The last time anyone met secretly in his flat, Archer hadn’t even been there for the whole thing.  His surprise party, which had since created the need for an impressive security upgrade on the whole place, wasn’t like this at all.  This was not to celebrate anyone; it was the trial and sentencing, minus the accused.  Archer realized what it was, but he had no qualms doing this.  It was beyond the point of seeking solutions that would match the “new face” of law enforcement.

The new face had threats coming in to the entire auror office, and not only the men and women in crimson threatened, but their innocent families and friends.  Archer had, up to this point, been left alone by MacDuff, which had bothered him, but as soon as Freddie’s stuffed animal came to him in the office – well, it was just crossing the line.  In the same way it was unacceptable for Eddie’s children to be threatened – and what happened to his parents – it was unthinkable; no one deserved that, and sitting by and letting it happen – it wasn’t going to be that way anymore.

Whispers of inefficiency in the department, of the inability of its members to deal with real criminals – they were not things Archer ever thought he would hear.  Him and many of his colleagues were veterans of the second war.  They had dealt with this – and more.  Sure, it was a different breed, but they could do it when there weren’t people standing in the way.  Archer didn’t want to be stood in front of this time.   

So, discreetly, the small group forming was coming to his flat.  It was a Friday, raining and dark, like something out of a radio broadcast, and Archer was putting extra blocks on the sound in his flat, ensuring everything that happened inside was staying inside – at least until the appropriate time. 

MacDuff needed to go down.  He needed to be stopped and they couldn’t have him running around ruining lives even more than he already had.  It wasn’t just about law enforcement at this point, it was ministry wide.  Downer from the Department of Mysteries, Bagnold from the WCU, and even Amherst, who was an unusual name to here attached to anything other than causing a fight or lighting something on fire, in the RCMC were all affected.  They were present as well.

Everyone arrived in fairly quick succession; no one was going to mess about and be late.  It was noticeably tense in the room, the subject matter being close to everyone involved, and Archer locked the door behind him when he let the last entrant in.  Tamis would know how to get in when she got there.  They could start in the meantime – the matter was too important to waste time on.   Archer finally sat down and sighed, letting his broad shoulders fall.  He glanced around at everyone at the table.  He looked to Eddie first, given the man had lost the most – and stood to potentially lose even more at this point, to make the first move, but then his eyes scanned the crowd - just in case someone else had something to say first.

Archer didn't really want to put Ed on the spot like that - seemed a bit... out of place at a meeting like this. 

Colin felt distinctly out of place. He'd gotten Kurby's letter the day before; given his discussion with the hunter, he'd agreed to come. Had he been pressured to explain, it was partially curiosity - and the rest was very much a desire to get MacDuff off the streets. Colin didn't like to think of himself as part of the 'werewolf community'; he wasn't about to start Lycanthropes Anonymous or anything. But that old saying about 'giving the rest of us a bad name' rang very, very true in MacDuff's case. And, on top of that - and aside from that - the man was a monster. Good taste in beer or not.

He sat again the wall, consciously a bit distanced from the Aurors in the room. He vaguely recognized most of them, though putting names to half of them might have been a bit beyond him. They all looked uniformly grim-faced, peeved and serious. Kurby fit right in, at least, since Bagnold looked like that all the time.

Tugging at the hem of his sweater, he was drying himself off from the rain when an awkward silence descended. No one really wanted to put themselves on the spot; Colin, who wasn't really the sort to do that either, had a feeling that unless he spoke up he'd be out at sea for this whole meeting.

"Erm," he said, standing up from where he'd been leaning. "Strictly speaking," he said, aware that a sullen silence wasn't usually best broken by outsiders, "What's actually - who - well..." He shrugged, throwing his hands up. "What's the plan for tonight?" He finally settled on that. "Not all of us are in on the details of this case..."

A sudden roar -- identifiable to experts as that of a yeti -- split the silence in the small flat, followed by an emphatic string of swearing.  A few moments later, Jonas Trevelyan emerged from his former partner's kitchen, two bottles in hand and his face nearly as red as his hair.

"Might've been nice to mention that the cabinet roars when it gets opened, mate," he muttered sourly at Radley, handing one of the bottles off to Adon.  His current partner had taken up position next to his cousin on the sofa, and for most of the day, had been wearing an expression nearly as sour as Bagnold's.  Jonas bit back a sigh.  Hopefully the evening's topic of conversation would be enough to catch the Israeli's interest and pull him out of his funk.

"And it's not a case," he offered to Colin, taking the chair at the table in between Pratt and Spencer.  He hadn't offered to grab the former Auror a beer; enough after-hour meetings regarding the search for her son had made it clear what Spencer's preferences were as far as drinking.  "None of this is official.  None of us are on the Macduff investigation," he added, nodding to the others around the table.  "This is just a hypothetical conversation, which may or may not turn to subjects that would of course never be acted on without full Ministry approval.  Rule Number One:  You don't talk about Fight Club."

He turned his attention to the cap of the beer bottle, eyeing it gravely.  Aside from the bottle itself looking suspiciously American, Jonas was half expecting the bloody thing to explode when he tried to open it.  Apparently Radley still hadn't gotten over turning forty.

"Hypothetically speaking, though," he began, starting to pat himself down.  It took a moment before he realized that he must have left the key ring -- and the bottle opener normally attached -- at the house; traveling by apparition meant that there was no need for locking up.  With a sigh, Jonas abandoned his search for a helpful device and resigned himself to having to pop the cap on the edge of the table.  At least it was Radley's problem if he damaged the wood.

"I mean, as far as I know, the plan for tonight's that we come up with a plan.  Macduff's been bloody well rampaging for weeks, and no one's done enough to stop it," he stated matter-of-factly, forehead creasing as his first few attempts to open the bottle continued to fail.  Who the bloody hell made these things?  "So we find him, we hit him, we bring 'im in.  And Rosier can do whatever he bloody well likes with the mess."

Margo hadn’t really expected any of this.  She was staying in a safe place, nowhere near her actual flat, and attempting to actually find another place per the suggestion of the DMLE, which she could no longer avoid.  It wasn’t really something she necessarily wanted to avoid… but it got annoying, always having to check in and follow procedures, and do things she didn’t want to do – or skip out on things that she did want to do because they were deemed “risky” behaviors.

Of course they were risky – she wasn’t the sort to take the easy route.  But she had to do the things they told her.  It was exceptionally boring, but thankfully she could at least find ways around it sometimes – like making the very cranky Bagnold hang out with her when she was very bored.  They weren’t exactly having sleepovers anymore, but even just having someone around for a little bit was worth it.  Besides, according to Bagnold, they weren’t supposed to tell one another where they were staying, just in case.  Margo went with it, but wasn’t sure if it was legitimate or not. 

Whatever the case, they were going to this weird flat and Margo was not sitting in alone this evening.  Margo was not a solitary creature.  She had anticipated another night home, inside, alone, this evening, but got the most peculiar invitation. 

From years of knowing Bagnold, it had been very clear that Margo was the only one who demanded things get done with her – Bagnold never asked her to do anything, so when she was asked to come to someone’s flat – well, Margo had been first shocked and then second, concerned. Obviously, she said yes.

Meeting at the location Margo deemed “top secret,” she was surprised to see most of Magical Law Enforcement there as well as Downer, who was another one of MacDuff’s recent victims.  This was starting to pull itself together.  And when she entered, Margo didn’t feel uncomfortable or anything – just confused. 

What were they here for exactly?  She raised her eyes at the ginger, who seemed to be skirting around the issue (after going through a cabinet that was definitely unhappy that his grubby fingers were poking around).  “Some people have already tried that,” Margo said without a smile, turning her eyes toward Bagnold only briefly, “and it clearly hasn’t turned out all that well.” 

“The guy is absolutely batshit,” Margo informed them, in case they were unaware, “and he’s broken into my flat on more than one occasion.  I can’t see anyone caring whether he came in alive or dead, not if he was really hurting anyone – which, you know, he has.  They’d probably give anyone who could take him down a bloody medal of Merlin, or whatever the feck it is.” 

Adon didn't exactly know who this brunette was, and any predisposition towards liking her for her looks--which to him, seemed particularly Israeli--were squashed as she sent a criticizing--penetrating, accusatory...it didn't matter. In a word, womanly--glance towards Jonas. Then Kurby. Who--though he would never admit it, he was feeling particularly protective of at the moment. For good measure, he unleashed a small dosage of Discontent and Disapproval in her direction--so she could know his mind on the matter.

"Look, Amherst, right?" He'd heard the name from Kurby--and the woman'd given enough identifying information to betray at least that much.  The woman was already leaping ahead to talking about dragging in the carrion and winning a medallion. "Give it just a minute, will you?" He sighed, short-tempered.  "It hasn't worked because no one has bothered to ask questions or pool resources.  Which is what we're doing now. Which is the right step." He sent a congratulatory glance to Jonas--which was the closest he could get to self-praise in this situation, and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket to pull out a lighter.  He used it to flick open the lid of the drink, but didn't bother to note where the metal disc had scattered off to.

He looked at Archer, then Colin. "Alright. So when you get a terrorist, it's really one of three scenarios." He held up his pointer finger but paused to take a swig from the bottle. "One," he said, clearing his throat, "you're dealing with the frontman of an organization, who is making himself very public in order to unify the group and show himself as the head force. Very alpha male."  Adon considered the bottle, inching it towards his mouth before sighing and putting it down. Such awful timing--why did all these people need to be here?

"Two," he eyed the drink and heaved a sigh, nudging it slightly away, "two, he's one of many in a non-heirarchical organization, and this is just one of many threads--which might not be easily linked to other threats, because of the differing personas and methods tied to it. These terrorist organizations are objective-oriented, and aren't as worried about branding issues--coming off looking like a unified, identifiable organization. They capitalize upon confusion."

"Or three, you've got your individual who is either acting on some sort of personal vendetta, is a copycat, or is otherwise independent. Now, certainly he's presenting it this way.  Things are very individual, very personal. But it's only one of the possibilities. We have to consider who his associations might be--if he's really in this alone, and put traces on them as well as on him.  Contact them for information, if that seems fit.  And of course narrow down likely hideouts and sanctuaries."

He cleared his throat, and reached out again, expression happier than it had been for the entire day, for the beer.  "At least that's how I'd do it."

Aberdeen, who had been leaned back in a casual slouch next to Trevelyan, watching him wrestle with the stubborn bottle-top. She considered a moment, then swiftly drew her wand to point at the bottle, and murmured, 'Aperiro,' intending to just open the damn thing already. Just because she was currently teetotal didn't mean Trevelyan should have to suffer.

Shifting her weight forwards, she laced her fingers together and propped her elbows on her knees in a posture of intent focus. This particular congregation wasn't going to be the easiest to predict, behaviour-wise. Already Adon didn't seem to be in the best of moods. She cast a glance at him, careful to keep any concern out of her expression. Her face was neutral, as she always strove to keep it in quasi-formal situations. But she did wonder a little how Adon was doing these days. What with the investigation to find Robin, Aberdeen hadn't really been investing a lot of time in anyone else.

'Okay, but who do we know who has connections with Macduff?' she asked levelly, glancing around the room. 'He must have an in with Tawse, I mean even the Prophet knows the two of them are cousins. But that's about as helpful as Macduff being friends with Santa Claus. Does Macduff have known associates, known haunts, outside that purist group of Tawse's? Oh, and uh, I'm Spencer.' She raised her hand a little in greeting. Though most of a faces were familar ones from the Ministry, Aberdeen was aware that she didn't know everyone present by name, and had to assume not everyone knew her either. 'I don't know as much about Macduff as some of you-- just the death threats and what your average, avid Daily Prophet reader would know. Apologies in advance if I slow things down.'

It was already an odd assortment here – mostly level two with a few stragglers thrown in.  Jonas had wasted no time in going around the kitchen, and Archer couldn’t help but smirk as the cabinet roared – he just left one – for the unsuspecting visitor, and gave him a knowing nod.  It was basically a rite of passage in the flat.  Though, admittedly, Jonas had been there more than once and he would have expected it to be one of the stragglers before him…

The stragglers were really where the interesting ones came in.  But, Archer wasn’t one to judge, particularly if they had the same goals as everyone else: take down MacDuff.  It was obvious MacDuff wasn’t a single operator, and Archer nodded as Adon laid out the scenarios.  He was a solid mind on this sort of thing, and as much as Archer had been heading the terrorism investigations, Adon’s insights were helpful no matter what. 

“MacDuff has several ties to Knockturn, particularly the Chimera,” he added, echoing Aberdeen’s observation on his familial connections.  “For the most part, he’s absolved ties with anywhere else.”  His eyes slid to the brunette who worked with Bagnold – who, according to the files, was part of the reason Bagnold was attacked.  It was her flat, she didn’t ask him to do it, but she had some connections to MacDuff beyond the random.  It was all there, in the file, but Archer wasn’t going to say it. 

She looked suitably uncomfortable at the question as well, and Archer glossed over it, taking a sip of beer in the middle of his thought process, shaking his head.  “From what we know of the whole WBA situation anyway,” he cleared his throat, trying to keep things as appropriate as possible – considering the sensitivity of some of the information, “is that it is a fragmented group – particularly now that Tawse is on the run.”

“I suspect there are smaller sub-groups that are part of the larger structure, and MacDuff is just a piece of it.  One of the most active pieces.  His mission is tied to the larger motives of the whole thing – he’s just looking to do it personally.”  He looked around the table, “starting with Level 2.  If you take Level 2, the rest of the ministry isn’t going to take that long – and I think that’s where he, and the rest of them, are at.” 

“And using his weaknesses against him is going to be what takes him down.  We just have to pinpoint it,” he looked around the table, noticing Amherst looking away.  He knew what was going on in his mind, just vaguely, and hoped that other people were going to pick up on it. 

The tiny metal bottle cap was obviously not interested in cooperating with his coping plans for the evening.  Jonas had attempted to pry it off with increasingly frustrated applications of strength, pressing the lip of it against the table for leverage.  Luckily, Spencer took pity on him before he could do more than gouge a sliver of wood from the table's edge.  Flashing her a grateful smile, he raised the bottle to take a drink.

Jonas listened silently, nursing the beer while the others spoke, his gaze shifting from speaker to speaker.  Everyone in the room was here for a reason; each individual present brought some unique viewpoint to the table.  Adon was right.  That's what they were doing differently this time around, what the Aurors had never done back during the last war.  Considering what they were up against, it was time to pool their resources.

Archer had been involved with the WBA investigation longer than any of them.  He knew the organization, but in some ways, he didn't know.  Jonas frowned, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around the beer bottle as he lowered it to the table.  Gving Tawse so much emphasis as the figurehead leader -- and assuming that the WBA had gone to pieces once he'd left his castle at the Chimaera -- felt like it was underestimating the Scotsman's other very real leadership skills.

"I'm not sure I agree with that entirely, Arch," he put in once the other Auror had finished.  "I don't think Tawse's lot is fragmented at all.  I mean, him going on the run wasn't exactly a surprise to him, was it?" he asked.  His forehead creasing, he glancing around the table, meeting everyone's eyes in turn but Spencer's.  This was veering dangerously close to the conversation topic that he preferred to avoid around the blonde witch.  "Tawse knew exactly what he was doing, rallying Knockturn and kidnapping h-- the kid.  He knew someone'd come down on him.  And it's not like he's acted shaken at all since then," he added, logically and reasonably.  "Seems obvious to me that he had a plan in place before he went to ground, and he's just been carrying it out ever since."

He frowned, his expression thoughtful, as he considered what he knew about Tawse.  The bartender had been friendly and outgoing -- and obviously testing the waters with anyone who came into his pub.  From Tawse's point of view, running the Black Chimaera had to have been the perfect set up.  He could rally support with his regulars, keep an ear to the ground for gossip and Ministry activity, and meet with his active supporters without any suspicion.  That was more or less what he'd done with Jonas himself: felt him out on multiple occasions, and then pulled him into the back room for a private chat once he wanted him to act.

That was an interesting way to consider the situation.  When he included what he, Spencer, and Adon had hypothesized about Liadan O Morain, it started looking almost like a pattern.  O Morain had never been a common visitor at the Black Chimaera, but Tawse had used her as an agent.  Her scarce visits had been enough to set that up.  If the Aurors wanted to identify the key members of the Wizarding Blood Alliance, Jonas thought, perhaps they ought to be keeping an eye out for other loose connections.  Tawse had obviously been building his movement for a while, and he'd clearly been aware that he was doing it right under the nose of his enemies.

"I don't think we're going to help ourselves by underestimating them," he said at last.  "From what I've seen of him, I can't imagine anyone in that group doing anything without Tawse's okay, especially a blood relative.  Everything Macduff has done fits in with the goals that the Wizarding Blood Alliance have shown.  He's trying to make the Ministry look bad, and like Radley said, he's doing his bloody best to set Level Two up to take a fall."  It was a personal, brutal campaign of terror.  Demoralize or undermine the obvious front line soldiers of the opposition, and the public would fall into place.

"We know Macduff has got contact with Tawse because of that picture of Robin," he added, raising his beer to take another drink.  "I think it makes sense to assume he's getting some kind of support in return."

Kurby had been sullenly quiet since he'd arrived at Radley's flat.  Adon had joined him on the sofa, apart from the rest of the group, but at least for once his cousin had not been in a talkative mood.  He'd declined Trevelyan's offer to fetch beer with a grunt, ignored Amherst once she'd arrived. 

He'd stayed silent as the others began to talk, attention shifting from speaker to speaker.  As expected, the Aurors had the most to say; except for Pratt, they all clearly felt the need to put in their two cents.  First Trevelyan, then Adon -- though Kurby was feeling slightly more favorable towards his cousin after his recent support -- then Spencer and Radley, with Amherst and Downer speaking up in between.

It was out of the corner of his eye that he saw Margo flinch at Spencer's question.  Radley had obviously noticed it, too;  he was suddenly paying much more attention to the woman, obviously pushing the conversation in a certain direction.  Kurby tensed on the sofa, his gaze already locked on the Senior Auror, gritting his teeth.  Amherst was here because he'd asked her.  After everything, the dragon keeper could at least provide perspective, and Kurby might have had a vague suspicion (which he would never admit to) that joining in the hunt for the man who had terrorized her might be preferable to sitting at her hotel, waiting for him to resurface.  But she wasn't here to get put on the spot.

The red-headed Auror, who seemed to do nothing but talk incessantly when he wasn't searching Radley's cabinets for beer, had changed the subject by putting in his two knuts again.  Kurby stayed silent, dark eyes still fixed unabashedly on Radley, but he could feel the growl rising in his throat.  The hot wands of the Ministry spent too much time dealing with human enemies.  They didn't know nearly enough about beasts.

"Except for the fact that he's a werewolf," he cut in impatiently once Trevelyan had finally finished.  "What kind of bleedin' support do you think he's goin' to want, then?  A back rub and a belly scratch?"

Letting out a frustrated growl, he straightened on the sofa, casting an irritable look around the room.  They were here because they needed each other -- all of the separate efforts to bring down Macduff had failed.  But unless the Aurors planned to talk the direwolf to death, this was going nowhere.

"Lycanthropy changes the way you think," he said, eyeing Downer before returning his attention sullenly to the rest of the group.  "Some werewolves try to fight it, but it gets all of 'em in the end.  You can see the change start to happen in 'em -- the more feral they get, the more they start actin' like dogs.  And Macduff's gotten to where he's vicious even when he's human," he said.  His voice was harsh, challenging, as if daring anyone to challenge that assertion.  "He fights like a wolf.  If Tawse had a hold on him once, there's no way in hell he's takin' orders from anyone now."

Giving a snort, he settled back against the cushions, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Spencer's on the right track with the haunts," he said gruffly.  "Wolves in the wild'll use the same den for years.  Werewolves that're gone do the same thing.  When Macduff grabbed Downer, he took him back to his flat, even though he had to know the chances were good that someone might find him there."  His eyes found the Unspeakable across the room once more; the smirk that he gave him had absolutely no humor in it.  "Downer, how human do you think Macduff is right now?"

Colin had resumed his post, leaning on the wall and listening to them talk. Somehow, via part of that, he understood some of why the Aurors had encountered trouble; but at the same time, most of them were right.

The smell of beer was strong - stronger than he felt he'd ever get used to. The direwolf curse made him so aware of every move they all made and the distinct smells each of them carried that he felt like they'd all been etched into his mind. No wonder MacDuff was able to sneak around so well, even as a man.

Kurby spoke up, and for once, Colin agreed with the man. Mostly. It was obviously Bagnold being Bagnold, but -

He tilted his head, thinking.

"Quite human, when he wants to be," he said. "At least on the outside. Admittedly," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "He's a quite human monster. You don't need to be a werewolf to be a sadist. And, well..." He looked at Kurby, then shook his head; Don't let him speak for everyone, he thought.

"Based on my experience, I'd gamble and say he's gotten worse since he became a werewolf, but it wasn't being a werewolf that started it." He looked away, out the window. "He became a werewolf in purpose. He wanted power, he said. MacDuff is a killer, regardless of whether he's a werewolf or not."

He paused, his clinically neutral tone slipping a bit. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his dark-rimmed glasses slipping slightly as he did so.

"Bagnold's right, partially," he said. "All werewolves cope with the beast somehow. Most of us detest it and try to bottle it away. And then you get the ones that embrace it. MacDuff is the second type for sure. He loves it - the death, the power, the blood of it all."

"That said," he continued, crossing his arms, "Biting me and complicating my curse - turning me Dire - was part of 'the plan'." He made finger-quotes.  "What plan, I don't know. But I don't think MacDuff came up with it. He's not the sort to plan that kind of thing, I don't think. He, or they, wanted to set me loose and have me rampage. Anti-Ministry stuff, he said.' His eyes narrowed. "As for who'd want to do that kind of thing...well, you Aurors have a better guess than I, I'm sure."

Pratt had the sensation of being a blast ended skrewt in a room full of flobberworms. He stood out, his mindset and emotional levels were different to those of the rest of the room. Each individual in the flat seemed to have the capabilities of approaching the topic calmly and looking at the investigation objectively. Eddie didn’t seem to have this. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet and had therefore remained in his seat; green eyes cast in the direction of each speaker with an expression plain and untainted by emotions.

The beer bottle handed to him upon arrival sat on the table forgotten about. Jonas to his side comfortably sat back, drinking and chatting as if he were discussing the weather and what he’d consumed for dinner. Werewolf hunter and werewolf spoke up considering the importance of the werewolf beast within the sick monster that was causing this mess.

“It ent just the werewolf within that bastard that’s made him like that. The werewolf is more of a recklessly vicious creature. MacDuff plans. With level 2 he made threats. I don’t see no normal werewolves coming up to ye to tell ye over a friendly drink that they’re gonna be digestin’ yer family.” Pratt shrugged and sat back in the seat, his expression remaining calm, quite uncharacteristic as of late. But this vermin had to be controlled and getting too emotionally involved wasn’t going to help.

“He’s followin’ Tawse’s plans but makin’ it a game. He’s enjoyin’ it. He’s makin’ kills when he ‘ent transformed. It’s the person not the beast indulging in this sadism. Werewolves attack on mammal urges, impulses.” Ed glanced briefly at Bagnold if for confirmation. “They don’t approach a victim and perform a quick, clean Avada Kedavra curse.” Bright green eyes settled on the werewolf resting against the post. “You’re a direwolf. Would you just kill right now Downer? Do you feel an uncontrollable animal urge to perform an unforgivable on Trevelyan here this moment?”

The conversation was productive. People had differences, were logically moving through their views.  Adon was learning more and more about the man and the situation as each person spoke in turn.  Even Eddie chimed in with his opinion, providing his own sort of rhetorical gesture, looking intensely between Downer and Trevelyan.

Adon was up like a bolt, arms flexed and eyes angry. "HEY!" he barked, eyes snapping on Eddie Pratt. "That's enough, Pratt!" he stated with finality, stabbing his finger violently in the air towards the other man.

Too. damn. personal. That, apparently, was what it was for Eddie. Adon didn't blame the man, but it would do nothing for this meeting. Making both Colin and Jonas clam up or lash out. Jonas did not deserve to relive his Crucio spell. And all Adon had seen of Colin Downer--who he'd initially intended to dislike on account of his insufferable face--was a rational, good-natured being. Which might have been Eddie's point, but not the way to drive it home. So singled out. Vulnerable. If that was how Eddie felt, he wasn't going to let Eddie turn that onto every other man in the room.

He bent slightly to pick up the bottle again.  For a moment, he just stood there, terse and tight and holding the bottle.  He stretched his jaw a bit, feeling the telltale crack.  "So," he finally resumed, "MacDuff is utilizing both sides of his nature--human and wolf--to execute the task, which may or may not have been spurred by Tawse, or others.  The connection to Tawse is too strong to disregard; one of the threats--taunts, really--used his image, presumably with consent.  He doesn't mind being tied to this.  It's pretty clear Tawse--" he grimaced and shook his head, took a swig, "MacDuff," he corrected, "is getting a personal thrill from this. But that could be some very clever recruiting tools someone in the organization used to get him to act. Or it could be wolfish behaviour." He looked over at Kurby. "But even then--you know what an Alpha male does? He recruits others. Has them down the same enemy, as a group. And then, once the enemy's down, and it's feeding time, you know what the Alpha male does? He gets the others fighting over the carcass, and he starts eating. In their midst. And he can because, you know what? He's the reason why they exist."

He rubbed his chin, "I don't think MacDuff's the alpha male. He seems clever," that was perhaps giving him too much, in Adon's opinion, but it'd at least unify the conversation, somewhat,  "but he didn't do this alone. And he doesn't seem to be the one pulling people into 'the plan', except from a nominal viewpoint," he said, eyes flickering over to Downer.  Technically, MacDuff had turned Downer--in a way recruiting him. Downer could correct him if he was out of line, but Adon was of the same mind as Jonas on this one.

He glanced over to Amherst.  Kurby and Amherst were close--if only because Adon knew her name from him, and Kurby hardly thought people worth mentioning by name.  His cousin'd been boring holes into Archer's skull moments before, but whether voluntary or no, Amherst could provide some key information to this. She had been vocal before.  "Amherst--MacDuff's been tailing you, am I right?" he asked, trying to dull the edge from delivering his dressing down earlier, "that does seem a predatory sort of behavior.  From your encounters with him, how would you sum up MacDuff?" He was quiet a moment before adding, "Besides 'batshit.'"

Margo wasn’t dumb.  She just… didn’t have a mind for this sort of thing.  She worked with dragons, who were not criminals, were not werewolves, and didn’t have the same mentalities as any of the things they were looking for.  What Margo did have to offer, of course, was her precarious position with MacDuff, who did not necessarily want to murder her… per se… but he did want something from her, and it made her uncomfortable when she figured at least one of the aurors here knew about it. 

It wasn’t the kind of thing a girl is proud of, but she had been drunk, didn’t know who he was, and it just sort of happened.  So when the big guy, Auror Radley, looked at her, Margo sank in her seat a little.  She didn’t want to tell everyone here!  It was mortifying.  For Margo to think anything was embarrassing had to mean something, because, as she had been aware of since a very early age, she had no shame.

Hell, she had done more embarrassing things in her life time, but those things hadn’t gotten other people hurt.  She spared a sideways glance to Bagnold, pursing her lips for a moment before sighing quietly.  At least he wasn’t dead, she reminded herself. 

So, she remained silent, glad that two aurors – the one who had placated her earlier (and earned quite the huff from Margo) were not quite so happy.  The tension in the room was palpable for a few minutes – Margo didn’t even knew she knew that word until she thought it – and expected to be kept in the background.

Of course, not going to happen.  Coughing into her hand, Margo averted the gaze of anyone else in the room for a few moments – how to sum him up… ugh.  “Well,” she started off slowly, drawing out the one syllable, “He – I mean, he genuinely enjoys causing pain,” she scratched a little at her shoulder, uncomfortable memories of bruises, teeth marks, and scratches, “and doesn’t take no for an answer.” 

“I think – I think he followed me for a long time,” Margo added, “making notes on where I went and things – he always just… kind of showed up.  When I started to really avoid him – when I knew he was a criminal,” she felt her cheeks burn, “he started breaking into my flat.  He wouldn’t do much – rustle my things; he’d take one or two things at a time, but I don’t know – I felt like every time he got angrier that I wasn’t there, for some reason.  Finally, I just didn’t go there anymore…”

She didn’t know much about what happened the night Bagnold got attacked in her flat.  He didn’t tell her much about it – actually anything, really.  He wouldn’t talk about it and she didn’t push it.  “I don’t think he’s used to waiting for things – and he doesn’t like it.  He’s impatient, demanding, and will obviously lash out at anyone, especially innocent people.  I think he prefers that to actually going after the individuals he wants.” She could sound somewhat intelligent sometimes...

Aberdeen had to resist the urge to rest her forehead in her hands; all this analysis of Macduff and his werewolf side was starting to make her head hurt. And as she probably could have predicted, Bagnold had a great deal to say on Macduff's lycanthropic nature. Downer brought some interesting insights to the table, and Aberdeen was quietly surprised at how relatively tame Pratt had kept his observations about his parents' murderer. But Radley had pinpointed what they needed, and that was a weakness. What they needed to draw from all this psychoanalysis was some kind of hook to get into Macduff, to start the process of tearing him down.

At Adon's question to Amherst, Aberdeen sat up a little straighter. She managed to not snap her attention over to the dragon handler, but she did eye the woman as unobtrusively as she could manage. Throughout Amherst's explanation of her own encounters with the rogue werewolf, Aberdeen felt her eyes widen a little. She was pretty damn close to having an actual expression on her face.

'Certainly sounds like we're all on the same page as to how much of a psychopath this guy is, then.' She had meant to be fairly brusque, but something about Amherst softened her tone. 'Amherst,' she added, looking in her direction but avoiding eye contact, 'sorry to be out of the loop here, but is Macduff... is he still following you, d'you know? Do you have an auror assigned to you?' There were two thoughts on Aberdeen's mind. One was that anyone being persistently threatened by Macduff was in dire need of protection. The other thought, about the potential advantages of someone with such a link to Macduff... well, she liked to pretend she hadn't thought it.

At least someone was listening and saying something. Margo felt like every single pair of eyes was targeted right on her – and usually, she was okay with that.  Most of the time, in fact, she relished in it.  But right now, in this atmosphere, it was like she was being examined in transfiguration or something.  Like she was going to turn into a hat if they looked closely enough.  She already felt embarrassed by her whole situation, now people were actually analyzing it.

She knew they were trying to help – but it didn’t seem like it!  And then the woman with the blonde hair spoke up – she called herself Spencer.  Thankfully she at least had something to add! And Margo coughed into her hand, shrugging a bit.

“After the… incident in my flat…” a euphemism to be any, for sure, “I was moved.  They,” she actually jerked her thumb at the big auror – the one with the dark, short hair that wasn’t rude to her when she spoke, “gave me a lot of rules about what I am and am not allowed to do.” She sighed, “or where I’m supposed to go.” 

“I don’t think he knows where I am – I mean, I haven’t seen him… which I suppose doesn’t really mean anything,” Margo was now rambling allowed, considering the implications of what she was saying.  Auror Radley mulled his jaw, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, clearly wanting to say something – she could almost hear it – you know, for her own good or whatever, and that they wouldn’t put her anywhere he could get to her, but still!  It was just a thought, “And I mean, I’m not royalty,” Margo pointed out, “I don’t need a body guard or anything.  Pretty sure it’s a bad idea.”  She glanced at Bagnold, just briefly, before looking around the room.

“But this meeting isn’t even about me,” she stated obstinately.  “It’s about MacDuff, and I can tell you, even if he’s not following me now, I don’t think he’s the kind of creep that gives up on this sort of thing.  He doesn’t even seem to care about getting caught sometimes – I think he thinks he can just power his way out of it,” she bit her lip a little, obviously true.  “Which is why whatever anyone does, it has to be way sneakier, I think.”