Eliot the Spectacular (highkingeliot) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-01-01 15:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, alastor moody (au), eliot waugh |
WHO: Eliot Waugh & Alastor Moody
WHERE: The Physical Cottage
WHEN: The Morning of December 12th, the day after this
WHAT: Eliot and Moody meet, drink, and discuss magic.
RATING: Language? It's honestly fairly tame.
STATUS: log; completed
Eliot hasn't been home since he'd left for the Winter festival Sunday evening. That night had been one of the better ones in recent memory. Nothing had gone wrong, really. He'd danced the night away with Kylo and gotten to stay with him after the festival was over; in which Eliot had truly missed. Kylo still wasn't home, and he disliked the temporary living situation, but an invitation to stay made up for it. He would have been home by now had it not been for what Monday had brought. Leia, from Kylo's timeline, had arrived early. Kylo had known immediately and this meant that Eliot had been informed soon after. And so Eliot had stayed the entirety of Monday with him, only breaking to attend his play rehearsal. Even then, Kylo had stuck by, lingering outside of the rehearsal to wait for Eliot to be free. Ky had gone to work this morning and Eliot had headed home, knowing that this afternoon he'd be hanging out at the Military base as emotional support if Ky needed him. Having stepped through the portal that connected Kylo's two bedrooms (the one in the apartment with Padme and the one in the Cottage), he immediately left the room and made his way for the stairs. He was still wearing the outfit he'd snatched up quickly Monday morning (a brief swing from Kylo's room into his own while most everyone was asleep); and he intended to shower and change soon. But first? Whiskey. He went down the steps, not paying mind to whoever may be out in the common area, and went straight for the alcohol display. His pride and joy of the Cottage. Snatching a tumbler and a bottle, he poured himself a half of a standard portion, before tipping it back in one go. Eight AM be damned. Alastor couldn’t sleep. The Cottage was too comfortable, too quiet. He hadn’t been accustomed to neither of these things for quite a while, what with the hubbub of living at Hogwarts, the school turned shelter from attacking hordes of zombies. When he wasn’t at the school, he was out, either looking for supplies to stock up, or for individuals and groups who were out there and in danger, who needed sanctuary from the horror their world had become. Every unidentifiable sound made Alastor flinch, every movement needed to be investigated. He’d been told that there were no danger of zombies in this world, but it would take awhile for him to actually believe it, and his instincts to adjust. Round about 2:00 am, he gave up trying to sleep; he left the warmth of his bed, got dressed, and made it down the stairs as quietly as he possibly could. He started a fire in the hearth and sunk deep into a cushy chair nearby,where he sat and waited till dawn, throwing another log into the fireplace every so often. Always in movement, swiveling in its socket, Alastor’s magical eye picked up somebody suddenly appearing, in an upstairs room. His eye could both see in the dark and through objects, including walls and floors, and he immediately focused to see whether it was an enemy or not. By the way he moved freely about, he could guess it was one of the lads who lived in the Cottage, he didn’t know his name, Petunia hadn’t introduced them yet. Frowning, he watched the lad come down the stairs and into the common area without noticing he was there. Only after seeing what the lad was doing at the bar did he speak up. “Pour me one too, while you’re at it.” His voice was intentionally loud and gruff, hoping that he’d catch the lad off guard and give him a good scare. Eliot stilled at the sound of the voice but he did not jump or look startled. His back was towards the fireplace, and thus towards Alastor, so his gaze lifted away from the droplets in the tumbler up to the ceiling. The voice was unrecognizable to Eliot but that wasn't cause for alarm. The Cottage had once been known to have frequent strangers. Had Margo brought someone home? Or Q for that matter? No. Q was unlikely. He turned on his heel to cast his eyes toward the fireplace. Then a smirk grew. Alastor Moody. Eliot hadn't had the chance to ask if Petunia had brought him here or not. No matter. He was here now and Eliot was honestly glad for that. It felt like a sense of normalcy was beginning to return to the Cottage. He'd established it as a place for his closest friends to feel at home and them bringing people they cared about here was the way he wanted things to be. Plus it meant that Petunia still felt welcome. With his hand shifting to grasp the top of the tumbler, fingers spiderwebbed over it, he did lift his index finger to point in Moody's direction. "Coming right up," he said without hesitation, before turning to the bar again. He got himself another splash in his own glass before making another for Alastor. Then he crossed over to the fireplace and held it out for the man. Once accepted, he extended his hand in welcome. "Alastor Moody, correct?" It was a little disappointing that Alastor didn’t get the sort of reaction he was hoping, but it didn’t show. He took the glass and gave a curt nod by way of thanks. “Aye,” he answered. “Reckon Petunia’s told you about me. What did she say?” He took a sip of whiskey, curious what sort of reputation he had in this place. "You've come up," he replied easily as he backed over to his favored chair. He took a seat and crossed a leg over the other before he took another drink, this time as just a sip. He wouldn't want to be inebriated when he left for the military base. He wouldn't even want to be tipsy, so this would be his last drink before cleaning up. "I already had a good idea of who you were before I met Petunia, so she more or less just told me the differences in her timeline, and what you did for her." “Did you, now? How’d you know me? The book or the movie? One of the guards in quarantine mentioned something, so I took the liberty of looking myself up on that tablet thing. Movie version looks crappy, nothing like me, and they got my eye all wrong. Got to say, was pretty pissed off by the way I die. If Mudungus Fletcher ever shows up in Tumbleweed, I’m going to curse his arse up and down the fucking street.” Alastor lifted his glass to his mouth, but before he drank, he said, “You know me, but I don’t know shit about you.” This was untrue - Petunia did tell him some information, but he was curious to hear what Eliot had to say for himself. “What’s your deal?” "Both," Eliot stated with ease. Those books had meant a great deal to him as a child, though he didn't ever expound upon that fact as an adult. At least, not to many. Kylo knew how much Eliot had loved the books. But otherwise he just occasionally pulled out an opinion or reference when having a conversation with someone where it seemed appropriate. "The movies didn't hit the mark on a lot of you," he commented, which he'd felt for a long time. He'd been pleasantly surprised when he saw how some of the Marauders actually looked. He gave a little laugh. "Petunia didn't give you a rundown?" He supposed it wasn't necessarily important. "What precisely would you like to know? Suppose I should start with an actual introduction. I'm Eliot," he suppressed the urge to add his title onto the end. Moody wouldn't give a shit about that. “One day I ought to get good and drunk and then you can show me the movies. Interested to see what what would’ve happened if the zombies hadn’t taken over. Heard that the Enemy ends up returning, which I always knew the bastard would, but it pisses me off that the Lestranges fucked everything up trying to get him back, when they just could’ve waited a few goddamn years.” Moody’s grumpiness dissipated with a shrug. “Ah well. What can you do? That’s the way it is. Reckon if it weren’t for the zombies, I’d never would’ve got to know Petunia. Or Snape for that matter.” He took another gulp of whiskey and commented on the introduction. “Aye, she gave a brief overview. Eliot. You’re one of them that’s able to cast magic with your hands, eh? Wouldn’t mind knowing a bit more about that.” "We can certainly help with the good and drunk notion," he commented, lifting his drink now to take a quick swig. Then he set it back down. "I don't own any of the film's but they play on the television damn near every month. You'll spot them on Freeform all the time." Then he took in a breath. "Not in the universe they show in the books, at least. I don't recall you and Petunia ever meeting." He didn't talk often about his Potter knowledge to his Potter friends but it was clear it existed. He loved the books as a child. "Yeah, that's a simplification of it," he commented. Not all of their magic was done with hand gestures but a vast majority was. "We got different classifications. It is mostly arbitrary, because all of us can do some of the other types, it is just what you tend to be better at. All of us, except Penny and Quentin, are called physical Magicians. Q gets stuck with us because they haven't figured out his designation yet. And Penny needed a place to stay." "He is a traveler." Alastor didn’t know what the hell Freeform was, but he figured it out in the context of their conversation that it was someplace to watch all these films they were talking about. “Probably wouldn’t have bothered with Petunia, had it not been for the zombies,” he admitted. “She’s a Muggle, we live in two different worlds. Aye, Dumbledore gave her Harry to watch over after his parents died, but that’s about the only interest I had in her, before. Crisis brings about alliances and connections that you might not ordinarily make.” The description of Eliot’s magic system was far more interesting. “Somebody already told me about these classifications. We got them too, basically. Transfiguration, charms. Break it down for me, laddie, what are all the designations you have? What sets a physical magician apart from the others. And what’s so special about being a traveler?” "True that," Eliot commented, cheerily enough, his mind treading back to his own odd allegiances. Petunia was certainly one of them. He suspected if he'd arrived in Tumbleweed first, and not the spaceship, he might not have ever forged the bond he did with Petunia. Their conversations had started out of mildly curiosity on Eliot's part; but it had been cemented through the crisis of the black hole. And now he'd do pretty much anything for that woman, even though she wasn't what most people would associate as his type. "Standard designations are physical, psychic, illusions, healing, knowledge and natural," Eliot spewed off, ticking them all off as if they were a checklist. "There's nonstandard designations, which is where Penny and his traveling falls in. Another of our alumni, Alice, has a non standard designation as well. Phosphoromancy. And there are those who don't show an affinity for any specific, like Q," he went on. "Physical magicians tend to be more tactile. We're big into telekinesis," he said with an ideal shrug. It was simplifying it but he hadn't actually thought he'd be having a magical discussion this morning. Setting his tumbler back down, he sat up and adjusted his hand, proceeding to do a few gestures that looked like they had no significance whatsoever, but off to the side, a book moved from it's placement on the shelf. He opened his hand and the book came flying into it. "I believe your world would call it wandless magic," he offered, before shifting to set the book down. "It's special because it is rare. It's like apparating only he isn't limited by distance or dimension. Well, typically on that latter note," he said with a shrug. "The rest of us make portals, similar to your portkeys, and it takes some time. He has an advantage." Alastor’s regular eye remained watching Eliot’s hand gestures with keen interest, while his magical eye quickly spun in its socket to watch the book levitate, following it’s path to where the magician sat. “Wandless magic, aye,” he darkly muttered. This levitation trick was like the Wizard’s Wingardium Leviosa and Accio, but maybe with more control. His Auror-mind immediately began considering the tactical advantages and disadvantages to such magic. “Don’t need any incantations? What if your hands were disabled, or tied behind your back, or lopped off? If you’re into physical magic, does it mean you can’t cast another form of magic? Reckon Penny can’t apparate back to your original dimension, eh? Can you take others with you when you travel? What’s this phosphoromancy that you mentioned before?” "Didn't say that," he commented with a shake of his head, before he picked up his drink again. "Not everything we do requires incantations, but a large amount does. Have to learn a multitude of languages. Latin, Arabic, etc, etc," he took a quick drink and then shifted to lean back, holding his tumbler against his chest. "You're fucked, that's what you are." He didn't feel a need to mention that this was exactly the issue Penny was currently having. "Need your hands to cast. Could do other shit but you'd be limited." Then he nodded his head. "He can't leave. He has tried." He resisted the urge to drink again, for this was a sore point for Eliot. "We learn every designation. There is a core curriculum. It is just that you have a natural tilt towards one of the designations. And in the case of the non standards, like Penny, those aren't necessarily something the rest of us could do. It's a gift or some shit. And, yeah, there is magic to help him carry people." "Phosphoromancy is light magic. She can bend light." Alastor kept nodding throughout Eliot’s explanation. “You got a school then? Like Hogwarts? Teach you this core curriculum? What does bending the light mean? She can make herself and others invisible?” "Brakebills. The designation system is sort like a mix between your sorting and your focus after OWLs. Puts you with your people and on your path." He shifted, pulling a cigarette case from his pocket. "Precisely that. Among other things." He glanced to Moody. "Want one?" He asked, holding the case in his hand, ready to reach out and offer. Alastor declined the offer with a shake of his head and a casual, “Naw,” but he didn’t mind that Eliot smoke. “And after you finish your schooling? What then? You integrate yourselves back with the Muggle world? Or do you have your own community of folk? Now that you’re in Tumbleweed, what are you doing with yourself?” The last question was more relevant and important to Alastor, since he was going to need to find something to do - retirement never sat well with him, and he wasn't going to sit around all day doing nothing. "The general idea is you do whatever you want. We never fully deattach from those without magic so it isn't difficult to go back and among them." He shrugged. He hadn't had a plan for that part of his life and he wasn't ever going to need to worry about it now. He intended to stay in Tumbleweed, and if his intentions were smashed? Well, he'd be thrown back to Fillory to rule. "There are pockets, but mostly you just mingle with alumni." He thought about the other question. His drives now were personal. He didn't care about employment and he suspected that might not be something Moody would respect. "A little of this, a little of that. Mostly trying to keep up my studies. Mentoring a student from the Mansion. And I plan to focus on wine cultivation once I've got a better variety of crop to choose from. Had fun with peaches in the summer." “Makes sense,” Alastor muttered. “Always thought the WIzarding World ought to be more integrated with Muggles. Some of us don’t know a lick about anything, and what they do know is either wrong or messed up. MIght have less problems with blood superiority bullshit. You ain’t got magician families, do you? Or some magicians believing they’re better than others because they’re magical?” On the topic of how Eliot spent his time, Alastor observed, “A little of this and a little of that can amount to a whole lot of nothing. But sounds like you’re keeping yourself busy, anyway.” He smirked, “Heh, didn’t think anything grew in Texas. Reckoned it was one, large desert. Wine eh?” He raised his glass to Eliot. “I’ll take whiskey any time.” "As a casual observer, I always thought that, too," he commented. He didn't necessarily think they needed to tell muggles about their magic, but being so inherently separated just created more problems in the end. "There's magical families, yes. Legacies." He thought to Alice for a moment and suppressed a frown. She was still giving him radio silence. And the other question, well, he just left it alone. That was something he suspected would be universal across all of their universes. Some people would always think themselves superior. "Nothing wrong with a life of leisure," he commented, though he suspected Moody may not agree. "Not much does but some people got lucky. Friend of mines boyfriend runs a peach farm. Damn good product." Then he smirked a bit and nodded his head. "Whiskey, scotch, whatever," he chuckled before casting his eyes in the direction of a clock on the wall. "And, as lovely as this has been, I need to get ready. I have somewhere to be," he said, rising to his feet. He motioned to the bottle. "Have as much as you like. We have an abundance." The frown after speaking about legacies told Alastor that Eliot was thinking of somebody in particular, and the avoidance of talking about magical superiority told him what he needed to know - that his Wizarding World wasn’t the only place that had problems of this sort. Alastor had known a number of people who had lives of leisure, as Eliot put it - Sirius, James. Of course, this was before everything got fucked up with Voldemort, and while Alastor had his opinion on it at the time, what he considered more important was that they made themselves useful by helping to fight Death Eaters as part of the Order of the Phoenix - they weren’t just idle rich or lazy bums. He didn’t know enough about Eliot to make that sort of assessment yet. “Much obliged,” Moody thanked him with a nod of his head. Now that people were stirring, Moody thought he might return to his room for a wee kip before getting ready for the rest of his day. |