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Post by Conan Breandan on Jun 5, 2011 19:43:09 GMT -5
"'Ey, didn't I wup yer asses last time ye saw meh?"
Conan's expression was that of a hungry wolf, a leering grin that showed all his teeth in a plain challenge. He was not afraid of them. They stood ranged in front of him, as if waiting for something to happen. He worked his fists, not feeling anything but contempt for the students of magic. Weak, they were. Like children.
“Well, you’re a little late to the party boys.” He said in his lilting Irish accent, setting himself.
--
Bloodied and scraped, Conan strode along the streets of Hogsmeade. His expression was dark, but his clear unhappiness wasn’t for the bruises and scrapes. No, he’d whupped those snotty Slytherins into a pulp, again, despite being outnumbered and shorter. It was the magic. He scowled, on the lookout for a person to help, despite his distaste for magic, it was magic he needed now.
The gypsy put a hand to his throat, scowling as he tried to speak. Dirty little rotters, using magic. It would be best if he found Maebh or one of her caravan, but he didn’t seem to be having much luck. His scowl turned into a sudden wolfish grin.
Broken wands wouldn’t benefit those bleedin’ gits much.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jun 6, 2011 23:36:54 GMT -5
Reckony trudged through the field gate that lead on to Hogsmeade proper, silently cursing the pack of Slytherin miscreants that moments earlier had thundered past him on the path and left a spray of mud up and down his neatly pressed pin-striped trousers. They had failed to apologize, just as they had failed to show proper manners in giving the barkeep the right-of-way in the first place. He was, after all, their elder. And he could have whomped them one better than the blasted willow.
"Bloody nippers!" Reckony normally had a soft spot for the lil' urchins of his former House. Tonight, however, he rather preferred to have snakeskin boots. The burly man looked down at his feet and momentarily pondered his show size.
* * * * *
Somewhere east of the road's end of High Street, a dark figure emerged from the shadows. Normally, such an occurrence would cause the sergeant-at-arms of the village's vigilante association to conduct a careful study in espionage, but something about the shadow struck Reckony as being slightly...spastic. On occasion, an arm would flail out in fevered gesticulation. Then the figure reached for its neck.
Was it choking?
Pike quickened his pace but remained a safe distance behind.
Was it drunk?
The figure nearly rammed in to the side of a building.
Curiosity was becoming fashionable again. Deciding he MUST have a closer look, the barkeep darted behind the block and took a quick left up a narrow alley that brought him on a collision course with the offending shadow. He had hoped it was not Mr. Murphy. Mr. Murphy was a village ghost with a penchant for evening strolls and a blood-curdling scream on the hour of his demise. He was a nice enough bloke but he often left Reckony quite chilled after their visit (and a little slimy too). He equally hoped it was not Lady McBarttle. She was a pincher.
The barkeep soon found himself behind a barrel that sat partially exposed to High Street. The footsteps were light and in closer proximity, Reck realized the stature of the figure was quite wee. It appeared to be neither Mr. Murphy nor Lady McBarttle. Oh well. Only one way to find out. He stepped out from behind the barrel, looking big.
"Good evening, friend. You appear to be in some trou-YOU! I- I- YOU!"
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Post by Conan Breandan on Jun 6, 2011 23:53:58 GMT -5
"Good evening, friend. You appear to be in some trou-YOU! I- I- YOU!"
Conan was not afraid of the bartender. He had seen the man fight. The gypsy remained underwhelmed. His eyes sparked in challenge at Pike’s outraged sputter. His heavy brows drew down and he scowled up at the bigger man, silent as the winter’s moon. His stance was defensive and offensive at once, he seemed ready to provoke the third wizarding war at the wizard’s slightest movement.
After indeterminable silence that stretched for long moments in the bright light of the late afternoon, Conan apparently had had enough. With a brusque flourish of his arm, he broke off the glaring match, turning his back deliberately on his enemy and striding away. Perhaps Maebh or cousin Katlin had returned from wherever they had flitted off to, and he would find them at the shop. If not, he certainly could make himself comfortable there.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jun 8, 2011 0:45:46 GMT -5
"What's the matter," Reckony bellowed after the slight Irishman, "Cat got your tongue? Come and talk to me like a man, Star Cloak. Don't get all non-confrontational on me - I've seen your knives! You can't just ole! me with your arm and dismiss me like some bull! Nor shall you fancy dance around my gypsy! We had a date, Star Cloak! I fixed her door!"
The barkeep's blood was steaming like a copper kettle. Oddly enough, no other man had that effect on him. No demons, no ill-doers, no obnoxious covens. Only wee Irish and his sparkly pomp and circumstance, which glowed like a beacon at all times of the day. Reckony was officially annoyed. He was also grossly out of breath.
With a wave of his hand he dismissed the fleeting figure and headed back for his bar. He was going to have to have a serious talk with Maebh. She was going to have to break Star Cloak's heart. Hopefully she would do it before Reckony broke the man in half.
Reckony reached the pub in less than thirty seconds, unlocking the latch and ensuring the CLOSED sign was in plain view. He didn't want visitors; not tonight. Somehow people thought his presence inside was a welcome invitation in. Pike lit a small lantern on the counter and grabbed his favourite malt from the Emerald Isle. No, tonight he'd drink alone. There was too much going on in his head for it to be otherwise. He needed to think on his girl. He needed to think on his best mate. He needed to think on the freaking demons and how he was going to mobilize the Black Watch on all the weird happenings in Hogsmeade of late. He wondered on the girl they called Echo. And that fox-chick with the blue bottle.
"Guh." Reckony spread his hands apart on the counter and let his head fall between them. "Why? What does she see in him?"
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Post by Conan Breandan on Jun 12, 2011 22:36:08 GMT -5
"Guh." Reckony spread his hands apart on the counter and let his head fall between them. "Why? What does she see in him?"
Because clearly you’re a chump. Conan would have said, had he had a voice. He’d attempted waiting at his sister’s shop. He’d attempted walking up and down main street. He’d attempted, with the familiar sense of futility, to do some sort of magic on his own throat. Nothing worked. And so he resorted to the only thing he could think of to take the edge off-- his flask of his favourite Irish.
And it was becoming increasingly clear that being without a voice irked Conan to the extreme. The gypsy made his living by his voice. It was how he charmed audiences and lied his way out of situations with dubious outcomes. And it was in his alcohol influenced mood (he wasn’t close to drunk yet, he’d only have a few swallows) that he had entered the pub.
Ignoring the sign was easy. He knew how to read, but in his slightly-less grumpy mood he didn’t particularly care to obey. No, he knew the bartender was within and therefore reasoned (as all gypsies are wont to, when a situation doesn’t initially lean their way) that it wasn’t technically breaking and entering.
And besides, Pike had left the door unlocked.
Conan Breandan took a seat at the bar next to Reckony, crossed his legs at the ankles, leaned back casually and smirked at Reckony. He was lacking any sort of cloak today, and instead of his show-wear wore rough trousers and shirt meant for travel. His flask was nowhere to be seen.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jun 15, 2011 1:00:20 GMT -5
With his head rested on his forearms, Pike's vision of the pub floor was clear. He was momentarily distracted from his pity party by the cleanliness of the space and was in the process of congratulating himself when two shoes appeared in his line of sight. His reaction was stalled by disbelief as legs suddenly hopped up on to the chair beside him and crossed themselves at the ankles.
Reckony pushed himself up in a bewildered tizzy. He wouldn't believe it if the man were not right there in front of him. The gypsy. Back. In his personal space. Pike was too bothered to be physical. He came to realize that fate was having a pissy day and treating him as a whipping boy.
"Oh, come on! Come on! What? WHAT!? I don't bother you in your stinky little wagon! I didn't follow you down the street like a little lost puppy! I give up! I GIVE UP! What do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" Reckony's tirade ended as quickly as it began. He fell in to an instant silence and glared at the man with a peculiar, slightly off-kilter, highly stressed expression. There was more silence. Reckony disliked that the Irishman was being so quiet but for the first time in the calm around the storm, he saw his clothes and realized that he was not wearing a star-dudded cloak. In fact, he was wearing a rather respectable ensemble in muted tones that accented his eyes. It was becoming, but clearly he was still evil.
Finally, Pike had enough.
"Why aren't you speaking?"
Nothing. Odd. Come to think of it, the barkeep couldn't recall the gypsy speaking once during their entire altercation that night. He arched his brow in a perfect chevron and inspected Conan as though there was potentially more to this visit than annoyance.
"Blink once for yes, twice for no, gypsy. Are you giving me the silent treatment? Are you mute?...Is this voluntary?"
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Post by Conan Breandan on Jun 23, 2011 22:37:26 GMT -5
"Oh, come on! Come on! What? WHAT!? I don't bother you in your stinky little wagon! I didn't follow you down the street like a little lost puppy! I give up! I GIVE UP! What do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"
Conan considered being offended. The thought was brief, but Conan settled on being amused. It really was quite entertaining watching Pike go through his hysterics. Perhaps the night had not been all that unproductive after all.
Sure, he still couldn’t speak, but at least the entertainment was good. His flask appeared out of nowhere, returning from whence it came after a few swallows. He shifted slightly in his chair, observing Reckony’s new, highly stressed expression. Quite amusing.
"Why aren't you speaking?"
Conan frowned. He’d nearly forgotten, a combination of the alcohol, and the amusement of Pike’s bewilderment. Why did the man have to ruin his fun?
"Blink once for yes, twice for no, gypsy. Are you giving me the silent treatment? Are you mute?...Is this voluntary?"
Conan, grown since birth to be expressive in a number of ways, gave the wizard an exasperated look, one that communicated clearly that he thought Pike’s blinking idea was inane, and that of course, he was obviously mute by choice.
If it was possible to communicate sarcasm silently. He added an eye roll for good measure.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jun 23, 2011 23:01:12 GMT -5
An breathy "Ooooooo" erupted from the barkeep, his expression of intrigue and surprise slapping Conan's silent sarcasm up the ying yang. Suddenly, the visit was becoming less of an inconvenience.
A very small part of Reckony...a very small part...felt empathy and commiseration for the mute gypsy. Like Conan, Reck was a man who liked to talk. Even when others didn't want to hear him. Taking away an expressive man's voice was like stripping him naked, only less enjoyable. The barkeep could have used the opportunity to berate Conan needlessly but he decided to dig a little deeper tonight. Maybe he could finally get his two cents in.
Reck snatched Conan's flask with lightning reflexes and smelled inside the tankard, making a sour face as he did so.
"What are you...oh, that stuff's shite!" Without asking for permission, Pike leapt to his feet and poured the contents of Breandan's flask down the sink. While it emptied, he grabbed a well-loved bottle from a secret stash behind the till and poured two tumblers. "Try this. If you like it, I'll consider giving you a refill." Pike pushed a glass towards the Irishman, taking a healthy sip of his own drink immediately after.
Reckony placed an elbow on the counter, laying his chin in an open palm. He looked Conan square in the eye and then read his face.
"My magic is about as swell as your swill, but I love a good challenge. I suggest we make a deal. If I help you get your voice back, would you be a decent chap and give me an opportunity to ask you a few questions without going all...'you' on me?"
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Post by Conan Breandan on Jul 10, 2011 14:21:50 GMT -5
"What are you...oh, that stuff's shite!"
Conan, already glowering at the barkeep’s attempt to ‘sympathize’, scowled even harder as Pike snagged his flask and emptied it out. A mute shout, almost a snarl, crossed his face as he righted himself on the tall bar chair, crossing his arms almost in a pout. Almost. Conan Breandan, the squib gypsy, was very attached to his liquor. He did not share Pike’s obviously derogatory opinion. He tossed Pike the finger and pulled another, smaller flask from his pocket. He did not attempt to disguise it as magic this time. He took a healthy swig and kept a firm grip, his dark eyes daring Reckony Pike to try and take it.
It wouldn’t end well for the barkeep, if he did so.
"My magic is about as swell as your swill, but I love a good challenge. I suggest we make a deal. If I help you get your voice back, would you be a decent chap and give me an opportunity to ask you a few questions without going all...'you' on me?"
Without going all…you? A moment passed in slow silence, Conan’s expression unchanging, challenging. He narrowed his eyes, considering. Then a small smirk curled the edges of his lips. He broke into a grin, and offered his empty hand for a brief handshake.
Oh, how much fun this would be.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jul 14, 2011 21:04:39 GMT -5
"Excellent!" Reckony spat in to his palm and shook the gypsy's hand with a degree of vigour that was as much for annoyance as it was for sealing the deal. Seeing that Conan was clearly more enamoured with his flask sludge than with his quality whiskey, he promptly stowed his preferred bottle away and reached for something cheaper. Much cheaper. After all, you didn't take a palette on training wheels and introduce it to the marathon. The young man would have to be tempered over time. Pike wasn't sure that was his job.
Without so much as a warning, Pike vaulted himself over the counter and returned to the seat beside the arch nemesis. He lit a cigar that previously sat in his lapel pocket.
"So let's look at this logically. Were you hexed? If so, where? How? By whom? Or perhaps you saw something terrifying and your heart is seized. Well, which is it boy? Spit it out. Figuratively speaking, of course. No pun intended. Use my quill." Reck reached for a quill and a small pad of parchment, forcing it in front of Conan. "I want details. The more you can tell me, the more I can help you. Use drawings if necessary."
"And while you're at it, I want you to tell me how you know Maebh Breandan."
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Post by Conan Breandan on Jul 17, 2011 19:19:50 GMT -5
"So let's look at this logically. Were you hexed? If so, where? How? By whom? Or perhaps you saw something terrifying and your heart is seized. Well, which is it boy? Spit it out. Figuratively speaking, of course. No pun intended. Use my quill." Reck reached for a quill and a small pad of parchment, forcing it in front of Conan. "I want details. The more you can tell me, the more I can help you. Use drawings if necessary."
Conan took this as a much better idea than Reck’s idiotic blinking idea. He took the quill and in surprisingly little time had covered a small part of the paper with elegant handwriting. His hand shook only slightly, the inked lines only betraying him when he made a particularly long stroke. It was a short story, the gist of it being:
Beat up a gang of Slytherins. Mummy’s boys I had this issue with last year. Took exception with their asses being handed to them. Cast an incoherency hex. Now hurry up and use your magic, Pike.
"And while you're at it, I want you to tell me how you know Maebh Breandan."
He lay the quill down, leaning back and keeping his mouth shut. The message was clear. There would be no ‘talking’ until he had a voice once again.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jul 18, 2011 23:37:59 GMT -5
Beat up a gang of Slytherins. Mummy’s boys I had this issue with last year. Took exception with their asses being handed to them. Cast an incoherency hex. Now hurry up and use your magic, Pike.
"Slytherins you had problems with last year? What are you, ten? You're beating up students? Jesus, kid." Reckony leaned away from Conan, casting him a queer look. Either the gypsy looked old for his age or he preferred to tango with the smaller lot. Pike wagered on the later, given Breandan's vertical challenge. "And watch what you say about that lot. That's my former House you're talking about." Pike furrowed his brow, momentarily forgetting that Conan forgot to answer his question about Maebh.
Reckony left his seat and walked over to a bookcase that was built in to a wall. Hundreds of volumes lay crammed on uneven shelves and the barkeep did his best to decipher the titles, most of which lay deteriorating on the antiquated book spines.
"Incoherency, hey? These aren't really ordered by subject. I think we put the ones with the best pictures up front. Love those. You know, they make you feel part of the story. Like the Encyclopedia of Exotic Entrails. Wicked cool. AH! Here." Reckony snatched a small hard cover volume from the second shelf. It was well read and very much thread bare. "The A to Z of Elementary Spells and Hexes. Don't be fooled by the title. This one has everything."
Pike flopped down on his stool and flipped open the cover to reveal the first page; as one would expect from the title, it was indeed an elementary book. The first entry, for A, took up the entire page and was accompanied by neat illustrations befitting a six year old.
A is for ACCIO, which summons objects to and fro.
"Love that one." Reckony flipped over the page to reveal B.
B is for BARRICUS, an elephant head complete with tusks.
"Let's look at I." Reckony raced through the pages, passing "I" twice before finding the desired entry. "WHAT? Immobulus my ass. We wanted Incoherency!" Pike scowled at the book before slamming it closed and pushing it away. "Or maybe it's not called Incoherency. Let's think on this logically, gypsy. Do you know any hex to not have a sexy latin name? How do you say Silent in magic? Silent...i."
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Post by Conan Breandan on Jul 23, 2011 1:27:45 GMT -5
Since each Slytherin outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, not to mention being quite a bit taller than the five-foot three gypsy and having the advantage of magic, he wasn’t too worried about the fairness of someone his age fighting with students, particularly as they were most likely adults by wizarding law now.
The gypsy world could be cutthroat. You defended you and yours, and didn’t worry about the logistics. Weakness was a good way to get yourself in big trouble. He sighed. Trouble like he was in now.
"Let's look at I." Reckony raced through the pages, passing "I" twice before finding the desired entry. "WHAT? Immobulus my ass. We wanted Incoherency!" Pike scowled at the book before slamming it closed and pushing it away. "Or maybe it's not called Incoherency. Let's think on this logically, gypsy. Do you know any hex to not have a sexy latin name? How do you say Silent in magic? Silent...i."
Conan sighed, allowing himself to sag against the back of the tall bar chair. Just his luck to be stuck with an incompetent wizard. Did he really think he was going to get answers from… what appeared to be a children’s abc book?
He scribbled quickly and held up the paper. In less elegant handwriting now the message took up a large portion of the page. Stop playing around with children’s books, Pike.
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Post by Reckony Pike on Jul 23, 2011 1:50:10 GMT -5
Reckony was finding Conan's intense scribble writing to be annoying. It was the way the gypsy boy put his whole body in to it; he was clearly burning calories in the process. Pike had little patience for it.
Stop playing around with children’s books, Pike.
"Oh, feck off then, Paddy. You know, some of us didn't finish school the first time, eh? Give us a break. You came to me, remember? I can't just sit here and recite spells off the top of my head like some Curse Kameren or some, some Albus Dumbledore. You know what, you're lucky you're quiet 'cause if you had said that to my face I would have...I would have..."
Reckony brought his hands up to stop the spiralling situation. His eyes went wide, an idea formulating in his mind, and his mouth formed a perfect "O" as though he were about to hoot. He really could hoot - if this worked.
"Quiet. Quietus. I remember that one because I had an old girlfriend who's voice drove me to drink. This s-s-schrill that just...nevermind. But to make the voice louder you would use Sonorus. Sonorus would make you a megaphone and, no offence, I can hardly take you at human volumes. But if I return your voice with Sonorus, then I can bring it back to a happy place with Quietus! I'M AMAZING."
Pike scratched his neck.
"I wonder where I placed my wand."
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Post by Conan Breandan on Aug 9, 2011 22:30:34 GMT -5
Conan rolled his eyes. So what if Reckony hadn’t finished school? Conan hadn’t attended school at all. His mum had taught him to read, write and figure enough to avoid being cheated at performances, but just because he had good handwriting didn’t mean he had an education. That was just a product of his mother being a stickler for perfection.
"Quiet. Quietus. I remember that one because I had an old girlfriend who's voice drove me to drink. This s-s-schrill that just...nevermind. But to make the voice louder you would use Sonorus. Sonorus would make you a megaphone and, no offence, I can hardly take you at human volumes. But if I return your voice with Sonorus, then I can bring it back to a happy place with Quietus! I'M AMAZING."
Conan dropped his head into his hands dramatically. This was a disaster in the making. He’d been judged since the moment he walked in, his liquor had been stolen, and this buffoon was plotting his destruction. Merlin, let the end come soon...
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