It was a very bad day for the King. There could be no doubt that the opposing Queen was coming for him, stalking him across the battlefield with the cool precision of a seasoned huntress. He knew he would never make it; his knights were dead, all his soldiers slaughtered in cold blood, and nothing now stood between him and the enemy. But he refused to simply lay down and die. And so for about twenty minutes now, they had danced across the battlefield while he nimbly dodged her every attack.

Of course, it couldn't last forever, and eventually she cornered him. With her blade to his neck, she stared him down, and the opposing king banged his scepter against the ground to signal checkmate.

Rémy rolled his eyes in disbelief and pushed away the Wizard's Chess set. Half the pieces were enchanted to play him on their own, and even they managed to beat him at chess. He could play plenty of intellectual games, but chess had never been one of his stronger pastimes. Then again, Dylan had constructed the charms that made the board work, and Dylan being the murderous chess master he was, the board was probably nigh unbeatable.

He pulled back the crimson sleeve of his robe and checked his watch - 12:23. He was wearing his uniform today, on account of some routine field exercise this morning, but he'd been let out early for a lunch break, just enough to get ahead of the rush. The Leaky Cauldron was full of patrons now, and the low hum of conversation filled the air. He'd already finished his lunch, but he still had some time before he had to be back at work.

"Could always play another game of chess..." he muttered, eyeballing the chess board on the table in front of him. The pieces seemed to glare back up at him balefully, as though they simply couldn't bear another lackluster game such as the one he'd just given them. "Fine, have it your way.

He turned his attention instead to the patrons of the pub, ranging from well-dressed Ministry employees to  grungy hired hands. Being so centrally located, the Leaky Cauldron attracted wizards and witches from all walks of life, and here in the dimly lit interior of the pub, they all stood on equal ground.

Light streamed into the pub as the door opened momentarily; Rem glanced over to see the new arrival, a tall, dark man, easily over six feet and formidably built. He didn't recognize the man, and a few sidelong, curious glances from some of the other patrons told him that this was not a regular visitor to the Leaky Cauldron. He was well-dressed, and carried himself like someone used to being in a position of power - perhaps an official, or some sort of businessman.

Rem folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow as he watched the new fellow, analyzing, determining whatever else he could based on his appearance and stance. Two years at the Auror's academy had taught him to single out unusual individuals in a crowd almost instinctively, so naturally, this one attracted his attention.

Jean-Baptiste had to admit these English wizards had done a good job in concealing the entrance, but then again, it would be stupid if a magical shop would be obvious on such a public Muggle place. And in a city this massive there wasn't a small amount of Muggles, as he had experienced for the past couple of weeks now. But it was positive that there was such a rich supply of vagrants and people that had few or none who would miss them. He smiled at the memories and pushed open the door.

The slight reduction in conversation and the few glances cast his way was nothing he hadn't experienced before. Great men with great presence have always caused fascination in others, as Jean-Baptiste knew fully well, and used to his full advantage. As he closed the door and stood at the entrance for a moment, he assessed the room, and it's occupants. Some of the patrons were wearing several types of traditional wizarding apparel, while others were wearing both conspicuous and appropriate Muggle clothing. Most of the patrons looked back at their partners or down into their drinks as his gaze swept over them. Of course, it was mostly the youngsters who were both wearing the most casual and acceptable Muggle clothing, and who looked away, but there was one who did neither.

Having gotten a tour around the Ministry the past week with his diplomatic brother had given him a few insights in it's workings, amongst others the fact that Aurors here wore an easily recognizable red uniform. It certainly removed a lot of effort in locating the opposite team's players, which he had to thank them for sometime.
This kid was probably relatively new, with the way he didn't conceal his focus on Jean-Baptiste. Ah, this should certainly prove interesting, he thought with a smile.

He walked over to the bar, standing in a spot that put his back firmly towards the Auror, and ordered two glasses of spicy Caribbean rum. As the bartender gave him the drinks, Jean made sure to tap one of them three times with the ring on his left hand, once again thankful for how little wizards here knew of certain aspects of darker magic. He turned around and walked towards the young Auror, putting one drink down in front of him as he sat down opposite, still feeling the slight resonance in the glass dying down.

"Enchanté! I hope I'm not intruding on what seems like a fascinating match?"

Once the stranger reached the bar, Rem decided to turn his attention elsewhere, glancing around the room once more before checking his watch again. 12:30. Still a good bit before he had to be back at work. When he looked back up again, he was startled to find the strange wizard sitting down across from him, and immediately sat up straight, conscious of the fact that he was probably in the presence of someone important. That, and the man looked twice as large and imposing up close.

He glanced down at the chess board; he'd almost forgotten it was still on the table in front of him. He chuckled apologetically. "Fascinating enough that I had completely lost track of it. I suppose you caught me watching. I apologize; I guess when someone interesting shows up I sometimes forget to be subtle." Awkward. He cleared his throat and reached for the glass that had been set in front of him, doing his best to conceal his misgivings. Any other time and he might have politely refused the drink, since he didn't want to show up to work buzzed and didn't handle his alcohol too well anyway (a combination of small stature and genetic disposition). However, he was acutely aware of the fact he might have offended this stranger already, and didn't care to do it again, so out of a sense of obligation he took the drink.

"Thank you," he murmured quietly before taking a hesitant sip. The strong taste and light burning sensation that abruptly filled his mouth startled him enough to make him put the glass down after a moment. A slight cough escaped him, much to his chagrin. "Wow. Um." He paused a moment to take a couple of breaths before attempting to make conversation.

Well, at least the choice of liquor - and the accent - told him why this man seemed so out of place. "You've certainly got an exotic taste in alcohol. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing you're not a local?"

The young Auror had been startled as he saw Jean-Baptiste sit down at his table, but he did manage to reel it in and answer Jean's question. "Well," he said, his voice heavy with the Haitian French accent he had never managed to rid himself of. "It's hard to keep oneself focused all the time on cerebral matters, my friend. And I do not blame your interest in a newcomer, that is after all a robe of the, uhm, Auras? Is that right?"
The slight lie in pretending he didn't know what Aurors were was a basic misdirection, but it still often worked, in his opinion.

The very hesitant way he took the drink Jean had sat in front of him made it obvious there was a battle going on inside him between his training and common courtesy. But hey, what threat could possibly a friendly foreigner be?
He had to smile as the Auror apparently thought something similar, and took a sip.

"You're very welcome, my friend." Jean let off a genuine deep, rumbling chuckle at the way the Auror's face changed after taking a sip of his glass, and breathed slightly heavier.
"Hahaha! You're quite right, monsieur Aura! I have the privilege of following my diplomat brother to your beautiful country, and help him in any way I can. My name is Jean-Baptiste Facilier. And I must apologize if the rum is not to your liking, but I'm afraid old habits die hard. That type of mixed rum is called the Baron's Baptism back home."

Jean felt a small pang of anger inside him how let slip the hint of voodoo, but was happy that it didn't show on his face.

Rem chuckled, finding himself oddly amused by the foreign man's unique perspective on the local customs and terms. He found it refreshing, meeting someone who saw the wizarding community of Britain from an outside perspective. He took another swig of the rum, his eye twitching slightly as he did his best to put it away; it was strong stuff alright, and smarted going down.

"Well, I'm not precisely an Auror," he admitted, placing a gentle emphasize on the syllables of the word to clear up the man's misconception. Not that it mattered, since each individual with each unique accent would pronounce it differently, and for some people it came out as Auras anyway. One more thing that interested him about people outside the local fare.

"I'm actually still in the training stages, but I still wear the uniform for decorum, at least when I'm outside the Ministry offices," he continued. He held out one hand across the table, offering to shake. "Pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Facilier. I'm Rémy Sharp." He relaxed slightly, the man's friendly manner easing the initial awkwardness of the situation, but he was still highly curious - what was the diplomatic mission of Facilier's brother, and where were they from? He gathered from somewhere in the Caribbean judging by the accent (and the rum), but what country? And what kind of ties was the United Kingdom trying to build with their homeland? All of this, of course, was probably personal nosiness, but he had a penchant for digging into Ministry affairs that were technically none of his business.

"Well now, if you're drinking rum from back home, I suppose you may not have tasted the local brew. Have you been around Diagon Alley yet?"

Jean-Baptiste was smiling quite openly now, trying to project it as because he had met a friendly new person, though it mainly was because he truly hadn't expected he would have such good luck to find not only an Auror from the Ministry, but one that hadn't finished his training at that!

"Please, Monsieur, the pleasure is all mine, believe me! It is truly refreshing to meet other people than one after the other of politicians and my brothers colleagues. They certainly have the right idea about international cooperation and such, but there are other things in life as well, wouldn't you agree?" Jean raised his glass to Rémy, and extended his arm in an arch to encompass the entire pub and it's people. It wasn't a lie that he truly enjoyed pretending to be just another normal person. Having a break from time to time was certainly nothing to be sneezed at.

"I have to admit, I have not gotten to sample everything your lovely country and city have to offer. Diplomatic dinners almost always serve us Caribbean food, trying to make us feel at home. So now on my day off I was intending to take a long and leisurely stroll along this magnifique Alley I've heard so much about."

Jean waved his hand absentmindedly over the fallen king on the board in front of him, making it move and jiggle a bit. He was considering how to enact any types of plan on this young man, like how much focus and effort should be put into it all. He decided to try one way: "But I must admit some these surroundings tend to confuse me, Monsieur, and as you seem like a bon man, do you think you could help me deciding which places to visit?"

Rem didn't miss the way Facilier manipulated the toppled chess piece, seeing it jump and buck ever so slightly under the motion of the man's hand. One eyebrow shot up, his curiosity piqued, and he leaned back to take another look, reassessing his initial impression of the man sitting in front of him. Children often performed bits of wandless magic as they cut their wizard's teeth, so to speak, but never consciously and never so controlled. Owing to the difficulty of true wandless spells, only very advanced wizards and witches could really harness their magic without a wand, and only after a great deal of practice.

"I think," Rem said, burning now with curiosity, or maybe just half a glass of exotic rum, "I could spare the time to show you around Diagon Alley a bit. We'll hit the highlights and see if you fancy the place."

They wouldn't miss him at work if he showed up a bit late, would they? And anyway, it would give him time to walk off the glass of alcohol he hadn't planned on drinking.

Figuring he might as well finish what he started, Rem drained the last half of his glass, doing his best to keep a game face even while the spicy brew burned his insides. Finished, he laid a few galleons on the table as payment. Then he stood, withdrew his wand from his coat pocket, and gave the chess board a light tap. With a sharp snap, it seemed to fold on itself, the pieces leaping into their respective pockets and the panels closing up, until it was no more than a small, checkered square which he tucked back into his pocket along with his wand.

"I think you might like to see Gringott's Bank first - it's the most ostentatious landmark on the street, and after all, a man of your status needs to know where to keep his money and who runs the place, right?" He offered a polite grin, acting the part of being pleased to represent the Ministry by showing around a foreign diplomat, but really more interested in his guest's background than anything else. "If you'll follow me, Monsieur?" And indicating the door out to Diagon Alley, he set off at a brisk pace.

As the young Auror agreed to show him around, Jean-Baptiste gaven an outwardly smile, but hesitated a bit on the inside. Why was he so interested? Perhaps Jean had underestimated him. After all, they probably didn't admit people with zero skill into training, even in England. He would have to be less self-assured and show him some more professional respect. Becoming complacent is every man's downfall...

"That sounds perfect, mon ami! Thank you for being such a gracious and informal representative for your city. I shall have to tell the my brother and his friends how promising your department is." Keeping people's good mood well lubricated was always the trick. Though perhaps he should tone it down a bit, especially if this man was smarter than Jean had initially thought.

Jean felt his ring glow with slight warmth as the Auror downed the rest of his glass while trying to keep his composure. Then Jean finished his own drink and stood up as the man put his payment for his bill on the table and magicked away the board into his pocket, followed by his wand.

"Mais oui, my brother informed me of how you employ the goblins to keep your treasures. He gave me the key to our diplomatic vault for the day, so I might as well pop in and get me some spending money." Jean smiled back at the young Auror's energy and wish to be of help, but his interest was starting to show, and that could be dangerous. Thankfully, the magic the fool had gladly accepted wouldn't take too long to kick in. Until then, though, he would have to play it straight and and by, well not THE book, but certainly his own book, and he followed the man out of the pub.

With lunch hour in full swing, the Alley outside the pub was hectic. Wizards and Witches of all kinds crowded the street, bustling hither and thither on their various errands, brightly colored robes and odd, pointed hats mixing with one another to create a blur of activity all up and down the row. Owls screeched overhead as they carried their letters and parchments for delivery, and a couple of shopkeepers were yelling across the way at one another over some disagreement about business. Rémy had seen his share of Muggle shopping districts, but nothing quite compared to the eccentricity of wizarding establishments.

Though he normally would have slipped through the gaps in the crowd and escaped with ease, he was mindful that his companion was much broader than he and therefore less maneuverable in this muddle. He had already made up his mind to slow down the pace, but there was no need; the crowd seemed to open up to let the two of them by. Whether it was the auror's robes or the diplomat's intimidating stature, he couldn't say, but it came as a pleasant surprise, and they arrived shortly at the doors to the bank.

"Gringotts!" Rémy declared, sweeping a hand out as though the enormous white building didn't stand out enough. As he lead Facilier inside, his eyes caught on the inscription on the door for a moment, skimming the first couple of lines and then reciting them probably louder than entirely polite:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed, of what awaits the sin of greed!" The lines echoed off the vaulted, marble ceiling. One or two of the goblins looked up as they entered, but most ignored the disruption and kept dutifully to their quills, adding up figures and recording numbers.

It went on, of course, elaborating on what terrible horrors might await thieves who thought they could steal from the bank. Rem had read it enough times to know the basics of what the rhyme entailed; it was such a grim little number, he often wondered how they got any business before remembering that it was the only bank in the United Kingdom. Not many other options.

Lowering his voice, he leaned to the side and confided privately with Facilier, "Goblins are of course very dedicated bankers, but right nasty gits if you get on their bad side." Rem, unfortunately, made a habit of getting on their bad side, but honestly, every one of their faces was perpetually locked in what he had dubbed the "goblin grimace." He couldn't help poking a bit of fun to try and loosen them up a bit. He firmly believed that everyone had a sense of humor...but with the Gringotts goblins, he was beginning to wonder.

It was a good thing he didn't need to get into his vault today.

One of the tellers glanced sidelong at the two of them, pointed ears twitching. Rem averted his gaze casually, whistling, and explained, "Talk to  any one of them to get into your vault. I can't imagine they'll give you too much trouble, since you brought the key."

Jean-Baptiste was fascinated by the twisting streets outside, filled with all sorts of people rushing to and fro'. It was entertaining to watch the young Auror trying to keep the crowds from jostling himself and Jean-Baptiste, but projecting a sort of aura that no one would like to disturb was a skill Jean had developed early in life. And being built like an ox wasn't bad, either. As it was, they arrived pretty quickly outside the impressive facade of the goblin-run establishment.

Jean's companion performed a grand gesture, taking inn the building as though he was a tour-guide, and then e recited part of the inscription over the door. He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped as he both read and heard the words. "Ah, mais oui! I had forgotten how much you love rhymes and such here in the Old World! It's an impressive part of your culture, I must say." He truly found it amusing how much of stock this country's wizards and witches loved their little poems. Didn't they understand that such things were disrespectful to the true nature of magic?

As the Auror leaned in and confided to Jean his thoughts of the goblins, Jean couldn't help feeling mischievous, even though he was a job. It might even work in his favor of seeming more innocent or stupid. So as he began walking towards the nearest clerk, he asked in a carrying whisper:"Monsieur Rémy, what is a "git", exactly?". He managed to keep an inquisitive expression on his face.

As he reached the ugly little creature sitting behind the desk he laid the key from his vault on the desktop, and told it in a rather more imperious tone than he had planned: "I require funds from my vault. About 100 galleons worth, made up of both galleons, sickles and knuts. I will not require to check my vault, so I will be waiting here for it. Do not disturb anything other than the amount of gold I have specified."
The goblin looked at the key, and then at Jean-Baptiste with a rather disgusted look. Jean was pleased how quickly that look disappeared as another goblin rushed over and whispered something into his ear. Obviously, whispers had reached them about the owner of this vault. Both goblins rushed off towards the way down.

It occurred to Rémy somewhere between the door and the desk that he was probably being extra obnoxious due to the rum he had dutifully choked down on behalf of his new companion. If he calculated the minutes correctly, by now the alcohol was busy being metabolized, making its way through his bloodstream, lowering inhibitions, affecting judgment... and not a single one of these logical thoughts stopped him from continuing to be obnoxious, grinning broadly at the goblins when they weren't looking (and sometimes, when they were). He was already beginning to get a bit lightheaded as the buzz set in, but luckily one glass of alcohol wasn't enough to get plastered, not even for him.

Then again, he couldn't be sure about this foreign stuff.

Facilier's question brought him back to attention. He could see pointed ears twitching irritably all around the room, suggesting maybe the bankers had heard the question as well. Of course the man wouldn't understand; he supposed it was technically a bit of local slang. "A git, ah, it's a...a...tosser, rotter, no, no, no..." he looked for some kind of word that would be more familiar to the diplomat, but all of his favorites were the ones that probably wouldn't translate well.

Sighing, he explained, "Well, it's an...an unpleasant person, basically. Although I like git better, personally, it's a bit stronger and it sounds funnier. I could yell 'you're a bloody unpleasant person' in the pub at someone, but it wouldn't be quite the same as 'you're a bloody git' now would it?" He was rambling now, which was another unfortunate side effect of Rémy Sharp after a drink, you couldn't get him to shut up unless you gave him three more so he'd pass out. "I don't suppose you really understand though, being not from around here, and Merlin's bloody tailcoats, why am I still talking about this?"

He took a deep breath to clear his head while Facilier stepped up to speak with the teller. A glance at his watch told him it was a quarter til' and almost time to be back at work, but he quickly decided he could afford to be late. After all, he'd barely started the tour.

The sudden, commanding tone the diplomat assumed startled him, and Rémy, who had assumed a standing position behind and slightly to the left of the man, looked up sharply from his watch. Even a glass of strong drink couldn't have prevented him from recognizing the sudden shift in Facilier's demeanor from one moment to the next. However, though alcohol hadn't necessarily dulled his wits, it had certainly dulled some invisible barrier between his mind and his mouth that would have otherwise prevented him from saying aloud, "You're certainly more of a politician than you  let on, Monsieur Facilier. You obviously have many more faces than the one I've met, and I can see you wield each of them with expert precision depending on which one you need at the moment."

It was easily a casual observation, but not without a hint of intense curiosity running underneath. He couldn't help it; he was a naturally investigative individual, and people with hidden depths were almost like puzzles to him.