Dark Dissension

Invitations for the following (plus 1 guest)

Ms Hannah Abbott
Mr Jude Alderton
Mr Laetus Chambers
Ms Seren Fawcett
Mr Justin Finch-Fletchley
Mr Seamus Finnigan
Ms Daphne Greengrass
Ms Ainsley Innis
Mr Neville Longbottom
Ms Morag MacDougal
Mr Harry Potter
Ms Demelza Robins
Mr Zacharias Smith
Ms Nephthys Spinks
Mr Dean Thomas

( Invitations by express owl post )

Who: Seamus and Zacharias
Where: Zach's place and then "out on the town" (ie, a pub or something)
When: Thursday night
What: Seamus wants to get rid of Zacharias' inhibitions. Out of the goodness of his heart, and all.
Rating: PG-13 for swearing, most likely
Status: Thread/Incomplete

Zacharias spent the first three of his eight minutes in front of his open wardrobe staring at his clothes, wondering what the hell he was doing agreeing to go out drinking with Seamus. Seamus. The man flustered him through a journal, how much worse was it going to be actually physically being in his presence, under the influence of alcohol? The whole idea was madness.

He couldn't back out now though, so with five minutes left his brain suddenly comprehended that he was running out of time and he grabbed the first decent, non-clashing outfit he could find, black jeans and a red button-down shirt that, on second thoughts, was really too formal-preppy for pub crawling or whatever the fuck they were going to do, and didn't he have some t-shirts around here or something? Plain white t-shirt. Impossible to find fault in. And he was putting far too much thought into this. He sighed, raking his hands through his hair and going into the en suite to check his reflection. His eyes drifted to the medicine cabinet as he contemplated whether it might not be a good idea to take an energy booster or something, but he supposed really he was keyed up enough that nervous adrenaline, alcohol and whatever was in those things probably wouldn't be a good combination.

Grabbing his jacket, he headed back downstairs with thirty seconds to spare.

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."

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.

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.