The Bear and Barnacle

He'd woken late, and was therefore almost late to work at the Pub. Not that Ivonka would say anything to him. They'd come to some sort of mutual understanding, though they'd never be what you'd call friends. He wasn't sure Ivonka had friends, or that he'd ever want to meet them if she did. In any case, noticing his general moodiness, she'd wordlessly begun greeting him at work with both a shot of vodka (something really good, something they didn't keep at the bar) and a mug of fresh blood.

He was just pulling his phone out to check the time as he stepped into the Pub, when he noticed the blinking light that meant he had a text. It was short and simple, reading only "We're back."

With a suddenly renewed work ethic, he spent the next hour of his shift tidying the pub, making sure everything is as it should be. This includes making sure Dora's table has fresh paper and crayons waiting. He won't let on to anyone but the bit herself how much he's missed her. He's done the best he could in Iago's absence, but he never thought he'd be working this much. Not usually one to be employee of the month material. It'll be good to have someone who is at least a little more of a people person back behind the bar. He really belongs sitting AT it, drinking from the bottle, not serving from it.

A short time later, he takes even greater pleasure telling the frat boys at table three that they can "damn well order off the existing menu or get the bloody hell out". He's not sure, but he thinks he catches Ivonka's lip quirk up when she hears it.

The below is an IM continuation (of sorts) from Ed's arrival post, wherein Ed is kindly offered a place to sleep by Jack and (in a slightly less enthusiastic manner) Zelgadis. Players involved in the IM convo will, in all hopes, be able to continue the thread this way without so much reliance on coordinated schedules. :D Even so, others can feel free to comment and/or threadcrash about Ed's living situation, or whatever strikes their fancy!


Jack: *pushes open the Pub door and pulls his jacket around him* It's not a long walk ( -- just a few blocks. )

It was Dora's insistence that returns them to Margate with such a specific deadline. She's not going to miss spending Valentine's Day with Val, but not in the way most people would expect, unless they saw the two children last year, dressed in black and passing out black paper hearts labeled "Death".

She doesn't know when they got in, having fallen asleep draped over Iago's shoulder on the train from France and barely stirring as Iago hefted her and their backpacks, Teddy securely fastened to Dora's. She slept on through the car ride and even through Iago and Jack's hushed exchange at the door of the latter's house.

But she wakes up hot, and tangled with Val and his wings. Probably deafening Val with her squeal of joy, she latched onto him, heedless at first of the unseasonable heat.

Breakfast at the very full Harkness-Grayweir house on Valentine's Day was filled with Jack's pancakes and Dora rambling, and rambling, and rambling at length about all the places they visited, the lack of being arrested or put into a brothel in Morocco, the sisters they met in the Alps but the lack of goats to chase there, and the weeks spent in Venice where Dora talked Paulo the gondolier into letting her steer, resulting-- unsurprisingly-- in a fall into a canal and a subsequent-- potentially unrelated-- illness.

She's still babbling when Zel is volunteered to take Val and her-- both matching and dressed in black, Dora with fake black wings-- out into the sweltering heat of Margate to pass out their "anti-valentines"-- upgraded to include "agony", "putrescence", "sorrow", and "loneliness" this year-- to the unsuspecting populace. And she only stops talking when her voice gives out.

Q would like to take this opportunity to wish the patrons and employees of the Bear and Barnacle a very happy new year. He has arranged a special musical presentation for your enjoyment. It has a good beat and you can dance to it. Not that he expects everyone to actually dance, but he at least hopes that some of the more serious among you may find themselves inadvertently tapping a toe once or twice. If you’d like to dance however, please feel free. If you can’t find a partner, use a wooden chair!




Gods bless you Glenn Miller, wherever you are!

Mina: *is dressed, typically, in a narrow A-line skirt and and button-up blouse, red scarf as always wrapped around her throat- she does own a larger collection of clothes... they just all look alike* *shakes her head at the librarian* No, I am not interested in door-to-door salesmen. I want something of a more unnatural oddity. Unexplained occurrences. Yes, ghosts will be a place to start.
Minerva: *recognizes her from having been simultaneously in the pub on a few occasions* *waits for her to leave the librarian's desk before approaching and remarking* Have you spoken to Teddy Lupin about that?
Mina: *eyebrows raise* Has something of the sort happened to him?
Minerva: He's working on assembling some explanations about the strangenesses that tend to occur here. You might find him quite knowledgeable.
Mina: Teddy Lupin, was it?
Minerva: Yes. You'll have met his and Victoire's daughter, I believe.
Mina: Ah, yes. And Victoire herself. I didn't catch their surname at the time. *pauses* Or yours at all. I'm Mina Harker.
Minerva: *offers her hand* Minerva McGonagall.
Mina: *small twitch of her eyebrow but she takes the hand* A pleasure. I appreciate your information as i find myself very curious about my new residence.

( In which Mina invites Minerva back to her flat... for tea... and there is much exchanging of information and not the catfight we expected... yet )

Both women will accept threading here though Mina will be more immediate since notifications go to her player's email.

The first thing he feels - ( ouch )

He has a life here. He doesn't want to have to start over again.

But he needs time to think, so, not wanting to cope with the library, he invites himself over to avail himself of Spike's Internet and, with the focused patience of a plodding herdbeast or one who knows this shit is supposed to be user-friendly, starts looking up plane and train tickets. He'd desperately like some coffee to assist him with this matter, but the rich black drink becomes hot water as soon as he picks up the cup.

He remembers that Dora had expressed a wish to see Switzerland, though she couldn't remember why. He contemplates going to Czechoslovakia – a little of the soil of her own country might help Ivonka sleep and thus improve her temper. What might Morocco look like today, when one arrived as a traveller and not a soldier? What might Rome be in the twenty-first century instead of the sixteenth?

And always somewhere along the circuitous path he plans lies Venice. Not the first place to visit, or the last, but always there. The obvious solution to his problems, of course, is to destroy those who harm him through their nearest and dearest, but having a nearest and dearest himself complicates matters. So back to the beginning he'll go, and try to decide what to do from there.

Then there are phone calls to make, people to arrange things with, ensuring that he'll be able to access his funds in foreign banks (the customer-service girl seems to think he's an idiot for thinking otherwise), ensuring that a groggy Spike is willing to take over tending bar for a while, ensuring that Jack knows he'll bear the burden of amusing Val for a while.

He won't pack much. He'll carry his mobile phone and a suitcase with some clothes for each of them and, naturally, Teddy. And tomorrow or the next day they'll walk away from Margate, paradoxically freed because for different reasons, they will both want to come back.

Hello all! Due to various issues we're taking Iago and Dora on hiatus for a bit (until sometime after the New Year). Ivonka will be supplying events and topics (immediately to follow ... sorry), and if there are emergencies, Iago will probably answer his mobile the third or fourth time. Your modly ones' other characters will continue play.

The van (stolen, of course) careens madly down the streets of Margate in the early morning fog, coming to a stop after whipping around at the end of a long stretch of empty street. Hopping out of the drivers seat and onto the pavement, coat swirling as he sings a little song to himself, the Joker moves to the back of the van and flings the doors open with gusto.

"Enjoy the ride, my feathered friends?" he asks, a cacophony of noise and flapping feathers his response. "All right, all right, all of you out..." He hops onto the back of the van and starts herding the turkeys out into the street. Free at last, the large birds, all seemingly wearing collars, begin to move quickly in every direction.

Jumping out of the van, the Joker spins around, laughing, watching the turkeys rush every which-way. "Go out and explore! See the town! Have a BLAST!"

Laughing at his own joke, he abandons the van and heads to the pub.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" He yells as he enters, the few patrons eying him warily. Ivonka stands holding a knife. "Oh, relax. I'm not cooking this year. I was promised there would be pie...is there pie? That's all I want, the rest of my 'silly American Holiday' is taken care of." He slides into a seat by the window, pulling a remote detonation device out of his pocket. He looks at the timer on it, compares it to his watch. Glancing out of the window, he sees a shopkeeper chasing one of his turkeys with a broom. He grins, thumb over the toggle, "Three...twooooo...ONE!" The toggle is pressed, and outside the noise of multiple small explosions can be heard, and showers of feathers (and little bits of turkey) are fluttering down from the sky.

He leans back contentedly, hands behind his head, and waits for his pie.

Tricks Gone Bad!

From The Kent Chronicle

Margate residents got some extra frights last night when several executive members of the Thanet District Council were seen in situations that can only be described as shocking. William Severs, eight and his older sister Mary, eleven, were accosted on their way home from a Halloween party by a man they identified as Norman Francis. Francis grabbed young William and tried to force him into a car. The boy’s struggles and his sister’s screams attracted a passer-by who wrestled briefly with the man before Francis ran off. The Good Samaritan, Roger Miller, as well as Mary Severs, recognised Francis, a ten-year member of the council. “I voted for the b*****d,” Miller told this reporter in disgust. Miss Severs said she recognised Miller from a talk he gave at her school. “He tried to grab my brother,” the young lady said indignantly. “He’s a bad man.” Little William Severs was distraught, both by the attempted abduction and the fact that all of his Halloween candy ended up in the gutter. Vicky Severs, mother of the two children, says she plans to pursue criminal charges against Francis. “He should rot in jail! Who knows what else he’s done?”
( Read more... )

Things went as close to her plan as possible, she thinks afterward. Teddy was at work, no doubt buried in the Ministry archives, at the time. Minerva had just come by to check on her and the shop. Fleur was home, in the middle of sewing project. The witch midwife had just woken up from a nap. It was late enough in the day that Bill was done in Gringott's vaults and was doing paperwork at his desk.

So when Victoire realised this set of contractions weren't stopping or slowing, everything clicked into place. ( About damn time too. )

Feel free to comment for RP. I couldn't get this to really be or end differently and I know it sounds like it doesn't invite it but we do! Victoire'll probably be through to the pub in a few days with the baby or, if it make sense, she will be making a few phone/floo calls. Whatever! If someone wants to play with us... *eyebrow waggle*

Under the pretext of finding out what he needed to do to get a driving license, Rodolphus had a legitimate reason for being in the Margate Council building. He’d even been polite when the lady behind the counter handed him a booklet and several photocopied sheets of paper. He’d gone into the gents and then, using the Tarnhelm Effect, he was able to wander unnoticed through the building. He didn’t try to open any doors or get into anything. He watched. Muggles had people who did the cleaning, just like house elves, only they called them janitors. And it was the janitors he studied. He found the room in the basement where they kept the supplies, and since no one noticed him, he was able to listen and find out that someone named Tony was the night man here. Perfect! Satisfied with his reconnaissance, Rodolphus left.

( Read more... )

She's accustomed to being sent to odd places with little warning or explanation. So when the Crown informs her that she's needed in Margate, Mrs Mina Harker raises an eyebrow then starts preparing to move. By the end of the day, she has her essentials packed in a traveling trunk. By the next day she's selected and secured a flat out of the stack of brochures that were brought to her with word of her relocation. She'll purchase most of her furniture when she arrives, actually less expensive and less of a hassle than shipping her existing furniture, as she's discovered; but a healthy selection of her books, lab, and her bed are supposed to arrive when she does.

Early on Wednesday evening, her hired driver carries two small cases up to the top floor flat while she manages the larger trunk in one hand and a large rectangular case in the other hand. She can smell the closeness of the ocean, only a block away, and the fresh paint in the flat. Tipping the driver, she dismisses him and puts the trunk in the larger of the bedrooms. She considers the other case then carries it to the other bedroom and leans it against the wall commenting while brusquely, "Stay out of trouble for now, if you please."

Mina runs one hand over her hair, still pinned neatly up. Her white shirt is clean, the black skirt unwrinkled, and the red scarf still neatly wrapped once around her throat. In her pocket is a torn page from one those regional magazines that publish places to eat, things to see, and people to admire. Then with a final glance at the address that's been circled and the attached map, she leaves her new residence and strides down the street, wondering just what is going on at this pub.

If, like me, you live somewhere where Naan is not a phone call away, you can do what we do and make your own. It really helps if you have a heavy-duty mixer with a dough hook, unless you happen to have a house elf or someone you can Imperius to do all the kneading for you. ;)


( ”Naan” )

Spike pulled the last of his clothes out of the small closet and stuffed them in his duffel bag. Now that he has the necessities taken care of...refrigerator, microwave, bed, TV (yeah, that is a necessity), he's ready to officially move into his new place.

It couldn't have been planned better. Basement flat, dark, private. He's got the back bedroom blacked out already, but figures heavy curtains will do in the front room. Just in case, sometimes, someone visiting wants the sunlight.

He figures Holmes probably suspects something is up, he's been there less and less, but he still isn't sure what to say. Thank you and goodbye are both things he's not big on.

You say it’s your birthday
we’re gonna have a good time
I’m glad it’s your birthday
Happy birthday to you!

Q sang as he came into the living room with his back pack. “Now John,” he said to the turtle, “I’m going to be gone four days. I’ll be back Sunday night.” He gently stroked John’s shell. “There’s a Beatles/John Lennon Movie Marathon and Festival in London, and I’m going to celebrate our birthdays. I’ve rigged it so you’ll have fresh food and water while I’m gone so you don’t have to worry about that.” He didn’t feel at all odd talking to a turtle. Not while he was alone. It made more sense than talking to himself, something he was wary of doing where other people could see (and maybe hear). “I don’t want you to get lonely, so I’ll leave the radio on low. That won’t bother you will it?” He didn’t expect an answer (not really) and he wasn’t disappointed. John just stuck his head further out of his shell and nibbled the lettuce Q had given him. Taking that as a ‘no’, Q shouldered his bag and left, singing:

I would like you to dance--Birthday
Take a cha-cha-cha-chance-Birthday
I would like you to dance--Birthday
Dance

He had just enough time to catch the early train into London.

Lucius sat laughing, several other businessmen around him at a table in the back of Georgio's. “Gibbons, you are lucky that your wife allowed you back in the house after that!”

The man, Gibbons, was attempting to stop laughing himself. “Oh, I count myself very lucky indeed.” He dabbed at his face with his napkin. “Thank you for lunch, Mr. Malfoy.” The other gentlemen at the table agreed, expressing thanks as well.

Lucius put up a hand. “Not at all. We are all men of business, we must work together. And one should never work on an empty stomach.”

The men left one by one, until only Gibbons remained. “You’re certainly on the right track, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, “These men already respect you. Your name is more and more noticeable, in all the right ways.”

Lucius nodded. “You agree then? You will take the job?”

Gibbons nodded. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I will. I will be your campaign manager.”

Lucius smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Gibbons.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand. “I look forward to working with you.”

From the Kent Chronicle

In a not entirely unexpected development, the Thanet District Council today announced the resignation of the three member rubbish removal committee in the wake of the disastrous ‘rain of fish’ that has plagued the city since summer. Herschel Daulton, Mary Worth, and Charles Warren all cited exhaustion as the main reason for their leaving. “It was a bloody nightmare,” Daulton told this reporter. “Not just the fish you know, but the cats and rats and bugs that came along in the aftermath. And the squabbling over the money didn’t help. My Gran was on the Council during the war and I’d be hard pressed to say who had the worst of it. I don’t think any of us will be able to eat fish and chips again.” No special election is planned to fill the vacancies; the executive committee will assume the duties of the rubbish removal committee, pending naming other council members to the seats. Final tallies are not yet available, but it is estimated that the total cost of the clean-up will run in excess of £ 20,000.

"...And stop clapping your hands or I will reach right across this fire and clap them in irons," Severus bellows across the floo line. That's always annoyed him about house elves, and having his face in the flames does nothing for his temper, either. More moderately, he continues, "Better. Now, you understand that you would have to receive clothes from Professor Sprout? I will provide her with the equipment you'll wear in the lab and while doing--well, we'll get to that in a moment--in any case, I will provide the uniform and equipment that you'll wear here, but you'll receive it from her hands. Understood? Good.

"Now, there's another matter: I don't currently have a house to bring you to, so--so help me if you start blubbing again I will tell Filch he is not to allow you to clean one single damned thing for a week are you finished thank you. Now, until I do have a house, there is the possibility of your staying with a friend of mine and doing his cleaning as well as helping me in the brewery in exchange for your lodging. I expect I shall also require your assistance in the magics and other arrangements for the residence once I've acquired one. No clapping, I said! I must tell you straightaway that the gentleman in question is a muggle, and that you will be required to cover yourself appropriately by human standards while assisting both him and me, just as you've done while working in the dungeons before. If the equipment you receive from Professor Sprout becomes unrepairable, you will replace it with your own hands. And you will not be allowed alcohol unless you arrange for time away from your duties in advance. Can you manage that? Good. Here's a portkey," he tosses one into the fire, "which will bring you to the gentleman's home; he wishes to meet with you before any final decisions are made. I'll owl Filch with the time. You are expected to stay sober and be a model of utility for the remainder of your time at the school, do you understand? And for Salazar's sake don't gloat to the other elves about having an individual position; it's showy and excessive and in any case they're happy where they are and won't envy you. And remember that the story for everyone who doesn't already know is that I'm dead and your employer will be my cousin and apprentice Mr. Clayborn; Professor Sprout has all his details and so does Professor Flitwick if you don't like to bother her. I have your compliance? Good. Await the owl, then."

He turns the floo off with a sigh. Minerva's right about how much trouble Winky is likely to be, of course, but if he was going to refuse responsibilities thrust on him with the argument that they'd be an unreasonable bother, he should never have accepted the Headship of the House of brutalized children and spoiled brats, and there's Sirius's cat to think about, too, and Rodolphus (although in a less adoptive capacity, of course). And as much as he hates to admit it, the success of his little brewery is making her spare room a more and more crowded stillroom; he's going to have to either restrict his orders or move. It's something he's been struggling with for weeks, but he'll just have to give his inner Slughorn a strengthening potion to help it stand up to his rather more established inner hermit and arrange for weekly teas, or something of that sort.

He sits himself right on the sofa's godawful throw (still with some satisfaction) with a collection of real estate magazines spread out conspicuously on the table, and waits for Minerva to walk in. A shop with a warehouse behind and rooms up top, that's the thing; nothing fancy. It doesn't matter how sparse the rooms are as long as they're there; there are spells for that, and if he can't take care of them himself Clayborn can hire wizarding contractors.

From the Kent Chronicle

MAYORS INJURED IN AUTO ACCIDENT

The mayors of Margate, Ramsgate and Broadstairs were involved in a single car accident on the A255 yesterday when their car suffered a blowout and careened into a ditch. Margate Mayor Brian Wilson suffered a broken arm and various contusions and abrasion. Ramsgate Mayor Liam Butler broke a finger trying to get out of the car. Broadstairs Mayor Tom Shaw, who was driving, sustained the most serious injuries including a dislocated sternum and fractured ribs when he was thrown into the steering wheel. The car was equipped with airbags, but they did not deploy upon impact. The three were on their way to a charity golf outing at the Dyke Golf Club in Brighton.
When he was available for comment at East Kent Hospital, Mayor Shaw said the accident was a complete mystery. “I don’t recall running over anything that might have caused a puncture,” he said. “And I had new tyres put on just last month.” When asked about the airbags, the mayor had no comment, saying only that the matter would be thoroughly investigated. “I just thank god none of us were more badly hurt,” Mayor Shaw said fervently. Mayor Butler said he didn’t recall running over anything either. “All I know is one minute we’re sailing along, laughing and the next we’re all over the road screaming.” He expressed wishes for a speedy recovery for Mayor Shaw. Mayor Wilson, who was sitting in the back seat, said he didn’t notice anything unusual. “Funny about those airbags though,” he said. “I’ve never known them not to work.”

While Mayors Wilson and Butler will be able to perform their duties on the Thanet District Council, Mayor Shaw will be out indefinitely recovering from his injuries. The deputy mayor, David Jones, will assume mayoral duties on a temporary basis.

Q, who has been keeping himself occupied with Severus' back issues of Brewers Monthly, now pokes his head round the door. He'd made himself temporarily deaf, as opposed to casting a silencing charm on Severus' lab with who knows what consequences, so he listens intently. Not hearing anything untoward (which isn't necessarily a good thing), he ventures out into the hall. "Severus?" he calls. He wanders into the living room. No one there. A peek in the kitchen. Also empty. The wards keep him from the bedrooms and he wouldn't go there anyway, so he heads out to the garden. He sighs with relief when he sees Severus sitting there. "Is it safe to come out?" he asks, sticking his hands in his pockets.