Abraham Grey
Adult (A)
Hufflepuff Head of House
Arithmancy Professor
Posts: 152
|
Post by Abraham Grey on Feb 21, 2009 12:37:46 GMT 1
Abe didn’t get the impression that Silas was all that impressed with his concern for lives of the students as well as wanting to keep his own spleen firmly in tact. Perhaps it was because Silas wasn’t a teacher so he just didn’t care about the students. And he already knew the man was a crazy suicidal bastard. Who provoked a vampire on purpose when they were already beating you into a pulp? Either way he felt a little easier once he knew Silas had covered his tracks. He might be mad, but he wasn’t completely stupid.
Of course Abe was drinking the best. Silas was buying so why should he settle for the cheap stuff? Besides he always picked the most expensive drinks when he was at Scores, figuring he was allowed to treat himself as he wasn’t allowed to visit the club often. Minerva had made it quite clear that staff were not to visit the less than savoury establishment during term time, so Abe only ventured in during holidays when he was a free agent. Last Easter he’d practically moved in, not that he had much recollection of events, he’d spent most of the second week sleeping it off though so it must have been fun.
Visiting Scores was better than going home to stay with his parents. Sitting through another Christmas dinner of his father getting totally sloshed and his mother bitching about her pureblood friends wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. His brother and sister were insufferable too. In fact he’d probably take a leaf out of his Markus’s book and tell everyone he was gay just to get disowned. That or he could stab his eyes out with a fork. Whichever would be less painful.
Abe smirked into his new drink as Silas suffered through the same feeling of having his retinas burned out from looking at the list. Served him right for rushing things, he might have remembered to warn the man if he’d reiterated the information in the proper order. ”Was he? Good.” Abe said relieved. Having read some of the information on Mannering he knew the vampire was one of the scarier people on the list. Like the time he’d gutted that wizard with a gardening trowel then worn his entrails as a necklace. Disgusting.
”Sorry, I forgot.” He apologised, not sounding remotely apologetic. ”I’d had fifteen cups of coffee, I get I got a little enthusiastic…” Abe grinned, taking another swig of his drink as Silas motioned for him to continue recounting his information in order this time. The evening was looking up; expensive booze and an ear to listen to him prattling away. Sometime in class he got the impression his students weren’t all that interested in what he had to say. It would make a nice change to have somebody who actually wanted to listen. ”We were just getting to Italy. Dacian had a rather interesting run in with somebody called Keeko the Pigmy.” [/font]
|
|
|
Post by Jacaranda Mulciber on Feb 21, 2009 20:42:23 GMT 1
Stepping from the fireplace, satchel under arm, Jacaranda Mulciber instantly regretted coming. As her (rather expensive) shoes came into contact with the floor, she could feel the sticky texture of it caused by he-who-must-not-be-named knew what and she wondered what other basic services Silas had been neglecting. Housekeeping was obviously not a priority. From the sheer number of girls – and many if not all of them were barely legal, some did not even look that – Jack could tell where some of the financial holes were.
Picking her way fastidiously to the bar, the overstocking of expensive and least cost-effective drinks was apparent. The bar staff were all girls, and there were too many of them, all leeching salaries and not drawing in enough tips. Customers were scarce, and those not ogling the talent appeared to be drowning their sorrows. The village was not a good place to maintain this sort of business. There were already two contenders for the drinking experience, and the tits and tail was just too crass for a village that prided itself on its heritage.
What the hell had Rosier been thinking?
Gritting her teeth and only mildly pleased that the main walkways seemed to be cleaned semi-regularly, the accountant made her way toward the office. Half way there, a sharp suit caught her eye at the bar. Not the usual clientele. Rosier.
Drinking is own supplies, no doubt, with nary a note to explain the drinks’ absences. Strutting quite defiantly toward the man, she reached over his shoulder and snatched his drink with those perfectly manicured fingers. With a sniff at the horrendous black liquid, she passed it on to some nameless stranger passer by who seemed more than happy to finish it up.
“Enough of these frivolities, Mister Rosier. We have legitimate business to discuss. While I’m sure your anecdote about the Pigmy will be highly amusing to you—” she shot snidely over her shoulder at the drunkard beside Rosier and her nose wrinkled in disgust as she stopped short. Could this place get any closer to the lowest levels of hell? “Abraham. Well isn’t this delightful.” The scathing tone of her voice suggested it was not. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Him she could deal with later. “Mister Rosier, I assume you received my letter. We have to talk. Now.”
Standing with her hip cocked, one hand on her waist and the other holding the handle of her satchel, the woman was business head to toe. She wore a charcoal-grey suit, with a skirt cut at the knee with a tailored jacket to match. Her long legs were dressed in silky hose, and her shoes, while sensible, were quite distinctively expensive. The white blouse she wore was a little less office-friendly, cut in a low V and thin enough to show her underwear was not nearly as drab in colour as her outer clothing. The bra matched the vibrant red lipstick painted artfully on her tightly-set lips.
Her eye-makeup described long lashes, clearly defined around almond-shaped brown eyes. The exact application of eye shadow was a gradient of grey, with the slightest hint of red glitter in dragon-scale patterns where the brow met the temples. The colour made her brown eyes seem more russet, and it made her stare no less fierce.
Her hair was pulled back in an impossibly tight bun but its colour was an unremarkable brown. It revealed a typically feminine face, with soft cheekbones that distracted from the harshness of the rest of her features. If it weren’t for the preciseness of her and the obvious cost of her attire, she might be mistaken for sharing the career of the girls writing around the poles scattered about the dance floor.
|
|
|
Post by Silas Rosier on Feb 22, 2009 2:55:38 GMT 1
There we go. If anything even slightly amusing had to come from this mess it at least could be a story of Dacian becoming worst enemies with a three and a half foot midget. One that was apparently dangerous enough to be added onto a list of people suitably deranged to murder a teenage girl to get to someone else, no less. That had to be a hell of a short-man syndrome right there. He didn’t exactly think Keeko was even a slight chance at being the attacker, after all, the girl would remember being attacked by a hobbit, but still.
The click of high heels interrupted the conversation. Assuming it was just one of the dancers in those frankly painful looking seven inch stilettos he attempted to ignore it, but there was little doubt they were close behind and heading in their direction. Gah, what did the girl want? Before he could turn around a hand suddenly shot out and plucked his drink off the table. ”What the hell woman?” he growled, spinning around on the stool to face her, but he quickly noticed the individual there was certainly not one of his.
Was it possible to hate someone the moment you laid eyes on them? The answer was apparently a resound ‘Absolutely’. That had to be the accountant, or at the very least another angry neighbourhood housewife with a husband who stopped in once too often, but the folder tucked under her arm and the attire pointed towards the former. ”Oh, it’s you,” he grunted with exactly the amount of enthusiasm she had shown when greeting Abraham. It was bad enough she’d just suddenly appeared behind him and made off with his drink, but her holier-than-thou haughty manner just cinched her placement into the ‘set on fire at first opportunity’ compartment of his brain. Evidently she had forgotten exactly who was employing who. While he was the one signing off her paycheck you’d think she could at least invest in a little, you know, respect.
It was funny how a steadily improving mood could be crushed in about a split second. Would firing her on the spot be a good move? Probably not. Then he’d have to outsource another accountant and Jacaranda Mulciber came highly recommended. He glanced at Abe. Judging by her reaction to seeing him they already knew each other and things were none too friendly. At least he had someone to back him up in the form of Abe if nothing else. Somehow he doubted there was a way to explain how a story about a vampire and a pygmy was actually important even if both of them argued.
Oh well, if she wanted to be stubborn he could easily throw the ball right back. ”Fine. Go on then, talk.”
|
|
Abraham Grey
Adult (A)
Hufflepuff Head of House
Arithmancy Professor
Posts: 152
|
Post by Abraham Grey on Feb 22, 2009 12:55:32 GMT 1
Abe smirked. Keeko the pygmy had been included in the timeline not because it brought them any closer to finding out who had killed Vivian, but because it was just so damn amusing. Before he could get much further though the sound of a woman approaching (or a man in drag, anything was possible at Scores) interrupted. Something about that sound brought back terrible memories. Like each step had been carefully measured and timed, a perfect rhythm clicking out on the wooden floor.
A perfectly manicured hand appeared between them, plucking Silas’s drink from his hand and raising Abe’s suspicions further. He gripped his own drink instinctively tighter, nobody was getting their hands on his whiskey. He raised the glass to his lips, taking a defiant sip in case somebody did try to wrest the tumbler from his grasp, and turned to see who had dared to steal the drink from the proprietor himself. He choked on the mouthful of firewhiskey, almost resorting to spitting it back into his glass, but managing to swallow the burning liquid at the last second.
She Who Must Not Be Named was standing there. Jacaranda Mulciber, in flesh and looking every bit the uptight bitch she’d been back when Abe had been an apprentice. The firewhiskey scorched its way down his throat, sparking off a violent coughing fit and Abe had to grip the bar to keep from falling off his stool. Brilliant, first time he'd seen Jac again in nearly eight years and he was going to fall at her feet, not likely. Abe was staying on that barstool if he had to use a sticking charm to do it. He was far more dignified now… Ish.
And Silas had just called her woman. Abe winced. It had been nice knowing the club owner while it lasted, pity he was going to have to live the rest of his life as a eunuch. Had Silas done this on purpose? Abe would have been quite happy if he never saw Jacaranda again. A few deep, wheezy breaths later and he’d calmed down a little. Enough to at least try to salvage a little of his reputation. ”Miss Mulciber,” He shot her a weak smile. ”Pleasure to see you again.”
It seemed Silas had business with her. Finances he assumed. Poor Silas. He better have every receipt for every purchase made in the last fifteen years. Jack was nothing if not thorough. Perhaps he could just sneak away. ”Well,” He said, downing the last of his drink even though his throat was still burning from the last mouthful, he wasn’t wasting good whiskey for anything. ”I can see you’re busy. Keeko the pygmy can wait.” He shot Silas a desperate look that could be roughly translated to ‘Run while you still can!’ [/font]
|
|
|
Post by Jacaranda Mulciber on Feb 26, 2009 22:05:02 GMT 1
Quite severely unimpressed with her surroundings, much preferring a quiet office than this din, Jack continued to look as if she was sucking on lemons. Being highly revered in your field allowed you certain lenience when it came to employers, and she was eager to test Rosier’s nerves. The man had already caused her a great deal of stress, and that was not even in person. His damned records had given her a headache, and this revolting music was not helping matters.
The presence of Abraham Grey was another pain she did not need nor want to deal with. The man was highly obnoxious, and any opportunity to enact some revenge was perhaps enough to tolerate him. She sniffed in a self-aggrandizing way and peered down her nose at the out-of-breath scruffy professor. “Ms. Mulciber.” She corrected snappily. “A pleasure for you, I’m sure.” The look of pure contempt she gave him was enough to evaporate his drink (or set it on fire) if she directed her gaze that way. Apparently Jacaranda Mulciber was not pleased to see Abraham, and she dismissed him with a huff as she turned back to Silas.
“Sir, what I have to say cannot be simply summarised into one succinct paragraph.” Her eyes flicked critically over her employer, glad that at least he looked the part even if he did not act it. He was sitting on a fair fortune, yet from what she had seen, he was going to squander it away if he was less than careful. “May we take this to your office? Some privacy away from this… cacophony would be much appreciated.” She tried a polite smile on for size, but it just made her pursed lips tighten in a painful fashion.
“I’m sure anything Mr Grey has to say can wait, I can’t say as I’ve ever heard him say anything of importance.” Perfectly plucked brows rose a fraction of an inch, and she shifted her weight onto her other leg.
|
|
|
Post by Silas Rosier on Feb 27, 2009 7:49:40 GMT 1
It was a pity that Ms. Jacaranda Mulciber looked like the rod up her arse had a rod up her arse, because she might have been properly attractive otherwise. It was an odd feeling to want to punch someone in the nose meanwhile picturing them with their shirt off. Although, neither was likely to happen considering what had already happened in the few seconds she’d been standing there. Silas’s first assumption from earlier before Abe visited had been correct: he was facing a war and he didn’t even have the option of using a silencing charm on her if she got more annoying.
Jacaranda had gone and made a mistake by snatching his drink away. It was a good little method of self-medication that always made him feel calmer by abating his persistent irritability. Now he was going to be stuck in a more cantankerous mood than usual which wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them, though considering Jacaranda’s behaviour that seemed inevitable anyway. Oh well, there was still a bottle of fire whiskey under his desk, he remembered. If she tried to snatch that one too, fuck it, he was burning her fingers and she didn’t get to complain.
”Fine, if you insist,” Silas practically growled at her, sitting up from the bar slowly. Ah, Abe’s documents. Right. Eh, Abe didn’t need them right this very second did he? After he made a waving motion with his wand all the scraps of parchment in front of Abe flew up into Silas’s right arm in a decently ordered pile that was by no means chronological. ”I’ll look at these tonight. Send me an owl if you need anything back,” he nodded, shoving his wand back into his pocket and glancing at Jac like he half hoped she’d have disappeared when he stopped looking.
”Nice knowing you,” he said joking, briefly grabbing Abe’s shoulder before leading the way back to his office without even bothering to look back, just listening for the already irritating click of her heels. This was going to be a long night, he could sense that already.
|
|
Abraham Grey
Adult (A)
Hufflepuff Head of House
Arithmancy Professor
Posts: 152
|
Post by Abraham Grey on Mar 3, 2009 22:58:26 GMT 1
”For me?” Abe smirked, letting his eyes drop to the plunging neckline of her blouse and catch a glimpse of the red bra beneath. ”I’m sure too.” He ignored the look of contempt on her face, Abe had learned long ago that Jacaranda’s opinion of him couldn’t get any lower so he might as well make the most of it and take all the lecherous looks he could get. Besides he’d built up some immunity to that glare, he’d had to or he would have been a gibbering wreck long before now.
As usual she was completely unwilling to compromise as she insisted the hold their meeting in Silas’s office. It would probably be easier to hide the body that way. Abe found he didn’t care all that much, he’d only come for the drinks and he was perfectly capable of consuming those without Silas watching over him and wincing as he knocked back yet more free alcohol. ”Keep them.” He said with a small wave of his hand, it wasn’t like he wanted to know any more about that damned vampire. ”Can’t read them anyway.”
Haaay! That was just mean! He said important things all the time. Abe scowled, resisting the urge to poke his tongue out at her. She might cut it off. Instead he gave short nod to Silas as he passed on his way back to the office and looked down at his empty whiskey glass. On second thoughts the further away he was from ’Ms. Mulicber’ the better. He still had that half bottle of firewhiskey in his desk. [/font]
|
|