Absit Omen RPG

“I like the Israeli.” Nicola didn’t look away from Cináed as she pointed it out. It was some sort of jealousy that she was looking for. It would, to Nicola, demonstrate that he cared. If he was jealous, that meant that he wanted her. If not, she’d wasted the last couple of years having any sort of relationship with him. “He could make an acceptable father for the kid.” Surely anything was better than the wanted criminal who thought so little of her. “All I have to do is sleep with him once. Or spike his drink with a potion.”

They both knew she wouldn’t do it. For some unknown reason, it was Cináed that she wanted, and that infuriated her beyond belief.

Crossing her arms, Nic looked at him with a frown. “Don’t you think a romantic gesture is a bit too little too late?” There was a rare sincerity in the witch’s voice. She was showing a genuine sadness. “There’s only been you and you are so fucking oblivious.” His question from the week before hadn’t left her mind. Who’s is it… “Oblivious or uninterested. Just tell me which, because then at least I know if I need to befriend Aviad. It’s not like I’m on unlimited time, here, Tawse.”

She was hard to please?! What about the wizard who’d been convinced that the child she was carrying had nothing to do with him? He’d jumped from accusatory and disgusted to excited and eager like a blasted child on energy potion. Now he’d decided to drag her to merlin knew where without any forewarning and she was being difficult? Nicola’s glare didn’t diminish even when he gave her that look and offered his arm for her to link.

Had Cináed really just brought her to Prague (whatever Prague was) with the intention of placating her and making his life easier? He really did have a cheek.

“Sip wine?” Did she want to give him a hard time? Nicola always wanted to give Cináed a hard time. One might wonder what she saw in him, but it didn’t matter what was said, she always went back to him. This time would be no different. They’d already barely spoken in the past week.

“How memorable? The witch asked, her expression softening.

"Sorry about the cloak and dagger," Cináed was beside her but at enough of a distance that she couldn’t slap him from her position. Instead she took a few more steadying breaths, grateful to be back on solid ground and not spinning mercilessly. What in Merlin’s name had made him believe that thrusting a surprise portkey on a pregnant witch was a good idea? Nicola regularly commented on the wizard’s questionable intelligence but right now she felt too queasy to.

Oh, he was certainly lucky that she wasn’t on top form.

“So, this is kidnap?” Came the question as the witch straightened herself to look at the wizard. Her eyes narrowed, lips twisting into a knowing smirk. “Your speciality.” They’d barely spoken for the past few days, not since he’d jumped between disgust and accusations to excitement in a flurry that she’d been unable to keep up with or comprehend. Nicola was supposed to be the one swinging between moods unpredictably yet he had certainly given her a run for the money she barely had.

“Where are we?” Abroad, it seemed. Now stood straight, Nic folded her arms over her stomach, directly eyeing the Scotsman. “I thought you were above trying to kill me off. Such a pitiful way of handling the situation.” Her eyebrow rose and it certainly wasn’t clear if she was being serious.

“Well I’m not a killer, Porky.” Nicola Randall told Arthur McJivett as the poor muggle man sat in chains on the floor of her shop basement naked as the day he was born and having lost at least half a stone in weight. The metal collar around his neck was now no longer too tight for the less chunky man. The diet of dog food and kibble was evidently doing him good. “So, I certainly can’t do that.”

“Pleeease!” Arthur pleaded once more, his voice hoarse, his energy levels clearly lacking. “Just let me-“

“No, no no!” Nicola span on the spot where she’d been stood at a counter preparing his next meal. Rather than her wand in her hand, she held a knife, recently sharpened and glinting. “Pets don’t talk, Porky.” Her voice was melodic, playful. Her smile exaggerated. “You’re supposed to be a good boy, aren’t you?” The knife was lowered, being pointed at him. The smile suddenly vanished and Nic’s eyes narrowed, darkening. “Do it again and I’ll cut out your tongue and put it in your dinner.”

Arthur’s lips pressed together as he drew in a breath. Nicola’s grin quickly returned and she grasped the dog food bowl, taking a few steps towards the man on the floor.
“That’s a good boy. Mommy bought you dinner. It’s rabbit today.”

With the bowl dropped to the floor with a clatter, Nicola left Porky to debate whether he wanted another meal of dog food or to starve. Instead of watching the inner turmoil, the witch headed back up the stairs, locking the door on her way.

It was when she was in her bedroom above the shop that Nicola’s gaze was drawn to something new. On the bed lay a sheet of parchment, the familiar scrawl of Cináed Tawse decorating it.


One simple sentence, not a man to waste his words.

For a closer inspection, Nicola reached out, grasping the note. There was only a moment to feel the sensation of parchment between her fingers before the horrible lurching and pulling sensation took her, physically launching her from the room.

Spinning.
                                                                Twisting.
                                                                                                                               Throwing.
                                                                                                                                                                                                 Hurtling.


Heeled feet hit the ground and the witch lurched forward, hands clamping a nearby railing as she tried to push down the sudden and urgent need to vomit.

The auror was at least a foot taller than the slight witch who barely reached 5”6 with her tall heels. Dark skin, dark eyes and muscular. He really was quite the specimen; a real upgrade to the usual stiff that made his monthly visit to the Black Widow to raise the ire of the owner.

“Handsome and clearly intelligent.” Nicola responded, dark eyes trailing his body as if drinking him in hungrily. Why him? Why the delicious scowling beauty instead of the old cripple with wrinkles and halitosis that made her want to wretch? Was this an attempt to have her weakened? To start blathering about her links and ties to the criminal underworld or her bad deeds? Were they hoping she might admit to her relations with Tawse if they stuck a new face in front of her? Was the whole ministry full of morons?

“Wasted in red.” The witch smiled before turning back away from him and walking back behind the counter and through to the back room. He’d follow her. It was his job. They always followed. They always wanted to know what the crazy widow in Knockturn Alley was hiding. “Come on, Red, the dead bodies are kept out here.”

"Not having you in my life, of course, my love." The Israeli wizard knew exactly what to say. Or at least to any other witch. His finger reached up, tracing her jawline as her own dark eyes bore into his. Then he mentioned Cináed and her brow narrowed, unimpressed at the reminder. The only time he swept her off her feet was to throw her onto the bed; hardly the romantic idea Aviad alluded to.

Her gaze snapped sideways to catch the bulky wizard glaring in their direction but the clatter of bones made her jump. The bird reformed itself and her new companion wrapped an arm around her waist as she stood up straight once more.

“I’ve a few clients.” The witch offered her…Scotsman a shrug. He may have written off her little shop and business but such black-market trading build a lot of links with people. It was, after all, who you knew. An excited, very familiar smirk started to creep onto Nicola’s lips as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “My new muggle friend would make a wonderful donor. He’s quite chunky. So much blood gushing through those fat veins.” There was a distinct excitement in her gaze, a glint of something delightfully dangerous. “What a sight that would be to watch.” Her voice dropped, tongue smoothly wrapping itself around her words. “All that blood draining until he’s as dry as a dog’s bone.”

Was the handsome Israeli brushing her off with a wave of his hand? What was wrong with using vampires to stir discontentment?

Throughout Manfred’s sad little tirade, Nicola watched him and smiled. He grew riled so easily and she’d always enjoyed pissing off a ghost who’s only threat was that he might choose to walk through you. Maybe she liked the sensation? For all he knew, she loved it. In truth? She simply loved making him irate, it was easy. Too easy. Too easy to resist, for certain.

"Just because he puts up with your condescending -" The ghost was about to really get going but Cináed put an end to the entertainment with a raise of his hand. Nic’s grin grew wider and she winked at the ghost.

“Hate can be strong. Especially if something is unfair.” Nic said in a sing song voice, rounding the bar once more to be on the side for the drinkers. “People are scared of vampires and our Ministry protects them.” She slipped past Manny and once more stood close to Aviad, placing a hand on his arm, leaning forward so her lips brushed against his ear, hair falling down over his arm. “What makes you quake with fear?” The words were whispered smoothly.

“What a fucking saint!” Nicola snapped back, angry and frustrated with his response. How dare he take offense when he’d demanded to know whose the child was! There’d only been him for a long time yet clearly, he’d not been satisfied with just her. She was a disrespectful and insulting pain in the arse that he was happy to do without.

“You got me pregnant.” She stated as he turned to the bathroom. “That’s a trap.” Of course, Nicola didn’t mean it. She was angry and hurt. The thought of a child scared her. The thought of a child with a man who didn’t love her terrified her. She’d fallen in love at 18, been sent to Azkaban at 20 and become a widow at 25. Cináed, despite how Nicola acted, was all she had and they were clearly nothing more than a person to warm the bed at night.

Without another word, Nicola headed for the door, yanking it open and leaving.

Cináed reminded Nicola of the Wolf in the muggle story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’. He would huff and puff until the Ministry fell. He would growl and bite until he could keep his children safe. But the perhaps naïve witch thought that his bark was worse than his bite and his suggestion of not letting anything happen fell on deaf ears. It was hard to trust him and she didn’t want to try.

“Are you being serious?” Nic asked, staring ahead before laughing. It was a laugh far more habitual for the witch before she shook her head and snapped her head around to face him.
“You want me to think you’ll be protective over it when you questioned whose it was and suggested I’d shag anyone?” They certainly weren’t working towards a better world with him hiding in the shadows like a pathetic coward.

“Don’t feed me that shit, Tawse.” Nicola was now pulling her boots on as she spoke. She stood and moved around the wizard to reach under the pillow near him, grasping her wand.

Someone drugging Cináed would have been a plausible reason for his almost immediate change in demeanour. Nicola had been prepared for anger, irritation and accusations. She’d been under the impression that the wizard didn’t want another kid and she certainly hadn’t thought of it in the immediate future. She’d not been out of Azkaban for three years and was only just getting back on her feet. The shop had been her grasp at independence and she was finally becoming known once more in Knockturn Alley for black market smuggling. Things were finally improving and now she was to be sent hurtling back to fearing the ministry and relying on someone else.

Embodying everything that Nicola did not feel about this unanticipated pregnancy, Cináed suddenly beamed, grasping her and kissing her cheek as he shared his delight. Nicola stood bolt stiff, unwilling to celebrate when he’d only moments before questioned her on the paternity of the baby. Now he was happy?

“I don’t know.” She’d not seen a healer to find out, she’d been too anxious. Too fearful of anyone finding out, or the ministry knowing and getting involved.

“It doesn’t matter if people know it’s yours or not, Cináed,” Nicola, for the first time in years looked scared, nervous. “The world thinks I’m unhinged because I let them.” He’d no doubt figured it out by now. “Now It’s backfired.” She shrugged, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, worn out and metaphorically beaten. Her choices had thrown her here and it had never mattered as it had always been just Nicola that they affected. But no more.
“Would you let an insane witch sleeping with a wanted wizard keep a baby?” Dark eyes teared and she blinked, shaking her head. “We can’t have it, Cin.”

Fortunately the wizard was no longer looming over her and he didn't try to stop her as she grabbed her boots. It had been a mistake to tell him and who knew if he'd even believe that the child was his. The Scot evidently expected her to parade herself through the men of Diagon Alley without a care for her dignity. Nicola Randall may have appeared somewhat psychotic and content to do as she wished, but she had standards. She had respect for herself.

While he may have backed off, he didn't relent with the question. So, Nic dropped the. Boots she'd been holding to the floor with a clatter as leather hit wood and she span around to face him, gaze shooting up to meet his grey eyes. Those grey eyes that bore into hers as if daring her to challenge him further.

“Merlin’s balls, Cináed!” The witch, exasperated, looked up to the ceiling as if pleading for the strength to keep some semblance of calm. “Does your thick head not allow you to comprehend the English language, Tawse?” Attempting to ignore the resurfacing nausea, she moved back closer to him before speaking slowly, stopping after each word, “There. Is. No. One. Else.” But just to ensure he didn't remain confused; “it's fucking yours.”

With such an unrelenting stare focused on her, Nicola had to fight the urge to scream, to stalk away, to slap him. She should have expected this; should have expected his refusal to accept any responsibility. For a man on the run, it was far easier to blame anyone else, to pass responsibility onto others. She would clearly be raising this child alone. She didn’t need any help from the moron that thought she was sleeping around Knockturn Alley like a hussy. For everything Nicola was, she certainly wasn’t that sort of witch.

Suddenly Cináed laughed loudly, made so much worse by his proximity to her and his sheer size. The nausea in the pit of her stomach continued but she tried to ignore it as she focused on the blond headed, bearded oaf that thought acting like an arsehole would get him out of any of this.

"I don't know what or who you get on with when you're not here."
Most women would have slapped him, thrown something at him, screamed or cried. Nicola could only stare as she started to realise exactly what the brute thought of her. Any other time and she’d have questioned just how many women that meant he took to his bed when she wasn’t there. They’d never discussed it, only fallen into their routines. But Nicola had, idiotically, thought it was more than simple sex.

“Why would I have gone anywhere when I could have this ignorant oaf in front of me?” Her tone failed to conceal the hurt and anger while her eyes unfortunately filled with the threat of tears. “As if I’d even have the chance,” not that she’d wanted it in the past year or so, “with the threat of you hanging over their heads like a bad odour!” In her first months back in the alley, Nicola had been interested thanks to five years of solitude in Azkaban but she’d found out that while she’d gained the protection of Tawse, it also made her untouchable. No one wanted to step on his toes and anger him by sleeping with his witch. It didn’t matter that he didn’t care for her. As evidenced by this morning, to Cin, Nicola was clearly just a girl he could easily bed and cast off.

Turning her back on the wizard, she bent down to grab her boots. There really was no point in hanging around now.

Any sense of humour Cináed had previously embodied vanished in an instant as his expression turned dark. Intensely dark.

Nicola had never been the sort to turn from conflict; she’d never been the sort to cower in fear. Cináed had never made her feel nervous despite his sheer size and demeanour. She challenged him regularly, never backing down. But he’d never had that look before. He’d never stared at her like that. He’d never made her feel like she might shrink under his gaze despite the crimes he’d committed and the things he’d done to others. Never to her. Cináed Tawse, for all his faults and their arguments, had always made her feel safe and protected.

Until now.

He rose from the chair and was stood in front of her in a matter of a couple of paces. He towered over her in a manner that now felt menacing.

"Whose is it?"

The enduring nausea wasn’t helping as her stomach nearly hit the floor and her arms clung tighter to herself; protective, defensive. Grey eyes met her dark brown gaze and she nearly took a step back. This, she hadn’t expected. She should have slapped him. She should have screamed in his face how he never should have asked such a thing.

“Fuck you.” She practically spat at him, trying to remain calm but feeling the rage and fear building. Not only the fear for his reaction, but the fear for what was going to happen to her; to the baby.
To their baby.

Cináed Tawse was an arrogant man. He was self-assured, confident and strong. No real weaknesses were ever displayed and it was what kept Nicola by his side, knowing how she was safe sharing a bed with the feared brute. No one would touch the witch that slept beside him, no one would dare. Such arrogance, however, also frustrated her. He believed himself unbreakable and unable to shock. They would see any truth in that when he found out about her secret.

The wizard sank into a chair and Nicola pulled her dress down over her thighs, the black lace tickling bare skin. Her habitual confidence was gone.
“The world doesn’t revolve around alcohol.” There was none of the usual smoothness to the witch’s voice, leaving no playful tone, no sign that this was Nicola Randall. People thought she was mad, insane. They wanted to think such things and she let them. Cináed was perhaps the only person to occasionally catch rare glimpses behind her protective mask.

Arms were now crossed defensively over her stomach as dark eyes swept over the man barely covered by the robe. Would he be angry? Shocked? Would he be pleased? Would he realise the immensity of the situation? Would he share her fears? Could he feel real fear? How would he show it?

“I’m pregnant.”

"You're usual biting wit and nagging would have been sufficient!" The oaf, clearly unimpressed by the disturbance shouted from the bed while the reality dawned on Nicola that she was no longer going to be able to avoid the pressing issue of what was happening to her body. She’d hidden it from Cin for the past week or so, since she’d found out herself. His reaction wasn’t an easy thing to guess and she’d not fancied more arguments, or worse, being abandoned to take care of it alone. One look at the son currently upstairs should have really dissuaded such silly thoughts, however.

It was several minutes before Nicola finally felt capable of standing and abandoning the toilet bowl. Despite a belief that it wasn’t possible, her skin appeared paler than usual, long dark hair clinging in her clammy cheeks. There was no immediate response to the Scotsman stood naked at the door. Instead Nicola swilled her mouth out with water and moved towards him.

“I don’t need to see a healer.” Her voice was quiet, weak, but certain. Merlin how was she going to tell him?

“You might need a healer,” Bare feet carried her across the room where she grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head. Being so undressed with what she had to tell him felt ridiculous, even for her. “For the shock.”