Nearly 7.30pm at Tipple's coffee bar


       "The way I-- hey, Soma, listen up!" Zuzu[1] nudged her as he slid back into his seat, carrying a jug of long island iced tea. "I said, the way I see it, they're just prolonging the inevitable. That's a good line, right?"

Soma and her fellow Futurists had taken up a scattering of tables at the end of the busy coffee bar, which was a popular spot for this kind of thing. It was still too early to be really busy so she wasn't worried about people being unable to find them.

The bartender had agreed to stick a copy of their flyer[2] in the window, just in case.

"It's standard," she replied wryly to Tiberius as she unzipped her jacket - it was getting hot in here. "You got to really sell it. Like, why is this future, our future, inevitable? Give examples, babe."

They were about half a dozen of them now, chatting among themselves. It was all very casual and easygoing.

Soma had gotten the galleons she needed from the society treasurer but this had been heavily supplemented by her father and some of his Futurist friends. They knew she was doing important work, getting people interested.

Zuzu poured out a glass, sliding it over to her with a roll of his eyes. "I'm telling you, half the work's done soon as they step through those fucking doors."

He was confident. Maybe too confident, thought Soma, but she liked him. Even if he ran with the queer freaks. At least he had his other views in order.

1.	Tiberius Xu
2.	30th May - The Futurist Society: Open to All

Frank came into Tipple's from the rainy day and charmed his jacket dry and sent his green umbrella to hang. He'd seen the Futurist Society flyers but hadn't carved out time for it. He'd wanted to show up prepared for the discussion, but also he'd found Knareswick to be cutthroat. Everyone seemed a little bit scared for their lives, or pretending they weren't. It was just so competitive. But Frank was slowly but surely rising to the occasion, thickening his skin, and getting his hands dirty. It was clear that this was how to be successful at this level.

He recognized Tiberius Xu, Zuzu, because he was in an adjacent field. Soma Adarshpal, he knew her from school. And that was Mortem Muskowitz, Frank had seen him at talking with his sorcerer's teaching assistant, Gabriela Silva, who hated Frank. Great. A warm bunch. Whatever, Frank said. He has as much right to be here as anyone. They all believed in (or were at least interested in) the same thing.

"Hi," he said upon approach and pulled out the chair that was free next to Soma. There was a pitcher on the table and empty glasses.

"Sellafax, or something," Mortem supplied to the others. "He's in with the pots."

"Sellaphix, actually." Frank corrected without being prickly. He hung his bag on the chair and took out a pencil and tiny beatup moleskine sort of notebook. "I saw the flyer, I've been busy."

"Another win for graphic design," Mortem mused.

"Well, it said the drinks were free," Frank tried to be glib.

Between hanging with Feliks[1] and the subsequent chat she hoped to have with Molly King, Grin had the interim of about half a month. She was glad of the time:  her former school chum had given the wix more than a few things to mull over. Options, encounters, opportunities. And few things enabled a proper think the way a good wander did.

Having been southbound for a while and most recently nearer busy cities, the Scottish border seemed ideal. Nothing like green, wild, rugged land to set a soul at peace. By the end of a week and a half, however, she found herself in need of a restocking. Not surprising, she supposed, after she and Feliks had made themselves quite the picnic. No matter:  she had yet to check out Candlestick Row properly. Now was as good a time.

Rain cooled the day gloriously (what adventurous weather! Anything might happen), so Grin wound her hair into a bun and threw a light hooded cardigan on over her expandable wrist bag. There was something terribly cozy about a deep-hooded cardigan on a peopled road, as though one were both with others and alone.

Shopping accomplished, a drink and something to eat was next on the itinerary. Huh... coffee shop. Not her preferred beverage, but certainly a pleasant aroma - and with the promise of accompanying sweets. Did they do sandwiches?

Momentarily more interested in the menu's potential, Grin barely noticed the flyer or other patrons. She approached the counter as her stomach rumbled quietly. Wait a tick... "Excuse me. Did I see something about a free drink?"

1.	And you let the river run wild.

A warmed cider was clutched between Fletcher’s cold and frigid fingers. His weekend was usually full of childcare, but he’d been in Edinburgh to procure a few local ingredients for Level 9, and stayed overnight to catch breakfast with an old school friend.

Tipple’s wasn’t where he planned to be, but he’d seen the flyer pinned in one of the apothecaries he was perusing. Fletcher was over the hill, but liked to delude himself in staying “hip” with the young crowd. He’d thought to himself that maybe if he knew a thing or two about Knareswick Phrontistery and/or Futurism he’d have something to talk to his nephew[1] about.

Young academics swarmed and chattered enthusiastically to one another as he leaned against the counter top. He took a sip of his personally paid for warmed cider and turned to the blindingly bright haired young women. “If I can opine; the soft pretzel’s are divine. Mustard is all you need with it.” She didn’t ask for his opinion, but he decided to provide it anyway.

He cut in front of the quasi-child[2], who was still looking at the menu, “I’ll order three large pretzel baskets for the Futurist group. Throw in a few other pastries. Yes, yes. On my tab.” The best way to people’s hearts was through their stomach. He felt like he was cheating, but who didn’t want to be the popular uncle?

Fletcher grabbed the ticket for the order and headed towards the crowd of young people.

1.	Nyx Oscuro
2.	Do young people keep getting younger or am I getting older? he thought

Philo tried to consider what was stranger. That he had taken up Phaëthon Artifice's offer to refine the Irregularity Camera. Or that, seemingly out of the blue the co-founder that was another apprentice, Casey O'Doherty, asked him about what he thought of Futurism. Philo was much in the same thoughts as the other founder, Alvis Norling; the question of how magic and technology could be brought together. Casey indicated the fliers, inviting Philo along after talking of business.

"What were your years like with Miss Adarshpal?" Philo's aloof new patron asked as they approached Tipple's.

"At Hogwarts, you mean?" Philo shrugged, yawning. "She was as smart as Eirene Antonopoulos but got all uppity real quick. I sat some of Sorcerer Márquez's lectures for the historical context with my field. Soma's is Architecture. Yet not an ounce of recognition that we shared a dorm for several years."

Casey nodded, a half smile soon fading as he pulled down his mirrored sunglasses to gaze down the lane. "Oh blast. I hope she's not coming inside as well."

"Who?" But Philo was ushered inside. He hadn't come by Tipple's frequently, he liked stepping outside Candlestick Row for muggle barista options. Well, he used to. The society from Knareswick looked to have quite a turnout already. The girl with white hair seemed familiar, not so with the bearded man ordering pretzel baskets for the table.

"Ugh," O'Doherty's disdain made Philo wonder if the older apprentice actually wanted to be here. The Spellcasting major snapped his fingers, summoning a few coins to his right hand. "For the next round. Get yourself a strong coffee, Falkin, you look as tired as shite."

"Thanks, I guess?" Philo wished Norling would have attended but he didn't fancy large crowds these days.

"Ask if the preztels are gluten free," Casey sat down at a table outside the assembled group. "And bring back the change."

Well, obviously, it'd be rude not to. Philo shook his head. How did a rich prat like O'Doherty never succumb to the Knareswick fatigue brought on by the Phrontistery's competitive academia? At least Philo could spot a friendly face in Frank Sellaphix, stopping by his end of the table before he joined the queue.

"Hey Frank, you alright?" Philo greeted Sellaphix. "Shame to hear about your family's place targeted with those robberies reported in the Prophet."[1] Philo looked a mite pale himself, dark and puffy under his eyes, robe starched along the collar.

1.	Apothecaries Beware: Burglaries Still Unsolved - Jun 16 2018

"Heeeey Frank," she greeted in an almost friendly voice, exchanging a look with Zuzu when they both saw the notebook. "Let's pour you a glass."

Under the table, Soma stepped on Mortem's foot without looking at him. They were trying to get people involved and Sellaphix was the kind of person who might fit with the group. He had brains and Futurism was the smart, logical choice of the future.

Xu gave the pitcher a tap so that it lifted itself to serve Frank a drink. Dad told her to be nice. You had to be nice and stick together, he said, when you're a minority ideology.

And as if to punctuate this, the gods sent an Old Man to join them. She could feel Zuzu sit up straight.

       "Hey! You're Greene, right?" Tiberius exclaimed, moving over to make room for the wizard. "My mom works with you I think, on nine."

"Oh cool, an Unspeakable." Soma interjected. "We tried sending flyers to the Ministry but there's some, like, bullshit rule[1] now about recruitment material?"

In the corner of her eye she clocked some other people joining, including an inbred-looking white guy who luckily took a seat at another table. At any rate, she was occupied complaining about the Ministry.

"We're not like those extremists in France," she continued as the pitcher poured out more drinks for the others. "I mean, we're just here to talk. Why are they so afraid of our ideas?"

Best to get the whole Paris incident out of the way first.

1.	23rd Jan - Don't Sit On It - new policy after the Ministry sit-in

The pleasant voice to the side of her had Grin pulling down her hood to have a better look at the slightly shorter man. Kind face, she thought. Friendly. "Pretzels, you say?" That did sound really good. And his statement about them rhymed, so how could she resist? She moved aside a bit to let the man order, smiling a bit. Jolly decent of him to buy for others - hang on...

"Futurist group?" She tilted her head, glancing around the room properly. A fair few more people than she'd noticed before were in the coffeehouse - most young, interestingly. Several Hogwarts alumni not much older than... oh.

That oh embodied two specifics. Firstly, as in Oh, those flyers. And secondly, as in some of those faces were not... immediately her favorite. Soma Adarshpal. Joy. Memories of that one were not the fondest. Maybe the older girl had become somewhat less abrasive than when at school, but it would be a lie to say Grin was thrilled to see her.

Without waiting to see who else was at the table, Grin turned back to address the pretzel man... only... whoops, there he went. Right to that table. So Soma was one of these Futurists he'd mentioned? She wasn't so certain anymore that this was the place to nab a meal. Although, the scent of pretzels was pretty tantalizing.

Well, she could stick around long enough to eat. Grin had never let a bully dictate her actions before, and she wasn't about to start now. She'd just focus on the menu, find a free table, have a quick bite, and move on.

"One pretzel, please, and the chicken salad half-croissant with a small butterbeer." Grin stepped aside to wait and let the next patron order. Tea was for atmospheres in which it was relaxing to linger; something in her gut told her that wasn't necessarily going to be the case here.

Others were joining and Frank was happy to see Philo Falkin. He thought that he should have invited him, and Tim Pepper, actually, but hindsight and all that.

"Yeah, it's a pretty shit situation," Frank admitted of the robbery in which he'd been tangled up. He didn't know if rumor had spread that he'd met the intruder, and he decided not to bring it up. He bit his lip, remembering the awful mouth-sealing hex.

Soma wasn't being hostile at all and Frank was grateful for that. Zuzu pouring him a drink made his cheeks a little hot, but he covered. Frank tried to ignore Mortem, who had no reason to dislike him other than Silva, and that was easy when a rambunctious older fellow showed up with a tray of food. Frank looked to Soma for some clue if this was the club dad or something, but she seemed to be meeting him for the first time.

"Futurism is hardly anti-werewolf," Frank agreed with Soma. It had taken Frank some time to come around about E.L.F. but it was no longer conscionable to assume the best of that group. It had helped that a wizard Frank much admired Hyperion Gamp had cut ties.

"But the reason is obvious, isn't it, why the Ministry wouldn't like it. They're primarily occupied with enforcing the statute. It'd be a massive re-org."

Youth had a vigor for righting the wrongs of their forefathers, and it filled Fletcher with pride that the youth of Knareswick were taking the mantel. He dropped off his cider and headed back to the counter to get the pretzels for the tables.

Fletcher grew up during the tenuous First Wizarding World, and kept his nose low through the Second Wizarding World to survive. Becoming an Unspeakable made him privy to information the general population would learn in due time. Frankly, the Futurist Movement wasn’t an area of concern for him with CAWW at their heels.

He offered a warm smile at Tiberius, “It is indeed, I. And you must be Titania’s son?” The last time he’d met him it was at a formal dinner get-together, and he recognized him for his mother’s features. Time. An illusion. It sped ahead.

Stacked small plates floated towards him and he grabbed them from the air. Distributing the plates, there was now drinks and a hardy carb to absorb it. “The pretzels are courtesy of the Futurist Society; everyone dig in!” He grabbed a few pretzel bites off the available plate and brought them over to the tall whit-haired women, before realizing that she already had a pretzel in front of her. “What do you think….?” A pause, “I’m Fletcher Greene.” Fletch popped a mustard-dipped piece of pretzel into his mouth.

Fletcher turned to listen to the academics talk about Futurism.

"They'll catch whomever was behind it, right?" Philo replied hopefully. With the Sellaphix Apothecary in a string of other burglaries, there was bound to be culprits arrested sooner or later.

Philo's face blanched further at the off-the-cuff mention of Futurists not being 'anti-werewolf.' No clue what conversation he was stepping into now anyways, he was feeling invisible on the edges of the group but he still had an order to place. It felt like pins had entered his skull. Philo was getting headaches more often, maybe he hadn't eaten enough today.

Joining the queue as the older chap brought pretzel baskets to the other tables, a gal close to his age ordered chicken salad croissant and Butterbeer. The shook of white was immediately placing. He caught her eye a moment before placing the order. "Are the pretzels gluten free? Okay, one basket of those an a chip buttie I guess, with a fried egg. London Fog, uh..."

O'Doherty hadn't specified a drink, and he didn't know what to suggest for gluten free options. "Just that then." As change was counted he turned back to the other woman. "Miss Hyde? Peregrine, isn't it? Philo Falkin, I was three years ahead of you in Ravenclaw." Hopefully enough to jog her memory, it had been years. After a youth with the gothic, albino aristocrat Canterbury in the house he hadn't missed when the white-haired dreamer like Grin was sorted. Hyde and Canterbury would have been quite unusual to see overlap.

The blonde apprentice angled his seat to see most of the gathering Futurist crowd for their drinks and conversation. Various types of conversation happened with the movement. Adapting to more muggle ideology was one thing. Hell, Casey had been as magic free as possible when adapting to summers of muggle living, as his alter ego, when keeping mother safe from the rest of the family. Seeing the issue from both sides served to reinforce the ideals of semi-isolation. His ire for those in the Futurist movement were ones that talked of abolishing the Statuette of Secrecy.

Several in Potion or Herbology crafts, oh joy, along with a few other disciplines. Adarshpal and other apprentice seemed stoked (not the best use of that word, ugh) with an Unspeakable, Mr. Greene entering the discussion.

"Not extremists, then," Casey said loudly to interject into the discourse. One hand twisted his folded sunglasses on the table. "It's still a massive change suggested, fully integrating the millions of non-magicals that outnumber us. It's like the young Sellaphix says, a massive re-org of the whole Ministry, which would actually require more oversight."

Casey had a harshly mirthful smirk on his face, setting up a challenge. "Not only can people with wands curse you seven ways to Sunday, turns out a whole bunch of fairytale monsters are also real. Werewolves, vampires, giants and so on. How do the masses take that news?"

Tiberius, bless his good head of hair, flashed the Unspeakable an involuntarily blushing grin. Titania. That was her name! Not just 'mom' or 'auntie' as Soma knew her.

Fletcher Greene was way older than everyone else but he was forgiven his age because he claimed the pretzels were from them, and he didn't seem to care about her critique of the Ministry.

Soma sipped - she had shite tolerance for alcohol, so she was always only sipping - her drink, nodding along to Frank's observation. And then an interruption from the next table over.

"Nobody says it has to happen overnight," she rolled her eyes at the blond boy.
       "Hey, draw up a fucking chair if you want to talk," Zuzu drawled. "Raised in a barn or what."

Soma not-so-subtly stepped on her friend's foot under the table. They were supposed to be playing nice! Tiberius cleared his throat to cover. "I mean, hey, we welcome spirited debate from newbies yaaaay...." he added in a laughing falsetto.

Charming, Xu.

"Anyway," she glanced back at Frank. "It isn't like the muggles were always ignorant. And I think they're more receptive to leaps of imagination than, like, some wixes are about muggle tech. We're in all their fairy tales. But how many of us know wixes who don't even understand how to use a telephone?"

Soma leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over another. "I mean, just saying. It's not only logistics, right? Magical society is afraid of its own ignorance."

She was trying to remember what all Feliks had mentioned to her about the Futurists. It wasn't that long since his visit, but certain moments of the afternoon had rather blurred in her memory.[1] Grin thanked the server as her food arrived and wasted no time sampling the pretzel. Merlin, that was good stuff. As she chewed, her eyes wandered back curiously toward the table in question. If she recalled, Grin could appreciate certain of what the Futurists wanted; she was less certain about others.

Oh, hullo! The pleasant man was back - and with an offering. Jolly decent, indeed. Even though clearly it was not actually from the Futurists, Grin didn't want to be rude and want about to turn down free pretzels. Besides, her stomach was almost as bottomless a pit as Feliks'. "Ta very much," she chirped jovially. Grin glanced over to Soma's table (it was a little difficult to notice other faces just yet when one had been a particular challenge from time to time), before looking back at the man. "I'm not sure," she admitted easily. "If I'm honest, the signs didn't get my attention till a couple minutes ago. I just wandered in for the food." Life was funny like that sometimes.

Grin smiled at the introduction. "Peregrine Hyde.  Pleased to meet you." Mr Greene's attention was drawn back to overhearing the discussion at the table, and Grin didn't mind letting him. Entertaining herself was never that difficult.

The sensation of eyes on her, accompanied by the sound of her name, drew Grin's attention to the counter again. Oh, another familiar face. She nodded in confirmation. "Grin, yeah." Oh, now she recognized him! A smile lit her face. "Philo Falkin, of course! I remember you." They hadn't exactly run in the same circles, but it wasn't a deliberate exclusion. Age aside, they were different types of Ravenclaw. Philo was the sort who seemed to think outside the box just enough to innovate, while also having the dimensions of that box measured to precision; Grin didn't even know where the box was.

Still, he'd always seemed a friendly sort, and it was nice to be remembered. "How've you been?" she added, studying him a little more. Had Philo always been so pale? He looked so tired. Not wanting to make him feel self-conscious, Grin nodded toward the table. "Quite the reunion, it would seem."

1.	He still owed her a raincheque for an afternoon under the influence of the other sort of gillyweed.