Regulation and Control

Who: Mila Macnair and open (someone not attending the garden party, or someone running late)
What: TBA
When: May 30th, noon
Where: The wall with political messages, just outside of Mathwall
Rating: TBA
Status: Open; incomplete

A few weeks ago this place had been covered with words of protest, messages of peace, art that was made in an effort to change things, and it still was. But the words and images were old now, the flowers dead and forgotten - just like the wall was. Barely any time at all had passed since the horrors of the charm bombs, since dozens - hundreds had died inside barriers, but it was enough time to make people return to the apathetic ways.

She had been infuriated by the announcement - an invitation to a party to celebrate to better times. Were these really better? Nothing had changed as far as she could see, work had slowed as people decided solving the case could be left for later, or at least until after lunch. Indifference wasn't a cause for celebration.

But instead of worrying about what had happened, mourning the losses, people were too caught up in deciding what to wear to actually care.

Who: Mila and Charlie
What: Puppy swap
Where: Hyde Park
When: Waaaaayyyy backdated (May 10)
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Incomplete

"Fetch," Mila tried again, throwing a stick she had found on the ground after waving it in front of her excited dog. He seemed eager, wagging his tail furiously when she showed him the twig, but as soon as she threw it he lost interest - turning around to watch it sail away and hit the ground before turning back to Mila, panting and thumping his tail as if the stick had never existed.

She sighed in exasperation, the fourth stick thrown without success, before kneeling down and petting her dog's belly after he flopped onto his back with his tongue lolling. "Honestly, Will, how am I supposed to find you a home when you can't even fetch?" She mused, her voice thick as she brought up their situation again, Bulgarian words slurred miserably. Willoughby seemed to notice that she was upset again - at least he was smart enough to pick up that - and slapped her lightly with his paw before whining. "No," she said firmly before picking him up and kissing his head anyway. "No crying from you - no one wants to see a sad puppy."

Who: Mila Macnair and Zacharias Smith
What: Mila arouses Zach... with her 'words'.
Where: His house
When: 6th May, 2008 (I'm playing with time here. I don't really care... next week is finals and well, pfft. whatever.)
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Closed; complete

Mila felt like she was dealing with the worst hangover in the world when she woke up. Her head was pounding, her body ached, her mouth was dry, and… she looked around at the unfamiliar room wildly, at the cot she had been passed out on for god knows how long. Where the fuck was she? Standing up – no, bolting up, she wavered for a few moments… had she really been drinking? She never drank.

"Fucking hell," she muttered in Bulgarian, rolling up the sleeves on the huge shirt she was wearing and pulling her hair back with a rubber band she found on the window ledge. Near her wand. Well, at least she had that.

Where were her clothes? Her…
( If we were in your country, how the fuck would this go? )

Who: Mila Macnair and Zacharias Smith
Where: An old abandoned house near the Liverpool Airport
When: Friday (backdated)
What: Conversation.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Closed; complete

Mila apparated to the hill prepared for anything, one arm covering her head and the other holding her wand tightly. Plains, plaines, planes… she had seen them before, and she had absolutely no desire to be close to them. Zach would have a better chance surviving a stampede than Mila's wrath if he even attempted to bring her on a plane. It wasn't going to happen.

The things she did to spend time with this boy. Her attachment was beyond even her own comprehension.

But here she was, and sure enough after only a minute of standing on the hill, a plane flew dangerously low, its engine roaring violently. Mila threw herself to the ground and shot up a spell that was mean to send up a protective net – instead it engulfed every last flicker of light in a quarter-mile radius. That lasted only three seconds before her fears and instinct took over and she canceled the charm.

( Then why do your eyes heat and shadow whenever you speak of him? )

Who: Malcolm Baddock and Mila McNair
Where: Nemetona Park, muggle/magical intersection within Mathwall
When: Afternoon, April 26
What: A chat between colleagues.
Rating: G
Status: Complete

Spontaneity had brought him here. The weather was gorgeous, and he had wanted to enjoy it. So he left his flat and merely began walking, taking turns at random and having no clear destination in mind. He reasoned that he could always Apparate back to his flat should he find himself completely lost, but even so, he had never been too terrible with directions, and it wasn't as if he felt there was any danger in the situation.

And yet of all places, his legs had carried him here. He hadn't even realized it at the time; he had been busy reflecting upon his week, losing himself in thoughts of the past and unanswered questions that continued to puzzle him. And as he sat on the bench and watched children playing, and dogs being walked, he could not help but wonder at how remarkably everything seemed to have recovered in two weeks.

Everything except for him, anyway.

( Owl to Mila MacNair )

Who: Mila Macnair, Zach Smith, and Clare Smith
Where: Zach's house
When: Monday night, April 21
What: Mila, Zach and Clare get ready to go to the opera. Mila dances. Zach waxes poetic.
Rating: PG-13
Status: Closed; complete

( Chiaroscuro. It was the word that came to mind when he saw her face, the delicate balance of light, a contrast between that which was illuminated and that which remained forever hidden. )

Who: Mila Macnair and Zacharias Smith
Where: A movie theatre near Mathwall.
When: Thursday night (BACKDATED)
What: Mila and Zach go to the movies. OOPS.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Status: Closed; complete

"I read that the first time a film was shown, the people watching almost died of heart attacks because they thought that the train on screen was going to kill them." Mila glanced at Zach warily out of the corner of her eye, her face still staring up at the signs above them – black and white letters advertising different films, each one more strange sounding to her than the last. Horton Hears a Who… it sounded frightening. She wasn't sure she wanted to see a horror movie for her first (and probably only film). In fact, she still wasn't quite sure how he managed to convince her to come in the first place.

"Promise me that we can leave if I come even close to having a heart attack?"

( How fucking bad can a movie called CLOVERFIELD be? )

Who: yuri chekhov, mila macnair
What: After some delays, Yuri eventually makes it to Mila's house.
Where: Ender Burh, London
When: April 19, 6-ish
Rating: PG

The car was left behind. It meant Yuri had to walk several blocks, but it gave him as many paces to get Gwawr out of his head. It wasn't working well. There were multiple suspicions that arose in his mind just over her presence in London, let alone her request for sanctuary at his apartment. The afternoon with Clare had helped, had cleared his head in some ways, but in others it reminded him strongly of why he had decided to take her in- at least on Zach's behalf- in the first place.

Clare was not Katya. Yuri did not think of her as such, but he was afraid Gwawr's presence would bring the temptation upon him again.

When he thought he reached the place, he lingered for a while on the stoop before he finally raised his hand to knock.

( Owl to Mila )

Who: Mila Macnair and Zach Smith
Where: Mathwall, and a nearby restaurant
When: Wednesday, April 16
What: Protests, graffiti, and breakfast. All in a day’s work.
Rating: R for language.
Status: Closed; complete

(  Usually there is a fucking puzzle involved that I try to solve, and usually I can fucking not, so I pass it on with my fucking work for someone else to fucking look over and try their fucking luck at. )

Who: Mila Dimitrova and Walden Macnair
Where: Bulgaria
When: December, 2000
What: Engagement, romance, love. Obviously.
Rating: G
Status: Closed; complete

( I’m not interested in your stories, Milena, and from now on just a nod ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice. Your accent is god awful. I assume that you can breed? )

Who: Mila Macnair, her dog Willoughby, and Matt Cavanaugh.
What: It's raining in London, so Mila goes to Scotland to knit magic.
When: Evening, 14 April
Where: Hogsmeade

Like most days in London, it was raining. And like most days in Mila’s life, she wasn’t content being cooped up indoors. So where most people would have been content to curl up and read a book where it was warm, she took the rain as an opportunity to leave the city. In the year or so she had been in England, she had only ever explored the areas near London and a small town in Wales once – just to see where it was that her husband had been born. She decided immediately that it was too nice for him and left before her opinion of the man could taint the beauty of it.

Still, it was his stories that drew him to this place now – and instead of being turned away by the beauty of it, she was drawn nearer.

It was suspended in time, she thought. The houses, shops, and even people were living at a different pace than those in London – a better pace, maybe, but certainly one that was more reminiscent of a time past. Slow. Quiet. It was on a hill in a park that she sat down, the lake glittering below her and Hogwarts Castle looming protectively across the water. Willoughby went bounding off after a wood nymph and she was left alone while he chased, weaving glittering strands of her own magic carefully into a net.

Who: Mila Macnair and Arabella Mac
Where: the Marshall Street Baths, abandoned swimming pools in London
When: Sunday, April 13, afternoon
What: A random meeting.
Rating: TBD
Status: Open; in progress

The sky was streaked with grey as she approached the empty building, her gear slung over her back. An city official himself had contacted her, his voice pinched and tremulous as he made the call. This was to be unofficial, he'd said, this was to be kept under wraps, this was to be spoken of once and never again unless there was a question of billing. Of course, Arabella had answered, that was part of the contract.

But why had the contract been written? Her understanding of her own life was shifting, she thought, as she stared at the Baths, knowing only that she chased ghosts for a living but not that she ever found them. It was an easy way to make a pound - all that it required was a glib tongue and an ability to create your own answer.

Her foot scraped against the cement as she found the heavy rusted key in her pocket and began to force it to the lock that bound the heavy wooden doors together.

Who: Malcolm Baddock and theorists
Where: Scamander Park, outside the wall
When: (Day 3) April 7th (time: ...yeah...)
What: Triyng to solve the damned conundrum, fight off the threat of the Unspeakables, and handle media relations. Where the fuck is Trimble?
Rating: TBD
Status: Open; incomplete

He paced back and forth, staring down at the now-multicolored map. With so many different parameters to consider, he had to make so many copies of maps... and so many different colors of ink were needed in order to keep each set of conditions straight. Malcolm now consulted hsi color-coded guide in order to determine what was left to consider.

Who: Yuri Chekhov, Mila Macnair
What: A half hour prayer service in the London diocese of the Russian Orthodox church.
Where: Russian Orthodox Cathedral, the Cathedral of Dormition and All Saints, London
When: Friday, April 4th, 8:00 p.m.
Rating: PG, likely.
Special Note: These are two representative movements from Tchaikovsky's Russian Liturgy: Izhe hermivi// http://www.box.net/shared/oqhqgpc844 and Milost mira// http://www.box.net/shared/fjwr8nzeog



The narthex and nave of the cathedral were completely candlelit, and bodies trickled into the seats slowly. There was a veil lowered behind the Beautiful Gate, hiding the alter from view. The cathedral was alive with heady perfumes and burning candle wicks, and he found himself shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another. The Anglican church was much more familiar to him, and the lush paintings that wound up the walls did not appeal to him in the same way as the rock carvings and cross shape of the Anglican churches. He was more English than Russian in this regard.

He stood, presently, at the mouth of the narthex. The boys choir was in the back of the church, off to one side of the altar. They'd stand later before the Beautiful Gate in their white robes. Yuri had not yet changed into those robes; he thought it would be better if he met Mila in the narthex before she entered the nave, if she came at all. Or perhaps he was projecting his own acute sense of being out of place onto her.

Her sudden change of heart had surprised him, but not unpleasantly. It was his way to come on strong to all individuals, though secretly, he did not think he was as high energy at heart as he portrayed himself. Yuri coughed once, and it rang through the cathedral like a gunshot.

( Owl to Mila MacNair )

Who: Yuri Chekhov, Mila Macnair
What: This is a conversation in Russian involving two Eastern Europeans. Represent. Mila nearly eats a cashier alive. Yuri's new mission is to drive Mila around in a parade.
When: March 25th, 2008
Where: A wizard-friendly Diner/Cafe in LONDON.
Rating: PG

( Strange how everyone assumes I'm Russian, but on a map I'm nowhere near the place. )

Who: Mila MacNair, Zacharias and Clare [NPC] Smith
What: Hopefully, some food will be consumed in the making of this RP. It's hard to know.
When: March 13, 2008
Where: Belgo Centraal on Earlham Street, where the waiters dress like monks and kids eat free.
Rating: TBD - just assume language like whoa anytime you see Zach's name. Sorry.
Status: Open; in progress

"It's like... a cafeteria," Clare said, her hand almost brushing his before she stepped further away. Her grey eyes lifted, examining the ceiling as if she was reading it. Zach liked that about the child - she was more serious than others he'd known, her expressions critical as if she was continually measuring the world around her. The dim lighting did, in fact, remind him of primary schools and their strange flourescence and glancing at this girl who, when her face was turned away, reminded him so much of his sister, Zach felt a strange pang of nostalgia for the world he'd hated at the time and clung to so fiercely now that it was gone.

The girl turned her head to him, then added, "I don't think I like it... it's too open." A strange thing, for a seven year-old girl to say.

( Are those MONKS? Christ. No wonder kids fucking eat free. )

Who: Anthony Goldstein and Mila Macnair
What: I guess we'll see.
Where: Scamander Park, the morgue
When: October 3rd, 2007
Rating: TBD
Status: open; incomplete

"...therefore I can conclude that the cause of death is from massive silver poisoning which is, of course, fatal to werewolves." Anthony sighed deeply. The entire chest cavity was riddled with silver shot which pointed to some sort of Muggle weapon. How the werewolf had died was his main concern, not why he'd died. "End dictation," he muttered as an afterthought. The dicta-quill promptly fell over as the parchment flew into a plain manila folder, all ready to deliver to Trimble in the morning.

Anthony moved to the sink to wash the blood and gore off of his hands and arms when he heard the door to the morgue creep open. "What is it?" he asked somewhat testily. The last person that had walked in on him during an autopsy had left a sizable puddle of sick on the floor and he wasn't eager to repeat the experience. The smell of death and vomit didn't compliment each other very nicely.