Absit Omen RPG

“Dragons have always been my favourite…” Theta was reminded of family friend, Balfour Spectre, who was now Head of Creatures at the Ministry. He had started out in dragons, according to the speeches at his wedding earlier that year. “No, I’ve got all my original parts….”

“That’s a relief,” Theta agreed politely, though smiling to herself at Ace’s mildly suggestive terminology. She changed tact, given the lights were changing colour on the stage, almost ready for Send No Crows to take stage. “So, are you here to see the band?” She asked, “I’ve only heard them a few times on the wireless, but my sister was raving so much about them last time she saw them that I thought I’d come along and see what the fuss is about.”

“Oh Sam’s getting ours,” Zeta quickly agreed. “I’ll have a martini. Osha? You want one?”
“Oh um… just a chocolate stout if they have it.” Heather had twisted to see if she could see the names on the taps at the bar. It was crowded though, and she resorted to lifting one of the cardboard beer mats to suggest a pint of dragon scale when someone who worked there happened to be passing by. She looked vaguely familiar - but that was usual for the fact they’d all gone to the same school.

“Chocolate stout, aye, but y’sure you’re wanting a ‘tini?” The witch asked Zeta, putting them on the spot. “I’m sure mudslides are going to be quite better, but need ta see some identification too. Safety protocol an’ all. How about the rest of you lot?” Heather’s heart sank, though she was strangely quiet as she tried to work out a way to get round this.

“Just a bottle of butterbeer for me please, thanks.” Ambrose ordered, conceding.
“Water with lemon.” Zeta followed suit.

“A round of butterbeers for everyone,” Sam suddenly interrupted, warming herself in Heather’s scrutiny, “with the water and lemon for her… and five gigglewaters, for me.” Gigglewaters?

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Osha went along.
“Fine.” Heather said loudly, as was her norm, and folded her arms, making sure her nails were visible. “I’m sure Merry will be able to figure out a way since she’s Head Girl an’ all… and they’ll probably serve us in Calaveras, since we’re not werewolves.” She shrugged.

Osha would be lying if she said she wasn't relieved about the failure of their not-so-secret plan to get drinks. She was pretty sure she wouldn't even like stout... or ale or beer, judging from the smell of the bar whenever she went up to it.

Sam managed to smooth out any awkwardness with the witch taking orders, and Osha smiled her most innocent smile. "Yeah that sounds good," she nodded at the order of butterbeers and whatnot.

And then Zeta's voice was in her ear. She followed her friend's gaze to the familiar blonde figure, and stood a little straighter as if that would help her get a better look at the situation.

"Your sis is so pretty," Osha giggled, "she probably gets chatted up all the time. He looks okay I think, if she likes blokes like that..." her tone implied that she herself was not a fan. But she didn't really know who or what she liked these days.

It was enough to have a good time and listen to nice music.

“Oi! Mordy Dents!” It was one of those moments where you think you’ve imagined hearing someone shout your name. Especially right outside the front of the hospital amongst the muggles. She almost jumped out of her skin at the pat on her shoulder. A man in denim wearing sunglasses was attempting to get her attention, did they know each other?

“Hey there, stranger…”

“Rufus!” She sprang on her tired feet with pleasant excitement at recognising him. “Hej! You gave me a start. How are you?!” She threw her arms around him tightly without further hesitation. Ahh he smelled always as he had, aftershave, pipe smoke and the city. It was too early for him to smell like he’d had a few pints, after all. At least she thought it was… hard to tell what with finishing an extra long night shift and the wizard owning more than one pub. There was always somewhere in London you could drink, any hour of the day. She probably smelled of herbs and astringent.

“So good to see you!” She continued to exclaim, hugging him tightly on her tiptoes. She’d changed out of her healer’s robes, into sandals, skirt and short-sleeved top which showed off her arms. The feeble summer sun in England had barely warmed her colour which she had inherited from her Italian mother, so she was determined to find every excuse to get them out if she couldn’t escape abroad before summer was done. Her thick wavy black hair was pinned up as best she could with help from a charm, though two ringlets were loose before her ears.

“What are you doing here, or shouldn’t I ask?” She thumbed towards the front of Purge and Dowse, worried for a moment he was seeking a healer’s assistance or visiting someone unwell.

“… if it’s fake, what is it?” Andromeda asked, and then turned to Tara, keen to continue their discussion while Elixa got on with it.

The two dangerous witches continued their conversation as the healer uncorked the bottle. A convincing whisp of blue smoke climbed from the neck of the glass. She wafted it towards her with a wave of a hand, and sniffed. She wasn’t convinced already, but she didn’t spend her days sniffing wolfsbane potion. Carefully, she decanted small measures into the test tubes and in turn dropped small amounts of other potions or herbs into them.

“… it seems unstable.” Tara’s assessment wasn’t about this particular sample, but it wasn’t far off. One of the herbs sizzled, and the smoke had turned thicker from the tube Lix was heating over a flame. She pulled it out, and lit the smoke with the flame. It gave a loud pop and a purple burst of light.

“Where did you get this from again?” Lix asked, setting the tube back in the rack. “And were they really expecting you to come back?”

Ask and you shall receive. Kurby had asked and Bruce had answered. The fact that Kurby was suddenly looking uncomfortable about Bruce’s answer spoke volumes to the witch who was still acutely aware that her being a werewolf was the big ass dragon (or rather wolf) in the room. Bagnold had a pretty huge problem with it, as evidenced by 3 years of no contact after the attack. She’d become what he hunted and their friendship would never return to what it had been because of it. He’d asked, and she’d given him just a tiny taste of what it was like in her boots.

During the moment’s silence, Bruce scanned over one of the documents before reaching for a quill. He quill was irritatingly much easier to find on the clear desk. Blue eyes danced up when Spectre was brought up. Despite herself, Kurby’s words caused her lips to twist into a small smile.

“Indefinitely.” Countered Bruce. With a flourish, she added her signature to the bottom of the parchment and moved it to a fresh new pile of completed documents. “I thought people here were backwards but now I’m just imagining other countries. Spain can’t be alone in their prejudice.” British werewolves and the British wizarding public were Bruce’s problem, though. She knew she couldn’t get herself bogged down wanting to fix the world in one fell swoop.

“Is this the response most of our werewolves get as well?” She mused, more to herself. “Those not in a privileged position?” Bruce knew she’d been better off than most. She’d not needed to seek work because the Ministry had paid her a comfortable retirement pension due to being injured in the line of duty. Others didn’t get that support.

The healer’s touch may have been light and delicate, but Bruce was grimacing as he examined her damaged limb. A white-hot pain surged from her calf upwards and she found herself gripping the sheet on the bed to stop a groan.

“Not just the leg” the mutter came at the mention of tension. Ballentyne’s jobs had always come with a certain level of tension but being the Head of the Werewolf Wing had reached a new level of tense.

“Ffyc na” The witch swore in Welsh when her stand-in healer suggested a massage. He appeared to agree that that would be a terrible idea.

“I’m not gonna’ lie, I’m starting to think it would be easier if someone just hacked it right off and gave me a wooden peg. Let’s see the wolf have a midnight party then.” Athena had done everything she could to save the leg, and Iona appreciated it, but she did often wonder if an amputation would have been easier in the long term. One could perhaps learn to adapt to that better than constant aching and pain.

Blue eyes scanned over the large wizard as she considered what his own bite must be like or how it had happened. It wasn’t a question you just asked. If she was inclined in such a way, she could have read his registration paperwork that he’d filed on arrival in the UK, but that just felt like an invasion of privacy. This wizard, like so many other werewolves, was walking fine, if he just looked a little unkempt. His scar was clearly hidden better, not detrimentally affecting his daily life.

“I’ve got time.” Before leaving work, Iona had sent a memo to Zora on Level 2. “Heal me, Healer. Then maybe you can enlighten me with all sorts of secrets about your friend, the scotsman.” Fat chance of that.

‘Oh, here we go,’ Bruce thought, not giving much consideration to the fact that she’d asked for Gamp’s speech about his principles. His point? He stood for the beings that couldn’t stand for themselves. Yadda yadda, poor vampires being unable to legally drink humans dry. Bruce pressed her lips together, all too aware that she really was taking what she wanted to hear from Gamp and not what he was really saying. She was sure he was a nice wizard, he just didn’t really seem to be her cup of tea.

“I didn’t have a choice, Gamp,” Iona replied, raising her eyebrows. “Most vampires did.” Despite herself, the witch knew that this wasn’t a fight worth having right now. Gamp had brought up the nickname and she’d simply explained it. Maybe she was quick to judge but it hadn’t served her too badly in her lifetime.

After a moment, Bruce shrugged her shoulders. “So maybe you’re not permanently straddling the fence. I was just going off impressions so far.”

“Where I am from, they hunted them. For fun. But papa says werewolves are sick people.”

“They are,” the Professor agreed, “with an affliction that is incurable. But woe betide you pity them.” He shook his head ever so slightly. If anything, those he had encountered, from the two Gryffindor witches to grown wizards, were fierce and stubborn to a fault. They held onto their pride at any opportunity. He folded his arms across his chest, the cold air now chilling the backs of his worn hands.

“But would you not agree that someone who cannot control themselves, and will kill you without question or infect you to the same fate, should be kept restrained at the full moon?” A rhetorical question, undoubtedly, but he gave the boy a moment to ponder it. “And what would be an apt consequence of those who would prefer to be free, and risk others?”

It was a real piece of work, what happened to Ballentyne's leg. Robin's touch was as light as promised - he gently adjusted its position as he examined it from ankle to hip, and used the flat of his palms to lightly apply pressure where he needed a better idea of what was happening underneath mangled skin and flesh.

He loved that Athena went by Bones, and wondered if his absent colleague would mind him referring to her the same. "Well Healer Marrowbone was right, it's a good thing you came in."

Robin stepped back, one arm crossed against his chest as he scratched his scruff thoughtfully.

"You don't have much muscle in this leg but what muscle you do have has accrued a hell lot of tension," he motioned to indicate her hamstrings, the back of her knees, and much of her calves. "The pain your feeling is probably enhanced nerve pain, no big surprise you're hurting."

He reached for the clipboard again and took the quill out from behind his ear so that he could quickly scribble down his impressions; Athena would no doubt want to go over the notes when she was back. "Usually I'd prescribe a massage but that would be," he laughed slightly, "excruciating in this case."

The quill went back behind his ear and he paused, clearly thinking.

"How much time do you have right now?" Robin raised an eyebrow. "I can give you a tincture specifically for nerve pain, and we can do a few assisted stretches. There's a longer treatment, if you have a couple of hours to spare."

Time was always running here in London, he noticed. It seemed to move twice as fast as anywhere else in the world.