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SUMMER 2021

It's time for a little rest and recuperation. After a tumultuous schoolyear culminating in coordinated attacks upon both Hogwarts and London, magical citizens could certainly use a break. Summer is upon us, and while the immediate danger has passed, not every creature is taking the summer off.

JUNE 19TH - AUGUST 31 NOW OPEN

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» 19 June 2021 || They Moved Forward, My Heart Died, Wizarding World
Ramona Bartleby
 Posted: Mar 26 2018, 07:29 PM
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38
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28 years old

Secretary to C. Black

London, England
Ministry


MINISTRY, LEVEL FIVE - DIMC

Ramona blinked at the man in front of her, confusion etched on her features. Merlin, how the bloody hell was she supposed to know if her boss was good at fire spells? Maybe that was part of the interview process for jobs in the department of magical law enforcement, but she didn't recall her predecessor asking Cassie to blow things up or set them on fire when he was in the process of getting promoted. "I assume?" she said casually with a shrug, still not quite getting the severity of the situation. It was hard for her to fathom a grown adult not knowing how to blow shit up or light it on fire, though maybe that was due to her own proclivities (or, rather, her friends') in her youth. "I mean, it's taught at Hogwarts, yeah?" And obviously the bossman didn't flunk out, so he should be fine.

Yet it seemed like Rowan was off in a hurry, as though her boss was a child incapable of fending off a hoard of zombies on his own. Either she greatly overestimated her boss, or the auror was in a tizzy about nothing. He already seemed to be down the stairs by the time his voice made it to her, so she had absolutely no problem answering under her breath, "I'd be happy to use you to demonstrate my ability to set human-shaped things on fire." Of course, Romy assumed that the senior auror was well out of earshot before she dared to even mutter such a thing, considering the echoing of footsteps on stairs was no longer present; she'd learned her lesson about audibly talking trash in the ministry a few months ago. It didn't stop her from saying such things in private or ranting to her American friends, of course, but she had yet to be reprimanded again.

Despite the urgency that the situation probably called for, Ramona had absolutely no qualms about taking her time as her heels clicked across the floor and she made her way to the lifts. She could probably have followed in the footsteps of the auror and followed him down the stairs, but that seemed like far too much work for the fun she wanted to have. Man, she was totally going to rub this in the face of some of her friends working in international equivalents of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She doubted they saw half as much action in their jobs as she had grown accustomed to in what she assumed would be a boring, uneventful, cushy way to bide her time and get a pay check.

Her toes tapped a mindless rhythm against the floor as she waited for what seemed like forever to get on the lifts before she eventually stepped into it. She watched memos float about as it took her back to the Atrium.

Atrium

Romy still lacked any sense of urgency as she made her way out of the lifts and into the Atrium. She took a few steps and glanced around at the chaos - which probably couldn't even be considered organized - and paused. A part of her wanted to rush out into the fray so that she could pop back home whenever she got bored, but she knew that the poor souls whose jobs were to actually deal with the problem might need help. Hmm...decisions, decisions.

@Drakky
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Jacob Hersey
 Posted: Mar 27 2018, 07:55 PM
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23
posts
21 years old

Mortuary Assistant

London
Wizarding World


Knockturn Alley

Cinnamon. Cayenne dusting the rim. Air burns on the tongue but underneath just chill and sour. Apple that's gone off. Empty. The ratio's all wrong. Too much water in the glass.

The painted puppet, the one who was not his Annemarie stumbled forward awkward as a newborn fawn. Two fast for unsteady limbs. She had been pretty once for certain, Jacob noted again as a smile pulled tight the corners of his lips. If she could be a ghost's puppet, could she not be his as well? She drew closer, hands outstretched and hungry, fingers grasping at the soft meat of his form and he popped away just out of reach. Quick thinking. Quicker reflexes. Stay out of reach.

More puppets were filling the dingy, narrow street. Too many to have come from his workplace alone. How curious it was that these creatures of the dark and cold were streaming out into the bright warmth of day. "Come beautiful," he encouraged, voice little more than a whisper as glanced over his shoulder to make sure no other puppets were approaching him from behind as he watched the one who was not his. The fatman had collided with the old woman, her cake try clattering against the broken stone path as she screamed. He remembered what it felt like. Warm and wet and red. He'd been puppet only to his rage, though and these hollow things would not feel any of his satisfaction.

She, the one he watched, came closer again and again he forced himself through the density of space to appear just a few feet further down the street. He'd catch her if he could, but it wouldn't do to make the effort where the gaze of a stranger could observe. Into darkness. The natural habitat of ghosts and corpses alike. Home to both these inhuman things. He knew how his own bones fit, but would hers be jointed different? What magic and curiosity would be woven in her joints if he could just dissect them on his own? How would the words play out as they danced under her skin?

Again and again he let her draw near until she was nearly close enough to lunge before he disapparated, appearing again just meters down the street. Time and time again he glanced over his shoulder or to his side to make sure that he was clear. Would the puppet keep playing this game? Would whatever shadow of thought she might possess in her hollow head drive her to a more likely victim? Would he tire first? She was faster than one would think and Jacob's body was more human than most. But then, that's what he had a wand for and he was more than adept at drawing quickly should the need arise.
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Jerah Lestrange
 Posted: Mar 27 2018, 10:55 PM
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32
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20 years old

Auror in Training

England
Ministry


Knockturn Alley

Jerah had to wait for what seemed like forever. He had to burn several of those stupid boring corpses. They just kept getting in his way, and killing people. It was all very inconvenient. He skipped over a body that had been torn up. Maybe he could use some of the leftovers. He had finally spotted what he was looking for. Hovering above the buildings was a dementor. It glided over the rooftops as it searched for a victim. Even from here, Jerah could feel a slight chill in the air. It was such a wonderful sensation. He prepared his mind for happy thoughts. His whole life was full of hard memories, but they often felt detached from him. They were light dreams that wanted to float away. He opened up his suitcase, muttering a string of spells that caused the suitcase to spring open and a large round silver like cage expanded out from it.

"Let's go fly a kite, up to the highest height!" The spherical cage was connected to a long chain that he grabbed onto. Now he'd just have to get the dementor to fly this way. Sadly, it seemed more interested in floating towards Knockturn. What was so special about Knockturn, he grumbled to himself. He wondered how his sister was fairing. She was probably kicking butt and taking names. He wasn't sure why she'd need to take names, but it seemed like something she'd do. He chased after the creature as it continued to float away. He now found himself down the cramped streets of Knockturn. "1, 2, I'm coming for you. 3, 4, you better lock your door." Not that dementors had doors to lock. Once he felt like he was close enough, he pulled out his wand and waved it. His patranous took the form of a white rabbit. It bounded up into the sky to chase after the dementor and heard it into Jerah's cage.
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Gracelynn Bones
 Posted: Mar 27 2018, 11:14 PM
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81
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21 years old

Auror

England
Ministry


MINISTRY, LEVEL EIGHT - ATRIUM

There was no time to take the time she wanted to and comfort Alaric. No time to slip him a piece of chocolate she had stashed in the tiny desk drawers of her cubicle upstairs. All she needed right now was confirmation that he was alright, which he was, and to know what he was capable of. London needed all the help it could get right now. Gracelynn needed all the help she could get right now. She gave a short nod to Mister Quail, ”Gracie, but no time for introductions. Mister Quail, I’m going to have you be the Floor Warden of Level Eight. Make sure all civilians incapable or unwilling to fight Floo home. Organize people who can fight Inferi or Dementors, they will take to the streets.” she relayed part of the instructions Ravensby had given her to the elderly man, confident that he would get the job done right. He had been an auror way back in the day. He probably knew her family, her great aunt she had been partially named after.

Then Vic waltzed up to the scene. Gracelynn couldn’t help but restrain a groan from escaping her lips. Last time she had responded to the scene of chaos, she had caused a literal train wreck. But she couldn’t be picky when it came to the help she was being offered. She knew she needed every bit of it she could get. ”Vic, stay with me. We need to check up on the other floors and assign Floor Wardens. Then we lock down the Ministry.” she gave a stern look to Vic before she turned back to Alaric. ”Find someone who can produce a patronus and head to Diagon. It’s swamped. Please, be careful.” she put her hand on his shoulder for a brief moment and gave it an assuring squeeze.

Gracie waved for Vic to follow her. The inner optimist couldn’t help but look at the bright side of her returning and coming to help right as this all happened. Maybe this was her shot at redemption as well. She knew what it was like to be looked at like a fragile little thing. She probably wanted to prove everyone wrong about her. Dang, sympathy.

The scene inside the Ministry was chaotic, not at all orderly as she wanted it to be. But then again, the only woman who would ever be able to contain chaos and demand order was about to head to the streets herself. She caught a glimpse of Ravensby in the atrium herself, but there was no time to sit and chit chat. She gave Gracelynn a very important job and she intended on doing that job as well as she could. ”We’re going to hit Floor Nine and assign a Floor Warden. Then seven, six and up. Inferi and Dementors are everywhere and there’s no telling what else could sneak into the Ministry with these distractions.” the last thing they needed was another messy break in to deal with.

MINISTRY, LEVEL TWO - DMLE

In a matter of ten minutes, they had hit every floor and assigned a suitable warden to guard them. Gracie had also filled Vic in on the line of protective charms they were going to perform together to lock the ministry down as much as they could. But before they could return to the Atrium, she needed to check on the other trainee she had seen running around while she was going to the atrium. ”Dunnet, is it?” she approached the older man, ankle deep in white paper memos that had rained upon the office minutes earlier. And it was still raining memos.

”Good work, thank you.” she looked at the map he had been creating of all the reported encounters across London. There was no pattern to follow, the creatures didn’t target any location or any group of people specifically. Diagon Alley was one of the most populous areas being flooded with reports, so that would be one location she would send people, along with a few others she could spot across the map.

”I’ve already dealt with a Dementor in the Atrium. I’m not sure what else may manage to sneak its way into the Ministry, but you’re going to be the Floor Warden of Level 2. No one without a badge on this level, and do not leave until… when would this all be over? She didn’t know. ”Until Ravensby herself tells you to. Yeah. Questions?” she was unsure herself, but honestly, was anyone sure of themselves at this point in time?

@Logan @Merel @Kris @Anne
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Jim Castellan
 Posted: Mar 28 2018, 07:51 PM
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45 years old

Auror

London
Ministry


Jim looked around the auror office. It was a quiet day, which meant he had plenty of time to get caught up on the paperwork that tended to pile up when he procrastinated on doing anything that didn't involve moving. Honestly, he hated this part of his job—sitting behind a desk, filling out paperwork. He was a big man, and big men did not do well behind desks. His hands had a way of taking about two minutes to start cramping up whenever he started to write anything. Most quills were painfully tiny in his massive hands. He preferred to be out in the field, fighting bad guys. That was what he had signed on for. He'd be damned if his years of auror training were going to go into filling out paperwork. No way; that wasn't happening, not if he had anything to say about it. He'd rot if he had to sit behind this stupid desk too long.

At some point—the hours all tended to blend together whenever he filled out paperwork—an airplane memo landed on his desk. His first thought was thank Merlin. An airplane memo meant there was something to do—even if that something was no more than writing back to an equally bored coworker. Maybe they wanted to see if he wanted to get a drink after work, to which he probably would've said yes. Or maybe it was a new order from the top, in which case he would gladly get up and go fight whatever needed to be fought. As long as there was something to distract him from the paperwork hell, he'd be happy. Opening the memo quickly, Jim read the message inside. His expression quickly shifted from bored and hopeful to panicked, and that panic quickly set into a steely, stone-faced resolve.

Inferi. Investigate and Neutralize. And the next one to fly onto his desk was no more of a comfort, either. Grindelwald. Jim was helpless to stop the "Fucking hell..." that rumbled from his mouth. He rubbed his temples for a moment. His first thought was of his wife. Joyce. She was still in St. Mungo's. Were they locked down? Did they know what was going on? What if she was on break? A thousand thoughts flooded his mind at once. He wanted to go find her—he needed to go find her, to make sure she was safe. Panic threatened the corners of his mind, flowing in and out like the tide, but he couldn't allow it to control him. He needed to find his wife. But he had orders, too. And he didn't know what to follow—those, or every muscle in his body telling him to go find his wife.

In the end, he decided he really didn't have a choice—orders were orders. He'd check on his wife along the way—tell her to lock down, stay off the street, but doing his job was easily the best way to keep her safe. So, with that, he stood up and started down the stairs and out of the ministry. He looked around the place, trying to decide whether or not he could make a quick detour to St. Mungo's on his way to neutralize the inferi. Taking a second glance around, however, he quickly realized that the inferi were everywhere. What kind of atrocity had transpired to spawn this many inferi? He shook that thought out of his head. There was one thing he could focus on, and that was the job at hand. Distractions could've been deadly—not just for himself, but for anyone who might've been depending on him.

So, with a breath to steel himself, Jim walked out onto the street, mentally thanking his past self for deciding to master non-verbal spell work. He couldn't imagine having to say incendio every time he cast it. It was easier to fight with just a wave of his wand and a thought. He took out patches of inferi with streams of fire from his wand. As he walked, he quickly realized he had no idea what he was doing anymore. Somewhere between the office and here, the orders had changed to "Kill inferi. Find Joyce. Kill inferi." in his mind. And he was perfectly content to do that as well. He walked, his stride long and brisk, footsteps thundering. The fire that emerged from the tip of his wand grew every time he summoned it. A group of inferi—about seven of them—stood up the street from him. With a swish of his wand, the fire swallowed them whole.

It was already bad. Then the cold set down over him—strong enough to be felt over the heat of the fire that swirled around him. A vague sense of despair nagged at his heart, and he fought it off, knowing what it was beyond a shadow of a doubt. He turned around to face the dementor that hovered just inches from his face. "Expecto Patronum!" He bellowed, calling forth memories of his children, his wife, everything he'd ever cared for and loved. And from his wand, in silvery white, came an elephant that charged the dementor, throwing it out of sight. Under different circumstances, he would've stopped to admire just how fitting it was that his patronus should be an elephant, or how convenient it was that he should be able to conjure that patronus when he needed it most—it seemed almost cliché. But now was not the time to revel in irony.

He stopped in front of St. Mungo's, looking through the door, not daring to open it. "Joyce!" He yelled. It was only when he saw her face in the crowd throughout he window that the panic in his heart subsided. Taking a deep breath, he shot her a look that said "Just stay in there. I'll come back for you." He wanted to stay with her, but he knew he couldn't. He had a job to do. He saw her mouth form the words "Be safe." He gave her a nod, a promise, before taking off again. He would continue to fight. For her. For their sons and their unborn baby.

This was what he'd signed on for, and there was no way he was going to quit.

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Vanya Ravensby
 Posted: Mar 28 2018, 10:15 PM
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68 years old

Minister for Magic

Ministry of Magic
Ministry


MINISTRY- ATRIUM

"Don't lecture me about being hot-headed, Drake!" Vanya told him, cheerfully as she moved along her warpath. When she turned to face him again, Vanya lowered her voice, stepping close enough to share the words only between the two of them. "Rowan.Harry needs an opening. Trust me." That was all she could say in the atrium, in insecure times. Vanya knew she had not been Minister long enough to do any spring cleaning he had mentioned, and there were sycophants and the glaringly incompetent in more places than she even wanted to think about. Those would be harder to clean out than a few hundred Inferi.

He surrendered his argument, as he always did in the face of his mother, and Vanya offered him a small smile and a nod. I know, Rowan. You care. "I was...joking, but now that you mention it, I think I will have her along. Try not to get killed. I'm already short Aurors." she teased in return...and watched him go.

When Vanya turned back to continue her way out, the very same secretary she had been teasing Rowan about taking out onto the streets to fight with her exited the lift, taking a look around at her people milling about. Vanya took a few steps toward the girl, gesturing for her to come closer as she continued to shorten the space between them. She nodded her head in acknowledgement to the young woman. "Bartleby, is it? Yes? Good." She reached over to clap the woman briefly on the shoulder, a warning to her to prepare herself for what she was about to propose.

"One of my Aurors seemed to think you could blister the undead with a look, and if they got that impression, I judge you capable. Are you familiar enough with fire spells to accompany me? No one seems to want me to go out and clean up the undead. Since I am unaccustomed to being the sort of witch who does what she is told, naturally, I'm going." A faint hint of amusement shone in Vanya's eyes, and she inclined her head toward the exits. "I'll be making a lot of noise and fire, because someone needs a capable distraction. Shall we?"

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Castor Black
 Posted: Mar 30 2018, 06:49 AM
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223
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43 years old

DIMC Head

UK
Ministry


DIAGON ALLEY

He'd hoped that if he remained still and silent enough, the Dementor would pass him by and he could proceed with his intended course...whatever that turned out to be. There'd been no time to make up his mind, not when new developments continued to arise in such quick succession, and now Castor was far too occupied with forcing a calm to sort through the moralistic conflict that kept him from simply apparating away. It would have been so easy, to jump to the Ministry's entrance or perhaps even the Atrium if he dared risk it. He could alert someone there of the chaos he'd encountered and be about his business as if it had never been interrupted. But what would Rowan think? A good man, a moral man--was that not what he was supposed to be now? He hadn't cared much for such altruism before and...well, he honestly did not care for it now. The world at large was not his concern, to nurture or save, regardless of his preoccupation with straightening out its laws and systems of operation, but was it not a love of Rowan's? His occupation, his ideals and shining, spectacular aspirations, involved the betterment and safety of mankind--or at least magical Britain--and in the absence of all else, it was that sort of passion that Castor had to pledge himself to.

Of course, a soul was rather necessary to engage in such pursuits, and Castor leveled a stern gaze at the hooded figure hovering just across the alley from him. Such creatures were attracted to emotion, fed by happiness and perhaps enlivened by the despair that they wrought, and where, on his last encounter with such a wraith, he'd given over to his own sorrow, he had rather more to fight for now. If there was one thing Castor knew, it was how to remain emotionless in trying times, and though his heart continued to thunder, his head was calm, panic smothered efficiently beneath a recitation of the clauses of Legal Measure 24/97, which outlined minimum marketable cauldron thicknesses and had been changed, by a measure of incremental degrees, numerous times over the past century. For the most part, it seemed to be working, and even as the hooded figure released the limp form in its arms, allowing it to fall to the cobbles beneath the flutter of its robes, it did not gravitate closer. Through the chaos--the thrashing of inferi as they gathered at his immovable barrier and the flash-bang of explosive fire charms along the row of shopfronts--they regarded one another, locked in a momentary stalemate.

And then Rowan's voice called to him through the din and Castor's heart leapt.

Despite himself, he turned, meeting Rowan's gaze across the alley and absorbing the obvious consternation with which he regarded the scene he'd stumbled across. It was...rather ludicrous, his entourage of Inferi, and he spared them a look as Rowan called for fire, but it was the Dementor that ushered his attention back. It had turned as he had, sightless face flitting to Rowan--what could have been more enticing to a creature of darkness, after all, than a spectacle so raw and dazzling as his Auror? He lost track of it in the next moment, however, vision occluded by a sudden wave of fire that incinerated the screen of flailing corpses pounding at the other side of his shield. His barrier held easily, but with a faint frown he'd dispelled it in the next moment regardless, allowing that Rowan appear beside him as he emerged from the drifting smoke.

"I-I'm...perfectly fine," he insisted with a furrow of his brow, attentions splintered as he glanced, astounded, from Rowan's face to the still clearing smoke. Where had the Dementor gone? "The Inferi have...hardly presented themselves...much threat." There remained a small collection pounding at the barrier behind him as if to prove his point, shielded from Rowan's flames by the narrow passage walls and his second barrier. "You expect that I...leave? I...Rowan." The last came sharply, and Castor extended a hand to take Rowan by the shoulder, pulling him insistently against his chest as he stepped nearer, wand rising to the street at his lover's back. He had hardly to reach far to summon an appropriate thought; he'd known his own happiness with an abject sort of dread the moment Rowan had appeared, his focus broken where he'd attempted to guard himself with thought of matters utterly mundane. Whether the Dementor had been drawn by his affection or the air of sweet, intoxicating joy that seemed to cling to Rowan's skin like a cologne, he could not say, but it had reappeared at last, gliding soundless through the brume, and with an exhalation that was not quite words, Castor felt a heat of magic push through him.

It was not a very impressive effect. A silvery-blue mist showered from the end of his wand, rising into a flat disk that served to send the Dementor cringing backward the way it had come, but it did not drive it far, the wraith continuing to hover just at the edge of his Patronus charm as though contemplating how best to get around it. Castor winced. First a lack of fire and now this; scorn flared in him momentarily, but he could see how it sent a ripple across the surface of his magic, and he was quick to dismiss the emotion in favor of his thin attempts at more positive thoughts. Now was not the time to allow himself to entertain such self-deprecating distraction.

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Runa Lestrange
 Posted: Mar 31 2018, 09:59 PM
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20 years old

Clerk, Borgin & Burke's

Knockturn Alley
Wizarding World


KNOCKTURN ALLEY - BORGIN & BURKES

A faint look of amusement lingered in Runa's eyes, and she lifted up her can of soda to shake it a little, then lift it like she was offering Kit a toast. "Coke. You wanna try?" From the disgusted wrinkle of his nose, Runa was pretty sure the answer was going to be a solid no. It wasn't just Kit that was funny that way; a lot of magical Britain seemed much less familiar with no-maj stuff than she was. She'd heard it was different back in the Fifties or something, but that was forever ago, and what did it matter? Aside from the decade being responsible for winged eyeliner, Runa really couldn't give less of a shit about the Fifties, but she did care about no-maj things like soda, horror films, and her phone. Shame it never seemed to work when she was trying to do important stuff like film actual zombie-like creatures.

Runa let out a short chuckle, shrugging her shoulders. "I dunno, prolly. You really do like your words, Kit." She was more than happy to let the businessman run his mouth--the less talking Runa had to awkwardly commit to, the better. "Christ on a stick, Kit, lemme get out there and I'll burn 'em." Few things could really bring any sort of lasting smile to Runa's face, but the events Kit was informing her of were a perfect storm of delight for the pink-haired girl. She finished her touch up and swung around the other side of the counter to lock up. Kit understood. He didn't go anywhere without looking like he had a trench coat full of actual snake oil and a fancy suit. She thought he was pretty good at walking the line between charming and douchebag, but he was also old, so...whatever. "C'mon. I'll clear you a path." Her eyes almost sparkled with anticipation. There weren't many feelings quite like a wild fire against your face.

While she'd nodded at his assessment of the Inferi and their abilities, Runa hadn't truly expected that they'd be on her as soon as she opened the door. Her Incendio hit the creature solidly, and Runa placed a boot firmly against it to shove it out of her way and slam the door. She grinned, and turned back to Kit. "Awesome. Nah, well, not for throwin', anyway. These, however…" Quickly, she fished one of her potions from her bag and lobbed it gently at Kit's chest. "Don't explode but they light up great. Big bonfire. Toss me some over in the center there when I open up again and I'll light it up."

She took another one of her flammable oils in hand and narrowed her eyes, her smile lending them a wicked glint. "You ready, princess?" she asked, raising a perfect brow, because her brows were killer, thanks.

On confirmation from Kit, Runa swung the door open and tossed her vial of oil into the center of the street. Then, with every indication in her posture that she was ready to invite trouble, Runa quickly scrubbed the back of her hand across her scraped cheek and jabbed her wand toward the vial she had tossed. "Confringo!"

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Kit Hemlock
 Posted: Apr 1 2018, 08:04 AM
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31 years old

Businessman

London
Archived


KNOCKTURN ALLEY - BORGIN & BURKES

Hiding out from Inferi amongst the musty, dust-lined shelves of Borgin & Burkes was decidedly not how Kit had thought his Saturday would go - but then, when did things in his life ever go as planned? If it wasn’t Winona, it was one of the various unattractive individuals who thought he owed them money, and if it wasn’t them, apparently, it was Dark Wizards returned from beyond the Veil with something of a bone to pick with the entire fucking world. At least Grindelwald had had the decency to pop up on a weekend, which was a slow time for the betting business anyway - it would have been most inconsiderate of him to interrupt a booming Tuesday afternoon, for example, when Kit saw all of four separate people and took bets amounting to a grand total of seven Galleons, on average. He made a mental note to tweak the books a little more and find a few more contacts to put together; perhaps if he funnelled some extra capital into making the shop look pretty, that would attract a couple of those rich, gambling types. Advertising. I should advertise. Posters in prominent areas might do the trick.

Right now, however, he had far more immediate concerns, most of which involved being torn limb from limb by a horde of the ravenous undead. Why were dead things always hungry? You’d have thought having internal organs in various states of decay would have preclude the need for sustenance, but apparently not. Or perhaps that was why they were always hungry. There was a philosophical argument to be had in there somewhere, but Kit was most certainly not in the mood; he’d drive Winona crazy with it later, assuming he survived to see the break of another day. Runa, for her part, seemed positively ecstatic at the chance to tangle with the horrendous creatures, leaving Kit to shake his head bewildered in her wake. Kids these days had absolutely no regard for the squishiness of their own bodies. Or, well...perhaps she wasn’t quite as squishy as him, he thought as he glanced down at a stomach that was growing to be rather comfortably solid. No matter - it was a sign of material wealth, and therefore he was squishy and proud. And also a more enticing prospect for ripping, tearing Inferi, which was a less positive thought.

Clear me a path? To where, exactly? Those things are bloody everywhere. The radio didn’t say nothing about any safe places neither, so I have precisely not the faintest idea where in the seven hells I’m going to hunker down until this is all over. I rather thought I’d stick myself here behind you and your walls of flame. Where are you going?” The idea of Runa leaving him to the clutches of the Inferi was more distressing than he could quite bear just then, so he pushed it aside and focused on not dropping the bottle she tossed - even so it was a close thing, and he grabbed the neck just as it almost slipped through his fingers. “Mmm, big bonfire. Don’t you go trying to seduce me with these fightin’ words, darling, I’m very results-oriented. Inferi to ash, and then we’ll talk.” He threw a half-hearted wink vaguely in her general direction, flirting more out of force of habit than any actual interest in such matters. Besides, Runa hardly ever took notice of him, and if she did she most certainly never took him seriously.

Her “you ready, princess?” came altogether too soon, causing Kit to yelp and nearly drop the bottle again. “Not ready. Never ready.” But there she was, throwing the door open, and after a moment’s utter frozen horror, Kit reacted by flinging the potion violently through the aperture, screeching the entire time like a pterodactyl with a stick up its cloaca. Runa, thankfully, was a little more purposeful with her verbalisations and sent a Blasting Curse whipping out to engulf the street - and the Inferi - in roaring flames. “Oh my,” Kit gasped, pterodactyl screeches effectively muted for the moment. “That is certainly...constructively destructive. Here, what formula’s that potion, then? You interested in marketing, selling, anything like that?

@Cassandra

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Ramona Bartleby
 Posted: Apr 1 2018, 07:20 PM
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28 years old

Secretary to C. Black

London, England
Ministry


Stepping out of the lifts, Ramona had taken the the opportunity to take things in, yet somehow she didn't realize that the Minister was among those in the atrium, at least not until the woman was beckoning her forward. Romy forced a professional smile on her face as she started walking briskly toward Ravensby, heels continuing to click on the floor with each step as she mentally cursed Rowan. Did he have some sort of magical super spy hearing that allowed him to hear her threaten him when he should have been out of earshot? Merlin, was this when she got fired and had to hop off to another country to lay low for a while?

"Yes, ma'am," Ramona answered, doing her best to show a professional, confident tone despite feeling like she was back in the headmaster's office after getting in trouble in school. Because she had to be getting in trouble. Why else would the Minister clap her on the shoulder like that? Or bother to remember her name? In her head, it was because Ravensby was telling her 'Buck up, Bartleby. You're fired.' Which would suck, as she was just getting Cassie properly trained after all this time (or, rather, she was just learning all of the quirks that she had to accommodate). As much as the United Kingdom was starting to suck with the anti-Muggle sentiment (or anti-Statute of Secrecy movement) that made her job a bit harder, she had friends and a life here. If she got fired, she'd probably end up leaving the country. She supposed Spain was nice this type of year and it had been a while since she'd visited her mom's family. She had that going for her if she couldn't talk her way out of this, she thought slightly dejectedly.

Romy was mentally preparing a series of excuses for whatever Drake had told Ravensby - 'I never said anything of the sort; Auror Drake must have misheard.' 'He must have been confused.' 'I never even saw him today, but there is an intern that looks a bit like me if you squint.' Okay, they were all horrible excuses, but she was in panic mode - so it took a moment for her to completely understand exactly what the Minister was proposing. It was strange for Romy to find a kindred spirit in a woman of such advanced age, but it was very difficult to get Ramona to do things she didn't want to do as well. Had she not implied to Drake that she wouldn't sit around and wait for an all clear? Where was the adventure in doing nothing? Her grin widened slightly as she listened to Ravensby speak, turning more eager than professional, as she nodded her head in agreement.

"I would be honored, ma'am," she answered, trying not to be offended at being asked for the second bloody time in five minutes if she knew the spells to handle herself. Merlin, what were they teaching at Hogwarts if there was a fear that grown adults couldn't cast fire charms or patronus charms for themselves? She couldn't imagine Ilvermorny graduates not being familiar with these sort of spells. "Explosions and fire happen to be a bit of a specialty of mine, if I do say so myself." Now probably wasn't a good time to boast about her quodpot victories from back when she was in school, but learning how to work with explosions would probably help her now. At the very least, she would be able to keep her cool as things were exploding and catching on fire around her, which was apparently more than Hogwarts grads could handle. And everyone in this country seemed to think Hogwarts was the top school in the world. It was sad, really.

"I'll let you lead the way," Romy deferred, conjuring up a hair tie and pulling her long black hair back into a bun so that it wouldn't get in the way of her movements. "I'm ready when you are."

@Cassandra
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Alaric Buchanan
 Posted: Apr 2 2018, 04:11 AM
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20 years old

Public Information Services

London
Ministry


ATRIUM

Other people showed up but he wasn't concentrating on them, he could only concentrate on himself and how he was feeling. He focused on his breathing. Alaric needed to move. Needed to get away from the Atrium where nightmare had become a reality- again. There was an itch inside of him that needed to do something. That was why he was glad to hear Gracie wanted him to go out to Diagon. He could be useful out there. Could do something rather than be squared away like a fragile and useless toy that nobody wanted to play with. This way he wasn't tossed aside and he could move on from his experience, without dealing with it right now. Tonight he was going to pay for pushing his feelings aside.

Alaric understood that Gracie only wanted him to be safe but he couldn't help the light scowl on his face. Later, he was sure to blame it on the Dementor's influence. "Please, I don't need a babysitter," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't cruel enough to tell her outright. She was still one of the few friends he had and literally the sweetest person on Earth. She was also very strong and knew what she was doing. But fuck, did he really need someone to look after him? Sure twice now he had been caught off guard by Dementors and had come close to his demise... That didn't mean he couldn't handle himself otherwise. The darker part of his mind, that had surfaced because of the drained happiness from his encounter, told him he was just embarrassed. It told him that he didn't want a babysitter because he wanted to prove himself to people- or... to find some way to be destroyed while attempting to do so. That part talked to him about his insecurity, stringing him along so easily because there was nothing to contradict the notion. He didn't want to be saved like he was a child. He wasn't a child. "Okay, fine." He glanced around quickly, seeing the face of his mother- who wasn't looking at him, making her way... somewhere.

"Be careful," he told Gracie as he started to move through the crowd without grabbing himself a babysitter. He wanted to avoid his mother. If he came across her he was sure that he would break into tears or scream at her. Either felt like a good option right now, except for the fact that he had a job to do.

BACK STREETS, DIAGON ALLEY

Alaric felt it was best to avoid the bigger crowds of chaos when he was still trying to recover from his dark moments. But he could hear the commotion as he walked quickly, with purpose. Every step further away from the Ministry felt good, making him feel lighter. Not happier, but definitely better. It felt easier for his legs to move, for his lungs to capture the oxygen from the air. He kept his wand up, keeping his eyes out for inferi (or Dementors). His heart was keeping time with his pace, quick and almost frantic. Why had he agreed to come out here? Why did he feel the need to prove himself to everybody when clearly he couldn't do such a thing?

Finally, his eyes landed upon a scene, unlike anything he'd ever witnessed before. It was quieter here. Thus far he had only come across a total of three people. Now his total had jumped up to six. Except, two of them were just bodies. He skidded to a stop and looked around a corner. His breath stopped for a moment as he watched a woman pace around two bodies on the ground. Broken bodies. Dead bodies. Holy. Shit. It was horrifying to watch, but he couldn't look away- fascinated and terrified at the same time. Finally, he jumped into action. Carefully he stepped around the corner, pointing his wand at the dark-haired woman, his hand steady. "Stop right there!" He could have cringed at himself. What a terrible choice of words. Alaric wasn't even sure why he was bothering with this... Apart from the fact that this was terribly suspicious. When all this chaos with the animated death and Dementors was happening, seeing a woman with two dead bodies certainly felt more out of the ordinary. Especially because she wasn't bothered by the bodies when she was actually positioning them. He was also the only other person around and he had to do something. He had to make sure that whatever was happening, that it was stopped... Somehow. But he wasn't an auror or even part of the DMLE like his mother. Nor was he an obliviator like his father. He was just a kid who had bounced around... Except, he had worked in the Department of Mysteries. That meant shit all at this point. No. For now, he was a Gryffindor, trying to stop more horrors from occurring... Or something. "Hands up! What are you doing?"

@Lyla @Drakky
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Nergüi Altan
 Posted: Apr 2 2018, 06:25 AM
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26 years old

Alpha

London
Wizarding World


BACK STREETS, DIAGON ALLEY

Nergüi had not been expecting company. Why should she? There was chaos in the streets, death walking abroad to tear the living to pieces, accompanied by Dementors hungry for souls. Who was going to take any notice of one lone woman in a narrow alley somewhere in the depths of London? This was the way it should have been, because she did not want anyone to happen across her masterpiece until it was all over, the better for them to absorb the full horror of her message - a parting gift, just when they thought they were done with loss and revulsion. The throatless one had bled slowly throughout the journey, and now she wrapped a hand around his wrist and used his fingers to paint forms in the drops, small stars and stick figures so that they might know that this had not been the work of any brainless Inferius. Fools that they were, terrified at so conspicuous a danger - there was peril yet greater lurking in the dark spaces, but the Ministry would know of it soon enough. London would know.

Sooner than she’d imagined, as it turned out. At that first shocked yell she started back and away from the two on the ground, eyes darting this way and that until they alighted on the boy who’d appeared at the mouth of the alley. Not bad-looking, on the whole, but rather young, and certainly not a warrior - he didn’t smell like one, although she didn’t need to smell him to see how unresolved he was even in all his imperious shouting. Amon’s burning sun whirled with scents of ash and acrid smoke, devastation and destruction promised in every twitch of his muscles, young though he was and awkward yet in his power. The battle-marked bore scents of fire, but not this one. She wrinkled her nose, the better to identify him: wet. Damp soil and mud caked along the banks of a stream, unseen things poking hideous heads out of their dens to watch for predators. A reclusive thing, a concealed thing, a watching, waiting thing. Not a fighter.

The process of picking up his scent had distracted her, so that she didn’t realise she’d actually put her hands up until a good few seconds had passed, rendering her quite weak from mortified embarrassment. She was a wolf, for Merlin’s sake - with a hiss of disgust she let her arms drop back to the corpse at her feet, glaring intently at this boy who’d caught her so entirely by surprise. A couple of quick glances over both shoulders confirmed that he was, in fact, talking to her - impossible though that seemed - and so she climbed carefully to her feet and dusted off her knees in preparation for what was sure to be a most engaging discussion.

What am I doing?” She’d have thought it was obvious, but then perhaps deductive reasoning did not feature heavily in the educational systems of this particular city. Lying was an option, but what was the point? Nergüi hardly cared whether or not this child knew of her, and perhaps it was better that he did; an eyewitness to what had been done could only serve her purposes. When she replied she kept her tone even and polite - the time would come to intimidate him, perhaps, but it was not quite yet, and he seemed to have managed to be plenty unnerved all on his own. “I have killed these two, and now I am positioning them to maximum visual effect. Did you have further questions?

@Merel

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Rowan Drake
 Posted: Apr 3 2018, 04:44 PM
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51 years old

Senior Auror

London
Ministry


DIAGON ALLEY

Maddening. He was maddening. Rowan fixed him with a stern stare, which was multifunctional in that he could both monitor him for any latent injuries and communicate precisely how displeased he was with the entire situation. “If they weren’t that much of a threat, then why did you not burn them?” The rest of the Inferi clamoured still in the alleyway, crowding uselessly against the magic that had shielded them from Rowan’s flames; he eyed them suspiciously, but Castor’s defenses were strong and seemed fully capable of holding for the rest of the day, if needs be. That was all well and good, of course, but entirely unnecessary given that a couple of licks of fire would have set the whole throng alight like so much undead kindling. “Inferi aren’t very susceptible to icy glares, I’ve found. Were you planning to stand here until they disintegrated out of sheer frustration?

If he was exasperated (and he was), it was only because he felt that everything had been far more precarious than Castor seemed to believe; yes, his shields were strong, and no, Inferi weren’t particularly smart or cunning, but there were fouler creatures abroad and all it would have taken was the merest slip of Castor’s concentration, the slightest weakness in his magic, and that would have been it. Razor-sharp claws clutched at his stomach like a vice at the very thought - he was not done with this infuriating man, and he most certainly was not ready to lose him.

There was no time to mull over the specifics of that particular revelation, however, because there were still Inferi about and Castor was still not quite safe. A quick Apparition would have been best, but Rowan was struck by just how large a crowd his boyfriend had managed to gather - taking them out would make some sort of dent in the undead plague that had descended upon London, he was certain. His wand warmed beneath his fingers, the dragon heartstring in its core clearly eager to provide some more of what it knew best, but he’d barely so much as opened his mouth when all at once Castor moved, pulling Rowan close and away from some unnamed threat out in the street.

Castor, wh-...” Rowan twisted in his grip to survey the street, only to fall abruptly silent at the sight of a Dementor looming far too close. It’s the same one from earlier. Not that Dementors were particularly recognisable, of course - that was simply the most likely explanation. How could he have forgotten about it? He’d been desperate to reach Castor, to get him away from the undead masses, and Dementors had never particularly bothered him anyway, so...regardless, it was an unforgivable error. The appearance of Castor’s patronus was gratifying, incorporeal though it was; he could hardly have expected a fully corporeal manifestation on demand when he’d learnt the spell so recently, particularly in the presence of an actual Dementor. Thankfully, Rowan was on hand to help.

Fire or silver guardian, it was all the same to his wand just so long as it tasted a fight; he pressed a little closer to Castor to remind himself of what he was protecting and why - that was all the happiness he needed. In the next instant, the street was awash in gentle light and a corporeal patronus stood, hackles raised, between them and the rapidly retreating Dementor...except it wasn’t his.

In spite of the Dementor lurking at what it apparently considered to be a safe distance, in spite of Castor’s undead retinue mere feet away, in spite of all the chaos that had descended upon London that day, Rowan found five solid seconds to be utterly and irretrievably bewildered. Whatever that thing was, it was not a wolf. In fact, it looked a lot like…”Cas-...did y-...” But no, Castor’s incorporeal mist was still there, still equally as incorporeal as before. A quick glance up and down the street confirmed that no-one else was in the vicinity, and even so Rowan was sure he had cast. Which meant that what stood before them had to be his; the wolf was gone for good, it seemed. “Is that a...leopard?

@Kris

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Alaric Buchanan
 Posted: Apr 3 2018, 09:56 PM
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20 years old

Public Information Services

London
Ministry


BACK STREETS, DIAGON ALLEY

What was he doing? He had no plan. He had no experience. He had no idea what the hell he was doing.This wasn't his forte... Or really, nothing was his forte. What could go wrong? Everything, really, knowing himself. But he had to try. Within chaos and pressure he usually thrived- both situations he didn't find himself in very frequently. His life was far more boring and tragic for that, although tragic might be more dramatic than the reality. Whatever his conscious mind was planning, it didn't matter. His body had decided that he wanted to fight instead of flight. It was the damn Gryffindor in him, ready to jump into action. He was out of his depths, he had to be, everybody always thought he was out of his depths. Hadn't Gracie earlier tried to set him up with a babysitter? Nobody thought him capable, including himself.

To Alaric's horrible surprise, the woman actually put her hands up. The gesture startled his inner thoughts- who had begun to scold him for even uttering the words in the first place. He would have expected her to either run away or pull out her own wand, something else except for the one thing he actually asked for. It didn't last long, her arms dropped down to her side as she crouched beside the dead bodies. That did mean he had caught her by surprise, if only for a moment. It gave him the slightest advantage.

His body felt confident, his mind, not so much.

At her confession, his stomach took a heave. He was facing a murderer. There was something so strangely and terrifyingly satisfying about it. Could this be his one chance to prove himself to someone? To prove to them that he was capable of doing something worthwhile? But what exactly did that mean? Could he somehow take her back to the Ministry? Logically he told himself that they weren't going to care for one woman killing two people when the rest of the Wizarding World was busy trying to save their own asses. That was what he was supposed to be doing not... this. But he still had to do something... Two innocents had been murdered, being violated by this woman who was using them as art.

His body told him to run. His mind told him to stay put. Which one should he listen to?

Alaric's mind won. "Positioning for maximal visual effect? But why?" The question came out before he could think about it. He took one step closer, his eyes briefly travelling over the bodies. His artistic eye tried to take in the details and already he knew he was going to end up drawing this scene whether he wanted to or not- just as he had done with the Dementors. He hated that he was suddenly morbidly curious about the way the bodies were laid out and just as morbidly curious about the woman who had killed them. Quickly, his eyes landed back on the woman. Why was he even trying to talk with her? He should be running as far away as he could. It wasn't as if she wouldn't kill him. After all, she had already killed two people, who knew how many more. Yet, he kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, his wand trained on her. He was scared and somehow that fear was keeping him from leaving.

@Drakky
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Nergüi Altan
 Posted: Apr 5 2018, 01:33 PM
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26 years old

Alpha

London
Wizarding World


BACK STREETS, DIAGON ALLEY

Nergüi had not had particularly high hopes for this sullen city from the outset, and yet still its denizens managed to surprise her with how incredibly unimpressive they tended to be. How long had she lingered here? Six months, a year? And in all that time, she had found one who was in every way himself, who was bright and horribly dark all at once, whose various fractions were put together in unusual and fascinating configurations. Well, two perhaps, if she counted that other who held Amon’s same power, but although he was beautiful, he did not glow near iridescent like her demon boy; his strength was less than Amon’s, she thought, or maybe it simply remained hidden from her. Either way, she could not ascribe worth where she had not yet found it; her plans were intricate and her aims were lofty, and neither would suffer mistakes.

This boy presented a problem, if only because he seemed both ridiculously anxious and convinced that they could not have a civil conversation without a wand prominently involved - if he kept this up she would have no choice but to kill him, which was a grave concern because Nergüi had not planned for three bodies. The symmetry of her arrangement would suffer for it...and she’d only barely managed to get Throatless’ throat hole to gape in just the right way, too. London and its inhabitants conspired to frustrate her, apparently, but the joke was on them, because she could always just eat him. Then there would be two bodies, an aesthetically pleasing arrangement, and she’d be rid of this very stressful individual.

He wasn’t doing very much to help his case, either; Nergüi shut her eyes for a moment when he spoke, as though gathering every last scrap of patience she could find, and then replied very slowly and very carefully: “Because I have killed them - you may remember I mentioned this - and if I left them strewn haphazardly in some corner it would be an unconscionable waste. Everything has a use and everything has a purpose, even that which is no longer living. I am simply discovering theirs.” Shrugging, she nudged the limp wrist of the nearest corpse with the tip of her shoe, shifting it just a hair. “Of all the questions in the world. How did I kill them? Who were they? Who am I? So many options, so many more interesting answers. I have allowed you one, however, and it will have to be sufficient.” She eyed the wand he still held firmly out in front of him, eyebrows raised in significant distaste. Her own wand was back in her lodgings, but then she hardly ever used it these days and had begun almost to despise the sight of it. Poplar for a beta, to strengthen the alpha’s larch. A ridiculous notion - who was to say that she was the same as the betas that had gone before? And now see, she was almost an alpha. Was she to transmute her wand wood to fit the role? In time, perhaps, she would find herself an implement she approved of, but until then she hardly suffered for the lack of it. “The weapon will not help you. I do not wish to kill you, because you seem the type to scamper somewhat and I hardly have the energy to give chase. And you will ruin my visual effect.

@Merel

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