The Bear and Barnacle

The way I see it, alchemists are going at it all wrong. Why waste time trying to turn lead into gold when, with just four ingredients (five in this case), you can make shortbread? Truly. It's that good. And an easier recipe would be hard to find. Holmes is currently serving them to Severus and Dumbledore for tea. I do implore you though, don't use dried or ground rosemary in this recipe. It won't work. Use the freshest rosemary needles you can find. My mom keeps an extensive herb garden and I make these often during the summer.

( Rosemary Shortbread )

If he had known that tips would be this good with just a little bit of flirting thrown into his work, he might have gotten a job ages ago. Now with pay and tips, he's able to start on the list...

First up is his own phone. Can't rely on Holmes' much longer. Not if item two on the list happens. Can't make the call about the advert without a phone, anyway.

So he gets one with the works, internet and texting and all. Music and videos right on his phone. Technology is grand! He programs in the few numbers he needs, the pub, Holmes' main line, and then he pulls out the crumpled napkin that holds the number of the first person he's going to call. After all, he made a promise. He types in the number, presses send, and waits as he hears the ring on the other end.

"Hello? Looking for Dora, actually."

Val has been four for rather more than half a year when he decides enough is enough. Each year he ages is one year closer to adulthood ... or as close as he ever got, anyway. Two hundred is maybe not quite adult for a dragon.

First he quells lurking fears by having Jack measure his height and wingspan to ensure that he actually is growing. Lacking any real idea of when he was born the first time beyond "when it was warm," he chooses Midsummer Day to serve as his birthday. In the incredibly convoluted calendar of this locale that falls on the twenty-first of June.

What he didn't expect was Dora's resistance to the idea.

"I'm going to grow up," he said at last, stubbornly, to she who had been five over two birthdays now. "If you want to stay older then you have to grow up too." He added generously: "I'll share my birthday with you this year." At last she agreed.

So a compromise cake was baked, lemon with pink icing on one side and chocolate on the other. The pink side has six blue candles and the chocolate side has five. The whole vast, sticky confection, grimly but perfectly iced by Ivonka, sits proudly in the center of the bar at the Pub.

Val thinks this is an incredibly bizarre way to mark the turning of age, but he's not about to argue with tradition ... or cake.

from the Kent Messenger

Margate- Residents and tourists in the seaside resort town got a bit of unexpected weather yesterday when a rain of fish suddenly dropped on a quiet block near the beach. The rain began at approximately 8:05AM GMT and ended some ten minutes later. Professor Fred Windbright of the Royal Meteorological Society theorised that the fish (which were mostly deep-sea dwellers) might have been the result of a water spout in the Atlantic. “They’re like Hoovers you know, waterspouts,” he commented. “Suck up anything in their path and then when the wind goes, it just drops. Not an unheard of phenomenon. Rare though, certainly. There was a rain of frogs in Essex a couple of years ago.” Naturally, this has caused some consternation for the town council, who will be meeting in emergency session to try to decide what to do about the mess. Local homeless advocates are chivying for saving the fish to feed the needy. The local animal shelter has been overwhelmed with calls to come and remove various cats, dogs, birds and other animals that are helping themselves to the bounty. The waste removal force is already complaining about the extra work this means for them, busy as they are with the increased rubbish of the season. “My lads will be clocking up the overtime,” said R P Taylor, supervisor of the local union. “I just want to know who’s going to pay for it all.” Residents of the house where the majority of the fish landed refused to speak to reporters.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of the toxin immediately when Xellos brought up the plan. Been too long since he used it. The increasing headaches were probably not helping the situation. Little souvenirs from his “therapy” at Arkham. They certainly weren’t helping him remember all the things he would need. But he worked through the pain, and he got his list prepared.

( Convenient that there is a small cosmetics research lab just outside town... )

Zel has managed fairly well to keep himself in practice but he knows that after years of fighting humans, trolls, berserkers, mazoku (including Val and his nearly successful bringing about of the Apocalypse) that he needs more. Jack's too inexperienced and too worried about hurting him to be more than casual practice. And he grows bored defending himself against his own spelled fireballs, rocks, etc. He knows Iago is skilled with a sword- probably not nearly as great as Dora would claim- but the Venetian is too much of an asshole for Zelgadis not to wish to actually injure him and he really doesn't want to have to deal with the fall out of that one. He's seen a few things Xellos is capable of.

So he finally figures "what the hell" and pins a note to the noticeboard in the pub:

Experienced swordsman seeks equal or better for rigorous sparring.
Contact Zelgadis Grayweir
23 Northdown Way

He’d been on the run for so long it seemed he could scarcely recall a time when he wasn’t. After being left for dead at the Battle of Hogwarts, he’d escaped and managed to stay hidden until his wounds had healed. Then, he’d just wandered. Anywhere and everywhere it seemed. He’d fallen in with smugglers soon after he’d healed. Working just outside of Perth, he’d been an enforcer for a gang, a task he was eminently suited for. That had ended when a dispute over territory left key members of two gangs the victims of a group entrail-expelling curse. The dock warehouse had gotten rather messily redecorated and he’d gotten two suitcases full of money. So all in all, it hadn’t been too bad, even if he did have to work with muggles. Muggles! Merlin how he hated them! It was ironic that he was safer with them then with his own kind. And so he just…drifted. Glasgow, Edinburgh, Cardiff, Liverpool, Swansea. All the bigger cities where a stranger wouldn’t get a second glance. He avoided London though. No sense begging for trouble. He’d let his hair grow out and grown a beard and mustache as a disguise of sorts. But he had no purpose any more. All he’d held dear was gone. Revenge, of course he wanted revenge. That could wait though. Wait until they didn’t expect it. And it would be all the sweeter for the waiting. But there was something, some niggling something that seemed to be calling to him. Not all the time. Sometimes months would pass and he’d feel nothing. Then, out of the blue, there it would be and he’d be off again. He had no idea what it might be. He didn’t dare hope, he just went. Finally, finally, he came to Margate. Here, whatever it was that had been calling him seemed to tell him. It’s here. He walked down the streets, noticing the shops and inns that were being readied for the summer tourists. He saw nothing and no one familiar. He ended up on a lonely stretch of beach, with only the distant cry of seagulls for company. “Show me,” he murmured to the air. “SHOW ME!” he bellowed, his face reddening. The only answer was the pounding of the waves. He picked up a rock and heaved it angrily out into the ocean. Then, Rodolphus Lestrange turned and stalked off toward the town.

Wear lilacs if you were there.

Before he sent Horatio back to Mr Malfoy (with profuse thanks and an extra-large bag of owl treats) Q had another note to send. It had been surprisingly difficult to write. He wasn’t much of one for letters in the first place and getting the proper tone had nearly given him fits. He’d decided to go with almost formal and hope that it didn’t sound too stiff.

To Mr Sirius Black-

Sirius,

Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I would very much appreciate it if you could join me this evening at the Bear and Barnacle. I have something I wish to discuss with you. If you can make it, around 7 would be an acceptable time. I look forward to seeing you and thanks.

Sincerely,

Quirinus Quirrell

“An owl, an owl, my kingdom for an owl,” Q muttered to himself as he headed for the pub. He wondered how many different ways that particular quote had been paraphrased since Shakespeare wrote it. He shook his head. Off on another tangent again. He needed an owl and he’d been told that Lucius Malfoy might have one available. So, he was going to go see if he could get one. And maybe have a drink while he waited. Q walked into the pub, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust, though it was scarcely darker inside than out. He didn’t see Malfoy so he headed for the bar and ordered a Guinness. He didn’t really care for the stuff, but no one could drink it quickly and it wouldn’t seem strange if he was there for a while. He perched on a stool where he could see everyone and settled in to wait.

"Iaaaago?" Dora keens at him from the living room where she's been colouring while he's scrubbing the kitchen counters again.

"Yes, Tesorina?" He doesn't look up.

"Can I have a hundred pounds?"

Now he looks up at her. "What do you need a hundred pounds for?"

"For your birthday!" she reasons.

"You don't need to get me anything for my birthday and not something that big."

"But it's your birthday! And you're supposed to get gifts on your birthday."

Iago groans. "Can we pretend it's not my birthday?"

Dora puts her hands on her hips and looks at him. "Is this cause you think you're gonna be old??"

"Thirty is old, Dora."

( But McGonagall is old... and she's LOTS more than thirty! )

Stumbling up from the pub cellar, still not fully awake for the evening, Spike stuck the note he'd scribbled up on the pub bulletin board. Couldn't intrude too long on his current hosts, not really much room to move about...that, and the proximity to all that liquor probably wasn't in his best interests.



In case that's not readable, it says - "Residence needed, SWM, blonde, seeks very dark flat. Cellar/basement or crypt also an option. Smoking must be allowed. Keeps late hours, sleeps during day. Please ask for Spike here in the pub."

The Joker was very curious. So when a note was left on the door to his flat, he was very curious indeed. It simply stated to be at an appointed construction site in Margate at an appointed time, that there was a job for him. It was certainly the first time since arriving here that someone had sought him out, on purpose.

At the appointed time (Tuesday, at 11am) he arrived at the appointed place. The construction site was deserted, no workers. Just sand, dirt, and…

A steamroller. A big, yellow, steamroller. With the keys in the ignition. The Joker clapped his hands in delight and began inspecting the machine. Out loud, he mumbled. "Well, there's LOTS of jobs this baby could help with. But, ah, who left the note? Who wanted me here? What's the job?" He was wary, eyes darting this way and that, though the grin never subsided. Just in case, he pulled his knife as he leaned against the machine to wait for the mysterious, vague note-writer.

He called out to the seemingly empty lot. "Here I am. Got the note. Nice, ah, steamroller here. With keys. So I could just drive off with it. See how I'm NOT? I think that's pretty decent of me. So why don't you come on out and tell me what you wanted me to do with this thing? Other than the, ah, obvious flattening of things…"

Rincewind walked down the hall of the pub to the kitchen so nonchalantly things that grow at the bottom of ponds would have known he was up to something. Loud voices sounded from the store room; something about a great mass of pumpkins that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago and if someone didn’t do something about them, someone was going to feel the edge of a rolling pin. Rincewind opened the kitchen door a crack and peeked in. He heaved a sigh of relief. The room was empty. He could deal with Ivonka, as long as they weren’t in the same room at the same time, but Rincewind was terrified of Xellos. Hopefully, he’d be done and gone before anyone came in or they got the pumpkins sorted out. Rincewind tiptoed into the kitchen and opened the box that kept things cold. He didn’t understand how it worked but then, he didn’t exactly understand how breathing worked either. He removed bottles and opened cupboards, getting the rest of the ingredients he needed.

( An easy and elegant dessert for your Valentine’s Day pleasure. )

Zel's been arranging the day of Jack's birthday for over a month now, ever since Jack determined that they should celebrate Zelgadis' birthday on 01 Jan. Zel's kept track of his birthdays by the seasons for as long as he could remember. He knows that most people know their actual day of birth, but it was yet one more thing that Rezo kept from him when the bastard killed his parents and took him for his own use when he was only five. So much for trying to hide in the North and live a quiet life.

But, today is Jack's birthday- His 32nd- and Zel had not trouble thinking of what to do for him- the trouble was making it happen. But enough discussion, convincing, and money seems to make anything possible around here. Except for his and Val's leaving. They tested that on Saturday, with Professor McGonagall's help. But no matter, Jack can do this on his own.

So he wakes Jack early in the morning with a hot cup of coffee and a languid blowjob followed by another cup of coffee. He tells Jack he's called him a car to take him somewhere and to dress warm. He expected the resistance to going alone, but the promise of dinner together with Val and use of the coffee syrup Jack made, and Jack blushingly agrees to get into the taxi without him.

He hands the driver the address and more than enough money to get him there and he watches as the car pulls away, a rueful smile barely touching his lips at missing this.

( The car makes its way along the roads, steadily North along the coastline, then finally comes to a stop in front of this... )

It's not a pretty sight.

The Joker is happily humming a tune, bustling around the pub's kitchen in a frilly, lacy, white apron which is already covered in varios food-stuffs. He pauses and looks over to the corner, where Ivonka is bound and gagged. "How are we doing over there?" he asks, only getting a glare in response. "Well, if you hadn't been so, ah, difficult...you wouldn't be in this little, uh, situation." He taps her head with the wooden spoon he's holding. "I don't CARE if this is Merry Old England, I don't care if it's the beginnings of the Second Flood outside, I WANT MY THANKSGIVING."

Even if it means he's cooking it himself. He played with the turkey (it joined him in a waltz) more than he seasoned it, and it was very possibly going to be very under cooked or very overcooked by the time he was done with it. The stuffing had 3 kinds of bread products and any random food he could find to chop up and add. The potatoes, that was easy. If there was one thing he could do, it was SMASH, er, mash, potatoes. He loved them. Too many servings of Arkham's nasty instant-from-a-box-those-flakes-were-never-REAL-potatoes meant that he made sure to figure out how to make the real thing.

So the sides are about ready, the turkey is (hopefully) cooking, and now he's faced with the TRUE challenge. Pie. Because you can't have Thanksgiving without PIE. The prep table is covered in flour, and bowls of what may or may not be pie fillings. The Joker resumes stirring vigoursly at the bowl of, what he hopes, what will make the pie crust dough.

He pauses again, frowns at the mix, and holds out the bowl towards his captive. "Does this look right to you?" When all he gets is what sounds like muffled cursing, he sighs and rolls his eyes. "Now, now, that's not very helpful..." He licks his lips before shaking his head at her and leaning down close to her face. "You KNOW I can't eat all this by myself, so you might want to be more proactive with the advice, unless you WANT to be the reason I poison everyone."

He grins widely, and reaches to untie her gag. "But I warn you, you try anything, YOU'LL be the one being carved on the table."


Happy Turkey Day to all my American friends!

It's not something Zel ever thought he'd be doing. But he had the money- gems and gold hidden magically away: payment for playing bodyguard to lords, helping defeat trolls and demons, agreeing to be Amelia's protector and her father/king by proxy. The market for gemstones here was good, not given to the added benefit of protection spells put onto the larger jewels but enough that he was able to acquire sufficient funds for this.

Jack had said it was important- proof, apparently in his culture, that Jack had grown successfully into adulthood, accepted and stable. This added to the potential of Jack worrying less about L hearing them at private moments and therefore being less restrained, Val not being able to consume large amounts of sugar that was stashed everywhere, and having a place that was more home than Zel ever had, maybe one that would help Val to find comfort and security in this worlds as well...

And here Zelgadis was... buying a house.

It was hard to find the right one, one that stood on its own, private, with the large back garden (also private)- what with all the attached houses, terraced houses, converted houses, flats, etc in Margate. Not to mention that they were constrained to the limits of the city and many houses he found had taller neighboring buildings that could see right into the available property. They were an odd enough trio without having to worry about dealing with nosy neighbors, curious lookers-on, easily shocked old women who would only stare at two men kissing in their own garden. Let alone Zel's preference of bathing under the stars, Val's preference of running around with as few clothes on as possible (something he'd done before his rebirth as well), Zel's tendency to levitate small animals around the garden for Val to chase and catch in hopes of strengthening his wings. And if Zel and Jack decided to have sex outside of their bedroom? Privacy was imperative.

But finally he found it. Showed it to Jack and Val. Earned their whole-hearted approval (Jack immediately started planning shelves in the workshop and Val bounded to the large curtained off window in 'his' room and everyone wrinkled their nose at the spare room's decor). So Zelgadis paid the very startled looking owner and his equally startled looking property manager in cash.

And now they had a house. With a large back garden, a separate place for Jack to work on his assorted projects with less of a risk losing parts to the 4 year old former-mazoku-returned-to-dragon's hunger for causing havoc. Provided Jack remembered to lock the doors.

( Pictures )

Just in time too, considering the angry look of the clouds rolling in over the city.

Victoire has come to a Decision. This is not unusual as Victoire is a decisive sort, but this one she has made will be for the Good of Margate. (She, like her father and most of the decent Slytherins, had a tendency to think in capitals.) She, like so many, was trapped here in this town- facing a sea so unlike the one she grew up with. No cliffs, no distant view of Wales on clear days. And nothing to keep her entertained and occupied as Teddy was too easily distracted by the mystery surrounding the town to permit endless days of shagging. She could only pout so long before she needed something else to do.

And Margate was sorely lacking in a store of an adult nature from which she could purchase items to distract Teddy from his Ravenclaw nature.

The Decision was only natural and logical, and of course, Right. She would open a store for the lovers in the town- she had seen enough of those: the men who ran the pub, the American and that blue man, and she was beginning to wonder about the two Victorians. Suffice it to say, this town needed a reputable source for articles of romance and hedonism. And Victoire needed an occupation.

Now she only needs a shop with an attached flat... and a good amount of start up capital. And an investor who could see the benefit (socially and financially) for such venture. Victoire had just the person in mind.

( But first she had to tell Teddy )

cont'd from here
cross-posted to journal

Xellos phases back to the restaurant, where he bombs through customers in a blind fury of pleasant smiles and graceful quips on his way to the cellar, grabbing several sandwiches, a pie, and two velvet bags full of pebbles (many semiprecious) on his way.

He spellcasts and chews his way through the lot, and when there are only crumbs and a pile of round-edged, polished-looking stones incised with runes and arrays left, he rests his forehead on his laced fingers and groans quietly to himself, "Why do I let him get to me?"

And considers finding more food.