Absit Omen RPG

23^rd of January, 2012
Prewett Manor in Wiltshire, England

On the evening of the twenty-third day of January, some late owl post arrived. The owl was tagged from a Swansea post office and tapped urgently to be let inside. Once it was, it quickly dropped the letter sealed in Ministry purple, and flitted away without request for a morsel.

Improper Use of Magic Office Department of Magical Magical Law Enforcement Ministry of Magic URGENT
	Ignatius Prewett III Prewett Manor, Westbury Wiltshire, England

Woe be to whomever opened this letter, woe be Ignatius Prewett the third of his name in a long and storied wizarding bloodline. For after only a short time after the letter is read, something horrible begins to happen. The missive appears to be boilerplate Ministry kerfuffle, some urgent notice rescinding a previous mistaken notice of out-of-bounds magic being detected on such and such property on such and such day, but that the Office for the Improper Use of Magic insisted, or so the letter said, that the previous note must be immediately disregarded.

It was all a ruse of course, meant to concern and befuddle. But then the sinister parchment began its terrible task. The letter shattered and splintered into shards as if struck by a crackling web of lighting. The hundreds of pieces glowed a sharp blue at the edges and seemed to hover in air above the readers hands and lift and lift into the air.

Then, like a cyclone of blades, the papercuts began their attack. Utterly relentless.

Friday the 13th of January 2012
The Edinburgh residence of Wizengamot Elder Spencer Cotesworth-Head

In the early morning of Friday the thirteenth, a barn owl arrived at the home of Spencer Cotesworth-Head who was engaged in her morning routine. She stood at the kitchen table where she read from a folded Daily Prophet and sipped her coffee. Her plum Elder robes were as yet unfastened and her traditional hat sat on the entryway table awaiting her departure.

The owl wore the ankle tag of the Edinburgh owl post office and bore a single standard envelope.

Floo Network Authority Department of Magical Transportation Ministry of Magic URGENT
	Spencer Cotesworth-Head 1729 Morgana St. Edinburgh

When Madam Cotesworth-Head opened it, she had just enough time to glimpse the letterhead before the letter became criss-crossed with what looked like glowing white lightning. The page suddenly tore itself into a thousand tiny slicing pieces and lifted from Spencer's startled fingers.

The pieces began to swirl around her head until like a flock of savage insects they went for her. A neighbor heard the screaming. 

Kingstreet scoffed. “Are you really that dim? Elders, I again submit my petition for the immediate execution of defense council.”

“Madame Jingleberry, you are done!” An elder insisted, but the Irish witch pressed on.

“No, you help me out here, love. You have an airtight case, an auror stands accused of murder, torture yadda yadda and you, ye facilitate a body. Ye facilitate conspirators. I think ye need to explain that because I don’t believe yer capable of that and neither do these witches and wizards up there.” Her hand waved, indicating the onlookers in purple robes. “They put ye away because they think yer bonkers, love. Clearly they were right.”

“Form 11-D addendum A - allocation of search crups to a crime scene! Form MLE-18 B - necropsy authorization! Submit to Ministry morgue, authorized by Wizengamot sub-committee for wrongly deceased! File memorandum of Disfigurement Totalus! Everything required to produce a body in homicide proceedings,” she spoke in clipped tones. Her chains rattled as she continued.

“Conspirators,” she continued. “File triplicate form 17-Alpha authorizing surveillance. Requisition personnel, MLE, Form C.  Arrest warrants - MLE stamped! Indictments! Subpoenas! Everything in order, everything aligned, everything properly, incorruptibly arranged!”

“As well, it might, Elder.” Enid replied calmly, “but have I ever not had a serious point to make?” Once more, a murmur. They may not have liked Enid Jingleberry, but she wasn’t the sort to waste their time with ridiculous ramblings.

“Theodora, do you know this man?” The lawyer pointed to her client.

The erratic witness moved her gaze laterally to give a fair look at the wizard Jingleberry indicated.

“Leo Ophiuchus Gamp,” Theodora replied.

“And how do you know Mr Gamp?”

A tiny smile. “I prosecuted him in 1998 on behalf of the Ministry of Magic on charges of kidnapping, murder, and terrorism. He was convicted by this body.” She arched an eyebrow.

“Big catch. A decorated auror with no prior concerns. How did you manage that?”

“He was guilty,” she said, again with a small smug smile.

“Madame Jingleberry,” a wizard croaked from above, clearly irritated “what is the meaning of this direction of questioning?”

“If ye’ll let me continue, Sir, ye’ll see quite clearly.” The Irish witch gave a sweet smile before turning back to Kingstreet. She was still smiling. “Go on, Dora. We’re listenin’ love.”

At the familiar address, a faint clatter signaled an unseen movement of the witness in her chains. Far more valued to Kingstreet than her freedom, which she felt certain would be hers in due time, was her joy in being right (in whatever way this witch could feel that emotion). She liked shame, she liked fear.

“As you wish. It is my pleasure to elucidate for the benefit of your ineptitude. Cotesworth-Head will find herself in crucifiable financial scandal. Cesswick is hiding damning nepotism. Kulkarni’s bribery will be uncovered,” she said beginning a litany of slanders against each and every one of the Wizengamot Elders present.

“That will be quite enough! Madam Jingleberry, control your witness! Threats will not be tolerated!” bellowed Elder Amaravathy Kulkarni. Photographers’ flashbulbs snapped.

Kingstreet surged forward in her seat, raising her voice all the more. “Gallowsherd will commit suicide after a public disgrace! Chalfant’s fortune was won on the black market! Prewett -!”

The guards slammed her back into the seat.

20 December 2011
10:15am, Courtroom Seven
The Ministry of Magic

Enid Jingleberry had insisted her witness Theodora Kingstreet be dressed in a traditional witch’s modest pinstripe suit. A white ruffled blouse peeked out over the high mandarin collar and out of her three button cuffs. Her shoulders were covered by a smart capelet and the robes touched the tops of her sensible boots. A tight French twist held her pale blonde hair in place. But all this did little to offset the visual impact of the shackles around her wrists, waist and ankles - Azkaban was immoveable on that part of the dress code.

Theodora had no problem waiting because her mind was never idle, other than the five minutes of eyes-closed she scheduled each night. There was the neverending delusion of bureaucracy to be done from the fantasy of the Minister of Magic’s office. Recently, her work was focused on pulling files from the prosecution of Leo Ophiuchus Gamp, preparing for her imminent testimony before the Wizengamot.

A smile touched her lips where she sat in the holding area surrounded by Azkaban guards. It was all a waste of wand-power, but she imagined it comforted their feeble brains.

“It’s time.”

---

The crack of Kingstreet’s triple Side-Along Apparition echoed in the courtroom. She heard the conversation hush. The guards who’d accompanied her shoved her forward roughly to stand next to Enid Jingleberry, lawyer for the petitioner. Her chains rattled. Kingstreet swiveled her head to look directly at Leo Gamp. The former Auror was clean-shaven, but he had a sunken look to his eyes as he met her gaze. The predatory smile returned. She moved her head again to face front. In her mind, she arranged her reference materials.

Theodora continued sobbing in the corner, keeping a steady pace, cringing and flinching whenever it seemed most appropriate. Peeking over her shoulder, being sure to maintain an expression of terror. She'd seen them before, you know, so she knew what to do. Wide open eyes; be sure to dilate your pupils and flush your cheeks. Tremble if you can.

Genevieve looked positively combustable! And the guard - there it was, a perfect example of terror! The newly arranged facts were working wonders.

Oh! That was unexpected! Genevieve attacked and the guard, he slammed her against the wall! For a second, Theodora's control faltered and she smiled wild-eyed at Genevieve before quickly re-arranged herself in panic. She calibrated her wailing to a whimper. She was being saved.

      "You! Don't move!" the guard shouted at Kingstreet and swiveled his wand. He should call for backup, but his arse was on the line! He'd allowed this unsanctioned meeting and if anyone found out something had happened...! It'd be his head! He'd lose worse than his job!

He kept his wand trained on Kingstreet as he gingerly approached Genevieve.

      "Oh Merlin, ma'am, are you okay? I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He did his best to help her up and out of the room.

    "Please, please!" he urged her. All these years of being a stoic, capable Azkaban guard, they were failing him. He'd never hexed a visitor. He'd never done anything like this! He was so screwed! What had he done!

As he spoke to the visitor, the guard's eyes kept darting his eyes back to the prisoner. Theodora was timidly obeying, but slowly putting her feet under her and drying her eyes.

The facts were these, she cataloged them in her head: This had been an unsanctioned meeting. The visitor had attempted to introduce contraband. The visitor had motive to harm her. An attempted assault had occurred. Threats had been made. A guard had assaulted a visitor. So much could happen in a minute.

Theodora's face relaxed and she sat back up. A little twisting was required, but she was able to reach up and move a lock of hair from the corner of her mouth. This idiot needed an orientation. Kingstreet could provide. She cracked her neck and adjusted her jaw.

In a sudden, snapping motion, Theodora threw herself from her chair and began screaming and crying.

"Help! Help! Oh Merlin, help me! Stop! Stop! No stop!"

A second ago, she'd been dead calm, and now her face was contorted, red, and wet. She clawed her neck, leaving scratches and hurled herself against the back wall.

"Guards! Guards! Help! Help! Help!"

There was a loud fumbling at the door as the blackmailed guard fought to let himself in.

By the time the door opened, the chair was knocked over, and Kingstreet was nearly burrowing into a corner.

"I was only doing my job!" she wailed. "I was only doing my job!"

How simple it was to arrange facts.

Scraaaaape!

Theodora lunged forward again, leaning as far across the table as her restraints would allow. The cuffs pressed deep creases in her wrists. In her former life, there had been nothing that could draw a rise from the emotionless, cold-hearted attorney. In the past, she could without fail orchestrate every turn of her chin, as if every heartbeat was scheduled, every breath approved. But hard years in Azkaban under new security protocols had begun to chip away at her control.

Everyone else in this fortress tip-toed around her, left her alone as she liked it. Other than the smooth-talking Jingleberry, she hadn't had a visitor, not one. Thus, the garish demeanor and bald-faced defiance of Genevieve Garcia-Gamp was a catalyst for Kingstreet's new temper, it seemed.

"You know nothing," she hissed. "You are nothing. Your flailing ineptitude is no different than the random maneuverings of a cockroach running from the light. I could find you. I could crush you. Fact. There are no miracles only my benevolent will. My patience is infinite and your death certificate is written."

If Theodora Kingstreet had detected any trace of appropriate deference, she could no longer. Any hint of self-consciousness that would be due a public figure of the capabilities of Kingstreet was gone. In its place? Genevieve Garcia-Gamp was very nearly reclining like a be-drunken Auror who'd just mis-dated a J-340 form deliberately. The offenses worthy each of the forcible removal of organs.

Theodora's eyes flashed and a frown warped her face. Mentally unstable?! Had she been mentally unstable when she'd single-handedly cleaned the country of Death Eaters, Snatchers, and nail-biters? Had she been mentally unstable when she'd arranged for the Wizengamot to fall upon their own sword and grant her early release from a twenty-year sentence. Could mentally unstable person arrange for the public double elimination of a Wizengamot Elder and Auror in plain sight of hundreds of people?

She. Thought. Not.

This thinking had been and continued to be the propaganda of the Ministry of Magic, bent on delaying her inevitable return.

"I was, indeed, not aware." She thought quietly for a moment, her eyes tracing back and forth as if reading an unseen document of fine print. Kingstreet was scouring her memory.

She spoke again.

"To my credit, it won't matter. The facts will speak for themselves. And you can be certain the facts are sound; I arranged them myself."

Kingstreet narrowed her eyes. Jingleberry had just been re-cagetorized to a more urgent tier of unmentionables to be punished.

"I caution you against the vanity that you are the only name on my list slated for a correction," Kingstreet responded to Genevieve's accounting of the affect of Azkaban on her public and professional credibility. "You are among the lowest priority, a footnote in the addendum of an addendum. I would also caution you the list is under constant revision."

Garcia-Gamp leaned in and Theodora sat back and withdrew her hands from the desk. More scraping of shackles that looked too large for her wrists. She opened her palms as far as the restraints would allow, as if Genevieve had answered her own question.

"Obviously. I can't imagine why that would surprise you. Your constant state of alarm and despair in those days was absolute fodder for the Wizengamot. I particularly appreciated the bit where you pretended you didn't know about any of Mr. Gamp's criminal activity. You inspired such a rage in him that, oh dear, I barely had to do anything to convict."

Theodora laid her hands in her lap again. She was being modest, trying to put Genevieve's restlessness to peace. Poor chicken, did she feel guilty? Even with all the Gamps did to aide in their own prosecution, Theodora had run herself and her staff ragged to secure an airtight case. The clean-up alone...

The guard snatched up the quill and pad from the illicit visitor and made his retreat. The door locked, locked, locked.

With the shuffling of the heavy magic-dampening chains, Theodora stepped to the chair and took her seat, assuming the same posture she had in her cell. Feet together, back straight, hands folded, eyes forward.

“I’m so glad you’ve come, Mrs. Garcia-Gamp. Ever since being contacted by Enid Jingleberry you’ve been on my mind, although now I’ll never be able to un-remember your ensemble. Nevertheless…”

With a quick movement and the sudden scraping of chains, she leaned forward and placed her laced fingers on the table. The tether from her wrists to belt only allowed her so much extension.

“... now I can finally ask you what I’ve been meaning to all these years. Namely: why did you print those lies about me? By my arithmetic, you’ve sullied my reputation by fifteen percent. Ungrateful.”

“I’m a Section 88, Mrs. Garcia-Gamp.”

Theodora lifted her pale blue eyes up up up from the quill to a witch she’d met many years ago. Her alto was quiet and clear and perfectly enunciated.

“Special Conditions. Non-compliance of a Section 88 when applied to a Level Four Watch carries a sentence of three years. Minimum. Unfortunately, temporarily, I don’t make the rules. I might overlook a violation, but with a witness I won’t risk the revocation of the privileges I’ve worked so earnestly to earn.”

A once-monthly reading allowed of the Daily Prophet through her door. Plain white toast on her breakfast tray. Solitary confinement. All the comforts of home.

As if to prove the necessity of the regulations, she looked down again at the quill, flared her nostrils. Her eye twitched and scritch. The quill moved, leaving a half-centimeter of ink on the page.

”That’s enough!” The guard’s wand arm shook.  ”Either the quill g-g-goes or you do, ma’am. I can’t - !”

Theodora was looking steadily at Genevieve again, but her smile did not return. She looked ridiculous, head to toe. She hadn’t aged a day, jawline as smooth as it had been in 1998, her hair still untouched by grey. And those shoes. Glitter. The herpes of fashion. They were offensive. Oh, what she would do…

”She gives me the creeps. What is she doing?” one guard[1] said peering through the tiny round window of Theodora Kingstreet’s cell. A small blonde witch with a sharp nose and dark circles under her eyes sat stark still in a chair in the center of the room. Her hands were folded in her lap. And she stared straight ahead.

”She’s always like that. Never moves,” responded the other.

”Merlin. Uh, anyway, she’s got a visitor.”

”You’re kidding.”

”Yeah, her, uh, lawyer.”

---

Sometime later, in full shackles - wrist, waist, ankles - Theodora Kingstreet was brought to Genevieve Garcia-Gamp. Off the record. No Vidris Curtain. Just a chair, chains, and a locked door.

”Wait. No. Ma’am,” the guard suddenly pointed his wand at Kingstreet and his finger at the quill and notebook. ”You can’t have that in here. No paper, no quills, nothing.”[2]

Theodora’s chains clinked very slightly and she slowly licked her top lip, her eyes locked on the stationary. Oh, what she could do with that…

1.	Gilgamesh Shahidi
2.	Theodora Kingstreet's Criminal Record