April 3, 2009
Midnight

It had started out plainly enough.  With a giant explosion.[1]  This was enough cause for Theodora to pack a small overnight bag.  But it had gotten worse from there.  December brought about a titanic failure and the last time she'd ever rely on a teenager again.[2] Then in January, the linchpin.  Her landlord had gotten himself entangled with the law.[3]  And instead of handling it properly and retaining her for legal counsel, Tawse had abandoned his pub and went on the lamb.

And so Theodora was forced to do the same.  She docked herself several personal days.  Personal days that were soon formally converted to a sabbatical, as she shunted herself around the British Isles (and one absurd afternoon in Barcelona) trying to find a suitable office space.  Her requirements were simple, but increasingly more difficult to find.  A reliable door man.  And completely Auror-free.

She'd become frustrated. 

Desperate.

And now, humiliated.

Stoops were not the place upon which a witch such as Theodora Kingstreet should stand.  She was a king-maker.  She was an Auror-slayer.  She could scribe two hundred and fifty words per minute by quill.  And nearly one hundred and eighty words by dagger.  The proper raised platform for a witch like her was a defendants' stand where she'd stood when the whining infants of the Wizengamot had sentenced her to ten years in Azkaban.  A proper platform was a dais two stories tall where she had addressed thousands of witches and wizards as two of their heroes died horrible bloody deaths at her feet. [4].

But now it was stoops apparently, a venue more appropriate for groveling. 

Bing bong.

She rung the bell.  And pouted.

Her nostrils flared in the night air beneath her wide-brimmed hat. 

1.	Runespoor Explosion
2.	The Imperfect Crime
3.	Silly git.
4.	Remembering Day Murders

Melanthe was finding sleep difficult in the guestroom of her mother's home in London. It was strange. To anyone else, the shadows of her beloved Tyen Manor would be off putting enough to wish for accomodations found at Annie Grumman's home. Tyen wasn't for everyone, but Melanthe seemed to be the only one who found comfort and enjoyment in her home without reservation or condition.

For someone who traveled often, it didn't take long for the dark flower to yearn for the place that nurtured her best.

Turning onto her side in the guest bed, Melanthe's eyes moved towards the windows so that she could look out. The time was going by slowly and she was no closer to sleep than an hour ago when she first laid her head on the pillow. With a sigh escaping her lips, she threw the covers off, put her feat to the hardwood floor and wrapped herself in a robe to begin an aimless walk of her mother's home.

She was just exiting the kitchen from getting a cup of tea when she heard the doorbell. She looked to the nearest clock to see that it was midnight and wondered who her mother could possibly be expecting at this late hour, especially considering she was fast asleep--close to unconscious, really--and probably had not heard the bell at all.

A house elf rushed forward to answer but Melanthe followed the little thing to the main hall, curiosity getting the better of her.

When the door was opened, she was shocked to see who was there. Theodora Kingstreet was simply the last person she expected on this day, at this time, or whenever.

Melanthe's brows shot up and then she flashed the house elf a look and simply said, "More tea looks to be in order." He scampered off and left Melanthe to usher the peeved looking Kingstreet inside. Wryly, she said to the woman, "I seem to remember your fondness for tea." Melanthe opened the door wider and waited for the other woman to enter. "Sipping this by myself at this hour is positively dull. Would you care to join me, Ms. Kingstreet?"

The door soon opened and Theodora was greeted by the lush young frame of Melanthe Grumman, a private contractor in Human Resources she'd used to beat her only employee within an inch of his youthful life.  She'd warned him that she wouldn't tolerate sloppiness.  And it was a welcome fact that Ms Grumman was not at all sloppy at her trade, the better for them both.  The logistics of finding an assassin to kill an assassin were terribly complex, especially without a good notary.  Leoman Gild had vanished.

Kingstreet was thankful that Grumman didn't make her wait on the stoop, and allowed her into the foyer.  She watched the house elf scuttle off as she doffed her hat.

"I don't know that I've ever suffered the character failing of having a 'fondness'," she corrected, "but tea will do."  It was her way of saying 'thank you'. 

"I'd have made an appointment," she said, "and you can be sure I explored all of my options.  But I'm relentlessly pursued by Aurors and poorly served by idiots.  I trust you'll forgive the late call."  She put her carpet bag down by the coat tree.

"You look healthy," she said.  "Good."

She nodded her approval.

Even after Kingstreet stepped inside and Melanthe closed her door, the young witch was still baffled by the other woman's presence. Did the woman need another job done? Had she discovered that Crucio was not used on Matthews and wanted to dispute their contract? It wouldn't have mattered if that was the case because Melanthe had been able to utilize her talents, but still....who liked having their work called into question.

Luckily, Kingstreet did not seem to be upset with Melanthe – or so she could tell. It seemed as if there was something else bothering the witch and this intrigued Melanthe. She accepted Theodora's hat and coat and hung them up.

Melanthe attempted to allay Kingstreet's concerns about the lateness of her visit. “It's no bother at all. My mother is fast asleep but I'm afraid I suffer from some insomnia when I stay here. It simply is not the same as being at home in Siberia.”

Some people might not register the information that Melanthe just spoke. She did indeed live in Russia. In the vast land mass that was Siberia. Where most people would never want to live, much less visit. Most people simply assumed that a world traveler such as Melanthe stayed in lavish hotels or when she was in the UK, she stayed with her mother. It was hard matching her vibrant, youthfulness to a place known for its shadows.

Then, she led her guest into the sitting room in which her mother entertained guests. Melanthe encouraged her visitor to take a seat, hoping it might help her relax a bit (if that was even possible for the straight-laced Kingstreet.

“The tea should be here momentarily. In the meantime, is there anything I can help you with, Ms. Kingstreet?”

In an alternate universe, this would be the moment that the middle-aged ex-Azzie witch would take a seat and then break into a shivvering mass of sobs, confiding in the other witch.  She'd snivel and wretch and let out all the horrible stress and tension of her life as a fugitive, as a woman hacked down from her place of fame and stature, a woman misunderstood by all.  She'd grasp at a hot teacup like a life-preserver, and her make-up would smear as she lamented her grim position.

But the truth was far more absurd.  Her nostrils flared at the mention of Siberia, a lawless wasteland with only one train, so she believed, known for those dogs with the flashy, garish tails, curled up over their backs as if to showcase the puckered asterisks on their hindquarters.  But that was neither here nor there.

In reality, her hardships had only given Theodora the greatest pleasure - the pleasure of struggle.  The pleasure of defeating her trials with orderly, merciless efficiency.  She had done battle with a mouse in the Black Chimaera.  With Manfred gone, slain, there was no assigned mouse killer.  Rather than cast the Killing Curse, she'd found the means to have the mouse legally evicted and sent it packing.  Merciless.  Orderly.  Pleasure.

Calling upon Ms Grumman, while humiliating, was also somewhat titilating.  A sensation more clearly appreciated now that she was off that stoop.

"I was very pleased with our dealings," she admitted, taking a seat across from Melanthe Grumman.  "Your professionalism met my requirements, and I was impressed by your effectiveness.  I don't anticipate Mr Spade will cross me again.  You have properly motivated an unreliable employee; should you ever need a letter of recommendation, I can supply one given two weeks' notice."

Her hands were folded on her lap, so she raised them to steeple her fingers in front of her face. 

"I do, as you suspect, have further use of you.  My previous accommodations have become unavailable, and there is nothing more vital to my campaign than some spartan quarters and a proper office.  How else am I to keep files?"  Only then - just then - was there the tiniest crack in her voice. "Take appointments? Keep up with correspondence?" 

"I wonder then, do your wide connections include those in clandestine real estate? Should a person of my reputation and exacting standards wish to lease, who might you recommend?"

It was hard to understand the fascination and patience that Melanthe Grumman had for the elder Theodora Kingstreet. She supposed it came from thinking about the idea of having a grandmother and knowing that Kingstreet would be the kind of kin she would want. In short, Kingstreet would fit quirkily into her family, even if she did not know it.

Melanthe could tell that the mention of Siberia didn't exactly spark feelings of fondness in the woman. Most people felt that way about the frosty, lonely locale. But alas, it was an ideal place for those with less than squeaky clean reputations to hide while planning their next efforts in relocation. Previously, Melanthe had housed her distant cousin, Demelza Boskonovich, prior to her fading into security. Though Melanthe had her suspicions as to where the fugitive had gone, she did not know for certain and that was probably best as it offered her plausible deniability.

“I am happy to hear that you were satisfied with the services I provided,” Melanthe responded, a smile forming on her lips. She poured them both some tea before nudging one of the cups with its saucer in her direction, careful to keep from touching it too much, as she guessed the obsessive Kingstreet might prefer to handle her own preparation beyond that point. Melanthe picked up her cup and saucer and sat back in her chair. She beamed at the older witch and said, “Thank you Ms. Kingstreet. I appreciate the praise of someone as....efficient as you. I must admit that I enjoyed carrying out your request. Probably too much for my own good.”

Melanthe finally sipped from her drink. When Kingstreet mentioned the letter of recommendation, she smiled again. It must be hard for the older woman to believe that a person would do something simply because they enjoyed it. She recalled their meeting to set up the torture session with Matthews and how Theodora had practically balked at the idea of no payment being needed. The woman had practically insisted on it and even the mention of some reciprocal deal had made Melanthe seem like she had three heads like her runespoors.

All of this made it ironic that Kingstreet was calling on her again, instead of waiting for Melanthe to require her services first. But it seemed as Kingstreet's request was one of dire need. An efficient woman such as her surely required a place with structure, peace and quiet, and seclusion from prying eyes. All of this in which to do her best work.

Luckily, because of the shady dealings of the Grumman family, many of her relatives required similar accommodations, which was partially why Tyen existed as it did.  This made addressing Kingstreet's inquiry quite easy.

“Oh Ms. Kingstreet! I know the perfect place for you! ” she exclaimed. “Of course, you should stay at Tyen Manor with me!” Melanthe reigned in her enthusiasm. “Presently, I am the only resident and I so rarely get visitors. And even when I do, the security measures for the manor are such that not just anyone can arrive at whim.” Melanthe paused and thought of how Kingstreet might best be persuaded to accept the offer. “You can stay as my guest for as long as you wish.”

Tea. 

No we won't accuse Theodora of the weakness of 'fondness' but tea was appropriate at this moment - very appropriate.  What with the stoop and all this talk of Siberia there was a little chill in her wiry bones.  When she raised her eyes to the fresh young independent human resources contractor she was slightly unnerved to see her big, beautiful eyes looking back at her with that same disconcerting fondness.  Theodora's face twinged with disapproval, but mostly Theodora felt mis-informed.  This younger witch seemed to be more than pleased with a business partnership, she seemed to be pleased on a personal level.

Theodora wondered - perhaps it was the honor of hosting such an illustrious guest.  That was enough to make even a notable like Grumman bust with humble pride.  Or perhaps Grumman was looking forward to another day's honest work, another self-satisfying job-well-done, and such an opportunity Theodora was providing.

No matter the reason for Melanthe Grumman's apparent affection, Theodora felt it advantages to reciprocate the facial symbol of mutual pleasure.  She pinched the corners of her mouth into a smile for a few seconds - not overlong to seem like a dolt, but not so brief that the gesture could be mistaken for a facial tic.

And then Melanthe Grumman exclaimed most unprofessionally.  Theodora could almost see the vulgar exclamation marks in the air along with a raised voice and her glowing smile.  She raised a hand as if to bat them away like flies. 

"But Tyen is in Siberia, Ms Grumman," she protested, immediately finding fault with the arrangement.  "And you and I, make no mistake, are not girlfriends.  A host-guest relationship of such depth would be highly inappropriate.  Should we find arrangements between us I must insist on something more formal.  It must all be done properly without any room for misinterpretation."

Social contracts were always rife with the opportunity of misinterpretation. 

Melanthe was quick to scold herself for such exuberance in front of Kingstreet, knowing that the woman was the type to not enjoy it. For whatever reasons though, Melanthe enjoyed the woman's company and her offering of lodging at her home in Siberia was in an effort to both be helpful and also to have an opportunity to pick Kingstreet's devious mind on a more consistent basis, if she were so inclined.

Melanthe was not expecting Kingstreet's response about the locale of the place she offered. Afterall, beggars couldn't very well be choosers, right? And if one was looking for a place to stay that was out of the way of most of the wizarding population (and Muggles as well), then Siberia was it.

Thus, Melanthe blinked almost dumbly at Kingstreet's protests. "Uh...yes. Tyen most certainly is in Siberia," she replied with a nod. "But surely even you see how that could work to your advantage." Melanthe then considered what the other woman said about the lodging arrangements and she again nodded. "Yes, you are right, Ms. Kingstreet. Forgive me for suggesting such an informal contract. Whatever would make you most comfortable....either way, I'm sure we can figure out something that will suit your needs. You would have an entire wing of the house at your disposal should you wish and we can certainly have an agreement for payment of your room and board."

Theodora fidgeted for a few seconds, tea in hands.   Just thinking about Siberia made her feel like she was on that stoop again.  She narrowed her eyes flared her nostrils slightly, trying to situate herself in a tidy place.  A place not bitter, cold, wet or messy.  Like stoops and Siberia.

She looked up at the beautiful witch before her.  So collected. So comfortable.  Theodora wondered what that felt like to be so... relaxed.  Inside her stiff exterior was a swirling hurricane of thumbtacks and envelopes, a hurricane that never rested until the world was at right angles. 

"Mmm," she said.

A wash of cheerfulness came over her when Ms Grumman said things like 'contract' and 'formal', and agreed to a proper leasing arrangement.  That was the high she chased, that was the question - order from chaos.  And an entire wing to herself.  She could have seven offices.  Seven. 

"Mmm," she said again, her face beginning to smile.  "You're making good sense, Madam.  So long as we have a clause in the contract concerning the local climate, I feel confident that lodging at Tyen is the superior choice.  Your reputation as a reliable witch has only helped this negotiation.  And I find this tea," she sipped it, "to be positively apt."

"When will the unit become available?"

“It might be chilly outside of Tyen, but I assure you that we can do plenty to make sure the inside is quite cozy and to your liking,” Melanthe assured her. The dark witch was hardly concerned that the older woman was not as comfortable with the cold. She was dark too, afterall. Wasn't that a requirement?

Melanthe brushed that aside and smiled at Kingstreet. Plenty could be done to help her guest feel more comfortable. “As soon as the contract is settled, you are welcome to begin your residence.” She sipped from her tea and then held it away from her lips just enough to peer over at Kingstreet. “And since you enjoy this tea, I shall make sure my house elves keep it in stock, as well as any other provisions that might make your stay more enjoyable. Simply include a list in the contract that you draw up and I shall endeavor, as your host, to make sure you are well cared for.”

After a pause, Melanthe smiled and proclaimed, “I am so pleased that I could help you, Ms. Kingstreet.”