The news of Cuffe’s return had reached Witch Weekly HQ, and thus, Queen G, at precisely 9:12 in the morning. The emotions came in a mixed wave of confusion. There was, of course, relief. The fact that Cuffe hadn’t been found dead was obviously superb. The fact that, in all of her own personal drama and the recent cohabitation with her long estranged husband, she’d quite pushed his disappearance to the back of his mind, caused guilt. One emotion reigning above the rest, however, was a slowly simmering anger. Barney Cuffe had clearly upped a left, not a word to a soul, not even to his rival come friend come whatever they were. No, he’d not bothered to warn anyone, and had just disappeared into the ether like some selfish and ignorant troll. A gargoyle. Like the gargoyle paperweight she recalled he had sat on his desk for target practice.

After hours of stewing on the news, it was precisely 9:16 in the evening when Gen informed her husband that she needed to see to something, and much to his irritation, she left via the flat door to a question of “why now?”

The home of Agatha Pendragon and Barnabas Cuffe was large and elegant. Gen, having lived in a flat of some sort since she was 16 years old, had never understood the need for one couple to have so much living space. This couple, however, were ridiculous eccentrics so it only figured that their house was equally so.

A knock knock at the door and a good minute or so later, it was slowly opened to reveal the tall slim figure of Agatha Pendragon, Cuffe’s judging, celebrity wife.
“So, you’re not dead then.” Gen remarked, swifting her weight onto left hip. Gen wasn’t dressed for work or company this evening. Instead, she had some simple blue jeans on and a baggy t-shirt covered by a set of black wizarding robes. On her feet, rather than heels, she wore a pair of white trainers.

Agatha made some comment about dropping by unannounced, Gen asked where Barney was, yadda yadda. Long story short, but a short while later, Gen was sat at the breakfast bar in Cuffe’s kitchen with a glass of wine waiting for the man to return from work.

It was precisely 9:58 in the evening when Barney Cuffe appeared into the fireplace and gracefully stepped into the kitchen. Gen turned on the barstool and hopped off, eyes raking over him. He was paler than usual, much like his wife, but apart from that, nothing out of the ordinary.

“You had Thursby in a right tizz, you old crust bucket. I’d never had you down as a coward.”

"She's wearing blue jeans," Agatha informed her husband as soon as he appeared, as if he could not see. It was important Genevieve not have the last first word of this reunion. Agatha, enveloped in extant velvet from the 1920s, had checked in on their guest on an off for the last forty minutes, sort of skimming the edges of the kitchen, making little comments having missed actively disliking the witch during their exile.

Barnabas Cuffe looked a sort of graceful, dapper catastrophe, his white-grey hair wild, his bespoke cravat loosened, his one-of-a-kind shoes scuffed. He stepped out of the large fireplace, dropped his suit jacket over a chair and picked up his smoking jacket. He fumbled this last part looking between Agatha's manic smugness and, well, yes, Genevieve Garcia-Gamp calling him a coward.

"Coward?" he sniffed. He had more to say, but Agatha interrupted, again.

"Cowardly was that spread on the summer collections. Corsetry for June? Oh my god." Agatha laughed. She'd taken the Witch Weekly at their secret hole at Camden Town Hookers - she'd taken anything there was, anything to survive the ordeal of being in the dark.[1] Cuffe had just spent the entire day back at the helm of his ship, the Daily Prophet, deflecting questions from all the nosy no-talents who certainly didn't have questions about how they'd continued to be paid! Now, he'd expected to come home and have a proper sleep in a proper bed without worry that a vampire would change his mind about a contract! But no. Genevieve was here.

"Has she been squatting here this whole time? Check the wine cellar, Agatha. See that she's left us something." He said this as much at Genevieve as to her.

1.	17 August 2012 - From Beneath The Earth

Agatha Pendragon clearly wasn’t satisfied with having spent the past several months locked up in exile with her elderly husband, she had to barge in and give her unsolicited comments too. Gen may have cut her down with a few comments of her own had she not been just a little smug at the fact that Cuffe’s stuck up skinny wife had been fingering the pages of Witch Weekly while cast out in darkness. It was apt, really, that Cuffe’s wife had taken such a distinct interest in his former employee’s little ant hill.

Cuffe started talking about squatting and wine, and Genevieve grinned. This was the sort of energy that she might have thrived on over the past several months of having Leo back in her life. But no, he’d upped and left with no trace.
“Welcome back.” she said. There was a moment’s pause before Gen even surprised herself.

Leaving her wineglass on the kitchen counter, she stepped up to Cuffe and hugged him.