Atticus strolled into Death & Co. in high spirits on one of his favorite days of the year. St. Patrick's Day was, of course, a celebration of drinking and Irishness. Irishity. Irishhood. At any rate, everyone was Irish on this day. It was in these high spirits that Atticus decided it was a lovely opportunity to drink and perhaps mingle with potential clientèle. He found that he'd been spending far too much time in Knockturn, whether by necessity or subconscious choice he was not sure. He did well with seedy crowds to be sure, however his talents extended beyond that. He firmly believed he could expand his business into Diagon Alley and beyond.

For the longest time, at least since he left school, he'd only dealt in information and the occasional gillyweed sale. By this time he had accumulated a nice black book of contacts in various fields and specialties. With this in mind, Atticus decided he would expand his business into being a 'fixer', for lack of a better term. Atticus wanted to be the man you called when you needed something fixed or needed to know things. This could be something as simple as resolving a dispute or as complicated as covering up a murder. He wasn't keen on committing any violent crimes directly, but with the right amount of coin he had no quarrels with covering them up. It an exceptionally thin moral grey area that he delighted himself in inhabiting.

He took a seat at the bar and immediately ordered a neat triple whiskey. He'd take his time drinking it, but he didn't want the hassle of ordering up a new one often. The bar was reasonably crowded for a late Saturday afternoon, though he expected it to get pretty busy pretty quick. It was great fortune that the holiday aligned itself with the weekend this year. He looked around and people-watched as he sipped his whiskey.

It was a rare thing for a vampire to mingle so openly among the rowdy fleshy living, especially in this economy where those of Lazarus Blackburn's kind were making headlines. But Lazarus was in a changing time, trying new things, stepping out, stepping around. More and more nights, leggy old Laz went walking about with a mission or without. The feast of St. Patrick provided the cover of a crowd at Death and Co.; it was easier to be invisible when you were just a pair of shoulders nudging through. The cigarette hanging from his lips was unlit. In care of their lungs, humanity saw fit to ban smoking in bars and Lazarus had the manners enough to cooperate.

There was nothing bottled behind the bar that Lazarus would enjoy, but a someone held some interest. Lazarus slid up next to him with unholy silence, back to the bar as not to bother the bartender. He slid his hat back further on his head and grumbled a humble greeting in a hoarse American accent.

"What do you here and there?"

Atticus had begun to stare into space with a blank expression on his face. He was lost in thoughts regarding the expansion of his business and consequently was not very aware of his immediate surroundings. When a gravely voice came out of nowhere, he jumped a little and his right hand twitched towards his wand. He turned his head to see a tall lanky American casually laying against the bar. How long had he been there?

He quickly composed himself and nodded his head towards the stranger. It wasn't unheard of to encounter an American in the Alley, considering it was as much a tourist location as the city was itself. What interested Atticus was that this man appeared to be a vampire. He hadn't ever counted one as a friend, but saw much opportunity in the idea. At any rate, he'd come by the bar to meet new people and this one was certainly new and strange to him.

"Roark." He said raising his glass a bit towards the man. "I'm a social organizer of sorts." He added a bit ambiguously. He'd decided that in places outside Knockturn, he should exercise a little more discretion about his work. While it had it's fair share of sneaks, he found the bravado and confidence helped him get clients. There was less to prove in Diagon and the world beyond, so being wiser with his revelations was the prudent thing to do.


 

He was just a kid this Atticus Roark, or so Lazarus realized as soon as he got the full force of him. Not more than twenty-five, still fresh and bright. Lazarus nodded to himself, looked away and fidgeted with the unlit cigarette.

"Mmm, thought so," he mumbled with a smile. Then he turned back to the human this time with a sparkling smile. "That's good - good to meet you. Good I found you. I'm Lazarus Blackburn."

He offered his pale and heavy left hand, trying to be pleasant in the way the living liked, but it was possible he'd overshot.

Atticus was a bit taken aback by the sparkling vampiric smile, but he took it in stride. He extended his hand and clasped the cold one presented to him and gave it two good shakes before he let it go. He was borderline neurotic about his handshaking - it said a lot about a person - but he'd settled on the 'strong grasp and two shakes' as the universally approved style. He hadn't known more than a dozen or so Americans in his life but they'd all seemed to like it.

"Good to meet you as well." He said with a smile as he leaned back onto his stool and grabbed his drink. After quick sip, he sat it back down and gave Lazarus his full attention. He noticed the man had an unlit cigarette and decided to implement the wandless parlor trick he used to light his own. "Do you need a light?" He offered, extending his hand as he snapped his fingers. At the tip of his index finger was a small flame, just enough to light some rolled plant matter. It'd come in handy before and he liked being helpful.

"What brings you to Death & Co tonight? I take it you're not much of a drinker." He said casually, catching the last word in his throat as he realized what he said. He added a chuckle for good measure at the irony.
 

Lazarus leaned forward and accepted the thoughtful gift of fire, taking the harrowing risk of a bartender catching him and (god forbid) pointing at a sign.

"Much obliged. A regular Promethus we've got over here."

He drew the smoke into his otherwise useless lungs which remembered far more smoke than a cigarette could provide, and pushed it all back out of his nose.

"What brings you to Death & Co tonight? I take it you're not much of a drinker."

This made Lazarus laugh, a low grinding sound. "I drink plenty, as a matter of fact. Nothing here though. Not lately, anyway. No, Mr. Roark, I am here for you. I heard you know a think or two. Then, old Laz has been wrong once or twice."

Atticus smiled as Lazarus took his light and leaned back. Things were off to a nice start. He watched his new acquaintance take a drag of his cigarette.

"I drink plenty, as a matter of fact. Nothing here though. Not lately, anyway. No, Mr. Roark, I am here for you. I heard you know a think or two. Then, old Laz has been wrong once or twice."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Here for me, eh?" He said wryly with a smirk and a wink. Atticus was beginning to have a bit of a reputation for someone who can get things done or otherwise knows people who can. He'd worked for years to reach this point and it was paying off. He paused and took a long sip of his whiskey as he thought through how he wanted to respond.

"I've been known to know things." He said nebulously as he sized up the stranger a second time. Was this visit going to lead to something potentially unsavory or was this an innocent inquiry? He wasn't a betting man so he decided to wait and see. "Is there something I might be able to assist you with, Mr. Blackburn?" He asked as he cocked his head in interest.

Atticus Roark knew himself. Good news. Lazarus appreciated this because he didn't have to explain Roark to Roark. They could get on with it.

"That's good, that's good," he said and turned to tap on the bar with muted enthusiasm. "A very helpful little pup. Try this one:"

Lazarus leaned close - very close. "What do you know about the Hollowreds?"[1]

The coven had become interested in them since they'd found out about their 'hobby' of acquiring and collecting their kind's things like they were baseball cards and doing it with impunity. Someone needed to teach them to look not touch.

1.	The Hollowreds are a wealthy 'new money' magical family who collect vampire memorabilia and were recently burglarized, but they did not report it because it's not exactly 'couth' to collect such things. But feel free to riff.

Atticus was a bit startled by how quickly the gentleman beside him moved in. He took it in stride as best he could, knowing he was now fully engaged in information broker mode. This was where the fun began.

He raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Hollowreds. He had indeed heard of them - how could he not've? They were a reputable family that had moved from the Americas about a half century ago. Atticus clicked his tongue in thought. "There's a few things to know..." He began slowly, reveling in the moment as he thoroughly enjoyed displaying his knowledge. The Ravenclaw in him shone brightly.

"Publicly, they're a wealthy family living in Yorkshire. They're on the boards of both the National Museum of Wizarding History and Hector Harrison's Unfortunate Urchin Grant Foundation." He said as he observed the vampire for his reaction. "Philanthropy as well, the usual." He summarized succinctly as he took a sip of his drink.

"As far as the unusual goes... well." He said, taking another hearty sip of whiskey to empty the glass. He placed it back onto the bar and pushed it away with the back of his hand as he leaned in again. "They have quite the... interest in vampire memorabilia. Lineages, artifacts, what have you. I don't think that sort of thing is altogether uncommon with new money - you've got to show off your wealth somehow. Assuming you haveto show it off-" He said with a slight chuckle, "Most go for your typical dark artifact, something you'd find in Knockturn. This family is different."

Atticus studied the man's face. There was something about the look in his eyes that Atticus found unsettling. Having not held any sort of meaningful conversation with a vampire before, he wasn't sure if this was something inherent with the affliction or simply a characteristic of Blackburn. "I've also heard that people like yourself do not take kindly to non-vampires appropriating and even collecting artifacts that rightly belong to your people." He explained, frowning a bit as he did. "I certainly know Goblins are very contentious with the idea of their artifacts being bought and sold. Wars have been fought over it, et cetera." He added as he tried to get a grasp around what Blackburn might want from him. He'd given away a bit of his knowledge but sometimes that was needed to show that he knew his shit.

As soon as Atticus Roark began speaking, it was clear his reputation had been earned well early in his very short life. It was a curiosity, so resourceful the living were, wasting no time. Lazarus wondered if he'd been the same - he had to imagine so to have come to such a dramatic end, to be salvaged as he was. A quiet life had not led him here.

But he must wane the poetic thoughts for, as previously noted, life was short.  It was only polite.

"War, war, thunder and the roar," Lazarus hummed. He'd begun to say something when a sharp voice nearby interrupted them. Lazarus turned over his shoulder.

"Oi - put it out or you'll be out, right?"

The bartender didn't like Lazarus Blackburn's cigarette.  Not wishing to cause any trouble, Lazarus complied, dropping it into a wet-bottomed glass nearby.

Back to it.

"That's all very good as if to say all of that's despicable," Lazarus said with a curl to his lip, some of his amiability faded at discussion of the Hollowreds. Atticus Roark was right about how most vampires regarded collectors. "Who are their friends, I wonder, who'd be friends with a clan like them?"

Atticus frowned as the bartender chastised Blackburn for his cigarette. He'd always found a conversation went nicely with the acrid scent and burn of tobacco, but here we are. More important things were afoot, so he let it go.

As he refocused himself on the question at hand, Atticus shifted his position on the stool and put his foot on his knee as he leaned with one arm on the bar, head cocked to the side. It was a curious habit he'd had since he was a child. Other Ravenclaws would often joke when they saw him in this position at school, as it meant he was clearly thinking too hard on a trivial question. Atticus was a thoughtful person when the bravado was pushed aside.

"Well I suspect their reputation for collecting is fairly hush-hush. There's some even in high society who frown upon that type of thing. There's some humans among them, so to speak." He said as he repressed a chuckle. "The public persona of the Hollowreds is one of philathropy and stewardship of our history. There's less witches and wizards in this nation than you'd think, so it's safe to say anyone above a certain financial status at least knows them as acquaintances." Atticus mused as he stared at nothing in particular.

After a moment he turned his head and rotated his body back into normal sitting position. "I can and will dig up some more of course. All of this is just what I know off the top of my head. There's people I can reach out to who might have the answers you seek. I'm honestly a little curious about it myself, come to think of it." He summarized in an almost businesslike fashion. "What's the reason for your inquiry though..." He began, lowering his a voice a little and raising an eyebrow as he did. "Are you looking for something taken from you? Or simply outraged of the idea of what they do?"

Lazarus craned his neck to have a look at the top of Atticus's head, since he brought it up, and found it satisfactory. "Hmm."

It was about then that Lazarus noted that where once the bar had been shoulder to shoulder here near the bar, Lazarus and Atticus now had a healthy amount of elbow room. The vampire had become conspicuous. No matter how much Lazarus tried to make his heart beat, it simply would not and it tended to unsettle (even unconsciously) anything alive nearby. Oh, there would be no torches and pitchforks, but, unlike old Hook[1] Lazarus didn't glow in a spotlight.

For the moment, Atticus's question would need to stay hanging from the tree.

"I, um, left my motor running..." he said. "C'mon."

With a curiously smooth movement with a curiously strong motion, Lazarus sort of shouldered against Atticus as he led the way out of the bar out the front doors. Once outside, Lazarus lingered round a streetlamp and smiled in apology to his latest human attachment.

"Better to step out before I get too popular," he explained.

1.	Terrence Hooker

Atticus raised his eyebrows as his companion stood up and began to leave. He didn't think much of it, perhaps he wanted more privacy given the direction the conversation had been going. He followed Blackburn out of the building, lighting a cigarette as he did.

"Better to step out before I get too popular,"

Atticus nodded, frowning a bit at the idea. "Fair enough." He said as he took a glance around the somewhat busy alley - it was a holiday after all. "May I suggest we take a quick scroll to Knockturn - my flat is near the entrance and will provide us with a bit more privacy." He said as he rolled his shoulders back and stretched. While he did just meet this gentleman, he found himself feeling a level of kinship due to their mutual distaste of people like the Holloreds. He was quick with a wand if things went south, but he was confident they wouldn't. It was this keen sense of people's natures that allowed him to succeed in his line of business.

"Come." He said abruptly as began walking his way to Knockturn.

Lazarus grunted and grumbled some kind of agreeable affirmative. He loved when something unexpected happened, for the unexpected happened so rarely. Humans were predictable usually, and so they might know themselves, if they survived longer than a century more often.

He followed along, unworried by the silence, adopting a passably mortal gait, allowing his mass and volume to give his footsteps sound and make mark on the damp cobble stones. Their two sets of long strides halted at the door of Atticus Roark, and Lazarus watched a few extra paces away as the man unlocked his locks.

Whether it was tradition or a fundamental law of nature, Lazarus would await a proper invitation. Something tickled inside him, a sweet anticipation, not of business negotiations but the thrilling strangeness of being asked inside.