast-Ended Screwts.

That had to be the worst way to go, Sirius decided as he stretched his arms over his head, pleased with his day's work and feeling a certain resentment toward the made-up personality of Marianne McDougal. Burned and eaten alive, with no way of defending yourself? Terrible. He shook his head, as though disappointed with the deeds the mystery woman had committed, and was just about to stand when a voice cut through his thoughts, making him start.

"Hello, Sirius. Visiting again?" Who was talking to him? He immediately ruled out any Slytherin, for he was never addressed as 'Sirius', and their voices would be far from quiet. That didn't give him much comfort, however; he'd been avoiding both James and Lily for ages now, and if one of them had cornered him, he had nothing to get himself out of a conversation. Slytherins he could deal with; he'd had to for all his life, after all. The overwhelming sense of guilt he felt whenever he was in the presence of his best mate and his exgirlfriend, however...

But the voice sounded distinctly female, and fairly upbeat, so that ruled out the Marauders, James in particular; he was, after all, a male (to Sirius' best knowledge, of course) and his voice had been far from upbeat since the devastating breakup between two of Hogwarts U's most revered Gryffindors. So, it was down to Lily or one of the various other females he encountered on a day to day basis. His face strained, he turned slowly, chanting 'Please not Evans, please not Evans...' internally (though he could have been whispering the words; he wasn't sure), and came face to face, not with the redhead, but one of his many extended cousins, Alice Logan.

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Sure, she was one of Lily's close friends, but she wasn't the girl herself, and Sirius could deal with that. The smile worked its way back onto his face, eyes bright as he stood and proceeded to brush the dirt off the backside of his jeans. He didn't acknowledge her greeting, however, except for the grin directed her way, nor her question. Of course he was visiting again; the somewhat strange habit of his was well-known by the Gryffindor house, as he tended to be the topic of conversation on slow news days. In fact, he was fairly sure quite a few of the members of other Houses thought he was personally responsible for someone's death. He was a Black, after all.

Instead, he blurted out his thoughts, which was his general greeting to friendly faces. "Getting eaten by a horde of Blast-Ended Screwts... that'd have to be the worst way to go, eh?" he pointed out, stretching once more, oblivious to the fact that she wouldn't have a clue as to what he was talking about. No matter; she didn't need to know his train of thought in order to agree with him, and he was sure she was going to agree.