The dark fortress had, as usual, been left undefended for lunch.  This time, Kurby had watched to make sure that the older man had made it all the way down the hall and into the lift before he'd assumed that he was gone.  He'd learned not to give his target time to slip away into some fecking shadow and inconveniently return early.  The Office of the Ministry's Necronomist - after a few graffiti mishaps, someone had finally gotten around to enchanting the name plaque so that no one could change it to a more accurate description, such as "The Personal Cesspool of the Ministry's Dead People Shrink" - was just down the hall from the WCU Headquarters, which offered Kurby a perfect view from the doorway as long as he wasn't too obvious about his lurking.

His nemesis had set off at a brisk pace, which meant that he was probably off to putt around darkly and act self important and ominous, or possibly just stalk one of the Eleors again.  Kurby almost felt bad about the latter option - the elder of the two Jewish wizards struck him as a do-gooding prat, but he liked Adon alright - except for the fact that it offered him the perfect opportunity to let off steam. 

Even after the bout of Peruvian darkness powder a month ago, when he'd just been released from St. Mungo's after the full moon and had been in a particularly bad mood, his cousin hadn't bothered to set any defenses.  That almost bothered Kurby as much as the man himself.  What in the sunken ruins of flooded Lyoness did Grimm think he was playing at?  Didn't he care that his office was open to attack?  If it wasn't for the fact that he had been carrying on the one-sided war for over ten years, Kurby might have been suspicious that he was being set up for something, but the evidence seemed to show that his cousin simply didn't give a damn.  The only indication he ever had that the dark-frocked, sinister bastard even noticed any of the attacks was when, sometimes weeks later and always in completely unrelated circumstances, he might suddenly slip or twist an ankle or randomly get a brutal, stabbing pain in his shoulder in the middle of the night.

He'd learned to work quickly.  After increasing the light being thrown off by the magical candles around the room to maximum illumination (he'd like to see Grimm try and inconspicuously sneak back inside his bleeding office with it lit up like the inside of a genie's lamp), he set to his task.  The particular charm he had in mind this time was best placed on the doorframe.  Inventing random enchantments were not usually his specialty, but he'd managed to alter a fairly common spell; getting it to resist being dispersed had been the biggest challenge, but he'd practiced at home for a week until it held off his best efforts.  Getting stuck with a chair that he couldn't really invite anyone to sit in anymore was well worth the price of irritating his cousin. It wasn't as if he ever invited anyone over anyway.

After all of the practice, casting the spell didn't take much time.  It almost seemed a waste of a perfectly good chance to cause trouble, Kurby thought, as he looked grimly over the rest of the office.  He might as well not give Grimm any reason to be suspicious that anything new was amiss.  Heading over to the necromancer's desk, he gathered up the self-inking quills and began snapping their nubs off, one by one.

Oscar Whitman had just finished with his lunch with a colleague and was heading back to do some work at his office on Level Two when he was reminded of something that he had been meaning to speak to Kurby Bagnold about and so he quickened his step inside the building and headed to the lift, hoping to catch his cousin (albeit somewhat distant) in his office.

Bagnold had been spawned from Millicent Whitman's line in the family tree. She was one of his grandfather's younger siblings and had eventually risen to the position of Minister of Magic. Oz had heard stories of the fierce rivalry among the Whitman children. According to his grandfather and then his own parents, it had always been there and even now there was a good amount of debate regarding which branch had been most successful. Whitmans were notoriously conceited, competitive and, depending on one's opinion, crazy. He imagined that tallying up the points for the points made in said debate was an exhausting task, considering the varying degrees of success that existed among the pureblooded elite.

Still, for all the overzealous ambition that existed, Oz still found himself to be on decent terms with someone like Kurby. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that neither could be considered as models of perfection within the family lore. Or, perhaps the personalities that were often so offensive towards everyone else were less so when directed towards each other.

Either way, Oz was not put off by the thought of enduring a prolonged conversation with his cousin, which was why exited the lift on Level Four and headed towards the direction of his office. But Kurby was not there and Oz left the area with a shake of his head. Perhaps he would catch the man at another time.

As he ambled back towards the lift, something caught Oz's eye that piqued his curiosity and he found himself drifting off towards an area of the Ministry with which he was not familiar.

Sure enough, as he approached the door to one of the offices, his blue eyes fell upon his dear old cousin sitting at a desk that was most certainly not his.

With his brow furrowed, Oz stepped inside and queried, "Kurby? What in blazes are you doing here? I thought---"

A booming voice cut him off the moment he stepped within the doorframe.  "ANNOUNCING THE INAUSPICIOUS ARRIVAL OF OSCAR TAYLOR ALLEN WHITMAN," it drawled in an extremely bored tone.  "THIRTY-FOUR, WIZENGAMOT, UNMARRIED AND LIKELY TO BE CUCKOLDED."

Kurby looked up, a completely innocent expression crossing his face as he glanced over at Oz.  "Huh," he remarked, fighting to hold back a smirk.  "That's odd.  Somebody ought to tell Gertrudis that Grimm's been enchanting his door again, don't you think?"

Whistling cheerfully, he went back to what he had been doing, which was continuing to snap the ends off of the rest of the quills.  It wouldn't take long to replace them - and knowing Grimm, he probably had some stupidly illegal shadow magic that would just glue the nubs right back on again - but it was definitely the thought that counted.  Kurby liked to imagine that somewhere, deep under the necromancer's emotionless outer shell and constant lack of reactions, each minor practical joke was slowly wearing him down until they reached the glorious day in the future when he'd finally snap.

If he had to be interrupted, though, there were clearly worse people to do it.  For one of his cousins, Oz was usually tolerable.  Despite his sometimes-friendly competition with Grimm to see whose head could get bigger the quickest, Kurby appreciated the older man's cynicism and underhanded ways.  Inviting Oz Whitman to an engagement party was one of his favorite forms of entertainment.

"I'm just muckin' about," he replied, answering the older man's interrupted question.  "Dear Albie left his door unlocked again, and I figured that experience is probably the best teacher when it comes to remindin' him that he ought to keep it locked.  Do you mind givin' me a hand with the drawers, then?" he asked nicely, breaking the last quill with a satisfying snap.  "He shouldn't be back for a while yet, but I'd hate to disappoint him once he is."

False alarms really, Alberic thought, were an excuse to stretch one's legs, but he didn't need excuses. No, he was utilised enough at the Ministry as it was, and he did not much appreciate underaged wizards' joking alarms. As it had turned out, the grandmother really had just been that ugly. No sorcery, possession, zombification, or voodoo necessary.

And so, Alberic returned with long strides towards his office, giving a slight, slight smile as he saw his cousin Oz approaching his door from another direction. He was still at a great distance and would bother with greetings once they were both there.

Only that Oz went directly in. And the voice which resounded, heralding his arrival, made Alberic stop and roll his eyes. Bagnold. The smile was apparent this time. Alberic stepped slightly to the side; the Ministry's lighting of its corridors, old-fashioned to the point of nostalgia with its mounted lanterns, allowed for a fair bit of shadows which, as in a puff of smoke, Alberic took advantage of. There was a momentary shift in the light before the entrance of the WCU Headquarters.

Alberic reasoned that if Bagnold was in his office, he was most certainly not in his own.

Oz nearly jumped back through the door to Alberic's office at the unpleasant welcome he received, as if he had been laced with a stinging spell. He scowled at no one in particular, mainly because the voice did not have a person attached to it. Otherwise, Oz certainly would have latched his unappreciative gaze onto the culprit.

But Oz ambled his way into the room and plunked himself down opposite the room's other occupant but not it's owner. He muttered, "Must I be reminded of that distinction everywhere I go? Over a decade already and that may end up being my claim to fame...." His voice trailed off and he released a moody sigh,

"That's a mighty annoying enchantment," Oz mused disdainfully. He watched as his cousin assaulted all of the ends of the quills and his brow inched upwards. "Are you going mad, Bagnold?" He wouldn't say so openly, but the idea that another one of his cousins might be turning down an unfortunate path was gleefully appealing. At least then, his own plight would be lessened.

"You and Albie at it again, eh?" Oz also thought that the little feud Kurby and Alberic's had going was perfect because it meant that neither one of them likely had time to work on any sort of plot against him. When Kurby suggested that Oz help him in his little joke fest, Oz quickly decided if it was in his best interest to do so.

"What exactly are we doing to the drawers?" Oz asked blithely. He made an effort to dig out his wand and held it loosely in his hand. But he decided to see if he might be able to lure Kurby's attention away from his task for teh time being. "Say, since I have you here, I might as well ask. Are you still up for some poker sometime?"

"It's not again," Kurby said sourly, his expression darkening as he set down the quills and began to tug at the top drawer.  There was always a trick to popping it out, maneuvering it just right, but he'd done it enough times that he could usually shift it into place before too long.  "It's still.  And I wouldn't still be at it if he wasn't," he muttered, yanking the drawer free with an angry tug as something broke and gave way.  "He twisted my bleedin' ankle again.  What am I supposed to do, just let it lie?"

It was the most frustrating part of his extended family.  No one, save for possibly Adon Eleor - who had been so recently reclaimed into the extended family that he hadn't had time to have his good sense Obliviated by Grimm yet - even seemed to accept the possibility existed that one of the family's several golden children had anything resembling a darker side.  But he'd known Grimm since he was eleven, and Kurby was determined not to let the smooth-talking necromancer get the better of him.  If it took him twenty-five years to tear down his reputation, handful by handful, he'd still go through with it.

He set the drawer down on the desk with a thunk, pulling out his wand again.  "We're casting a sticking charm on everything, turning it upside, putting it back, and then takin' the charm off again," he said matter-of-factly, rattling off the directions with the ease of someone who had gone through the routine several times before.  "How's your charmwork?  Or do you stop worrying about wavin' wands once you've got your seat on the Wizengamot?" he asked nicely, his attention focused on the drawer as he held his wand over it to set the enchantment.

With one accomplished, Kurby returned his attention to the desk to pull out the second drawer.  "Here, I'll yank and you cast," he offered to Oz nicely.  "And yeah, I might be up for poker.  You think we could expand the circle by invitin' the Eleors and givin' one of them Grimm's seat?"

"Oh?" Oz's expression was one that showcased calculated interest as his cousin clarified the particulars of the ongoing feud with Alberic, his other cousin. "I see. Alright then, still." Then Oz wondered just how long 'still' encompassed. He was guessing that it was shortly after birth. Every branch of the family, whether visibly sporting the Whitman or not, still had lofty ambitions. And chasms be damned for anyone who dared stand in the way, even another family member.

Oscar chuckled when Kurby spoke of his twisted ankle. Of course. Another Whitman was always the best adversary, for who better to get the best of you than someone playing the same game.

If only Oscar knew the true nature of Kurby's dislike for Alberic he might not be so casual about his own involvement in bringing about the necromancer's demise.

With a sigh, Oscar finally moved from his seated position and moved around to stand beside Kurby. "My charmwork is impeccable," he informed the man with a cheeky grin. Oz tapped his wand against the palm of his free hand and quipped, "And you'd be surprised how often my wand gets waved these days."

Oz proceeded to cast the appropriate spell and watched as Bagnold went about replacing the drawer from where is came. His grin broadened when the other man agreed to poker. "Swell." But to his condition, Oz balked a bit. "Well, there is plenty of room for both Eleors and Alberic. I could even invite my brother along too....I know you Gryffindors always love catching up." Oz nudged Kurby in the arm. "Besides, having Alberic there will give you the chance to beat the snot out of him...best him...." He paused and waved around to the room. "You know, even more so than you're doing now..."