Smirking Kirk! (smirking_kirke) wrote in changedrpg, @ 2012-02-07 21:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | andrew kirke |
Who: Andrew Kirke and Cat Max
Where: Cat's Flat
When: Backdated to last Wednesday because this is Back to the Future
What: Andrew evades some snatchers
Warnings: none
Andrew Kirke didn't know what snatchers looked like. That was his first problem. The second was that in London it wasn't massively uncommon to be approached in the street - sometimes by muggers, but largely by homeless people, tourists looking for directions, chuggers... the list of potential pests was fairly endless. So when two blokes stopped him in the street he expected at worst to find they were going to mug him for the copy of the Metro he'd taken from the bus stop -- and the best, perhaps, that they would try to convince him to give them his bank details to start donating to Save the Whales.
They didn't look like humanitarians, though, and Andrew gripped the handlebars of his bmx with sweaty palms.
"What's yer name?" one of them asked, with a grunt. Andrew frowned. He hadn't made the connection yet.
"Mickey Mouse," he said.
"'E's not listed," the other man sniffed, peering at a piece of dog-eared, damp paper.
"Listed for what?" Andrew tried to see, and the man pressed the list to his chest, glaring at him with beady, black eyes.
"This is him," the first man said, "same lad we saw getting drug out the station, innit?"
"There's no Mickey Mouse on the list, guv. Check it yerself."
Andrew held his breath. These were either wizards or time travellers -- and he supposed he couldn't really be sure either way. Nevertheless it clicked in his mind, then, that the reason Muggleborns had been turned away from Hogwarts was to make them vulnerable to being snatched. If he hadn't lost every scrap of evidence that he was anything other than a normal London lad on a scrappy BMX bike he might've come acropper with them before. The temptation to use magic to get back to Hogwarts would've been too much to resist if his wand hadn't disappeared with them kids.
"Dunno what you're on about," he said nonchalantly. "Never been dragged out of a station in my life. And he says I'm not on your list, so. See you later, right?"
For a moment neither of them moved, and Andrew managed to waddle with his bike between his legs around them. It was almost a sixth sense that told him the shorter of the pair had reached to stop him -- and he kicked off from the ground and wove quickly on to a crowded street. With a strangled cry the two men gave immediate chase, and Andrew knew his freedom was on short order. If they meant to snatch him they could stun him easily, he realised. Every noise he heard made him flinch -- and, thinking quickly, he decided he'd best keep to the most populated parts of London. If they risked blowing the statute of secrecy wide open they couldn't use their wands.
Even he knew that was a feeble idea, but he didn't have much else. He led them on a desperate chase through the underground station at Charing Cross -- and then quickly changed his mind about using the stations, as the security guards made every effort to stop him and he remembered that Muggles didn't take kindly to hoodies on bikes either. At the point where he had to jump off, hoist the bike over his head and leg it up an escalator he began to question his capacity for coherent, logical thought under stress -- who's brilliant fucking idea had this been?
If he'd been smaller or cuter he might have tried pleading for help, but as it was it looked so much like Andrew had robbed the snatchers at his back that well-meaning members of the public kept throwing themselves into his path.
He almost didn't notice it when the neighbourhood became familiar, and then, when it did dawn on him, he almost didn't realise WHY. Then he remembered. Catherine Max lived nearby -- and she was about the only person in London he could go to and explain that he was being chased by lunatics and still be believed.
It was in true South-East London style, however, that he skidded to a halt in front of her building and lobbed a half a brick through her window. There wasn't time to fanny about with buzzers and explanations -- his preoccupation with remaining on busy streets meant that even on foot the two men had kept a good pace with him, and now, as he took his chances that Catherine Max would both be at home and also happen not to be a lunatic blood purist he realised there was no one else here.
"MISS MAX I DON'T KNOW IF YOU REMEMBER ME BUT MY NAME IS ANDREW KIRKE --"
"He IS on the list!" one of the snatchers crowed, "he's not Mickey Mouse at all!"
"--AND I WILL GLADLY PAY FOR YOUR WINDOW IF YOU WOULDN'T MIND LETTING ME IN RIGHT NOW, THAT'S ALL."