Absit Omen RPG

Saoirse was on message, if a little too practiced. Pollux tried not to squirm as he met his sister's gaze, raising his eyebrows as if to say 'I told you so.' He'd never quite figured out the trick of lying to Niobe, but refusing to back down from his stance seemed to be a good part of it.

"Is that enough for you now?" he asked, very pointedly. "I didn't realize you were after a job with Magical Catastrophes, Nibs."

He'd left his copy of Bestiario sitting on the counter. As unsuspiciously as possible, Pollux scooped it up and tucked it out of sight under the hardwood, doing his best to reclaim his proper sense of bustling authority behind the bar. For perhaps the first time that day, he could feel a sense of empathy for the unnamed narrator in the short story that their book club had been reading earlier, who had also had his personal dwelling twice invaded for no reason at all.

"Now that we're through all that, if you've dropped in for a pint, there's plenty of seats thonder," he informed her, jerking his thumb towards the bar stools on the opposite side of the bar. "What'll do ye? I think there's been a new cask put on since the last time youse were in."

For all that she'd already lost a finger to it, his sister had no notion of personal space, whether it belonged to man or beastie. Quick as a wink, she'd reappeared on his side of the bar, her scolding finger threatening his face.

"What am I bolluxing up, then?" Pollux protested. Any pretense of cleaning now heartily abandoned, he raised his hands in the air, objecting to his innocence with vigor. "I've done everything the Ministry has asked, haven't I?"

It was an exceedingly sore subject: back when Hopworts had first opened, it had been shut down very quickly after The Incident[1] had caught Level Three's ire. It had taken many months and far too many inspections to convince the Ministry powers-that-be that Pollux and his co-owners were indeed taking the Statute of Secrecy seriously. Since then, though, there'd been nary a peep: as anti-neighborly as it seemed, he'd been exceptionally careful every time he thought a Ministry inspector might come calling.

"We've charmed the entrance," he informed his sister loudly, counting off on his fingers. "We've made the building unplottable. There's no spells allowed in the street, and no apparating from anywhere except the back patio. We've installed all the anti-Muggle charms they've wanted on the place. In Godric's name, they're working so well that Naleda's even complained that she's losing business!"

1.	The Incident

His sister's question cut to the point quicker than Sectrumsempra.

"Muggles?" Pollux gaped at Niobe as if she'd just said a dirty word, his eyes nearly as round as the spectacles framing them.  "Here? In my tasting room?"

The question of what or whom he had been hosting were left forgotten as hurt at the unfounded accusation radiated off of him. Pollux looked as shocked as if his favorite sister had just accused him of plotting to resurrect Voldemort and hex the Ministry into submission. Everything about his body language conveyed that if there had been Muggles here, it was a complete surprise to him as much as it would have been for anyone else.

"What, says ye?" returned Pollux, who was very suddenly intent on busying himself by organizing everything in sight. "Catch yourself on!"

His task was made more difficult by the fact that there wasn't really anything to neaten: the area around the till had already been cleared in preparation for opening tonight, the glassware had been just put back, and there were only so many times he could wipe down the wooden bar before the varnish itself began to wear away. Busily, he quickly occupied himself with folding his cleaning rag into a perfect square, taking care to make sure that its corners matched precisely.

The rumble of another freight train, this one passing in the opposite direction, at least saved him for having to engage in conversation for another moment.

"Well, I'm off." If Naleda was aware of any awkwardness between the siblings, she didn't show it as she set her empty glass down on the counter and rose to her feet. "I've got to get the shop back open. Good to see you, Niobe," she added, giving the other woman a smile. "Thanks for hosting again, Pol," she added, tapping twice on the bar by way of thank you before she headed for the door.

His neighbor's departure at least gave him something new to clean. Pollux scooped up the empty glass and began to wash it by hand, holding his breath as he turned the faucet on and began to scrub it under the warm water.

"What's the craic?" he asked his sister, completely nonchalantly keeping his entire focus on scouring every inch of the offending taster glass. "I wasn't expecting you by tonight."

Late afternoon on Tuesday, August 7
Inside Hopworts Brewing Co.
Arch 22, Druid St
Bermondsey, London

The size of the book club had ebbed and flowed over the past year, but there had been a good turnout today: nearly a dozen of them, come together to discuss an Argentinian short story that was close to seventy years old. 

The discussion had been good and lively, and had run the gamut from Argentinian politics in 1946 to a brief interlude about the power of the people to the parable’s connection with interpretation of theory today. It wasn’t long after the clock struck four that their little club was beginning to filter out, off to school or work or wherever it was that called them.

Saoirse had already started to collect the empty mugs and plates, so Pollux left her to it. Instead, he stepped behind the bar, where a collection of newly-washed glasses that he’d left to clean themselves during the meeting were waiting to be put away. With a wave of his wand, the glasses formed a floating profession, levitating themselves to make their way one by one from the drying rack to a nearby shelf behind the bar.

“Got a minute for a quick drink, Pol?”

Pollux looked up to see Naleda, who owned the vegan sausage shop next door. He flashed her a bright smile, flicking his wand to divert two of the floating taster glasses so that they flew directly to them.

“I do,” he agreed amiably, plucking them out of the air as he turned back towards the tap handles. “What’ll do ye?”

Naleda arched an elegantly shaped eyebrow at him as she settled onto a stool, setting her copy of Bestiario down on the counter. “Oh, whatever you’re after,” she said airily. “You know better than I do what’s on, don’t you?”

Overhead, a loud rumbling sound set everything in the pub to quivering. Used as he was to the freight trains passing overhead, it didn’t take Pollux long to find his balance. He filled first one glass and then the other,

”Slainte,” he offered her, sliding one of the two tasters across the counter to her.

Naleda flashed him a smile and they both drank, taking a moment to savor the sudden quiet after the departure of the passing train.

“So —“ he’d started, when movement near the door caught his eye.

There was still about an hour until Hopworts would open officially for the evening. Pollux had opened his mouth to say so when he realized who it was that had stepped inside.

“Niobe!” Pollux blinked in surprise at his sister, too surprised to even use his usual nickname for her. Niobe was a fairly regular visitor to his brewery, but almost always much later in the evening and only very rarely alone. What was she doing here so early in the evening, and with no sign of her girlfriend in sight?

"Aye, always am!" Pollux replied cheerfully, as he scooped up the money and the menu, dropping each in their respective places behind the counter.

The brewer paused to scribble Alex's order on a notepad, and then ripped the sheet clean off. Turning, he stopped in front of what looked to be a beat-up Muggle toaster, which had clearly seen better days. The chrome metal was scuffed in multiple places, and its dangling black electrical cord had been sheared off above six inches below the device.

Pollux folded the paper with the order crisply in half and then popped it into the toaster, pushing down on the black handle so that it sank out of sight.

"The food'll be along in five," he told her, leaving the non-functional toaster behind him as he turned to fill up the second glass of lemonade. "What about ye, then?" he asked her over his shoulder. "That's an awful long face on a Wednesday. Surely your team will have you back once you're done and ready."

Murdoch had always struck Pollux as a bit of a lazy beast, but the now-enormous pigeon now looked anything but. As it gave a frantic flap of its monstrous wings, the burst of air that it generated was nearly strong enough to knock him back; as it was, the gust blasted his hat off his head, sending it tumbling back towards where Naleda stood speechless in the door of the shop.

"Murdoch!" Pollux shouted over the beating of the monstrous wings. "Heel! Oi, ye baste!"

But the enormous pigeon was not interested in heeling, although it thankfully appeared to have grown too big to effectively propel itself into the air. Agitated, it tried to lumber on top of the trash skip, as if all it needed to take to the air was a few feet of clearance and not, as was probably more likely, a two-mile runway.

At least his flurry of spells appeared to have arrested Murdoch's rapid growth spurt. But, Pollux realized with a quickly sinking feeling, the fact that the pigeon had only grown to the size of a large lorry instead of continuing to expand until it rivaled the London Eye wasn't going to make much of a difference if word of this disaster got back to the Ministry.

The blond lad who'd first drawn his attention to the Great Murdoch Disaster had yet to flee the scene. Pollux stared at him for a moment, and then pulled himself together.

"Quick!" he exclaimed, shouting to make himself heard over the beating of the wings as he pointed back to the door of the vegan butchery. "Fetch a baguette! If you can calm the monster down, I'll see if I can't return it to itself again!"

It was a relatively quiet Wednesday night at Hopworts, which wasn't surprising since the little tasting room had only recently expanded its hours in anticipation of spring. Pollux had spent most of the evening gabbing with one of the regulars down at the other end of the bar, but when his mate had finally left, he'd gone back to making his rounds, checking in on the various parties and taking a moment to tidy things behind the bar.

Young Alex was a bit of a mystery tonight. The usually boisterous Quidditch player had come alone tonight, without the gobs of teammates that he'd seen her with in the past. At first he'd assumed she must be here to meet someone, but she'd had her gaze fully fixed on her drink since she'd settled in, rather than keeping a watchful eye on the door.

He would have stayed clear and left her to her thoughts, but the request for a second lemonade and some food was plenty of invitation to engage.

"Another?" Pollux echoed, cocking an eyebrow at her.

He scooped up the empty glass, and then dug behind the bar for a moment. It took a moment to find the flat, thin wooden plank that served as the menu for the vegan butchery next door. An array of different meat-free sausages and other food options had been seared into the smooth wood, each with an equally-tempting description. Along the right-hand side of the menu, someone had helpfully annotated the Muggle prices with conversions to sickles and knuts.

"Have you a look," he said, flashing the young lass a smile as he slid the wooden menu across the bar to her. He dropped the empty lemonade glass into the dish tray near the sink, and then turned to fetch a clean one to fill. "Let me know what you'd like to send for, aye?"

The vegan butchery was quiet today. A bored-looking woman was perched on the stool behind the counter, snapping a piece of gum as she read a thick-looking book. She was tall and lithe, with dark skin and thick, textured hair that bounced a little as she glanced up to catch his eye.

"What about ye, Naleda?" Pollux said cheerfully, flashing her a bright smile by way of greeting.

The Muggle woman arched an eyebrow, but she flashed him a smile a moment later. "Alright, Pollux," she replied amiably, as she turned a page in her book. "Hey, we're due for the next book club meeting in a couple of weeks," she informed him, her gaze now fully locked back on the page. "Did you mind hosting in the tasting room again?"

His stomach rumbled as Pollux stepped up to the counter. "So it is," he agreed, picking up one of the laminated menus to scan it over. "Aye, just so long as it's not one of the nights we're open. When would you like?" he asked, with a friendly smile to Naleda. "At least that'll set a deadline for me to catch up on the reading."

Just then, the door jangled and clanged as it opened. Out of habit, Pollux glanced back. It was a fair-skinned, honey blonde teenager that he didn't recognize, who wasted no time in opening his mouth.

The wizard blinked. "What?" he asked blankly, not getting the reference.

Before he could exchange a look with Naleda, before the teenager could respond, a deep, rumbling coo came from the alleyway behind the teenager.

Pollux's face went slightly gray.

"Ach!" he exclaimed, hurrying past the boy for the door.

In the street behind him, just next to the large trash skip where he'd left it, was Murdoch the pigeon. But the bird was no longer the small, slightly plump pest that it had been when he'd left it. Now enormous, it was still pecking furiously at the battered bag of grain, even though it now stood taller than the dumpster itself and appeared to still be growing.

It took Pollux half a moment to find his voice, and several beats longer to locate his wand.

"You gluttonous baste!" His fingers finally closed around the familiar wood, and he yanked it out of his pocket. "Finite incantatum! Surgito!" he cried, gesturing furiously at the monstrous pigeon. "Offero! Finite! Finite incantatum!"

Late morning on Tuesday, 13 March
Just outside Hopworts Brewing Co.
Arch 22, Druid St
Bermondsey, London

"Oi!  Wait your turn, lad," Pollux grumbled at the extremely large, extremely round pigeon as he managed to heave another bag of spent grain into the large blue rubbish skip.

It was a foggy late morning in Bermondsey, which was about what he had come to expect in London this time of year.  The cobblestone streets that ran parallel and between the raised railway arches were fairly quiet. None of the breweries along the infamous Beer Mile would be open for service today; the only traffic came from industrial deliveries to the various warehouses or Muggles ducking into the specialty shops to pick up groceries.

Business at Hopworts had taken off since their second grand opening in December. These days, the little tasting room was packed brim to brim every Friday and Saturday. Orders from other magical pubs kept Pollux busy with brewing, keeping up with the demand for kegs of their four core beers. 

It was rare that he found time to simply experiment with recipes anymore unless he forced himself to make it, which was why he'd come in alone on this Tuesday. The idea of magical beers, which blending techniques from traditional brewing and potions-making, was intensely interesting to him, but also led to plenty of failed experiments. He'd been working for the past few weeks to develop a new beer recipe that he'd taken to calling Bockamy. Ultimately, the helles bock was supposed to mimic the choranaptyxic qualities of its namesake by causing the vessel that it was poured into to grow or shrink to fit the amount of beer inside it.

Unfortunately, Pollux's first attempt at brewing it had seemed ill-fated throughout the entire process. It had ultimately devolved into catastrophe when the tank holding the fermented liquid had suddenly shrank overnight to fit the amount of liquid inside it and then exploded from the pressure. This second attempt seemed to be going better so far: he'd made it all the way to the hopping stage without anything accidentally expanding or contracting.

The large skip was nearly full as Pollux heaved the last bag of spent grain over the edge and into it. The sliding metal door didn't quite bang closed as he let it go, leaving an opening for the eager pigeon.  Pollux sighed, giving it a rueful look as he wiped his hands on his pants.  Of all the pigeons in London, this one had settled into a happy life feasting on spent grain from the growing brewery scene in Bermondsey. It had kept getting rounder and rounder, and he was starting to wonder at what point it would lose the ability to lift itself aloft so that it could search out new feeding grounds.

"Don't gorge you too much, Murdoch," he told the pigeon dryly.

The pigeon let out a rumbling, deep-throated coo in response.  It was already nipping at one of the corners of the bag of mash, eager to get to the spent grain inside.

Shaking his head, Pollux turned to head back in through the vegan butchery, lips puckering as he whistled the melody to a Hawkshead Attacking Formation song. He was feeling chipper. He had a bit of time to wait before he needed to tend to the brewing again, which would be plenty long enough to enjoy a vegan sausage and a pint.

He didn't pay attention as Murdoch let out a sudden, startled coo. Behind him, where Pollux couldn't see, the already-large pigeon began to rapidly grow, quickly expanding to the size of a quaffle with no end to its sudden growth spurt in sight.

Fifteen years old | Gryffindor fourth year

Somewhere outside their hidden refuge, a party guest had probably noticed that their sparkling wine had gone missing after they'd carelessly set down for a moment. Pollux did his best to look as if he were enjoying his prize as he took another sip from the stemmed glass, trying not to pucker at the strange fizziness of it.

He hadn't been thrilled when the older Slytherins had come to join their hide-out under the table, but Gamp was both their host for the evening and the older brother to little Andromeda, whom Niobe had adopted as her new pet. At least he and Pinn, the prefect, had been mostly tolerable so far, much more wrapped up in flirting and laughing with each other than showing off the haughtiness that marked most of their housemates.

Even so, he wasn't about to let them get away with threatening to charm his sister, even if it was probably in jest.

"Good luck, Slytherin," he said, making a face in Pinn's direction.  "Mum's been trying to get Nibs to show an ounce of charm for years. I shouldn't get my hopes up that you'd be able to manage it."

MoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO!

The high-pitched bovine call echoed through the busy pub.  Silver flashed as a small, cow-shaped object floating right at eye-height scrambled through the crowd, bulldozing its way between the faces of a couple who had just found each other.

“Moo-OOO-vit!  Look out!  Cow coming home!”

A cackling Pollux Thursby chased in the small silver cow’s wake, doing his best to remain upright even as the force of his laughter threatened to nearly make him double over.

It had seemed like a good idea when he’d chipped his name in for this event.  He was udder no illusions at having any chance to find moo love at something sponsored by Witch Weekly, but he’d herd good things about the blind dating in the past, and having some fun before Valentine’s Day hadn’t seemed hoof bad. 

But now everything had turned into an udder cowtastrophe.

The small silver bovine suddenly seemed to pause in mid-air, which gave Pollux a chance to come hoofing up behind it.  He made a half-hearted attempt to bull himself together and snatch it out of the air, but the determined little thing was moo quick for him.  With another high-pitched moooo, it took off again, this time making a cow-line for a couple by the bar.

Without any respect for the conversation that was udderway, his little cow charged at the witch, who was holding what looked to be a silver moon-shaped talisman.  Letting out a gleeful mooooo, it made a majestic leap and went soaring over it.

Pollux, breathing hard, caught up a moment later, nearly plowing into the dark-haired wizard.

“Sorry!”  He grabbed onto the bar for support.  Wheezing, he tried to catch his breath. 

The little enchanted cow paid no mind to his quandairy.  Happily victorious, it decided to milk the moment by jumping over the moon in the witch’s hand again and again.

Oh well.  The point of this was throwing cowtion to the wind, wasn’t it?  Pollux straightened, taking one last deep gulp of air, and adjusted his hat.

“Sorry to cause such a scalf-fle,” he said, flashing them both a lopsided grin.  The witch looked unquestionabully familiar, although he couldn’t quite milk up his mind as to where he had seen her.  Hopefully, the bloke hadn’t had his heart set on mooing her.

Assuming the coolest cowtenance he could, Pollux tipped his hat to the witch.  “How now, brown cow?” he asked cheerfully.

“Two Muggles,” Pollux said firmly, holding out a hand with two fingers raised at his sister.  “Just two.  Downright anxious they were to get out of the rain.  And this place, well —“ 

He flicked his hand at the interior of the tasting room.  High brick ceiling, metal stools around barrels and high-topped long tables.  The coolers in the corner looked a bit odd without any Muggle refrigeration, but even those wouldn’t have looked entirely out of place at a Muggle brewery.  The other few scattered throughout Bermondsey were nearly indistinguishable from his own in their vintage industrial chic, aside from the burning lanterns that took the place of electrical lights.

The paddle of taster glasses in front of Foy and his sister were empty, which would hardly do, even if Niobe was nagging at him.  Pollux swept it away, effortless in his technique.

“So they wander in, take a seat at the bar,” he said cheerfully as he turned to deposit the empty glasses one by one in the bin for washing.  “And we don’t know any better.  And since they were all wet, it seemed a bit rude to ask them to pay before they’d had a chance to warm themselves again, so it wasn’t until a pint or two that I told them the score.

“‘Four sickles,’ says I,” he continued, in a much deeper voice than usual as he began to search for an empty pair of glasses.

“What’s a sickle?’ says they.”

Pollux had located the glasses he’d been looking for, but this was the part of the story that got the most dramatic. He returned to the counter by his sister and her girlfriend, hunching over it and lowering his voice to convey the shock of the sudden turn of events.

“We’re all confused.  What are they away on?  Everyone knows what a sickle is.  And suddenly, we realized.”  He drew back, letting out a gasp.  “They’re Muggles! 

“And then!” he exclaimed, “right in the mess of it, before any of us could decide what to say or what to do with them, someone pulls out his wand, and bam!”  He slapped the edge of the barter with his hand for added emphasis.  “One of themuns gone and been turned into a hat rack!”

"It was," Pollux agreed, clearly pleased that his sister had contributed.  "They'd been out picketing all day and then when the rains come, they'd had to find somewhere to nip into, hadn't they?  It must be a beast to be a Muggle and not be able to apparate," he added with feeling.  "The weather takes a turn, and what are you but stuck out there, doing your best not to get soaked when all the world's out to -- oi, what'll it be, mate?"

A shaggy-haired wizard with an impressive beard that extended down past his belt buckle had managed to slip up next to Niobe at the bar.  Pollux paused his tale as he fulfilled the order, deftly passing off another beer so that he could return to his sister and her date.

"So it's just started to rain," he resumed cheerfully as he rejoined them.  "And the mob's all out and about, looking for a place to get blocked after their busy day shouting slogans and waving signs about.  And here we are," he added, gesturing at the wider tap room behind his guests, "enjoying a quiet pint and thinking that the night's gotten a bit warm, aren't we?

"Back then," he said suddenly, turning to Foy as though he'd realized she was missing a crucial part of the story, "back then, the back wall wasn't all bricked in like it is now.  It was a metal roll-up, like on the vegan sausage place next store.  Most of the time we left it down, and one of my mates had taken a pass at one or two repelling charms, just so we wouldn't get any unwanted visitors.  But you know how Muggles are," he told the private detective, giving her a knowing wink.  "They no sooner get the feeling that they shouldn't go in somewhere then they pondering on how to let their curiosity get the better of them, don't they?"

"Agatha Pendragon sounds promising," Pollux said cheerfully, dropping his arm back to rest on the bar.  "That's probably what, witches of a certain age and up?  At least they're likely to appreciate good hat choices," he added impudently, giving an imaginary tip of his hat to his sister.[1]

Unfortunately, it hadn't taken Niobe long to move on past any strategizing on how best to improve his dating life through criminal conspiracy.  Pollux heaved a sigh, slanting her a long-suffering look.

"Oh, that old chestnut," he said, with an air of weariness that hadn't been present mere moments before.  "Ach, all right, Nibs; you'll drag it out of me.  But only because I like Foy," he warned her, with a half-grin that belied any admonishment in his voice as he turned towards the detective.  "I shouldn't want her to feel left out of all this history."

A proper yarn telling deserved a beer.  Luckily, he'd poured one for himself not too much earlier, the last time he'd gotten a minute to himself in the middle of this evening rush.  Pollux fished the mostly full glass out from behind the bar, raising his eyebrows mysteriously as Foy as he turned back towards her.

"It was a dark and stormy night --" he started, just as the rumbling began overhead again.  That set off a flurry of activity throughout the brewery, as everyone scrambled to grab their drinks until the train had passed by. 

Pollux waited until it had settled, looking out like a hawk to make sure that no one had lost their glass this time.  Finally, once he was sure that they'd suffered no unfortunate casualties, he turned back to his sister and his girlfriend.

"Now where was I?" he asked, swirling the dark beer in his glass slightly.  "Oh, yes.  It was a dark and stormy night, just after our soft opening this past Midsummer.  Which Niobe didn't even bother to drop in for, I might mention," he added, chuckling as he flashed a grin at his sister.  "Family loyalty won't even spare you a knut on a bad night, these days."

1.	Agatha Pendragon's most prominent role, Detective When, is known for her collection of unexpected and remarkably useful hats.