Absit Omen RPG

He waited until little Nemo was done adjusting her hair, and then drew his wand as Irina took leave.

Edgar's beginnings had been humble when he left his family's fortunes to go into theatre - his first couple of years, while Angela was finishing her NEWTs, had been not unlike his son's current hectic schedule. Where had all the energy come from? He had helped sew costumes, cut hair, paint faces, accompany dances.

Now, drawing most of Nemo's golden locks up with a charm, he felt close to his past.

"I had my hair about this long when I left school," he took up a pair of silver scissors, snipping air first and then starting on the under-layer closest to the back of the neck. "Wore it in a ponytail. Angela was repulsed."

Snip snip. Strands of dry, split hairs drifting to the floorboards like the straws of Sleeping Beauty.

The wizard smiled to himself and glanced up at Nemo in the reflection. "She only agreed to marry me if I cut it, even shorter than how Virgil wears his now..." he trailed off into a rueful laugh. The respectability of the Carstairs had roped him back into Pureblood circles.

His hands moved quickly and almost on instinct, letting down layer upon layer to snip at. He used his fingers to smoothly pinch each down to measure against the shortest so that her cut was even.

"Have you always worn your hair long?" he asked, trying to imagine Nemo with a boy cut or similar.

He considered Irina's suggestion, easily imagining Nemo as something of a ragtag orphan child scampering through Victorian London. A production of Oliver! perhaps.

But that would be rather predictable - too similar to the little lady's presence, too much on the nose. Edgar drew closer and gestured to Nemo, in the mirror, that he was going to touch her hair. Theatre people were easy about touching and handling one another's bodies but he exercised caution when he wasn't directing; reminding himself and the people around him of unseen boundaries.

"I see," he used a hand to brush back the hair falling into her eyes on one side. "Growing out your bangs then, are you? Yes, that would be different. Might age you up a touch too."

Edgar moved fully behind her as Irina stepped aside and crossed her arms, watching. "I could do that if you like. No trouble," he brought his other hand forward to mirror the movement on the other side - sweeping Nemo's locks behind her ears briefly. "Used to cut hair for all my cast."

Her golden blondeness was so much like Virgil and Laidie's. She could easily pass for one of his own children; it was part of why he felt fond of her. A wayward child stolen from the crib and deposited across the pond.

"Adelaide used to have bangs." Edgar smiled to himself slightly. "When she was a little younger than you. Made her look rather severe," he fell into a thinking pause for a moment.

No, not a ragtag Oliver for Nemo, nor changeling. More of a smart looking street cat slipping through the gap in a door left ajar. "How about it?" he asked lightly. "Should I play hairdresser?"

He was making his evening rounds in the theatre, checking in with everyone to set the schedule straight for the next day. Edgar Carstairs did this every night - it was important to him to know what to expect. Would the Costumier be running late because their daughter was still in St.Mungo's? Was the understudy available to fill in tomorrow, just in case the lead's scratchy throat turned out to be more? Were the backstage hands happy to come in early?

And now, entering the dressing room, he nodded goodbye to one of the dancers on her way out. The cast shared the large dressing room - a haphazard space of many large mirrors, it reeked of stage make-up and that almost burnt scent that made itself obvious when too many people had casted glamour charms.

There were only a handful of people left, taking off their faces or throwing on their street clothes.

            "You would be much prettier," Irina was speaking from nearby a mirror that used to be Virgil's favourite corner.
   "Oh no, I'll never attract a husband," Nemo's voice quipped back. "Whatever shall I do?"

"Play Bridge, of course." Edgar replied as he approached them, a tired smile on his lined face. "With the little old ladies who take tea on Knockturn. What's all this?" he laughed at the way the hair fell in front of the little witch's face.

It was hard not to like Nemo. Angela was a touch critical of her and Yavin found her amusing. But Edgar thought Virgil's friend to be admirable. She seemed like she could spin magic out of nothing, from sheer want of it.

"You're a bit late to play Rapunzel," he crossed his arms, exchanging a look with Irina as he spoke to Nemo.

Edgar was still coming to terms with Virgil's little announcement. He knew Cepheus Gamp - yes, a nice fellow, but one who operated in a different social stratosphere. Not the kind of man to join a pub crawl with Virgil's peers, or whatever it was the youths did with one another these days. The head of Beings had his own life going on no doubt.

Maybe that was good. Healthy? Oh, he didn't know. Apparently raising three children didn't magically gift you with the answers to all their problems.

            "There's no sin in being a tacky creature..." his wife was speaking and he snapped out of his stupor.
      "She's, um, she's only a kid."

"Nemo?" Edgar poured himself coffee, frowning. "Just a touch rough around the edges, love, she meant well. We can't all be brought up by the Carstairs book of etiquette."

Angela laughed at this quip. He loved her laugh, it was girlish and human. Even Yavin's censure softened. The two men doted on her whenever these evenings rolled around, thrilled by how easily playfulness replaced the fae-like elegance. "Look at you both, ganging up on little old me..." she shook her head, a pout in that dangerous mouth.

Yavin glanced at Edgar. "I think she's, ah, she's trying to play victim," he murmured in a mock whisper.

"Yes, well, can we blame her?" he replied, being sure not to glance at Angela. "She makes it look so good."

His wife's face coloured slightly and she snorted, stubbing out her cigarette in the coffee cup. "I'm having my shower. You two can clean up, once you're done being silly," she walked off with a deliberate sway in her hips. They watched her go.

The dinner had made the day feel interminably long. Angela's footsteps treaded above them. Edgar leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Yavin squeezed his shoulder, running his hand up into the stiff brown hair soothingly.

           "Come on. Throw your, ah. Throw your worries down."

"A suit!" Edgar repeated with a laugh as he pushed his chair back. "Hand in pocket, touch of stink-eye. I like it. Witches in suits, we've not enough of them in the world."

He got up, circling round the table to get at the record player for something more dessert-appropriate. "You and Angela, ah, make it look better than most," Yavin commented as he took out his pipe with flourish. The needle dropped on a new record - launching the darkening garden into a very different musical ambience.

Virgil let out a little whoop, already halfway through pudding. Angela was addressing Nemo from his other side. "It's all about how you wear it, of course. You have to really carry a suit, or else the suit wears you... and, well, we're hardly as well cut, are we?" she sipped her wine with raised eyebrows.

"Will we ever see you in a proper suit?"  Edgar ran his hand through Yavin's hair as he passed behind to reclaim the seat next to him.

The older wizard puffed away, scenting the air with clouds of a floral gillyweed strain. "At my funeral," he replied dryly. Adelaide snorted.

As he placed their desserts before them, the waiter tried not to laugh at Edgar's impression of cousin Sol.

"I shouldn't, really," he smiled ruefully through the sigh, prodding at his mascarpone lime cheesecake. It was mean to poke fun at the head of the DMLE. "He has enough on his plate, Solomon does. Vampires, last month, werewolves now. Merlin knows how he forgets it all at the end of the day."

            "Bet you he smokes gillyweed or something deliciously ironic." Adelaide smirked around a spoon of chocolate mousse.

Edgar laughed. Even his imagination couldn't quite stretch far enough. "That's Virgil's modus operandi," the wizard frowned a little. "Speaking of which, I hope he's made up with Yavin by now."  His daughter swallowed and tilted her head to the side, quizzical. "They got into something of a spat. Didn't he tell you?"

Adelaide put down her spoon, clearly going off the food. "Haven't really spoken to V since Christmas, and not even then because he was so sick..." she crossed her arms on the white linen table. "What did Yavin do?"

 "Oh, nothing nothing," Edgar made a dismissive gesture. " You know what Morgenthau is like."

There was an awkward silence while he finished his cake and Adelaide looked out the window, across the sea. The water was getting choppy, a threatening dark blue beneath the greying sky. She was thinking. He knew, because she always fiddled with her napkin when she was deep in thought.

Once upon a time it had been impossible to shut her up if they were talking about Virgil. The way she fussed over him! Angela insisted that hadn't been inherited from her side of the family. Carstairs do not fuss.

"You were so close." Edgar folded his napkin, setting it aside as his daughter glanced away from the view. "It's a shame you aren't, anymore. I thought maybe you might have reconnected after he left school."

The last couple of years at Hogwarts had done it. He'd made more friends, started going to parties, dating boys and girls.

Adelaide shook her head, giving him a tight-lipped smile that indicated a wilful reticence. "Well," Edgar shrugged before flagging down their waiter for the bill. "I suppose he has his own life now, wings and all. At least we won't have to worry about him going near any vampires[1] again."

She stared, the blue of her eyes much darker and more pensive than either of her brothers. It made her confusion seem particularly ominous.

"Again?"

1.	4th Dec - It's the Freakiest Show - Virgil and Nemo provoke a coven of vampires.

Half past two in the afternoon.


“How goes the long hand of justice?”

Edgar hugged his daughter on the threshold of  Ascendio Italiano, where they usually agreed to meet for their monthly lunches. She squeezed back awkwardly, laughing. ”Not as long as the prosecution would like it!”

Adelaide Carstairs was slightly taller than her father, in heels (except for when he was wearing his heels of course) and she sported the same quiet but distinct manner of sweeping into a room like it was her very own parlour. They didn’t much resemble one another outside of that - she didn’t have those gaunt Morgan[1] eyes, nor the cunning elfin features. She was her mother’s daughter: the unmistakeable Carstairs brow.

And, thought Edgar as a waiter saw them to a window table, her mother’s hair. Virgil had it too. Golden and gleaming. They sat down to their meals with an overpriced glass of white wine each.

Set well apart from other occupied tables, conversation could flow freely and at a meandering pace to begin with. Theatre gossip over the amuse bouche and tarragon pea soup. Catching up on her awful dating life, his latest musical premise - seared duck with a sweet balsamic glaze.

1.	Edgar Carstairs is originally a Morgan, and took his wife's name in marriage.

            "I'll be fine. Sorry, just needed to ... I don't know."

She was trying hard to be strong, bless her ragtag soul. Edgar sympathised. He was trying hard too, not to imagine the events Virgil was referring to so carelessly. You couldn't really compare the bad things that happen to people and he didn't think anything could be better or worse - but he knew what his son meant. If you've been through enough, you take the Next Bad Thing in stride.

"Well, however you feel, we aren't going to solve it now." Edgar smiled at Nemo, corners of his eyes crinkling as he got up from the table. "You can both stay in if you like but I have to be at the theatre soon. You're welcome to come along if you need a distraction."

Stardust was good at that. He drew his wand to clear his place at the table, his and Angela's plates and cups stacking themselves before doing a little dance towards the kitchen sink. The creamer jug struggled against the tide, spilling milk on the table like it did every morning.

"Have a think while I'm getting ready."

Edgar left them to finish their breakfasts.

            "Next time I'm going to learn to play blackjack."

He sighed, just as Virgil laughed. Was that a yes? It was hard to tell with Nemo, Edgar didn't know her well enough. His son, he knew, would tread more carefully next time. Maybe not much more but even a little bit of caution could go a long way. His eyes followed Nemo's to the scar. As upset as he was, it was hard to think of words that could have as strong an affect as the consequence of their actions had last night.

"Don't let Virgil teach you," he warned Nemo with a smirk "He'll cheat."

A whirring noise outside the room interrupted their breakfast, and Angela got up from her seat in time to spot what looked like a mechanical duck hopping into the kitchen. "Oh I'm late for work," she muttered sedately, giving the duck a very ladylike kick before coming around the table to kiss Virgil's head.

           "Dinner, tonight, don't make me come fetch you," the witch decreed on her way out in a flurry of silk and golden brown hair. He barely had time to call out a hurried "Love you!"

That was, of course, what it was like to marry a Carstairs. Edgar turned back to the table, not sure if he had it in him to finish breakfast but making a valiant effort. "You two are alright, yes?" he chewed on his toast - his differently coloured eyes on their faces. "Need anything at all? Besides more coffee," he added with a glance at Nemo's cup.

Morning. Carstairs Household, Maida Vale.


"Let me get this straight." Edgar and Angela Carstairs were on the other side of the small round dining table in the kitchen, their breakfast plates half-finished and coffee cups entirely empty. "You went back to a vampire pub where you were told not to return and you bet your own blood on a game of cards? For a cigarette case?"

Across from them, their son was sat down with his friend Nemo. Everyone was in their bedclothes or near-to. The girl was in last night's attire. Virgil had found a fresh change of periwinkle blue pyjamas and was looking much healthier than he had last night, in spite of the ever present shadows under his eyes.

           "Yes," he replied matter-of-factly, picking at his slice of french toast on the plate. "We didn't  have much of a choice, we weren't expecting it to go like it did."

Edgar recognised the defensive tone and eased up, raising his eyebrows. "Vampires are unpredictable like that," he replied sympathetically. Angela was watching Nemo, eyeing the bruises on her arms and general appearance. In contrast, the older witch was immaculate in her silk night robe.

She finally turned to Virgil - mother and son possessed the same blunt manner of addressing people, like they had wandered in from the faerie world and were addressing normal clay people.

"And you're all checked out, darling? No curse? Rather reckless, my poor sleepy boy," her sentence just went on and on without pausing for breath as she looked at Nemo again, "do have more of the toast, we make too much without Cecil around anymore. And more coffee I think."

Virgil exchanged a repressed smile in Nemo's direction while his mother drew her wand to fetch the pot.

Around midnight. Carstairs Household, Maida Vale.


He hadn't been back to sleep after returning from St.Mungo's[1] with Virgil and Nemo in tow.

They had managed it without waking his wife, Angela, who was still oblivious to the goings-on of this evening. Edgar sat in his small kitchen with a single stick of candle for light and a cup of hot tea to keep him company. It was a cosy kitchen that let on to a back garden; usually crowded even when it was just the five of them sitting down to dinner for the holidays. Now it was quiet and empty, gingham curtains drawn over the windows.

When the owl arrived the note had read: "Virgil + friend, vampire attack. Safe now. St.Mungo's 2nd floor. Come posthaste." Never let it be said that Yavin Morgenthau didn't know how to incite a quick reaction. Edgar had only given himself time to splash some water on his face before apparating straight to the hospital.

Matters hadn't been made clear there, either. Nobody wanted to make a report. His son was on the brink of sleep, Nemo not far from it either. She was a nice girl - he liked her at Stardust, a creative presence. Not the sort he expected to go looking for trouble.

And yet trouble had found them somehow.

Edgar finished his tea and got up, candle in hand. He made his way through the living room and foyer, then up the winding stairs past his working area on the first floor. His star patterned pyjamas glowed faintly in the unlit passageway. He paused at the door to Virgil's childhood bedroom, looking in. They'd left it ajar.

The two blonde wixes lay in the narrow bed next to a towering bookshelf, dreaming. He smiled indistinctly. They could almost be brother and sister like that,  tarnished gold hair mingling at the crown. Virgil was still holding her hand. An inanimate muggle poster[2] watched them from the wall behind, as strange to Edgar now as it had been when Virgil first brought it home from a market in Camden three years ago.

Edgar watched them a little longer. What did these children go around doing, when nobody was watching? Oh, he was that age once. People forgot easily, even in the wizarding world, what trouble they got up to when they were that young. Fresh out of Hogwarts or, like Potter in his time, still in school.

They would talk if they wanted to, in the morning. He stepped away and climbed the rest of the stairs to the master bedroom. Edgar wasn't going to sleep, no, but he would lay down in bed until the house was awake again. Thinking. Like father, like son.

1.	4th Dec - And For My Next Act
2.	From the Sandman comic, The Dream Hunters.

            "May I hold him? Please?"

The couple stared in surprise: Virgil was sitting on the chaise lounge, holding out his arms worriedly. Typically, the boy wizards hated each other, albeit never with any real venom. But he looked earnest and even a little funny; his blonde hair was still stuck in all directions from falling asleep on the Hogwarts train, and his sweater was two sizes too big.

"Al... alright." Edgar kept the doubt out of his voice, slowly leaning over to see if-- yes, Cecil quickly threw his little hands around Virgil's neck and hugged him hard. "Careful," he added before he could stop himself.

Virgil didn't say anything but rested against the sofa and held the back of his brother's dark  head as he stared into space.  After a few moments - Edgar and his wife awkwardly watching - the crying withered into quiet sobs. Then heavy, laboured breathing. And finally the sublime silence of sleep. Cecil went slack in Virgil's arms.

            "You can take him now," Virgil whispered, sounding rather tired as well.. "He's dreaming about pumpkin toffee apples. And bats."

Angela stepped forward and gracefully gathered their youngest into her arms before giving Virgil a kiss, and disappearing upstairs to put Cecil to bed. The house was peaceful again. Edgar collapsed into his armchair, running a hand through his hair.

"That was very good of you," he remarked. "I hope you know that."

Virgil yawned, wiping his eyes. "I just wanted him to shut up," he slipped off the chaise lounge and strolled into the kitchen with a parting declaration:  "I'm having a slice of the cake you bought me!"

Edgar snorted - nobody had even mentioned cake. He continued to sit, unconsciously staring into the unlit fire grate. Angela's footsteps sounded on the stairwell. Cutlery clattered in the kitchen. A neighbour's cat was harassing the pigeons outside. Was Virgil lying? he wondered. It was getting hard to tell how much was truth and how much was bravado. He tried to banish the thought, just in case it was gleaned.

            "Here you are." the boy in question appeared at his side with two plates of vanilla chiffon cake. The plate he handed over had two slices: one for each parent.

Edgar smiled softly.

1245 hours. Carstairs Household, Maida Vale.


"We're home!"

The front door slammed shut just as he flicked his wand to send Virgil's school trunk through the small foyer of their narrow house and up the winding stairs. It was his eldest son's first summer home from Hogwarts and the sunny weather felt like a good omen; but just as he thought this, strolling into the living room with a hand on Virgil's shoulder, a horrible wailing cut into their peaceful arrival.

Edgar turned, going straight to his wife when she joined them from the kitchen carrying Cecil[1]. Barely five years old and, unlike Virgil, noisy as a disgruntled mongoose.

           "He won't stop!"" Angela despaired, nobly allowing him to blow his nose on her navy silk dressing gown.
"Oh Cecil!" Edgar murmured soothingly, taking the boy from her, "What's the matter, hm? Dragon pox getting you down?"

Indeed, the child was positively green and mottled by spots. Their other children had gotten it too when they were younger, though never this severely. The potion from St.Mungo's wasn't taking effect yet. Cecil buried his face in Edgar's shoulder, still crying. A proper tantrum, the sort he hadn't had since he was three!

"Come on, come on," he carefully rubbed Cecil's back. "Let's try and get some sleep. Do you want to sleep?" A violent shake of the head followed by a pained howl, because he'd rubbed his face sore against Edgar's linen jacket by doing so. Poor poppet

1.	Cecil Carstairs - Virgil's younger brother.

"Both. I have a copy of Beagle's novel."

Edgar Carstairs approached the table from behind his son, clapping a hand on the young wizard's shoulder and smiling broadly at the others. These were not Virgil's usual friends - not the Slytherins that had often made an appearance at their house in Maida Vale every summer.

"You'd make a very different Haggard." Edgar remarked softly, wondering if, like he had done as Willy Wonka or Captain Hook, Virgil would take on an adult role in the play. "Now, would you care to introduce me to these lovely new friends of yours?"

He recognised the girl with red hair but chose to feign ignorance. The other boy looked familiar. Virgil glanced up over his shoulder, giving his father an unimpressed (distinctly adolescent) look.

            "Of course. This is Abby - she likes unicorns and princes..."
Edgar reached down to shake hands with each as they were introduced.
            "Sasha. He's going to a muggle university. And McB-- and Moira, works for Xav."

Not quite the sharp-tongued lot he usually expected around Virgil. Edgar nodded to himself, confused but approving of the change. It explained a few things about his son's behaviour in recent weeks. "Pleasure, pleasure to meet you. Very kind of you to come watch us."

Sometimes it felt like not many of their age group attended shows anymore; mostly just families with young children or adults who enjoyed the arts.

"Is this your first Stardust experience?" he smiled at them genially, ignoring the way Virgil sighed at these niceties and reached for more drink.