Absit Omen RPG

Admist the rashers and the coaxing of the beastie, Maurice kept a vigilant eye on surroundings, safety, and the stream of irritated garble inside his head. It was evident the griffin was finally coming to the end of the line as it was screeching its bloody head off whilst slipping into the enchanted suitcase. Thank Godric because its cries were beginning to form a muchly undue headache.

Holmes' eyes looked just past the tattering carpet to take note of the lift making a stop to level one at long last. Irritance was plainly etched on his features, there was no mistaking for it. As the doors slid open, Maurice moved around the scene as quickly as he could (no doubt looking ridiculous, similar to that of a hot walker) and approached Pepper's teammates.

"About bloody time you show up," he hissed low, angrily. "We're quite sorry, sir. It wasn't intentional..." was the slight impassioned plea, cut off of by Maurice raising a hand. "Well, the damage is done. At least now... you should be able to help Pepper with the situation.... wouldn't you agree?" he responded matter of factly, gesturing for them to go and help.

The griffin gave a small cry from being still entangled by spellwork but it seemed that the creature was grateful for to be captured by wastebasket to the head. Maurice was grateful for that end, for certain. One task complete, another handful to take on.

Namely the 'er' given by Pepper.

He was the only here for the department? They were, as it had been internally recognised by others involved, a month out from the practical joke day. This surely wasn't a foretaste of what was to come? God forbid.

Maurice eyed Ambrose closely, expression more than unamused but nodded with a soft grunt. Raising his wand, a scarlet memo sprung forth and zoomed off towards the department with the message they'd be needing some assistance once this was all over.

"Wards to keep the griffin in place? Or better ideas, sirs?"

Maurice watched the up and coming generation amp themselves for the upcoming duel with the beastie. His ears perked up in slight shock upon hearing Glass' voice coming behind, beside him. Catching the glimpse of the Minister's wand, Holmes pulled his own hawthorn out whilst listening to Pepper's remarks on how they all needed to handle the situation.

Reason and logic, befriending and calming it down would have worked very well indeed but this particular metaphorical balloon burst into shattered ambitious shards when Brinley took it upon himself to take care of the beastie in his own way. Shit.

Upon watching the swipe of claw towards Abbott's body, Maurice advanced cautiously enough, wand aimed carefully towards the griffin. "Immobulus!" he spoke, the spell striking the creature into a frozen state for a brief moment.

"Abbott! Move!"

What the bloody hell was happening!? were Maurice's precise thoughts as he exited the lift for Level One shortly after Ambrose Pepper's arrival. His glances  were clearly unamused, confused and adamantly annoyed by the situation.  Doors were slamming shut, but there was no mistaking the sound of a beast in their midst. Pickler came rushing towards him, sheer panic and terror etched on his features.

"Sir! TheresabloodygriffininthepostroomwithAbbott!"

Maurice worked efficiently to decipher the message and once it clicked, his eyebrows narrowed in unamusement versus raising in curiosity. "Sir!?" Maurice waved his hand dismissively for the moment, focusing on the task at hand. His eyes fell upon Ambrose Pepper, approaching him in no time. Youth.

"Listen here both of you. Stop acting as though you have a shared celluar relationship for a brain. We need to get to Abbott before the griffin gets hold of him or worse yet, before Glass comes in for the day," he snapped hastily. "Surely the three of us, combined with Abbott's own wandwork, can subdue the creature, eh?"

Pickler gulped but nodded his affirmation.

Maurice eyed Ambrose.
"What say you, Pepper? Put your training to practice?"

Oh, she was quite unaware of the bet, wasn't she. Well, he had been too most previously to the party himself, no? "Word is that you and I are on betting blocks. Who will sink and who will swim. Congratulations to you as clearly you're far much more adored by the masses than I." Maurice moved off the chair, allowing for the witch to take her throne once again.

He noted her irritable nature and knew there was more to this than just her usual disdain for the wizard. It would seem very few individuals actually gave a damn about him. Sure, he hadn't given a good image nor a caring nature for people to clasp onto when regarding Maurice.

"Bets or no, you and I both damn well we're safe. Perhaps you more than me. I know we haven't the best rapport.... but still. We know what it means to get the work done, no matter the cost, eh?"

Unlike the doting shining star Kuester, Maurice had been on time for work and for this, had been the one having to go into her office due to inquiries about minutes from the budget meetings that had been occurring. Chatterings of who was safe, not safe became idle and loose tongues these past few months. Needless and pointless, a pool of Kuester and Holmes had shown its way apparently at Pigs Can't Fly[1]. Clever Ministry workers hiding from prying eyes. Shame, that. They thought that they'd one upped and for a spell, they had.

The last check showed Kuester up on Holmes by two.

Maurice was amused.

This all said, Maurice felt he was gaining traction, rounding another corner, another notch to the belt. Perhaps that two would become an one and then a plus two for him. The hat had placed him aptly, had it not? Heh.

Right as fingers dove for the now found reports, wrapping around them even, Maurice was distracted by Eva's voice. He smirked well before gazing fully towards the witch. "Oh, you needn't be so hard on yourself, Eva. It's not as though I expect such....details to be laying about, dear," he replied curtly, the smirk never wavering, his hand still holding the documents.

He then looked up and the maniacal laughter erupted inside his head. God. Talk about being and looking absolute shite for wear. "Have you had a bad morning, dear? You look like you could have used  extra hour." Spare the quasi caring heart method, his brain scolded. Raising the hand that held the documents, Maurice jiggled them in the air. "Besides, I came what I was asked to find. Rest assured, tis not your manners. You leave those in the closet, I would think."

He moved from the desk and leaned on one of the leather chairs near her and the exit. "By the way....how's it feel to be a wager?" That could mean any wager. Could be the one about them....could be about her tardiness this morning. Maurice was prepared. "Is it worth it, I wonder?"

1.	Rufus Delacroix's Muggle Pub - Counterpart to Rover's Fancy

11:55am

If one had told Maurice Holmes was going to be a runner in his lifetime, he would have laughed boisterously about the mere thought; after all, he was no sprinter. Yet, there was no laughter coming from the wizard as he was taking large stride steps through King's Cross Station, trying desperately to arrive at the designated platform. "Excu--I said excuse me! Please move!" came his irate tone, his facial expressions getting more irritable by the minute. This was utter ridiculousness and he wished that the train was coming at a time that wasn't right as the noon bunch were making arrivals for Saturday excursions. Eventually, the sight of Platform 9 3/4 was in view as were the droves of Muggles that still happened to be in his way. A groan and sigh, Maurice approached the brick wall, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time whilst also giving the appearance to the passerby he was waiting for someone.

When it at last seemed every eye wasn't upon him, Maurice turned around and pushed through the barrier, disappearing to the other side with ease. A slight twinge of nostalgia always seemed to fill him, a sense of belonging and home there. However, there were more pressing matters than one's wish to return back to Hogwarts for a leisurely stroll. That didn't mean though his mind trailed for a moment longer, wondering if the little lion was all right. Such thoughts were interrupted soon enough with the clock toiling to signal it was finally noon.

His eyes glanced to the clock and then to the empty track that was designated for the cargo and witch Maurice had traveled to meet. No train....yet. Hm. Interesting.

A shrill whistle a moment later begged difference on the 'it's late' factor as the train came into view. Adjusting his slight slouch, Maurice waited for the train to stop and watched as a few witches and wizards spilled out from the boxcar. Eventually, his lips tugged into a genuine smile as one Persepolis Zephyr spilled out. It wasn't hard to determine that it was indeed his former minister and not someone random - the striking purple and that pluming hat were dead giveaways. Approaching Persepolis, Maurice's smile widened into a full fledged grin. "Well, if it isn't the witch herself. Gods, it's good to see you again, Persepolis. It's been too long."

Maurice took the hand gladly, shaking it with a firm handle, reassuring that he was by no means a weakling. Then again, being cordial enough would prove perhaps a little bit to Eva that he wasn't somehow a complete monster. "Maurice, but I'm certain you already well knew this. As for the possibility of stepping on one's toes, I'll see to it that the 'dancing' with one another remains to give the Minister an excellent reputation, hm? It is a pleasure to have you on board with us, Eva." The straining smile dissolved into perhaps a simpler, more respectful one than the moments beforehand. "I'm certain we'll find common ground sooner or later, yes?"

His eyes trailed over to Persepolis, reassuring that Maurice was capable of being respectful, polite to said company. After all, first impressions were the impressions left with individuals, were they not? "Your schedule's looking well for the day, Minister. Memos to all the departments for a quarterly report have been sent out, so there's that. As for your visitor that you requested from the States, they'll be arriving here on Friday, the twenty-second. Is there anything I can get for the two of you? Coffee, tea?" Maurice responded like clockwork, eying the pair with a curious expression.

"As for lunch, where would you like me to reserve, ma'am?"

Maurice had been in the midst of a major discussion with one of the interns, no doubt bickering that they were as usual as a Wazzock[1] and perhaps they should apply themselves better before he had a chance to have them sacked. Arriving to the Minister's office a few moments later, Maurice knocked gently, remembering that formalities and introductions were going to be made today. One less for the International Magical Co-op, one more for Level One. Maurice was completely uncertain whether or not how this situation was going to play out with Ms. Kuester, but Maurice wasn't going to judge just yet how it was going to pan out. Looking at her and Persepolis as he entered, Maurice smiled respectfully, the smile faltering when from another department a notice flitted in, his fingers pinch-snatching the dark salmon note instantly. Reading it twice over, Maurice tucked it away into the leather binder, making notations shortly after about a meeting later on in the week.

"....work with Maurice to keep appraised of our schedule. If I'm not penciled in consider me available to you....."

A hopeful crook of lips seemed to reassure slightly that everything would be perhaps all right. That said, Maurice was concerned what would occur bringing Eva along for the ride. "My profuse apologies, Ms. Kuester, ma'am, for my absence.  A bit of a jostle with a fresh face from Selby, I'm afraid. What the Minister (his brain smirked as he normally would've said Persepolis) has assured you will work just fine. Notify and keep in touch; we're determined to do the best for her, aren't we?" Maurice reinforced, smiling respectfully enough. "Working together, I'm sure may have testing moments for us both, but I'm certain we will do just fine."

Touche, Holmes. Touche.

1.	Someone so dumb they can only do manual labor (from Yorkshire)

Maurice had been surveying the campus, namely the Great Hall. No detail was left unattended as Persepolis the Minister was touring her body around, Maurice ensuring nothing less than her absolute safety. What with the insanity of the summer, he was certain that people could strike again at any place, any time if they so desired and Maurice Holmes wasn't about to allow this to continue under his watch. Once satisfied with handiwork and that the reception food table was acceptable for even for the Minister, the assistant was off to find his Minister. Sure enough, she was well protected with a few bodyguards nearby, keeping an ever observant eye on those around her. Approaching the witch, his smile was warm, kind, and no doubt meant only for her to enjoy.

No, he was by no means smitten with the Minister, but Maurice did find her company to be some of the absolute best, especially when growing animated. "Minister - shall we?" he had indeed spoken, escorting her back into the Great Hall, an air that no doubt many would state as arrogant, cocky. "I'll announce you right after my initial speech. Everything is in order, madame," Maurice relayed with the same smile that had yet to leave. "You look stunning as usual, if I do say so myself." Patting her shoulder, the wizard headed up to the podium, smiling as best he could as Branwen escorted the little ones closer to the front.

"Sonorus." His eyes gazed out to the audience. "Good morning, students of Hogwarts. I am Mr. Holmes, assistant to our esteemed Minister. (A snort[1] from the crowd was briefly heard; Maurice's eyes crinkled in distaste before continuing.) The Ministry is very pleased to have taken part of your hearty welcome and I speak on behalf of the Minister as well as the Ministry of how proud to see the work you are producing here at Hogwarts. Your education inside the classroom and the organisations outside the classroom are very beneficial to your lives and we wish for you all the very best." Taking a gulp of water from the goblet, Maurice swallowed it, the broad smile that now surely seemed a bit more plastic stayed fixated on the bodies in front of him.

"Our Minister has assured me that we shan't keep you very long and with this in mind, it is my pleasure to turn over to your listening ears, Persepolis Zephyr, Minister of Magic!' Moving aside, Maurice ended the spell, nodding to Persepolis as they passed. "Go get them."

1.	With Kelly's AWESOME permission, it's Linus Hughes~

Clearly Linus lived in a magical realm where pestering your elders was the utmost fun one could have -- loopholes and all.

However, it was clear in this actual living, breathing, universe, Maurice Holmes and Audrey Hughes were not in the good graces of fate and her designs. It had indeed been a long time since they had bid each other adieu after an escapade or so. Thank the graces he wasn't blushing from those thoughts -- after all, there was no impropriety regarding what happened to them. They had enjoyed the company the way an adoring, married couple had, yes? That said, when the time came for them to depart, it had at least left on pleasant terms.

This all said, Maurice continued to listen to Linus, a headache slightly forming in listening to his perkiness. Clearly, the boy did not receive this… blessing from Audrey -- perhaps his father who seemed to be out of the picture or even a Hughes. Who knew and in Maurice's case, without trying to seem utterly heartless, who really cared? Rubbing his eyes again, Maurice fought to stay in the conversation but it was clear he was slipping.

"Ah, yes. A lion and a Gryffindor, t'boot? Mm, sounds like quite the winning combination, don't you think, Master Linus?"

Ouch, that sounded a bit harsh, didn't it? "Forgive me. I've just....never seen a lion be at Hogwarts instructing is all. As for myself, I was in Slytherin." Hurrah, rivalry.

"I don't know if anybody has told you, but I think you're balding a bit. Is that what makes you one of my elders?"

Maurice grit his teeth, doing his very best to not show that Linus was more than just beginning to get underneath his skin. The child meant well, or Maurice hoped was the case; however, the blatant disrespect to insult him about his lack of a partner, his mood, and his hair status was becoming more than just mere triflings. "No, my date did not forget to show up, my good boy. They're being productive members of society like I am. You really ought to watch your tongue though - - I don't much approve of you speaking so ill about me. Surely, hasn't your parents taught you better? Your mother clearly-"

"LINUS BARNABY HUGHES!"

The sharp screech caused Maurice to wince only briefly as the mother returned to her son, quite irate by his misdeeds. Good for that, Maurice felt. The child needed a good whack on the arse for the rudeness he was procuring with the elders. Their argument soon began, Maurice not intervening at any given point as personal recollection of what happened when a mother was irate with her son. He was able to pick up his cup, taking a strong gulp down, eyeing them only briefly as to stay out of their affairs, even if he was directly the cause for their feud. "Since he's so sad and alone, Linus, I guess he'll get the pumpkin pasty instead of you. Hm?" Godric, really. His eyes looked to the sweet and found it particularly unsavoury due to this engagement suddenly -- besides, why even take the sweet from the child? He had no intention in doing so.

The absurdity of all of this namby pamby foolishness. Ugh.

"Apologize to mister..."

Their eyes met and Maurice did well to match Audrey's expression of surprise with little expression -- with the exception that a singular eyebrow rose up. "I apologize for my behavior and your receding hairline." Maurice began to smirk faintly to this, nodding that he acknowledged Linus' guilt. "Apologies are quite accepted, young Master Linus. As for the 'mister' bit, it's Mr. Holmes, if you please," Maurice responded to Linus solely before looking then to Audrey as a follow up. "Fret not, ma'am. I assure you it's his age and the youth that comes with it. The pasty may stay with him; I dare not wish for a growing young man to be without a well deserved sweet, hm?"

Hm, indeed.

The tea was uneventful for the most part, the sandwich well enjoyed as the summer of 2010 inside the Ministry of Magic was in full force. This was especially true as it was Wednesday and Wednesdays were typically the busiest, most frustrating days of the the week. Mondays you'd hear the endless drawling of laments about the reasons why people weren't happy about having to come back from a good weekend, Fridays found people in many departments lacking proper motivation to stay focused and actually work opposed to eying the clock for it to toil six. Wednesdays, however, combined both issues from Mondays and Fridays into a singular, ticking time bomb.

Rumors, as they often did, were circulating about a particularly nasty incident from the week prior[1] and to Maurice, he was listening to the fragments of truth and of deceit. This said, the man had little opinion on the matter but- - if it were true and common knowledge, he would be sympathizing for the family affected, particularly a colleague in a different department than his own. After all, that kind of damnation was particularly grieve-some for anyone involved, hm? His eyes continued looking about the atrium, then back to his sandwich to take a bite. . .

"Muuuum, may I please have a pumpkin pasty?"

Eugh.

That whining, deplorable sound of a child's beggar plea. Maurice hid behind his tea cup as he looked to the mother and child in front of him. The mother's face was obscured, but the child? Heavens no. His ears were rather . . . disproportionate to his head and for that, Maurice did well to avoid further eye contact lest his lips and nose make a derisive snerk, causing displeasure and a tempered mother. He heard the mother's words to behave by staying in their seat. Yes, for heavens' sakes, stay in the bloody seat, was Maurice's internal assessment, lowering the cup, refilling it slowly as to avoid spilling and ruining the suit as well as the three piece suit. He could not have possibly anticipated what would occur next.

CREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK~

Shuddering at the sound and gripping the tea pot handle tightly, Maurice's eyes shot up daggers to Linus, highly unamused by his antic. Clever little bugger though....stayed in his seat, ruined countless others' hearing instead.

"Good morning! You look grumpy. And important."

Quite right he was bloody important! He was the assistant to the Minister herself! That was just as equally important to the title of Minister of Magic. Maurice was fully prepared to come back with something witty when Linus wiggled those ears and the wittiness went right out the bloody window and onto the cobbled pavement with a sickening squelch. This child was definitely a kooky one and slightly rude to call someone grumpy without having proper parameters of judging. That sat none too well with Maurice; after all... Lawrence was entitled some leniency on those matters. Linus, however? Hardly none at all.

"...and alone. So very alone."

Rude. Kooky. Offensive.

Where was his mother for all of this!? Furrowing his brow, the teapot returned next to the cup and saucer as Maurice looked at him rather intently. "I'm sorry, are you related to the Trelawney lineage? If not, I daresay you need to watch how you speak to your elders, my boy. First of all: I am hardly alone (I've got a boyfriend, but you don't need to know a damn thing about him, Maurice grimaced on the inside), secondly, it is precisely twelve thirty in the afternoon. Thirdly, I'm not grumpy... it's a Wednesday and unless you've been dealt with them poorly as well, I don't believe you'd quite understand. Lastly, yes. I am in a position of importance, but I'll leave that for some other point of discussion. After all, you probably have a view about that too."

1.	The Attack on Wolfgang Storm, of course (of course!)

"Me, controlling you? My, wouldn't that be unfortunate, considering you just received your newfound freedom, dearest," Maurice partially sympathized, an auburn brow raised as he drank from the glass of water that the bartender had put beside the man a few moments after the order had gone in. "To control you, to make you a lapdog? I'm not endlessly cruel, even as I'm that certain members of the Ministry believe I'm that way -- to take you in and make sure you're leashed and numbered, lest you make the Minister sour." Shaking his head and rubbing his temples anew, Maurice found himself with a headache forming and a mind that needed to stop prattling on and on.

"As for keeping that mind and body of yours 'keeping occupied,' what better than to find an occupation to get you back on your feet, hm? Surely there's something that could keep you entertained until the parole's over, old boy."