SELF !NFLICTED [Si/Open]

[darius]

DARIUS YAXLEY

[Silas Rosier]

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  Define: Alcohol (noun)
1) A colourless liquid, produced by the fermentation of sugar or starch, that is the intoxicating agent in fermented drinks. Formula: C₂H₅OH,
2) Intoxicating drinks containing alcohol,
3) A subject Darius Yaxley and one Silas Rosier took very different approaches to.

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[atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Silas/Scripts/sigpostscript_bg.png,true][atrb=valign,top]	[rs=2][bg=ffffff][atrb=background,http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v321/1300666/Characters/Silas/Scripts/sigpostscript_mainbg.png][atrb=style,background-position:top;background-repeat:no-repeat;]   Silas impatiently rapped his fingers against the cool crystal of the tumbler clutched his left hand. Somewhere between his first three to four glasses of hard liquor in the morning, another handful in the afternoon, and now this one, he’d managed to forget what number he was up to. Fuck it. If you were to ask him, he’d say this was his third. And that didn’t make him an alcoholic either.   The casino was busy, as usual. Silas leisurely made his way between the tables, gaze darting between the messes of patrons only cursorily. Unlike Darius he had no need to scrutinize everyone that was waltzing in with the false hope of fortune; he was only keeping a wary eye out for anyone he knew – friendly or otherwise. He paused only long enough to survey the sight of a familiar blonde waitress attempting to precariously stack some glasses onto a tray before he made a derisive noise somewhere in the back of his throat and kept walking. If she broke anything, that was coming out of her salary.   He’d been lured out of his office for once not by sheer boredom, but business. Err, business of dubious legality, but business none the less. Things to do, people to talk to. The usual. His progress navigating between clusters of customers and gaming tables was remarkably quick for someone so clearly unhurried, thanks in part due to the fact he knew all the fastest routes like he knew the alphabet.   His hair was messier than usual – safe bet that was Jac’s fault – and Silas ran his hand through it again in a vain and ultimately useless attempt to keep it from flopping onto his forehead when he finally neared the bar. Didn’t matter, he’d find a mirror later. Where was Dar—   Ah, bingo. Silas caught sight of a familiar well-dressed man loitering near the stools.   Darius Yaxley. Silas could never really make up his mind if he thought the boy was attractive or looked like a really bad victim of Foetal Alcohol Syndrome. It seemed to fluctuate from day-to-day. He was useful at any rate, and Darius could look like he’d gotten smashed in the face by a sledgehammer as far as Silas cared, just as long as he kept being good at his job.   “Evening,” he greeted cheerily as he drew closer, dumping the glass unceremoniously onto the bar near Darius’s. He was so used to pretending to be in a good mood by now that the effort wasn’t even wholly conscious. As he turned to lean his back against the bar, arms folded, the sight of what the boy was drinking caught his eye.   Ergh, bourbon and one of those black muggle drinks. Again. Not that there was anything automatically wrong with bourbon, but Silas was a bit of a purist as far as whisk(e)y went, meaning single-malt scotch all the way. Proper whisky’s came from Scotland, no question, and while American whiskey did have its own charm, he just happened to prefer the smokier taste of scotch.   “How’d you fancy living in Hogsmeade for a few months?” he proposed, tearing his line of sight away from the scotch-glass and back onto the boy. He’d always been one to skip the small-talk and just jump right to the point.	[atrb=valign,top]
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[darius]

Darius' soft hands smoothed out the creases in his suit smoothly, face composed and condescending as always as he turned to the door, only to see a familiar figure heading toward him. In a fluid motion Darius lowered himself back onto the bar stool, motioning for the bartender to mix him another drink. Again, his hand ran through the dark waves of his hair before he grasped the new drink, sliding it toward him smoothly. The footsteps couldnt have belonged to anyone else - Silas' walk was very distinctive. It held all the confidence of a man who knew he was in charge and had the power to do almost anything he wanted...that and the stench of alcohol mixed with expensive cologne that preceded the man.

However, despite Darius' hatred for alcohol, or rather the effect it had on people, Silas managed to hold his composure even with the amount he took into his system each night...and day, which somehow gained him immunity from the loathing Darius had for drunks and alcoholics. To be honest, Darius did not think he had seen Silas without a drop of alcohol in his system - others may not have been able to tell, but after years of dealing with his father, Darius had become quite apt at knowing when somebody was trying to act normal; just for their audience. But back to the main point - Silas obviously had a job for Dar to complete. Darius had never said no to a job offer, no matter how unpleasant the inner workings were, and he didnt ever plan to. He would not gain anything from turning down displeasing offers. Perhaps he had never turned one down because he had never been offered a job so beneath him that he had to, Silas knew that Darius was better than just your average thug.

The jovial voice of his employer came from beside him, and without looking Darius knew the expression, stance and mood of the man who spoke to him. He had been around Si for long enough to know that the joviality was just an act - underneath was the brooding, sinister man that had performed many wrongs. Darius turned gracefully toward Si, the usual expression on his delicate features, bright blue eyes cool and set. His 'job' was delivered in a casual matter, immediately into the conversation - neither Dar nor Si liked to dance around with words when dealing with business. After a few moments of silence Darius spoke, "I assume my lodging will be organized?" his voice was just as smooth as the rest of him, a quiet thing, yet it gained as much attention as if he had shouted. He was not suprised that his job contained him being sent away to live in some small town; often Silas' exploits took him further, occasionally to other countries. Hogsmeade was no suprise.

Although Darius did think of the town as a place for school children and the elderly. It wasn't often you would find people of his sophistication in a town that seemed suitable to hold ginger bread houses, rather than ones made of brick and mortar. Still, those happy students that came down from the school with pocketfulls of money to spend on shoddy goods and foul tasting sweets were easily exploited and manipulated - who knew what tricks Silas had performed there? All this thinking had taken but a few seconds, and Darius flicked his strange eyes back to Silas "I'll leave tonight. Any further details?" Silas did not often disclose the more...secretive information within his casino, far too many authorative figures came to try and catch associates of his out, therefore it was best if the information was delivered at a safer place. Sometimes no further details were given at all, and Darius was left to his own devices - collecting some odd but valuable object for his employer, or keeping an eye on enemies of his.

Either way, Darius got the job done. After a brief examination of his rounded nails, Darius stood gracefully, eyes upon Silas. He would stay in Hogsmeade until he was called back by Silas, or returned to disclose information.

[Silas Rosier]

  There was pause after Silas’s question, presumably while Darius mulled over the implications. Silas had expected that sort of response and he absently picked up the absinthe tumbler to drink while he waited for a reply.

  Hogsmeade was not the most innocuous village in the world right now, what with the two annoyingly high-profile murders, its proximity to the school and the new upgraded Quidditch stadium. If the boy hadn’t picked up the potential significance he was clearly living under a rock. Two dead students from the only magic school in the British Isles was something of a ‘big deal’.

  “I assume my lodging will be organized?” Darius finally asked, and Silas lowered the drink from his mouth with a lopsided smirk. Yes. That was the answer he liked to hear: no questions, whys or requests for explanations; just practicality.

  “Naturally,” he replied casually, his gaze turning away from Darius to shadow anyone that looked like they were loitering too long. Being overheard was always a concern, and one of many reasons Silas barely gave details. “Enquire with the barman at the Hogs Head. Everything should be arranged for a stay as long as you require.”

  “I'll leave tonight. Any further details?” the boy asked, getting to his feet.

  “Walk with me,” Silas ordered, leaning up off the bar in one fluid motion and making a vague hand gesture for Darius to follow. If anyone was determined to listen in they’d have no choice but to try and tail them.

  “First, you’re not getting out of work,” Silas emphasised, setting a comfortable pace for conversation, head held high with the same air of unshakeable confidence he always wore. “You’re only needed in the village in the evenings, so you still have time to complete your shifts and make sure that deal from Stavanger goes through,” he said in reference to a little ‘arrangement’ involving some contraband and a group in Norway that Darius was supposed to be negotiating with.

  “This shouldn’t be as tricky as some of your other jobs, but I’m not going to pretend it’s entirely risk-free. Just don’t draw any unnecessary attention to yourself and you’ll be fine. I shouldn’t even need to remind you.” Hogsmeade was not the idyllic little place everyone always seemed to think it was, especially after the village had exploded into a medium sized township after the war. The fact there was a six hundred year old vampire lurking with a massive chip on his shoulder and a proclivity for (literally) breaking every bone in peoples bodies if he thought they were even connected to Silas certainly didn’t help matters.

  Recently Silas had developed a bit of a penchant for throwing Darius in some very delicate situations with a fair bit of danger involved. Darius had potential. He knew that, and it why he always gave him quality backup in such situations so that he wouldn’t get his arse killed before his time. But, what separated a mere thug from someone truly useful was someone who could think on his feet, and most importantly keep things from degrading into fights and being able to handle it if it did. Silas was testing him. Training him, in his own way.

  But again, that wasn’t to say he trusted the boy to handle anything alone. A twenty year old wizard was ridiculously outclassed in both knowledge and skill, but with any luck Darius might actually amount so something.

 ... And Potter didn’t count. The little snot had been auspicious enough to have luck, fate and prophecy on his hands. The exception that proved the rule. The rest of the world didn’t work like that and Silas had taken enough lessons from the school of hard knocks to say that with confidence.

  This task by comparison was going to be painfully easy. So why Darius? Because Darius talked. And talking, trust-building and manipulation was going to be key. Silas may have a lot of people under his command but the vast majority were no more than grunts with all the subtlety of a dragon burning down Parliament House. This little issue – although simple to rectify – had the potential to turn into a massive problem and Silas wanted to take as few chances as possible.

  “I’m sure you’ve already, ahh, read about recent events in the town.” Of course he would have. The news was absolutely plastered all over the front page of every paper in the wizarding world. “You need to get information from someone.”