Show Posts - Gereth Yaztromo

Foe.Glass

Profile of Gereth Yaztromo

History and Stats

Post History

History and Stats

Information
Characters
History and Stats

Post History

Posts - Gereth Yaztromo

Pages 1 2 3 ... 18

London / Re: [Revolution] We're taught not to follow our heart

January 03, 2023, 12:14:02 am

She had sat back, hoping that her comments about not being interested in the loathsome pudding would be enough to make him go away, and toddle off to whatever dark hole he festered in when not at his castle.

But that tone. She's struck a nerve, and there he went, insulting her, calling her ugly, suggesting he needed a permanent makeover. Deitha had never thought of herself as beautiful but she wasn't unattractive, and she'd certainly never found it difficult to find a date on the occasions she'd wanted one.

In hearing that pestilential pustle in a suit describe her as such, though, and then suggesting to Odhrán that her father would pay to get rid of her, and not even pay that much?

Something went off inside her. Something very, very angry indeed.

The combination of motions all at once felt very slow to her, though no doubt it was considerably faster for others watching; with her free hand, out came the wand, and her glass with the remains of her drink found its way into free-fall to land in the space a couple of feet in front of Spaulding.

Here, and no further. The fact the line was implicitly highly flammable was a bonus.

She pointed at Spaulding, "Furnunculus!"

Magical Britain / Re: [Tintagel] Born in a Mourning Hall

January 02, 2023, 11:59:43 pm

Vincent took this as an opportunity to barge into the room and take stock of things, in a way the others hadn't seemed overly enthused or wanton to do.

"Well, lovely period furniture here, wouldn't you say, Albron?" He took note of the different items, noting which ones were in just about serviceable condition and whether any would look better in his castle.

The paintings were interesting; some of them were clearly Muggle, painted the old-fashioned way, perhaps Muggle ancestors of old man Trewethett; it wasn't clear how pureblood the family really was, and they were old-fashioned enough to have kept it quiet if they'd cared to, but perhaps this was a sign that there was Muggle blood in the family line.

The other portraits, however, were unquestionably magical. Lots of staring, indignantly, at the outsiders. Who were these misfits, here in the family home? What right did they have to be there?

That said, there were certainly those portraits that were entirely disinterested, unflatteringly so, with the guests and left. Vincent looked, sidelong, at old Ralston to see if he'd noticed. It had never occurred to him, Vincent, what might happen if a Muggle were to observe a wizarding portrait - if he even could.

"Well, if we're going to be buying this place lock, stock and barrel, perhaps we'd better see what's inside this cabinet, eh?"

He looked at Ralston, expectantly, then impatiently, and then with a huff, strode across the room to the cabinet. "I'm sure I have a key here that can open it." Out from a pocket came a rather almost absurdly large collection of keys.

Vincent leaned down, peered into the lock, carefully selected a key from it and inserted into the lock. Giving it a wiggle, he muttered under his breath, "Alohomora!" and the lock sprang open. "Ah," he said, standing up again, "I think I've got it."

Carefully standing back, Vincent opened the bureau part of the absurdly proportioned cabinet, and then the front swing doors. The array of bottles on offer was surprising; tall bottles of something distinctly lavender in shade, or perhaps lilac. Vincent didn't hold much for flowers or decorational terms, they were bottles of purple to him. But they were attention-getters. Other bottles had equally pronounced colours, green, blue, gold, silver, some swirling in their bottles, others bubbling away quite happily.

Vincent was too busy peering at the bottles to notice a fine silvery wisp emerge from one of the smaller drawers.

Library / Re: Excep-TEA-onally

January 02, 2023, 11:45:39 pm

Harold sighed. He found himself quite regretting asking his fourth years to write an essay on the ethical considerations of applied thaumaturgy in connection to chronometry. He was rather convinced that not a single one of them understood the problem inherent in using a Time Turner, and that they were all too busy daydreaming over 'having that perfect breakfast again' or some such twaddle. The notion did occur that, perhaps, he might have expected more from them than capable, but, well, he had given them plenty of material including what could be told about Eloise Mintumble

He rather suspected one or two of the students with Muggle families allowed their students to watch that perfectly lamentable broadcast, that one with the professor with the ridiculous name. Next they'll be allowing all of the interrogative pronouns as fairy tale characters. Though the notion of trying to consider a 'Professor Why' did briefly amuse him.

He'd managed to stomach the first three or four essays, red ink in hand, and a very strong cup of tea, but it hadn't been enough. No, what this needed was some sympathy from the other professors. The staff room, it would have to be. It wasn't entirely usual for Harold to seek out fellow teachers but there was some succour in the shared suffering, and odds were pretty good that at least one other professor would be in the same boat.

Gathering up his as-yet-unmarked essays, slotting his tea cup into his tea bag, he made his way across the castle. To his relative surprise, the staff room was almost empty - only Professor McGonagal was sat marking, but the look on her face was especially pensive, and Harold knew that she was having as much of a situation as he was. But it was good small talk.

Upon her noticing his arrival, he gestured to her own marking, and ruefully noted, "I have some marking of my own, and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, I am rather a little out of sorts with this batch - do I detect from the look on your face that you have the same?"

The look on her face said everything. But with Minerva, one look often did.

He sat in the corner chair, unpacked his things and began to read. There was a mild hurrumph, a bit of huffing and a sound that resembled that of an unexpectedly airborne scroll in more ways than perhaps it should have. Without saying a word, McGonagal packed up her things and strode off, leaving Harold none the wiser.

He made it through one more essay, before unpacking his tea bag to brew a cup. Very important step, the tea must be left to steep, and he took the opportunity to stretch. In so doing, he noticed the books and notepapers left in Tannenbaum's spot - unlike the other teachers who tended to use the space as and when, Professor Tannenbaum seemed to have a preference for one spot, and every time Harold had seen him, it was in the same chair.

But books weren't usually left there, nor notes. Tannenbaum was usually much tidier than that. And as the room was empty... with whatever paper Minerva had seen to tip her over whatever personal frustration was going on, he could safely take a quick peek before going back to his own work. And, well, he couldn't really start another scroll without being interrupted by the tea, now, could he?

The books were, predictably, about runes - but this time they had a different flavour. The previous one he had seen had been investigations into runes of death, while this... he recognised it.

Death took many forms, but runes in his particular field of study rarely changed. Something about the crossed lines of an hourglass perpetuated through all the forms. The sands of time running loose: there was no mistaking that this was about runes of time.

So, then, less about ending a life and more prolonging one? Neither seemed to fit the pattern of what Dumbledore had asked him to be on the watch for - but the devil takes many forms, and why not this? Countless sorcerers and magicians throughout the years have talked about banishing death, life eternal. Rumour was that even a Philosopher's Stone had been cast and forged. Harold idly wondered if one might strike a time rune in its making.

He left Tannenbaum's papers alone as he heard his kettle making its familiar whistle. Tea time. Time for tea. Time for essays. Time for runes. Runes for time.

Sipping at the freshly made tea, he thought - almost aloud - "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

It had occurred to him that he could go research the time runes as he had the death runes, but it also occurred to him that without a focus, it was rather like his students' essays: an unethical waste of time.

London / Re: [Revolution] We're taught not to follow our heart

January 01, 2023, 03:44:49 pm

Of all the indignance! The impudence! The intransigence! How dare she? Such vulgarity. Better he should try to pass it off lightly, humorously perhaps?

No, the figure in front of him - might be a female, certainly not a lady - might claim to be prefer women to men, but that was probably just because no man had treated her... correctly. Domesticated her. Taught her the proper manners. Taught her to respect her betters. And it was time he told her so.

"Flirting? With you? I mean, you're marginally attractive, you probably even clean up reasonably well with a spell or two to fix your hair, your clothes. With a little transfiguration work, you might even be beautiful enough to not show your father up when he finally puts you out for the season."

He turned to Ó Dálaigh. "Were I you, I'd beware this one leaving a mark on your reputation as well. I daresay old man Albron will disown her soon enough if he hasn't already, and I can assure you the rest of the family are far more pleasant to deal with. There's probably even a reasonable dowry in it just for them to be rid of her, if you otherwise took leave of your senses."

With that he turned to leave, gesturing toward the door for Audish's benefit.

Knockturn Alley / 🌼 Summer 70Re: [Meridian] Heavy Metal Noise

January 01, 2023, 03:23:19 pm

Well, that was most unexpected! Clearly the lack of response had gotten to the owner of that quaint building, enough for him to cast a spell.

A great big thundering moose, silver as moonlight, poured forth from his wand, sprang into full form before geeing up and charging at the door, crashing it open.

Then from inside, a woman's voice shouted angrily, "Oh, Daly!" Daly? That must be the name of the chap he was standing with, not like they'd been introduced.

Pyrrhus smiled wryly, "That certainly made an entrance. She seems angry, perhaps I should have a word?"

Before the other fellow could react, Pyrrhus made a move for the entrance, hand extended for a handshake.

"Hello, yes, good morning, hello, might I come in for a quick chat? My name's Albron, I'm the landlord for Mrs Richards next door and she asked me to stop by."

Library / Re: Excep-TEA-onally

December 21, 2022, 06:19:37 pm

The morning found Harold without much in the way of classes - there was something odd about Thursday mornings that just meant he had no classes. But Thursday mornings were a lot like Sunday afternoons, around four in the afternoon, with a vaguely pensive feeling, a foreboding anticipation of later in the day when things do actually get moving again.

In this particular case, the fourth year Slytherins. At least one of them was bound to do something... well... quite unsettling. It was always that class and one agent provocateur in particular. But at least Harold was mildly distracted by the notion that he could spend a good couple of hours in the library looking for more information on that rune.

He had placed it vaguely within a syllabary but runes were always more complicated than simply words in a dictionary, much as some English words were straightforward, such as 'milk' and 'sugar' while some were a little more complicated, perhaps such as 'tea', and some were utterly impenetrable, such as the word that might describe whatever Harold's thoughts were on the subject of Miss Pemberton. He still hadn't spoken to her in too long - studiously avoiding any reason to talk to her.

But still, there was the matter of the runes and that rather took precedence over whatever piffling trifles might otherwise be going on. Understanding whatever Tannenbaum was doing was critical at this juncture. It was something with runes, and the death rune wasn't much help on its own. If only he could get a bead on how it connected to other things - and what elementary magicks were bound to it...

He settled himself in again with a cup of tea, this time with a notepad and pencil, and several of the syllabaries. For things like this, parchment felt quite too much, this was a time for precision and deftness and the usual vagaries of parchment and ink and qulls seemed, well, quite fanciful. It helped that his peers and students would usually think of parchment as the go-to, so should it come to it, there was a reasonable chance an interloper would not realise where any notes were.

He took his time going through the pages, making notes of what connected to what - in much the same way a writer might make notes of letter combinations that flowed, words and phrases that went nicely - in a shorthand that shouldn't likely be interpreted by any in the castle. Except, he thought ruefully, perhaps Miss Pemberton. It occurred to him that her life had been awkward and it was entirely possible she should have taken some time in an assistant's capacity, that shorthand of a form, perhaps Pitman's, would be familiar to her. No matter, it would be unlikely that if it should be discovered, that it should be her to do so.

The time passed rather amiably, as it happened, a good morning's research into things connected with death - a frightfully lurid chapter even for wizards - but it had a few avenues for him. Many of the options connected with curses, but it wasn't clear to Harold if Tannenbaum was trying to prevent a curse or amplify one. Further research needed.

He had been so absorbed by his findings that he hadn't touched his tea. A full brew in one of his favourite mugs, no less. Quite simply appalling.

But there was that feeling again. He hadn't been consciously tracking Tannenbaum, or put some kind of spell on the man to warn of his presence and yet... he felt that tingle as though he should perhaps make a move. Better to leave a note here on the stack of books and not be here for the moment.

Hastily he scribbled something on a piece of parchment left on the writing desk, rather to the effect of 'back in 5 minutes', as if he were a shop-keep, and when heads were turned, filed his notepaper, then fiddled with his watch so as to be elsewhere (or, rather, elsewhen) for a short while. An excellent opportunity to stretch one's legs with a walk about the grounds for a spell, he should say.

It must have been barely twenty minutes before he ambled his way back to the library, to be elsewhen should the engimatic Tannenbaum have shown up.

Upon returning, it appeared the book pile had been rearranged; he'd left it in a slightly untidy stack and it had been aligned and arranged so all the books were in a neat squared-away pile, though his note was there and no books had been taken.

He still had a little time before his class, and eager to not have to think about the fourth years and especially that one... child... he put a hand around his mug to feel it for warmth. A smile fluttered on his lips as it was still pleasantly warm.

"What the deuce?" Harold spluttered upon trying to drink it. "I... honestly... could have... what the deuce? There were only two spoons of sugar in the cup when I made this!" It tasted as though there were half a dozen in the bottom of the mug, and as much as Harold had a sweet tooth, that was a little too much even for his discerning standards.

Knockturn Alley / 🌼 Summer 70Re: [Meridian] Heavy Metal Noise

December 08, 2022, 07:37:25 pm

Pyrrhus found himself faintly amused by the chap standing next to him. He wasn't sure if he preferred 'Prudence' or 'Lambchops', though he assumed the chap meant 'headphones', he'd seen some of his tenants using them.

"I'm the landlord of the place the other side, I'm sure you know Mrs Richards, and I'm sure you know what she's like when she gets a bee in her bonnet. She, uh, insisted I do something about... this." As if to explain, the clanging chose that moment to carry on again.

Pyrrhus, in spite of himself, sighed. "I guess I need to see a colleague in the Department for Regulation of Premises of Small and Growing Entrepreneurs after all. This is ridiculous!"

He watched as the chap banged on the door, to no avail, and gave it a go himself. Much as he'd just seen, an amplification spell on his throat, and his fist, and he banged on the solid door three times. "Would you please open up in there!?!"

He was, momentarily, embarrased by how loudly the knocks reverberated, not to mention his own voice. He hoped Mrs Richards wasn't going to rake him over the coals for that too.

The clanging seemed to get going for a moment and then stop. It was hard to hear if there was movement from inside.

Carefully checking the noise charms, he turned to the chap next to him. "Metal charmer you say? What in Merlin's name is she doing to cause that commotion?"

Library / Re: Excep-TEA-onally

December 08, 2022, 07:18:20 pm

Harold thought a lot about his recent conversations with Dumbledore - the mysterious conversation in London, and now this latest one: a request for an investigation into a fellow professor? He'd never known Dumbledore to be especially paranoid but perhaps recent events had rather swayed him. And so he'd accepted the task on nothing more than faith to determine "whether Tannenbaum was conflicted in his loyalties" or not. Ominous phrasing indeed, and well, quite unlike Dumbledore actually. That conversation in the Ministry had been a turning point for the pair of them, it seemed.

The best place to start would undoubtedly be Tannenbaum's office. Opportunities were surprisingly rare - the class schedule often had them both teaching at similar times, but there was a window of opportunity. Harold would have to be quick though - lurking in the stairwell to the sixth floor, waiting for Tannenbaum to leave, to give him a crucial window of knowing how much time there would be to get in, look through the office and get out again. It had been so useful in Ministry work to know when a subject would return with such precision.

He hadn't really expected much of the office; Tannenbaum himself was pretty cold as a personality, and the two of them hadn't exactly hit it off. Harold wondered idly if Dumbledore had suspicion of Tannenbaum as he seemed much more like Dippet. It was tidy enough, though, there were several glasses about the place with dregs of a cloudy grey-yellow liquid. It smelled vaguely citrusy, and oddly sour. Harold wondered if this was some potion - there were quite a few glasses of it about, and Tannenbaum had looked more cold and uncomfortable lately.

It was, well, of quite little interest to Harold beyond some passing fascination with human kindness, but he noted a rather assorted pile of books off to one side, with a few scraps of parchment dotted around. Nothing... incriminating, but one was rather suggestive. It had a few squiggles of notes, and a single rune inscribed several times, in various weights of line, different angles, different slants, but all clearly the same rune. It gave Harold a shiver just looking at it - but it was vaguely familiar.

It occurred to him that if Tannenbaum didn't recognise it - and needed several of the books for research - it might be somewhat obscure, but Harold had one idea about where it might come from, and he smiled to himself when he saw that the book he wanted to consult wasn't on Tannenbaum's list. Whatever it was he was researching, it was somewhat suspicious, but it was far too mild to bother Dumbledore with it thus far.

Nothing else caught Harold's eye as an immediate source of information and searching the desk drawers didn't seem like it would be that useful: whatever was nefarious, was being done out in the relative open, as the books and parchments attested. But it was immaterial, his pocket watch chirped a reminder and he took his leave of Tannenbaum's office.

The next stop was a trip to the library - he had been avoiding it after his previous interactions with Rose, but this took priority. He caught sight of her in the distance in a striking blue dress, and he thought it looked good on her, swishing in her wake, but it was a passing fancy as he headed for the Runes aisle of the Restricted Section.

He settled with a mug of tea - this might take a while. The book he wanted was in, and it was exactly what he'd hoped for: the rune had had a vaguely Futhark feel to it, and that had given him the thought to check one of the elder reference syllabaries rather than the newer ones, as somehow the elder works had resonated with him in his youth. After a period of searching - and a full mug of tea - there it was: clearly that rune, indicating death. Death, or perhaps the ending and beginning of a cycle. It was hard to tell specifically, given that the parchment had drawn it a dozen different ways, but the intent was clear enough.

The hairs down the back of his neck twitched. He got the feeling he was being watched, and sure enough, the enigmatic Tannenbaum was headed through the library. Harold was sure he'd left no traces of his investigation, but he felt that an altercation wouldn't be entirely prudent, and so made a swift exit, remembering to deposit his syllabary on the right shelf as he left. Better to not arouse suspicion just yet.

It was only after he was a floor away in another corner of the castle that it occurred to him, that he'd left his mug behind.

Knockturn Alley / 🌼 Summer 70Re: [Meridian] Heavy Metal Noise

December 07, 2022, 10:05:12 pm

Ugh. That was the resounding thought of the day. Pyrrhus never enjoyed some of the more... functional aspects to the business. Finding new property to purchase, to renovate, to rent, or drawing up good solid contracts that are perfectly reasonable for all involved, fair dealing and all that. That was good work when it was done - and Margoyle was coming along splendidly in all of it.

But days like today just necessitated a trip in person. Mrs Richards in her little shop in Knockturn Alley, complaining about the fundamentals. Half an hour on the floo network, half an hour of biting his ear off about this and that and the other. He'd bought the unit cheap a few years ago and generally had made a decent turn on the rent - more than he expected for Knockturn if he was honest, and if only he could get something in Diagon, well, that'd be grand. But occasionally he would have to go and deal with angry customers needing things, and sending the usual contractor wasn't going to be enough, so Pyrrhus took it upon himself to venture forth. Heroically, with gusto even, at least where Mrs Richards was concerned.

Pyrrhus never entirely enjoyed the floo network. It didn't smell particularly nice but it was at least prompt. More prompt than driving that Muggle wagon he had for business purposes - and he was visiting a witch. He'd never been entirely clear on what it was that Mrs Richards did in her little shop in Knockturn, and as far as he was concerned, as long as it was legal and she kept paying the bill, they would have little reason to speak to each other, which was - frankly - for the best for both of them.

The little bell rang as he entered. "Mrs Richards?"

The lady behind the counter had her hands over her ears, and simply gave Pyrrhus a quizzical look.

Pyrrhus cleared his throat, and went to speak again, intending to get the words "Mrs Richards, it's me, Mr Albron." out. But he barely made it through the first syllable before an almighty clang rang through the wall. Repeatedly.

"Blasted neighbour!" She screeched the words out. "Albron, you're here. You're late--" Another set of clangs interrupted. "You're late but you're here. You need to sort out next door!"

Pyrrhus sighed. Noisy neighbours wasn't really something in the lease, but it was clear that the Richards woman wasn't going to stand for anything else, let alone the banalities that he'd actually come to sort out, something about the plumbing.

He shrugged, cupped his hands around his mouth - seeing how Mrs Richards still had her hands over her ears - and called, "I'll go have a word, shall I?"

Mrs Richards nodded, "Yes, you go and have a word with her next door."

To be fair, the noise was pretty aggravating - and he'd only been there a few minutes. He wondered if he needed to speak to Smethwick in the Department for Regulation of Premises of Small and Growing Entrepreneurs, about a Noise Restriction charm. It wouldn't be cheap, of course, but the landlord would no doubt be able to reclaim it through the rent of the unit.

He banged his fist on the door three times. Solid wood door. Good heft, well hung. Whoever had installed it had taken care about installation. It was - he reflected after his recent trip to Cornwall - the sort of thing that marked out the good landlord from the likes of that odious oaf Spaulding.

But there was no answer. Another couple of times, then? But still, the polite request went unanswered.

It occurred to Pyrrhus that perhaps he needed a little more information. That noise was pretty aggravating - and no doubt the noise would have penetrated not only Mrs Richards' place, but the other side too. He cast a glance in its direction - a very narrow, tall building. It couldn't be rented; no owner would rent it out like that, simply not commercially viable to do so. No, that was the product of someone who owned the place and had a point of view. Pyrrhus couldn't say that he liked it, but respected that its owner didn't make it a hideous ugly monstrosity that would have brought the rent down on his own investment.

It seemed he wasn't alone - there was another person standing there, looking rather angry in the face. He supposed this other gentleman was the shopkeeper from the greenish art deco place.

"Excuse me, are you the proprietor of next door?" He gestured in the relevant direction. "I wonder if we are in a similar pickle - with the proprietor of this establishment?" He gestured to the origin of the clanging.

Magical Britain / Re: [Tintagel] Born in a Mourning Hall

October 31, 2022, 11:03:51 pm

It seemed a bit daft to Dod that them folks were in any sort of doubt as to what the room would ha' been used for. Plain as the nose on his face, it were a billiards room when originally built and the last folks to live here simply moved the table and made it a dining room. And that stain on the floor - his lordship probably had the right idea of what high-tone and fancy to-dos would have been in a house like this'un. Serving a big bowl of soup to a large number of guests at a fancy gathering; the place was big enough to host quite a shindig. Not that Dod would have been invited to such a thing, mind.

But he could tell his guests were less interested by a dining room with a discoloured floor.

"While I think you might like the master bedroom, miss, lots of room for lovely large wardrobes, probably enough room to convert it into one of those, what you might call a walk-in wardrobe if the lady of the house has lots of fashion choices." That sounded a little pompous in Dod's head, he had to think about the words. Imagining what people with this kind of money live like weren't exactly an easy ask.

"But if you'll just follow me please, we have a few more rooms to get through downstairs - there's a drawing room and I think your lordship in particular might find a wine cellar to his liking." Irish folks only drank Irish whiskey, and the man from Oxford seemed so much more the brown and mild type than a wino, and the lovely lady... she seemed the kind for a right good G&T.

To be fair, he could have done with a pint of bitter himself at this point, the tour wasn't going... quite as he'd expected, but no two tours were ever the same.

He stood at the threshold of the drawing room, one arm gesturing to the expanse before them; oddments of furniture that didn't seem to go in Dod's eyes, but probably just the chaise-lounge cost more than his annual salary and he didn't right care for the leather finish on it. Seemed a bit too much like the colour of blood for his liking, and leather furniture might be all the fashion, so he were told, but it always felt too uncomfortable to spend any time on... give him a regular three-seater any day. If he were really pushing the boat out, washable covers too.

Other than the several chaise-lounges, in different colours - all only lightly worn, and none of which went with owt else in the room - there was a sturdy cabinet in the corner, intricately carved, mahogany with teak inlays, though to call it a cabinet seemed daft. It were like one of them bureaus, only more massive and wide, the bottom section with large hinged doors, the middle section with drawers, and the top being a rolled-up section with many more much smaller drawers. The only image Dod had in his head is if a fancy antique bureau had somehow crossed itself with a piano, it were that wide and tall and then some, and all of it full of antique bottles - some not in a language he recognised.

Other furniture lined the walls - sideboards, cabinets, shelves full of papers, beautifully-framed oil paintings on the walls. Dod marvelled at how, if he looked just right at them, they were the sort that seemed to follow you round the room so that no matter where you stood it were like they were watching you.

He coughed politely, "The furniture, fittings, it's all included in the sale, and whatever's in them. We aren't going to attempt to value the contents, so..." He coughed again, "Cavit empter, I think they call it. Please, take your time, look around, try the chairs out if you like, just don't get any mud on them."

Magical Britain / Re: [Tintagel] Born in a Mourning Hall

October 31, 2022, 10:39:39 pm

Pyrrhus stepped back and let the peacocks in the room strut about the place. Spaulding was trying to play the fool, muttering some nonsense about a billiards room, knowing full well that that discolouring on the floor was of nothing muggle.

He quietly watched as the Le Tissier woman giggled at Spaulding's comment, as though she took it seriously. Was she under the assumption that Spaulding was a muggle, and that his comment about beetroot and cabbage was ... a muggle joke? It was uninspiring to say the least, and it was all he could do to not roll his eyes at it.

But he'd taken stock of the room, it was pleasantly sized, the floorboards could be repaired if necessary, had a multitude of purposes.

That other chap, though, most odd. He was eying up the potion spillage - perhaps he was a man of the field, inspecting it out of professional interest. It was clear from his manner that he was quite convinced that it was no cabbage and beetroot soup, and the blackcurrant cordial quip... well, he wasn't sure precisely whose benefit that was for.

There was a moment of interest where the Irishman seemed to gingerly touch the walls, and from his manner, Pyrrhus suspected some magical influence, rather like the tingle one gets from brushing past one of those clunky storage heaters if it's on cheap nylon carpet, that little spark off it. The muggles don't have magic? Might as well be.

It was too far away to see if there were runes on the wall, but something had to be there.

But no matter; Spaulding had already clearly sized up the room for whatever plans he had, the Le Tissier woman clearly content to be the charming ditz of the bunch - though clearly she had an agenda too, and was playing the fool for Spaulding's benefit. The Irishman was interesting, but the room seemed clearly interested in moving on - Le Tissier wanted to see the master bedroom. It would have been ungallant to suggest that her interest was anything less than for home decoration purposes.

His plan of saying little was working; giving little to nothing away, asking no questions - a further visit, just an individual one, perhaps with a surveyor, would be perfectly normal even for a property with this few purchasers, and no doubt there would be paperwork. Even Spaulding with his lack of class was not so unaware that he'd make an offer without consulting some professionals. Though, whether the Irishman would was another matter entirely.

It was at that point that the agent seemed like he wanted to say something.

London / 🌼 Summer 70Re: [Ministry] Looking for the Ringmaster

September 08, 2022, 11:17:47 pm

Harold was surprised as his friend and confidant seemed almost too casual in this place - but it was very quickly apparent how thick and murky things had gotten.

As the revelations came thick and fast - almost too fast for Harold to keep it straight, he found his reaction swerving wildly from relief to consternation, to indignation at having worried about her, that turned into a very curious sense of concern at the nature of the syndicate and its operations. There was also no small portent in E's words about being in the Death Chamber at all.

The comment about Dumbledore caught him a little by surprise, and rather a small chuckle, but it certainly explained his own experiences and especially that faint sense that he could 'see straight through people'.

The final note was somewhat more vague - but Harold couldn't help connecting it in his mind to what Dumbledore had said, about a 'Voldemort'. It certainly seemed connected.

He was about to say something but then E hissed at him - there had been a noise outside, and E was telling him to go. There were all sorts of things in the Ministry. Safe was not one of the things it was.

"I shall be back, old chap. I think you may be right for now - but I shan't stay away from a friend in need." He strode purposefully toward the door. "If you need me, you only have to send word. Take care, Edmund." He didn't know if that was his real name or not, but it was the name he knew. For all he knew, it was as accurate as Charles was.

There was no-one obviously outside, and Harold found his journey back out to the Ministry reception entirely untroubled. Even a sentry was posted outside now, not that he recognised them. It was eerily normal.

With a lot to think about, Harold needed a very large cup of tea. Hogwarts beckoned.

London / 🌼 Summer 70Re: [Ministry] Looking for the Ringmaster

September 08, 2022, 11:08:10 pm

It was ever so reassuring to see Harold - or Charles - walking about these halls again. His mere presence was always somehow reaffirming. He had that 'British bulldog spirit' about him, and his suits always cut a striking figure, but more than that, his personality and capacity for reasoning were quite simply invaluable. He was a loss to the muggle scientists for whom he would have no doubt discovered a great many things, and a loss to us when he left for Hogwarts, but he so desperately needed to find Sylvia.

Fortunately, for all concerned, there was news to be had.

A smile had formed on his face as he noticed Harold in the room - message received and understood! - but the smile faded as Harold's news followed. The ringmaster being missing was a concern - it had been some days and even though Unspeakables are generally above the rules, it was most irregular.

The lion's cage was also a deeply troubling metaphor; there were things loose at the present that ought not to be. Agents provocateur were abroad, and some of the rumours of an individual who was working to cheat death were perhaps less rumours than was healthy. It was long understood how to 'put a stopper in death' but delaying the inevitable was not the same as cheating fate entirely, and there were rules that were not meant to be broken - even in the realm of magic. And Harold would know better than most what that would look like, the rules of the known and bounded were something of his speciality. And his wife's for that matter.

But what was known is that a group of these agents provocateur, carrying out clandestine operations for an unknown purpose. They were too organised to be without purpose, too random to have an obvious pattern - yet it was evident that there was a higher purpose being served. Perhaps internationally. Perhaps even in league with those seeking to bend the rules entirely.

There were connections - an inmate in Azkaban who had heard something and whose family was paid off for his silence, rumours of these agents provocateur reaching deep cover positions. There was someone quite high up - though not sure how high - in St Mungo's. Someone acting as a fixer, making things disappear. Someone with curse breaking skills. And, as it turned out, Sylvia, with some research into the Time Room - and one of Harold's early prototype devices. There were more infiltrators, too. And the Unspeakable that was investigating them - the section chief, as it were - is nowhere to be found.

All of this, and so much more, flashed behind his eyes in the time it took to blink once, and just as much time to weigh up how to tell Harold, and how much. Such was the life of such individuals.

"Listen, Charles." There was a frown, and a sigh. No-one else was here, perhaps some time could be saved by skipping the code for once. "I should by rights not say this so plainly, but there is much to tell, and so little time. I also don't believe I am long for this world, which is why I'm here and not outside somewhere more pleasant than this."

There was a grim laugh. "First things first. Sylvia is very much alive. There was no accident, she fled the scene - her cover was about to be blown - and she took some of your research notes with her, one of your prototypes too. She's working with a group, we believe, and they're connected. Charles, these people have people, here, in the Ministry. More than just Sylvia. They have people in St Mungo's. Probably the Auror's office too. I don't think there's anyone planted in Hogwarts - but watch out for suspicious arrivals. All the time Dumbledore is there I don't think you're in any danger."

Another grim chuckle. "You know we have reason to believe Dumbledore has some latent legilimancy? It would explain a great many things - but every time we try to find out, he remains his usual charming self."

"Anyway. These people are dangerous. There's no telling how deeply or widespread this little syndicate of theirs is, or what their plans are. We have a few ideas, of course, whispers and rumours in the dark places."

A sigh. "Then there is the other matter. We've heard rumours of some exceeding dark magic being used across Europe. Some say it's a few individuals, some say it's a small army massing. What we do know is that it is very actively encouraging the use of dark magic, and some signs of extremely potent dark magic in use. Exactly what it means, we don't know yet, but if this movement should try to stage some kind of coup d'etat - and I wouldn't put it past them if they have the numbers - it might be worse than Grindlewald's lot. They never went entirely quiet, after all."

A much longer, drawn out sigh. "That's everything I have for now, I hope you take some comfort in closure - when I last wrote, things seemed more positive with regards to Sylvia, but things are continually in motion."

There was a sound from outside, a muffled, scuffled sort of sound. "Blast. You should go. I'll send word when I can."

London / 🌼 Summer 70Re: [Ministry] Looking for the Ringmaster

September 08, 2022, 10:38:38 pm

Harold left the silence hang in the air and turned to head inwards to the more... unpleasant parts of the Ministry. There was no relish for the destination, only the promise of knowledge - but that had drawn him to the Ministry in the past. He no longer paid attention to what Dumbledore was doing, or whether he was even present - all his concentration was on the journey ahead.

The message from his confidant had specified the Death Chamber. The hour was almost at hand.

Somehow the Death Chamber never got any less uncomfortable to be in. The archway still resembled a portal to another realm - which it both was, and wasn't, in its quaint and curious way. And the curtain carried a faint breath of death about it - just being near it left one with a rather curious chill down the back of the spine.

Sat on one of the stone benches across the room, was E, looking pensive and thoughtful, staring with some focus at the archway.

Harold waved, hoping to gently break the focus without disrupting the room. Something about this place made it uncomfortable to speak in anything other than a soft whisper - in case those on the other side of the curtain should hear.

Privately, Harold believed E spent more time here than was healthy, in case he should hear something useful.

E looked up, and his face broke into a grin. "Charles! You came!"

"Well, of course, old chap." smiled Harold, "How could I not with those letters of yours - and your messenger with the most delightful way with words. You may find you get a message from him in the next day or two but having made it here unscatched I believe I can relay my own thoughts on the matter."

He paused, and the smile grew a rueful edge. "As I said to the messenger: the wagonmaker should be delighted - to pay a visit here, asu such here I am. But that the strongman now cannot find the ringmaster to discuss the lion's cage. As a precaution I also advised that should the ringmaster send word, he should direct his attention to the school in the castle, and in particular the inn by the tree near the water."

Magical Britain / Re: [Tintagel] Born in a Mourning Hall

September 06, 2022, 09:40:34 pm

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Albron, old chap, how wonderful to see you." Vincent prided himself on sounding convincing with his sincerity, if not necessarily in earnestness with it. He tipped his flat cap. "To the victor, the spoils."

With that, he followed Ralston and the group indoors. He'd noted the smile that the Irish chap had given him, clearly a smile of 'well, how nice for you'. That meant his cover as muggle was probably working - if an obvious wizard thinks you're an idiot, that's their mistake and it will bite them.

The main reception was solid enough. Plenty of storage space for the housekeepers to store their equipment in, as well as anythnig should guests want to do so. Though, if it seemed like the place was better suited to becoming a small hotel, it had all the room one should need for the reception desk and maybe even a small office, perhaps as an annex to the back door. Vincent couldn't help but be wryly amused by Ralston's slight faltering - poor chap, clearly wasn't used to properties of this size and magnificence, let alone wizarding ones. He wondered, for a moment, whether Ralston's place would fit inside this reception area and decided that, perhaps, it would.

They'd been led into what might have - for a muggle house of this size - have been a billiards room. It was of the size and shape that would have suited a full size billiards table rather nicely. But this was not a home for a billiards table even if old man Trewethett were reputed to be a shade eccentric. More likely, a space for a pensieve or something similar - certainly there were remnants of runes in the stonework.

But it was clear to Vincent why Ralston had come to the conclusion he had, what else could he do with this?

The giggling woman disturbed his line of thought, pointing at some discoloured floorboards. Rich velvety purple. Vincent frowned, that pointed to powerful potioneers in the place - Trewethett wasn't reputed to be a potion master, but maybe this was the result of some kind of accident. He thought back to his own school days - the last time he'd bothered mixing a potion by hand - and scarcely remembered anything vividly purple.

"Perhaps the former owner spilled a very sizeable pot of beetroot and red cabbage soup on the floor?" He managed to effect a tone of mild incredulity as though he wasn't sure but with just enough confusion that it could have been plausible to believe he thought it.

"Though that would be rather odd for a games room or a billiards room, wouldn't it?" That's the spirit, Vincent, just let that pair underestimate you. Old Pyrrhus knew how the game was played and had also turned out looking just the part, and what he was up against. It really depended what was in the library, all other considerations were rather ambivalent in Vincent's mind. But if the library had what it was reputed to have, the place would have to be his, and gifted to those around him in certain circles.

Pages 1 2 3 ... 18