Absit Omen RPG

He breathed easier as they moved on from the subject, relieved to keep Abby's name out of Waverly's mouth. The trouble he got into at work, with Nemo or Wav or vampires... Virgil didn't like the idea of Abby being caught up in any of it.

The gillyweed helped his thoughts to drift away from those concerns, and he dug around his bag for a copper flask.

           "Ready for round two?" his formidable host queried.

"Edward's always ready, darling," Virgil intoned in his new voice before taking a swig of cool water. "Ask and the gentleman shall answer."

He found it odd to hear Abby being described from the outside - blonde who went with Schlagenweit. Was that what people thought of when they thought of Unicorn Girl? The notion was miserable, inaccurate, lacking.

"Abby Reid," Virgil glanced at his hands, as if checking for dirt underneath the neatly trimmed nails. "Squib, she's Solomon's girl. Not at all lowkey."

Between hosting a pentral and holding court in his cousin's waiting room, there was nothing lowkey about Abby at all. Not to him, anyway. Virgil sat forward again, extending his palm for the joint Waverly just rolled.

"We get lunch together sometimes," he added, which sounded too casual for his friendship with Abby.

But what else was he going to say? That he once had a vision of Abby Reid? That, to help her, he went past the Vail in the Death Chamber? How could he even explain that kind of connection?

He realised, watching Wav roll a joint, that he missed this. There was something liberating about doing things with old housemates - like he could be wicked and dramatic, instead of worrying about coming off as immoral or immature. They were still a stone's throw away from the mischief and nonsensical ways of Hogwarts.

            "Oh, are you not the Ministry lot now? How's that work?"

"Not everyone at the Ministry is on the same side," he murmured, tilting his chin up and staring at the ceiling as he interlaced his fingers over his stomach. "But I mustn't give away too much, must I?"

Virgil wished he could tell her about some of the things they were doing on Mysteries. He'd pay a few good galleons to hear her take on the Sphere from outer space, or the Dementor they housed in their vast labyrinth. Or discuss the way time seemed to dance in the Time Room, or how he was sometimes Yavin's ear to the floor.

Instead, he glanced back down at his friend's lovely face and grinned. "But if you really want Ministry goss, you need to get your hands on a secretary or assistant." Virgil thought of the witches and wizards behind the scenes, eyes that saw more than probably his mind's eye. Then he thought of Abby, fond and warm in his chest.

"Try to get an unimportant one," he added in a drawl. "Not, like, Solomon's or The Minister's. It's the wallflowers who see all."

He smiled slightly at Wav's reluctance to be heard - it was a controversial subject, there was always the possibility. But then again, it might not be worth noticing. Virgil thought of how his vision of Alec Carter, clear cut and Mysteries-supported, had been looked over. Sometimes things just slipped under the proverbial radar.

"Mm, roll me up," he accepted the offer of gillyweed, still floating on the dregs of a joint smoked before his late supper. "Are you thinking of Vaillancourt? You'll need to convince him to go anon."

Virgil could easily conjure an image of the Consultant Vampire in his mind. Vaillancourt was one of those persons who looked like they were always meant to be a vampire; to imagine them as merely magical was out of the question.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out behind him. "They're not all chaps in suits and vests," he remarked in his catlike languor. "I mean, look at your mums. And nobody huddles around their Wireless, Merlin, we're not in a war!" Virgil laughed.

He pictured Cepheus, sitting down with Claude in his lap with the Wireless on and a cool breeze slipping in through the window. No, no, put that away.

"I like watching them all," he said with an unintentional, thoughtful smile. "The Ministry lot..." the wizard lifted his hands, using his fingers to frame his bright eyes in Wav's direction. "A spy."

He audibly gasped to hear his voice fall out of Kaia's mouth - did he really sound like that? Coming from her, it was amusing, but he could already tell how insufferable it might be when dropping from his own lips.

Abbot was the next victim of a posh voice, which truly did not suit him, though Virgil was keen to hear what other ridiculous things the older Unspeakable might say using Hyperion's cadence. He was on the verge of speaking, while Theta hopped aboard someone else's voice, when he realised Yavin had drifted from them.

The Department Head stood apart, leaning against the table and speaking in low murmurs with Rothschild - the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies. Anyone else and V would have gladly interrupted; he shrugged it off instead, turning back to their own hijinks.

            "Who's got Pepper then?"

"I suppose that must be me?" Virgil spoke up, and then laughed that bell-like laugh of Theta's. "Oh my," he winked at the witch, a twinkle in his eye. "This is too good. All we need now is a muggle telephone and unsuspecting phone numbers."

Virgil, as susceptible (if not more) to praise as any thespian, lowered his legs from the chair and performed a sort of seated bow for Waverly. He loved this. Sometimes he wondered what he was doing on level nine when he could be acting instead - spending days and evenings on stage, curled up nights against...

The spell broke and he grinned at his friend.

"Not half bad yourself Miss Roh-Ballentyne," his eyebrows went up appreciatively. "I wonder who's listening? I'll keep an ear to the ground when I get back to the Ministry on Monday."

Surely someone on level four was listening. All he needed to hear was a murmur... perhaps even a murmur of minds, if he was careful about it and could pluck the right words out of a stream of thoughts.

He felt wonderful, he felt like sparkling water. Virgil couldn't help but cup his hands around his mouth and let out a cheering whoop! above everyone's heads as Kaia took up Hyperion's offer of a dodgy potion. Their floor was full of dodgy potions and he had zero complaints about the fact. It made life interesting.

Before he could reach for a shot glass, a golden Theta was suddenly at his side. “Hey... congrats,” she was a welcome addition in his eyes and Virgil's grateful smile grew a little shy at the congratulations, even Sasha's raised glass.

There was something slowly bubbling in him. A real excitement - he had survived training. He played with the skull ring on his finger. This was only just the beginning of their mad experiments in this mad house.

Virgil leaned in to snatch one of Hyperion's drinks; he laughed in delight when Kaia's voice fell out of the wizard's mouth.

"Okay, that's brilliant," he remarked and glanced at Theta. "Bottoms up?" Virgil clinked his shot glass with hers before downing with the flourish of someone still in their clubbing years.

             "Don't be nervous. This is an experiment."

He rolled his eyes, that familiar habit of all teenagers chasing him into adulthood. Virgil didn't get nervous about things like this - nerves were for people who didn't understand that everything in life was a performance. Even the witch behind the apparatus. Especially her, actually.

Waverly explained how the show was going to go down and he crossed his legs, mule slipper dangling off his foot as he listened. In his mind he was already constructing the persona of Edward: an unassuming, soft-spoken wizard with a hint of bold fussiness Virgil knew could be found in himself. It was going to be difficult to tamp down on cutting remarks.

Though it wouldn'y be disastrous if a listener clocked him. They couldn't prove it and he wasn't ashamed of what happened at Hooker's.

"Good? Why yes miss," he slipped into a voice that started more in his throat than his usual one, which drew itself from somewhere deeper. "Good indeed and good to go."

Virgil ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling for strings of spinach from the pizza, and then smiled angelically at his friend.

"And now you're going to bore me with ancient history?" Virgil Carstairs lowered his voice to disguise its impudence from other ears, and popped the cherry into his mouth.

He was here under duress. Today had been double shifts for him - he did two or three of them every week, to make up for taking Fridays off to perform for Stardust's Shakespeare in the Park. After another endless day of stalking the Hall of the Prophecies, all Virgil wanted to do was slip into bed and dream of nothing.

But today really was special, so he'd made an effort. Eyeshadow, earrings, perfume. He was officially Unspeakable Carstairs.

            "Youth is wasted on the young," his mentor sighed, not quite serious and clearly play-acting. "In my time, a night like this would land us on a different, hm, continent at sunrise."

Virgil exchanged a smile with Ophelia. He played with a golden ring on his index finger - it was in the shape of a cat skull. All around the room, other newly turned Unspeakables were wearing similar glimmers of gold; brooches or rings or pendants, all of them skeletons or skulls of various animals.

Yavin had reached into his own pocket to get them 'graduation' gifts. The old wizard himself sported a golden skeleton brooch on the breast of his jacket.

"It's not even ten." Virgil checked his pocket watch. "There's time yet to get into trouble. If," he added with an angel's smile, "you can keep up with us kids."

            “You should never be underestimated, darling.”

He smiled to himself as he spooned out some chutney and smeared it across a slice of bread. No, he shouldn't be underestimated, but Virgil liked to be; it was a strategic expectation to cultivate. There was no reason to do that with Cepheus, who he felt could see right through him.

The chat with Andromeda had been uncomfortable but his intentions were good, and he didn't truly think it was worth worrying over. Virgil shredded cheese over the chutney and closed the sandwich before looking up at his boyfriend's question.

"Have a wo-- no, of course not," he laughed incredulously, leaning over the countertop to quickly kiss Cepheus. "I only wanted to let you know.  It was awkward but.... it's also rather nice your sister cares so much."

There was no real malice behind the auror's confrontation. If Laidie had pulled the same stunt with Cepheus - the thought alone was nauseating. Virgil buried it and sliced his sandwich diagonally. "Anyway, I'm not out to cause problems for anyone. Andromeda has nothing to worry about."

His brand of troublemaking could wait politely at the door of this flat and never enter. He hoped.

"Voila!" Virgil lifted a half-piece, smiling. "Want a taste?"

He finished the iced coffee and tossed its plastic cup into his tote bag, which was propped up against his chair. Virgil was wicked tired but not in an unpleasant way.

It was August and he was performing Shakespeare in the Park for Stardust - an evening show on Fridays, and two shows daily at the weekend. They were doing The Tempest this year and he was the servant spirit Ariel, flitting about on the open-air stage. It was fun and exhausting, a little piece of Stardust he could still keep for himself.

Virgil looked tired; he hardly decorated himself lately because of his schedule, and missed it. But between the pizza and coffee he'd wiped out while Waverly was getting ready...

"Edward," the wizard replied brightly, revived. "That was supposed to be one of my middle names, you know? A whole different version of me," he raised his eyebrows as he leaned languidly against the table. "Probably a boring version. Or a straight one, ugh, I can't even imagine."

Not even worth imagining. Virgil fiddled with the sleeves of his cardigan as he spoke - actually, Ceph's cardigan, just a size too big but it was old and comfy and smelled of his boyfriend. "I'll try not to ramble," he added as he sat straight to stretch his arms up. "Don't want to put your listeners to sleep."

Lots of Unspeakables rambled and he had a feeling the knack was rubbing off on him.

He let out a peal of laughter, kissed with such theatricality in the bathroom. His chest was full of delight. Cepheus was terribly fun to be around - and there was something carelessly erotic about the older man, that Virgil couldn't precisely describe. He felt a glutton, thrilled by glimpses of it in Ceph's mannerisms or glances.

Speaking of glutton.

In boxer shorts and one of his boyfriend's t-shirts, Virgil chatted while he opened and closed kitchen cupboards.

"I think," he said in an arch, deliberately posh voice, "that his highness has the makings of a brilliant toasted sandwich in your royal pantries." Something simple but delicious - a cheese toastie, onion chutney, good sourdough.

Virgil start taking down the things he needed while Claude wondered into the kitchen area to nosily investigate the noise. It was nice, this. Before he started dating Ceph, he had seen their age gap as more of an obstacle than attractant. Now there was a kind of charm to it, having a stable entity around whom he could orbit for a rest.

"Um, by the way..." he tried not to look up, examining the jar of chutney as if reading ingredients. "I bumped into Andromeda[1] in the lift the other day."

It wasn't what he wanted to discuss but Virgil wanted to be honest, to do this right. "I think I've been officially warned not to," his voice lightened, "cause problems for you. Or Ari."

The younger wizard popped open the jar and glanced at Cepheus, half-smiling. "Never thought of myself as dangerous," he mused thoughtfully.

1.	6th March - Nothing to Prove

Hearing that name here was a cool trickle of water down the back of his neck. Virgil looked around the locker room guardedly at first; nobody else had arrived but that could change any second. He didn't feel comfortable talking about this when he was just about to start work.

"Yes," he replied in a low voice, a little pink in the cheeks. "Everything's fine. Nothing I can't handle."

This paternalism was unlike his old tutor and Virgil did not like it. Not one bit. His countenance said as much. Yavin's mouth did a complicated, apologetic thing.

           "Sorry," he muttered sheepishly. "Just realised I hadn't, hm, checked in with you for a, ah, a while."

Virgil shrugged, slicking his hair back again unconsciously. Sometimes he forgot that Yavin really was an awkward man underneath the loud madness of it all. Someone who occasionally forgot the linear flow of time and who fell into philosophical conversations at the drop of a hat.

"It's okay," he gestured over his shoulder with a faint smile. "I better get in there. I'll be sure to watch out for tank four," Virgil's smile broadened slightly. "I'm really fine, Yavin. Promise."

And he really believed that.

Locker Rooms of the Brain Chamber, 0915 hours.


Virgil made a disgusted noise as he slicked his hair back with the oily goop that would protect it from the liquid in their encephala tanks. He scooped more of it from the pot and stepped closer to the mirror to plaster down his eyebrows - or risk losing them.

In his reflection he appeared leaner than usual in the black Mysteries wet suit. It was zipped up to the neck and sported a silver, embroidered patch on the right breast: a runic number for nine.

He was in here early because he liked to spend time immersed in the tanks, making small talk with the brains before the others joined them to perform today's experiment. Virgil found a work haven in the Thought Room because he was already versed in mind magic; it made him feel steady, on familiar ground.

He heard a shower go off, followed by the familiar voice of his mentor. "Watch, ah, watch out for tank four," it warned in a laughing timbre. "She took a nasty turn towards the, um, the end."

Yavin Morgenthau strolled out, wrapped around the waist in a bright orange towel. He went over to a locker to retrieve his smoking pipe and plopped down tiredly on a bench. The wizard lit up with a flame dancing on the tip of his finger. Virgil turned to smile dryly at him.

"Consider me forewarned. That looks rather painful, doesn't it?" he nodded at the bruises on Yavin's ribs - they were visible just over the old man's medley of tattoos around his side. There was no getting used to those things.

Six or seven varied eyeballs stared out, blinking at intervals, as unnerving as the day Virgil had first seen them.