He popped up from underneath the table and dragged his date down by the collar.

Being a master-of-dragging-people-by-their-collars, usually of the regular shirt sort, Rascal took care not to bang Cepheus' head against the edge as they huddled beneath the cut out hearts and dim candles. He was in his finest purple stripped suit, sporting an appropriately themed red shirt beneath.

His hands moved deftly as they slipped the black scarf off his neck, folded it into a large triangle and slipped it over the other man's head.

"There was a list. Favourites, least favourites, nothing at all about squids and squirrels..." Rascal muttered whilst securing the scarf in a knot beneath Gamp's peculiar but fine jaw. "Useless! Utterly useless, you know, people don't collate into little lists and Questions and Answers. And why is it a blind date if neither of us are wearing blindfolds or eating dates?"

The author grinned in spite of his rather obvious frustration with the banality of this event because, be honest, people liked cheese. Buckets and buckets of camembert and brie!

"But look, I've come prepared!" he pulled out a folded parchment from his blazer and unfolded it, flattening the paper against the floor and giving Cepheus juuuuuust enough space to arch his dark head into view. "It's a map! A puzzle. I wrote it one morning and then I drank a potion and woke up two days later without remembering a spot! Better than a bit of roquefort."

Rascal looked his new friend - they were all new friends - in the eye. "What say you? You can walk away. I'll go with or without, but never without an extra pair of socks."

Written in blooming letters on on the map, which is one of Diagon Alley with labelled shops...

Get your drinks, be wary though
this is not a drunkard's trough
not a bottle, oiled nor canned,
but a merry worker's band!

Awake, awake, search the shelves
the beans, the milk - the men themselves!

Moral support from big brother to little sister this was, or so Cepheus told himself. Actually he was dry-mouthed and a bit worried about it all. As much as he made friends fairly easily, talking to someone with the notion of being more than friends was somehow more daunting.

It was to his dismay that his partner hadn't turned up at the table. Perhaps they were scoping him out from a distance. This oblivious, optimistic thought crossed his mind for a moment before he was hauled beneath the table by a face he'd seen in the papers.

Suddenly he felt like he was six and under the table at a family party with his brother Orion.
"Evening!" He greeted, though kept his voice low, as if the pair of them were actually hiding.

Rosier was muttering about animals beginning with the letter S, and although a little suspicious of this, he let the other wizard lay a scarf upon his head and tie it beneath the chin while frowning gently with curiosity. This was no ordinary evening and it had just got a whole wardrobe weirder.

"We can get dates, and I'm not adverse to blindfolds…" Cepheus replied hurriedly, shrugging and mirroring the grin. Rascal had other ideas that didn't involve dried fruit, and in honesty Cepheus was rather glad!

Now this really was like him as his brother when they were children. It had been a favourite childhood game to make a treasure map. Orion still maintained he was looking for some as he travelled the world now.

"The map or the potion?" Ceph asked, not quite yet at the point of realising he'd be asking a lot of unanswered questions if he carried on. Around them people's feet shuffled past the table, chairs scraped on the floor and there was muffled conversation, most of it stilted.

"Now socks," Cepheus dug into his jacket pocket, "socks I can do." He pulled out a spare pair - indecision when dressing earlier as to whether these bright blue socks were too bold, and he'd played it safe. But now he was on an adventure with Rascal. Safe. Hrrmph.

"Come on then, what did you write?" He nudged Rascal gently with his shoulder in an effort to see properly, hoping the wild-eyed wizard wouldn't take offence to this. As he read Rascal's scrawled puzzle, his lips moved almost silently.

"With all the food-related words it has to be somewhere that has plenty. Boiled, milk, drinks… somewhere like here then, but not here." For a moment Cepheus thought. "Trough. Not water trough, trough - to be greedy. Somewhere … somewhere that doesn't sell alcohol, or doesn't primarily sell it. Not a pub." His eyes ran along Diagon Alley on the map and he rocked back onto his heels a moment, eyes raised to the underside of the table above them. "Beans. Not cans of beans."

He looked Rascal in the eye. "You drink coffee, Rosier?"

"You drink coffee, Rosier?"

Good, good squirrel. "I do tonight."

Rascal grinned at his date's willingness to cooperate, nudged back with his boney shoulder, and pointed meaningfully at the socks the other wizard had brought (coincidence, fate, perhaps applied only to things one wears on one's feet). "Better put those on, don't you think Cepheus?" The name rolled off his tongue, sharp but friendly. Of course he knew who Gamp was.

He knew who lots of people were, though not what they really were underneath all that pulp and fibre.

Alohomocha. Rascal drew his wand and flicked it expertly, charming the table to float off the floor and suddenly transfigure into a long, bright red umbrella. The two men stood and he grasped the hooked handle before the brolly could drop, taking Cepheus' hand in his own - palms soft as any writer of means.

"Coffee rather excites me," he explained in a softer voice - glimmer of humour in his eye. "What does it do to you? I knew a fish who swims in the stuff. Let's risk a little bad luck. " Rascal opened out the umbrella in the middle of the bar before pulling Cepheus along towards the exit. Some of the other couples were startled, the silly geese, but not surprised.

This was a notch down from animated mannequins.

"Next clue then," they stepped out into the winter dark and he momentarily peeked out of the shade of the umbrella to dampen his face against the drizzle. "Would you rather search or distract?" Rascal asked, implying with a searching look that Cepheus' response might signify more than just their stratagem tonight.

"Pays to be prepared," Cepheus agreed, rocking back to pull out his wand. It took a simple sock-switching spell, handy little one in a fix that, and the bright blue socks were on. "Hm?" He glanced to Rascal as if to seek approval, though expected none. Rosier had also pulled out his wand but the table was floating away from their heads, transfiguring itself.

Cepheus got to his feet, glancing around them at the other awkward pairs at tables eyeing them as Rascal seized the handle of a bright red umbrella which had once been the table. A soft hand gripped Ceph's and he found himself stood far too close to Rascal a moment, noses almost touching as they spoke of coffee.
"What does it do to you?"
"Keeps me up all night, which I anticipate you will." He replied spontaneously, then inwardly realised how suggestive that had sounded to onlookers given the fact the two of them appeared to be about to leave after a quick under the table consultation. Merlin.

The pair slid out of the Rover's doors, preceded by the umbrella which was hoiked above them the moment they were out in the fresh air.
"You've more chance at recognising what we search for, Rosier, let me cause a suitable distraction. I doubt as grand as your mannequins - masterpiece by the way - but I'll think on my freshly-socked feet. Let's be off!"

Alohomocha seemed a good bet - and one of the few open that time of night. Halfway down the Alley, brick walls on a lean, gracefully arched windows and a few tables set outside, it was the home of many a transient Ministry worker delaying the inevitable start to the day. Up ahead in the dark the gold paint on the sign flashed despite the low light, steam infinitely rising from a painted cup of coffee.

"Give me a moment," Cepheus reached to Rascal's elbow tenderly, and then extended his hand to the handle of the scarlet umbrella, "may I?" As he took the umbrella from his 'date' (Cepheus would prefer to call it 'co-conspirator' at this point) he straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin and put on an air that wasn't quite him, but more reminiscent of his mother with a bad smell beneath her nose.

Into Alohomocha he swept, making a show of bringing in the umbrella and shaking off the weather as he made his way up the shop towards the counter. He took care to examine his surroundings as if he were scrutinising it. At the counter, he cleared his throat.
"Good evening," he addressed the witch behind the counter, and procured a notebook from his pocket (well one couldn't be sure whether a name and an address might be noted when one was at such an event).

"I'm with Devia Orbis -" he explained smoothly, using a tactic he'd seen his older brother use (only Orion did work for them). Do anything with confidence and people believed you. Or so he hoped. "We're updating our listings for Diagon Alley eateries, wonder if you have some time to run me through things here - allow me to write you a review. Hundred word limit, tragic," he continued, glancing over his shoulder at the window a moment to check if Rascal was inside. At the sound of the door, Cepheus lifted the umbrella and extended it out above the head of the witch to the menu above her to trigger her instinct to look up in the same direction, "What would you say is your house special for an uninitiated visitor?"

He grinned boyishly and with regrettable pride on having his mannequin parade described as a masterpiece, though was as quick to forget it as he had been to plan that curious cavalcade last October. On to the next adventure. Always.

Cepheus had a plan - which was good, at least one of them would have to as Rascal's never made sense to anyone - and glided ahead with umbrella in hand to implement his act. The author happily relinquished the brolly, beady and thoughtful eyes noting the gentle touch at the elbow.

And then, with more interest, the change in mannerism.

Rascal watched his compeer disappear into the coffee shop while the light drizzle fell upon him, lit up by the night lamps of Diagon Alley. He let it dampen his hair, his fine suit and crinkled leather loafers. Somber - if only to capture that moment.

His fingers tapped the inside of his hands, some imaginary rhythm, and he snapped them loudly a couple of times before following Gamp into Alohomocha.

"I'm with Devia Orbis -" was all one needed to hear to understand the nature of the distraction. Rascal affected a quiet air that was not customary to him, feet meandering rather than dancing, and shoulders lowered in a calm and pedestrian way. He slid past Cepheus and the witch Emeline, pretending to consult the pictures on the wall.


Pretending? But who was to say he wasn't looking for a picture? Lobsters knew what he'd hidden!

Rascal stumbled into a chair, loudly dislodging it, glanced back at the counter to ensure nobody had noticed, and wandered back in that direction to see if one could slip behind the scenes and-- wait a cuttlefish'd second. He paused, an eye on Emeline Trumble's chest.

Not for that reason (but it was a lovely chest, no doubt, as he'd never seen one that wasn't).

A deep green envelope had been wedged into the top pocket of the barista's apron, a corner peeking out. Rascal rather recalled his uncle using that sort of stationery before. Paper airplanes winding down the muggle streets of London. He slunk slightly down the counter out of Emeline's sight and signalled to Cepheus behind her back.

Looooook, the wizard mouthed and gestured at his own chest, then pointed at the witch. He drew his wand to mean he was going to try and extract it without her noticing.

They could always ask, of course, but where was the fun in that? And he had an inkling that his past self might have told admirable Emeline to make this task as difficult as possible...

It was getting late-- the coffee shop was just about empty, except for the few stragglers that came in for a late-night caffeine fix. The later it got, the more she cringed on the inside when people came in. Officially, they were supposed to let people in when they closed. However, that didn't mean that the baristas didn't work on cleaning and pre-closing work in order to get out sooner rather than later. With a plastered-on customer service smile, she greeted the two men with a cheerful, "Hello, how may I help you today?"

One of the men was familiar-- he had a peculiar face that was difficult to forget. Perhaps he was a regular at one of her jobs? Perhaps she'd seen his face in a magazine. The other, Emeline decided, was short and kind of cute in the way that small, fragile creatures often were.

"I'm with Devia Orbis -" Emeline raised her eyebrows quizzically,  waiting for him to finish speaking. As he went on, she crossed her arms firmly over her chest and straightened up, towering over the tiny man. He wanted to review her coffee shop? He used the words 'uninitiated visitor' like some sort of weirdo. He also had that strange friend with him, but not standing next to him. Suspicious. The fact that she had never heard of this Devia Orbis was a red flag, as well as the fact that a reviewer would come in at this hour.

No. That made no sense.

They were creeps, the both of them. It came with the customer service territory.

"I would recommend the Obscuro Mochaccino." The witch replied,  "And an almond croissant."

There was the scrape of a chair across the floor and Cepheus tried not to flinch in reaction but saw the witch's eyes glance to the source.

"I would recommend the Obscuro Mochaccino, and an almond croissant."

As Rascal crept into his eyeline, he made an attempt to only stare up at Emeline rather than to Rascal directly so as not to draw attention to the fact the author was creeping up on her. Merlin she better not be his ex-girlfriend or something and this was some weird trick. Rascal was unhinged, but the good sort of unhinged normally.

"Almond?" Cepheus asked "Is that a speciality of Alohomocha?" He persisted, mind trying to figure out a way to enable Rascal to grasp the green envelope he was gesturing to. "Are those out here on the counter, or do you have to freshly prepare them?" He asked, and dipped to particularly examine what was on display.

"I see there are some marvellous creations down here, I would say these are rather special indeed." Cepheus continued, bending down to look through the glass at a lower level as if absolutely fascinated. "What goes into one of these for instance?" He pointed to a rather elaborate confectionary piece, eyes flickering up to her face and her shadow. "Are these all made here? You must have a fantastic baker…" He made a more pointed glance to Rascal as if to suggest he hurry up and reach over.

"It's you, isn't it?" Ceph asked with bright eyes, "Do you make these? They're fantastic, would it be possible to see this one in more detail, no, this - the one next to it, yes…" His incoherent pointing was on purpose, his other hand lifted above his shoulder to gesture to Rascal to hurry up, the red umbrella tucked under his arm.

Rascal was laughing on the inside as he noted his date's eagerness to distract the fine witch from the theft retrieval - outwardly he only smiled politely to himself (one must always be polite to oneself) and hopped quietly behind the counter to approach Emeline from behind. She was good at her jobs.

He liked people who were good at their jobs because it was easy to guess at their priorities.

The author slipped his wand hand forward to aim prudently at the corner of the envelope that was tucked into the front of her apron. It lifted, fell back into the pocket, lifted again as if though shy to reveal itself.

He wondered what Cepheus' priorities were. A wizard who carried spare socks. It would be interesting to rifle through those pockets.

The letter suddenly jut out of the apron at an alarming speed, catching Emeline on her jawline with one of its narrow ends, and Rascal jumped in surprise at his own clumsiness. He stepped back - right into a shelf of coffee beans in their paper bags, which toppled to the floor.

"Koi fish!" he yelled before clamping a hand over his mouth. "Srrmmjen..." Rascal removed it to quickly clarify. "Sorry! Milady Cuttlefish!" Both hands now went up in the air, but with a sense of purposeful surrender. There was an exceedingly ceremonial set to his square jaw. "My letter, if you would please."

Usually, customers weren't so focused on staring at her. Their gaze tended to wander to the menu, to the contents of the pastry case. It was unnerving. She couldn't wait to get his drink made and get him out of the shop. "Everything's a specialty here, sir." Emeline replied with forced cheerfulness, putting on her best, most shiny barista smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Then, he went on to talk about the pastries. And ask questions.

So, what-- was he one of those lonely, bored people that looked for any excuse to make small talk? Em could do small talk, usually. But there was something distinctly off about the whole situation. Out of the corner of her eye, Emeline spotted movement. A hand?

Then an envelope (that she swore wasn't there before!) flew out of her apron pocket and caught on her face. Ememline inhaled sharply, grabbed Rascal's hand, and swiftly bent his pinky to the side until she heard a satisfying crack and felt it give. Less than a second after she released him, he had jumped back-- apologizing.[1]

She felt just a little sorry. But only a little bit. It was nothing that episkey couldn't heal.

The letter had fallen onto the counter.  She pushed the letter towards Cepheus, meeting his gaze.

"I would like you two to leave now." Em plastered the strained customer service smile back on, "Please."

1.	With Nuri's permission

The more Cepheus tried to focus on the pastries, the more his gaze wanted to return to Rascal and urge him to hurry up. He caught sight of the envelope moving, and then falling back and bit his bottom lip, about to ask another desperate question about confectionary. Then whoosh!

Gamp’s mouth hung open in surprise as the letter shot out but smacked straight into the witch’s chin with a force that could not be dismissed. Like a domino, Rascal overbalanced and fell into some shelves of coffee beans which scattered down around him with a rush of beans on paper bags. Instinctively, Ceph reached for his wand, extending it towards the shelves, wordlessly casting arresto momentum. The rest of the bags ceased their ascent towards the edge of the shelves.

The red umbrella, former bar table, clattered to the floor as he did, but the crack of bone was unmistakeable over it all.

"Koi fish! Srrmmjen…” Rascal exclaimed as the barista turned to glare at him. "Sorry! Milady Cuttlefish!” His date had both hands in the air indicating surrender.
“He doesn’t mean you ha-"
"My letter, if you would please.”

As her attention was on Rascal, Ceph fell silent in defence of the other wizard, but spotted that the envelope had flopped to the counter on her side. With his wand still in hand, he contemplated summoning it and making a run for it, but she rounded on him, and the envelope was shoved straight towards him.

"I would like you two to leave now.” She ordered, the earlier pleasantries stripped from her tone. Ceph did not entirely blame her. They were acting very oddly indeed. As he stared at her in surprise, she forced a smile onto her face. "Please.”
“Of - of course.” Cepheus muttered, pocketing his wand again. He seized the letter. “He didn’t mean you any harm Miss - he -“ meeting her gaze again, Cepheus realised his initial instinct to explain things was not the best plan. Shutting up was better before she called the Law Enforcement Patrol on them.

“Ras?” Cepheus addressed his conspirator, waving the envelope. “We need to go.” He stooped to pick up the red umbrella from the floor and uttered another apology, backing away between tables, colour tinging his cheeks. He’d not be able to come and get a coffee in here for some time.

And that was his writing hand, as well!

Rascal was trying rather hard to be brave by pretending the frighteningly able witch had not just broken the pinky on his left hand - she didn't even like being called a Cuttlefish, highest honour anyone could expect on this fine weekend! Cepheus had the right idea of course and the author made a hasty little bow before he used his other hand to push himself up across the counter.

"Farewell Miss Trumble! I'll see you for my Tuesday coffee!" he called out as he joined his date on their way out of Alohomocha, snatching the envelope from his nimble hands. As soon as they were out in the cold, Rascal looked down at his hand and let out a whimper.

His tiniest finger was slightly swollen, and positively out of order. In no way, shape or form was it going to be any good if he wanted to stick it out while having a good cuppa.

They slowed down, the drizzle having somewhat stopped, and were ambling at a reasonable pace once distant enough from Alohomocha. "Any good at fixing writer bones?" he asked before clumsily handling the letter he'd written to himself. "But later, words first, squirrels are waiting." Rascal tore the top of it and gently pulled out the yellow memo inside with his teeth.

Dear Cynric

what foolish venture, unwise task,
in which I hope your date will bask,
has led you to this thunder tree?
this burnt up fae whose soul is free?

but blackened trunk hides treasure - gold!
and innocence you once thought sold
lay at its port, as soon you'll see,
the seamstress has our magic'd key

Sincerely,
Cynric

"That is absurdly vexing of me..." he handed the memo to Cepheus and squinted up at a streetlamp, then past its brilliance at the cloudy skies. "The first bit is all a story I once wrote. There's a tree in Cumbria that was struck by lightning, they say the faerie who lived inside has had a wandering spirit ever since."

Rascal looked back down, scratching his chin and then wincing, having forgotten not to move his left hand. "But I suppose the witch Malkin has answers as to why we must seek it. Shall we accost her, as lobsters often say, with a bit more directness?"

Ceph breathed a sigh of relief on being outside and hoisted the red umbrella above them both again once Rascal had snatched the letter back. This was certainly turning into an eventful date.

"Any good at fixing writer bones?”
“I can certainly try-.”

But Rosier’s attention was on the contents of the envelope he tore open and dismantled with his teeth and right hand.
"That is absurdly vexing of me…” Ceph reached for the parchment card and read through swiftly, though his companion began to explain as he reached the end. "The first bit is all a story I once wrote. There's a tree in Cumbria that was struck by lightning, they say the faerie who lived inside has had a wandering spirit ever since.” He had to remember that Rascal had written these clues himself some time past to create this hunt. At least he didn’t have to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of Rascal’s back catalogue to figure them out on his own, dancing to Rosier’s tune.
“And you’ve hidden something in it - on the right hand side?” Ceph pointed out the line with ‘port’ with one finger, the rest gripping the umbrella handle. He had supposed might be to do with the sides of a boat. “Do trees have a right hand side…?” He uttered quietly to himself, eyes sliding to his left as he considered.

"But I suppose the witch Malkin has answers as to why we must seek it.” Ras quickly picked up, "Shall we accost her, as lobsters often say, with a bit more directness?”
“By which you mean not pickpocketing the witch?” Cepheus grinned, “otherwise she might sew your fingers together.” They set off in the right direction with haste, skipping across cobbles. “Here,” Ceph called as they hurried along, "do you want me to fix that for you before it swells up like a sausage?” He wasn’t sure if his date had heard in their excitement to pursue the next clue, so hoisted the umbrella a little higher above their bobbing heads as they wound through evening pedestrian traffic towards the seamstress’ premises. He only hoped she was still open, or at home.

His relish of the nautical theme was most infectious and Rascal grinned at his date's conjecture, shaking his shoulders in delight at the very idea. Port! Yes, better port than starboard but there was no front or back to trees so they would have to sort that out once the matter was reached.

He was hardly abashed about poor Emeline Trumble: even as his poor pinky was painfully cramped in an unnatural position. "We will ask like the gentleman sailors that we are," he confirmed.

"Here, do you want me to fix that for you before it swells up like a sausage?” the offer hadn't been missed the first time, only the pain had been fresher and easier to ignore. Swimming through the weekend evening crowds to reach dear Malkin did make his injury feel even more uncomfortable, and so the author nonchalantly offered his hand to Cepheus.

Palm downwards, a smear of ink visible just underneath his cuff. He pushed their shoulders together and drew slowly to a halt just in front of the shop - all dark but for a dim light somewhere deep inside.

"Do your sausages swell up too then?" Rascal teased the other wizard's phrasing with a quick, whetted smile quirking one corner of his lips. "I do love my wand hand and would be very grateful. Who's to say what magic we'll need ahead of us?"

At his renewed suggestion, Rascal offered his maimed hand to Ceph to examine. He handed the author the umbrella handle and very gently took the hand in his left palm. With a concerned glance to his companion, Cepheus was about to cast when Rascal interrupted,
"Do your sausages swell up too then?”

Ceph’s mind hastily focused on a pan of frying sausages, brushing aside a more suggestive image.
“Depends how I treat them, and you’re meant to prick them…”

He winced at the phrasing, the thought he’d pushed aside was tainting his suggestions. Shaking his head he flicked his wand precisely, uttering episkey under his breath. Cepheus breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Rascal’s finger right itself - he always had a little concern he might make matters worse when healing others.

The act of healing was but a comma in the whole proceedings of the evening. Malkin’s looked shut up for the night, not surprising given the time.
“Closed for the night - but maybe someone inside.” Cepheus remarked, heading for the door which was indeed locked. He glanced to Rascal, wand still in his hand, and hammered on the door, pressing his ear against the glass to listen for a reply.

Anything for a friend! Cora had happily chirped when Rascal asked her to hold onto a clue?  She had learned not to ask questions when it came to Rascal.  So, she stayed late and continued to work on one of the dresses that had been commissioned – a wedding coming up for a terror of a bride and Cora found it hard to waste her time actually working on it when she wasn’t forced to be at the shop. 

Who wanted an orange taffeta underskirt anyway? 

Cora wouldn’t begrudge the bride what she wanted her on “her special day,” but it was the oddest thing she’d ever heard desired.  She would have accepted a black wedding gown before this – at least that was chic.  Taking a step back from the dress form, she wrinkled her nose.  “I guess that’ll do,” she appraised.  It wasn’t exactly what the artist in her wanted, but it was what the customer service side of her had to provide. 

Thankfully, the weariness brought on by the dismal gown was lifted when there was a rapid and loud knock at her door.  Oh! She needed to grab that envelope.  Dashing from the back and into the show room of the store, Cora whisked it off the desk on the way and waved her wand to unlock the door.  “Greetings!” she called out cheerfully, “and welcome to Malkin’s!” She stood with her arms outstretched, the envelope resting on her palms.  “Need an after hours special?” she asked with a giggle and a wink.  She could improvise too!