gonna take it around the world [oogie]

It was an unspoken rule in the hospital to not comment on what a quiet night they were having.

But it was quiet. There was no denying that. There were only four beds full on the Potions and Plant Poisoning floor -- her floor -- and she had checked, rechecked, and sent the trainee shadowing her to check on them more times than she could count. Every potion she had brewing in the tiny closet they called a lab was in a resting point; they all needed to be hands off, no stirring them, no breathing on them, for at least four more hours.

She had another room a few doors down from her closet lab that was crammed full with a table, a wooden, straight back chair, and stacks upon stacks of parchment and old texts. Varvara Stepanovna had managed to fold herself into the chair only once since restarting her job at St. Mungo's and had been so uncomfortable that she had taken to avoiding the little office room ever since. She had only been back in London for a couple weeks at this point; she had finally given in and applied for something a little more permanent than a traveling healer for the hospital, and really, what was more permanent than being the head healer in charge of the first floor she had ever worked, fresh out of healing school?

One of the patient rooms had long-since been transformed into a waiting room of sorts, and it was the closest thing to comfort that the third floor offered. It was empty, save for the few squishy arm chairs and sad looking flowers in the even sadder looking vase. Varya was curled up in the armchair farthest from the door but her position still afforded her a clear view of the hallway outside. She was listening for anything at all, idly tapping her wand against the arm of her seat and occasionally send sparks out the tip.

She assumed her healer-in-training had fallen asleep ages ago, but even Varya couldn't fault him for it. If she didn't have that extra fancy H embroidered on her hideous lime green robe, she would be dozing somewhere secret too, maybe even with the trainee. But she was awake, waiting for any sort of plant or potion accident to grace her with its presence, really anything at all at this point. But it was after two in the morning and apparently all the poisons in the British Isles had decided to take the night off.

Her eyes were on the verge of remaining shut when she heard it, the sweet sound of those double doors at the end of the hallway swinging open and shut. She perked up, swinging her legs out from under her and planting her feet on the ground. If it was the trainee, he ought to walk by in a few seconds, but those seconds passed and she heard and saw no more movement. Whoever came through those doors was still out near the unmanned "welcome to the third floor" desk, supposedly waiting for someone to help. And at this time of morning, Varya was the one that had to help.She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles of her robes down and patted her hair quickly back into place before exiting the room.

Varya had seen many things in her years spent traveling, healing, and poisoning, but this was new. He was a walking skeleton; not literally of course, she knew a real skeleton when she saw one and had even spent some time with a completely reanimated one on more than one occasion. But, as he was here waiting on the potion poisoning floor, Varya could only assume that he had been in some sort of accident, and what she was looking at either was or wasn't a side effect of said accident.

As soon as she was close enough that she didn't have to shout, Varya posed a question to the man in accented English, doing her best to have her helpful face on and hopefully not show just how excited she was to see someone that needed her help: "Are you in any pain?"

@Oogie Boogie del Olmo

Tick… tick… tick… tick…

It was strange, but Oogie found comfort in the soft noise the stopwatch in his breast pocket made in the silence. Without it, he had no assurance that time was passing. How long had he been sitting within these four walls, staring at numbers and parchments on his long mahogany desk as the outside world slowly went to bed around him? Without the ticking of his watch, he might think that time had frozen and he was stuck in this silent existence—poised and coiled like a predator in the shadows where few dared to wander. Oogie was a nocturnal creature, rising from his grave just as the sun dipped low over the horizon, most active in the dark. He hadn’t meant to become like this, but it had become his routine many years ago when he took control of this wretched city. He had no business being awake during the day anymore.

He leaned back in his chair, dark eyes surveying the files laid out on his desk. Among them were pages from a journal—observations. There was also a personnel file watermarked in the top corner with the mark of St. Mungos, as well as dozens of pictures of the same blonde woman scattered about the pages. He took a breath, a curl of fragrant white smoke swirling like fog over his lips and into the air. His mind was brought back to a report Rohan had given him the day before. It seemed that their potions store was running low. Not the medical potions, that order had been fulfilled just last week. It was there poisons that needed replenishing. Oogie had a few potioneers working under him, but his last poison expert had gotten caught with his hand in the coffer and needed to be put down for his trouble. That left a job opening, and considering how important silent killers were to his business, Oogie decided it was time to fill it.

Oogie stood up from his desk, taking his suit jacket from the back of his chair and putting it on. It was about two in the morning, well into the night. Most people would be in bed by now, and the people who weren’t were likely to be in the same business as him. He’d probably waited long enough. As Oogie buttoned his jacket, and there was a loud crack! as he disappeared in a flash of smoke. Suddenly St. Mungos loomed against the cloudy sky in front of him. The brick and mortar gave it a very sturdy feel, which Oogie liked. Oogie walked around the building to a small door on the side wall. He tapped the door once with his knuckle, and a second later it opened to him. The man in healer’s robes looked at him and stepped aside as he walked in.

“Good evening, Mannix. Slow night?”

“Seems to be, sir. Unless you plan on sending some poor bastard my way later.” The tall Irish man closed the door behind Oogie. “The Doc is in the middle of an autopsy right now, but I can let her know you’re here.”

Oogie waved his hand at the mention of the ill-tempered morbiwizard. “I’m not here to see Dr. Holliday tonight, but thank you,” he said, as they walked down the dimly lit hall. They came to an intersection in the corridor and Oogie turned to the other man. “Thank you Mannix, those doors are always a little tricky to deal with. That will be all. Apologies for taking you from your work.”

Mannix tipped his head. “Not a problem, sir.” With that he went in the opposite direction, his large shoulders filling the doorways as he walked through them.

Oogie made his way up to the third floor, pushing open the double doors to the Plants & Poisoning ward. He could hear the light tapping of his black wingtipped shoes echoing in the empty hallway as he came up to the front desk. Whoever was supposed to be manning this desk was gone, which he supposed was convenient because he didn’t feel like explaining to some poor nurse or trainee why he was here only to obliviate them a second later. He lingered at the desk, reading a list of rooms on a paper on the other side. Her office was…

He looked up when he heard someone walking down the hall, greeting him. Ah. How nice of her to meet me here.

The woman’s name was Varvara Stepanovna Zakharova. Russian. 37. She was among the six local potioneers he had investigated for this job position, but the only one who met his standards. She was a skilled potioneer, but more that, it seemed she was quite masterful with poisons-- top-tier, if her body of work was even half true. And she wasn’t without her vices. Oogie always preferred to have employees who specialized working with him, especially if they weren’t weighed down by something as ephemeral and petty as morals. Poisons, by their nature, fell right in the grey area. There was always a place for someone like that in his business.

“Pain,” Oogie repeated, the black and white teeth on the sides of his mouth slithering up the ridges of his face into an inky smile. “No. No pain at all, I’m afraid.” He folded his bony white fingers behind his back. “In fact, I’m here to seek an audience with you, Ms. Stepanovna. My name is Oogie.” He dipped his inked head in a half bow. “I have a business proposal that you may be interested in hearing. Perhaps somewhere more… private?”

"It's Healer Zakharova, actually," she replied, stopping a few meters away, not returning his smile. He was, unfortunately not in pain, and he also seemed to know at least part of her name, the patronymic part that most people this far west didn't know the first thing about. That was already enough to make her the slightest bit uncomfortable. Varya didn't want to take her eyes off of his face; she wasn't confident that her bedside manner extended towards men who showed up to her place of work at a time when most trustworthy people were asleep. Especially looking like that.

Somewhere private? The healer knew how to hold her own, but she still wasn't sure that finding somewhere private would be the wisest idea, especially considering his rather suspicious stance with his hands behind his back. She was fairly certain that he hadn't been holding a wand when he entered, but she wasn't about to base any decisions right now on 'fairly certain'.

"Perhaps you could tell me your name and a more specific reason for being here, and then we can see about finding somewhere private," she said slowly and firmly, her hands resting by her sides but hopefully ready to fly into action if need be. That was the only downside to specializing in poisons; short of a poison blow dart, they weren't too effective in such a quick-response situation. Of course, she still had some on her, and it wouldn't be her first time offering someone a drink with a secret ingredient.

She slowly motioned to the few straightback chairs in the waiting room they were standing in. "Feel free to have a seat out here, though. No one should bother you here." The patients were all asleep, and even if they weren't they wouldn't be any harm to anyone, considering they had all been recently poisoned. And the woman still had no idea where her trainee had gotten off to.

"You've successfully captured my attention," she added, if only to help convince him to get things out in the air here.

She was cautious, which Oogie didn’t mind. Cautious was always better than reckless in their line of work. He knew that his visage tended to put people on edge, and it usually took a long time for people to get used to him. In time she might learn to trust him, but trust was hard to gain and easy to lose. Suspicion was the price of working in the shadows, so a healthy dose of distrust was basically a job requirement for people like them. Oogie dipped his head in acquiescence and took a seat in one of the many empty chairs occupying the waiting room. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but Oogie didn’t expect much less. He settled in, turning his full attention to the woman in front of him.

“Forgive me for the intrusion, but my organization has been following you and your work for some time now. You have quite an interesting story, Healer Zakharova,” Oogie said, steepling his fingers. “You taught Melioration Magic at the Russian wizarding school for a short amount of time, and were, by all accounts a competent teacher, before you rejoined the St. Mungos team as the head Healer of the Poisons & Plants floor. It is quite an impressive position, not that you seem the type to care about something like that.”

He continued. “You are a skilled healer, but I am more interested in your passion for poisons. It is a passion that you have a quite a special talent for, and I would like to offer you the chance to chase that. There are few people who share your unique strength in this particular field, and it seems a shame to stifle that talent with myriad restrictions and bureaucracy. Passions need space to grow—an environment to thrive. Stagnation is the enemy of the creative mind, and I believe with the right backing you can chase your full potential.”

“I have recently come into the possession of a number of properties, which have allowed me the opportunity to expand my business into departments previously neglected. In my organization, there is always demand for potions that are particularly effective for use against enemies, and you are top-tier. I am looking for someone to oversee the construction of, and eventually head, an auxiliary laboratory dedicated to the study of poisons.”

Oogie slowly reached into his suit jacket, keeping eye contact as not to alarm her. He pulled a thick white envelope out of his pocket and untied the thin red string holding it closed. Thin bone-white fingers retrieved the stack of photographs and files from inside. Oogie brushed aside the handful of magazines sitting on the low table in front of him, and spread the photographs on the flat wooden surface for her to see.

“The previous owners of this property let the workspace fall to disrepair, and as a result the entire house—including parts of the exterior, the interior space, and the attached greenhouses, will need to be rebuilt. This means the new laboratory could be constructed to whatever specifications or style you would prefer, and it will be your personal space to brew and research as you wish. In exchange, you will occasionally be assigned research projects and orders to fill as needed. The builder I have put in charge of the actual construction is a gentleman I believe you are familiar with— a man by the name of Vulcan, if that will sway your choice.”

Satisfied he had laid all of the relevant details of his offer out, Oogie leaned back, giving her the room to look at the photos if she wanted to. “This is a one time job offer, Healer Zakharova.” He tilted his head to the side, showing her a different angle of the brain and bugs inked on the top of his skull. “Thoughts?”

"Thoughts?" she repeated the question back to him. Oh, she had many thoughts about all of this. Varya had let her guest say his piece, without interruption, neither nodding nor shaking her head to indicate her agreement on way or the other. He had apparently memorized her entire resume, even throwing in the knowledge of her "passion for poisons", something she was never explicit about in any job interview. She had never really advertised herself to the general public as someone with a penchant for poisoning, preferring her employer to think that she would rather keep her patients alive, rather than aid them in their demise. But apparently, that was exactly the sort of thing that most appealed to the man sitting across from her.

She had an immediate inkling that the organization he was speaking about was on the less legal side of things, which was only confirmed when he stated his organization's need for her potions to keep its enemies in line. In her understanding of things, the good guys didn't usually try to poison those they disagreed with. But she was definitely not one to judge anyone for this method, having employed it herself, and she was all the more intrigued when she heard the word "laboratory".

Her laboratory. What had started as an unbelievable encounter because of the time of night and the look of her guest was turning into an unbelievable encounter because it really seemed all too good to be true. Her own personal space to brew and research; she hadn't had that in ages. Her current space was a literal broom closet, the space before that her mother's kitchen, and even the space at Durmstrang hadn't quite lived up to the expectations she had attached to the job description. And all she had to do to be a part of all of this, to be given her own laboratory she could construct to her specifications, was to take part in research and order fulfillment.

And then he mentioned Vulcan, whom she was very familiar with. It was finally all making sense. They had never gotten too deep into the details of each others' personal lives, but they had exchanged enough that the healer knew about the Nightmare League and his involvement with it. He had failed to mention, though, the appearance of the man she assumed was in charge. Still, the thought of having to work with him during the construction of her laboratory  was very appealing. But she was getting ahead of herself; she hadn't even agreed to anything yet.

"If I accept, but later decide I wouldn't like to continue our business relationship, how complicated would that be for me?" She didn't think she needed to go into the finer details of what she was asking. "And," she continued with an afterthought, "Where is this?" She motioned towards the photos turned out on the coffee table in front of her, finally moving from her seat across from her visitor to reach towards a photo and pull it closer towards her to get a better look.

"And," she added again, not looking up from the photographs, realizing she probably should have asked her next question first. "What can I call you? You already seem quite familiar with me, after all."