Absit Omen RPG

Cinaed pretended to ponder Niobe's question for a moment, a crisp held lightly between two fingers.  "Sent might not be the precise word," Cinaed admitted tapping the crisp on its brown paper container for several beats.  "Your name floated up a couple times in the conversation.  I knew the name felt vaguely familiar but ..." He ate the chip, feigning buying time to consider his thoughts. 

"You know when you hear a name and you know you've encountered it before but you can't say if it's even from a real person or from a song or novel?  But, on that less-than-reliable recommendation, I was there reading the Prophet in a questionable pub.  Voila - right there on the page.  Niobe Thursby.  I asked the locals and wham bam, here I am." 

This whole broom salesman shtick really wasn't sitting well.  It was a shame he'd had to abandon the French flobberworm farmer. 

"You'd know better than I if it was shocking.  Either way - they seemed quite at home in that place.  Looked like an old hairy bows version of students at the Three Broomsticks."

Cinaed was hardly a natural actor.  Oh - he had the capabilities of amplifying his native charisma and charm when circumstances dictated it but assuming the persona of an entirely different bloke was a hard-learned skill.  The Cinaed trapped inside broom-salesman wanted to chortle and shake his head in bemusement at the notion of werewolf games being simply a page in history.  There was a significant limit to Marcus' knowledge which set restrictions on his smugness.

Humility was hard. 

"Oh.  Well, you would know more about such things than I.  All I know is what I overheard - and there was definitely excited chatter about an upcoming event."  He hitched up the puny shoulders in a dismissive I'm sure you know best shrug. "The bloke I spoke with seemed pretty adamant about it.  Though, perhaps, it's still old news.  Perhaps I'm wasting your time."

Another quick shrug.  "Some little pub up on the northern coast - near Inverness?  The Sunken Siren, I believe they called it."  Cinaed munched briefly on a crisp. 

Cinaed grinned jovially when Niobe took the proferred crisps, the youthful stubble on his chin itching slightly.  A flick of his wand summoned a multi-colored shimmering beach umbrella as the drizzle threatened to sully the lovely lunch. 

"Oh yes, of course.  How discourteous of me; I do seem to have the advantage of acquaintance here."  He made a show of brushing any crumbs from his fingers before extending his hand to the young woman, intent on giving her a firm handshake that was more fitting for a man of Cinaed's usual stature . If she rejected the gesture - well, then, Cinaed would just have to give a little apologetic nod before diverting his hand back to his meal. 

"Bellinsworth.  Marcus Bellinsworth, at your service."  According to the papers in his wallet, the real Marcus Bellinsworth was a tourist from some American town called Boise where he peddled in racing broom insurance.  His absence wouldn't be noticed for at least another week. 

Cinaed munched on another chip before pointing a salty finger at Niobe.  "I'm in town visiting and, on a fellow's unfortunate recommendation, found myself drinking among some very questionable companions.  They were going on about games involving werewolves.  Word on the street was you might have some use of such information."

"If you have the time, that is."

With the proper lunch hour well behind them, the last of the back-to-work procrastinators had finally returned to their desks to finish out the day.[1]  A few had cast curious glances at the young man sitting at the furthest table.  The expressions ranged from curious confusion to smug knowing as they either tried to place who he was or predict what his reprimand would be for returning late from break. 

The face he'd chosen[2] was non-descript business enough that he blended in with the non-artistic crew at the newspaper.  Cinaed took another bite of his roast beef sandwich and turned a page of the most recent Daily Prophet, enjoying a bit of quiet while waiting. 

At some point, once the intrepid reporter returned to her desk after her lunch break (and whatever distractions she found along the way), she'd find a note inviting her to speak with a key informant.  It wasn't a lie, as such.  But the truth was probably not what she was expecting.  Hopefully, it wouldn't take her too long - he only had about 45 minutes before the polyjuice would start to wear off. 

Shortly after he'd finished reading the feel-good piece about Lani the elf getting recognized for saving a pet pigeon, the door to the roof opened Niobe stepped out into the afternoon sunlight.  Cinaed lifted a slender wrist and waved her over. 

"Crisps?" he offered, sliding the just-opened bag towards the center of the table.  "I take it the offer for some insight into the WBA's next plan piqued your interest?"

1.	Title source
2.	Polyjuice-de-jour

Cinaed tried, with moderate success, to not look surprised when Blake took the bait and offered to exchange contact information.  He knew (or, at least, he felt like he had a fairly decent idea) where the dog's owner was and he doubted the Ministry was about to let a person of interest swap owls with a random muggle. 

Was Blake bluffing?  Was this a ploy?  Or, had she figured out more than he'd initially assumed and was trying to score a lead. 

"That's too bad," he offered simply, not really giving the story much thought.  His lip twitched slightly with a touch of disdain as the auror pulled one of those muggle contraptions from her pocket.  Of course, the auror would have one of those bloody, annoying things with her. 

But, he took a deep breath and tried to shove himself back into character.  Just some poor, muggle schmuck out in the park with his dog and kid. 

"Well, you know, a lot of dogs look the same," he offered as he gestured to the papers in her hand.  "Are you certain that's the same dog?  I mean, I'm sure a lot of dogs are named Sky."   

Cinaed looked from the dog to Blake to Fionn.  Fionn was sporting that goofy, anticipatory grin he'd always get when he watched his father morph from one appearance to another. 

Was it later than he'd thought?  He waved a hand, beckoning Fionn closer to him, just in case he needed to grab the boy and disapparate. 

Cinead turned from Fauna to Sky and, finally, Fionn.  The disappointment that drooped his shoulders and widened his eyes was two parts acting and one part ... legitimate.  He watched Fionn as the boy plucked the stick from the long grass between Sky's paws and took off running across the park, pouch bounding after him. 

All the politics and war with the Ministry and a fight for a free magical world was important.  Sky, Sky's owner and the Auror here looking for Sky were all chess pieces in the current battle.  But, now, at the center was a young lad who'd grown attached to a new companion.   

"Oh - she's not?"  When Cinaed turned his attention back to Blake, the regret at crossing her path was legitimate but the confusion was not.  He knew far more about the dog's history than she could guess.  If she was going to break his son's heart, she was going to pay for it. 

"Her family?  Why just her family?  Why isn't she looking for him?" he asked, concern and just a touch of suspicion sneaking into his voice. 

He could feel her eyes searching his face and turned his attention away, avoiding meeting her gaze under the guise of watching the boy and dog play.  Fionn had tossed the stick an impressive meter across the lawn and had turned to coming running back towards them.  Perhaps he was compensating for his lack of throwing arm by increasing the distance Sky would have to cover to run back to him. 

"Oh - name's Harvey.  Harvey Swanson.  And, my son's Glenn.  He's grown quite attached to his new companion.  This -"  He hesitated a moment before turning back towards Fauna.  "Perhaps, I can give you my name and contact information and Sky's owner can contact us.  We could have him come over and meet us and ... I don't know ... "

How long did he have before the polyjuice would start to wear off?  They'd been out here at least twenty minutes - maybe even thirty.  But, couldn't have been more than forty. 

So here they were.  Baby Auror recognized the dog.  Cin and Fionn were out in the open and there were no carefully planned magical escapes in place.  If she caught even a whiff of who he was, the neighborhood would be crawling with Aurors before he could get back to their current pad.  They'd have to relocate in a hurry and there were far too many variables with a youngster in tow. 

He'd have to distance himself from the magical world and Sky's owner.  The adoption story seemed to have done the trick; he'd just have to keep at least two degrees of separation from his true identity.

And, accept that he couldn't hold too tightly to the dog without raising some suspicion. 

"Oh yes.  Yes!"  He confirmed, keeping that stupid, cheery grin in place as he reached out to return the handshake.  Fingers that were far too small and weak closed around the girl's hand and for just a moment, his false grin faltered. 

It would take so little ... oh so little ... Grasp her hand.  Yank her off balance.  Take advantage of the moment of confusion.  Pull his wand out with his other wand.  He could drop her.  Imperious her.  Cripple her in pain before she'd even had a moment to realize her unfortunate mistake.  Another notch in his wand. 

But, no.  Now wasn't the time.  Here wasn't the place.  Fionn wasn't quite old enough to fully understand the price of freedom. 

Back to playing the role of some, poor schmuck who'd adopted a poor, lost dog.  He looked down at the flier in his hand. 

"Oh wow - yes.  I did adopt her.  Just a couple days ago.  This fellow put a listing in the local paper and we went to meet her.  Guy gave us weird vibes but Sky looked sad and lonely.  Wait - is Sky your dog, Fiona?" 

Baby Auror Fauna.  What information would she divulge to a strange muggle?

Cinaed recognized the baby Auror immediately, though apart from his eyebrows twitching upwards, he was careful not to give any indication.  There was no indication that she'd noticed or recognized him and the papers in her hands suggested their crossing paths was a coincidence. 

Of course, he knew it could be a trap.  She was a decoy and there were real Aurors standing somewhere out of sight, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.  But, Cinaed had a hard time believing they'd have just sent her in, openly, without a disguise.  The Ministry claimed to have ethics; they wouldn't use one of their own, fledgling officers as bait. 

Especially since she seemed far more interested in the dog than she was in Cinaed or, more importantly, Fionn. 

And, luckily, Fionn seemed to remember their conversations about keeping distance from strangers and Side-Along Safety (Tag!  You're gone!).  The lad had followed Skylos towards Blake but had stopped short, well out of arm's distance. 

In several strides (okay ... more than several ... he really should stick with taller Muggles.  Their short strides was far too aggravating), Cinaed crossed the distance and stepped up next to Fionn.

"Oh - uh, hi!"  Cinaed offered, brightly, keeping his accent the same but assuming the personality of someone who was just bubbly enough to be borderline annoying.  "Oh, aye.  Thank you!  She really is a friendly, sparkly little pup.  Just adopted her, we did!"  He smiled brightly at Fionn. 

"Her name's Sky.  She likes the stick," Fionn offered, clearly focused on the stick Baby Auror was still holding. 

"Yes - the people we adopted her from said her name was Sky.  She seemed to like it, so we decided to keep it.  And, it seems fitting - she does seem to fly!"  Cinaed laughed brightly, as stupid people did when faced with their own, bad humor.

In the midst of planning, supply gathering and ritual preparation, Cinaed had decided on a whim that he needed to take the afternoon off and it had proven to be a rather good choice.  It was good to get away from all of that and have some quiet time - not just for his own sake, but to remember why they were all doing this at the end of the day. 

Watching Fionn's attempts to toss a stick for the newest canine member of the clan was a good reminder of that. 

The werewolf's dog, Skylos, was proving to be a much better play companion for Fionn than Seamus; the mastiff was a better sleeping companion.  Already, almost fifteen minutes had passed and neither six-year-old nor hound had grown tired of playing fetch - a feat that was probably more remarkable on Skylos' side of the equation.  Fionn could hardly through the stick further than four feet, but the hound continued to fly after it with 100% enthusiasm.  Every once in a while, Fionn would bring the stick to him so Cinaed could chuck it across the lawn and his son could marvel at the dog's speed. 

This was the reminder he needed - the reason behind what they had planned.  From the ashes of the old, they would birth a new world.  One where Cinaed and, more importantly, Fionn wouldn't have to hide in the shadows.  Neither from the weak magic-less rats that infested their cities, destroyed their countryside and even filled the air with loud planes of war.  Nor the strong arm of the Ministry, which kept wizardkind bent to submission to protect those rats. 

Not only was this outing a reminder of the end goal, but it was just one more stolen moment with his son.  Cinaed was cocky and he loved the thrill of the fight, but he wasn't naive.  He knew that every time he stepped out of the safety of the Black Chimaera for a task or mission, it could be the last time he saw Fionn.  Whether the adventure ended with death or capture made no difference on that front. 

"Glenn, just let Sky get it.  She'll be able to find it," he called out.  The stick had taken an errant arc and had landed right in the center of a hedge.  Both boy and dog were neck deep in the branches, trying to locate the stick. 

Cinaed had assumed the appearance of another random muggle.  Fionn's hair had grown out and had been died a generic ashen blond but his appearance hadn't been otherwise magically altered.  It had been almost three years since the Ministry-abiding wizarding community had laid eyes on the lad; Cinaed was banking on the how much children looked alike to conceal his identity.   

"Really, barra!  Chances are slim either of you would know if you just got another stick."  He started crossing the short distance to the pair, still oblivious to the audience of one they'd attracted. 

"Now now!"

Bearing a pint that had been refilled since his descent from the bar top, Cinaed finally made his way through the motley crowd of holiday goers. 

"Don't look so excited to do her in, Cohen."  The Scotsman barked a laugh, reaching over to clap a heavy hand on Aviad's shoulder.  "She's back less than a day and you're already chomping at the bit to do her in, again?"  Cohen was a useful fellow, that was for sure - he had an interesting assortment of magic and spells at his disposal that were quite different from the talents of the usual Hogwarts graduate.  (Or, non-graduate in some cases, including Tawse himself.) 

But, the mage had a somber, macabre streak that sure could bring down the tempo of a good party.  He could do with a little lightening up every once in a while.

"Why don't we save that killing for some others.  Ministry.  Muggles.  Our ranks aren't so swollen that we can afford to donate wands in the name of education."  Of course, Cinaed had used his fair share of bodies while developing direwolves but, at least, the direwolves they created could be used for sport or political revolution.  The same couldn't be said for a corpse.

"Not when the end product is as useful as a doorstop." 

Cinaed liked to think of himself as being a rather humble fellow but he was willing to set aside humility to state a simple fact: The Black Chimaera looked downright festive and wonderfully in keeping with the holiday.  Flickering multi-colored holiday lanterns floated along the ceiling and a bright fire crackled in the fireplace.  Scattered snowflakes drifted down from the ceiling but vanished after landing on people or furniture.  A tall fir tree, adorned with flickering candles and colored baubles stood in a far corner with a small, but growing pile of wrapped gifts underneath. 

Both Seamus and the newer canine resident, Skylos, had been outfitted with sleigh-bell-adorned festive collars but only Skylos was actually moving enough to produce any jingling.  Seamus was snoozing in his usual spot: a large, round dog bed in front of the fire. 

The three champion skeletons from their last round of fights sat in the corner, charmed to provide festive musical accompaniment.  Seeing and hearing Christmas Carols emanating from the working mandibles of a skeletal bobcat, springbok and iguana took a little getting used to but they added a BC-only element to the festive atmosphere.  And, for some reason, Fionn found them immensely entertaining; he was currently stretched out on the floor, his back leaning against the mastiff's fire-warmed rump, watching the singing, dancing skeletons like they were a play. 

"The usual Chimaera vittles are on the back table and there's more than enough, so eat your fill!" Cinaed called to the gradually-filling pub room as he used his one free hand to climb on top of the bar - not that his already impressive height needed the help.  But, it made gesturing towards the various corners easier.  And, it let him show off his red holiday robes trimmed with white fur and matching white -tinted beard.  Still clutching the mug of ale in his other hand, he looked out at the oddest, grungiest, most beautiful assortment of faces. 

"Open bar on the house.  Those of you loyal Chimaera inner-circle VIPs - thank you for graciously bringing holiday gifts for the little tyke.  Shopping in Diagon Alley has become a bit of a hassle for me.  And, I can't exactly share my address with an owl-order service."  He gestured towards the Chistmas Tree with his ale mug.  Of course, there was no VIP list at the BC.  But, if there ever was one, bringing Fionn Christmas gifts was an easy way to get on that list.

And, last of the pre-celebratory announcements.  "And - A warm welcome back to the land of the free and living to Vesta!  As many of us know, Azkaban is the crappiest back drop for the holidays and we are so grateful that she could be here with us and not back on that lonely rock.  But, in honor of our beloved brothers and sisters who could not be with us this holiday, I'd like to raise a toast."  He lifted his mug above his head.  "To those still trapped on that god-awful rock or trapped between worlds," he nodded towards Manfred as the ghost hovered just above a chair at one of the pub tables.  Unceremoniously, the ghost raised a translucent hand and extended a specterly middle finger to the mortal world around him. 

Cinaed chuckled and shook his head.  "We celebrate because they can't-" he continued.  "We will keep their isolation in our minds and hope that our ongoing fights will help bring them home to celebrate with us this time next year.  Until then, eat, drink, play cards, bet on skeletons and dream of a new and better world.  Here's to the Holidays!"

Cinaed lifted his ale and drained half the glass, minimizing the amount that sloshed out as he hopped down off the bar to join the crowd. 

The Scotsman growled loudly when the Dog Catcher's fist connected with his side, sending a searing pain coursing through his side from the battered stab wound.  He could feel the man's grappling weight immediately shift against him, felt his weight transfer though he couldn't anticipate what the action was for.  All he registered was an opening and, as he straightened up after the blow to his side, he took the opening the man's step offered and brought his knee up, swiftly, into Bagnold's space. 

The action left the Dog Catcher's intended leg open as a target and his large frame lurched to the side.  His shoulder hit the ground with a heavy thud.  There was a moment of delay as Cinaed tried to find his bearing after the impact and a moment that, he was sure, Bagnold would have taken full advantage of. 

But, in that moment, the long, low, pitiful cry of the remaining werewolf offered a fateful moment of distraction. 

The werewolf seemed to be just the diversion he needed.  From the ground, Cinaed lifted his wand and pointed it at the quaint food cafe that had served as the backdrop for Aviad's ritual.  "battuo inflammata," he called out as a rolling blast of fire sped across the plaza and bulldozed its way into the building. 

As a werewolf prowled its way into the clearing and the cafe erupted in flames, Cinaed quickly pushed himself to his feet.  With a loud crack, he turned on the spot and vanished.

Cinaed watched the trainee tumble out of the way of the green light and respond with a spell of her own.  Though instinct and reason suggested that a shield charm would be the most reasonable response, reason was no longer dictating his actions.  With a broad sneer in the trainee's direction, Cinaed took a step towards the girl as her wand flicked through the air and spread his arms wide, embracing the full brunt of the hex with a grunt and a rush of combat-driven adrenaline. 

The curse hit him full in the breast, punching the air out of his chest and launching him backwards, bringing with it a surge of raw excitement.  Halfway through his fall, he curled himself in a ball and rolled as he hit the ground.  "Bring it on, bitch!" he called across the clearing as he found his way to his feet. 

He would feel the impact of the ground in the morning but, for now, he felt more alive than he had in months. 

But, in those few moments, the trainee had apparated which meant their protective little umbrella had failed.  A glance overhead confirmed nothing lay between them and the stars overhead.  None of their party had thought to cast any red sparks, yet, but it was only a matter of time before the Ministry descended upon the zoo like ants on a spilled jar of treacle. 

That moment of distraction was enough for the dog catcher to get the upper hand on the direwolf.  With a flash of white light and the sickening stench of burnt flesh, the direwolf collapsed with an agonizing cry.   And the dog catcher had cracked out of sight, leaving the smoldering pile of fur behind.  Even without the shower of red sparks, this was a definitive sign that it was time to go; the other werewolf would have certainly heard the sound of direwolf's death howls and would have been drawn by curiosity. 

Cinaed turned to gesture to Aviad to make use of the coin portkey in his pocket when a heavy mass connected with his, sending flashes of light across his vision.  In the next breath, something heavy struck him in the side.  Reflexively, with a renewed rush of adrenaline, Cinaed whirled on the spot, his elbow raised to shoulder level in the hopes of striking whoever had attacked him. 

His wand-hand reached under his raised elbow and, soundlessly, he cast Carnem dehisco on his would be attacker.  It wasn't until his body twisted that he felt the sharp pain in his side from the dagger.  He lifted his wand to cast again, hoping to gain enough distance between himself and the attacker to activate the portkey without an unwanted tagalong.

As red hot picnic furniture screeched loudly against a shield charm, Cinaed felt the slight tickle of a new consciousness emerging somewhere in the back of his head.  The muggle guard whose consciousness had faded from Cinaed's control a moment ago had returned; he'd had neither the time nor ability to determine what had caused the disappearance or return but it also didn't matter.  Cinaed had other things to worry about; when a tentative tug at the muggle's hands confirmed the Rat's hands were bound, it was clear he'd become a liability. 

The Scottish wizard tightened his hold on the Rat's consciousness and gave it another tentative tug.  With well-honed skill, he followed the line of the imperious curse past the man's control of his physical body and to his conscious control of his emotional psyche. 

Just as easily as it was to soothe and relax an imperiosed man to sleep, Cinaed stimulated the man and drew a surge of excitement and adrenaline into his blood.  The man's blood responded in kind, pulsing rapidly against tightened vessels, driven by a heart that continued to beat faster and faster until the pace outstripped its ability to remain coordinated.  Cinaed felt the man's muscles tighten and spasm through the curse as the adrenaline-induced heart attack forced the man's heart to stop and, a moment later, the link of the curse was gone. 

With his attention divided, Cinaed's reflexes had faltered.  The Dog Catcher had fired off his hex before Cinaed could throw a fully-formed shield between himself and the other two.  The force of the hex hit the partially-formed shield and arched around it, gracing against Cinaed's shoulders and forcing him to take a step back to maintain his balance. 

The direwolf's attention wavered slightly from it's assigned task but it wasn't until the searing white-light whip snaked around him and yanked him backwards that it changed its course.  With a roar of pain and anger, the direwolf turned towards the Dog Catcher and charged at the man, claws and teeth bared. 

He had to leave the wolf to its own devices.  He saw the trainee's wand raise out of the corner of his eye just in time to take a step back and avoid the jet of black light, a volley of bright green light arching across the space between them as he sent a killing curse in response.

"Just give me a list," Cinaed confirmed with a nod to Cohen before turning his attention properly to their visitors.  There were plenty of connections he or his wolves could utilize to gather whatever supplies the mage needed.  Another item was added to the post-exercise to do list and Cinaed's attention returned to the immediate challenge: flying furniture. 

Focused as he was on the beauty of the direwolf's arrival and the dog catcher's verbal sparring, Cinaed missed the initial rustling of the picnic tables until they were airborne.  With a solid thud, the closest table caught him on the side, forcing him to take a large step sideways to maintain his balance.  So, by the looks of it, they'd sent a talker and a caster.  The talker could, clearly, hold his own in a battle of words.  He might as well send a return volley to see if they were as adapt at sparring. 

As soon as Cinaed had found his footing, again, he lifted his wand and swung it over his head, simultaneously levitating the furniture and sending a course of hot, magical energy through the metal.  Within moments, the metal glowed lightly from the heat and, with a flick of his wand, Cinaed sent them hurtling across the cafe's patio towards the Ministry trio and the now-unconscious guard. 

The visitors had already answered the question of what the Ministry's first response would be and he'd already seen the promised effectiveness of Cohen's handiwork.  Now, he'd benefit testing their response to some spell work and, most importantly, see where their priorities lay.  None of them had splintered off after the werewolf had moved off back into the park.  Though the third had disappeared, Cinaed knew he hadn't gone far; the loss of the Muggle's consciousness in the Imperious Curse was certainly not the work of either of the other two. 

"I'm no more here to prove something to you as I am to ambush you.  Though, I am pleased to see that you are comfortable sacrificing Rats to protect your own.  I'm sure the guards that are, undoubtedly, coming to investigate the fireworks and noise will have quite the fright." 

Of course, Cinaed knew it wasn't a matter of choosing your own.  He had no doubts their attention would be on the wolf if he was not there - which meant that, for the next full moon to have the desired impact, he would have to not be there.  He'd need to use polyjuice.  Yes, polyjuice to impersonate a nobody in the sea of Rats until it was time to play hero.  That way, the Ministry wouldn't be distracted from protecting the Rats. 

“So does your new pup still respond to the whistle when the moon’s not full?  Because even if you’re into that kind of thing, Cináed, I reckon that must get a bit awkward for you lot when you try to go out in public together.”

Cinaed barked a laugh before smiling across the clearing at the trio.  "Not awkward at all, mate.  They make great companions."  He was aware of the girl's attempts to tamper with Cohen's magic but he needed to let Cohen handle it.  If he couldn't, then the man couldn't be relied upon for the main event.  He kept his attention fixed on the dog catcher.  "Sealg[1]," he instructed the direwolf.  With a growl, the direwolf stalked back into the shadows along the edge of the clearing, opposite where the trainee stood.

1.	Scottish Gaelic for "hunt"