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( Owl to Neph )
February 28th, 2008
Who: Seamus Finnigan and OPEN
What: Rambling thoughts and interaction? This is pretty open, so anything can happen/is welcome.
When: Thursday, February 28, 2005, evening
Where: Diagon Alley
Rating: PG, maybe? Ish?
Status: OPEN, incomplete.
Paychecks, Seamus reflected, tucking the envelope he'd received his in, Are lovely, beautiful things. He enjoyed his work. Took it seriously, which was more than he could say for a lot of things. Steady hands, no real nerves - the people he worked with could take a bang as well as a whisper - either way, when you got right down to it, the world was ending. Scarves, he thought, looking down at the one he was wearing, Are really fecking annoying.
His mam'd made it for him and it looked alright, he guessed, but the ends were kind of floppy and half the time it hung down about his knees because he wasn't really one to go in for that looping around and under and over and up over your forehead thing that so many people seemed to be doing now. Not to mention, Dean'd give him a load of shite the size of France if he did, so it just sort of existed around his neck and he thought it might be a bit too thin.
Pausing on the corner, a few blocks from Knockturn and the road with no name that he'd have to take back to his flat, rubbed at the back of his neck beneath the knitted fabric and frowned. Manginas aside, the past few days had been nothing but trouble so far as he was concerned. Least I've got my bleeding shoulders, he thought rubbing at the left one almost as though he was making sure he actually did still have it.
Seamus' definition of 'trouble,' though, was fairly different from everyone else's. At least that was what he'd been told in the past. Most people said trouble meant something bad. For Seamus, it was something boring. There were only so many inner-office memos you could send before people started twatting you over the back of the head for being obnoxious and Dean didn't even have anything he'd forgotten, so there was nothing he could remind his best friend about. And he'd been sorely lacking in the snogging department, too.
"Now that," he said, taking a step forward and not really looking at where he was going, "That is a tragedy."
What: Rambling thoughts and interaction? This is pretty open, so anything can happen/is welcome.
When: Thursday, February 28, 2005, evening
Where: Diagon Alley
Rating: PG, maybe? Ish?
Status: OPEN, incomplete.
Paychecks, Seamus reflected, tucking the envelope he'd received his in, Are lovely, beautiful things. He enjoyed his work. Took it seriously, which was more than he could say for a lot of things. Steady hands, no real nerves - the people he worked with could take a bang as well as a whisper - either way, when you got right down to it, the world was ending. Scarves, he thought, looking down at the one he was wearing, Are really fecking annoying.
His mam'd made it for him and it looked alright, he guessed, but the ends were kind of floppy and half the time it hung down about his knees because he wasn't really one to go in for that looping around and under and over and up over your forehead thing that so many people seemed to be doing now. Not to mention, Dean'd give him a load of shite the size of France if he did, so it just sort of existed around his neck and he thought it might be a bit too thin.
Pausing on the corner, a few blocks from Knockturn and the road with no name that he'd have to take back to his flat, rubbed at the back of his neck beneath the knitted fabric and frowned. Manginas aside, the past few days had been nothing but trouble so far as he was concerned. Least I've got my bleeding shoulders, he thought rubbing at the left one almost as though he was making sure he actually did still have it.
Seamus' definition of 'trouble,' though, was fairly different from everyone else's. At least that was what he'd been told in the past. Most people said trouble meant something bad. For Seamus, it was something boring. There were only so many inner-office memos you could send before people started twatting you over the back of the head for being obnoxious and Dean didn't even have anything he'd forgotten, so there was nothing he could remind his best friend about. And he'd been sorely lacking in the snogging department, too.
"Now that," he said, taking a step forward and not really looking at where he was going, "That is a tragedy."
February 27th, 2008
Who: Seren Fawcett & Jude Alderton
What: Poking, prodding, the usual
Where: Department of Mysteries, Love Division
When: Earl afternoon, Wednesday, 27th February, 2005
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Complete
Seren was pouting. Not only was she pouting but she was mildly whining. Dwyre was trying to act all superior, as if she wasn't just as confused if not more so. She and Seren weren't that far off in age which was rare in a single division and it meant Dwyre was always trying to prove she was better than Seren at the job. It was really annoying because Seren had not only been at it longer but she'd spent the beginning of her career in Romania. Dealing with death in Romania was not like dealing with it in Britain. It clung to everything there, the energy of it vibrating. Dwyre always assumed Seren was lying. Stupid bint. "This is pointless!" Seren announced loud enough that Dwyre jumped and nearly fell off her chair. The redhead gathered up a few bits of parchment and turned on her heel.
"You're just going to abandon me?" Her colleague's voice was shrill and high with panic. Serves her right.
"No, I'm going to find someone else that might make sense of it. What would I do, just go out for an extended lunch and never come back?" The sarcasm was still faintly echoing in the air between them when Seren headed for the door, suddenly reminded that she hadn't eaten in two days. Once she entered the main hub chamber with its spinning doors, though, all thoughts of food had already vanished.
The Love division was distracting. There were always hearts floating about, actual hearts, and Seren always wanted to pluck one out of the air and dissect it. She'd never been able to dissect a human heart before. It was like waving sweets in front of a child, really, and it wasn't fair at all. With a slight pout on her face she went in search of the person she'd come for. He may not prove to necessarily be the most useful of all the people in the division, but the truth of it was most of the people who worked in Love were women who even Seren found creepy. She didn't generally get on famously with women anyway, never mind old, haggard women experimenting on people's loved ones. At least Seren experimented on a single person, never pairs or groups.
Finding her desired bloke at his desk, Seren made a beeline for him. "Hey Jude, love," she greeted with a bright smile before dropping one of the pieces of parchment on his desk in front of him. "You've any experience reading a soul map from your department's perspective?" If he told her she had to go talk to his head she would wither away and send Iollan to deal with her when he was done trying to shove that damn soul back in its body.
The map looked just like a silhouette of a person, a mere outline, but various parts of the body were coloured in different colours and some of the spots had patterns. The colours and designs shifted and seemed to vibrate on the paper. A large portion of the chest and part of the head kept shifting back and forth between a fuzzy purple, a zig zagged grey and a hazy blue. While the rest of the map kept fairly consistent, those two areas were blinking in and out rapidly. Death hadn't been able to figure out why because the human heart wasn't really their domain in anything more than a physiological or anatomical way. "I've been staring at that thing for hours and I can't figure out why it's all wonky. And it was like that before we ripped his soul out, so that's not it."
What: Poking, prodding, the usual
Where: Department of Mysteries, Love Division
When: Earl afternoon, Wednesday, 27th February, 2005
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Complete
Seren was pouting. Not only was she pouting but she was mildly whining. Dwyre was trying to act all superior, as if she wasn't just as confused if not more so. She and Seren weren't that far off in age which was rare in a single division and it meant Dwyre was always trying to prove she was better than Seren at the job. It was really annoying because Seren had not only been at it longer but she'd spent the beginning of her career in Romania. Dealing with death in Romania was not like dealing with it in Britain. It clung to everything there, the energy of it vibrating. Dwyre always assumed Seren was lying. Stupid bint. "This is pointless!" Seren announced loud enough that Dwyre jumped and nearly fell off her chair. The redhead gathered up a few bits of parchment and turned on her heel.
"You're just going to abandon me?" Her colleague's voice was shrill and high with panic. Serves her right.
"No, I'm going to find someone else that might make sense of it. What would I do, just go out for an extended lunch and never come back?" The sarcasm was still faintly echoing in the air between them when Seren headed for the door, suddenly reminded that she hadn't eaten in two days. Once she entered the main hub chamber with its spinning doors, though, all thoughts of food had already vanished.
The Love division was distracting. There were always hearts floating about, actual hearts, and Seren always wanted to pluck one out of the air and dissect it. She'd never been able to dissect a human heart before. It was like waving sweets in front of a child, really, and it wasn't fair at all. With a slight pout on her face she went in search of the person she'd come for. He may not prove to necessarily be the most useful of all the people in the division, but the truth of it was most of the people who worked in Love were women who even Seren found creepy. She didn't generally get on famously with women anyway, never mind old, haggard women experimenting on people's loved ones. At least Seren experimented on a single person, never pairs or groups.
Finding her desired bloke at his desk, Seren made a beeline for him. "Hey Jude, love," she greeted with a bright smile before dropping one of the pieces of parchment on his desk in front of him. "You've any experience reading a soul map from your department's perspective?" If he told her she had to go talk to his head she would wither away and send Iollan to deal with her when he was done trying to shove that damn soul back in its body.
The map looked just like a silhouette of a person, a mere outline, but various parts of the body were coloured in different colours and some of the spots had patterns. The colours and designs shifted and seemed to vibrate on the paper. A large portion of the chest and part of the head kept shifting back and forth between a fuzzy purple, a zig zagged grey and a hazy blue. While the rest of the map kept fairly consistent, those two areas were blinking in and out rapidly. Death hadn't been able to figure out why because the human heart wasn't really their domain in anything more than a physiological or anatomical way. "I've been staring at that thing for hours and I can't figure out why it's all wonky. And it was like that before we ripped his soul out, so that's not it."
February 25th, 2008
Who: Hannah Abbott and Leto Chambers
What: Hannah’s far too curious for her own good, and wants to know more about Leto’s beliefs.
Where: Florean Fortescue's, Diagon Alley
When: 8:45pm, Monday night
Rating: PG/PG-13
Status: Closed; Incomplete
Perhaps she did come off as naïve – it wasn’t the first time she had been accused of that, and Hannah would bet money that it wasn’t going to be the last. It really wasn’t that she was naïve though, because naivety implied stupidity – or at least immaturity, and she was neither stupid nor immature. What she was, and what got her in trouble time and time again, was curious. Leto made her very curious, and the fact that he was a Death Eater was only part of that. It was more his intelligence that caught her attention, because it was obvious that he was extremely smart.
She had met Death Eaters, of course, and plenty more who believed what Voldemort preached, but she had never spoken to them about their beliefs. It wasn’t that she was afraid to ask, because Hannah rarely saw boundaries on appropriate questions, it was that she didn’t think they’d have a good answer for her. The war was full of idiots from what she saw – well, not idiots, but people who didn’t know what they were fighting for. Most of them at least. It seemed like everyone thought that there were only two choices: destroy the muggles, or protect them... and war was never that simple.
Some people might think she was crazy for not hating him, simply because his beliefs had torn her family and everything she knew apart, but she didn’t. After all, he could just as easily hate her for being more in favor of the people who had killed his parents – and in the end, it would do neither of them any good. No one was going to come back from the dead, and no one would benefit from vengeance. And people would definitely think she was insane for asking to meet him, but she saw no threat - she doubted a return to Azkaban was something he wanted.
She waited for him inside the ice cream shop – easy to find, since there were no other customers (ice cream wasn’t a popular dessert in the middle of February), idly playing with a dish of glittering sprinkles that had been left on the table. She looked completely relaxed, which she was, and completely vulnerable, which she wasn’t: Hannah had no reason to be afraid as long as she stayed inside the shop. She was safe under the strong net of her own protective charms that covered every last millimeter and made the small hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand slightly on end.
What: Hannah’s far too curious for her own good, and wants to know more about Leto’s beliefs.
Where: Florean Fortescue's, Diagon Alley
When: 8:45pm, Monday night
Rating: PG/PG-13
Status: Closed; Incomplete
Perhaps she did come off as naïve – it wasn’t the first time she had been accused of that, and Hannah would bet money that it wasn’t going to be the last. It really wasn’t that she was naïve though, because naivety implied stupidity – or at least immaturity, and she was neither stupid nor immature. What she was, and what got her in trouble time and time again, was curious. Leto made her very curious, and the fact that he was a Death Eater was only part of that. It was more his intelligence that caught her attention, because it was obvious that he was extremely smart.
She had met Death Eaters, of course, and plenty more who believed what Voldemort preached, but she had never spoken to them about their beliefs. It wasn’t that she was afraid to ask, because Hannah rarely saw boundaries on appropriate questions, it was that she didn’t think they’d have a good answer for her. The war was full of idiots from what she saw – well, not idiots, but people who didn’t know what they were fighting for. Most of them at least. It seemed like everyone thought that there were only two choices: destroy the muggles, or protect them... and war was never that simple.
Some people might think she was crazy for not hating him, simply because his beliefs had torn her family and everything she knew apart, but she didn’t. After all, he could just as easily hate her for being more in favor of the people who had killed his parents – and in the end, it would do neither of them any good. No one was going to come back from the dead, and no one would benefit from vengeance. And people would definitely think she was insane for asking to meet him, but she saw no threat - she doubted a return to Azkaban was something he wanted.
She waited for him inside the ice cream shop – easy to find, since there were no other customers (ice cream wasn’t a popular dessert in the middle of February), idly playing with a dish of glittering sprinkles that had been left on the table. She looked completely relaxed, which she was, and completely vulnerable, which she wasn’t: Hannah had no reason to be afraid as long as she stayed inside the shop. She was safe under the strong net of her own protective charms that covered every last millimeter and made the small hairs on the back of her neck and arms stand slightly on end.
February 23rd, 2008
Who: Rodolphus Lestrange & Nora Branstone
What: Rodolphus' first strike (a Birthday present)
Where: The British Wizarding Museum
When: 5pm, 23rd February, 2005
Rating: R
Status: Closed; Complete
Notes/Warnings: It isn't in any way graphic or explicit but there is infant/foetus death
( Some say the end is near. Some say we'll see armageddon soon. I certainly hope we will. I sure could use a vacation from this, Bullshit three ring circus sideshow of, Freaks )
What: Rodolphus' first strike (a Birthday present)
Where: The British Wizarding Museum
When: 5pm, 23rd February, 2005
Rating: R
Status: Closed; Complete
Notes/Warnings: It isn't in any way graphic or explicit but there is infant/foetus death
( Some say the end is near. Some say we'll see armageddon soon. I certainly hope we will. I sure could use a vacation from this, Bullshit three ring circus sideshow of, Freaks )
February 22nd, 2008
Who: Zacharias Smith & Harry Potter
What: Wards prove to be too difficult and temperamental for a group of Unspeakables, and Zacharias is sent to help break them.
Where: Wauchope Forest, England
When: Friday, 22nd February, afternoon
Rating: PG-13ish for language.
Status: Open; incomplete
A hand over his eyes, Harry's head tilted back and he glanced upwards at the sky and the sun that sat there, blazing yellow. Sweat beaded on his forehead and for a moment he wished it was from the heat rather than the effort that had been expended in the last hour or so.
"Oi, Potter, stop standing about like a complete eejit."
Harry's nose scrunched slightly and he sighed, blowing air across his forehead in an attempt to cool himself off. "I'm coming," he muttered and turned, wand in hand already. Jack Rankin was standing a short way off, staring at the wall of trees in front of them, gazing intently at him and the closer Harry got to the other man the more he realised just how annoyed Rankin was; a muscle was twitching in his jaw, his arms were tight around his shoulders and every now and again his hand flexed as if he was stopping himself from hitting something.
"I owled someone about a ward caster about half an hour ago with co-ordinates," he supplied.
Rankin nodded sharply. "Right. Good." He kicked a stone at the wall of trees and for a moment it looked like it'd go through before, appearing to have simply hit thin air, it turned back on them and hit Rankin's face. He scowled and swore, lifting the stone and throwing it hard at the barrier of wards there. Once more it turned back on them, once more it hit Rankin full in the face despite the fact the other man ducked.
"I don't think the wards like you," Harry said, a hand over his mouth as he tried not to laugh too much.
A rock was flung at him and hit his elbow. "Fuck off."
What: Wards prove to be too difficult and temperamental for a group of Unspeakables, and Zacharias is sent to help break them.
Where: Wauchope Forest, England
When: Friday, 22nd February, afternoon
Rating: PG-13ish for language.
Status: Open; incomplete
A hand over his eyes, Harry's head tilted back and he glanced upwards at the sky and the sun that sat there, blazing yellow. Sweat beaded on his forehead and for a moment he wished it was from the heat rather than the effort that had been expended in the last hour or so.
"Oi, Potter, stop standing about like a complete eejit."
Harry's nose scrunched slightly and he sighed, blowing air across his forehead in an attempt to cool himself off. "I'm coming," he muttered and turned, wand in hand already. Jack Rankin was standing a short way off, staring at the wall of trees in front of them, gazing intently at him and the closer Harry got to the other man the more he realised just how annoyed Rankin was; a muscle was twitching in his jaw, his arms were tight around his shoulders and every now and again his hand flexed as if he was stopping himself from hitting something.
"I owled someone about a ward caster about half an hour ago with co-ordinates," he supplied.
Rankin nodded sharply. "Right. Good." He kicked a stone at the wall of trees and for a moment it looked like it'd go through before, appearing to have simply hit thin air, it turned back on them and hit Rankin's face. He scowled and swore, lifting the stone and throwing it hard at the barrier of wards there. Once more it turned back on them, once more it hit Rankin full in the face despite the fact the other man ducked.
"I don't think the wards like you," Harry said, a hand over his mouth as he tried not to laugh too much.
A rock was flung at him and hit his elbow. "Fuck off."
February 20th, 2008
February 18th, 2008
February 16th, 2008
Who: Eleanor Branstone & Harry Potter
What: A walking tour of the places Harry's slept in. I'm blaming this on Gwen.
Where: England
When: Saturday, 16th February
Rating: R-ish for language.
Status: Open; incomplete
"If you offer to pay me, though, I'm going to have to look into doing something else," Harry said, glancing pointedly over at the woman. "I think I could be a whore. I'd make a really bloody awful whore but I reckon I could do it. Probably. Possibly." Nose scrunching, he ducked his head and shook it slightly. "Actually, you know, no. I'm going to say it's because I've morals and...you know what? Just don't pay me."
His shoes scuffed off the ground, feet kicking loose rocks on the ground as he walked, eyes on the ground rather than the landscape in front of him. His shoulder glanced off that of one of the passersby and an apology tumbled from his lips before he'd even really thought about it, walking straight past the crowds until he'd got to a rather secluded spot. Or, rather, it was what could have been considered a secluded spot in London, the only people about Polish workers, who spoke with one another in their native tongue, calling back and forth to the people across the way. He didn't understand a word out of their mouths but it sounded fairly angry; then again he considered any language other than English as vicious sounding.
"You're up for being reckless, right?" he asked, grinning. "Except for how it's not really being reckless but, you know, perhaps you'd some fucking huge and important lecture to be at today on how to work in a museum or some such and wandering about could be considered reckless. If not we can just pretend you do, okay?"
Hand disappearing into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his wand and stepped further into the shadows just in case there were any passing Muggles. He'd prefer not to have to spend time trying to convince a Muggle they were insane, or seeing things.
What: A walking tour of the places Harry's slept in. I'm blaming this on Gwen.
Where: England
When: Saturday, 16th February
Rating: R-ish for language.
Status: Open; incomplete
"If you offer to pay me, though, I'm going to have to look into doing something else," Harry said, glancing pointedly over at the woman. "I think I could be a whore. I'd make a really bloody awful whore but I reckon I could do it. Probably. Possibly." Nose scrunching, he ducked his head and shook it slightly. "Actually, you know, no. I'm going to say it's because I've morals and...you know what? Just don't pay me."
His shoes scuffed off the ground, feet kicking loose rocks on the ground as he walked, eyes on the ground rather than the landscape in front of him. His shoulder glanced off that of one of the passersby and an apology tumbled from his lips before he'd even really thought about it, walking straight past the crowds until he'd got to a rather secluded spot. Or, rather, it was what could have been considered a secluded spot in London, the only people about Polish workers, who spoke with one another in their native tongue, calling back and forth to the people across the way. He didn't understand a word out of their mouths but it sounded fairly angry; then again he considered any language other than English as vicious sounding.
"You're up for being reckless, right?" he asked, grinning. "Except for how it's not really being reckless but, you know, perhaps you'd some fucking huge and important lecture to be at today on how to work in a museum or some such and wandering about could be considered reckless. If not we can just pretend you do, okay?"
Hand disappearing into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his wand and stepped further into the shadows just in case there were any passing Muggles. He'd prefer not to have to spend time trying to convince a Muggle they were insane, or seeing things.
February 15th, 2008
February 14th, 2008
February 10th, 2008
February 9th, 2008
WHO: Nora Branstone, Nephthys Spinks &
WHAT: Tea with hookers (to be edited when someone tags in, and you all know you want to)
WHERE: Shipp's Tearooms, Park Street, London
WHEN: Saturday, February 9, afternoon
RATING: R-ish for potential discussion of sex and who knows what.
STATUS: OPEN; Incomplete
"Sooo, Candida-"
"Candy." The woman- or was she supposed to be a girl- across from her snapped her gum, then blew a gum bubble so large that Nora couldn't see her eyes. Tilting her head, she speculated about what would happen to Candy's wall of bangs were she to pop it.
"So, Candy," Nora picked up her cup of tea, ignoring the stares of the old couple in the corner. The man had been watching Candy's legs from about an hour. While she had to admit that the girl's constant crossing and uncrossing of flesh was distracting, it was also a bit irritating to hear the occasional thunk of the man's wife shoving him with her cane. "I thought really that I'd call you up and ask you to tea for a question."
"Oh, bugger, I knew you was one of those."
"One of what?" She leaned forward, brown eyes lively with curiosity.
"You're one of those what's going to ask me about what it's like-" A choke, then Candy swallowed the gum with her extraordinarily large mouth. She was wearing orange lipstick. Nora hadn't known they made orange. She made a note to buy some. "About sucking cock and taking it up the bloody ass and what do men want and how does it feel to get bloody spanked all the time- well, that bit's not a picnic, I tell you but the rest- and then you're going to try and sell me Jaysus."
"Jay- oh. Right." Her brows knitted in confusion as she picked up her teacup. "No, actually, that's not it." Nora pointed to the bump of a stomach that was currently jiggling the table. "I'm having a baby."
"Did I fuck the father?"
"No- well, maybe- I won't be surprised but that's not the point." Another sip of tea. "See, I've got to come up with a middle name. And I haven't really got any female friends- or friends at all, really- and it struck me that you'd likely know a ton of names. I mean, I'm sure your clients call you all sorts of things. So I thought that I'd ask you for a name."
"A name?" The woman seemed flabbergasted. "Me? Oh, bollocks, that's..." To Nora's great surprise, Candy burst into tears. A black flood began to rush from around her eyes at such a rate that the smaller woman was surprised. Stumbling up, Nora's head craned around the room.
"Has anyone got a handkerchief?" She called out. Then, after a desperate pause- "Napkin? Loo roll?"
WHAT: Tea with hookers (to be edited when someone tags in, and you all know you want to)
WHERE: Shipp's Tearooms, Park Street, London
WHEN: Saturday, February 9, afternoon
RATING: R-ish for potential discussion of sex and who knows what.
STATUS: OPEN; Incomplete
"Sooo, Candida-"
"Candy." The woman- or was she supposed to be a girl- across from her snapped her gum, then blew a gum bubble so large that Nora couldn't see her eyes. Tilting her head, she speculated about what would happen to Candy's wall of bangs were she to pop it.
"So, Candy," Nora picked up her cup of tea, ignoring the stares of the old couple in the corner. The man had been watching Candy's legs from about an hour. While she had to admit that the girl's constant crossing and uncrossing of flesh was distracting, it was also a bit irritating to hear the occasional thunk of the man's wife shoving him with her cane. "I thought really that I'd call you up and ask you to tea for a question."
"Oh, bugger, I knew you was one of those."
"One of what?" She leaned forward, brown eyes lively with curiosity.
"You're one of those what's going to ask me about what it's like-" A choke, then Candy swallowed the gum with her extraordinarily large mouth. She was wearing orange lipstick. Nora hadn't known they made orange. She made a note to buy some. "About sucking cock and taking it up the bloody ass and what do men want and how does it feel to get bloody spanked all the time- well, that bit's not a picnic, I tell you but the rest- and then you're going to try and sell me Jaysus."
"Jay- oh. Right." Her brows knitted in confusion as she picked up her teacup. "No, actually, that's not it." Nora pointed to the bump of a stomach that was currently jiggling the table. "I'm having a baby."
"Did I fuck the father?"
"No- well, maybe- I won't be surprised but that's not the point." Another sip of tea. "See, I've got to come up with a middle name. And I haven't really got any female friends- or friends at all, really- and it struck me that you'd likely know a ton of names. I mean, I'm sure your clients call you all sorts of things. So I thought that I'd ask you for a name."
"A name?" The woman seemed flabbergasted. "Me? Oh, bollocks, that's..." To Nora's great surprise, Candy burst into tears. A black flood began to rush from around her eyes at such a rate that the smaller woman was surprised. Stumbling up, Nora's head craned around the room.
"Has anyone got a handkerchief?" She called out. Then, after a desperate pause- "Napkin? Loo roll?"
February 3rd, 2008
...i've already given up on myself twice - third time is the charm, third time is the charm...
Who: Dean Thomas (le Poodle) and Seamus Finnigan (suave, Irish-born Casanova)
What: Socks, quilts, calendars - many, many things of supreme importance
When: Sunday, February 3, 2005 - evening
Where: Dean's flat, London
Rating: PG-13 for Seamus' cursing
Status: Closed, incomplete.
Seamus really only checked the calendar by accident. He'd collapsed on his couch, one arm flung over his head, and knocked it off the back. The pastel pages, covered with kittens, rainbows, and butterflies had fallen open, so after he'd Accioed it back to where it needed to be, he flipped to February and checked the date - then cursed. Finley gave him an indignant look as he practically vaulted up, then glanced at his pocket watch. He had about an hour before Dean was supposed to be at his sister's recital thing, so that should be enough time - but it was Dean.
That could mean any number of inconvenient things - like paint or chalk or ink spilled down the front of his best shirt or that he hadn't bathed in days and while Seamus fancied himself a rather good shot, he didn't think his friend would appreciate having cleaning charms aimed at his head while he was in the middle of drawing the perfect line or some shite. Of course, the last time he'd done that, Dean's hair had poofed up the way he'd worn it a couple of years ago and that had sort of been priceless. Might do that, anyway, he thought, pulling his wand from his pocket and Apparating into his friend's flat.
"Oi! Dean - you twat, where are you?" There were few ways of expressing true affection and caring and Seamus believed the best one of all was insult - insult and bickering.
What: Socks, quilts, calendars - many, many things of supreme importance
When: Sunday, February 3, 2005 - evening
Where: Dean's flat, London
Rating: PG-13 for Seamus' cursing
Status: Closed, incomplete.
Seamus really only checked the calendar by accident. He'd collapsed on his couch, one arm flung over his head, and knocked it off the back. The pastel pages, covered with kittens, rainbows, and butterflies had fallen open, so after he'd Accioed it back to where it needed to be, he flipped to February and checked the date - then cursed. Finley gave him an indignant look as he practically vaulted up, then glanced at his pocket watch. He had about an hour before Dean was supposed to be at his sister's recital thing, so that should be enough time - but it was Dean.
That could mean any number of inconvenient things - like paint or chalk or ink spilled down the front of his best shirt or that he hadn't bathed in days and while Seamus fancied himself a rather good shot, he didn't think his friend would appreciate having cleaning charms aimed at his head while he was in the middle of drawing the perfect line or some shite. Of course, the last time he'd done that, Dean's hair had poofed up the way he'd worn it a couple of years ago and that had sort of been priceless. Might do that, anyway, he thought, pulling his wand from his pocket and Apparating into his friend's flat.
"Oi! Dean - you twat, where are you?" There were few ways of expressing true affection and caring and Seamus believed the best one of all was insult - insult and bickering.
Who: Seren Fawcett & Seamus Finnigan
What: Curiosity killed the cat, you know
Where: Knockturn Alley
When: Early Afternoon, Sunday, 3rd February, 2005
Rating: PG
Status: Open; Complete
It really was the most peculiar thing. It looked like a caterpillar. Only it had one eye and it stared at her, reminding Seren oddly of a spider, actually. It was lazy and crept along and then it would stop and suddenly all this vaguely yellow ooze would just seep from it's skin and form a gelatinous orb around it. Then the haggard witch who also only had one eye would come along and scoop up the orb using tools made from the bones of a Chinese Fireball. She extracted the cycloptic caterpillar and then set him down to do it all over again.
After a few attempts to question the old, haunched witch she'd finally been told it was a Clariscop and that ooze that turned gelatinous could be used to make a potion that could be poured onto things to eat away at them, even magically protected objects, just like acid. It could also be made into an edible form that could be fed to a person and they would have their insides eaten away as it got into the blood stream. "Huh." The lady didn't know how to make the potions, which saddened Seren because she wanted to witness this for herself. What she did manage, however, was to convince the woman to sell her some of the Clariscop goo. She wanted to experiment with it, and it could maybe end up being useful to the Death division at some point if it really did what the woman claimed it did.
The jar was made of Chinese Fireball bones, supposedly the only thing that could hold the stuff. Seren paid the woman and nodded to her before wandering down the street, thinking aloud. "There've got to be books on the creature somewhere. Even if she gave me the incorrect name how many things look like caterpillars and ooze like that? If it eats away wards and through solid material what about the Fireball bones is immune? How can it be made to be ingested without eating away at your throat even as you swallow? A delaying agent, perhaps. Something that can neutralise it but that cannot stave off effect forever. Perhaps it becomes more potent when mixed with human blood so a delaying agent works until the blood is introduced into the equation, at which time the delaying agent is nullified by it's introduction. Hmm, but how can it eat through magical wards? Doesn't make sense. Like a niffler eating through a tree trunk or something. It's just not done. Unless, maybe, being a magical creature the goo has magic imbued into it as well," Seren rambled on to herself as she wove around the people in Knockturn alley, not entirely paying attention to where she was going but things looked oddly unfamiliar. Seren was, in effect, going away from Diagon Alley rather than toward it, but she was too busy rattling on to herself about how the goo works and what use it could be.
What: Curiosity killed the cat, you know
Where: Knockturn Alley
When: Early Afternoon, Sunday, 3rd February, 2005
Rating: PG
Status: Open; Complete
It really was the most peculiar thing. It looked like a caterpillar. Only it had one eye and it stared at her, reminding Seren oddly of a spider, actually. It was lazy and crept along and then it would stop and suddenly all this vaguely yellow ooze would just seep from it's skin and form a gelatinous orb around it. Then the haggard witch who also only had one eye would come along and scoop up the orb using tools made from the bones of a Chinese Fireball. She extracted the cycloptic caterpillar and then set him down to do it all over again.
After a few attempts to question the old, haunched witch she'd finally been told it was a Clariscop and that ooze that turned gelatinous could be used to make a potion that could be poured onto things to eat away at them, even magically protected objects, just like acid. It could also be made into an edible form that could be fed to a person and they would have their insides eaten away as it got into the blood stream. "Huh." The lady didn't know how to make the potions, which saddened Seren because she wanted to witness this for herself. What she did manage, however, was to convince the woman to sell her some of the Clariscop goo. She wanted to experiment with it, and it could maybe end up being useful to the Death division at some point if it really did what the woman claimed it did.
The jar was made of Chinese Fireball bones, supposedly the only thing that could hold the stuff. Seren paid the woman and nodded to her before wandering down the street, thinking aloud. "There've got to be books on the creature somewhere. Even if she gave me the incorrect name how many things look like caterpillars and ooze like that? If it eats away wards and through solid material what about the Fireball bones is immune? How can it be made to be ingested without eating away at your throat even as you swallow? A delaying agent, perhaps. Something that can neutralise it but that cannot stave off effect forever. Perhaps it becomes more potent when mixed with human blood so a delaying agent works until the blood is introduced into the equation, at which time the delaying agent is nullified by it's introduction. Hmm, but how can it eat through magical wards? Doesn't make sense. Like a niffler eating through a tree trunk or something. It's just not done. Unless, maybe, being a magical creature the goo has magic imbued into it as well," Seren rambled on to herself as she wove around the people in Knockturn alley, not entirely paying attention to where she was going but things looked oddly unfamiliar. Seren was, in effect, going away from Diagon Alley rather than toward it, but she was too busy rattling on to herself about how the goo works and what use it could be.