4 October 2012
7pm, Thursday
Virgil Carstair's flat in Diagon

Figaro traveled by broomstick with a large knapsack from his place up and out to Diagon Alley and alit on the balcony where Figaro had passed many hours with the residents of 107 B. Sometimes it seemed to Figaro that their lives since Hogwarts had risen and fallen here more than any other place.

On the other side of the windowed doors, Virgil's friendly white cat Dante blinking at him. It was hardly a greeting and hardly helpful, so Figaro rapped on the glass. The noise offended Dante, who put her ears back and trotted away.

"Hey, Virgil!" Figaro called and moved his head for another angle, to see if anyone else was home. Figaro had gotten word to Virgil Carstairs via Ministry memo, so Fig knew Virgil would be home this evening. Other than the brief correspondence, Figaro hadn't spoken with VIrgil since they'd had a row a week ago over Figaro's now ex-girlfriend Wilhemena Gunn, their messy break-up, and Figaro's obstinacy which had taken an Auror (in training) to finally put an end to.[1] Figaro owed Virgil more than his wardrobe back.

1.	24 Sept 2012 - Talk About Trouble

He shut the lid of his trunk, securing its lock. Virgil had picked at a dinner of roasted nuts and dried fruit while poring over the notes for his Death Chamber proposal - but folders and rolls of parchment went straight into the trunk for safe keeping when he noticed the time.

Figaro had sent word about dropping by to return some clothes. Nearly a fortnight now, since their exchange on the side balcony.

That wasn't very long ago and yet Virgil felt it eons. He had broken up with Cepheus since; the conversation with Fig played into the driving force behind that. And his proposal had been approved, deadline set for Hallow's Eve. Restlessness was yet to drive him to the night clubs but this weekend held promise...

       "Mre-ow--!" Dante sauntered into the room as he reset the record player and trinkets on the trunk.

"Is that so?" V replied, tutting soothingly at the snow white cat before going out into the living room. The night was early still and he hoped Fig was in a civilised mood so that he wouldn't ruin the rest of it.

Virgil unlocked the windowed door and smiled dryly at his friend. "Broomstick to balcony again," he stepped aside to let Figaro in, gesturing for him to follow. "I've just been using mine to sweep up around the flat."

"Life hack," Figaro said well-tempered, a hint of being impressed at the mundane use of the quintessentially magical object. He leaned said broom against the wall out of the balcony before coming in and crossing into the space like someone who'd been over many times before. He set the knapsack on a kitchen chair and stretched his arms over his head. A few satisfying cracks.

"I brought you something. Couple of things actually," he said and went into the bag. He held out to Virgil a vinyl record in its large square sleeve. It was not plastic wrapped, and the corners were worn down white with use from the previous owner. It was second-hand, but Virgil was the sort to appreciate such things.

"It's my apology for being a massive prick," he said with a contrite smile. "It's David Bowie," he said, mispronouncing the name. The girl at the shop said it would suit who Figaro had described to her as a posh, well-dressed theatre kid who had whale song albums.

He would never say no to a gift. Virgil pushed up his sleeves before he reached for the proferred record, unable to repress a little smile - although he had grown up with access to Edgar's renowned collection, his own was fairly modest. Still growing.

"Bowie," the Unspeakable corrected distractedly, examining the cover. "Apology accepted."

It was clever on Fig's part. Hard to accept a gift without also accepting the apology - not that V had any intention of refusing. He turned the album around and was pleased to recognise some of the listed songs. "Shall we give it a whirl?"

Virgil hardly looked up as he led them from kitchen to bedroom, where he responded to Dante's greeting with a gesture. The window unlatched, letting her out to do whatever it is odd-eyed cats did in the evenings.

"How goes the broken heart?" he asked, matter-of-fact.

Fig took the knapsack with him when he followed Virgil to the bedroom, and set on the bed. He sat down next to it. Part of him wanted to leave his past sins behind him and never speak of Wil or his unhinged behavior ever again, that maybe with the Bowie record and the clothes in the knapsack, he could shed that old skin. Anyway, Virgil had been part of the story from the beginning and deserved to hear the end of it.

Fig leaned his elbows on his knee and scratched the back of his neck with his other hand.

"Yeah, not great," he admitted over the soundtrack of a record needle finding its groove. "I was really stupid, you know. But no cure for stupid like Raine Almasy threatening your balls."[1] Both boys had done all seven years at Hogwarts with Raine, who'd been hard for Figaro to figure out back then. He thought he was starting to make sense of her lately. She wasn't sweet like Fauna Blake or withdrawn like Moira McBoid or boisterous like Sophie Flickwick or glamorous like Wilhemena Gunn. Raine was strong, like she didn't have time not to be.

"I just," he winced with a self-aware sort of laugh. "I just thought she liked me. Wil, I mean. Felt good."

1.	28 Sept 2012 - A Mile Too Far

Space Oddity began its slow, droning intro on the record and Virgil turned from the player in time to shoot his friend an amused look. Raine was no-nonsense to the core - probably why she got along so well with cousin Alex. Dead stares to freeze over hell.

He was relieved Figaro was seeing things straight now though; it had been fun, helping out with the clothes and sympathising with the infatuation, but their conversations rarely ran far with such things for fuel. Hopefully Fig didn't dive straight into some other kind of lovesick spiral.

Virgil perched on the stool at his desk,at the end of the bed, and felt something sharp in his gut upon hearing Fig's laugh.

"Yes. It does feel good, I suppose..." he trailed off hesitantly.

Cepheus had felt good. Being liked by him. V studied his fingernails, running his thumb over the blue varnish. "I broke up with Ceph," he said it without much feeling, deflated. "Wasn't working out."

He had done it in a kind of daze. Only now, a few days later, did he realise it was easier for Cepheus to accept the break-up than it had been for Virgil to dare it. And that vindication was comfort.

"I'm sure Will liked you, though." Virgil added with a faint smile at Figaro, thinking of his own situation. "Just not the way you liked her."

Figaro lifted his head and took heed when Virgil said he'd broken up with his own fancy older boyfriend.

"Really?" he asked, rhetorically. Not the other way around. It wasn't an uncharitable thought for Figaro, that it was Virgil who should have been getting dumped. Just more that Virgil had been all hazy for him. Fig, of course, had never met Cepheus who was a generation ahead and a big deal at the Ministry where all the laws were made and all the beasts were managed.

Virgil had more comforting things to say, wise and everything. Figaro accepted them, not determined at all to mope. He was not at his best when he moped. Aurors got called when he moped. It was also dreadful and no fun at all.

"I'm extremely likable," he said, believing it. "Anyway, I've got your shit."

Fig undid the knapsack and started pulling items out. It wasn't everything. Much of what Figaro borrowed, he'd already returned, so a single regular bag was sufficient. Out came a pair of shoes, a cardigan, two shirts, and two belts, all in good care.

"Thought I had the bracelet in here. It's somewhere, I'll find it."

Virgil liked that he could tell Figaro about the break-up and not have it be a whole thing. It lightened the significance - and, in a way, Fig's trouble contextualised his own dramas. These things happened. They had miles of road ahead of them.

He crossed his legs, turning on the stool and opening up an old pewter jewelery box.

"See that you do," V replied without any of his usual archness as he removed the top tray of earrings to get at the compartment of kelp. "How are your pockets these days? We should shop around Camden."

Dressing Figaro up was fun; he wasn't just likeable, he was nice to look at. Gunn had good taste in raw material.

"Do away with whatever Wil enjoyed seeing you in, right?" Virgil started rolling a joint. "New wardrobe, new you."

If Virgil was mopey, himself, about his own break-up, Fig couldn't detect it. Cold as ice, that one. Not really, but that was always his reputation.

"I'm well flush," he said. No one had predicted it based on his school behavior, but adult Figaro logged some hours at work. He liked being busy, and the job was social. That, and his parents paid him a little to take shifts in the shop, they'd insisted.

"I heard there were vampires in Camden," he said casually, free-associating, not like Waverly or Nemo who never introduced that topic without a hidden purpose.

Fig was keen to do most anything, including a girl's day out with Virgil. He stood up to check himself in the mirror, to mess with his dark blonde hair. Glasses up, glasses down.

Oh, good. Where there was a bit of money to spend there was style to be gotten... and he rather looked forward to helping Figaro put together a version of himself that wasn't based on someone else's expectations.

Virgil twisted off the end of his joint with flourish as he got up.

"There's a vampire bar," he explained cheerfully, pleased to be the deliverer of such intel, and lit up with a flame at the tip of his finger. "But we needn't stop over, they'll be dozing in the day time anyway."

As curious as he was about giving it another go.

A pause to take that first puff, a cloud of kelp lifting the cloud in his head. Virgil approached Figaro at the mirror - he handed the joint over with one hand and used his other to brush through his friend's hair.

"Ever think about growing this out?" V asked, glancing at their reflection while he tousled the back to give the bird's nest some volume. "Could be sexy."

"It's already long," Figaro replied, though of course the evaluation was relative. He took a puff of the gillyweed, though he usually didn't get much fun from it. But he'd gotten a bit addicted to nicotine while with Wil and hadn't gotten around to sorting it out. Fig handed the joint back.

Figaro's hair was straight and thick and it got weird if it started hitting his ears, stuck out straight. Most days, Fig put some hair paste from Malkin's in it to achieve a deliberately broom-swept bed-head, but the sides and back he kept close these last few years.

"A man-bun, though, that's tempting, and like, a lumberjack's beard," he mimed something big and bushy. In truth, Figaro didn't want to change his hair, and Virgil's hands in it reminded him uncomfortably of how Wil bothered it, so deflection and humor it would be.

"I want a new coat for winter," he said as he scratched at the very very faint scratch of stubble at his jawline. "And the Falcons have new kit out, so I need an update there." Can't very well be caught out with last years' Falmouth gear, could he?

Figaro snapped his fingers. "And a hat. I lost my hat."

"Man-bun?" Virgil echoed as he accepted the joint. "You've not got the shoulders for it, darling."

The darling slipped out naturally, Ceph's preferred term of endearment, and he bit his lip in self-reprobation before taking another toke. It was going to be like this for a while - and there were habits from the relationship that would stick, maybe, much as he wanted to leave those memories behind.

Virgil took a step back, one arm tucked across his chest as he gave Fig another good look. No man-bun, definitely. "What kind of hat?" he asked in a doubtful voice, picturing all sorts on his friend. "And how did you lose yours? Maybe you need more than the one."

To any wix who grew up under Edgar and Angela's roof, the idea of having just one hat seemed bizarre. Like having just one pair of shoes or one coat. He couldn't imagine getting dressed without numerous options.

"We can look at belts too," he added, thinking of the things Figaro borrowed for his dates with Wil. "A couple of nice shirts, you look good in button-ups."

"I'm flush but not that flush," Figaro protested with a laugh and broke away from the mirror to collect his knapsack.

"Just that grey beanie, though," Figaro said. He'd had it for years. He'd thought it was quite cool and lately it had kept him warm on all his broomstick journeys. "Probably just forgot it somewhere. I had Bevans Obliviate me for a laugh last week and I swear I'm still foggy."[1]

It sounded worse than it was. It had only been a middling memory replacement, or whatever, and not as interesting as Figaro hoped it would be. Now that he was off Wilhemena, Figaro was looking for the next adventure.

1.	22 Sept 2012 - Never Have I Ever

Obliviate him...?

Virgil sighed, putting out his joint in a mug of cold tea. He decided that wasn't his problem. If Figaro thought that Obliviation was something you did for fun then who was he to argue against it, with his own record of substance abuse?

"One belt and a nice button-up," he compromised on their imaginary shopping list for Camden Town. "I'll owl you, we can go before the Christmas madness starts."

Every year, at least in the muggle world, the festive season seemed to begin earlier and earlier. There would be a tree in the Stables by November and lights all down Oxford Street long before December.

"Careful on that broom, yes?" V reminded his friend before he left. "Don't go blaming the kelp if you crash."