WHO: Richenza Selwyn & NPC Werinbert Mugwort WHAT: A dinner interrupted. WHEN: December 14, evening WHERE: A restaurant WARNINGS: Poison!
Werinbert Mugwort seemed to be having a very lovely dinner with his wife when distress crossed Mrs Mugwort’s face and she brought her fingers to her lips, abruptly excusing herself. She passed Richenza on her way to the toilets and Richenza’s magically nondescript features creased with faux concern until she passed.
That should’ve bought her plenty of time to finish what she’d started.
As if she belonged there, Richenza slid into Mrs Mugwort’s still warm seat and gave the Wizengamot member her most charming smile. “Hello, sir!” she said brightly, leaning forward to prop her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, the dark mark on her forearm stark against her pale skin. “I wouldn’t bother calling for help if I were you. Your wife…” She pulled a face that all exaggerated sympathy.
Werinbert’s eyes widened, his white, bushy eyebrows raising skyward. “What have you done to her?” he said in a panicked whisper, glancing from the stranger’s face to the dark mark and back again. He gripped his fork and knife a little bit tighter, adding, “What do you want?”
Point made, Richenza let her arm fall, draping it along the edge of the table and hiding her dark mark from view. “A favor,” she said, keeping her voice light, friendly. “No, a promise.” She picked up his wife’s fork and prodded at the half-eaten food on his wife’s plate. “If you make me a promise, I’ll give you the antidote.” She pointed the fork at his food now. “For that.”
She leaned in a bit further, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The chef here is extremely susceptible to the imperius curse.”
“What—what have you—” the Wizengamot member began to stammer, though he was cut short by a sudden rush of blood drip-dropping from his nose. He grabbed a napkin and pressed it to his face, though it quickly began to soak through as the bleeding quickly worsened.
“How dare you. You can’t threaten—” Werinbert started, the latter part of his sentence cutting off as he began to choke.
“Oh no! Are you all right?” Richenza exclaimed, for the sake of those concerned glances they were earning from the nearby tables. She quickly jumped out of her seat and rounded the table, thumping the old man helpfully on the back.
Low and close to his ear, though, she whispered, “We don’t think Robards is what the Wizengamot really needs right now. Pinky swear that you’ll endorse his opponent.” She held out her little finger to him, crooked and ready for his. “And you and your wife will get to go home, safe and sound.”
Werinbert would have liked to have claimed that he'd fought back harder, that he'd never have given in to threats and intimidation. Right now, however, his lights were growing dim; he was about to die here, face-down in his dinner in front of everyone, and for what? Was a little coerced endorsement worth he and his wife’s lives?
Blood bubbling down his desperate features, the old wizard folded without further protest, hand shaking as he reached to hook his pinkie finger with hers.
“Well done,” Richenza murmured, giving him a much gentler pat on the back. She unhooked their little fingers and then, quickly, with the sleight of hand of a lifetime on Knockturn, she dumped the antidote into his water glass, pressing the water in his hand. “Here. Drink this. It should help.”
Werinbert accepted the antidote and drank greedily, gasping for air once the bleeding finally ceased, as though he’d simply been choking and finally managed to clear his airways. “Thank you,” he blubbered helplessly, not wanting to risk doing anything else that could jeopardize this temporary safety. “Where is she?”
With a sharp smile, Richenza straightened. “Oh, she’s fine. She’s in the toilet.”
In fact, when she glanced up, the Mrs Mugwort was just stepping back out into the restaurant, her forehead creasing at the unfamiliar woman standing at her table. “I’ll be going now! Don’t forget your promise, Mr Mugwort. You’re very easy to find.” Richenza threw the man a wave over her shoulder as she took her leave.