Wizards vs. Muggles (Free-form)

Despite the bright sky, Diagon alley managed to maintain a cozy dimness along most of its length. Even if a few wizards more abreast of muggle fashion opted to wear shorts in the summer heat little hint was given that summer was burning through what warmth it had held in reserve.

A long line had formed at the ice cream shop, but Wickspittle’s Whistle Wetters had hit upon an even better draw. The proprietor of the relatively new tavern catering to wizards in search of ambience more upscale than The Leaky Cauldron had at first set out a sign, but hadn’t deemed it a sufficient draw despite the bar so packed he’d been forced to borrow some trunks from down the street to expand into a temporary second room.

So, Wickspittle himself stood outside and cast a charm on his throat to amplify his voice. Screams of “ICE COLD DRINKS, HALF OFF, ROOM TEMPERATURE THREE QUARTERS OFF, HOT DRINKS FREE… IF YOU CAN STAND IT!” echoed up and down the street.

A witch in a crumpled hat glared at him disapprovingly. She strode up to him and gave him a piece of her mind. Lacking an amplification charm, the conversation was rather one sided at first.

“OF COURSE I KNOW THERE’S A WAR ON!”

“SO WHAT?”

“I’M SORRY TO HEAR THAT, BUT IT DOESN’T REALLY MEAN I CAN’T RUN MY BUISNESS, DOES IT?”

“I DUNNO, SOME SORTA MINISTRY STRENGTH QUIETUS?”

“OH, RIGHT, SORRY…JUST HOLD ON…SORRY…AMPLIFICADO CESASIADAS.”

One of the veteran MEL Pers who’d been enjoying a day doing something besides training the dozens of new recruits came along and broke the fight that, while now much quieter, was also much more heated. He sends the woman on her way and tells the bartender to keep it down before heading off to look for more trouble to stop from boiling over, or, and he giggled as the absurd thought came to him, muggle spies.

In a huff, Wickspittle looked at his notebook and realized that he was four people short of the maximum occupancy he can attain even with the trunks. He looks around him and notices, heading in various directions, that very number.

“Next four patrons drink free for the rest of the day!” he called in his loudest non-amplified voice. Three of the heads turn to look at him. The fourth, which he now realizes is a bit younger, is still looking straight ahead. “That includes butterbeer!” That got her attention.

* * *

The owner sits the four wizards at an empty table he had the house elves bring out for the packed house. After sitting them down and telling the elves to see to their every need he runs off to see about getting his packed house written up for the next day’s Prophet. The four sit awkwardly for a moment, wondering what to talk about after the drink orders had been taken, when a swoop of an owl gives them a rather current issue. It deposits an emergency issue of The Daily Prophet, only three pages, mostly advertisements, but they go unread with the front page story:

HARRY POTTER ARRESTED!

“BOY WHO LIVED”, DEFEATOR OF HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED, JAILED FOR KILLING LAST DEMENTORS.

After hearing about a Ministry session earlier this week where the idea of allowing Dementor numbers to rise as a possible muggle deterrent, Harry Potter made his way to Azkaban and used the Patronum charm to destroy the 20 dementors kept there in isolation cells. He surrendered to Aurors who arrived at the scene without any resistance.

“I’m just shocked Harry would do such a thing to a now rare magical creature, even a Dementor,” said Luna Scamender nee Lovegood in a statement to all magical news agencies despite her ties to the Quibbler…

Four men in peak physical condition sit in the concrete lobby of the University Library, an ugly building from the 70’s that towers over the eastern side of the city. Their uniforms are all different, but they all seem to possess a certain air of confidence and coldness in their eyes. They’d seen combat.

They waited in the sleek furniture the university had let them have, each with varying degrees of patience. They eyed what appeared to be roombas with rectangular masts meander around the lobby, tracing indecipherable patterns. Their wheels were the only noise besides the hum of the air conditioners straining against the summer heat and the thudding of helicopter blades.

The elevator dinged open and a young woman stepped out and approached the men. She gave a sharp salute and held it as one of the men extracted himself from the beanbag chair, trying to maintain the proper composure.

“Sirs,” the woman began, “Please follow me.”

The men followed the solider into the elevator and she hit the button for the second to top floor. The ride happened in silence save for a barely suppressed giggle from the PFC as the elevator music switched to “The Girl from Ipanema.” She tucked an errant strand of blonde hair back into her bun.

She led the four men down the hall where sentries were pacing back and forth at irregular intervals. She opened a door and kicked a roomba as it tried to escape. It stopped for a second and shifted directions back into the room. Indicating that they should enter she stepped in behind them and gave a “Tench-hut!” The major behind the desk stood and returned the salutes.

“At ease gentlemen. In fact, take a seat. All the protocol for the unit’s still being sorted out so don’t worry about it for the time being. Thank you Private, please return to your post.”

“Yes sir.” She turned and exited through the door, the hydraulics pushing it shut and the lock clicking automatically. The Major sat down and steepled his fingers.

“I’ll be brief, you’ve all read the material, so it shouldn’t take too long.” * * *

Major Damon reminds the four men that as veterans they’re all seasoned fighters, but they each have qualities or experiences that put them apart from their fellow soldiers.

He informs that their old ranks are not important, and they all have the rank of “Trooper”, which will give them First Lieutenant status for anybody outside of the organization.

He explains, slightly embarrassed, that the roombas and pacing sentries are to prevent a form of teleportation magic from working, since it requires a good knowledge of the layout of a room.

He than hands each man a folder and takes them up to the roof. A civilian helicopter is waitng for them.

“They haven’t attacked one yet, but we had an Apache squad go down in Virginia not too long ago, the bodies that we recovered were just dead, the hearts had just stopped pumping, but the canopies had been smashed. Not sure how they did that part, but gun cams show some Whiskey’s on broom sticks go down as well. We’re working on getting Sidewinders sensitive enough to home in on body heat, but in the mean time it’s dog fighting out there. Your transatlantic escort will be Russians; they still teach their flyboys how to mix it up with guns.”

There’s barely time to break the seal on the envelopes before they arrive at the airport and board a Concorde. The four men sit in the First class section, along with everybody else. Gear takes up most of the space behind the first 10 rows.

Sharing the flight with them is a man in a blue suit with a crew-cut, purple tie, and piercing green eyes. He holds a briefcase tightly.

Already asleep is a grizzled man with facial hair not seen since the civil war. The hostess, since the plane is still only on lease, offers the men drinks once they’re airborne.

edited 17th Dec '10 4:01:32 PM by HungryJoe

The great whitout of '10 has passed, we now return you to your regularlly scheduled RP.

edited 17th Dec '10 4:02:09 PM by HungryJoe

"...I don't get it." Says the younger one, moving the paper away. "A man so powerful, so well mannered, and... Well everyone loves Harry Potter! there's like, kid's books of his adventures... That's it! after school ends, I'm paying him a visit. He shouldn't be in jail. Dementors are life-sucking black holes that shouldn't be protected. And they'll appear anyway! 'cause these things don't just die. I know that."

edited 17th Dec '10 4:07:35 PM by Faramir

One American man, nearing his late twenties, wearing all tan clothing and brown combat boots accepted a simple ice water from the hostess. "So, finally going up against wiz- whiskeys. Any of you guys fight them before?" he asked, to break the silence filling the craft.

edited 17th Dec '10 4:20:20 PM by FirockFinion

Jay Bell Hood probably wouldn't have responded to the girl's exclamations if the ale she had been chugging hadn't gone dry on her.

"Hey! Another!" she demanded and one of the servers. Then to the girl. "Have to say I'm with you. We don't need those things running around. Especially in times like these."

"Exactly! This guy gets rid of these dark creatures that are only around to suck the life outta people, and what do they do? They throw him in jail! One would think a big guy like he is in the ministry, they'd think twice before doing that, but nooo." She moved her drink to the side. "As if there wasn't enough despair to go around."

edited 17th Dec '10 4:54:18 PM by Faramir

"Eh." Was the only sound out of Jay's mouth before her second drink came to the table. "He'll be out soon enough. The Ministry won't keep their star man locked up for long. He broke the law, nobody cares, people are probably happier actually. If anything there'll be a show trial, a slap on the wrist and everything will be back to normal."

After a long drink she added, "Normal for these times anyway."

"...Sure hope so" she sighed "War times always make people dumber..."

"You never know. In times of trial is when some people truly shine. Hey! Another!" Jay waved her mug around trying to get the servers attention. She eyed the younger girl and scanned her appearence up and down.

"Heading to school, are you, dear?

"... That's not next week?"

Warren ran a hand across his beard while leaning back in his seat, going through the dossier. Dark eyes scanned over pages containing names, diagrams and locations; a few satellite images thrown in as well. his brow furrowed as he stared at the page containing his new rank, Lieutenant... Who did I piss off?!? he thought to himself. He had just been getting used to being a captain, and now he was back to being a butterbar. The not-so-pleasant though of a drop in pay-grade running through his head.

The past few days had been a blur; his team had come back from a mission in Iran only to be sent back out as part of the Sec. of State's security detail. When he returned , he had barely fired any rounds from his weapon when his superior called him into his office. It was at that point he learned that he and the other 8 men present had volunteered for a special assignment; apparently another multi-national task-force from the sound of it.

2 hours later he was on a plane headed North; his go-bag tucked above his head. The quick send off didn't bother him; it was one of the upsides about being a bachelor, hopefully his neighbor Karrin would remember to check in on his cat. What really bothered him was the thought of the unknown assignment. "Why the hell are we forming another task-force when we already have enough, running around the mountains in god knows where?". He hoped his team would be alright without him; the fact that they were trained professionals aside, there were times when they acted like adult children. He smiled as he thought about how the teams commo guy had taken to wearing a skull mask while out on ops; he's have to bring Kirk something stabby.

Snapping out of his daze, he heard the guy across from him speak; something about fighting wizards. "So what's what we're calling them now?" he said with a smile, "It's a possibility, Taliban and stereotypical wizards look similar; robes and funny hats." Warren sat up to face the younger man, "But I'm pretty sure Gandalf didn't point an AK at me".

edited 17th Dec '10 5:37:02 PM by Kino

"Not according to my calender."

"Oh... Then yes! I am!" She drank some of her drink

Jakob was just sitting in the plane, a small smile on his face. This was exciting him quite a lot. This little business could let him get away with a lot. He knew he had some family over there in England, a Nazi Noble. Dear old grandpa.

Jakob seemed eerily quiet, but he had a friendly smile on his face.

edited 17th Dec '10 6:10:30 PM by NickTheSwing

The man shook his head. "I got involved in some of the riots back in the US, these guys don't use guns, just their little sticks. Not that they're not dangerous of course" he said, trailing off.

"Anyway, my name's Alex Fields, staff sargent before this happened" Alex said, offering a handshake, "I specialise in close-quarters combat."

"So what house you in?" Jay asked curiously as she sipped her drink. "And what house?"

Warren looked the man over, then shook his hand. "Warren Peace, organization that doesn't exist, I do bad things to bad people." He looked at the man to gauge his reaction; people tended to react in one of 3 ways in moments like this and he wanted to take the measure of the guy he might have to depend on.

"Riots eh? From what I saw on the news it made Rodney King look like a walk in the park; staff sergeant in what?"

"Ravenclaw! In an eternal search for knowledge! Man I love this drink... I'm gonna be a musician some day, and I'll be awesome, and I'll work for whoever pays, regardless of whether they're magical or not."

edited 17th Dec '10 5:57:33 PM by Faramir

"Is that so? Didn't know Hogwarts had a band. Well, what do you play?"

"Doesn't officially exist, obviously it has to actually exist" Alex said, grinning at what he apparently thought was a joke.

"U.S. National guard, I got deployed in Salt Lake when martial law was declared. People kept getting riled up thinking certain people were Whiskeys, dragging them from their homes and stuff, it wasn't pretty" he told, crossing his arms. "I only saw one guy that was definately a Whiskey, and two that might have been. Even the one I didn't get a good view of, just him waving around the stick and flashes of light before one of our snipers pegged his head" he continued, pointing one finger at his own head and simulating one shot of recoil.

edited 17th Dec '10 6:02:52 PM by FirockFinion

"I don't really know whether it has a band or not... I'm not into school extra-curriculars, I learned most of my theory before I was eleven and I go to a cool summer camp close to my house in vacations. I can play anything, if I'm given enough time, but I actually KNOW how to play the guitar and a little bit of piano."

edited 17th Dec '10 6:05:42 PM by Faramir

"Well I'm sure we exist on paper for some O at the Pentagon with some stars on his chest, that and in the imaginary arsenal of every armchair general on the internet."

Warren stirred his cranberry juice for a few seconds before continuing; "Sounds like a shitty place to be; just when you thought the only thing you had to worry about were some pissed off fundies setting off a dirty bomb in Times Square; now we're turning on each other."

edited 17th Dec '10 6:11:25 PM by Kino

"Well everyone got all paranoid. I mean, first it's declared that magic and whiskeys are real. Plus it's all been secret, so your neighbor could be a whiskey and you wouldn't even know, or possibly even someone in your family" Alex said, shaking his head.

"So again, did you ever encounter any whiskeys? Or maybe you've met someone before all this who you think might be a whiskey?" Alex asked, glancing out one of the windows.

"None that I know of; think it'd be hell if you had any in your family. Not knowing if the people around you could make you go boom; hell, you could be one" he said with a small smile.

Warren raised his hand and signaled the stewardess; "When people get scared they do stupid things; when those people have wands and guys you know damn well things are gonna go bad."

edited 17th Dec '10 6:28:14 PM by Kino