[TTD] Storm on hold (Dermod)

London was foreign ground for Alyona but Ms Robbins had insisted that she’d come to the detective agency in Notting Hill rather than meeting up in Rybinsk. Alyona didn’t like it that the other woman claimed to be too busy to travel to Russia. Surely the English witch was not as stressed as Alyona herself felt. However, there was no point in arguing. Writing letters back and forth would just waste even more time. Grudgingly she had agreed to come to the English capital and, despite her initial displeasure, she had to admit that the change in scenery was actually quite nice.

Ms Robbins was even so kind as to offer her some fine whisky that Alyona found rather tasty even though she still preferred her homemade vodka. She made a mental note to give the other woman a bottle of vodka the next time they saw each other. They discussed some details of the job and Alyona remarked that she could see that Linnet had some extraordinary talents but still voiced her concern that the young detective might not be able to find out Aglaya’s stalker’s identity anyway.

After about two hours at the detective agency and a few glasses of whisky, the women shook hands and Ms Robbins guided Alyona to the fireplace. The slightly drunk healer stepped into the fireplace, dropped the floo powder and voiced her destination in a slightly slurred voice.

Moments later, way too quickly actually, she found herself in a fireplace that she didn’t know. The woman stepped out of it and looked around. She was at a post office and clearly not where she had wanted to go.

Feeling slightly nauseous after the journey, Alyona decided that she’d take a break before trying to get home. She left the post office and looked around, taking a deep breath of slightly salty air. She was in a village... somewhere by the Sea. She was tempted to ask a passerby where she was but somehow felt that this would be rather embarrassing. Instead she crossed the street and entered a pub. Surely, a drink and a snack would help and, maybe, there’d be the full address of the place on the menu.

She took a seat at the bar and offered the man next to her a tired smile. “Long day,” she muttered in accented English and pulled the menu closer. “Any dish you can recommend?” she asked as she scanned it.

@Dermod Larkin Morfessa

It was rare that Dermod left the estate and actually visited the nearby village, not that it was really large enough to deserve the name. The post office that was also connected to the floo network, the tiny apothecary, a couple of other shops and the pub were all that served the dozen or so cottages, though such was the sparseness of the local wizarding community that there was sufficient trade for all to earn a living.

Aside from using the floo network on occasion, the only place the former Death Eater frequented was the pub, though that wasn't necessarily to drink. Sometimes he had orders of firewhisky delivered there and occasionally other, more interesting items (there had been an understanding between the O'Driscoll family and the innkeepers here dating back nearly three centuries) but today he was simply visiting. While other pubs had guest beers, this one had guest whiskies and Dermod liked to be certain he didn't fail to sample any of them.

The first had been produced by a family in Nicaragua and was quite delicious, though understandably expensive given the distance it had been transported. Regardless, he quietly suggested to the innkeeper that if she was able to obtain a couple more bottles he would be happy to purchase them from her. Then he sampled the second, brewed in central Spain. The look on the woman's face when she poured the measure suggested that he was not going to be as impressed with this one, so he took a sip with some trepidation, and coughed immediately.

It tasted like it had been marinated in old socks and matured in a barrel that had previously contained rotten eels. "I won't be ordering any of that one" he muttered, and was rewarded with the innkeeper's snort of amusement. Nor would he even finish the glass; that would be torture on a par with anything he had experienced during the war years. He was just wondering whether a glass of the first brew or perhaps a snack would take away both the appalling taste and memory when a foreign woman addressed him.

He turned and smiled automatically, taking in her appearance as he did so. Probably in her middle forties, well-dressed, Russian or somewhere close by from the accent. Attractive, though currently looking tired, and...had she already enjoyed a drink today? There was something in the droop of the woman's eyelids that suggested she had indeed had a long day. From somewhere behind her there was a brief flash of blue that vanished before he could focus on it.

"Anything but the Spanish whisky. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy" he responded immediately, though the idea of mudbloods being forced to swim through giant barrels of the stuff until they drowned almost caused him to laugh out loud. "If it's food you're looking for, the stew is good, or the traditional cheeseboard if you're looking to accompany a drink. But more importantly, you are clearly not from around here" he said with a smile, turning slightly so they were facing each other "what brings you to this part of the world?"

Nodding gratefully when the man next to her answered her question, Alyona listened and soon her lips curved into a smile. “Is it that bad?” she asked and wondered if she’d even mind it. There were days when she’d drink just about anything to reach a state of indifferent numbness. However, she had to stay on her feet now or else she’d stay Merlin-knew-where she was now.

Stew sounded good, so did the cheeseboard he mentioned. Alyona was just considering these options when he stated that she was clearly not from around here and asked what brought her here.

The healer felt a little embarrassed, but decided that there was no point in coming up with a creative lie. She was far too exhausted to wreck her brain for anything anyway. Therefore, she decided to just be honest.

“I took the floo from London and was somehow misdirected here,” she admitted, “I suppose I didn’t pronounce my destination clearly enough.” She smiled but it was a tired smile that showed that she was not as amused as she tried to appear and that she’d much rather be at her desired destination now.

Alyona was just about to order a meal for herself when shrill screeches distracted her and she turned around to see where the beastly voices came from. About a dozen electric blue pixies flew through the pub, attacking the few people present. Before Alyona could even draw her wand, one of them appeared on her shoulder and began tearing at her hair.

"Worse. Unless, of course, you enjoy misery and having the taste of recently deceased rodents in your mouth" he mused, hoping that this wasn't the sort of woman who would take him literally and ask when he last ate dead mice. Nothing worse than someone who didn't have the sense to understand a good metaphor. Having described the menu though Dermod decided that a snack would be pleasant, and he lazily raised a finger to attract the innkeeper's attention.

Disappointing, though that this woman didn't have a more interesting story. He had hoped for something unusual he could use as inspiration for a story or character, not a simple case of floo misdirection. Though she had got off lightly - he shuddered involuntarily, recalling the time the floo network had gone terribly wrong and he'd ended up on an island in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by pirates and with only three galleons in his pocket. On that occasion, the only option had been to buy passage off the island to the nearest mainland port, find out where he was and then make his way home from there. Apparation was hardly possible if you had no idea where in the world where you were and if you could even reach your destination without a severe splinching.

The woman didn't need to know that. "It happens. I once had a similar experience and ended up quite off course" he said, appearing to sympathise. The innkeeper reappeared and he ordered two glasses of the decent whiskey and a small cheese platter, deciding that being hospitable would be the most entertaining course of action this afternoon. Before the drinks and snack could be served though, there was a shriek from the far side of the bar and then pandemonium descended. Cornish pixies weren't dangerous of course, but they were irritating and could cause no end of trouble if not dealt with quickly. As one landed on his new acquaintance and started tugging on her hair Dermod raised his wand almost lazily and muttered "Immobulus". The creature immediately froze, as did a couple more nearby, though the ones further back in the pub continued to wreak havoc.

"Don't think much of your new clientele" he commented to the innkeeper as she scurried over and dumped two glasses of whiskey on her way past, wand out as she went to deal with the rest of the pixies. Then he turned back to the woman. "There's a portkey office at the other end of the village. Once you feel rested I can offer you directions if you wish?" he then slid one of the glasses in her direction, ignoring the shouts and bangs still coming from the far side of the pub "Perhaps this will improve your day a little. Welcome to Ireland."

A belated smile spread across her face after the man’s comment on the quality of the whiskey. It had taken her a few seconds to grasp what he meant. While she spoke English rather well, she wasn’t too familiar with the words ‘deceased rodents’ in the context of drinks.

“If it’s that bad I’d rather pass on it,” she said. The metaphor the man had used was quite strong so the whiskey seemed to be really awful. There was no need to try it out.

She nodded, grateful that he said that such a mishap had happened to him as well. Floo misdirections did happen, she knew that. Unfortunately the witch was pretty certain that this time it was solely her fault because she had indulged in too much alcohol to pronounce her destination clearly enough.

Her new companion came to her rescue when the pixie attacked him and Alyona was grateful for this. She ran her fingers through her red hair to make it look okay again after the attack, smiling a little at his comment to the innkeeper.

“Thank you,” she said as he looked at her again. His suggestion sounded quite reasonable and Alyona nodded. “Yes, thank you, that sounds good.” He pushed a glass of whiskey her way and Alyona reached for it. She looked at the amber colour of the drink for a moment, then she glanced at her companion who welcomed her to Ireland.

“Ireland…” she muttered more to herself than to him. “Thank you,” she now said for the third time in a row. “I haven’t been in Ireland in a long time,” she offered. “I take it you live here?”

A stray pixie buzzed towards them. Dermod raised his wand and froze it with a flick of his wand, barely glancing in its direction as he did so. With his other hand he raised his fresh glass and sampled to contents, sighing contentedly. Now this was a good firewhisky, smooth and richly flavoured and absolutely no hint of old socks whatsoever. Most of the pixies seemed to have been immobilised now, and the younger of the two waitresses was making her way around with a large basket, summoning the little monsters as she went.

Now that the situation was under control the writer simply dismissed it from his attention, ignoring the rest of the world entirely. Besides, firewhisky of this quality deserved his full attention. He raised the glass and inhaled the aroma, eyes briefly closing. When the woman spoke, he opened his eyes and studied her anew, realising that as yet he didn't know her name. Not that he was overly keen to share his own - it still felt uncomfortable to not be using a quillname in everyday life - but curiosity on his part was going to win out sooner or later. He could comfortably share information about his home, though.

"I do indeed. All my life, not counting my years at Hogwarts, though that was some time ago" he said "My home is half a mile or so outside the village; you can't see it from here." That was completely true of course - while Dermod would be able to see the distant peaks of the castle from the end of the village, anyone who was not privy to the location would simply see the land upon which it stood, which itself would appear wild and unwelcoming. While he had no firsthand knowledge of this, he understood that any unwitting explorers would find themselves mysteriously turned away if they attempted to climb the hill upon which the castle stood. "My family has resided in this area for several hundred years" he added, deciding that was enough detail to be going on with and yet vague enough that he hadn't actually told her anything."

Now for the interesting part. "Allow me to guess...you are from Russia?" he asked with a smile as he raised the whisky glass again.

The whiskey was good, great even, Alyona realised as she took a first sip. It had such a rich, full flavour that was quite different from vodka, her usual drink of choice. She could tell by a brief glance at the man next to her that he was not drinking to forget, drinking because his body demanded alcohol, he was drinking because he enjoyed the beverage.

Some time ago she had been like that, too. She had enjoyed a drink in good company, had had a glass of fine wine with her meal because she liked the taste of it, now she was drinking because she hoped that it would help her deal with her reality or, better yet, make her forget about it for a while.

She nodded thoughtfully as the man said that he had been living around here all his life. Somehow she almost envied him. The man seemed so settled and content with where he was. Maybe she was mistaken though. Maybe he was just not in an intense life crisis right now and that already made her think that his life ought to be picture perfect.

“That sounds really nice and idyllic,” Alyona said, meaning every word of it. He guessed that she was from Russia and the witch lifted her hands, “guilty as charged,” she confirmed his guess.

The cheeseboard was served now and Alyona picked something from it before she cared to expand on her response. “I’m originally from Moscow, living in Rybinsk now for around 30 years now, though.”

The woman was quite right, the castle was the perfect place to live. Dermod supposed it could be argued that he didn't have much with which to compare the lifestyle with, given that Hogwarts was also a castle (albeit on a much larger scale) and the only other place he had lived for any length of time was his cottage on the outskirts of London. The year he had spent there had hardly been under indeal circumstances though, so it was little wonder he hadn't found that so appealling. Really though, he liked the space, the cool breezes that blew through the windows (most of the year, anyway) and watching the storms that blew up over the Irish sea. And the solitude; he couldn't imagine living in a town, surrounded by the noise and mess of others. Gabriella's cats were bad enough...

"It is. There is a view I don't believe one could ever get tired of" he said, nodding to the innkeeper as she served the cheese. There were the usual crackers and breads, but also a few grapes, apple slices and nuts to liven up the selection. He flicked his wand and sliced the cheeses into bite-sized chunks, gesturing for the woman to take her pick before he piled a slice of cheddar and an apple slice onto a cracker and ate it whole.

Russian. So he had been right. Moscow, that was somewhere he had been but not spent a great deal of time there, but from what he had seen it was a beautiful city, particularly the architecture in the wizarding quarter when viewed at dusk on a spring evening. He should go back there at some point, take Gabriella to view the sights. Rybinsk, though. The former Death Eater frowned thoughtfully. He felt certain he knew of the town but couldn't immediately place it. It hovered at the edges of his mind as being famous for something particular, something...sporting perhaps? Was there a Quidditch team residing there? He had never followed the sport beyond the World Cup and simply didn't keep up with the teams. "Forgive me - Rybinsk sounds familiar but I cannot think why" he said as he continued to eat "Have I read of it somewhere, perhaps?"

“Yes, I understand,” Alyona said and she felt that she really understood it. From what she could tell from this place so far was that it was beautifully located. She also liked Rybinsk a lot, living near a river meant that she also had a beautiful view to admire. However, the life in a city could not be compared to life on the countryside.

Alyona gladly picked a cracker and realised as she ate that she had really been in need of food. Just some cheese, crackers and an apple slice and she’d feel better again. It wasn’t really her preferred kind of snack but it didn’t matter. Everything was good for now.

The man had heard about Rybinsk and Alyona knew that it could only be for one reason. In the wizarding world there was no other reason why anyone would know Rybinsk anyway. She nodded, somehow hesitant to enlighten him.

“Yes, you might have read about it,” she finally admitted. Alyona reached for her glass and took another sip of the whiskey before she continued. “It’s the birth town of the sport of artistic flying. There’s now an artistic flying school which is also hosting several competitions and shows.” She couldn’t bring herself to explain a lot more just yet. However, she realised that she was wasting time in Ireland when there was so much to do for her back home.

Eating and drinking here was pleasant enough, but the company was unexpectedly amusing, too. Oh, Dermod wasn't considering this woman for a potential affair - he hadn't done such a thing since marrying Gabriella, though he wasn't averse to the idea - but he got the sense that here was someone who was as guarded and careful as he was. The question was, what was she hiding, or rather, what did she not wish to share? It was reasonable enough that she not wish to give her full name and a potted history of her life to a stranger, but he didn't fail to notice that neither had asked the other's name. That wasn't out of curiosity, he suspected, but because they each knew that the next move was to offer their own.

He would find out at some point, he decided. A little detective work - even for no purpose whatsoever - was always fun. And if it turned out there was little to uncover well, he could use it as a creative exercise, imagine a fascinating life and career for this woman, perhaps even turn her into a character in a future novel. The fact that he hadn't published anything for several years now was a problem, but Dermod felt that enough time had passed since the supposed death of his alter-ego Kevan Taite that he could consider writing something under his own name. A few well-worded reviews and surely at least some if his old readers would take an interest.

He ate a little more, not minding at all that the conversation, such as it was, moved slowly. It allowed for more time to eat, and he realised he had been hungrier than he'd realised. Out of the corner of his eye the writer saw the basket containing the pixies being sealed and briefly wondered what would happen to it. Frankly, he wouldn't be upset if it was thrown straight into the sea, but probably they would take it to the Ministry so the pixies could be rehomed somewhere more appropriate. In some mudblood's kitchen he thought, and just managed not to snort in amusement. Thankfully the woman spoke a little more about the town of Rybinsk, and that distracted him from what some might call inappropriate thoughts.

Then he had an idea. It was just an educated guess but if he was right it could pay dividends, and if not, he had lost nothing. "You work there, don't you?" he asked, sounding curious "Something in your voice tells me that you do..."  He drained the last of his whisky as he awaited her reply.

Alyona didn’t look at the man as she spoke about Rybinsk. Given the recent events the woman was reluctant to share personal information. She wondered how Aglaya’s stalker had found her. Had her daughter maybe once shared a little too much about herself? No, it was unlikely. Much more likely was that the stalker had seen her at artistic flying events, had read articles about her and had thus started obsessing over her.

The pixies were now all caged up and taken away. Alyona watched them absently but the man next to her soon caught her attention again by asking her if she worked at the artistic flying school in Rybinsk. She looked at the wizard for a moment, thinking that he was clearly a good observer.

“Yes,” she admitted tentatively, “I do.”

As she said so she felt even more guilty that she was sitting here, sharing a cheese board with a stranger and having drinks. Surely she was needed back at home and she really needed to talk to Aglaya about the private investigation some more. After all, she had discussed with Ms Robbins that Linnet would stay longer than they had initially planned. This was not so much because Alyona felt that the young investigator only needed time to succeed than because she didn’t want to leave any stone unturned.

"I should leave soon," she muttered and reached for her glass again.

Interesting. Very interesting indeed. He had expected some kind of reaction (assuming his deduction had been correct) but had he guessed, Dermod would have expected surprise or curiosity or even pleasure and a willingness to talk about the flying school. The fact that the response was little more than a tentative confirmation told him one of two things was happening here. Either she was actually meant to be there right now and had instead taken a trip to London, in which case she hoped not to be found out, or there was something strange happening at the school in which she was involved. If the latter was the case, she would not want to discuss it or divulge any details.

He suspected it was more than she was somewhere she shouldn't be. If the woman had snuck out of her job she wouldn't have told him where she worked, but invented something else - shop worker, healer, anything of that kind. And yet she hadn't, which meant she was telling the truth. The cheeseboard was close to empty now; they'd both eaten hungrily and the writer was hardly surprised when the woman said she should leave. He reached into his pocket and dropped a couple of galleon onto the bar, deciding to leave as well. The coins were probably close to what he owed and besides, he had a tab here so could pay any difference at the end of the month as usual.

"Of course. Would you allow me to escort you to the portkey office? he asked, rising from his seat "As I said, it's just at the end of the village, but they know me in there and it may be possible to arrange for you to travel directly to your home town - if that would be convenient, of course" he suggested.

Since Alyona hadn’t placed an order of her own and the man dropped coins onto the bar she considered herself invited. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. It had been a while since a stranger had invited her for a drink and a snack.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, offering him a slight smile as she got to her feet again.

He offered to take her to the portkey office and she nodded gratefully. “That would be very kind of you,” she grabbed her bag and waited for him to lead the way out.

“A direct trip back home would indeed be convenient,” Alyona admitted if only because she wanted to avoid another floo misdirection or take the risk of a drunk apparition.

They walked the short way to the office and the man talked to a witch who ran the office, asking for a portkey to Rybinsk. It turned out that she wasn’t quite as lucky as she would have liked but she could get a portkey straight to Moscow at least.

“Goodbye and thank you for your help,” she told the man when they parted ways. Then she grabbed the old kettle and her journey began.

Hours later when she sat at home on her couch Alyona thought about this encounter and how strange it had been. She felt they had connected well but they didn’t even know each other’s names. The only thing they knew was in which village or city the other lived.

[out]

"You're welcome" he said, glad that this wasn't the sort of woman who made a fuss about a simple drink and snack and insisted upon splitting the bill. Although that could have been quite amusing as the innkeeper tried to work out exactly what Dermod owed - he had already enjoyed some drinks before he had found himself in company and those would have had to be removed from the bill... if she'd complained, he probably would have simply left at that point and left her to find her way to the portkey office alone, but thankfully that hadn't happened. He could show the Russian around the admittedly small village, something that he didn't often get the opportunity to do and in which he took a particular pride. While it was a faulty analogy, Dermod liked to think of himself as the lord of the manor and the people who lived here as his minions. Not that he had ever voiced this thought to anyone ut the innkeeper, who had found it hilarious.

He led the way out of the pub and turned to the left. "As you know the post office is just here...and next door is the grocery shop" he commented as they walked. They passed three or four houses, then the tiny, dingy apothecary which had a fine reputation that belied its appalling appearance, and then, tucked away down one of only two side streets in the village was the haberdashery that had been old-fashioned when the writer was a boy. He didn't bother to point that out, because now the portkey office, in a much newer building and seemingly tacked onto the end of the village as an afterthought came into view. Dermod didn't bother to say "here we are" or anything superfluous, simply led the way into the building and explained that he had a friend who needed to return to Russia as a matter of urgency. He didn't quite manage her home town but did succeed in arranging a portkey to Moscow, which would be a lot closer than London would have been.

"You're welcome. Until we meet again" he said, bowing slightly at the waist in an old-fashioned gesture in the moments before the woman vanished.

Dermod thanked the witch in charge, who clearly was itching to ask how a Russian had ended up in their tiny village, but as the former Death Eater was known for being closemouthed about his acquaintances she restrained herself with a visible effort as he left the building. The sun was sinking a little lower in the sky by now and he decided it was time to head home. Walking past the pub, Dermod was amused to see a stray pixie whizz out of an upstairs window. Glancing over his shoulder, he was quite alone. With a smirk, he cast a stunning charm, watched the creature crash to the ground, and then continued on his way.

[out]

[ooc: he actually wanted to avada kedavra the pixie and i wouldn't let him. he's sulking now]