Absit Omen RPG

Oh if it were only that simple.  Tulojow quirked an eyebrow briefly at Briggs but otherwise held her tongue. 

Tulojow had mastered many arts over the years: Healing, story-telling, banjo-playing, baking, potion-making - even barrel racing back in the day.  But, not-worrying ... that was sadly an art in which she hardly qualified as an amateur. 

Pressing Briggs for more information, however, would only sow distrust and, in the long run, that risked causing more harm than whatever information she managed to gather would likely prevent.  She would let the topic drop to the wayside, for the moment at least. 

"You going to just lop him off?"

"Sadly, it's not quite that simple," Tulojow offered as she finished gathering her supplies.  "All parasites have some adaptation that allows them to cling to their host in desperation.  Their survival relies on it, after all.  That finger is some individual's construct; it's individual adaptation, I assume, is a mystery." 

The instrument tray hovered faithfully near Tulojow's right arm as she finally plucked the examination robe and held it out to the young man.  "We should, however, complete the rest of the examination first.  Just to make sure there aren't any surprises."  With a tap of her wand, the gown fluttered into the air and unfolded in the air.  With the eagerness of a toddler anticipating a shoulder-ride, the gown danced in place, ready to swap with the wizard's duds at the first sign of consent.

"That's me, luckiest bastard in Knockturn Ally,"

"Well.  That's hardly the stiffest competition.  I wouldn't go gloating to the Prophet about it." Tulojow offered with a slight smirk.

Briggs' tone remained persistently nonchalant but the tone did little to quell Tulojow's concern. 

"Unrecoverable." She repeated, tilting her head forward to peer over the rim of non-existent spectacles at the younger man.  "Are you willing to elaborate?" she offered, tentatively.  Suspicious that there was likely a limit to how much information the young man would volunteer to an employee of Level 2, she quickly added.  "At a minimum, I'd like to know it isn't anywhere where it could be used against you."

As she spoke, Tulojow flicked her wand at a metal instrument tray which drifted into the air and followed the Healer around the examination room like a loyal puppy.  A couple jars of salve.  Rolls of gauze.  A glass mason jar with a few defensive and shatter-resistance spells cast on it for good measure.  A couple strong magnets and a few other gadgets settled in some semblance of an order. 

"I suspect you have slightly less sheltered experiences than your average Hogwarts student but ... well ... you'll have to excuse an old witch's ingrained habits.  On a scale of 'ehh, who cares' to 'faints at the sight of snot' how squeamish are you?"

"The skeleton was summoned somehow, but I don't know if it was ever a person."

Worry flickered across Tulojow's expression and she lifted her wand, again.  Whatever brief relief she experienced upon hearing that the finger wasn't taken immediately from a living person was quickly overshadowed by the potential implications that some form of death magic or necromancy had been involved. 

When death was used in magic, it was rarely inert; those that dabbled in death magic rarely did so simply for the convenience of spare parts. 

"I would prefer to remove it, if you'll allow me," Tulojow offered.  "Why didn't you seek to have your own finger reattached?"

The older woman made an active attempt to keep any hint of matronly chiding out of her voice but she wasn't entirely successful.  "If all it has tried to do is poke you, you should count yourself luck.  I've known of people who unwittingly committed murder or allowed information to head in unintended directions."

Indeed, given the hand's response to the conversation, Tulojow sighed and lifted her wand.  She skillfully touched the tip of the wand to two points on Briggs' forearm and elbow.  Briggs would feel a brief tingling sensation before flexor and extensor muscles of the elbow and wrist grew numb.  The finger could wriggly around all it wanted but, with the rest of the arm immobile, its options beyond that were limited. 

"I would also prefer to keep it, if you'll allow.  And you are absolutely within your right to say 'no.'"  Tulojow deliberately phrased it as a request and she had every intention of heading his preference.  The auror in her wanted to demand an investigation the job of a healer demanded trust from the patient.   

Though likely unnecessary, the little fluffy quill scribbled not a werewolf, not a ghost in the notes as the patient successfully plucked the little candy from the silver bowl.  The bigger risk, unfortunately, was also the more difficult one to assess.  There was no definitive way to determine if an individual was under the imperious curse, apart from knowing someone well enough to recognize subtle changes in their demeanor or routine.   

In Tulojow's opinion, one of the Ministry's biggest obstacle was that those most at risk were those with such meager support systems that no one to notice.  From what little Tulojow knew of Briggs from his Ministry record, he was a prime example of such a conundrum. 

Tulojow had started to retrieve one of the lavender examination robes from the shelf above her head when she stopped to watch the young man tug off his glove. 

After nearly 60 years of being an auror, field medic and school healer, Tulojow was rarely shocked by grotesque or befuddling injuries.  Rather than, perhaps, the more typical reaction of surprise or disgust, a single brow arched in amusement.  Wordlessly, Tulojow drew her wand and passed it once the younger man's hand. 

"Indeed.  It's not yours," she agreed.  No sign of a concealment charm hiding the man's real finger or some incriminating evidence of past wrong-doing.   "To whom did it belong?"

Wand still balanced casually between her fingers, Tulojow leaned back in her chair and watched the young man closely as she posed a few more questions. 

"I can only imagine there's a story here but I have a suspicion you're not likely to share in the details, but I'm obligated to ask.  Was someone missing the finger at the time it came to you?"

As the younger man got himself settled, Tulojow circled around to the desk and picked up an eagle-down feather quill and a small metal bowl of individually-wrapped sweets.  She took a cinnamon-flavored sweet for herself before extending the bowl to Briggs. 

"Seems straightforward enough," Tulojow offered, setting the bowl back down after Briggs made his choice before settling in her own, heavily cushioned chair.  Though her mannerisms remained casual, she kept a careful eye on her patient.  Much could be learned about a person's health status just by simple observation: speech patterns, gestures, inconsistent clothing options, their general carriage - all had the potential to offer insight, long before the physical examination began. 

"Have you experienced any losses of time?  Any instances where you found yourself somewhere without recollection of how you came to be there?" 

"You know. The usual, I expect. Nagde."

She chuckled, genuinely, at the young man and waggled a finger at him.  "Oh, how naive you are to think there's any such thing as 'the usual' in this office.  This is a law-enforcement triage clinic, not a corner diner.  As much as I would turn wood to gold for a decent chocolate shake right now." 

On the table next to her, the fluffy quill discretely jotted down a few quick notes. 

"Where's that from?"

"My father," Tulojow answered with a flat-pan tone before another grin quirked at the corner of her mouth.  "And, my father's from the very middle of nowhere in North Dakota - not far from the Canadian border.  It's Ojibwa."

"Have you had any episodes of vomiting?  Unexplained changes to your sleep schedule?"

"Are you sure this isn't from an itching hex?  I swear that pickpocket had lobbed something my way right before I got him properly restrained.  It has just been so unbelievably persistent."

Tulojow chuckled and shook her head at the brave, determined Auror.  No one would doubt the might of a rank and file member of the force - all those years of training and experience behind him.  Tulojow could understand his need to find a more impressive explanation for the never ending need to scratch. 

Unfortunately, in the end, the obvious answer is sometimes the least glamorous. 

"Some enemies care not for rank or power.  They care even less about magic.  Luckily, Slug and Jiggers has a shampoo that will fix you right up - and best give your son's head a good inspection." 

With an apologetic grimace, she waited for the auror and his magical (and as invisible as possible) hair net to clear the clinic room before giving it the most thorough of cleanings. 

Tulojow paused at the little desk in the alcove by the waiting room and balanced her walking cane against the wall so that she could flip through the blessedly dwindling pile of admittance scrolls.  If they'd reached head lice level of severity, the waiting room must be getting close to empty for the day.  Tulojow glanced around the waiting room, checking for any last minute detached appendages who had yet to get added to the list, before picking up the next scroll in the pile. 

"Briggs.  You're up, young man," she called, waving him into the corridor.  "First door on your right.  Yep - nope - just right there.  Take a seat - chair or table, whichever your more comfortable with.  What brings you in today?" 

She knew, of course, what it said on the file.  It was always interesting to see if the patient's perspective matched that appointment.

Tulojow let young Abby take control of the umbrella as the barrage of coleopteric hail rapidly faded. 

"You'd think it wouldn't take murders for a government building to be careful about mail," Tulojow half-murmured as the lawyer brushed her hair with her fingers and looked around at the profoundly peculiar mess.  Crowe turned to rifling through the Fauna's desktop, listening curiously as the younger woman surmised that the delivery had been internal. 

Tulojow's brows furrowed in thought.  "If it did, indeed, originate in the Ministry, then it shouldn't be impossible to trace back to its point of departure.  If we can't, it would suggest that regardless of whether it's from an internal source, the sender didn't follow office protocol."[1] 

It was hard to predict whether that would be helpful or if it would simply confirm that the same person that ignored protocol to gift dangerous chocolates to a Ministry official also ignored protocol in the shipping process. 

"Hmm."  Tulojow hummed as Abby described her entrance into the scene.  "it really does stink."  Her hands free, Tulojow quickly conjured a pair of glass mason jars and set them on the desk. 

Corralling a handful of these beetles was both the easier and more time pressing pieces of evidence to collect.  Not only were they in the process of scurrying to the four winds, they'd entered one person's mouth and exited through that person's windows to the soul without obvious lasting damage.  Whatever was producing the Limburger cheese aroma from the chocolate box wasn't so thoroughly vetted. 

"Either someone thoroughly fails at Valentine's or this wasn't a gesture of affection."  Tulojow reached out with one hand to hold the edge of the edge of the desk, cringing when her knees creaked and cracked in protest as squatted down.  She snatched half a dozen scurrying beetles and dropped them in the jar before bracing against the pain and standing up straight once more." 

1.	Totally improvising here - I'm happy to edit anything that doesn't make sense or work with previously established information

Apparently, some memo had gone out to all of Level 2 about this being Eyeballs Acting Weird Day and it had missed Tulojow’s inbox.  Abby’s gaze kept flickering between Tulojow and the napkin, her lids so wide open that here eyes looked like they were on the verge of popping out.  Crowe’s were achieving what Abby’s were attempting. 

Tulojow might have been offended by being left out of the memo loop, if she were a more sensitive sort.

Since neither of the young women seemed to want the squished beetle, Tulojow lifted her wand to vanish the poor ex-insect but hesitated before casting the charm.  Just in case, she carefully folded the bug into the kerchief and slipped it into her pocket.   

In the blink of an eye – no pun intended – things started to happen in rapid succession.  Like a scene from the X-Files, a living, intact bug was crawling out of the lawyer’s skull and Abby’s hand flew up, launching the chocolate into the air.  Tulojow swiftly flicked her wand up in the air, conjuring an umbrella out of the tip of it and stepped forward in an attempt to, at least, cover Abby. 

In imitation of the most disappointing firework, the chocolate erupted into a shower of bugs.

“The Magical Maintenance Department is going to be very cross with us,” Tulojow muttered under her breath. 

“No idea where these came from or how they got here?”

It didn't take long for Tulojow to suspect there was some underlying dynamic transpiring between the two younger woman.   Whether there was history behind it was a mystery.  Women had an innate ability to squabble over the most peculiar of topics though, admittedly, squished beetles was a new one. 

Tulojow slipped a kerchief from her pocket and, supporting herself with one hand on the desk for balance, she leaned over and carefully pried the insect's remains from the cold floor. 

"Were you wanting it back?" she offered with a slight grin as she extending the kerchief and squished bug to the older of the two younger women. 

The Darling was such a peculiar title of affection.  Tulojow had never had the best of luck in the romance arena but she didn't remember any of her three ex-husbands referring to her using a direct article.  But, kids did weird things these days. 

"My understanding is that it's best to let the giftee open the gift, first," Tulojow offered, not entirely sure she wanted to get into the middle of this Chocolate Beetle Drama.  CBD.  Despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, Tulojow couldn't help but giggle at her own little private joke. 

CBD-infused chocolates would have been a much better gift. 

"Chocolate-covered insects can be tasty but, usually, they insects aren't living."

On her way to the loo, Tulojow had spotted the cluster of youth surrounding another's desk.  They were arranged in that giggly, clustery sort of fashion that suggested antic - likely related to the holiday.  And, therefore, unlikely to spark the interest of jaded septarian whose luck in romance had been poor, even when she'd had the benefit of youthful vigor. 

As Tulojow returned to her office, she initially disregarded the continued Cupid-induced excitement over in the cubicles as more of the same.  Long, withered fingers rested on her doorknob when the tone behind her shifted from giggly conspiracy to squealy, moderate alarm. 

Tulojow turned and snaked her way between the cubicles to the pair of younger women clustered around Fauna's desk.  The open box of confection confirmed a silly cupid was behind the excitement.  However, the crunched, gooey remains of a beetle hinted that this wasn't a typical celebration of romance. 

"Are prank chocolate this year's romantic fad?" she asked, eying the beetle on the floor before looking at the two younger women with a slight grin.  "Everyone loves a new marketing gimmick." 

"Mint, ginger and ..." Tulojow's voice trailed off as she waved her wand in a serious of short flicks and the front row of jars marched off the shelf in a neat, little line to hover in the air at attention.  The bottles in the back of the cabinet jostled towards the front of the shelf, spinning in place like a model on a runway. 

Tulojow nodded as her eyes flickered over the contents.  "Might as well add on milk of thistle and honey." 

"Light or dark, Ms. Tulo?"  The little house elf, Pippy, asked as she glanced up from the miniature notepad in her hands.  Tulojow was eternally grateful to the little elf accepting her offer to serve as Tulojow's assistant at the Ministry just as she had at Hogwarts.  It was just as fortuitous that Knox had consented to letting the elf leave Hogwarts. 

Besides, Tulojow had a strong suspicion the house elf hadn't been entirely happy returning to other duties at the castle.  Though Pippy had never been treated like a house elf in the traditional sense of the word, her elfish tendencies had run true and she'd adapted to Tulojow's idiosyncrasies over the years of working with her.  One glance at the onyx spiral plug in the elf's right ear and the tea towel the elf wore that Tulojow had charmed into a miniature set of scrubs several years ago was enough to understand why the elf might have struggled to find her place back in the kitchens. 

So, despite the elf's initial wave of guilt-provoked anxiety when the offer had been extended, with the Headmaster's insistent permission, the elf had agreed to follow Tulojow to the Ministry. 

"Both."  Tulojow answered as she marched the potions' supplies back in place with a wave of her wand and closed the cabinet doors.  "Given the little snippets I've overheard, I predict a substantial amount of potion making and tea drinking in the coming months.  In fact, I think we should set up a cauldron of Puncture Tincture tomorrow to ferment over the weekend.  Maybe even-" 

"Tulo?"

A familiar voice called from the front room.  Since settling into her new role as Ministry Medic, Tulojow had taken care to cultivate a strong relationship with the most important individuals in the whole ministry: The Maintenance Wixes.  A few months of home-cooked cobblers, her famous cocoa and roast beef sandwiches, she'd easily recruited them to convert the original one-room closet office space into a much more functional three-room clinic with a central, front office and two additional rooms that opened off of it: a separate, proper exam room and a small kitchen with a wood stove, a central island and fireplace with cauldron for the primary purpose of potion making (and the secondary purpose of maintaining her usual supply of home nibbles and hot drinks for whomever needed healing that wasn't entirely physical). 

After giving Pippy a wink and a slow, deliberate nod, Tulojow stepped out of the kitchen and into office to greet Fauna Blake with a broad, warm smile. 

"Of course, my dear.  You know I will always make time - in fact, if you'd left me hanging another day, I had a mind to hunt you down."  An only partially hollow threat.  Stoicism was a common malignancy among law enforcement - both muggle and mundane - and a habit Tulojow was hoping to prevent the new recruits from developing.  Catching a glimpse of the slight tremble at the corners of Fauna's mouth, Tulojow cast a quick glance to make sure the office door was closed before extending her arms to draw the young woman into a warm hug.   

"I was just sitting down to some cocoa," Tulojow offered as she dropped her arms and led the way into the kitchen where a half-full mug of cocoa had appeared on the central island, in front of one of the cushioned stools.  "Care for a cup?"

Once given the go-ahead, Tulojow set to work examining the wounds, taking samples and making notes.  "There are two key differentials between a generic wolf bite and a werewolf - or direwolf, as they are almost identical, anatomically."  Behaviorally, practically, they were very different.  But, as far as physical form was concerned, they were the same beast.  Time of death was one of the key factors that separated direwolves and werewolves.   

"Wolves use their canine teeth to grab and hold onto their targets - so, punctures and some rip damage from shaking tend to be the predominant injury."  There were exceptions of course; they would use their full mouth in defensive bites but those, typically, only occurred because someone was an idiot and didn't back off.  Usually, the first bite was sufficient to get the message across so those very rarely resulted in fatalities or even maulings.  "Werewolves use their arms to hold, so their resulting injuries use the whole mouth - and tearing is much more prevalent."

She glanced up at her nephew to verify if he was still following before turning back to her work.  "Secondly, dentition is an important clue.  Canines have six incisors and two canines in each arcade.  Primates have four incisors and two canines - and the pattern holds true after transformation.  Even if tooth shape changes, number of teeth do not." 

Of course, the tearing nature of werewolf wounds often masked dentition, but secondary wounds sometimes revealed more.  She scraped some tissue samples from around the neck injuries into a few small flasks before taking a closer look at the, comparatively, lighter defensive injuries on the hands and arms. 

Finally, she looked up at Kurby.  "Tissue damage is severe enough that gross examination isn't conclusive one way or the other.  I'm reluctant to call werewolf but nothing about this suggests wolf.  I'll know definitively when I run the samples, but I can't rule out a werewolf."

"Madam Nagde, I am unleashed!"

"That, I'm sure, will be a magnificent sight," Tulojow laughed as she leaned back against the booth cushion to watch the seasoned journalist order a pair of amusingly potion-like drinks

Oh.  Somewhere in the back of Tulojow's mind, a cautionary voice was trying to claim that the follies of youth were hazardous for the more advanced in age.  A fair number of years had passed since she was twenties and could rise to a full day's work after a night of drinking anonymous concoctions. 

Luckily, she was also a seasoned healer.  Years of serving as a school's healer could leave one familiar with a healthy variety of anti-hangover potions. 

Tulojow shrugged, admitting her own ignorance about the drink.  The server simply offered a coy, knowing grin and the drink's ever-unhelpful name before moving on to the next table. "It's an Angelic Eclipse.  Best take it slow."

"Best take it slow," Tulojow repeated, casting a grin at her aged company.  "Lest we break a hip, I suppose.  I won't judge if you choose to tip toe in."  She, on the other hand, had no intentions of doing so.  She tipped her head back and downed the silky concoction. 

The mixture had an oddly cooling - chilling - effect on her throat, not unlike accidentally swallowing an ice cube.  The punch of the alcohol was paired with a subtle, though distinct sense of euphoria that wasn't entirely unlike a mild case of Woodstock.  But, as her mind acclimated to the new sensation, she could hear sounds in the back of her mind - sound that evoked both comforting and enticing memories. 

"Parrots.  I hear parrots.  And waterfalls - and, I think, drums."  Her eyes slid, curiously, towards her companion. 

Tulojow stepped down from the hovering, wheel-less skateboard just outside the door and propped it against the outside wall before stepping inside.  Once inside, she smiled warmly at the young witch who had been babysitting the unfortunate soul on the table.  Tulojow limped across the room and introduced herself and her nephew to the young witch, Stacey, though Tulojow was aware that Leonard's attention had been thoroughly captured by the corpse. 

"Seems like he was a former Azkaban inmate."

"What a shame," Tulojow said, quietly, with a shake of her head as she approached the sheet-draped table.  She ignored both the slight eyeroll her nephew met her comment with and the distinct pallor that replaced Leonard's smugness as Kurby revealed the victim.  The sight of a potential werewolf mauling was enough to unsettle even newly-graduated Aurors, let alone trainees.  But, it was a valuable learning lesson. 

"So, checked in in London last night and found like this this morning near Edinburgh." Tulojow repeated, with a nod of her head.  She shrugged off her outer cloak and handed it to Stacey before casting small, impermeable shielding charms on both hands up to the elbow.  After casting one more quick spell to conjure a stool next to the table, she tucked the wand behind her ear and leaned over the body to inspect the wounds more closely.  "Do we know who found the body and have we verified they wouldn't have been the sort to take a wand off of ... does our victim have a name?" 

Assuming the unfortunate soul who'd stumbled across this scene hadn't helped himself to a free wand, the lack of a wand eliminated the possibility of independent apparition.  "Have his clothes been checked for evidence of floo powder?" Tulojow asked as she brushed her fingers through the victim's hair and watched for any green powder to settle on the white table beneath the body. 

Dried blood caked the body's upper torso and extremities from the bite marks but the body was, largely, unmarred from the waist down.  "Any thoughts?" Tulojow directed towards her nephew as she gave the wounds a once over before pulling a tray of supplies towards her.  She reached for a bottle of cleansing potion before glancing up to Stacey and Kurby.  "Have you completed your preliminary evaluations and documentations?" she asked, looking for verification that she was free to investigate the body more closely and alter surface evidence.

"Perhaps both," the older woman offered, with a glance towards Barnabas.  "My people have long since believed the circle to be sacred for there are very few elements of life that have such definable beginnings and ends.  Seasons.  Life.  Day to night and back again.  But, then, we also believe that every creature brings its own strength and purpose to the world.  I've tried to guess those creatures bring but have yet to figure it out." 

Tulojow sipped her wine and watched, contently, as a pair of witches took a seat at the bar and ordered a pair of pearlescent shots that were disturbingly shiny, given the low light of their current venue.  With decisive, perhaps emboldening, nods to each other, the witches downed the drinks and dissolved into conspiratory giggles.

The older witch chuckled and shook her head, remembering the days when her own tastes were that adventurous.  With a sparkle of mischief in her eye, Tulojow nudged Barnabas lightly with her elbow and discretely tilted her chin in the direction of the bar.  "I bet you could still handle one of those," Tulojow offered, brightly.  Then, the sparkle of mischief reaching her grin, she added: "The drinks, I mean.  Not the witches."