fenrir greyback. (gleipnir) wrote in triumphic, @ 2014-04-21 18:22:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !scene, 1991 : 04, bungs rosalind, greyback fenrir |
WHO: Rosalind Bungs & Fenrir Greyback (and a few hapless interns)
WHERE: The Ministry of Magic
WHEN: Now! Monday (aka Mass Firing of Interns Day)
WHAT: Fenrir heard you were talking shit about him
RATING: Some naughty words and suggestion of violence. C for creepy.
The man walking through the narrow corridor belonging to the Werewolf Registry was one who appeared to have put some thought behind his appearance. Fair hair -- so fair that the streaks of grey could only be glimpsed under the right sort of light -- neatly trimmed and neatly combed; clothes of nondescript shades and neat creases, with a wool scarf neatly wound around his neck; neat, if sparse, greetings delivered by a gravelly voice with little trace of an accent.
In fact, there was little trace of anything that was other. The man appeared to be at his ease, appeared to be familiar with this environment, with the way the floor in this less-than-popular part of the Ministry's sprawling series of Offices and Divisions creaked; with the way the sleepy-eyed intern manning the sorry excuse for a reception desk on this quiet Monday morning was clearly more interested in the latest sports section of the Daily Prophet. Working at the Werewolf Registry was dull work; the glamour, the danger, was all a few dozen hallways over in the Werewolf Capture Unit, where the specialist Hitwizards had begun their plans for this month's full moon, now only a few nights away.
The clerk who manned the Registry on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays had been terribly helpful: a quick Imperio had encouraged him to divulge all these little details. The Register, it seemed, was rather more up-to-date than it had been all those years ago, when Fenrir had been brought in for questioning, only to be mistaken for a Muggle tramp. Remus Lupin's father had paid the price for that (the price? Remus), and the Ministry was now, surely, more suspicious of the less-than-well-kempt, especially if their human skin was littered with scars and their grins slanted feral. Which was why, this time, after wiping away the blood that had spurted out of Ian Bassenthwaite's jugular, Fenrir had glamoured the telltale marks of a werewolf from his appearance and stolen the clothes off the man's back -- with, of course, the necessary adjustments to appear as bland and boring as everyone else.
“Bassenthwaite’s off sick.” The less than magical words that won him a bored nod of an ushering in. The sound of the newspaper’s pages being turned accompanied Fenrir as he took Bassenthwaite’s wand to the door that kept the Register safe, replacing the book with a small pouch that rattled softly as he placed it on the table. Then, the dead man’s wand was returned to his pocket (registered; useless save for one more thing) as he took up his own to shrink the book and slide it into his breast pocket.
The door was quiet as it clicked shut behind him. “No new entries,” was followed by a sighed, “I’m going to need some tea,” and he moved past the boy once more (ignored).
Back to the lifts, stepping out into the relative quiet of the Ministry’s atrium in the hour that followed the initial rush of morning commotion.
Unlike most of the universe, Rosalind Bungs was one of those strange sorts who'd always enjoyed Mondays. True, this particular Monday was special, as it was her Friday, and she got two days off in a row before the Werewolf Capture Unit would put aside their other daily duties and start focusing on the one night a month that they considered showtime. Plus, this particular Monday had involved helping toss some dirt into the hole that Benjy Fenwick kept insisting on digging for himself, which always was a source of amusement for her.
That particular spring in her step was stomped out fairly quickly as she waited for the elevator, as a pock-marked intern who desperately needed a haircut slammed into her, much to the amusement of his two friends who'd been playing keep-away with the kid's bagel. This, in turn, shoved Rosalind forward just as the Elevator doors opened, with Rosalind knocking clear into the guy and her coffee splashing all over the man inside's freshly pressed shirt and pants.
"Fuck," Rosalind swore under her breath. "ZELLER, YOU ARE FIRED," she yelled at the teen as he and his friends ran off in the other direction. "Shit, I'm sorry. They need to put the bloody interns on a leash or something." She backed up, sending a cleaning spell at his shirt. Her eyes drifted down to where the majority of the coffee had landed on his pants, then they immediately went back to the man's face. "I'll uh. Let you finish getting yourself cleaned up. Sorry again."
The sensation of scalding coffee, while… uncomfortable, was nothing compared to the sear of the silver members of the Capture Unit liked to employ against his kind. Fenrir merely offered what was meant to be startled step back (as though, perhaps, afraid of more coffee), his attention -- eyes suddenly sharp behind the glasses -- sliding within seconds to the fact that beneath the smell of liquid caffeine lay a scent he was familiar with. In fact, he knew that scent very well.
Rosalind Bungs, I remember you.
“Don’t worry.” And he stepped forward, inhaling as he moved past her and out of the lift. “The clothes aren’t mine.”
Rosalind took another step past him into the elevator before it dawned on him as to what exactly he'd said. That... wasn't sitting well with her at all. Taking a quick glance down at her watch -- she had time -- she turned back and jogged forward a few steps to catch up with the man. "You make a habit of wearing other people's clothes?" she asked, her voice coming out a bit more accusatory than with the low-key, joking manner she'd wished it had. Rosalind had never been very good at low-key.
"You're going to get those dry-cleaned then, yeah? Who's your guy? I'll send over the cost of it," she offered, not wanting to just hand over her money. She wanted to make sure the things actually ended up cleaned instead of her money making its way into the man's glass.
Fenrir was already halfway through the distance between the lifts and the employees’ exit, a system of unmanned fireplaces that would send them, rather than back to the public toilets, into a back alley. The dead man’s wand was now back in his hand, the symbols engraved in gold across the shaft declaring it as legally registered; tapping it against the golden grate of one such fireplace activated the flames, which leapt out in brilliant, heatless green flickers of light.
He turned then, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle. “Ian Bassenthwaite is my guy, Officer Bungs.”
A moment of clear confusion morphed into an expression of gut-punching realization as the man disappeared into a flash of green flame. No fucking way.
Rosalind pointed her wand at the fireplace, leaving a hurried 'Out of Order' sign hanging from the entrance to seal off any further entries into the floo before she ran back to the elevator, which couldn't move quickly enough.
She stopped off at the Department of Magical Transportation's floor, rushing down the hall to the Floo Department. "I need you to track where the last outgoing passenger took Floo 64 to immediately," Rosalind yelled at the front desk clerk before heading out the door again, this time to the DMLE's floor. Passing up the Hitwizard office she was due for work at, Rosalind continued down the hall to the werewolf registry.
"Where is Bassenthwaite?" she demanded of the front desk intern, who merely shrugged. "Some bloke said he's off sick," he replied, never looking up from his newspaper.Some bloke? "Some bloke??!! Some -- you're fired too," Rosalind spat at him before checking out the rest of the office, hoping she wasn't going to find Ian dumped off and naked somewhere in the office. He wasn't, thankfully, but that only lead to more questions.
She ignored the obnoxious feigned gasps of some of the others in the Hitwizard office when Rosalind finally arrived, late for her shift for one of the first times ever, and continued until she reached the Deputy Head's office. "I think I need to report a missing person."