(1938-12-25) Security Professionals
Details for Security Professionals
Summary: Some people are enjoying Christmas with their families. Tiberius and Bailey are more inclined to drink, and talk about the industry - However as Tiberius gets more and more invested in the Game, and Rhyeline, the stack of cards is becoming precarious.
Date: 1938-12-25
Location: The Leaky Cauldron, London

The evening crowd has filtered out of the Leaky Cauldron, leaving only a handful of stragglers, clinging to their cups like lonely lifelines. Many of the chairs have been turned up onto the tables to make room for the tavern staff to clean the floors. Among the late-night drinkers is one Bailey Potter, tucked into a seat near the fireplace, her gaze drowning in her half-empty cup of brandy. Her flaxen hair is down around her shoulders, which are covered in a simple robe over an equally simple blouse and pants.

How does Tiberius spend holidays? The answer should be readily apparent when the Rogue enters the Cauldron. It's late, and he's returning from a workout that still has him panting, even post shower and re-dressed. It's time to get drunk and forget the monsters he moved in next door - And it's done with a double of Firewhiskey that's taken at the bar, and another that's taken for a wander around the bar. A familiar — Well, a slightly known face is discovered. Tiberius wastes no time in making his way towards the Fireplace, seated opposite Bailey. "Young Miss Diderot's escort." He greets.

Bailey's senses may be dulled by the drink, but she makes a profession out of staying alert. She tensed the moment Tiberius entered the pub, and again when he came toward her. As he sits, her eyes shift up to him, brow lifted in a questioning look. "Mr. Carrow's head of security," she says with a hint of caution, adding with the same dry tone, "I take it the company Christmas party is over."

"I'd rather not spend more time in their company than I need to in order to keep them safe." Tiberius answers simply. It's a lie. Most of what he says is. "They say it's best in security to keep the Principal at arms length. I am experimenting with just how far I can keep Carrow from me at all times." A dark chuckle, as he sips quietly at his drink. "Although you can call me Tiberius, if you'd rather. I'll even take 'Tiber' or 'Tibs' after a few more of these."

"Tiberius," she echoes, nodding. She doesn't really try to hide the wariness in her eyes. "Bailey Potter." She pauses for a beat, buying time with a drink of her brandy before inquiring, "So why work for them if you can't stand them?"

"Money's good." Another lie. Tiberius has them down to rote so well that he almost believes them. "And it's a job that I can. By the time you're my age, if you've made some mistakes and haven't expanded your skill set or taken up some kind of trade, Security is really all that's left." A chuckle. Of course he makes people wary. Even in the suit, he's still the Rogue in a Duster. "How's the industry treating you, then?"

Bailey snorts a mirthless chuckle. "Your age, hm?" The blonde witch sighs into her cup. "I don't think I'd call it an industry. That sounds too much like we're producing something. It's like you said…it's simply all that's left."

"How aren't we?" Tiberius seems to find that interesting. "Safety is a product. We ensure it's maintained to the best of our ability. Whether it's property, or friends of a Malfoy. Health, or virtue." He looks a little closer. "And don't worry, Bailey, you're capable of fooling with the best of them. Except when you're repeating what I'm saying." He… Doesn't believe her? How odd.

"Fooling," Bailey brow furrows with a veneer of confusion and a touch of irritation. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Tripe. I'm not trying to fool anyone."

Tiberius draws his trap with a sip of whiskey, and a sigh. "Then you really believe that it's all, Miss Potter?" He glances down at his wrist. Perhaps the crimson ribbon would be familiar to her. Probably not. "If you're really down to all that's left, than breath is more like a clock ticking than a part of living. I know the look. I don't believe I see it in you." Another, larger mouthful. He wears the look most days. "But that's a conversation that requires far more whiskey that I've imbibed."

Bailey sighs and shakes her head. "I see that you're the type that likes to speak in vague terms in the hope of luring out information from a person that you didn't necessarily know to ask for. It's a good tactic, but it won't work on me. I prefer the direct approach, Mr. Tripe."

"Shrewd." Tiberius notes, almost without thinking. "Direct it is, then. Carrow took an interest in you. And you're employed, at least in part, by Malfoy. I'm curious." The glass is put down, his hands put together, and then spread out. Cards on the table it is, then.

Bailey gives him an appreciative nod. Direct is good, it seems. "You're wrong about one thing, and this is no secret. I don't work for Mr. Malfoy in the slightest. I work for Aegis Security, which he contracts with. I am accountable to my employers, not to Cassius Malfoy."

Another nugget of truth, slid away for later use. "And as for Carrow's interest in you? And, I suppose, in part with Rhyel— Miss Diderot?" Tiberius corrects himself rather than use her first name. Albeit a bit late. "Forgive me seeming nosy, but I always indulge my curiosity." It's how one gets in to theft.

"I've done some work for Mr. Carrow in the past," Bailey explains plainly. "I'm surprised you didn't know that, being head of his security." There is a touch of snark in her tone. Though a few cups of brandy can do that. "What is your interest in Miss Diderot?"

"Mn. If it isn't obvious, we're able to work professionally. You could ask, if you like - He has complete faith in my obedience." The snicker is so ironic he can barely stand. "And I wouldn't be offended that you didn't make the dossier, Miss Potter. My interest in Miss Diderot is as an old friend of her father. No more. Blood of my friends matters just as much as mine own." There's a ribbon around his wrist that would call that out.

"Just see that your interest ends where she wishes it to," Bailey says, leveling a stern gaze. "You seem like a smart man, so I'm sure I don't have to tell you that showing too much interest in her will make you the subject of interest you might be better off avoiding."

Tiberius pauses. "You have my word, Miss Potter, that I won't show any more interest than she wishes. But I don't presume people will take it kindly if an old friend pries too deeply into her affairs." He notes.

"Probably not, especially since you've already pushed your luck. I heard about your little prank with her drink," Bailey shakes her head. "You're lucky you didn't end up in St. Mungo's after that one. Not all of us guardwitches are as nice as I am." She chuckles, finishing off her brandy with a slight frown of disappointment.

"Most guardwitches are more concerned with the safety of their charge." Tiberius points out. "I more or less /had/ to provoke a reaction. Otherwise there was simply no explaining their presence. As a security professional I found that inexplicable. So I found out the answer." The man rubs his beard, and chuckles softly. "That could have been a messy prank."

Bailey rolls her eyes. "Just do yourself, and us, a favour and don't try to provoke anything at all. It isn't your duty to test Miss Diderot's security. By drawing her guard's attention to a non-threat, you are actually making her more vulnerable if a real threat comes along. As a security professional, I find that inexplicable. If you really do care about your friend's daughter, don't make things harder on those of us trying to see to her safety."

Tiberius folds his arms over his chest, tipping his firewhiskey so it doesn't spill all over him in the process. "I shouldn't be concerned? Cassius Malfoy feels the need to surround a dear friend's daughter with discreet" Obvious, "guards, some of whom it seems could hardly protect her from a stiff breeze?" He tilts his head, looking perplexed. "I'm sure you hold yourself to a higher standard, Miss Potter. But I care enough about Rhyeline that, at least when in her presence, I'll do what I can to ensure your less professional co-workers don't render you unemployed. Especially if it's all you have left." He speaks light-heartedly. But his message is a little more severe.

"I don't know where you got the notion that any of my colleagues are incapable, but I urge you not to test your ill-informed theory. I wasn't exaggerating when I said you could have ended up in St. Mungo's." Bailey pushes herself to her feet, holding onto the table as she wobbles a bit. "It's late. I should go." She gives him a restrained smile. "Thank you for the conversation, Mr. Triberius." In less-than-straight lines, she makes her way toward the rear courtyard that will take her to Diagon Alley.

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