Who: Barty, Sturgis, Doc, and Dorcas.
What: Hostage exchanging and Death Eater hoodwinking.
Where: A Very Shady Alley^TM across from Speaker's Corner, Hyde Park; Doc and Sturgis's flat.
When: Friday night, 9:53 PM.
Rating: Probably PG-13 for violence, and language, and sad.
Status: Logged!

Caradoc didn't like this in the slightest -- everything had been going... well, maybe it hadn't been going well, just given that Sturgis's last "Can we talk?" could have meant something good, or could have meant something very bad, and sure, given the context, it likely meant something at least not-entirely-bad, but... Well, Caradoc just hadn't been able to find out, had he? Because some Death Eaters had just decided to go and kidnap his best friend, because they'd been writing Beatles lyrics at each other all week and, apparently, that meant that they were talking in secret code nowadays. Bloody hell -- Purists or not, could the Death Eaters (or whoever had taken Sturgis) be any more ridiculous?

Either way, three things were indisputably true about this situation: 1. It was exceedingly nerve-wracking; 2. Caradoc needed his wits about him; and 3. after all the coffee he'd had to drink while working on the bullshit quote-unquote "cipher" with Harlan, Caradoc most certainly had his all present and accounted for. He also had a mildly ridiculous plan involving putting spiked Amortentia in the water supply, and it was shoved into the liner notes from his copy of Magical Mystery Tour, and he had no earthly idea which tree Dorcas had gone and put herself in, but he did know a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans when he saw one and, thus, he knew the alley.

Ducking into it as inconspicuously as he could, Caradoc had to admire one thing: whoever this Death Eater-or-Likeminded-Person was, he (or she) had decent enough taste in dark, shady alleys, even if there might have been mild to moderate magical modification; Caradoc could hardly see an inch in front of his nose, let alone further down.

"Hello?" he called out, somewhat hopefully and tempering the normal volume of his voice enough that it wouldn't attract the notice of any potential passers-by. "Sturgis? Ransom note sending person? I have the cipher...?"

Despite all the evidence that doing so was potentially detrimental to his general health and wellbeing, Barty was attempting to have a positive outlook about this nonsense with Dearborn and Podmore -- really, even if the latter deviant was the one with the steady job and the most opportunities in which to be kidnapped, Barty supposed, in retrospect, that it would have made much more sense to try and grab Dearborn instead. He could, after all, hardly stay in his and Podmore's flat forever and, really, given all public evidence, he was the abomination who was more likely to break his silence and spill the secrets of their idiotic terrorist plotting, and perhaps Dearborn would have been easier to carry than Podmore, and he hopefully would not have turned into a rather large and entirely unappreciated lion but... oh, there was just no call to be mucking around in what could have happened and what Barty could have done. The result of the actions that Barty had taken had resulted in this situation, and he would make the most of it.

Barty had not tortured Podmore much further -- roughed him up a bit, but nothing extensive, so as to avoid another encounter with his irritating leonine form -- but he had taken care to don his proper mask and robes, as well as taking a Voice-Changing Potion, blindfolding Podmore (and binding his wrists with the arms positioned so that turning into the lion would have been exceptionally painful), and showing up to the alley early. He'd also taken energy to inform Podmore of what would have happened in the case that Dearborn proved to be more selfish than originally estimated and didn't show up, in rather vague terms as Barty was still formulating his exact ideas regarding what to do with Podmore...

...Though, apparently, they were unnecessary after all, judging from the voice that had joined them. "Dearborn, I presume," Barty said confidently, patently ignoring the fact that, with the potion, his voice sounded like that of a rather sultry woman. "I trust that you have come alone. As promised, I have not yet harmed your... friend, but if you try anything at all, I will have no qualms about changing that. ...Come closer."

Sturgis hated drugs. He really hated the sort of drugs that made it hard to focus, hard to change, but that was the point, wasn't it? So that he wouldn't go lion and maul... whoever it was. A niggling voice in the back of his brain said that he knew who it was, but he couldn't remember, and he couldn't focus, and the drugs distracted him enough that tugging at the ropes around his wrists took up most of his attention, before a voice distracted him. He knew that voice. That voice was... important, wasn't it? Very important. Hearing it made the horrible, foggy feeling matter a bit less because that was... that was... someone to love me, somebody new...

Apparently, Caradoc was dealing with a woman -- it did seem odd, though; if this was a Death Eater, then it was certainly also a Purist, and Purists seemed to be so oddly protective of their women that allowing them to be Death Eaters seemed to make very little actual sense... then again, some of them (like Bellatrix Lestrange) were rather ferocious... then again -- well, that wasn't the point. The point, as it became quickly apparent, was the fact that at least Sturgis was alive and well enough to hum "Love Me Do" -- and, Merlin, Caradoc couldn't fuck this up. He couldn't live with himself if he fucked this up. If he got to live at all.

"Of course I'm alone," he said, trying to keep himself in some modicum of control as he followed the source of the voice and the humming closer. Merlin fucking Christ, he wished he could see, but, in lieu of sight, he guessed that sticking the so-called 'cipher' out in front of him worked just as well. "You said to come alone, so... but that's not the point. I have what you want, you have who I want, there's no one here but the three of us, so let's just... handle this like civilised peo-- Oh!" Caradoc stopped abruptly, both at the sensation that the cipher had just bent and at the slight whining noise that followed. "...Well, there you are. And here I am. And here's the bloody cipher; just give me Sturgis back, alright?"

"I will be the judge of when your friend is returned to you, Dearborn." Barty wrinkled his nose and frowned behind his mask as he snatched the cipher from Dearborn -- why of all the nerve of that excessively loquacious terrorist. Although his vision was rather reduced, Barty had done everything he could to reduce the effects of the added darkness charms on himself. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see what Dearborn had given him -- it was a booklet for something titled "Magical Mystery Tour" and, on the inside, there were pictures, and words, and -- a ha! Plans! Several pages of plans, complete with notes, schematics, sketches, and everything Barty could have wanted, all in Dearborn's borderline illegible scrawl.

"This is extensive, Dearborn," Barty said with a detached air of contemplation. "I do hope you realise the trouble that you could be making for yourself."

"I know about it all, all right?" Caradoc huffed, very much wanting to just get this done with and be gone. He'd brought the goddamn, so-called 'cipher'; what more did this psychopath want? "Just, please... Whatever happens, I need him with me. Give him back?" Caradoc paused and waited for some kind of response; when he got none, he entreated again, "Well?!"

Merlin, but these terrorists were a vexing lot. First, Podmore had gone and turned into a highly unappreciated lion; then, Podmore had been large enough to require Barty to make an extra dose of the potion with which he'd dosed the lummox; and now Dearborn seemed to have very little sense of how and when to simply shut his mouth. How utterly befitting someone of his condition -- of course, Barty knew that despite everything he said to the contrary when Sirius "Black" or anyone else dared to accuse him of suffering from the same abominable affliction as Dearborn and Podmore, he, too, was in their condition; but, clearly, he was unlike them in his ability to rise above it.

"Well what, Dearborn?" he asked disinterestedly, not even looking up from what he could read of the cipher.

"Well what?!" Caradoc repeated incredulously. "I brought you the damn cipher; give him back already!"

At that show of utter and complete, wholly vexing insubordination, Barty did look up, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow beneath his mask. "I think, Dearborn, that you need to be taught a lesson." He paused just long enough to quickly whip out his wand, and then intoned favourite of the Unforgivable Curses: "Crucio!"

Wait, no. No, that wasn't good, that wasn't going to happen. As the stranger began to cast, Sturgis threw his weight to one side, knocking into her (his?) legs, trying to knock her off-balance. You didn't hurt Caradoc. Nobody hurt Caradoc.

...What -- Barty felt certain now that, if he had any further dealings with Podmore (and, after today, he very much Did Not Want to have further dealings with Podmore), he was going to ask that question quite often. First, there had been the lion business, and now there was this; as Barty clattered to the (no doubt absolutely filthy) ground, cipher and wand both firmly in his hands, he focused on one thing and one thing only: getting out of this alley. As much as it injured his pride not to teach Dearborn a lesson, Barty had what he wanted and staying much longer seemed to be increasingly dangerous. Intently directing his mind, Barty focused on his family's home in Hertfordshire and Disapparated.

Caradoc had winced away from the wand as soon as he'd heard the tell-tale "Cru" of the Cruciatus incantation and then, despite hearing the crash, he didn't look back up until he heard the equally tell-tale pop of Disapparation. It hardly mattered, really, because he still saw mostly darkness when he looked back up, anyway, and, besides, the only honestly important thing right now was: "Sturgis?!"

"...ow," Sturgis said thoughtfully, managing to sit up enough to lean against the wall. Any further speech was really too much trouble, with his head spinning the way it was and the really very strange way that sounds were echoing, but Caradoc was there so things would be all right, wouldn't they?

Pulling out his wand, Caradoc first cast a "Finite Incantantem!" to clear out the magically induced darkness, and then cast a quick "Lumos!" to get rid of the natural darkness; and then he saw him -- oh, god, his poor Sturgis. There was no way in no system of definitions in any subculture of any society in any country in the world a possible method of misconstruing how Sturgis looked as "in good shape." In fact, Sturgis looked to be in very, very bad shape, at the moment. Dammit -- as soon as the opportunity was available, Caradoc was going to make those Death Eating sons of bitches pay for this; nobody hurt Sturgis without answering to Doc.

But, in the meantime, his focus needed to be on Sturgis and on getting him well again. That in mind, Caradoc knelt down by Sturgis and gently ran a hand down his cheek. "Thanks for that one, mate," he said tenderly. "But it's going to be okay now, I promise, I -- d'you think you can stand at all?"

Sturgis leaned into the touch, closing his eyes behind the blindfold. He didn't have to move just yet, did he? Except -- no, no, Caradoc wanted him to stand up, and maybe his head would stop feeling like this if it was a bit higher, where it was used to being? The air could be different down here, instead of six feet up, maybe that was why he felt so fog-headed.

"...I don't know," he said slowly. Words took too much focus, words were so stupid and clunky and you could never say what you wanted to and sleeping sounded like a really good idea right now, sleeping made things better.

Caradoc's felt as though someone had put a nice, big lead weight in his stomach -- Oh, God, his poor Sturgis. Maybe he didn't know if he could stand, but... well, he rather had to if they were going to get back to the flat, but Caradoc knew better than to try lifting Sturgis on his own. Sturgis was taller and weighed more than he did; doing it alone was a potential recipe for disaster, but... Dorcas!

"Just... we're going to get you home, and we'll sleep, okay?" Caradoc told Sturgis gingerly, hand still on his face. "But first, I just... you need to wait here. Dorcas came with, she's around here somewhere, and we'll get you home, all right?" Caradoc scrambled to his feet and briefly jaunted outside the alley, looking around for... wherever that girl had got to. "Dorcas?" he called.

It had been a while since the time she first climbed up the tree and Dorcas was starting to wonder whether she would be able to get down safely. It took her a more than half an hour to find the right alley (the one with the bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans--this, in itself, narrowed down the list of possible Death Eaters to the younger generation). Once she was safely hidden, Disillusionment Charm and Sound Muffling Charm in place, all Dorcas needed to do was wait. It was vaguely uncomfortable, mostly because she smelled strongly of spray paint, but she didn't need to suffer too long once Caradoc walked into the Alley. She could faintly hear the exchange and practically fell off the branch she was sitting on when she heard the Unforgiveable being cast. Dorcas quickly tried to climb down the tree; it had been so much easier when there was still some light and before she knew it, she missed a foothold and fell... the entire three feet to the ground. She got up shakily and ran towards the alley just as Caradoc came out to call her. "Is he alright?" Dorcas asked, catching her breath as she slowed down.

Caradoc had to admit, even with his coffee-fueled vigilance, the sudden appearance of a falling Dorcas took him rather by surprise; the surprise, however, soon gave way to swallowing thickly and racking his brain for anything even vaguely healing-related that he knew or could remember from the few months when he'd actually entertained notions of having a personality that could fit in any so-called respectable workplace. "He's alive," Caradoc offered, biting gently on his lower lip and reflexively shaking his head a bit. "He's not great, and he's drugged, and he'll need a few days' rest, but... at least he's alive, and he's not with them anymore. Just... we need to get him back to the flat. Come and help me get him up?"

She followed him wordlessly to where Sturgis was and Dorcas tried very hard not to swear too much. "Holy buggering fuck," she muttered, unable to help herself. He looked as if he'd been roughed up a bit and he was all floppy. Dorcas turned to Caradoc and was glad that he was taking this much better than she expected. "Alright, we need to get him out of here before they come back," she bent down to place Sturgis's arm across her shoulders, supporting one side of him. "I'll go get someone from the bunkers to come have a look at him after I drop you two off."

"Those are pretty good words for it all, yeah," Caradoc sighed wearily. This... had really not been one of his best days. Like the fact that he'd been worried about what Sturgis had wanted to talk about hadn't been enough, they hadn't even been able to have that talk because there'd almost ceased to be a Sturgis, which was a concept that Caradoc simply did not want to consider. Being as gentle as he could while still working quickly, Caradoc bent down and got Sturgis's other arm around his shoulders. "All right, mate, it's going to be fine. Dorcas and I've got you and we're going to the flat. Steady on and all that, and then you can sleep, all right? ...Dorcas? Gently, on three? One... two..."

"Three," Dorcas huffed as she supported half of Sturgis' weight. He felt heavier somehow, probably because he did not have any motor control. What the fuck, Dorcas couldn't help thinking. Sturgis was tortured and drugged just for writing down lyrics on the journals. What level of paranoia is the aristocracy going to enact next? Are they going to end up shutting down the boundaries between Muggle and Wizarding communities? All this damage in the name of ideology. Dorcas kept her anger in check for now, she had to help Sturgis home. "Try to hold on tight, Sturgis," she said, hoping that her voice was reassuring, "There's a good man." It was no use of course, they would have to hold on to him really tight to Side-Along Apparate. She nodded at Caradoc, "All ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Caradoc replied, sounding readier than he really felt. He and Sturgis had Side-Alonged each other before, and having Dorcas there would no doubt help, but this was still his best friend in the world, and Caradoc was more than a little bit afraid of accidentally fucking something up. He couldn't live with himself if he fucked something up and was less a Sturgis or a Dorcas for it, and he was fairly certain that the rest of the Order wouldn't have been too approving either. With one arm on Sturgis's waist and one arm holding onto the arm around his shoulders, Caradoc said, "On three again, Dorcas?" He paused briefly, to focus on his and Sturgis's flat. "Shoot for the sitting room; it's where I'm aiming. One... two..."

Dorcas barely heard herself saying "three" as she spun on the spot, followed by the sensation of being crushed. Perhaps it was more uncomfortable because there were three people as opposed to two? Surely her lungs would give way soon. Dorcas tightened her grip on Sturgis' waist just to make sure he was not slipping away. Just in case. When she thought her lungs would surely be crushed, the compression had gone with a faint "pop" as they Disapparated into Caradoc and Sturgis' flat. She glanced around to look for a space to settle him on and said in a slightly worried tone, "Are we all whole?"

"I am," Caradoc sighed, trying to catch his breath -- Apparating had a bad habit of leaving him a little winded, and Side-Alonging his six-foot-six, two-hundred-pound best friend, even with Dorcas's assistance, was a bit more tiring. ...He'd spoken rather hastily and, so, paused to attempt to suss out whether or not he'd done so out of turn -- yeah, all of his limbs were in place, all his ankles and the like, it didn't feel like he'd lost any of the less vital stuff, and he could most certainly still feel his lungs. "...Yep, all's in order for me, and then..." Caradoc paused, looking sympathetically down at his poor Sturgis. After a few moments of observation... "Yep, looks like we got all of him too."

Dorcas rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a little of the strain she felt while they were in the alley ebb away a litte. This, at least, was a (relatively) safe place, especially since it was not out in the open. "That's good," she said before letting out a heavy sigh. This had been a very, very long day. Dorcas paced for a moment, thinking of the best place to Apparate near the London bunkers without leading Death Eaters to it. Finally reaching a decision, she glanced at the still prone Sturgis before speaking to Caradoc. "Security wards, put them up once I leave. I'll get someone from the Order to come and see him, Ted's wife maybe if she won't mind waking up."

"Andie's good," Caradoc agreed, nodding as he shifted to shoulder as much of Sturgis's weight as he could. It wasn't easy, especially given as Sturgis had a good four inches and thirty pounds on him, but Caradoc could manage it; he was lanky, but he wasn't particularly scrawny and, besides, it was Sturgis. He could shoulder Sturgis for Sturgis's sake. "She's a friend, leastways, and she knows her stuff and... so long as you don't wake up Dora asking her, I don't think she'll mind that much. I... need to get this one in bed, then the wards go up, and... we should probably have a security word? For us and Andie? Just in case -- I mean, the address is probably in his employee file; they could try to come here..."

"Alright, I'll go to St Albans instead. Probably easier to get to, not much of a chance of a Caterwauling charm," she babbled, more thinking out loud rather than to keep the conversation going. Dorcas blinked at Caradoc's rather lengthy speech and nodded. "Probably a good idea," she conceded. "I'm gonna head off now," Dorcas finally said after a beat and patted Caradoc on the arm, "Don't fret too much. He'll be fine. You'll be fine. This will be safe. Just--the security wards, put up everything you know and Ted will probably send you a message before they get here or something."

"Yeah," Caradoc agreed simply, nodding, forcing a weak little smile, and knowing very well that Dorcas was right. Harlan had been right. Everyone who'd said that Sturgis would be fine was right -- but the fact was that he wasn't, right now, and, even with the knowledge that this would change, it was a fairly nerve-wracking sensation. Being without Sturgis -- no, no, they weren't going to go there. It was a terrifying prospect that was not going to be addressed because of how utterly ludicrous it was. "Thanks, Dorcas -- I owe you big time for this."

"S'no problem," she said, managing a weak sort of smile. Dorcas could feel a slight edge of worry for her sisters now. She'd probably have to reinforce the wards around the cottage when she got home that night. "That's what we do ain't it? Help each other out when we need it." With another reassuring pat on the arm, Dorcas walked to a corner of the room and Apparated.

Caradoc nodded again, swallowing thickly and only barely managing to give Dorcas a limp little wave before she Apparated out. She was right, of course; of course Sturgis was going to be fine, and of course the Order was a bunch of people helping each other and themselves out when they could -- and Caradoc tried to remind himself of that over and over again as he dragged Sturgis past the piles of books and the like that stood between the sitting room and his bedroom. He knew, logically, that Dorcas was very right -- still and all, though. Sturgis had been an inextricable part of Caradoc's life since they'd been eleven years old, he hadn't really entertained the notion of going back to a life without Sturgis, any time the thought had crossed his mind, he'd run away from the thought because it was that upsetting, and this whole situation was hitting a bit too close for comfort.

With a bit of difficulty, Caradoc managed to get Sturgis into bed and then set about warding the flat, as Dorcas had said, with everything he knew. He didn't waste time doing any of the wards; how could he? He was the only person here to watch Sturgis, in case anything happened; there were slow-acting poisons that could have presented with the same symptoms Sturgis had, and Caradoc wouldn't have put it past Death Eaters to try something like that over... well... it was surreal and absurd to say "over Beatles lyrics," but... of course Death Eaters would try it over presumed terrorism.

Luckily, when he returned to his room, Sturgis looked quite unchanged and, had Caradoc not known better, he might have thought that it was no different than simply finding Sturgis in his bed instead of where he'd usually sleep. There were certain things that differentiated between the two, but, at first glance ... It really wasn't important, not so long as Sturgis got through this all right. And Caradoc was going to make sure that happened, even if all he could do until someone who was better skilled with the healing arts showed up was kneel by the side of the bed, hold onto Sturgis's hand, and talk, for both their sakes, about how it would all be fine.