|
Post by etiennebeaulieu on Feb 28, 2012 12:44:50 GMT -5
Why? It made no sense. Absolutely nothing could explain the nonsensical motives behind this decision. It had to be Voledmort, could only be him. In their time of greatest disorder and nation-wide panic, why would they organize a tri-wizard cup? The only explanation that an intelligent person could possibly consider was that it was a bold ruse, a method, of some sort. Only, Étienne knew not what was desired to be achieved.
Upon hearing the news, word to mouth, he contacted his superiors. Utter confusion resulted, as he was later told. France’s magical intelligence was in bewilderment. He’d later been contacted and instructed to stay away from the school. Of course, it wasn’t the real tri-wizard cup. The event was more a parody of a sort of it, he’d heard. Instead of inviting foreign schools to attend, the competition would take place within the school’s four houses. Despite this, it still seemed strange that the school would take part in such frivolous amusement while the world around them was falling in ruins. It reminded him of the old tale of the mad roman emperor Nero who fiddled while Rome burned.
His superiors had instructed he discover more about Hogwarts, it’s political position in the British wizarding world and it’s importance in the terrorist movement. Upon asking for direction to the nearest magical library, he was told that while Hogsmeade had none, he could find the necessary information, for a reasonable price, at a local bookstore. Standing before it now, he checked the address scrawled on a piece of parchment. It didn’t look like much. Pulling open the door, he walked in, taking in his surroundings.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Feb 29, 2012 21:59:54 GMT -5
Seff had to physically force himself not to glare at the man he was helping at the counter. He'd been an impatient and daft customer, lazy and expecting Seff to do everything for him. The day itself had been busy as well, and Seff was at the end of his patients. Days like these seemed to be common lately, and he considered having Grace run the place for a few days while he caught up on some much-needed rest.
His trip to London had been bloody awful. He'd nearly been attacked by a gang, then that pompous French officer or whatever he was had the nerve to accuse him of killing the four Muggles that that...shifter had ripped the throats from. He'd said he looked suspicious, and then followed him around for half the night. Oh, and then that night. With the prats in the hotel room next to him that hadn't turned off their goddamned music until four in the morning no matter how much he had banged on their wall. Upon getting back, both he and Grace fell ill and he had to work on his own with a head that felt like exploding and lungs that hurt with each breath. And all of that had happened in less than a week.
So naturally, he was in a foul mood. He wanted to punch something. Hard. He picked up the large, heavy book the customer was buying--the said person currently staring at him with his nose tilted upwards in disdain--and he didn't even bother to force a smile.
As his luck would have it, the door chimed with another customer. It was almost close; he was hoping to get off early. Looking up to see who'd come in, he threw the heavy book down with slam and twisted his face into a grimace of vexation.
"You!" he all but shouted, ignoring the start of the customer he was currently helping. His lip twitched, and he gripped the book. Hard. "What the hell else could you possibly want?!"
|
|
|
Post by etiennebeaulieu on Mar 23, 2012 0:19:18 GMT -5
“Toi!?!” Étienne’s original shock stopped him in sudden bafflement. Was it? Yes, seigneur, it was him. Surprise soon vanished as mischief twisted his features.”
“You too!” He exclaimed somewhat slyly, “Mon Dieu, you are stalking me are you not? Well… who wouldn’t?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, posing in a fashion that his best traits were put in evidence.
Turning to a bookshelf, he hid a smile. This hothead was a breath of fresh air compared to the general dullness and manners of England. They all acted like they thought they were Royals, pour l’amour du Christ! This one was too funny not to mess around with. From what he’d remarked over the course of their brief encounter in London, he, like Étienne, suffered from a bad case of restless fists.
It had been a strange meeting. After a particularly gruesome murder left unsolved by the statement of one teen sensation vampire and a shape shifter (he’d never even heard of one of those). Étinne had pretended to leave while simply retreated to where he was unseen, as he left, Étienne had followed the suspicious young man before him under the pretext that he may be a deatheater. Never having been a stealthy fellow, the plan had gone hilariously wrong ending in name calling, drawn fists and then a message from his superiors in France telling him that he was needed elsewhere.
“So ‘ow was ze rest of your night? I am awful at keeping in touch!” exclaimed Étienne teasingly.
[/size]
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2012 14:47:30 GMT -5
Seff had seen better days.
Restraining himself from telling the Frenchman he was doing just fine at not staying in touch, Seff quickly finished ringing up the books that he still had not done. He saw the other man turn his back to him and Seff growled deep in his throat, needing to see the other man's face to better judge what exactly he needed to do.
He quickly finished with his other customer, and once he (very hurriedly) rushed out of the store, Seff turned back to his unwelcome visitor.
He mentally shook himself. His rage was doing nothing but turning him into the other man's puppet. What had he said his name was? Étienne? He'd have to make fun of the name later. For now, he was going to strip him of the thought that he'd won and turn his game against him.
Allowing a slight grin, Seff leaned over the counter. God, he hadn't done this since he was freshly graduated from Hogwarts, spending time at bars with Grace and having competitions over who could get more numbers than the other. His quick thinking and access to people's heads was a good match for her her experience flirting and wrapping guys around her finger.
"Though I can't disagree with you on your first point," he purred, setting his elbows down on the counter and resting his head atop his hands. Two could play at this game. "I'm positively ecstatic--" he let the word roll over his tongue "--that you decided to drop by."
ooc; short reply I'm sorry I just hate typing on this thing so much sobs I'll do better next time with my laptop
|
|
|
Post by etiennebeaulieu on Apr 16, 2012 19:44:47 GMT -5
Étienne paused, mid-translation of a book title. Oh no, this was NOT the impression he'd been planning on giving. Bragging about your good looks and charms were one thing but... Had Seff actually agreed he was attractive? Was he... Oh no... Thoughts racing through his head, Étienne awkwardly passed a hand through his hair.
"I need a book." It had just come out, without thought.
Cursing his lack of tact for the situation, his face reddened ever so slightly. He was not homophobic. That was far from being the problem. The problem was that another man found HIM to his liking. Unless Seff had been joking, (in which case Étienne had just made a royal fool of himself) Étienne was completely without idea on how to react. In the event that Seff’s comment had been in jest, the Englishman had just won. He would NOT allow that to happen. However if he was serious, he did not want to lead him on either. The dilemma was enough to make his scalp itch!
This little “venture” was turning out to be less and less enjoyable by the day. It had all began when Voldemort had taken control of the ministry of magic in late August. A conference had been held between the members of Le Ministère de la Magie in France. Étienne had been on the sidelines, along with his Auror colleagues. Clear as day, he remembered Luc Marron, a brilliant, if not strange wizard, responsible for the development of many useful spells. “They’ve all been discovered,” he used to quote, “But simply need to be rethought.” The man had stood, in the imposing height of his five feet, and raised his robed sleeves high, as he always did when he had an announcement. To the French, the old loon was a bit of a joke. He was an elderly eccentric that had somehow made his way into the ministère and had since been amusing the greatest of France’s wizards with his strange habits. As the small man had raised his small, chubby and heavily robed arms, he’d exclaimed.
“Sorciers et Sorcières, I have discovered a revolutionary piece of magic, lost through time, a spying spell, capable of seeing over great distances! I believe it is the solution to the English’s issue.” A smile of self-adorement on his face, he’d proceeded to explain that only the spell's user could see, through his own eyes, over any stretch of the world he wished. The spell was restricted to a bird’s eye view, unable to see through buildings or tree spread, but still useful. Armand Gautier, a veritable giant of a man, with imposing authority who was in charge of the Aurors, raised his voice. “If what you say is true, we would need forces on the inside, discovering what they can and acting upon these discoveries.”
Étienne’s posture had straightened at this, eager for an opportunity to make himself a known and famous wizard. Should it be a French Auror to kill this renowned Voldemort, his name would descend throughout history. Étienne’s chances of being chosen were possible, but not likely. He had fought bravely on many an occasion and brought many criminals to Artérier, the French magical prison. Despite a small nervous breakdown upon witnessing a colleague die in battle, he’d been a model Auror. His skill was not unknown to Gautier either, they’d fought alongside once, and Gautier had praised his talents.
“How many men would you suggest?” It had been the Ministère himself who’d spoken then, Félix Desmonts.
“I suggest only three, this mission calls not for brute force but for well-trained spies. I will watch from the inside along with Pierre Malfair, Bernard Boucher and Jean Thibault. As for the men on the inside, I suggest Marianne Leclair, Dorient Léger and Étienne Beaulieu.” Étienne had nearly forgotten to stand as his name was called. This was a great honor. Leclair was a short red-head with a fiery personality who was one of the fastest and strongest spell casters in the force. Léger was a middle-aged wizard who was quiet and unremarkable at first glance but was known throughout France for putting away one of the most dangerous French Sorcerers of all time, Auguste Vandal. Étienne had finished training only two years ago. This had been remarkable in every respect and he was oblivious as to why him.
Before leaving, Gautier had approached him. “Étienne, I had thought about this before this day and I selected my spies carefully before I’d even heard about the spell. Listen closely, for you need to know why I chose you.” Étienne had put on a serious expression, ready to hear. “While you may be new to the force, know that you show promise before I continue. Two weathered and prestigious aurors have been chosen for their magical skills, but I have chosen you for the very lack of experience that has made this choice so difficult. You do not give the impression of being a trained auror and even less a spy, your charisma and friendliness will prove useful in getting people to talk. Make friends in this strange country, do not try to cover your accent, or Merlin’s beard, you will fail and they will know.”
Gautier had continued for the better part of an hour, making sure Étienne was aware of every skill he’d need to have people trust him. He was to duel only if necessary, not draw attention to himself, no flirt or get into trouble in bars and absolutely try to hear everything.
“And Étienne,” he’d said as the young man was turning to depart, “Don’t make me regret my choice.”
Since arriving at Hogsmeade a week ago, Étienne had experienced one sorry loss after another. From his first night in London, to the rest near the small town that bordered the school known as Hogwarts, he’d done nothing productive and even less of value. He felt beaten, useless. This man, Seff, was NOT HELPING. He’d become a very symbol of Étienne’s uselessness and failure, a recollection of that first night in London and for that, Étienne hated him.
|
|