28 September 2011
4am
#76, The Shodding Arms Hotel

Nate Briggs was sunk deep into his well-used bed in his corner flat on the top floor of Knockturn's least condemned hotel. He was not dreaming; it was only the heavy clean blackness of deepest sleep. The sleep of a man who loved sleep. The sleep of a man who didn't have to work until 2pm tomorrow, of a man who'd only gone to bed two hours ago.

But it was a sleep that could not last, a sleep that would perish in stabbing calamitous cacophony! Oh, absit omen. Why not let the mage sleep?

The noise that awoke Nate roused him to high but bleary alert. He tried at the same time to rise and reach for his wand, the result being the scrambling tangle of a new-dropped goat. The wand skittered to the floor, and a blanket was wrapped around his foot.

"Daz! Daz!"

He shouted his long-absent wife's name. Was he alerting her of the disturbance or asking if it was her returned home?

Xavier was drunk.

Which to be honest was not something out of the ordinary these days. One of the major appeals about being an adult - when one was a teenager - was having the freedom to do as one wishes. Though as an almost rite of passage, for those transitioning from teenager to adult, is to discovering that freedom also meant there wasn't anyone there to keep you from doing something stupid either.

Xavier was currently in the process of learning that lesson. Since graduating Hogwarts he had been trust into adulthood with more responsibilities and power than he ever thought he'd have. He now owned his own manor, equipped with a full staff and a major magical corporation that brought him in more galleons than he could ever spend in his life. Not to mention a recent heartbreaking split from his girlfriend which had led the former Slytherin to indulging whenever he had the chance.

Tonight's indulgence had led him to Knockturn Alley, so sloshed he had stopped thinking hours before. He couldn't really remember coming to the Shodding Arms or why he had gone there in the first place. A half remembered memory and a longing driving him. It wasn't until he saw the number on the door that he made the connection - Dazmond.

Daz had been one of Xavier's first crushes on an older woman. Much like Liadan, he had met Dazmond through his uncle and working summers as a bus boy at the Black Chimera. There was also a ghost of a memory, something that flitted away each time he tried to hold into it, like seeing something out of the corner of your eye.

There was a winter, snow, pain and Dazmond's beautiful features. He knew, or least his sober mind knew, that it was something his Grandfather had removed when he obliviated him. Under the influence it had caused a longing he didn't quite understand, nor did he think he wanted to. All that mattered was that Daz was associated with comfort and That's what he needed.

He realized he had been knocking, perhaps banging, on the door to her apartment. He watched his scarred hand strike the wood and found his voice, trying not to make it sound threatening - his Scottish Brogue harder to understand than usual, "Daz! DAZ! Ye wake?!"

As the seconds ticked onward, Nate regained his lucidity. Someone was at the door. What time was it? His first thought was Aurors. His second thought was to go out the fire escape. His third thought was to put on pants, then go out the fire escape. He stumbled across the single room flat, wrapping a blanket around his lower half as he went.

His wand arm ready, he looked through the peep hole.

Who the hell was that? There was a drunk Scottish kid with black hair standing on his mat, near weeping for Dazmond. Now, that was a sentiment that Nate could certainly relate to; hadn't everyone wept for Dazmond perchance once in a lifetime? It wouldn't be clear to Nathan for a number of days why he opened the door. He'd realize he'd opened the door against risk of threat or arrest in some kind of offering to their mutual intercessor, his ethereal spouse. In some kind of compassion for another lost child.

But he did open the door, and the kid did enter, and he did smell. He smelled like a lot of booze.

Nate kept his wand ready with one hand, and with his other, held up his blanket. "What do you want. She's not here."

As soon as the door opened Xavier stumbled into the flat. He plopped himself down on the nearest flat surface regardless of whether or not it was meant to be sat upon. He looked at Nate sideways and without anything more intelligent to say, simply stated, "yer not Daz."

"What do you want. She's not here."

"Oh." He looked around the flat as if he was certain she'd walk into the room at any moment, before settling back on Nate, "I know ye?" It was posed as a question. The last time he had stayed with Dazmond, Nate had been in Azkaban. Then again, Xavier didn't actually remember the near two weeks he had been hiding out here before being whisked back to school. He felt like he should know the bloke in front of him, though.

"Daz still live 'ere?" It seemed strange to him, as addled as his thoughts were at the moment, that Dazmond wasn't there so late at night. This had been her apartment, though he hadn't seen or written to her in years. It was completely possible she had moved. But then why had he let him in?

He watched the boy stumble in and take up residence in the good chair, disturbing a stack of old Daily Prophets.

"No please, make yourself at home," Nate mumbled and gestured vaguely with his wand. Then he went and closed the door back up. One dampened stray was enough for now.

One of the beautiful things about Nate's dedication to his Dazmond was that he was No Rat, and didn't liberally spread around things he may or may not know about her whereabouts, activities, or associates. Did she still live here? Of course, she did. As much as she ever had.  If she ever really did. Or she'd ever really not. There wasn't really a way to answer that.  So he didn't.

"I'm called Nate, but, let's talk about you first. What's your name and what do you want from Dazmond?" His tone was casual, a contrast to the peculiar affair.

If there as some hidden meaning to this encounter, he hoped the Fates would make it plain sooner or later. If this really was something about Dazmond, he wanted to hear it. Despite the rude awakening, something interesting was happening and he could spare a few winks as long as it stayed that way.

"Nate." Xavier rolled the name around in his head. He felt like he should know it but he couldn't quite put his wand on it. He examined the older man in front of him. He looked scrappy and a little skittish - though that could entirely be due to the complete stranger sitting in his livingroom.

"Me name's Xav." Happy to be introducing himself as something other than Master Wentworth, "Daz is a friend o' mine. Met 'er through me Uncah Cinaed." It had been so long since he had heard from his uncle he had all but completely cut himself off from that part of his life. Afterall he was an up and coming business man with a massive fortune, he didn't really need to be connected to his career criminal family tree.

"She's always bin nice ta me. Jus, jus wan'd ta see 'er, is all." A darkness came over his expression, one of sadness rather than danger. He was lost in more ways than one and it was starting to show, especially after a bottle or two.

The youth's slurred and Scottish mumblings weren't immediately parsed by Nate's sleepy ears, but a familiar word came through loud and clear.

Cináed.

Nate went cold, stepped back, and leveled his wand again at 'Xav' once more.

Uncle Cináed.

Nate flicked his wand at his front door and the locks slid closed with a series of clicks, and at the same time he went to one of the windows and looked down into the street. It was dead still other than the rain. He drew the curtains.

Even though Nate's debt to Cináed Tawse was paid, there was still plenty of reason for Nate to stay well out of his way. Things had been stirring up at the Black Chimaera again and there was nothing at all hopeful about that.

"Look, we all want to see Dazmond, sweetie, but she's not here and so you can't."  There was nothing immediately threatening about the kid, other than his unfortunate relation, Nate didn't want to chance it.

"Your uncle, he doesn't know you're here, does he?"

Xavier jumped when Nate suddenly drew his wand. His brow furrowed as he watched the older wizard fuss about, locking doors and shutting his curtains. What in the world was he playing at? Was it something he said?

A small frown crossed his lips when it was reiterated that Dazmond definitely wasn't there. Had he been more sober he likely would have taken his leave right then and there. After all Nate wasn't the one he had come to see.

At his next inquiry Xavier let out a wry laugh. So that's why he was so skittish. At least it explained the sudden compulsion to shutter them in. Xavier shook his head, "Know ah'm 'ere? I doubt Cinaed knows ah'm even alive." He looked over to the stack of daily prophets he had initially knocked over when he sat down. He began to absently rifle through them.

" 'aven't seen thee bast'rd since thee bloody Aurors blew up me house fightin' 'im." Since then there were rumors that the Black Chimaera was up and running again but the former Slytherin hadn't bothered to find out if any of them were true. He was still angry at his uncle for making him homeless, not to mention that the fight likely got his mother killed. No one had heard from Athalia Tawse since then and years had already gone by.

Xavier gave him a wicked smirk, " 'e afta ye or sumthin'?"

Nate progressively relaxed as the soggy nephew told his tale of deranged Cináeds and hex-happy Aurors. He sat himself down on the edge of his bed, and rubbed his face with both hands. The adrenaline was beginning to fade out a bit and his body remembered how tired he was. But he was up. There'd be no getting back to sleep for awhile.

"Nah, probably not."

An honest and comforting answer, actually. Things had been quiet.

He looked on the kid again. "How old are you anyway? Where'd you come from?"

Nate meant where'd he come from tonight, like, just now.

"You want something to eat? I think there's a house elf."

It was weird actually. There was nothing luxurious at all about the Shodding (or Sodding, depends on who you ask) Arms. It was falling a part, held together by cobwebs and curses. All manner of beasties infested the now empty catacombs that were the kitchens and ballrooms of the once grand lower levels. And lately, a mad house elf. Wasn't clear who its master was, but they did a favor now and then. Nate hesitated to take advantage - for ethical reasons but also out of concern for his safety - but one of out five times he got a decent pastie.  (Once, when he'd asked for a Daily Prophet, the little creep delivered one from 1917.)

Xavier could see the older man relax some. Which in the end was a good thing. He didn't think he could stand up anytime soon and he didn't need a jumpy companion for the night (or was it morning?) Hearing that Cinaed wasn't likely after Nate was oddly comforting. His current excursion was to find Dazmond. He didn't need that interrupted by his uncle suddenly showing up - however unlikely that actually was.

Xavier raised his eyebrows when he was asked his age. He looked a little older than he actually was but it was obvious he wasn't as old as the other man in the room. He gave a slight shrug and rifled the Daily Profits again pulling one from the pile, "Eighteen." There was a slight indignation to his voice, that was usually reserved for those that postulated that he was too young to be so sloshed.

"Jus' aroun' he know?" He tossed the Daily Prophet pointedly at the nearest table, "Surprisin'ly a giant empty mansion is ratha lonely."

He waved his host off, "nah mate, put anythin' in me stomach, I'll likely start bokin'."

He leaned back in the chair and looked over Nate again, "how'd ye end up wit Daz anyway? She seems like thee free spirit type."

Eighteen? Bollocks, he was practically babysitting. What was kid this age doing pissed off his nut? In Nate's distant youth, the only way he found himself in such a state was surrounded by rowdy mates, then it was directly to bed to pass out with shoes still on. There was nothing good that made someone drink alone.

A bite would help his stomach, but Nate wasn't his mother.

Dazmond again? Nate sighed and rubbed his face. He didn't want to talk about Dazmond. He never wanted to talk about Dazmond.

"We were friends at school," he grumbled. "Found each other again later. She comes and goes, I don't. Whatever this is, works for us."

Nate knew that the more people knew about he and Daz, the less they understood them. Their prolonged separations were perceived as disinterest, perhaps evidence of infidelity; but there was nothing to it. This little blighter, he wouldn't ken and it was none of his business.

Thinking of Dazmond, Nate got up and went to the bathroom and filled a mug with water. Despite his initial impulse not to take care of Xavier Tawse, Dazmond would have. He set it down on the table next to young Tawse.

"Why'd you get this bolloxed? Not drinking alone. Never a good idea."

Xavier's eyes were heavy though he kept them focused as best he could on Nate. He listened to his short story. It was obvious the other wizard didn't like talking about it. Or perhaps he just didn't like a drunk ass kid inquiring about his absent wife. In any case Xavier felt a familiar pang in his chest, "Believe it or not, mate. I know wha' tha's like." Though he was still considerably young and his live life wasn't exactly extensive, the way Nate talked about Dazmond - he couldn't help thinking about a certain turquoise haired Hufflepuff.

Although he had dismissed food he took the water and guzzled half of it down. Though thinking wasn't his strong suit right now he had been in this condition often enough to know he needed to take at least some kind of care of himself.

He shrugged again letting his eyes close a bit longer than a standard blink, "beats sum alternatives." He subconsciously rubbed at the scars on his knuckles, "I know wha' this looks like, yeah?" He sat up a little straighter, "punk arse kid, comes outta nowhere lookin' fer yer wife. Drunk off 'is arse cause he donnea know how ta deal wit thee dumpsta fire 'is life 'as become. Bout right?"

Notched up knuckles were a physical elaboration on what the kid's 'alternatives' to self-abuse by alcohol. Nate frowned, having a little bit of sympathy for him. Lots of people turned to self-destruction, and Nate was no exception routinely drawn to dangerous people and dangerous situations, dragging himself kicking and screaming back on a path that would result in courts, convictions, and confinements.

Xavier made a guess at Nate's perception of their current encounter. Nate mirrored his posture, posting up against the wide window sill. He nodded.

"That's about right."  Nate had no suspicions about Daz's relationship with this kid, and honestly it was becoming clear: she'd probably cared for him like a stray pup. She did that.

"What does a punk arse kid have to be dismal about? Sad about your N.E.W.T.s, girlfriend cut you loose? Boyfriend?" There wasn't a need to be mean, but sometimes Nate didn't care to be tender.

Xavier let out a bark of a laugh when Nate confirmed his suspicions about their encounter. If he was sure he could stand up without either falling over or throwing up he likely would have left at that moment. In his current state he was stuck and left until he sobered up or Nate kicked him out. The latter being the more likely scenario at this point.

His laugh was almost rye as Nate tried to pick him apart. He didn't exactly blame him. In the grand scale of things what troubles did an Eighteen year old really have compared to the rest of the world, "Nah mate, I aced me NEWTs. I'm actually 'bout thee richest arsehole in all o' England righ' now thank ta a Pegasus stampin' me Grandfatha ta death." Despite how it may have sounded, it was obvious in his tone that there was no love lost between him and Arathorn. If anything, he was only upset that it had happened so soon. The conivving bastard should have had another thirty to fifty years in him.

"But yea' me girl left me. 'Er job was more important. All thee money in thee world couldn't've made 'er stay." For a moment her adverted his eyes and slowly sipped his water. He didn't like thinking about Jordyn. Especially while he was this intoxicated.

He decided to change the subject and pointed at Nate, "Ye know, yer thee second person ta ask me 'bout a boyfriend." He smirked and shook his head before opening his arms wide, "Issit sum kinda vibe I give off?"

Nate remained where he was, leaning against the wall at the window, keeping half an eye out on the street. An old habit. Half a thought was on Xavier's talk of women and money. He had it wrong in a way that would warp the rest of his life, if he wasn't careful.

"Issit sum kinda vibe I give off?"

"Hm?" Nate was still having a little trouble with the depth of Xavier's sopping slur.

"Oh, erm, no mate, just trying to ..."

Be inclusive? He didn't know anything about this Tawse other than what he'd only just learned.

"Didn't want to assume. Look, I'll give you some free advice. Money? It's a waste of time. Coming from an arsehole who hasn't got hardly any most of the time..."  Nate shrugged at his surroundings, himself, his life.

"I don't think you're going to want to be with anyone who'd choose money over what she's passionate about."

Well, golly, Mr. Briggs, that was almost friendly.