1.20pm. The Hanging Gardens, Central London.


The bloody issue with writing in muggle London was that one could not jot things down using a quill without looking rather eccentric. It was therefore a damned good thing that Rascal had no issue with eccentricity.

He sat by himself in the restaurant - a posh little place with vaguely colonial indian decor - at the window, which overlooked Marylebone High Street. Passersby could easily be seen from here, wrapped up muggles rushing against the winter wind, preoccupied with their mesmerising mobiles. The author leaned back, shrugging into his scarf absently.

Cutlery had been set in the place across for him though he avoided noting it. Rascal tapped the quill against his notebook, glancing away from the view to study his sketches. Loopy, non-linear shapes that made little sense to anybody else. The odd notation.

A penguin man appeared at his shoulder. "A mister Elliot Griffin, to join you sir?" he asked. Rascal's expression lit up boyishly. There was no avoiding this arrangement for a new editor; and consequently no dwelling on it. Better to anticipate then dread.

"Cactus face!" he exclaimed brightly, causing the waiter to stiffen in surprise. "Waddle away and bring him over then!"

While the waiter walked away to inform Rascal Rosier of his arrival, Elliot looked into the mirror by the door and straightened his tie.  It was already pretty closed to immaculate, in pale grays and blues for winter but he wanted to make sure so he could make a good impression.  Not that it was likely to mean much to the eccentric writer.  Despite Elliot's carefully chosen and pressed suit and tie, his hair was disheveled and he had a clear shadow of a beard on his face.  But the slightly scruffy professional look had always lent him an air of approach-ability that perfectly clean-cut did not.

The waiter returned, looking vaguely sick and uncomfortable but said nothing as he nodded and led Elliot to Rascal's table.  It was somewhat unusual to be calling a client by their first name but Elliot had remembered the reaction he'd gotten to calling the author 'Mister Rosier'. 

Elliot waved off the waiter, seeing there was already water on the table and unbuttoned his suit jacket while saying.  Good afternoon Rascal.  I hope all is well."  He resolutely did not offer his hand to shake because he had a suspicion that something strange would only happen to his digits if he did.    So he simply sat and offered pleasantries as a way of opening the conversation.  "This seems like  a lovely place for lunch.  How did you find it?"

Rascal had slipped out his pocket watch and was still observing its multitude of ticking hands when the waiter returned with the pristine Elliot Griffin- who was all pleasantries and perfection as he took the seat across. Perfection- how uninteresting.

But that was hardly enough to dissuade the author. He put away the watch and acknowledged the other wizard, an intelligent glimmer in his eyes.

"It wasn't all that difficult," a quick smile to show that he was teasing (a reassurance needed by some) while he sat straight. "I hadn't lost it in the first place."

The waiter appeared once more with a tray- a large china pot and two cup sets that chimed as they were set down. The tea had been ordered for when his guest had arrived. Much like Griffin himself, its timing was precise. Leather-bound menus were laid down.

"I advise their sandwiches," Rascal continued in the manner of an old and unhurried acquaintance. "Not a crumb in sight, you would approve. Which reminds me~" he paused to lean forward and pour their brew. "Did you enjoy my gift?"

Elliot's eyebrows twitched up in mild amusement.  He gave the writer an exasperated look as he dropped a sugar cube into his teacup and stirred it idly.  "Hopefully their sandwiches also taste good.  That really is one of the most important thing, right?"  He could always sweep crumbs away, after all but very little could fix a disgusting taste. 

"It's funny you should mention that -"  Elliot snapped his fingers, as though he'd just remembered something.  He picked up his briefcase and opened it on the table next to him.  "You sent me 250 potted cacti.  Now, my secretary is quite fond of potted plants and insisted I keep them.  I've got some in my office.  She's got some on her desk.  I even gave some to my coworkers but I ran into a little snag."

From the magically enlarged interior of his case, he withdrew the smallest cactus, in a pink flowerpot with snidgets painted on it.  He placed it on the table between them and pushed it towards the writer.  "This one just couldn't be satisfied so I thought you might like to give it a try." 

Leaning back in his chair, Elliot regarded Rascal with a calm and expectant expression.  Not all of that was strictly true and the sudden arrival had caused him more inconvenience than he would ever admit.  His coworkers had stopped by one by one during the day to see for themselves as the rumor spread.  He'd managed to pretend like it was perfectly normal and exacted his revenge later by regifting the majority of the cacti to them.  He used his position as a partner to lean on them and force them to keep the plants, just out of spite.  But the ones he couldn't find a place for were actually spread out between his office, his secretary, and his home.  He was even planning on giving one in a sapphire blue pot to Dolly for Christmas as a joke.  He could have found a place for this little one too, perhaps in his bathroom with the other four, but it seemed right for Rascal to have one as well.

Oh now, what do we have here.

Rascal's eyebrows danced up into his blocky forehead as he watched his editor nudge the minuscule cacti towards him across the table linen. The prickly green plant seemed to sit there quite happily, oblivious to the fact that these two grown men were having a speechless power battle over its fellow flora.

How delightful. The Griffin could play! He wasn't all sharp suits and prickly cheeks.

"Why... thank you." Rascal considered the cactus for a second and then turned his gaze on to the man. "I rather knew you were the sort to appreciate a solid cactus. Independent creatures, aren't they?" He closed the notebook he had open before him.

This was an opportune moment. Subtext was best found in silliness and if Griffin could catch on, then why shouldn't the fellow edit a story or two? Better a cactus than a penguin.

"Incredibly independent in fact. I imagine that they're liable to wander off if left alone," he rested his elbow on the chair arm, chin against knuckle. "All they really need is a pinch of water and to be checked on once in a blue moon." Rascal paused to pick up his cup and sip; the tea burnt his lips but he ignored this. "What could be easier then that? An edit-- I mean, one couldn't ask for a less troublesome creature."
 

It was a strange metaphor that he didn't quite understand but he followed it's intention well enough.  The assertion being that Rascal would work like a cactus, with only occasional influence from him, was a tad unsettling though.  From what he'd heard, Rascal was three handfuls, too much for any one man to handle.  One had even told him that Rascal was like a child, all nonsense and silliness.  Elliot was beginning to suspect that that man was a twit who couldn't keep up with a reasonably oblique conversation.

Elliot steepled his fingers in front of him and grinned.  "I haven't had any of them wander off yet, but I suppose I'll just have to keep an eye out."  He sat up and reached for his tea.  He took a gentle sip of the hot liquid and then cleared his throat.

"Now, you've recently finished up a book, I was wondering if you had an idea for the next.  I'd also like to get to know you and your working style so I can help you the best I possibly can."

He caught the winged bait and shot straight through the metaphor with no sign of losing direction. Elliot Griffin was a wizard who knew what he wanted, coming into a conversation. Rascal narrowed his gaze at the man and allowed the silence to hang between them them while a light drizzle came down on London city outside.

Muggles were dashing out of sight, protecting their mobiles and a few sought refuge in the restaurant itself. As the door shut behind them, the author nodded once at Elliot.

"I always have an idea. Normally more than one," he said sombrely and then paused to taste his mouth gingerly. "You'll need to know that but what's more important is this: there are only two ways of helping me."

Rascal sat forward with a perfectly straight face, resting his forearms across the table. His right foot tapped an erratic tune; it seemed clear that he was forcing the effort to appear forthright.

"Either you stay out of my way or you try to catch up," his lips twitched into an irksome smile. "If you're capable of it. My working style is only relevant depending on whichever approach you take as an editor."

Elliot remained calm and poised in his chair, relaxed and confident in himself.  The hum of small conversations around him was soothing but it did not mask the tapping sound from under the table.  Rascal seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy.  He was the type of person who might apparate away if he blinked.  So he didn't blink.  He leaned forward in reflection of the other man's posture and quirked an eyebrow.

"I suppose, then, that there are only two questions for me to ask you in return. 'Which way did the others go?' and..."  Elliot paused for a moment and considered his options.  He could ask about their success but that evident.  They had failed.  That's why Elliot had been called in. 

Leaning back in his chair again, he continued, "And... 'which would you prefer?'."

The two men must have been a conspicuous pair, leaning over their tea cups to mutter in businesslike tones.

Rascal considered his previous editors briefly- they had not been too bad at the end but most chose to part ways after finding themselves... overwhelmed (for lack of better word) by his frivolities.

"They all chose the same, to follow where I led. Your lot has a rather typical tendency towards control issues," he made no disguise of giving Griffin the once-over to indicate his expectations . "They simply couldn't stand not knowing to where I had wandered off."

Which might have been all for the better; the one time Rascal had wandered idly to Germany he had nearly gotten himself into a rather tight spot with some nasty Goblins. Trollhouse would not enjoy the loss of a popular author.

"Regardless," the wizard leaned back, his tapping foot reduced to a rhythmic beat. "I rather prefer that option. Help, perhaps not. But company is never unwelcome. Not even yours Cactus face."

"Well," Elliot began with mock seriousness, "while I can assure you that I am quite flattered by the comparison, I don't think our little friend here appreciates it."  He waved a finger at the miniature cactus still sitting, out of place on the table top between them.  He tried the joke out because he had the sneaking suspicion that the author wasn't particularly fond of him.  While friendship was necessary for this to work, it would certainly help smooth the wrinkles out.  It had helped with Dolly.  He could live without being the man's friend but a little bit of respect was a must.  If he couldn't establish that then he might as well quit now and save himself the trouble.

"I think you'll find that my control is what makes me so good at my job."  He waved a hand towards Rascal in a casual indication.  "In a similar way, freedom is what makes you so good at yours.  People like us are destined to create friction when we meet but if we can find some sort of balance then we'll manage just fine.  That's essentially what I'd like to do; find a balance." 

He paused for a moment and then narrowed his eyes.  "If you think you're capable of it," he finished, pointedly referencing Rascal's own doubt in Elliot's abilities to keep up.

Rather predictably, it seemed as if though Elliot Griffin was going to be difficult about releasing the reigns on his newly acquired author- and if it wasn't for that last jab, that perceptive droplet indicating a sense of humor, Rascal might have made himself a nuisance to the other wizard.

"Capable... yes. I might yet be capable of such a feat," the author smile though his eyes expressed a sort of glumness. "Friction can be a good thing. It isn't much of a story if there isn't any friction."

The waiter had returned to take their order but at his emergence, Rascal stood abruptly and his chair fell backwards with a clatter. He straightened his jacket as if though this had been a perfectly regular thing to do before glancing at Elliot with raised eyebrows.

"No better time than the present my good man," Rascal winked and then began to make his way towards the back of the restaurant. "Follow or flee!" he called over his shoulder while the waiter gaped at him. They would need the fire escape, which he knew would not be triggered- he also knew that it opened up to the stairwell that led to the roof.

Where else would you choose to be in a rainstorm?

Elliot stood up as his author disappeared towards the back of the restaurant.  He gave the waiter an apologetic glance and dropped some muggle money on the table which ought to cover both their tab and the oddity of whatever Rascal was likely to be doing.  Hopefully it would be enough to keep the man from call the authorities if things got weird... or magical.

Follow or flee.  Fight or flight. That primal instinct that drove man's response to conflict.  It had to be primal because that could be the only thing to explain his stupidity for not only taking this assignment, but also following Rascal through the tables, into the back, and then up the stairwell.

What in the name of Merlin was Rascal going to do to him, beside drive him to an early grave?

The roof door flew open with flourish and Rascal had only enough time to glimpse lashings of rain before twirling around to find that the prickly cactus had followed him after all!

"Excellent! Fabulous!" he exclaimed with the infectious grin of an excited schoolboy. "You're here, good, good. Come! Wait, no, stay, hold on. No charms and I haven't an umbrella so we're going to have to get our feet a tad wet..." The wizard paused to take out his pocket watch, and then regarded the time.

A quarter to two so they had just about enough time. He tucked away the watch and smiled quickly at Elliot.

"I love London," Rascal commented in a matter-of-fact voice. "Because it has lots of chimneys and almost all the buildings are bunched up together. Like soldiers. We'd better get going then, hadn't we?" He turned away and stepped through the door, out on to the roof.

The restaurant was called The Hanging Gardens for no arbitrary reason. Out on their roof, there were dozens of potted plants pooled into corners, and they were all looking rather put-off now in the heavy rain.

"This way!" He yelled, marching straight for the ledge bordering the next building. "Watch your step, I shan't be responsible for any flattened editors on the pavement~" Rascal glanced over his shoulder and winked- just before hopping on to the ledge. "Geronimo? Geronimo!"

He leapt a two foot gap, landing with a clumsy crash - nearly slipping - on to the gutter of a slanted tiled roof next door.

"Watch for the gutter nymphs! And follow me!"