Absit Omen RPG

Oh what power was held in belief - and how scary it was to believe, especially in himself.  Yet here he was, smiling happily back at Liadan and confirming in each moment how he was so ready and willing to change, into the vision she saw of him.

He considered her words carefully, hearing the subtext and deciding, it really was best to have a house.  The aim was to start a family and, after all, what was a family without a home?  A proper home.

"I agree, and hopefully it's not too late, either," he teased, in his case....  "I think it'd be difficult to know the perfect place, without knowing the Witch I'm to live with.  I'll give it some thought, though.  Location, that is.  The cottage is mine to adopt, as the eldest and only son of course."  He inclined his head, looking woeful for a moment.  "I have so many memories of Dolores there," he explained.  "Perhaps it would be better for Dazmond anyway.  Get her and Nate out of Knockturn, into a more appropriate place to raise a family.  Straighten them out after Azkaban, give them a better chance."

To hear her speak of the future, was a grand vision.  It made the ring on his thumb finger with its eleven diamonds feel less a weight and more a surety.  That he'd yet raise the eleventh generation, with the strength of family bound tradition, was a breath of fresh relief.  Especially since his encounter with dementors[1], hope was such a beautiful thing.

"I can hardly wait for the day," he said, "when we can look back as fondly on our plans tonight as we do now the time your farm was ailing.  Friendship and family ties are so essential to leading a life of integrity."  Didn't he sound like his father, then.  But it was such a lovely thought.

She told him she wished they were family, and squeezed his hand, telling him how dear he was.  He couldn't remember feeling more safe, more assured of his positive future.  "We'll have to settle for family friends, until perhaps when the day comes, godparents or grandparents, together.  You add so much to my life already; Liadan, you are family."  He looked at her sincerely before she seamlessly added in some delicious gossip, always deft at keeping on the conversations.  Dominik was, as always when exposed to gossip, slightly spellbound.  He drank in her every word.

Which led him to thinking about Melanthe with this Sergei, who sounded a sleeze-ball.  "Hmph," said Dominik.  "I liked her with Cinaed..."  He'd seen her on the Wizard's arm two Halloweens ago, when Niobe and him had gotten back together and his pet had expressly told him to ignore Cinaed that night, and by extension the beautiful Melanthe to his side.  "Whatever happened with them?  I guess it's hard dating a fugie."  He shrugged, at least he wasn't on the run from the law.  That was an asset for being in the dating world, surely.

Dominik had hardly looked at the menu when the waiter reappeared.  Liadan was ready so he defaulted to his usual comforting Calaveras order:  spaghetti and meatballs.

"I'm so grateful for your aid," he told her again.  "You can definitely count on me to do my part."  Especially if that just meant showing up for his scheduled dates and being on his best behavior - it could still be a challenge but at least he didn't have to worry about securing his own dates... he couldn't imagine bumbling about Diagon trying to find a wife.  Thank Merlin for Liadan and her desire to play matchmaker, really.  He'd never have agreed to it before, but that was a sign of the changing times, wasn't it.  She cooed that she'd have scooped him up for herself and Dominik lost his breath for a moment.  She didn't really mean that, did she.

"Don't be silly," he said, because he couldn't quite laugh about it, "You're so lucky you dodged that spell!"  He winked at Liadan, happy to be sat across from her at all. 

1.	[March 19]  Where the Wild Things Are

It was one of those times when adrenaline had got the better of him, and threw it out the window.  Hours and hours on Pitch could do that to a body - to a body that ached and was familiar with aching, to a body that always wanted to be in catharsis, to Dominik's body, that liked so much to be pushed against the limit, and past.

All he wanted was a goal, to be closer to the end of this match and to the end of his last season of Quidditch.  He would play hard, do it all in a blaze of glory and bloodshed that had come to be tied to his name - holding fast to his gruesome Beater's reputation till the very end, when he could finally lay down his bat and call it a day.  He had made this promise to Liadán.

Dominik angled himself to support the Chasers headed this way, attention divided between them, Carter, and his nearest mark. 

Forrester was on point, curving the Quaffle towards the middle goalpost and it was headed there fast.  Dominik knew better than to leave it at that, though; Carter was quick and moved to intercept, spinning in his momentum. 

He had a clear trajectory but getting to the bludger took time, time enough for George to emerge victorious with the red ball above his head, calling to Devereux.  It didn't matter the goal was already shot.  Dominik cracked the bludger hard at the perfect target created by Carter's victory reach - aiming toward his center and putting his full body weight and a good deal of momentum into the overhand swing.  With so little time between, the sound of the bludger against his bat was obscured by a deafening roar from the Chudley crowd. 

And instantly their roar transfigured into a wail.  A deafening wail of horror, over what Dominik had just gone and done.  On impact, he must've had the wind blown out of him.  Dominik pulled up and zipped around the goal posts, watching Carter fall. 

There was no whistle and play continued.  A reserve Keeper came up from below, where a crowd was forming around a clearly unconscious Carter.  Dominik felt a lurching in his stomach, a sudden onset of nausea, and he wanted off his broom.  But it wasn't won, yet.  And the insane Falcons fans chanted his name from the stands of their own stadium, stomping in tandem. 

It was the strangest feeling in the world.  Dom could only hope he hadn't killed the man, as he did as his coach would have wanted and pleased the crowd, flying in close to the stadium stands in a show of pride.

Dominik was beat, his only day off between fighting the Chudley Cannons and Ballycastle Bats.  'Fighting' was precisely how it felt - he'd hit a mean bludger that took an unsuspecting Carter off pitch yesterday[1], smacked him dead in the ribcage as the Quaffle lingered on his fingertips.  Stopped the game, called in the mediwitches, full on groans of pain and gasping shock from the audience, and a bright new shiny example of why Dominik Wiedman was some kind of a wild beast.  Or, if you prefer, genius.  But, it was trouble when such aggression was applauded, especially for this one.

Then he had to get up and do it all again tomorrow.  That part wasn't easy after yesterday - he never knew what to do anymore.  It felt good to pummel Carter; too good.  Wasn't he supposed to be behaving himself or someat?

Of course he'd come though, little Dazzie's special day seeing her love home off the ferry from Azkaban.  It wasn't so much to ask, to go round the corner and help them celebrate.  The worst part of leaving the flat tonight was probably having to deal with comments over yesterday, predictions over tomorrow.  Hopefully people would be too busy focusing on Nate's problems to deal with his. 

Dominik stole himself from his lazy bed and made his way out Knockturn to Calaveras about half past six.  Opening the front doors he was immediately greeted with the warmth of their modest bash - very inviting.  He wanted to avoid getting caught in small talk, so he proceeded in further with a mission on mind to look for Dazmond.  Dazmond or the bar, whichever came first.  He'd have to watch himself - a spot of whiskey, that was it. 

But then there Dazmond was by the bar - and Niobe Thursby.

Stopping mid-step and lurching backward, Dominik grabbed hold of a passing human shape and hid behind them.  It was a Wizard who could have been 60 and he looked horrified to find himself suddenly in the embrace of Wiedman.  In shock himself, he released the man's robes from his clutches and ran away, awkwardly stooped over as though trying to become someone's shadow.  Quick!  Think of something!

333 days and then some, his eyes gladly fell on Briggs.  With no time to explain he walked into a bear hug with his brother in law, dancing the both of them round a corner.

"Briggs!  Oh, brother!  Oh it's good to see you!  Blimey.  Welcome home mate," he clapped his back, pulled off of him and turned to chance a peek around the corner.  Yep they were still there.  Wasn't hallucinating.  He turned back to Nate and leaned into the wall, eager to keep himself occupied for as long as possible.  "You all right then?"

1.	[16 April]  Kiss This World Goodnight

Perhaps her statements would be offensive if he was any other Wizard in the world, but as it was, negative assessments could do nothing to counter his appreciation of the special attention she was giving him.  In fact it sounded more like a compliment to him than anything.  There was very little else in life that Dominik Wiedman wanted than a solid structure to build from, and that was exactly what his good friend Liadan provided, in no uncertain terms.  That she enjoyed being his guidance, that he wasn't a disappointment or a nuisance to her, was music to his ears.  Hearing her say it all just so made his heart warm and his 'transformation' as she called it seem complete, even if it wasn't quite.  He still had to live with his horrible animal instincts, but he could be sufficiently tamed and had already started down that path, which is what this Beater so desperately needed.  A path to follow and a brazen Witch in lead.  He only wanted to know what it was that was being expected of him.  Well, that and exactly how the impossible task was supposed to be accomplished, preferably every step along the way.

It was also not a big secret - especially in Liadan's social circle - that Dominik liked to be chided by strongly-willed Witches.  It was one reason why it was still so hard to stay clear of Niobe or Dolores, who both had swords for tongues.

Dominik sighed at her dreamy description of married life. "Ah that's lovely Liadan.  I am so happy for you, and I'm excited," surprisingly, "that I'm actually moving towards having the same sort of happiness as you.  You're living the dream and leading the way.  Cheers!" 

A flute of elderberry wine in his hand, he did feel a gentleman.  A part of him wished for whiskey, but he was familiar enough with the notion of sacrifice, of being noble.  The sacrifice he made for meaningful company, was this show of modesty and discretion, treating spirits as a delicacy and keeping his wits about him, instead of overindulging and enjoying a disinhibited reign of freedom and brutality.  He could have given an equally dreamy sigh at the latter thought, despite his progress in becoming civil.

"I hadn't thought about having a house much," admitted Dominik apologetically.  How unready he was, in some ways!  Having a family all his own had always seemed so incredibly far from his reach, even though it was what everybody always told him to do.  Every time his father assured him that when the day was right they could purchase another estate and give him the Wiedman cottage here in London, Dominik had inwardly turned away in horror at the thought.  Not because he didn't want the cottage, because he would likely love it there, converted into his own family estate, and could remember thinking that way as a child.  Maybe that was the problem though, why he had opted to ignore that as an actual possibility.  Like so many other bright dreams of his childhood.

Maybe he could meet a Witch who wouldn't mind living with him in the Abraxan Flats down Knockturn, but that certainly wasn't part of the vision that Liadan held for his future.  His future of sweet, sweet redemption - yeah.  The future he would also have to earn.

Now, sitting across from Liadan, who wanted her admiring friend converted to a happily married life like hers, once and for all making of him an honest Wizard, he mentally added to a list of important items he had to procure:  Witch, wardrobe, career, and now estate.  If he wasn't careful it would begin to overwhelm him.  Luckily, Lia's enthusiasm was contagious.

"Yes and we will; you, me, Melly, the whole lot of us, with not but the brightest horizons ahead of us and fun to be had, married and with honour in our names, raising families forward into the new age.  There's nothing more highly respectable than that path.  I'm a little crazed at the thought of it, to be honest, but maybe it is possible after all.  Have you given any thought to other - I mean, it was nice of you to arrange that all with Maria, but I -"

His words gave and he let them, as she'd know well enough what he meant.  Maria was nice and all but Dominik wasn't immediately in love with her, and that was a problem.  So everything she did reminded him of who she wasn't.  But he did so want a date that would make him fall in love, someone attainable who he could have a future with, especially anything powerful enough to help him forget both of his not-so-long-lost-loves.  Was there even anyone up to the task?  He had to wonder....

It was a cinch to pick her out from the crowd, the moment she appeared in her beautiful, long gown - modesty had never been worn so well.  Dominik rose from his chair grinning and stooped into her little cheek kisses, unable to stop a bit of nervous laughter.  His beard was softly scented a deep plum, tamed and tethered by luxury oils, for as always with Liadan he wanted to put forward his best foot, to show how thorough he was willing to be in his efforts.  What he wouldn't do, but then of course he had to go and be shy about it.

"Mrs. Whitman," he called her fondly and for the first time.  "Don't you shine like the sun.  It's so, so wonderful to see you."  He settled down across from her in turn, trying his best to sit comfortably as she assessed his wardrobe.  He worried he might blush, but he shrugged, an easy roll of the shoulder.  "I could get used to this," he agreed.

Did he remember - "Yes, of course," he had to interject - he still remembered how she had looked that afternoon, but mostly he remembered how kind she had been to politely accept the gift of galleons he had offered in her time of need and uncertainty, which was - in retrospect - not his best display of etiquette ever. 

But what was important, she remembered it as the spark of their friendship.  The gesture had been, of course, toward that end.  Awkwardly through family bank accounts perhaps, but that had been the only way that Dominik knew to show little Liadan O Morain of O Morain Farms that she was not to be forgotten in her darkest hours, that she would always have family to count on.

"Aye," he had to laugh.  "I did feel like a right knob in a suit once, that's like putting a tie and collar on a monkey and setting him down next to his buddies in the banana tree - what do you expect to have happen.  Something so clean and flawless, as this, is supposed to be," he was examining the fabric tucked over his elbow, and imagining it feeling more comfortable if it was ripped and torn, pummeled by the world and sporting battle scars, which was in times of doubt his illusion of choice - glass half empty and all of that.  The garment you wore reflected what was inside - in Lia's case, beautiful garments covered a beautiful soul; in Dom's case, the suit had been an obstacle to overcome - but he had to believe in his own self-worth.  That he could be as ordered as this fine suit.

"Oh I don't know, it's gotten better, easier over time to sort of - domesticate my inner animal," he teased.  "Time has aged me well - like a fine, fine elderberry wine?"  He gestured to the bottle as invitation.  "I thought it was a suitable choice for table wine, but order anything you like of course.  Can always cork a bottle."  He had a drink of his water.

"So you're getting on then.  Yea, it's written in your eyes and the air all around you, isn't it.  True happiness just casts this natural sort of radiance.  Straight from the heart.  Go on tell me then, your favourite things about married life!"

[1]

At 6 o'clock on Tuesday evening, Calaveras was transfigured into one of the classiest restaurants in Diagon, the place to be and be seen, and hopefully not get mauled by a Werewolf while you were there (many seemed quick to recall).  It was the eve before the Full Moon tonight, but if history was any indicator, the Werewolves would wait until broad daylight on a quarter moon to maul and kill in Calaveras, so not to worry.  But Dolores, if Dolores was here, she'd be worrying.  Even without the attack having taken place here, he couldn't come to Calaveras without thinking of Dolly.  But then when did he ever stop thinking about her?  They hadn't spoken in months, but it didn't matter.  His mind was still stuck on that and other puzzles.

Not that he wasn't trying to move on.  Tonight would be the first time he'd spend in the company of Mrs. Whitman since attending her little wedding a few fortnights past, and she had become, over the span of the last couple years, his best friend.  There was no denying there would be coming changes after her wedding, in her life at the very least, and Dominik wanted to be a part of that.  Perhaps even an important part.  He could be a better man under her watch, it just took some believing.  And Liadan really seemed to believe in Dominik, giving him the chance to do the same - because somehow she saw the best in him despite everything he'd done wrong in his life. 

Sort of like Dolly.  More than anything, though, it was the way in which she believed in him that was helpful, believing in him as he was now, not because of who he once was.  She was proud of him still and counted him close as family.  This, despite how embarrassed and ashamed he felt at heart, and despite his habit of resisting change, resisting love that felt true, destroying love... he just had to not think about it all that much, or the thoughts would begin to ruin his resolve.  He had to embrace the tabula rasa, the blank slate, and try to forget his bad feelings and what other people had to say.  The future was coming on, and tonight was very important to Dominik.

He wore a nice gentleman's suit that he had tailored at Libertine just the other day.  Under his dark vest and tie, the white sleeves of his crisp shirt were loosely rolled over his elbows, giving a nonchalant spin to his formal-wear, making him all the more dashing and 'natural', in his tailor's opinion.  His hair was longer than she might have liked, but it was done back handsomely; and, though he wasn't clean shaven, he was freshly groomed.  Over all he was looking pretty, maybe most of all because he'd been looking forward to today a long time, and was happy.[2]

He was sat at a table for two, awaiting Liadan.  A yellow rose and a candle adorned their table; beside this, a bottle of elderberry wine was set down by the waitstaff, who in formal fashion introduced themself, not neglecting to mention they were a 'big fan'.  Kept short, thankfully, and one had to assume Calaveras trained their staff to not be overly fanatic, or business would never be so good - Meredith Renfield seemed to pride herself on being able to attract (and collect) celebrities.  Dolly had loved it here, before the Werewolves. 

Taking a sip of his citrus water, Dominik let his eyes wander over the ambient room, dreamlike and warm.  He loved watching things happen around him at Calaveras.  But the best scene of all would be Liadan, when she would appear, and he was ready to catch as early a glimpse at his lovely friend as possible.

1.	Thread title, "Everything I Wanna Be," from the song Caroline, Yes by Kaiser Chiefs, dedicated to Oscar Whitman
2.	Polyvore set

Dominik Wiedman
Abraxan Flats, London

Mrs. Whitman
Kerry Cove

Dear Liadan,

With your lovely self by my side, I know I can't fail.  You brighten everything in your path with such ease, and your friendship always reminds me what happiness can feel like, which is exquisite.  We're fortunate, young (enough, in my case), and beautiful creatures... we've seen the light and more than our share of the dark, but we can still lead such lucky lives, and why shouldn't we.  It's inspiring for me to see you now, you in your white gown, achieving!  One day dinners and silly double dates will set my restless mind at ease; I'll follow your lead if only I could get there.  Together with you, dear friend, I could find a greater sense of purpose in this messed up world.  I want our families to be aligned together forever; we are the ones who will create the next generations!

Despite my transgressions in life, I certainly do want a part of that future.  As ever, I welcome your guidance.  With the end of this last Quidditch season of mine nearly in clear view, I'm going to have to move forward decisively soon.  There is no other way about it, I answer the call or I fall behind even further than I have done. 

A Witch with a 'stronger' personality would do me well, I'm sure - that is what I've been attracted to, as far as I can make out.  Obviously, Dolores and Niobe are difficult acts to follow, each in their own way being so bold.  Quiet, gentle Witches make me feel ill at ease, to tell the truth.  I like a frankly spoken and dominant Witch.  Someone intelligent and crafty, even.  But someone who isn't impossible to please... if both things can be true at the same time, I don't know.  As daunting as it is to be moving on, it's easier with the encouragement and optimism of a great confidant.  If it helps take some of the pressure off, I'd say a friendship must always go both ways.  I may not have the best in the way of advice, but I'm always willing to lend an ear, a shoulder; whatever you need, just say the word and I will be there.


Sincerely,

Dominik 

Dominik Wiedman
Abraxan Flats
London

Mrs. Whitman
Kerry Cove

Dear Liadan,

Your parents would be very proud of you, and I am, too.  You are an exemplary Witch, and you do deserve the best.  They would be so happy to see you with someone like Oscar Whitman, someone who's successful, respected, and carrying forward his family's name - I've no doubt they would agree, he's an excellent choice of husband.  If only Wizards were as good as you Witches, then perhaps you'd have yourself a truly worthy match, but since things are the way they are and you lot easily eclipse us, you'll have to settle for the best there is.  I hope he is always everything that you need and isn't the kind of fool to think a Witch doesn't run a house.  If he's ever awful, please don't forget you have the best of friends as well, as you deserve.  And that I'll have his head if

Wonderful, wonderful news about dinner, I couldn't be any more pleased.  Let's meet about 6 o'clock this Tuesday, Calaveras.  I wish it could be tomorrow or even tonight, but it's better you have the advanced notice.  Besides, your husband is likely a freer Wizard on weekends than during the normal business week; I'd hate to steal you away from his side on anything but a boring old Tuesday.  I'll have it to look forward to so I can't complain.

Maria is a very nice Witch.  A little difficult to give the kind of attention she would deserve.  To me dating is very horrible, but like I told you, I'll try.  & I'll owl her.


See you there love,

Dominik

[1]

Dom Wiedman
The Abraxan Flats
London

Liadán Whitman
The Whitman Estate
Kerry Cove

Dear Liadán,

Yours was a beautiful wedding.  I enjoyed myself very much.  I cannot tell you how honoured I felt to be present and invited into such intimate company.  We didn't have much chance to speak at your wedding of course, but I wanted to say again what I said to you there - that you looked so beautiful in your dress.  It was as perfect as you said.  More-so.  The picturesque bride, I'd say; a tad modest for all you deserve - perhaps - but it only made you shine the more brightly.  I was glad to be there on your special day.

I'm writing now in the hopes that you and I could arrange a dinner between us, if it's not a bother to tear you away briefly from your groom.  I'm sure you are kept busy, honeymooning, preparing your new life and getting your affairs in order for your new family in the making.  But if you have an evening, any evening, preferably one following a day that I haven't spent on Pitch (spare you my Beater's filth); I'll have my schedule below so you'll know what's good.  If it pleases you, tell me a date and your preferences for venue, even if it has to be scheduled a ways off.  I would love to see you and hear all about how you're taking to your newly wedded life.

Send my best to your husband.  I'm glad he makes you happy, so.

With love and all due respect,
your friend,
Dominik

P.S.  My schedule for Quidditch - now that I'm here looking at it I suppose May 8th is the only foreseeable match in my immediate future.  Depending on how that goes, I could get busier a week out from that, or have even more time on my hands.  Blimey I didn't realize how soon work would die down after the International Friendly Matches.  Anyway, do send me an owl, your earliest convenience is fine.  Be well. 

1.	The thread title is taken from a song lyric in Suck It and See by Alex Turner of the Arctic Monkeys.

Dominik had been managing to stay out of trouble and keep his public image wrapped up in Quidditch and only Quidditch for once, so of course Dazmond had to go and choose this moment - in between important matches with the Holyhead Harpies and the Kenmare Kestrels - to twist his arm into misbehaving, bringing him out to cavort with the WBA on a school night.  There was nothing so official but the hoops he'd had to jump through to merely arrive at the pub's new location made him feel he'd pledged his allegiance to something. 

Being dragged along to a hideout of the Wizarding Blood Alliance by Dazmond for a night of guilty pleasures, old faces, and throw-back Thursday bone fights was not the worst thing in the world.  He wouldn't fight his little sister's adorably indomitable will.  Dazmond was excited, making it all too easy for him to simply go along with her plans, allowing the momentum of her fire-bolt being to carry things forward of their own volition.  He'd go along to keep an eye out for her, to keep her company - all that.  Those were his excuses, his justifications, for what he knew was a step down the dark path, into a world where every questionable figure had their own attractive lures into such delicious troubles.

He had finished with his Ministry-enforced community sentence - 10 years contractual obligation to the Falmouth Falcons, which he was put on parole for in lieu of time in Azkaban on account of his rare talent.  He'd signed himself on for another year now (benefit of his celebrity) and the current Quidditch season was well underway, with the British & Irish National Teams Camp and International Friendly Matches coming up just around the bend.  Of course the Ministry of Magic still had him in their grips, as they did every Azkaban parolee and mischievous misfit, though living on Knockturn Alley and being tied up with the sorts his family was, it was little surprise that he would eventually seek out the WBA, despite everybody's best efforts to make him into a civilized man. 

Dominik tried for all these years to tone down his worldview, to not flaunt his politics to avoid becoming any more the black sheep.  Wizarding society, spectators, die-hard fans, and the press each played their part in shaping his villainous persona without him announcing in interviews that he still held treasonous philosophical beliefs.  His reckless behavior, on or off the Pitch, was enough material for the Wizarding populace to sort through.  They would cast their images and opinions of him as they wished, crafting some mocked-up public story of his mysterious Death Eater past.  People seemed to anticipate this changing somehow at the end of his contract, but Dominik wasn't convinced.  His best friends told him that this was his chance to do something with his life, to make a change in his 'career', and his family desperately wanted him to find a nice Witch and to settle down with children.  They all made it sound such a promising cusp in his life, on the edge of thirty - but Dominik found that, on this precipice, he had no particular ambitions worth pursuing and nothing at all left in the way of likely marital options.  Neither Niobe Thursby nor Dolores St. James wanted anything to do with him, that much was certain.  According to each he was an Unforgivable man.  Tacked onto this romantic quagmire of his was the marriage of Liadan o Morain, a dear friend of his whose engagement hadn't seemed real until, suddenly, it was.  Only in the aftermath of their wedding did he realize his affections for her ran deeper than friendship.  It was a gut-wrenching head-on collision with reality, when Liadan got married and the next day came.  Everything in his life was the same.

-

That was what made it so easy to grab onto the portkey.  When he landed in the pub, for the briefest moment, his anticipation created a mirage of the scene that must have existed only minutes prior to their arrival - a gentle glow and lingering warm pub smells; and then it was gone.  Replaced with a feeling of cold dread, a darkening, dampening sensation that ran through him, eliminating all traces of hope in an instant as the lights extinguished.  Dominik felt as though he had just apparated into May, 1998.  Even the enchanted hearth grew dim, its embers struggling in a valourous attempt to burn through the wet, sickly air brought in by the looming dementors.

It was easy to pinpoint the source of everyone's attention: the broken window.  The night was dark, but the figures beyond were unmistakable.  It wasn't only their tall, black-as-the-void shadows or spindly, reaching hands that spelled their presence; it was apparent in the atmosphere itself, in the unshakable cold, in the fatalistic moods and thoughts that all at once descended on his mind. 

A string of blasphemes sounded from his lips.  Stumbling backwards, he latched onto Dazmond's hand, drawing them back and putting as many people between them and the window as possible.  She was the only thing here that could possibly save him from a dismal mindscape, so he put as much of his focus into her warm little palm as he possibly could.  A blast of red and a shriek of light erupted from nearby wands.  Dominik's free hand was clammy, it itched to reach for his wand but he couldn't even see a point in trying.  He could think of ten ways that might backfire, a prime example of which was about ready to display itself most gruesomely before them all:

A dark wizard emerged from the shadowy crowd, emblazoned by his fears and already looking half-dead from his nefarious lifestyle.  He made to cast a patronus, but instead a horde of maggots were unleashed from the foul wizard's wand-tip.  As the squiggly creatures made to devour him, Dominik urgently yanked Dazmond further away, throwing their backs to a wall.  This felt safer, though they were also made all the more entrapped.  A small circle cleared around the thrashing, wailing man and his sea of squirming larva, just as a tall black figure glided through the window and into the room, stopping inside to relish the delicious meal of pleasant feelings among the souls present.  Even from here Dominik could see the sinking black hole that stood in place of its mouth.  This wasn't quite the evening he had expected, but nothing ever worked out the way he wanted, did it?

The dementor took in a long, shuddering breath. 

Dominik smiled sinfully to himself in his moment of beaten / redeemed glory, sliding a bit further into his sophisticated, languid posturing.  Settled in so on his leather sofa, and content with Lia's cordiality, he had only to stretch just so, wrapping his bare toes in a dexterous movement around the wand set out on the coffee table and brought it into reach.  He used this to quickly conjure up the bottle of sparkling Balfour Brut Rose and two wine flutes from the kitchens.  His shameless heel was smudged blue, purple, black, and the ball of his foot lined in acid green dust during these efforts.

He transferred wine into both their flutes and floated them less than carefully over - grasping his own from mid-air he grinned and held it aloft.  "Cheers," he offered.  "To Madam Whit- Whitman.  Blimey, that sounds weird.  Like talking about my cousin's mum, isn't it.  You're nearly my relative now, Lia, we'll be almost legitimately related soon enough."  He shook his head weird-like, as if the notion had only just occurred to him, and he took a draw from his drink to wash away the odd feeling that rose in him.

"They'll be there, though, your family.  In some odd way, smiling down on you.  I know they'd be dead proud of you, Lia.  Er - " Could've chosen better words, mate, "You've always been the best -" he hesitated, not in doubt but as if picking from an assortment of possibilities - "best of all possible daughters," he decided, matter of factly.  "And now, what.  You're beautifully becoming what they'd always wanted you to become."  He paused, frowning deep in thought.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but yeah, yeah set me up for something or other, would you?  It's not like I'm so terribly busy I can't take a chance on something perhaps equally as brilliant as what I have already."  He gestured vaguely around himself with ennui, wineglass in hand - at the peach bellini, at the aimless and shapeless drawings devoid of human figures, at the messy drab flat in general.  What was he doing with himself anyways?  He knew that this last, auxiliary season of Quidditch came with a definite expiration date which every day drew closer near, coinciding roughly with not his 30th but now his bloody thirty-first birthday, yet here he was wiling away the days like he was Peter Pan or some kind of wangsty vampire, caught in a long drawn out debate with Father Time, Master of the Universe. 

"It's time to explore new possibilities," he declared.  "Cause I've been in this waiting and seeing business a longish time and let's face it, Liadan, the trying's terrible.  All this stinking trout tickling." 

He laughed stupidly at this 'trout tickling' euphemism and the images it brought to mind, must've been conjured up from some strange memory recess of unwanted muggle acculturation, he hardly knew where he'd plucked it from.  Wistfully he looked over at her, sighing away his amusement. 

"It's just not working for me love.  I ought to try and figure out how to find a bride that's more like you, to be honest.  What you've been telling me for years, find something right and proper, yeah?  But now if I'm ready I've got to go attract it, haven't I.  So... what is it exactly that Oscar does that draws you in, if I could be so bold as to ask?  Which I am and I did.  You know, other than being successful and proper and well liked and all that."  Because if he was being brutal with himself as he all too often was, Dominik really wasn't all that.

The pat on the hand did not go unnoticed; it was vastly reassuring, even if he doubted that his relationship with her newly wed would be anything but fraught with tensions.  Dominik Wiedman was likely the last bachelor on Earth that any Wizard would want to see communing with his wife.  Or maybe Dominik was just the last Bachelor on Earth, period!

"Oh, you didn't have to...," Dominik trailed off as she handed over his present.  He was touched and it didn't even matter so much whatever was inside.  Just the fact that she was here and had wanted to make up for lost time was more than enough to alleviate a great deal of his anxieties.  He moved his hands over the plain paper, appreciating it before he undid the wrapping.  Inside was a box.  Opening this, Dominik paused.  What; it was perfectly exquisite!  It was still a shock to be worthy of such things, sometimes.  He picked up the pocket watch and turned it over, popped it open.

"Oh Liadan," he said after a moment, smiling.  "Hate it?  Not in a thousand years.  You must know already how fitting this is.  Thank you so much.  I adore it and will always remember you by it!"  He disposed of the wrappings in his ashtray to the side of the couch and reached over to hug her again, his dear little friend!  How he was so loved by her he didn't know, but the watch was a beautiful gesture that told him as much:  he was.

"I wish I'd gotten you something.  Of course I will have done soon, a present for your engagement.  Next time."  It was only proper, after all, but it didn't mean he'd be getting anything for this Oz character... he didn't think the Wizard was suitable for Dolores, and he didn't think he was suitable for Lia, either.  But he could be happy for her.  He certainly didn't wish his own fate on others... it was better to be wed, and wed young.  Traditions existed for a reason.

Dominik draped the golden watch and its solid chain respectfully on the coffee table in front of them, off to the side of his artistic mess. 

"Can I get you anything," he asked.  "Some peach bellini?  A glass of wine?"  He did hope she'd stay a while.  Her visit had gone a long way in showing him how lonely he actually was, holed up in his little apartment making art for no one.

Dominik was so happy to have the opportunity to entertain Lia in his home again.  He grinned as she kindly embraced him and proceeded to settle in so naturally on her own.  Along with the attention she paid him, it was quite the treat; he was especially pleased by her direct applauding of his culinary pursuits.  He'd been ravenous and feeling quite indulgent after this weekend of course, so a simple yet delectable pasta dinner had been a worthwhile and timely venture, but it was true he was taking steps to take care of himself.  Now his whole home was made even more alive by her role as an adoring witness to his creative process.  Suddenly, he felt very accomplished and proud of himself! 

Absence did, after all, cause the heart to grow fonder for friends as well, thought Dominik.  He only now noticed quite how starved he was of her affection.

Joining her on the couch, Dominik settled in comfortably, giving his full attention and nodding somewhat pensively as she began discussing the invitation she'd extended to him via owl.  Truly he'd had some unpleasant feelings about her impending nuptials... now, however, he was pulled along by the current dynamic; whichever direction she led him in,  he'd follow behind her amiably.  The privilege of being among her dearest friends, indeed being dear enough to count as a replacement for family, was an admission from Liadan that he would never dare take lightly.  Expressing doubts about her previously divorced fiance, or discomfort with how quickly all of this was taking place would be a terrible offense.  He had to be cautious that he didn't stick his foot in his mouth then, as he was seemingly always apt to do.

Luckily his eagerness to please her outweighed his lack of excitement over bad egg Oscar Whitman, at least for the time being.

"Of course, of course I'll be there," he quickly assured her.  He'd pessimistically assumed he'd try to get out of it, but with those few leading comments of hers she'd already won his allegiance.  She could probably convince him to be in the wedding party with the right kind of smile, not that she should have any desire to trust him not to ruin such delicate ceremonies.  Pleasing Liadan, though, was as addictive as any of his vices, if he was being entirely honest with himself.

"I'm of course grateful and so honoured to be that for you, Liadan," he admitted alongside a heartfelt expression.  "You're the same to our entire family, but if I dare say to me especially; I can't tell you how much our time together means to me.  I hope that you'll still feel comfortable being my friend as a married Witch..., I'd be destroyed if I were ever to lose your company and companionship.  You'll be all grown up so soon, it's bloody tragic is what it is!  You won't go on and forget me when you're with a little one, will you?"  He nudged her knee, meaning to be playful and wanting to bring some levity to their conversation, but perhaps a bit of genuine neediness shined through, for all his earnestness.

Life was just a waiting game - a few intense, vivid moments with a slew of long, drawn out periods of hermitage and charcoal stains in between.  Dom was living from one Quidditch match to the next, in other words; as usual avoiding the fact that he had other goals to attain in life other than satisfying the ravenous fans of the Falmouth Falcons.  They'd gotten him into a nice little groove with it... two weekends per moon cycle, one where his days of playing were doubled up and the other was a single shot.  There was little else to do but practice dutifully in between matches, though at his age and with his level of experience, practice periods sometimes seemed an extraneous procedure. 

The primary challenge for him these days was in keeping up his momentum.  He had a feeling he was only going through the motions now.  Even the cheering, mind boggling crowds were pretty commonplace for Dominik Wiedman... and he now had very little going on in his personal life that would really drive him to succeed or to want to vanquish the opposing teams anymore.  Dominik wasn't even taking anything out on the bludgers any longer, he was simply apathetic about it all.  He was feeling the marked absence of Dolores, Niobe, and now even Liadan.  His dear friend was so busy with her sudden wedding preparations that she had all but abandoned him to the cruel fate of winding up some overgrown, washed out criminal Beater who'd overstayed his welcome on the league and long since passed his window for marrying and settling down with children.   

Today there was little reprieve from all of that.  It was the Monday night following his double booked weekend playing against the Caerphilly Catapaults and the Appleby Arrows.  He was physically exhausted after two weeks of heavy practicing and the two brutal, back-to-back games - and that was such a familiar and most cherished feeling to be all used up and bloody sore - in the best of all ways, of course.  It was the sort of hurt that reminded you of your body's glorious feats and made right sure that you were still alive and kicking.  He'd holed up in his apartment with a tub of ice cream and a fifth of whiskey in the aftermath and was shuffling around bare chested and in his drab, sinfully comfortable long johns when a bright knock came at his door. 

His dark apartment was lit by a plethora of ambient candles and the aroma of a hastily thrown-together pasta dinner still hung heavy on the air, though it was about 8 o'clock.  A tub of peach bellini sat on the coffee table, a spoon sticking straight out of it, haphazardly covering a slew of charcoal drawings.  The black etches were here and there filled in with patches of brightly coloured chalk pastels, an unusual occurrence for Dominik.

He went to the door nonchalantly, expecting Dazmond.  She had been in better spirits and started dropping by unannounced more and more often the last few months since Christmas.  But he was entirely surprised to be met with a different little Witch.

"Liadan!" he said, clearly thrilled.  Maybe a little too thrilled, as he didn't even make note of the fact that he was not at all dressed appropriately as he opened the door wide to allow her entry.  This was a common enough occurrence to not totally startle her, probably, and they were close enough now where he didn't have to worry about being half dressed every time he answered the door, right?  That logic was doomed to fail him, but as it was he was much too excited at the moment to even remember what he had on.  At least he had showered since this weekend, two days of grime and sweat from the Quidditch Pitch would be entirely unacceptable.  Liadan might get used to seeing him in his underwear, though, if he was lucky.

"Come in, come in," he said, "Before I realize you're only a figment of my imagination.  I was starting to think you'd forgotten your old friend!"  He scourgified his earthen hands with the damp cloth he carried, his thick Beater's paws having been covered in black dust and a plethora of colored chalks, before he opened his arms to offer her a hug in greeting.

Dominik took up his own, black coffee and held it aloft in an informal toast.  "No," he said.  "Thank you.  It's rare that I get to entertain for such fine company as yourself." 

A great friend of a family associate like Liadan was rare to come by, rarer yet to find one so pure of heart - but, he thought, despite their family connections and ties to society she was foremost his friend.  He was very proud of the way that his relationship with her had blossomed this past year and a half, how despite all his wrongdoings she continued to show faith in him.  She had come to be so much more to Dominik than just a family friend or member of the pure-blooded elite who it was wisest to impress.  In many ways she showed more caring and concern towards him than most of his family and friends he'd known since birth.

He too set his coffee aside after his first sip and, holding her silver basket in his lap, watched her with anticipation as he waited for her reaction to his gift.  He couldn't stop himself from smiling happily as she accused him of spoiling her and proceeded to carefully unwrap the throw.  She seemed pleasantly surprised by it to say the least, and Dominik felt elated to have been capable of eliciting this response from her.  It was an absolute rush that left him feeling gay and flustered, his cheeks growing very warm.

"Not at all," he said, now practically grinning as he watched her unfold it, obviously admiring the soft fabric and fur as she inspected it in full.

"Nothing from you could ever be inadequate," he assured her, quite truthfully.  He knew on the other hand that it would always take an effort on his part to provide her with a gift that was more than she expected from him, which he had clearly succeeded in doing this time round.  It made the amount of galleons he'd spent feel even more worth it and his desire to put more into savings for future investments double intensely.  Dominik was simply so flattered that she was smitten with his present that he was beside himself.  Her sweet smile was altogether contagious.

"Coyote," he said, "and the rest is lambswool and cashmere.  I wanted to get something for you that would - not only be something deserving of you, to show how fondly I think of you - but also something that would serve a functional role in your daily life.  In some ways the greatest gift I could have is knowing that I'm that functional role, so that in the cold of night I know it's sort of me you're all sort of snuggled up with."  He hardly stopped to think about how awkward that had come across.  "I mean, that I would be keeping you warm, at night - when it's cold - er, the blanket rather.  Because I care about you and I want you to be warm, not because I...."

His words awkwardly trailed off into mumbles as he kneaded the back of his neck and threw his gaze over to the bed - the open sight of which made him feel even more awkward.  "Maybe I should not try to explain the gift and just open yours, yeah?"  He gave a pained, apologetic look and dug into her festively wrapped basket, aiming at first to distract the both of them.  What was it about Liadan that made him so clumsy with his words?

The first thing he pulled out from it was the decanter of whiskey.  He grinned again, suddenly forgetting his reason for blushing as he held the rather nice glass piece up to the light.  "This is a piece for the mantel!" he said.  "But don't you know the way to a Beater's heart." 

He extracted the candle holders next, which startled him by promptly breaking into an epic, haunting song.

Underneath the arches,
We dream our dreams away,
Underneath the arches,
On cobblestones we lay.
Every night you'll find us,
Tired out and worn,
Happy when the daylight comes creeping,
Heralding the dawn.

Sleeping when it's raining,
And sleeping when it's fine,
Trains rattling by above.
Pavement is my pillow,
No matter where we stray,
Underneath the arches,
We dream our dreams away.[1]

Dominik stared and blinked at the swaying candlesticks in the palms of his hands, a lopsided smile on his face.  When they quieted down again, he looked over at Liadan.  "Charismatic fellows, aren't they?"  He laughed brightly, setting them right side up on the coffee table and digging into the gift basket again, this time with the air of a little boy eager to discover his gifts on Christmas.  It was then he pulled out the flask, which he seemed readily mesmerised with.

"Oh, Lia," he said as he examined the silver flask with its coiled golden snake.  He flipped open the back which was meant to stash cigarettes, and he instantly knew it would replace his old flask forthwith.  "I'll use this," he said, "I'll use this every day and always remember where it came from.  Thank you!  There's more still?!"  He peeled back the wrappings all the way and revealed a smattering of smaller gifts, candies, teas and biscuits.  "Oh delicious," he said.  "Thank you, Lia, thank you so much."  He even giggled as he touched the fake snow settled in the bottom of the basket and found it to be cold to the touch.

1.	Flanagan and Allen - Underneath the Arches