Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => London => Muggle London => Topic started by: Jonas Trevelyan on January 19, 2019, 12:19:20 PM
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Saturday, 3 December
Just before 9 PM
The Trevelyan family home in Hammersmith, London
Dinner had long since been cleared from the table, and Anna had gone to put Artie in his room and then finish up a few more emails before bed. The rain was still beating a steady rhythm outside, but the living room of the Trevelyan home had escaped the worst of winter’s chill, with flames burning brightly in the fireplace.
“This one’s from a brewery up in Scotland,” Jonas said, as he used a bottle opener to pop off the cap. It was probably simpler to vanish it with his wand, but there was something about the ritual of opening a bottle of beer the Muggle way that he still appreciated. He’d spent far too long with a foot in each world to willingly adopt every magical shortcut. Sometimes, it was nice to be mundane.
He picked up one of the two half-pint glasses that he’d brought outside and began to pour, tilting the glass to minimize the resulting foam. “They age it in bourbon barrels after they make it, so it’ll probably taste a bit sweet. American-style,” he said, flashing his companion a crooked smile. “Still a bit new over on this side of the pond.”
He passed the other wizard the first glass, and then poured a second for himself. Leaning back on the sofa, he stretched his legs out in front of him, watching the flames dance in the fireplace as he took a sip.
“So how’s Calaveras been?” he asked, glancing at his guest. “Keeping you busy enough, yeah?”
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Nate laughed. "Never a dull moment."
"Last week had a bloke nearly perish. His first night on the line and he acts like he'd never held a wand in his life. Then a couple hours in he just keels over and we're calling for a Healer in the house. So that, and the hours: it's lovely. I could pull doubles five nights a week as long as I don't have to be conscious before noon."
Truly Nathan Briggs had never been more out of place than in the friendly muggle home of a friendly Auror. He'd worn a sweater. He'd brought wine. They'd drank it at dinner. It had been a Zinfandel. Jonas's wife Anna was funny and sharp. Artie could fit a baby carrot in his nose. There was wallpaper. Sofas. Two televisions.
The small talk was easy. Briggs was blending. He'd been morbidly curious to have a look-in on what he imagined was the bizarre normalcy of Jonas Trevelyan. It was certainly more nuanced than he expected, Jonas's manner out of uniform, the muggliness of the kitchen in particular. Briggs was good at blending, a good liar (unless he was at the pointy end of a wand). Tonight, he didn't need much of it. There was a sincere comfort in being around good people.
Really, the only deception he'd had to execute not being edgy as shit. If Nate hadn't been on parole, he'd already be in the wind. As soon as he caught a sniff that he was only one degree removed from a murder, he'd have disappeared. But when Level Two was keeping your tab, there was no skipping town. Each day he remained in London was a calculated risk.
He was still deciding if the surprising comfort of this dinner invite was something to be wary of, or something he should count as an opportunity to get right with the world.
Nate paused to compliment the beer. "This is good."
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Jonas flashed him a quick smile, obviously pleased with his guest's approval of the beer.
Briggs had a way of making even a dull backline job sound like a quick-witted comedy exchange. It was one of the things that had caused Jonas the slightest twinge of concern when the other wizard had been released from Azkaban. Nate Briggs was too smart for where he had ended up in life. The life of a dishwasher or a line chef was too dull, too mundane for him. But the decisions that Nate had made hadn't left him with many other options. And so Jonas was left hoping that this would be enough, that Briggs would find a way to be happy despite the fact that the world had given him less than he deserved.
Tonight, at least, nothing seemed to be hanging over Briggs. He'd been charming at dinner, amusing Anna and delighting Artie, who had narrowly avoided having to have a large vegetable vanished from inside his nose. It was nice to catch up with him away from the Ministry, away from all the reminders of Magical Law Enforcement and parolees that set them on such unequal footing.
"They've just opened a tasting room in London a couple of months ago," he replied, nodding to the beer bottle. "I'll let you know next time I'm thinking of heading over."
He hadn't invited Briggs here with an agenda. They'd talked about doing dinner a couple of months ago, but Jonas had been busy, and nailing down a date for the invitation had slipped his mind. But when Briggs had reached out again a week ago, the timing had been...not convenient, exactly. Jonas didn't want this to be about having an agenda.
But if anyone knew if Cinaed Tawse was starting to make rumblings in Knockturn, it would be Nathan Briggs.
Jonas shook his head ruefully. "I hate to say it, but some of the best beer I had was at the Black Chimaera, back before everything went to hell," he said, sounding sheepish. "I don't know where Tawse sourced everything from, but he had bloody good taste in stouts."
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The sweet, American-style stout surged into Nate's sinuses at the mention of Tawse and the Black Chimaera. He leaned forward to cover his mouth and nose and keep it all running down his front. When he was finished coughing and blinking he set the beer on a side table and tried to look unaffected at the mention of one of the more terrifying people he knew. Trevelyan had to know their history, right?
Wait, Jonas Trevelyan had been to the Black Chimaera? Why? Sure, Nate had been down that pub a great deal, but that was before he blew it up.
"What?" Briggs knew where Tawse got some of his potions reagents but not where he stocked up the bar.
"Probably courtesy of wide-spread racketeering or ripping off muggle pubs. Doesn't strike me as a bloke who pays if he doesn't have to. "
He wiped at the front of his sweater and swore under his breath. "'Sake, Trevelyan. Real shame it's out of business..."
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Beer exploded, and Briggs immediately dissolved into a hacking fit. Jonas blinked, his eyebrows raised, as he waited for the other wizard to recover himself.
It was a bit of a strong reaction, but then, Tawse wasn't normally a topic of conversation between him and Nate Briggs. Come to think of it, on the occasions when he'd visited the Black Chimaera a few years prior, he'd mostly run into Dazmond Wiedman, but never Briggs himself. Daz had been friendly with Cinaed back then, in a sort of show of Knockturn Alley solidarity. As far as he knew, Briggs' main interaction had been blowing up the bar with improperly stored Runespoor venom.
"Alright, then?" he asked, his forehead creasing with genuine concern as Briggs managed to recover his ability to speak.
Widespread racketeering.... Jonas frowned. Cinaed Tawse didn't strike him as the sort of bloke who took his pub management anything less than extremely seriously, but then, they'd never really chatted about supply chains.
Jonas shrugged, watching the other man to make sure he didn't start suddenly choking again. "It is in some ways," he replied. "The Ministry isn't always right in how it treats Azkaban releasees. Tawse gave that lot a place to go and helped them land on their feet. More of a shame he couldn't leave it be and work positively to change the system. Terrorism means innocent people get hurt."
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Nate stared at Jonas as if he had two heads. Talking about Cineads contributions to the community. The Black Chinaera as some sort of uplifting rehabilitation gathering place? Didn't he hear that Tawse rented a room to Theodora Kingstreet? Sure. When the Black Chimaera was your cover job, you had to guess at what horrible shit you were covering up.
Nate coughed again, set down the offending drink and sat back.
"It is in every way, mate. Cinead Tawse as the poster boy for prison reform is a terrible bloody idea. 'If only he'd just applied himself...'? C'mon."
Nate was put out. Disappointing and a little surprising that Jonas's understanding nature extended to the likes of Cinead.
"Tawse hasn't done anything that helped any of us," he said firmly. It was uncomfortable to lump himself in with others struggling with navigating life after Azkaban, but it was a reality.
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He had unintentionally struck a chord in Briggs. It was a good reminder that whatever his interactions with Tawse and other residents of Knockturn in the past, Jonas had never truly been a member of that particular community.
"Sorry, mate," he said, flashing the younger wizard a slight, remorseful smile. "I didn't mean to speak out of place."
He paused for a moment, taking a sip of beer as he considered. Briggs clearly had no positive feelings towards Tawse. He'd been indirectly fishing a moment ago, but perhaps he could afford to be direct.
"I don't mean to pull you into anything when we're supposed to be catching up away from the Ministry, and if you don't feel comfortable saying anything, we'll leave it," he started, glancing at Nate. "You haven't heard any rumblings that Tawse is back around, have you? We picked up a hint of something recently, but he hasn't shown up much on Level Two's radar in a couple of years."
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Nate took the apology in hand with a deep breath; he didn't need to loose a scathing tongue at his only decent mate. He had to expect an Auror would have a different view of things. Hell, Nate's view had taken a dramatic swing after getting out. Before, the stakes had been high but he was still had the privilege of free moment. But now? He was under similar pressures as the rest; moreso that he couldn't (or wouldn't) give up his illicit moonlighting. He felt guilty right up until he felt bored.
He began to chuckle and wiped his face. Had he heard any 'rumblings' of Cinead Tawse? What did a hint of Tawse taste like? Was that a beard hair in the soup, or a touch of salt in the tea? Or was it a 'hint' of a knife in the chest?
"No, absolutely. Just the other day I saw him strolling down Knockturn Alley in a dated frock and fashionable shoes.[1]. I heard he stopped by Grimshaw's for some haberdashery.[2] Proper man about town."
It was no secret that Nate hated and feared Cinead Tawse. Nate's involvement with Cinead and led directly to his Azkaban sentence and now that he was re-entangled it was possible it would happen again. He swallowed a lump in his throat thinking about it. What a dream it would be for Cinead to meet his end, but Nate's participation in that? Seemed about the riskiest thing he could take on.
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The red-headed Auror’s forehead creased as he regarded Briggs. He hadn’t expected it to be as easy as simply asking. The younger man had helped him with cases before.[1] However, he’d always been extremely reluctant to name any compatriots, particularly Cinaed Tawse.
What had changed? Perhaps Briggs was really trying to steer right after getting out of Azkaban. Or perhaps, after spending a stint in the magical prison, he had lost all patience with the terrorist. Jonas supposed that Cinaed’s bragging rights about having spent years in Azkaban lost some of their mystique when one had experienced the place for oneself.
“The other day as in, just recently?” he asked. “Don’t happen to remember exactly when, do you?”
The Grimshaw connection was a potentially interesting one, too. They knew now that the Hunt siblings had likely purchased their unicorn blood through Grimshaw’s, although the shop never officially seemed to be opened. But it seemed like quite the leap to presume that Tawse could have been involved in encountering Lorelei or Leander Hunt there.
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Oh, what fun this was. Jonas, so sweet and trusting, had taken seriously what Nate had postured as sarcasm. Which was a mighty miscalculation on Nate's part because it was literally true. Forgetting his manners, Nate put his shoe up on the coffee table and lifted his eyebrows in a strange half-smile. Something about Trevelyan always made him feel just a little guilty, like he ought to change his ways and go straight or all that. That was more than his teachers or family or time in Azkaban had ever accomplished.
He wondered if Jonas was ever bored. His job, this life, this house? Were the sweaters worth it, he thought.
"Are you asking me as my friend or as an Auror?"
When had this gotten weird?
"Because if you're my lad Jonas then we can chat all night but it wouldn't help either of us. You'd promise none of it would get back to me, but things happen and then I've got no protection. But if you're an Auror, there will be official statements, my parole is in question, you pull strings for some bennies, and I'm in the middle of it all again, owing more debts."
He chuckled ruefully. "I know a lot, Jonas."
And what was the punchline, that he'd rather he didn't? It could as easily be a prideful dare. Or both. Nate wasn't sure himself. Knowledge is a chain, they say.
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The question that Briggs posed wasn't as simple as black and white. Are you asking me as my friend or as an Auror?
That was the rub, wasn't it? With his return to his role with the Ministry, there could never be a firm divide between work and anything else. Whatever Briggs knew, it was impossible not to contextualize it in terms of their investigation into the direwolves. And the younger man was right -- that would put him right in the thick of things, with all of the unfair burdens that came with it.
Jonas paused, taking a sip of beer as he considered Briggs for a moment. He had no doubt that the younger wizard did know a lot -- Briggs wasn't an idiot, and he was in the thick of things around Knockturn. But he was equally right that pressing him to share it, or using their friendship to make him feel like he could, would put him in an extremely dangerous position.
In the end, that wasn't a lever that Jonas wanted to pull.
"I don't want to put you in a bad spot, mate," he said after a beat. "Forget I asked after Tawse." He flashed Briggs a rueful smile. "If Anna was about, she'd get on me for thinking about anything even the slightest bit related to work when we're supposed to be enjoying a quiet night away, anyhow."
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Blessings on Jonas Trevelyan. Nate smiled back and got more comfortable on the couch. Neither of these two wizards seemed completely capable of divvying up their identities to exclude their occupations, even if they wanted to. The nature of their friendship seemed to hinge on its impossibility, surviving on both parties' willful defiance of their chosen places in the order of an ordered and magical society, intermittently. What did they each get out of it?
Nate genuinely liked Jonas. But part of it had to be this kind of risk. And, probably, Jonas represented to Nate that he wasn't entirely corrupt. That he was capable of engaging with morality.
At the mention of Jonas's wonderful wife, Nate looked over his shoulder to the hall, but it wasn't a gesture of paranoia.
"Quiet nights," he echoed. Those were what got him into trouble. "I've heard of those. How'd you two meet? You and Anna?"
Is that what normal people chatted about on quiet nights?
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Jonas blinked for a moment at the quick change in conversation, and then chuckled, flashing Briggs a quick grin.
"Bit of a story, that," he replied cheerfully. One story sandwiched inside another, although at least for now, they both had happy-ish endings. But that was the way of life, wasn't it? Either way, he was happy to move on from the subject of Tawse and the current troubles plaguing the magical world.
"Back in 1997, after things took a turn for the worse, I ended up living with me uncle down in Exeter." At the time, Arthur had been recently retired from the Devon and Cornwall Police, still a committed bachelor. He hadn't known where else to go without putting family or friends in danger, and so he'd ended up on his uncle's doorstep. "I didn't have many skills that transferred over well to the Muggle world, so he helped me get a job apprenticing with a private detective he knew, who was getting close to retiring."
Once he'd decided that the chances were low of anyone managing to find him, that had been the next struggle: figuring out what the hell to do now that his life had blown up in a way that he never could have anticipated. Jonas still didn't know what kind of favor his uncle had called in to get his longtime associate to take him on, but it must have been a big one.
The Auror shrugged, clearly good-humored about the entire story. "Of course, she thought that I was just some hotshot lad -- I think we made up a story about me washing out of police training, but she agreed to take me on anyhow. Most of the tasks she gave me were the more boring ones: deliver a document here, sort through paperwork there, sit outside someone's flat and wait to see who came by." Jonas flashed Nate a lopsided smile. "Bit of a letdown after what I'd been doing as an Auror for the past few years before that, but at least no one was actively trying to hex me anymore."
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Nate had known of Jonas's private investigator past, but now he recalled Anna mentioning they'd worked together over dinner. He nodded. Of all Nate's better-than, marriage was an exception. His and Dazmond's was an unconventional version, and acknowledging that it followed that others ought to engage in the institution however they liked as long as it worked.
In 1997, Nate did the math quickly, Merlin he'd been just fourteen, about two years before he left Hogwarts early. Seemed both he and Jonas set themselves on fateful trajectories at about the same time. Jonas taking a path of order, Nate more the opposite. How they were sitting here together, it was something to marvel at.
"How'd you break it to her? She catch you Apparating?" A little known fact about Nate was his regular subscription to Witch Weekly which frequently featured 'The Big Reveals' of magic folk breaking the news to their spouses and all the tangle, shock, and drama that often ensued.
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Jonas laughed and shook his head. “Gwenevere still doesn’t know,” he said, with a lopsided smile. “Married me uncle, though. Turned out they had a lot in common, once they were both spending time together with me to gripe about.”
That was one of the lines between worlds that he still hadn’t crossed. Although his uncle Arthur had known about his magical schooling, there’d been no reason to tell his mentor at the time. Even now, over a decade later, Gwen lived in relative unknowing bliss. That was part of the awkwardness of living a double life: after so many years, it felt too strange to broach a subject that probably should have been covered back when they first met.
“Anna, though,” Jonas continued, with a note of wry humor in his voice. He winked at Nate, crossing his arms, drink still in hand. “You’ll have to ask her about it sometime. Triggered a bit of a misunderstanding, that did.”
”What did?” With Artie safely in bed, his wife had returned downstairs, free of both familial and occupational duties. She arched an eyebrow at him, her expression dry. ”You being a wizard? Or was this one of our other myriad of misunderstandings?”
Jonas laughed, flashing her a lopsided smile as she came to join them. “Nate was asking about how we met,” he replied, smiling crookedly. “Didn’t quite get to that part, though.”
Anna made a exasperated-sounding noise, although it was followed by a faint wry smile that took any edge off her words. ”He followed someone into a library and almost got caught, did he tell you that?” she asked Nate.
“Not followed. Tailed,” Jonas protested, a bit indignant.
His wife laughed, giving him a patient pat on the arm as she came to join him on the sofa. “Tailed,” she amended, shaking her head humoringly. ”So he dropped down at the table I was sitting at doing some research for a paper, cool as you please, and said sorry, I need to blend in for a moment, do you mind?”
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Anna Trevelyan returned mid-stream to help the many-sided story; Nate learned more about the present than the past, however. Nate reflected the smiles with his own, watching the brief and tender banter between the married couple about their origin story, their sacred little tale kept carefully and tended well, like a little ember. His instinct was to dislike or mock it. It was a chasm in any common ground Nate and Jonas might be able to stake out. Engaging marriage, family drama, houses with living rooms with sofas, and kitchens with nice beer in electric refrigerators. Careers with coworkers and bosses and risks and rewards. Days had starts and ends.
But Nate wouldn't sneer. Not the least because he'd been invited in this and accepted the invitation; Jonas had been a pal about the whole thing.
"It would've been within your rights to kick him," Nate said but suspecting Anna hadn't. Anna and Jonas made more sense to Nate as conspirators rather than sparring partners.