Absit Omen RPG

Moira gave Sasha a grateful nod at his offer to fix the plate. He had always been considerate in that way, sparing her pride and helping her save face even among friends. Had she tried to repair the broken plate, likely nothing would have happened or something would have caused it to break into smaller pieces in her attempt.


At Abby’s question and the followup mention of a possible wandlight, the witch’s grateful-to-Sasha but annoyed-at-herself expression turned serious and focused as she rose from her chair, moving to the window beside her. Moira hadn’t mentioned to either of her friends the times when she had felt watched, something the others in her family had only admitted too after the desecration of Iona’s grave. They might have heard about it through Ministry gossip though.

There were no lights that she could see, but that didn’t mean one hadn’t been there. Moira gave Abby’s hand a squeeze of support and glanced at Sasha. She tried to tell them what she was going to do, but again her voice didn’t work.

With a shake of her head, she attempted again through body language, pointing up at the cottage lights a moment before she put them out. It was easier to see into the light from out in the darkness while those in the light had a very limited view. Better to not give any foe such an advantage.

Moira looked back out the window again, letting her vision adjust to the dark and the light of the moon.

Moira considered her two friends when Sasha mentioned a contest of who could withstand the most heat when it came to spicy food. Taking her own seat the wix shook her head, “Sor-” she paused momentarily, surprised her voice chose now to work before continuing, “Sorry, Sasha. I think we’d just establish you as the automatic winner before we even started.”

Spicy food was more than an enjoyable meal for her. However, killing her taste buds in a contest was less enjoyable.

“Thanks for the food.”

A short while later

As per the usual McBoid style, there were no leftovers to put away when the trio finished eating. Moira sat back with a satisfied sigh, her stomach pleasantly full for the first time since Boxing Day.[1] There were no instances of starvation in her routine, only sometimes she did miss lunch while working or only ate enough to keep her going.

During the meal her voice cut in and out as usual when she did speak. Abby’s encouragement did end up on the receiving end of a small scowl from the wix - though the cause was really her dad and uncle’s fault for pestering her since she had been cursed to ‘keep trying’ and ‘not give up’.

Intending to be a good host, Moira pulled out her wand out of her sleeve and concentrated. The levitation spell was easy enough, one of the first spells they had learned in school, and she’d had some success casting it wordlessly. There was no reason for the process to not go smoothly, so long as she only focused on one spell at a time while she cleaned the table.

The trash went into the bin. The silverware went to the sink, followed shortly by the plates.

Crash!

Followed by all but one of the plates, anyway. Moira frowned slightly in annoyance.

1.	People Make Holidays Special

The hunter’s questions had a conversational tone, but Moira met his gaze as he asked them. She thought she detected a hint of concern hidden away in his questions which piqued her curiosity. What were his reasons to be concerned? Was it just because of her relations or something else? Questions that needn’t be asked; things she might find out another time. Unless there happened to be some sort of disastrous event - possible - there was no need to rush.

“I sleep alright,” Moira half-lied. Very likely she had less than an adequate amount, but otherwise everything else had settled nicely. “The nightmares stopped just before Christmas. So no more werewolf sketches.”

The close-encounter she’d had with the werewolf had certainly been nerve wracking and plagued her attempts at sleep for a few nights, but the final driving nails had been her meeting with Bagnold at the Ministry and then the article in the Daily Prophet. The learning and knowing quicker action on her part, not worrying solely about Sellaphix and his concerns, might have saved lives. The deaths of those muggles weighed as heavily on Moira as her own mother’s death. ‘What ifs’ were pointless for mere conjecture. The past was done and now she had to live with the consequences.

The younger wix avoided looking anywhere near her mother’s portrait as she finished off the beer in her glass.

“Plenty of other sketches, but nothing quite so horrific depending where you place the digestive tract of a griffin on the scale.” A griffin would soon be a temporary guest at the menagerie ranch which led to her more specific research and studies. Moira wouldn’t let anyone say their guests were not well-treated.

Speaking of guests, her empty glass, and Bagnold’s nearly empty one she grabbed the second bottle off the table and popped it open. She held it out towards him and waited a moment for his agreement before filling his glass then her own. He had supplied the beer, the least she could do was pour it.

Moira tilted her head slightly at the mention of her uncle and her social calendar, and gave a small shake of her head, “You think he doesn’t try?”

The young witch cleared her throat and after a brief pause began a somewhat decent impression of her uncle, “Have you looked outside, yet? It’s a beautiful day. You should consider going to get a coffee with one, or both, of your friends. Since you don’t have work today. Make a day of it. I can take care of your chores if you decide you want to go. I don’t mind.” Duncan had said something very similar not too long ago making it easy enough to recall.

Shrugging a shoulder Moira gave a half smile, “Sometimes I think he’s finally given up on the attempts, and then he’ll say something like that. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried inviting them over on my behalf. I hope he never gets the idea.” Such an event would be rather disastrous, initially.

“Most of the time I just like to stay busy. And if I manage to finish everything at an early hour then there’s more time to study.” That sounded odd for a non Ravenclaw alumni. She’d have to be careful or else risk sounding like Sasha. “I mean, I can’t learn my chosen profession by staring at a wall.”

Moira watched the three figures approach the house and gave a small smile and nod in greeting. The two of them were holding hands while they walked, as to be expected. When the big dog bounded over the remaining distance to say hello her smile widened into a grin. She crouched down to greet the dog properly - a kiss on the nose and sloppy return kisses - and spoke to him with words that had no sound.

Fondling Baldur’s ears once more, the witch rose to her feet just in time to accept Abby’s considerate hug. Her friend looked much better than when they last saw each other, more like herself. It was a good sight to see and Moira took it as a good sign for the night ahead of them.

At Abby’s mention of food, Moira’s stomach growled in response and she had to shake her head. Glancing curiously to the bag Sasha was carrying she noted the logo on it but couldn’t make out what exactly it was. She raised her eyebrows questioningly before shrugging and motioned them all inside with a nod of her head.

They doorway led into the living room where it became obvious the cabin hadn’t changed at all in the way of items. It was furnished just enough to be liveable and decorated just enough to not look bare. The latter would have been even more sparse except Abby had helped pick several of them out when they went shopping back in December[1]. Moira’s friend had been kind in keeping her particular tastes in mind. Everything looked natural, no funky colors, and especially no glitter.

There also wasn’t much in the way of electronics. With all the magic being used daily, including the constant presence of the wards, even a landline phone - which had nothing to connect to - wouldn’t survive for long.

Motioning for her friends to make themselves at home she looked to the door and reset the wards for the lock. This particular task her uncle had made sure she could do, able to speak or not. One never knew where that skill would come in handy.

1.	The Princess and The Wolf

Moira's Cottage
6:21 pm

Moira leaned back against the kitchen counter and took a drink of her coffee, still spiked with a hint of WideEye Potion. Her hair hung wet and heavy over her shoulders, having not bothered to dry it yet after her shower. That was her excuse, anyway.

Thanks to the curse she was under[1] the witch had been getting a lot of practice in casting spells nonverbally, much more than she ever had in school. Now, she was tired of practicing all the time and she was tired of talking 'as often as possible' to try and break the curse to get her voice back fully. The curse wasn't breaking. However, over the past few days it had become noticeably easier. Except right now, her voice wasn't working at all. So her hair hung wet.

Two of her friends, the only two really, would be arriving at any moment. After having a sleepover with them during the last full moon, suggested by a somewhat paranoid werewolf hunter[2], Abby Reid had claimed they should make it a monthly ritual. The squib never needed an excuse to have a sleepover, but now she had an excuse at least once a month. A full moon sleepover. Neither Moira or Sasha had seen a good reason decline the idea.

At the end of the Full Snow Moon, the witch had made sure her friends knew they didn't need an invitation to stop by if they ever wished, so long as she was at home. Fortunately, her work schedule was consistent. Then, while she did make the occasional trip to town to buy supplies she did not take random week long 'business trips' like some people she knew[3].

The witch's stomach growled in complaint at a lack of food and she ignored it. Moira had only gotten off work at six, so her immediate concern had been to shower and feed Casper. At this point, the witch had decided to wait until the prince and princess arrived. More than likely, Sasha would have already eaten. The wizard was very careful about what he ate. Abby she wasn't so sure about. There was a chance she might have waited in the hopes that her wix friend would cooked, or she might have eaten so as not to be rude. She might have even taken some time to eat with her boyfriend. There was no way to really know until they arrived.

A short while later Moira heard a noise outside. After checking the wards she took another drink of coffee and went to open the door.

1.	Moira touched a tree that had been poisoned with a curse by Lorelei Hunt in The Grave
2.	Shoot The Moon
3.	Referring to her uncle Duncan when Kurby went to visit him in the second note's thread

M warning for continuation of sensitive theme

Moira nodded in acknowledgement of his point while contemplating the first half of his comment. Guessing what he meant regarding 'other options' to becoming a werewolf wasn't difficult. However, if Bagnold were able to ask and one of his team members who did not want to be 'furry' got bit, what would he do?

Of course, the Ministry would never allow it and the public - if they learned of the fact - would be outraged. But this was a hypothetical question. If the unthinkable happened, would Kurby kill the teammate he had worked with, bled with, and suffered with at their request? Could he?

While Moira didn't know much about the wizard beyond what he had offered and what she had observed, she didn't think so. Perhaps he might, if it were in the heat of battle. Except as the Head of the Capture Unit he would be expected to maintain a clear mind in such stressful situations. Bagnold did what had to be done yet she doubted him to be a cold blooded killer, no matter his feelings regarding werewolves.

The question remained unanswered in her mind and likely would remain so.

When the witch realized she was staring she glanced up at her mother's portrait for a few seconds, unchanged as always though the gaze again felt somewhat accusatory. Moira looked away again almost guiltily. She was taking a drink when the Hunter thanked her.

"It's no trouble. The only thing I've had to deal with is learning I have living relatives other than dad and Duncan." Moira shrugged a shoulder. "You are referring to the whole Iona thing, right?"

That sound incredibly callous, even to her ears, and she grimaced slightly in recognition. The situation wasn't easy on her family or Abby. There was nothing light hearted about it and it certainly wasn't something to just shrug off. "Sorry."

Moira gave a soft sigh and added, "Iona McBoid lived and died before I was even born. I never had a chance to know her." Or of her, except for the few times when Iona had spoken through Abby. Such a bizarre situation.

"Anyway, enjoying the night alone is a bit of a stretch. Had you not shown up I likely would have found other work to do." And who knew what time she would have stopped.

Moira snorted a laugh at Bagnold’s dark, dry humor. There had to be something funny about the grimmer side of life, or else the weight of it all would crush a person, snap their hold on sanity, or worse.

It felt as though they finally had come across a topic that didn’t feel forced and was far enough from personal matters to be comfortable, even if the subject matter was more than a little dark and grim. Perhaps now that it had started, it would continue to flow forward in the way it did for other people she had observed. Wracking her brain for a topic certainly hadn’t helped that effort.

Taking another drink she looked back over to Bagnold as he mentioned setting up something similar at the Ministry. Moira offered, “You could pass out complimentary pocket watches. The kind that wix leave in their desk drawers and promptly forget about. Give you an excuse to go through it if they’ve been missing and if they show up,” she shrugged, “‘Sorry, I was making sure you weren’t dead.’”

The idea of those pocket watches hiding in desks was inefficient, true. More along the ideas of a prank. An example being the debatable amount of time that had to pass before someone was considered missing.It certainly wouldn’t be helpful to departments having to rummage through all those desk drawers trying to find those elusive watches.

Moira furrowed her brow a bit at the mention of a drinking game. Present company excluded, her last proper drinking game had been the slumber party where she had met Abby, and unknowingly her long dead cousin. The game had not gone so well, in her opinion but everyone else at the party might not have agreed. The witch had much preferred the one played with Bagnold. It had been more informative.

“Little chance of that, I think, but I’ll keep it in mind.” In fact, it was far more preferable for all future parties and events to be avoided, not that such a possibility existed.

The silence stretched for a few seconds and Moira took advantage of it, focusing on her sandwiches again. Except, she found that only one bite remained. She barely remembered eating the rest of it all, having wolfed it down in her hunger between sentences. She would have to get up earlier in the morning to ensure she had a proper breakfast.

Setting the now empty plate aside, her attention was drawn to the clock on the mantle at Bagnold’s question, ticking away the seconds of their lives. At a glance it certainly appeared to be nothing but a plain clock. However, the face of it waxed and waned with the moon while the color changed slowly throughout the year.

“No, the clock’s magical.” Moira unconsciously tilted her head slightly to the side as she looked at it, trying to remember what she had been told. “I believe it belonged to my great grandfather,” one of the many family members she had no clue about.

“He,” she hesitated, the story coming back to her in pieces. “He had it custom made by a clock specialist, a way to mark the moon, and seasonal festivals.” During Samhain it had become a ghostly grey, and now it was a shade of blue.

“Dad said it connects to whoever inherits it, like their heartbeat is what keeps it ticking. If the owner dies before it’s passed on it will stop, but it can be started again with a spell.” Not the most cheery of thoughts.

This time, Moira had to say something. “I’m usually at one of the ranches, I only drop in at the shops when the animals need a thorough examination.” The staff they had on hand were more than capable of sorting out when something was wrong with one or more of them. It was just good practice, even the managers had to agree.

The witch took a bite of her second sandwich, the first one having vanished quickly down her throat, barely chewing before swallowing. She continued, “As for the Ministry there are a few reasons. The first you can probably guess. Duncan’s lack of trust in it might have rubbed off.” Moira shrugged, her uncle was far more paranoid about the whole thing than she was but it remained a factor.

“Otherwise, I hated the crowds at Hogwarts, I doubt the Ministry would be any different. And as you said they have more than their share of magizoologists. They don’t need another.” Moira paused mid-bite as she remembered another fact, “A couple of years ago, actually, my dad set me up with a two week internship over the winter holidays. I can’t say I was too thrilled about it all.”

Another reason not mentioned was because the Ministry was such an obvious choice career wise. Both of her friends worked at the Ministry, sort of, amongst a number of people she had gone to school with. Moira didn’t want to pick the obvious choice. Perhaps this was her own way of rebelling against relative ‘safety’.

Moira opened her mouth but stopped herself from asking after his own job, if he enjoyed it or if it was a necessary duty. Taking a drink of beer to try to cover the movement, she also shifted position to one slightly more comfortable.

Bagnold was here to be distracted from work, not reminded about it.

“I don’t normally drink beer, but this isn’t too bad.”

The few living room decorations didn’t catch Moira’s attention, even as Bagnold observed them. The painting she tended to ignore unless she were feeling particularly guilt-ridden, as she had in December. Then the laughing eyes of her mother seemed to say, ‘Look at what you took away’. Which was ridiculous. She hadn’t taken anything away.

Not directly.

Not intentionally.

The painting tended to bring about mixed feelings that she doubted would ever settle at this point. Living in her cabin, away from those constantly watching eyes, had turned out to be a bit of a relief.

                                                         "Well, there must be a reason he hasn't, then,"

Moira offered the hunter a quick grin, “Good thing I’m not my own boss.” Had their roles been reversed, she admitted to herself she probably would have been understanding of his situation too. Many things tended to happen out of a person’s control and all they could do was deal with the aftermath.

At Bagnold’s last comment, the witch chewed another bite of her sandwich thoughtfully for a moment. Talking about herself, or her plans, were not part of Moira’s usual habit. Normally, she was the one listening to others talk, learning about them if she was interested enough in doing so. Moira mentally shrugged, if this helped distract his mind from the next few days then so be it.

“I had planned on that, originally. That’s not to say I won’t still, but it won’t be all I do.” Unlike her dad, she would absolutely hire someone to help take care of everything. Moira did like all the aspects of her job, except perhaps the majority of her coworkers.

“I enjoy handling a variety of creatures and learning about new ones. How they think. What they need. How they survive.” And everything else in between including their anatomy.

That had been the main reason why she began drawing, to better her understanding. Somewhere along the line it had also turned into a hobby, and a way to get dreams out of her head.

Moira gave the hunter a nod of acknowledgement. He had less time than she did in finding someone and while her question had been sincere, she was relieved by his response. Having someone the witch didn’t know staying over for safety’s sake would certainly lead to a sleepless night regardless of how much Bagnold trusted them.

As for her own people, she supposed she could give it a little more thought. There was no harm in sending a letter, and if she made it sound more like a chore maybe they’d say no. Then again, knowing them, probably not. Abby would use it as an excuse to simply hang out.

The clock on the mantle ticked away the seconds of silence while Moira reached for one of her sandwiches and took a bite.

Discussions on werewolves, things that went bump in the night, and her isolation at the farm were not what Kurby had come looking for. Yet finding something safer to distract his thoughts would prove to be a bit of a challenge. After all, Moira didn’t have any history with him like Duncan did. No shared near death experiences. One night of drinks and a near verbal fight in a conference room certainly didn’t count. Besides all that, she knew she wasn’t a great conversationalist.

Moira was still casting about mentally for a topic when her guest asked a question that made her pause. She didn’t work at the pet shop specifically unless the animals needed a checkup but that was an insignificant detail and there really wasn’t much of a need to correct him.

She shook her head a couple of times and replied, “I really wouldn’t sleep if I had to do that. My boss was kind enough to let me have the week off.” In some ways, her boss’ understanding and generosity baffled her. Yes, he understood how farm life could be but a job was a job.

“If I were him I’d fire me, to be honest. As much work as I’ve missed the past few months.” Moira had made up the hours missed and even when she first started the job she worked quite a bit of overtime. Still, missing work and causing schedule changes did not make for a reliable employee.

She took another bite, barely chewing before she swallowed it as her body demanded the sustenance, still trying to think up other things they could talk about when this line of thought died out.

Note: Dual post with Moira and Donnan courtesy of Elle!



Moira sighed inwardly as Trevelyan began speaking to them once more about finding out what they could. That’s why they were there. So far she had been in unknowing agreement with her great uncle. There had been far too much talking when there were things to take samples of. This last question though made her pause and think.

The only thing odd she could consider was the occasional sense that she was being watched when she was alone. That was just a feeling though. She hadn’t seen, heard, or smelled anything to justify it. Nothing could be proven or based on a mere feeling.

Moira tried to answer Jonas’ question but no sound came from her mouth. That was weird. She cleared her throat, swallowed, and tried again with better success. “Nothing comes to mind.”

---

Donnan opened his mouth, about to snap that he too, wanted to know what had happened out here. The blackened tree, the scarred grave, the... remains. They were doing too much talking and not enough investigating, and he hadn't signed up as practice for a youngster-trainee lesson.

But then Trevelyan asked a question that gave him pause.

He glanced at Moira, this time falling silent out of worry and curiosity.

Moira was quiet for a moment too long, looking as though she were struggling with how to answer. He frowned deeply, hearing her words, but not completely believing them. Why had she hesitated? McBoid pride?

He sighed through his nose. Damn it. He couldn't ignore his own observations if there were any chance that Moira could be affected as well.

"It's just a feeling," Donnan grumbled with great reluctance, "but there have been times when I've been out and about around my neighborhood - Diagon - and I got the sense that someone was watching. I didn't see anyone, mind," he clarified.

"It's just a feeling I get. A hunch."

He hated relying on his feelings. Admitting to them. His nephews were not going to be happy to hear this. Donnan looked at Moira again, his frown returning, wanting and hoping to hear that she had no idea what he was on about, old man.

---

Donnan chimed in a moment after she finished. At his words Moira looked over to the older man, an uneasy feeling in her stomach. If it had been just her imagining things it would have been easier to shrug off. She could have chalked it up to paranoia or something, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

Frowning some, Moira sighed and shook her head, "Yeah… me too now that he mentions it. When I'm at home or at work on the menagerie ranch. There's no evidence for it and I've never seen anyone either."

Could two people be considered mass paranoia if they were from the same family dealing with the same issues?

"I know," Moira responded though not in the typical, annoyed teenage way as one might expect. Instead, it was one more of contemplation. In the past few months alone she had met and heard of a fair few that weren't werewolves.

The witch thought about Tawse, who cared nothing for the lives of muggles or anyone who got in his way. The Hunt siblings, who had absolutely no conscience. They killed innocent people on a whim or for their own benefit. Then there were the nonhumans she had run into late December. The three hags in Knockturn she had managed to piss off and a very strange vampire. They might not have been werewolf-like monsters but they were all still dangerous.

Moira finished with her task, putting the rest of the food away again. "This may come as a shock to you, Bagnold, considering my amiable personality," she said with some sarcasm, "but I don't have that many friends or an abundance of options."

Since he was handling the beer, Moira picked up the plates and rounded the kitchen counter, going back into the living room to place them on the coffee table. She continued as she shrugged out of her coat, "So when I say everyone's busy, I mean the very few people I trust are not available." Surprisingly she found Bagnold was included in that list.

She looked back to him, completely serious as she took a seat on the couch, "Unless you have a recommendation."