fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-11-23 07:27 am
Entry tags:
Prompt Post #1
ROUND 1
FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER
Important links:
You can check for fill updates at our tumblr page
You can upload your stories on AO3 anonymously here
You can alert us that you've filled a prompt here
You can talk about anything here
Technically Speaking Newt's a Smuggler...
(Anonymous) 2016-12-02 06:10 am (UTC)(link)Or: the one in which Newt is well and truly part of the magical criminal underground (was expelled, but has wand? *eyebrow raise*). He doesn't mind the animal smugglers so long as they are, ahem, convinced to treat their animals properly - after all, a smuggler harvesting the occasional feathers and eggs (for completely illegal potions)and otherwise giving the creatures a safe home is better than letting the law enforcement butcher them for existing. Amirite? As for the criminal underground? Yes he's annoying about his "proper livign conditions" but exotic beasts are effing expensive and they can't take them to a legal vetrinarian, can they?
Re: Technically Speaking Newt's a Smuggler...
(Anonymous) 2016-12-02 06:11 am (UTC)(link)Re: Technically Speaking Newt's a Smuggler...
(Anonymous) 2016-12-02 02:46 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Technically Speaking Newt's a Smuggler...
(Anonymous) 2016-12-02 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)Fill: Spice and Smoke (1/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-06 04:25 am (UTC)(link)*******Spice and Smoke*********
The first thing Newt noticed about New York as he disembarked from the steamer was the distinctive smell. It smelt nothing like home. For Newt Scamander, the scent of home would always be a peculiar mix of cinnamon and gunsmoke, of the manure of his beasts and the expensive perfume of his employer. New York smelt foul.
Newt smiled awkwardly at the customs officer who wad examining the muggle-safe form of his case. He glanced cautiously around and spotted several well dressed gentlemen unmistakeably hired muscle, though one of them looked to be brighter, Italians the lot waiting for someone.
The customs officer shut the case with a nod and then looked in the direction of the waiting men standing around an expensive automotive. The waiting men who were very definitely watching Newt.
"Welcome to New York, Mister Scamander," the customs officer said, "and do be careful." He tilted his head ever so slightly at the men.
Newt ducked his head with a nod, to keep the slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth from being seen. He cautiously cast a specialised form of notice-me-not and walked over to the Italian gentlemen. He looked sideways at the apparent leader. After a pause, Newt began "If you're waiting for a Mister Scamander..."
"The Boss wants to see you," the leader replied bluntly, nodding for one of his underlings to open the door of the car. The man inside the car - roundfaced, moderately ugly, and with a distinctive comb-over - took a drag of his cigarette.
Newt nodded awkwardly as he slid into the vehicle next to what was obviously the boss. "I do have to stop by the bank and my hotel," he said mildly. It was neither censure nor an objection and the man knew it.
"You the Strana Donna's man?" the American mobster asked, although he knew the answer. "You don't look like much."
Newt ducked his head and smiled, amused.
This seemed to decide something for the mobster, as he nodded decisively as the car started to travel. "The unassuming ones are the dangerous ones," he said in reply. "We'll drop you at the bank once we're done." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Least we can do."
It was definitely the least they could do - to ensure that Newt did not make contact with any other sides before they had the chance. "Pleasure to meet you, Mister Masseria," he said.
"Joe," the mobster replied. He took another drag of his cigarette. "So your Strana Donna. How many of the gangs of London did she end? I heard about the Cortesi brothers."
"All of them," Newt replied mildly. "My Lady prefers not to have interlopers in her territory."
Joe the Boss snorted. "Does anyone?"
Newt tilted his head slightly. That had been a threat. "If my Lady had intended to expand her territory into yours," he said, "she wouldn't have sent you a wire to tell you I was going to be passing through. She is interested in doing business in New York, but that is a question of who she makes friends with, nothing more."
The car slowed to a stop in front of a grand building, where a group of what looked to be protestors of some sort were setting up for a speech or rally. "Steen's don't look too hard at currency exchanges," the mob boss said helpfully. He pushed a card into Newt's hand.
Newt, none too gracefully, pulled a similar card from his pocket - contact information, with the hotel he would be staying at on it and a perfectly legitimate job description - and, once the mafiosi had seen that it was a plain undecorated piece, gave it a quick flick of the wrist. A little newt made of black and gold ink ran across the card and blinked up at the mobster from between the letters of the job description ...which now read consigliere.
The magizoologist turned underboss smiled at the dumbstruck mafiosi and let himself out of the car - holding his suitcase tightly in his left hand.
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (1/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-06 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (1/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 01:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (1/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 01:28 am (UTC)(link)Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 07:24 am (UTC)(link)Newt had left a tracking spell on the card he had given the head of the Masseria crime family, so he knew without looking back that the car had only just turned the corner when he was forced to duck around the slope-shouldered young man attempting to help set up the sign for whatever speech was to be held on the steps of the bank.
“Pardon me,” he murmured as the young man blinked worriedly up at him.
Two voices rang out at once.
“Credence!” snapped the bright-eyed woman who seemed to be in command of the set-up.
“Mister Scamander!” a deep-voiced man with a peculiar accent called as he walked up the steps of the bank.
Newt glanced around at him. The most notable thing about him was the group of gentlemen – or, rather, bodyguards – following him. The man was richly dressed, long of face, strong of nose and wearing a crooked smile which appeared more like a smirk. The Fixer. He was the only one known to do his business on street corners because he knew the police would do nothing – could do nothing.
Behind him, the woman running what was probably some sort of fundraiser gasped slightly. It was probably because of all the ill-concealed guns the gentlemen-assistants were hiding on their persons.
Newt made a conscious effort to improve his posture and walked along the long marble step to meet the approaching mobster with a friendly smile. The tails of his blue coat whirled as he walked. In the distance, he could see a man watching them from the corner of the street. Masseria, obviously, was curious – most likely he had seen his competition heading Newt’s way and decided to see what happened. That was fine with both Newt and his Lady – who had sent him specifically to get a feel for all the potential business partners in New York. Many lesser businesspeople would have thought it madness to make a move on the Big Apple while only London lay under his Lady’s iron – and elegant – fist, but the point was to change the face of the underworld. That, of course, would aid in leaving the new opponents with less allies abroad. Although, as it happened, most of the Lady’s opponents were not yet aware of their status – as it was generally expected that she would strike and take London’s neighbouring cities next. So, naturally, she was about to move on Glasgow. It was all rather fascinating from a scholarly perspective. The human animal: claiming territory, without the guise of civilisation to cloud its motives.
Newt did not say that when he reached the mobster though. He accepted the, strong, handshake and politely replied, “Mister Rothstein, I presume?”
The Jewish kingpin smiled at him. He jerked his head in the direction of the corner. “Those, whattda they call ‘em, Mustache Petes. They don’t work with non-Italians, you know. If your Lady wants to make friends with ‘em, she’s wasting her time.”
Newt smiled slightly. “That would be their loss, Mister Rothstein,” he demurred. Rothstein had an ego, which had probably been bruised by the fact that Newt had accepted Masseria’s ride. That was probably to do with his view of his territory – a dominance display. It was, when viewed in the right light, quite fascinating. “My Lady, however, requires that she be well informed about all potential business partners – even those who are unwise enough to reject such a partnership’s lucrative potential. They know I intend to make inquiries with many sources.”
The suitcase shuddered.
Arnold Rothstein looked down at it with a raised brow. Several of his men had reached for the guns on their hips.
“Ah,” Newt said, with an almost abashed little smile. “My apologies. I’m afraid it’s been a long trip for the menagerie as well as for myself. I had only meant to stop briefly to exchange my pounds for your peculiar American money and then I really ought to feed them.”
There was a pause.
“You can fit a whole zoo in there?” the kingpin asked, understandably disbelieving.
Newt smiled. “Animal relocation is a hobby of mine,” he said.
Arnold Rothstein – the Man Uptown, the Brain, the man who turned crime into a business instead of mere thuggary – clapped Newt amiably on the shoulder and began to walk them toward the bank. “I’d heard the Lady’s right hand was a naturalist,” he said. “Wasn’t sure I believed it. Scholarly animal lovers never struck me as the type for this business, so when I heard the Lady of London was sending her lizard-man-”
“Salamander,” Newt interjected. The doors of the bank were opened by one of Rothstein’s men.
“There a difference?” the kingpin asked. There was something ruffled about his attitude. He probably didn’t like to be corrected.
“A newt is a type of salamander – an amphibian – whereas a lizard is a reptile,” Newt explained mildly. “Common mistake.”
The suitcase rattled again. Not for the first time, Newt was grateful for the improved locks and fastenings which his employer had placed on it before he began his trip.
“Eh, whaddo I know about it,” the elder man replied, eyeballing the case. “My strength’s card games. What do you know about Texas Hold ‘em?” Then, before Newt had the chance to reply, he added, “Lansky, go see to it that our new friend gets a good exchange rate from Bingley’s people.”
Newt allowed the attendant – Mister Lansky – to take the money he had meant to convert and head to the exchange counter, with a mere nod as acknowledgement. To the kingpin, he replied, “Only that I’m as bad at it as I am at poker.” It was a lie, but a well told one, and even if the kingpin knew it for what it was, the purpose had been to ensure the man’s reputation did not seem damaged by his lack of knowledge in Newt’s area of expertise. A fair exchange conversation, the Lady would have called it. Either way it got a chuckle out of him.
As they stood in the lobby, watching Lansky move forward in line, Rothstein said, “The White Hand Gang’s fallin’ apart. Masseria and Maranzano don’t deal with non-Italians. There’s chinamen and the Eastern Europeans, sure, but they don’t have the sorta power I’ve got. The Italians don’t like mixing, but all but Masseria and Maranzano do when I says so, with the Kosher Nostra, at least. That’s the major players and if your Lady wants to do good business with her Collegium Arcanam, I’m her best bet. Lansky will catch up with us. I’ll see you later, Mister Scamander.”
Newt nodded respectfully as the kingpin shook his hand and walked out. It was better for business to allow the man to have the last word. Rothstein clearly believed he was already the Lady’s equal and opposite number, which was untrue. He had also, as it happened, missed one major player. But then, he couldn’t really be expected to know about Gnarlack – given that the magical underworld did not have any proper ties to the muggle underworld. It was, perhaps, not quite right to call Gnarlack’s outfit a gang, though, as the goblin – to Newt’s understanding – did not truly have more than a small business. Oh, he certainly imported alcohol and sold it to wizards – but that wasn’t illegal under MACUSA’s laws, so it was legally imported. He allowed wizarding criminals to make trades and engaged in illegal purchasing, but he also acted as the snitch. All in all, the magical world had no proper underground. No true gangs, no true brothels, no proper drug trade, no proper hired guns. They had vice a-plenty, of course, and more than one criminal with ‘contacts’ but the whole thing was terribly unorganised.
He tugged his coat at a lapel, which wasn’t sitting right, and took a seat on a bench near where he had been waiting. Very carefully, he opened the case a smidge.
The displeased face of what a might have best been described as a mix between an echidna and a platypus scowled out at him. It shoved an opaline egg at him.
“Tch,” Newt clucked. But he offered the Niffler the cufflink he had removed from Rothstein anyway. While the little animal was distracted – and before it could notice the amount of gold in the décor – Newt gently pushed it back into the case and closed it firmly. The locks snapped shut just as Lansky walked over to him with his crisp new American Dollars.
The man sat down, more interested in the money than the new life that was stubbornly unwilling to hatch, which Newt had cradled in his right hand.
“It’s not something that needs to be known,” Lansky – the mob’s accountant – said simply, “but it was Lucky Luciano who told Rothstein aboutcha visit. Rothstein doesn’t like surprises all that much. Of course, he’s a betting man. One day it’ll catch up to him. For now being one of the Big Bankroll’s trusted is a good place to be. Lucky Luciano. Frank Costello. Meyer Lansky. Benjamin Sigel – don’t call him Bugsy. More than one of us used to be in the Five Point Gang. So was Capone. See where he is now?”
Newt nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re no consigliere, though,” Lansky continued, watching in amusement as a man in the office across from them peered out his door when the secretary opened it to admit a client and went very pale at the sight of Meyer Lansky watching him.
Newt blinked. “Am I not?” he murmured.
“The Collegium Arcanam?” the American Jew replied. “I’ve seen the symbol on your Lady’s first business. The sign on the café’s a unicorn standing above a salamander – not over it – protecting it. For those who can understand it, it’s a blatantly emotional exclamation, Mister Salamander. You’re either kin of the boss lady or the underboss direct. But you’re not merely the consigliere.”
Whatever else he’d had to say was cut short when a rather round gentleman began to approach the seats, as directed by some secretary or other, only to stop short at seeing it occupied. The man sighed. “Just my luck there’d be this many appointments before mine,” he said.
There was a soft cracking sound as the egg Newt held began to hatch.
“We’re not waiting,” Lansky said, standing and making room for the man who evidently had no idea who he was dealing with. “We just stopped so Mister Scamander could put away his wallet and his, err…”
Newt had stuffed the money into his wallet and that into his pocket. He placed his case on the floor, leaning a foot on it so that it did not try to escape, and begun carefully helping the tiny creature to escape its shell, making gentle encouraging noises as he did.
The rounder man sat down on the bench awkwardly, while Lansky looked down at the hatching Occamy in curiosity. After a few moments of watching, the newcomer put his suitcase on his lap and opened it to check the contents were still as he had left them.
The smell of fresh bread made Newt’s stomach grumble and the baby Occamy, who was peering out from under a piece of eggshell it had not yet managed to force away, chirped curiously. Newt chuckled as he helped the little one free.
Lansky let out a curse of surprise upon spotting the wings of the serpentine little creature.
The baby Occamy, for its part, chirped in fright as it looked around the large, echo-y building it had been born in, and squirmed up inside the right sleeve of Newt’s coat.
“Are you going to stay in there, then?” he asked, amusedly. After receiving a happy little chirp, Newt quickly opened his case and stashed the eggshell inside. Then, quite aware that both of the muggles were staring, Newt nodded toward the newcomer’s case, as if to indicate he was not the only one carrying around something unusual.
The man seemed to understand, because he shrugged and turned the case to show Newt and Lansky that it was full of pastries. “Fair point, pal,” he said. “But I’m here with these in the hope of getting a loan to open a bakery.”
Newt’s stomach rumbled and he dug out what seemed to be a reasonable offer of money. “You seem to have enough to part with two,” he said with an awkward shrug. “They do smell delicious.”
The would-be-baker’s face lit up.
Newt and Lansky each took one pastry; although Newt had to keep his away from his coat-sleeve without putting it in the hand which he was picking up his case with. This was about as awkward as most things in his life.
“You are a very strange man, Mister Scamander,” Lansky said. “I do hope your employer and mine will do business together.” Then he nodded and left.
As the baker closed his case and secured the latches, Newt also stood. He had a feeling he had grossly over-paid the baker, but after one bite he changed his mind. With all the awkwardness of sincerity, he said, “It was nice to meet you, err…”
“Kowalski,” the baker replied cheerfully. But then, the sale of two pastries – Newt’s being a cinnamon roll, to his amusement – while waiting for a lone had likely made his day. “Jacob Kowalski.”
Newt nodded, which had the effect of making him tower unintentionally over the other man. “Mister Kowalski,” he said. “Good luck with your loan.” Then after a pause, during which the baby Occamy tried to poke its head far enough out of his sleeve to grab the cinnamon roll, but missed, Newt added, “You, ah, you don’t seem particularly surprised by this?”
Kowalski shrugged. “I ain’t got the brains to make this up, pal,” he replied.
A smile tugged at the corners of Newt’s mouth and he put down his case to pull out a significantly more civilian friendly card out of his pocket. He offered it to the baker. “Then I hope you’ll take me seriously when I say that my employer owns a rather well-to-do chain of restaurants and cafés in London and would most likely pay handsomely for the recipe if I advised her to. Send a wire to me at my hotel if you are interested.”
Then, because the sheer amount of interacting with humans was beginning to wear on him and he really did need to go check into his hotel for feedng time, he nodded again – more awkwardly – and left the bank.
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 10:16 am (UTC)(link)I particularly love the historical references and how you've managed to keep everyone in character despite their changes in situations. I can't wait for more:)
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 10:39 am (UTC)(link)I'm afraid you might have to wait, though, given that the combination of not knowing where I'm taking this and having a lot of work to do is going to slow it down. I seem to be pulling from a lot of other prompts, but mainly in world-building and backstory. Anything in particular you'd like to see more of?
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 08:38 pm (UTC)(link)I'm kinda looking forward to how the wizards/witches of New York react to Newt and the fact he's so involved with muggles
particularly Grindelwald I can see him just being so confusedbut honestly if you keep going as you are I'd read the stuffing out of this I love it so much.Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-07 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)I'll definitely be showing the majes
if the opposite if no-majesbe confused, to some degree, although given the laws he'll have to tread carefully with that... probably. How I handle it will probably depend on whether the Lady and the Collegium Arcanam are a good mystery or so painfully obvious that I ought to get the reveal over and done with already. I'll definitely try to fit some confusedelwald in there, though.Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 04:59 am (UTC)(link)also just, great job on the whole thing so far in general, i love the blending of magic & no-maj worlds & also how newt is like. so innocuous. but could probably also kill you. and seems super innocent but knows EXACTLY what he's doing. anyways i Love gr8 job & thanks for writing this!
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 05:25 am (UTC)(link)Well then I hope it's as exciting when it is revealed.
Thank you! :)
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 09:00 am (UTC)(link)TL;DR: you're doing great!
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (2/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-08 10:10 am (UTC)(link)Fill: Spice and Smoke (3/?), haven't decided trigger warnings yet
(Anonymous) 2016-12-11 08:18 am (UTC)(link)Only a few steps outside of the bank’s doors, the Occamy hatchling began to fuss.
Newt sighed, glanced at the small audience that had gathered to listen to the bright-eyed woman from earlier giving her speech (he couldn’t hear quite what it was about, but she seemed angry given the way she waved a hand and her cloche-covered head jerked back and forth). He looked carefully around as he walked over to one of the pillars that made up the bank’s façade, checking how many people might catch sight of him while appearing to simply be looking out for other pedestrians.
Once he was reasonably sure no one was watching him, he sat down on the extruding base of one of the pillars – in plain sight of the majority of the street – and opened the case.
Dougal peered up at him knowingly. That was one of the biggest benefits of the Demiguise’s foresight. He always knew when to be in the workshop to collect something Newt needed to put quickly into his case. That and that he made an excellent babysitter for the rest of the creatures.
The baby Occamy chirped enthusiastically at the sight of Dougal’s silvery hair and slithered out of Newt’s sleeve into the waiting hand of the Demiguise. Thankfully, the little winged serpent had not tried to drag the eleven inches of silver lime wood hidden in Newt’s sleeve with it when it, and Dougal, disappeared into the case.
Newt was securing the last of the case’s latches when he heard unmistakeably approaching footstep. Someone with a light tread. He couldn’t help but wonder which faction had come to size him up this time. So, naturally, he was surprised when he looked up and found a young, blonde girl – whose face was warped with anger – glowering at him.
“Uh,” Newt said. “May I help you?”
That, apparently, was not the right answer. Her little face trembled. “Ma says you’re a bad man,” she said.
Newt blinked. “…Ah,” he replied. “Why?” After a moment, though, he realised that the little girl was probably attached to the unpleasantly abrupt woman who was giving a speech at the foot of the bank’s stairs. Newt twisted part of the cuff of his coat between his long fingers. If he’d been about to make a speech and had a child with him, only to see high level mobsters doing business nearby, he’d have warned the child too.
The case rattled and the little girl jumped backward with wide, horrified eyes. She glanced down at the case and then back up at Newt, all but shaking. “Monster,” she said. Then she turned and ran back down the stairs to where her slope-shouldered brother was watching nervously.
The young man gave him a surprisingly dark look as he placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder and led him away.
Newt shrugged to himself, checked the locks one last time, and got up. If he didn’t get to the hotel and start feeding time soon there was liable to be a minor mutiny …probably led by Pickett.
Masseria’s car had driven off by the time Newt passed the place where the watching made-man had stood. If Rothstein – or Masseria, for that matter – had left anyone else to watch, the British wizard realised somewhat belatedly, his blue coat would make him reasonably hard to miss. It wasn’t a terribly obvious colour, but it was brighter than what most of the Americans were wearing. Anyone intent on following him would not have much trouble.
One block later, he was sure he was being followed.
Newt took care not to change his pace, allowed another block to pass, and then walked into a side street and turned around.
The follower turned the corner, took two steps forward before she realised what she was seeing and jerked backward with a gasp just in time to avoid a collision. One grey-coated arm went toward her chest as she pressed a hand over her heart.
“Who do you work for?” Newt asked. He took care to keep his tone and posture neutral. He preferred to speak quietly and hold himself slightly at an angle so as to appear more harmless, but for this a straight on stance and measured volume were more appropriate.
The woman, still breathing heavily from the shock, blinked at him in confusion. She clearly wasn’t Italian – possibly a Jew, but it was impossible to be sure. She was faintly pretty, but still too plain to be a honey trap.
“MA-MACUSA,” she answered, still wrong footed. Then her eyes widened as she realised what she’d said. One hand went toward her hip – seeking a wand, no doubt.
“Grindelwald,” Newt began, watching her freeze when he mentioned the name, “and his followers have been causing havoc across the globe, so I can understand some level of security. However, I do not see why MACUSA would feel the need to set a tail on someone whose brother holds an Order of Merlin – especially as the only possible reason to be suspicious you could have is my association with one Leta Strange. Who, I should point out, was forced to abandon her family name after the more conservative Lestranges struck her from the family tree for being a ‘muggle-loving embarrassment’. Or has it simply become American policy to stalk every traveller from the moment they get off the boat?”
The woman, whose hand had fallen away from her wand-holster, had been opening and closing her mouth in shock all through Newt’s rather impressive speech. (At least, Newt thought it was rather impressive. He hadn’t stuttered or stumbled once and had actually managed to be concise and to the point.)
Finally, she winced and wrung her hands. “Please don’t tell my boss about this,” she said.
Newt blinked. That was unexpected. He tilted his head to the side and felt his posture drop back into its more normal, slightly hunched and unthreatening form.
The woman sighed and pulled out a small wallet containing her official documentation and offered it to Newt. “I’m sorry,” she said, her accent thickening with emotion. “I didn’t even know you were a wizard. That woman from the Second Salemers,” she explained, “she doesn’t treat her kids right. When I saw Modesty running away from you and how upset Credence looked.” She sighed again. “I’m not officially supposed to go near them. There was an incident last time I tried to help. I was just …worried.”
“Just being a good Samaritan,” Newt murmured in reply. He hadn’t been made, he wasn’t about to be forced into a third impromptu business meeting, and hopefully the witch was too embarrassed about the whole situation to detain him overly long about the paperwork. “You work in the wand registry?” he asked, although her papers clearly stated it was so. “Any idea why the request I put in for a traveller’s license three months ago hasn’t come through yet?”
The witch groaned. “I’m new to the department and right now I’m the only one there. There’s so much paperwork,” she babbled. Then, having regained some composure, she added, “Look, I can take you over to the Woolworth building and get it sorted for you before my lunch break ends, just please don’t-”
Mention this to my boss, was obviously where the statement was going.
Newt smiled awkwardly, glancing one more time at the paperwork. “Consider it forgotten,” he said as he gave her the documentation back, “Miss Goldstein.”
Fill: Spice and Smoke (4/?), violence, background death, ment. torture
(Anonymous) 2016-12-12 10:18 am (UTC)(link)Newt followed the doubtable Miss Goldstein through MACUSA’s headquarters, on the way to the Wand Registry Office. He mostly tuned out the woman’s faintly anxious chatter, instead taking in the impressive architecture and décor. It wasn’t impressive in the positive sense, for – while the American taste for open plan spaces and warm colours made it seem like a far more welcoming space than the British Ministry – the obsession with gold plating only served as an ostentatious reminder that, metaphorically speaking, the Americans were the equivalent of the Bourgeoisie. It was the excess of the newly and arrogantly unconfident rich, desperate to show off just how impressive they thought they were, whereas the British Ministry’s sturdy black marble and understated elegance politely revealed the confidence of old money – those who’d had it long enough to endure as waves of the new rich rose and fell in self-indulgence and arrogance.
However, for all that he was critical of the garishly warm design (and the fact that the Americans somehow thought hiding their ministry within a skyscraper, which could be hit with untold disasters or due for demolition by the muggle government without the wizarding world learning about it until it was too late, whereas the British Ministry was sensibly hidden underground) he did not say anything about it to his guide. Until, that is, he came upon the giant threat warning monitor hanging from the ceiling. Newt paused, staring up at it in bemusement.
After a few moments, Miss Goldstein realised she was talking to thin air and doubled back to where Newt was standing. She looked at him, looked up at the warning clock, and looked back at him. “Do you not have one of those in the British Ministry, Mister Scamander?” she asked.
Newt shook his head without bothering to correct her assumption that he worked for the ministry. “If we did,” he said, “the former Gryffindors and Slytherins would take it as a challenge, the former Ravenclaws would keep trying to stop them by being creative with new laws and departmental memos, and we former Hufflepuffs would have to clean up everyone else’s mess and be called duffers for our trouble.”
Goldstein blinked at him.
“School houses,” Newt clarified, ducking his head in embarrassment.
The American witch nodded and laughed. She started saying something about Pukwudgies which Newt lost interest in the moment he realised she meant them as a symbol rather than as a species, but allowed her to feel like he cared as he followed her.
They were only a corridor or so away from her office, as Newt would later realise, when Goldstein finally asked him something he couldn’t answer automatically.
“Pardon?” Newt replied, trying not to choke or be obvious about his failure to pay attention.
Miss Goldstein shrugged awkwardly. “I asked if there was any truth to the reputation of the, uh, Lestranges. It just struck me as odd that you said Hufflepuffs were kind of the harmless ones and that Sly-there-in… uh; them had such a dark reputation?”
Newt smiled slightly and glanced at the floor. “My mother used to say, quite proudly, that none of the houses’ main traits were themselves negative, but that they each had a dark side.”
Goldstein made a curious noise as she began walking again.
After a moment, Newt continued more awkwardly, having abruptly realised that she was waiting for him to say more. “My mother would say that Slytherin’s ambition is more often focused on the arts or social progress, but its dark side – which the Gryffindors treat as its only side – is obsession. The dark side of Gryffindor bravery is recklessness. The dark side of Ravenclaw intelligence is arrogance …and the dark side of Hufflepuff loyalty is loyalty. She used to say that made us ‘puffs incorruptible.”
The witch laughed warmly.
Newt diplomatically did not add that he was fairly sure his mother was several sandwiches short of a picnic. Oh, the dark side of loyalty was certainly loyalty, but that didn’t mean it had no dark side. More murder, torture, and cruelty had been committed by those loyal to a person or cause than out of recklessness, ambition, and the desire for knowledge combined. Newt himself was fiercely loyal, especially to his Lady. He was actually rather comfortable with this Goldstein witch – something he almost never was with humans he did not know – but if it benefitted his Lady to see her dead, or worse, he would not hesitate to do it. Loyalty was its own dark mirror.
They passed through a door and into what appeared to be the office of the Wand Registry.
“And, uh, your friend Lestrange?” she asked. Then she winced and titled her head to the side. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. It’s just – I used to be an Auror and I was curious because even across the ocean that family is sort of known for being, uh-”
If there was one thing in humans Newt could sympathise with, it was being awkward and digging oneself in deeper. “Anti-Muggle, dark, and hopping mad?” he suggested to put her out of her misery. “Leta only managed the last one.” Unbidden, a memory ghosted past his mind’s eye. Fire in the night-shrouded forest. A dark figure wreathed in flame. The gleam of vindictive glee in seventeen-year-old Leta’s dark eyes as one of their attackers died in agony before her. The spinning of the world as a death shrouded, weeping Lady, bent over his fallen body, with Leta visible still just over the weeping Lady’s gaunt and foggy shoulder. Eyes that where white where they ought to have been black and black where they ought to have been white. He sat awkwardly in the chair she offered to him, the only one not covered in papers, glad that looking down to the chair prevented her from seeing the emotions flickering over his face. “To this day I don’t know how a family like that managed to produce such an over-enthusiastic ball of sunshine and energy.” Twenty-one year old Leta giggling and snorting in laughter like a child. Then older: bouncing up and down at the thought of meeting baby unicorns. An eleven year old dancing on the table during the Hallowe’en feast out of stubborn ambition to be known on her own merits rather than as an extension of her family. The shock on her face as Newt pushed her out of the way of the beast rushing at them. His weeping Lady standing by his fallen body and watching Leta’s passionate vengeance with utter apathy.
Newt shook his head to send the memories away. The description had been more open and fond than he would usually have given. Possibly because the room reminded him of the cramped spaces they used to hide from their schoolmates in, possibly because he was exhausted and missed his friend, and possibly because, in the back of his head, his inner voice was muttering Was she flirting with me? Please don’t be flirting with me. I don’t know how to handle human flirting.
His unspoken plea seemed to be answered, as Miss Goldstein smiled slightly less broadly and began to search through her piles of papers for his lost documentation.
He couldn’t help but read some of the papers, surreptitiously, as the witch bustled around trying to find everything. He wondered if the Americans had figured out that they could improve their profiles of criminals with a bit of applied wandlore. The wild snake stepping out from behind a tree and cursing the last smuggler in the back. “My wand is Cedar you cunt.” He wasn’t going to inform the law enforcement of how much they could improve their understanding of likely behaviour and counter for magical strengths by mentioning it, though.
Newt jerked in surprise when Miss Goldstein proudly dropped a folder of papers onto the desk with a thud. Apparently he’d been lost in thought. Apathetic eyes in a too gaunt face in the centre of the ring. The pale figure of the weeping Lady chained in place, with a black cloud in a bubble above her.
Goldstein hadn’t noticed his distracted state. Nor, thankfully, his case rattling as the menagerie lodged yet another complaint about their late lunches.
“Phoenix feather, eleven inches. Huh, Silver lime? I haven’t seen that before,” she muttered.
Newt smiled and ducked his head awkwardly. “You wouldn’t have. It’s very rare.” ”Do you have any idea how rare those are? That’s a phoenix egg! Newt, we have to do something!” Sea serpent. Phoenix egg. Lethifold. Unicorn. The chained, weeping Lady. Apathetic eyes and Leta’s mad grin. A rain of petrol. Fiendfyre loosed within regular flames. Screams and cooking meat and desperate clawing against the ice wall around them. Dizzy, desperate relief that the awful crunch when he hit the ground after the unicorn’s charge had been his ribs and not his wand. Meeting for the first time in Ollivander’s. Silver lime and Cedar brothers, a pair that could do anything together. Except that they couldn’t. “You’re hurt,” he’d murmured when the Lady shrouded in oily death had leaned over him. Her silvery tears on his broken chest. His concern for her had spared his life.
“All done!” Miss Goldstein said brightly, offering him a piece of official looking paper. Then she caught sight of the ashen pallor of Newt’s face. “You alright, Mister Scamander?”
Newt’s mouth twitched in an attempt to smile. “Fine,” he said with a little shake of his head. “Just worn out from travel. I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to check into my hotel room yet and need to get around to reapplying the featherweight charms to my luggage – had to take them off for muggle customs.”
Miss Goldstein looked confused for a moment. Then she said, “They’re called No-Majes here, Mister Scamander.”
Newt nodded. “Right.” He stumbled to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Goldstein. Uh, if I need to exchange some galleons for local currency…”
“Third floor,” Goldstein said with a surprisingly pleasant too look at smile.
Newt nodded again and shakily left the department’s office-enclave. There was an unsettling presence in the headquarters of MACUSA. It had been stronger in that room. He hadn’t had flashbacks like that for a long time. He walked slowly up to the lift, wondering why something with such a pungent presence was wandering around the government building.
Fill: Spice and Smoke (5/?) a chapter which fails to mobster
(Anonymous) 2016-12-14 09:25 am (UTC)(link)Newt felt that same pungent, pressing, presence again as he stepped into the lift and politely asked the House Elf to take him to the appropriate floor. In the warped reflections of the lift’s cage he could see that something invisible was pressing on his clothes, creating creases and dents. It appeared to be hand shaped, but it was too big to be Dougal.
As he walked into the currency exchange office and whatever had been holding him let go, he realised that it was the invisible pressure – especially around his chest – which had been causing his flashbacks. He stood in the queuing area, waiting politely for the sole employee to finish what they were doing and open one of the desks. Abruptly the pungent pressing thing returned, and this time there was enough force behind it that Newt felt rather like he’d been hugged by a ghost. Whatever it was wasn’t powerful enough to crush his chest, flying through the air after the mother unicorn charged him and the smugglers – cultists? – in a vain attempt to save her baby, struggling to breathe beneath his crushed ribs and staring into the eyes of the Lady (was it a lady? A child grown too fast?). It only felt like his chest was being crushed.
Whatever it was released him when the teller finally offered to serve him.
The currency exchange happened quickly and Newt barely had time to cope with the idea that he was being stalked by something invisible (was it hungry? Should he leave out vegetables or meats? Would it be insulted if he tried to feed it? Was is mammalian? It had hands) before he was stepping back into the lift and, sure enough, the pungent mystery creature followed. It only pressed against him as he entered and left the lift, and the door of the Woolworth building, but that alone was nearly enough to make tears well in Newt’s eyes. He had not had panic attacks like this for years, but the repeated invisible pressure around his chest kept bringing him back to the night his Lady had congealed. The phoenix tears she’d wept had done their job, by the time a staff member had come into the forest to find the source of the smoke, Newt had been physically healed and Leta finished destroying the evidence. He’d been half convinced he’d dreamed the Lady, for she was not visible although she was in sight. “When is an Obscurus not an Obscurus?” “Riddles are for Ravenclaws…”
Shakily, Newt hailed a cab and gave directions to his hotel. If he took a bit long to close the cab door, the cabbie didn’t notice. He barely noticed the city streets going by – normally he would have been looking keenly, because the big city was just as much a habitat for creatures as anywhere natural, and that made it fascinating – and kept telling himself that he just needed to feed the creatures and calm down. He’d figure out what was following him as soon as he’d visited Gnarlack and until then he would feed it, keep his case close and his guard up. If it was someone from MACUSA rather than a creature, well, he would make them answer him before they disappeared – the Nundu could use some exercise.
He checked in to the Waldorf-Astoria with nor problems save his invisible tail – although he’d had a few upturned noses at his casual attire, New York high society had long since moved on to grander, more recently constructed hotels. Nevertheless, the hotel still clung to its former reputation for opulence, so Newt had no difficulty in ordering a large meal for two to be delivered to his suite.
Despite everything, Newt couldn’t help but be slightly awed by the suite his Lady had arranged for him – or, more correctly, which Lady Lacrimosa had made Leta arrange for him – and, at the same time, slightly terrified of what would happen when (there was no doubt in his mind that it was a when) the Niffler got loose in the suite. The little menace would probably try to steal one of the hotel’s chandeliers.
Finally, Newt lay his case gently down in an out of the way place and pulled out his Silver Lime wand (he had a maple spare hidden in a holster under his vest and a pine spare hidden in his boot, but whatever was tailing him did not need to know that). With flick of the writs a cloud of green smoke swept through the room – vanishing wherever nothing was hidden and clinging to that which was.
The figure of a tall, well-shouldered man stood where the pungency was strongest, with its hands raised in a gesture of peace which was universal amongst sentient bipeds.
Newt tilted his head to the side. It was good to know that there was only one tail, but it was slightly disappointing that it was clearly human instead of, say, a lost and unwashed giant demiguise in need of a good home.
The mysterious figure took a step forward.
Newt pulled out a revolver and cocked it.
The figure froze, with green smoke disappearing from the carpet where it had stood before, looked between Newt’s gun and his wand, and titled his head to the side.
“Revelio,” Newt muttered.
The clingy green smoke dissipated and the invisibility of the figure slowly peeled away. His fancy clothes were filthy from long use, his beard tangled, his face and frame gaunt, and his tear-filled eyes haunted. He pointed at his throat and flapped his mouth in a pointless attempt to speak.
Newt blinked at him for a moment, still trying to place where he knew the man from – it was hard to tell given how thin and dirty he was. He slowly lowered the revolver and cast a series of diagnostic spells.
The man, it seemed, had been cursed to be invisible, inaudible, and mostly intangible. Eating, drinking, and excreting had likely been almost – but not quite –impossible and when he wasn’t forcefully grabbing or squeezing someone they probably wouldn’t notice anything. Indeed, Newt had mainly noticed he was being followed due to the stench. Whoever had cursed the man had not made him unsmellable and he’d most likely not bathed for months.
After some carefully consideration, Newt disabled the curses.
The man made a choked noise and took a step forward, heedless of the revolver and wand pointing at him. “Newton,” he rasped, with wide, wild, eyes, “help me.”
Newt froze. He knew the voice. After a moment of awkward staring, he found his own voice. “Percival Graves?”
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (5/?) a chapter which fails to mobster
(Anonymous) 2016-12-14 01:14 pm (UTC)(link)*sets up camp*
I'm living here now.
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (5/?) a chapter which fails to mobster
Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (5/?) a chapter which fails to mobster
(Anonymous) 2016-12-19 07:18 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Spice and Smoke (5/?) a chapter which fails to mobster
(Anonymous) 2017-01-15 12:42 pm (UTC)(link)