(1939-01-07) What Does a Muggle Know?
Details for What Does A Muggle Know?
Summary: Without Shelley, her newest friend, Jocunda really does feel alone in the world. She spills her heat to Frid, and asks for advice.
Date: 1939-01-07
Location: 7 Lambeth, London

The owl arrives for Frid, of all people, containing a neatly written letter for him. "Frid; I would appreciate it if Ms. Fairfax could spare you for a few hours so I could speak to you in privacy. Key attached; 7 Lambeth." The key is unfortunately attached with a sticking charm, so there would probably be shreds of parchment on it when Frid arrived at her house.
The lights are on, but there's no sound. The mud-room (Hah!) is missing her sacred broom, still trapped at the Sykes Estate, but her flight gear is in a pile in the corner. Through the kitchen, to the stairs, where two mugs and two glasses are the only dirty dishes that wait. And into the lounge, where Jocunda waits, wand in one hand, whiskey held firmly in the other. A empty glass and a full bottle of finely aged liqour waits on the chair opposite her.
When Frid emerges, her wand whips out - Aimed at him. The woman wielding it looks pensive… But hell, who wouldn't? Her only friend near insane, her home attacked, her sister injured. It's returned to her lap, and she sips her drink slowly.

Perhaps in contrast to his usual calm self, when a wand is pointed at him, Frid immediately ducks behind the doorframe to one side, pulling a somewhat elderly looking revolver from who even knows where. "Put it down," he calls through, although his tone is mild. Don't upset the crazy witch. Something Frid learned as a child. "I'm here to talk. If you're here for violence, I'll just leave."

"… It's away." Jocunda states softly. She doesn't seem to react to the muggle weapon. She's never faced one down in combat, but this is a witch that doesn't scare easily. Still, she'd be an idiot to assume the first person into her house would be friendly. After all, who knows whether it's paranoia, when someone was so recently after you. "Come. Sit." Her voice is collected. But not calm. "It's not you that it's waiting for." The wand, that is.

Frid lowers the weapon, although it doesn't actually go away so much as just not being a focus any more. What Frid manages as a valet, to be there without actually drawing attention, he does likewise for the revolver. He steps into the room, a wary eye on Jocunda, today in a nondescript navy suit and a dark green and red striped tie rather than his usual formal outfit. Civvies today for a social visit, apparently. "Miss Sykes."

"Mr. Lee." Jocunda responds. "Please. Pour yourself a drink." She wets his lips again. She doesn't remember how long she's been in this chair. Since she was last at St Mungo's, probably. "… I'm not naive enough to think that you had anything to do with what happened to my family." Self centred, much? "… But I'd like to say that if you know of anything, or can help answer what happened, I'd reward you handsomely." A tap of one foot. "Although again… I don't think that'd be likely."

"Target, opportunity and poor security," Frid offers, making his way over and taking up the bottle, which he first offers towards her, a brow raised in question. "A political target and a statement. In the muggle world it would have been a bomb, smuggled into the party, and then claimed by one militant group or other. If nobody steps forward to claim it was them? Then you have a problem, ma'am."

"Mudblood activists." Jocunda spits the word out with a new kind of venom. Before, she'd used the word so off-the-cuff it'd been hard to find offence. Her glass is lifted, so it can be refilled. "… For fucks sake, it was a /party/, Frid. Most of Unity was there. Cassius Malfoy was attacked. Those /dogs/ destroyed /my home/." There's a complete lack of levity in her voice. It makes one wonder why she's brought him here. Maybe, like Fabia, she just needs someone to vent to.

Frid tops up the glass with a detached professionalism as can only be expected of him. "I would recommend, ma'am, an increased security presence," he advises solemnly. "Any gathering of more than a few notable members of a political party is a potential target for those who oppose it. Just look at the Irish independence movement. I assume that's why I'm here? Unless you seriously believe that I'm part of their dastardly plot to ruin your evenings?"

Jocunda shoots him a brief glare. "… I wanted to speak with you because you're almost certainly a military man. Which means you've killed before, because someone else told you to." Jocunda reveals. It's a rather cold way of looking at war. "And because you're far enough removed from this bloodlines bullshit to have an opinion that isn't worth fuck all." Like hers. If she after… Advice? From a Muggle? "… What hope is there for a movement when those it serves have resorted to animalism?"

"I was," Frid admits, frowning just a touch. "Although that was a long time ago. I can't say I know a great deal about your movement, but there will always be an opposition, regardless the cause." He pulls out a seat, finally, and lowers himself into it. "Did you see the opposition in this case? Do you have names? Demands? Threats? I may be removed from this bloodlines business, but I'm also removed enough that I'm not sure I can offer any assistance in the matter. What I can tell you is that you might be thankful it was wizards and not muggles who broke into your party. Muggle weapons are less discriminate."

"It's one of my least favourite things about your kind. How easily you can stomach evil…" The woman frowns obviously, and sips her whiskey. There's still a purist in her, after all. "They used the invisibility charm. Supposedly one was captured. They demanded Grindlewald be held in what is essentially public contempt, demanded the Eye of Truth be removed from society as a whole and all discrimination against inferior blood be outlawed." SHe swirls her whiskey around slowly. "They used the fear, the violence that they worry might be levelled against them. I suppose you could say the wanted the first strike in a war that didn't exist." Didn't.

"So why am I here?" Frid cuts to the chase in the matter, taking a sip from his drink. "What is it you want from me? A sympathetic ear? I can listen. I'm paid to listen. But while I don't approve of their methods, their demands seem fairly reasonable from where I'm sitting. As a general rule, muggles aren't ready to know about wizards, however you want to go about it. It would result in a war, and more deaths." He pauses to look her over. "I was at Ypres, ma'am. I've seen indiscriminate death. Just wading into machine gun fire, cutting us down at the knees, or the gas…" He runs his tongue over his teeth, unbuttoning his cuff to pull it up and display the beginnings of some horrific scarring. "Indiscriminate. Now imagine muggles fighting wizards, without knowing who to target. No uniforms to point out who's the enemy, and so it'll be suspicions and random deaths. A man wins twice on the horses? That can't be luck. Must be magic. And so his neighbours burn his house, with his wife and children in it. A woman's found with a stick that could be a wand? Death. He cast a spell on me. I shot him. Everywhere. And that, that is why we have the statute of secrecy."

Jocunda listens for several long seconds. She doesn't flinch, to her credit, and she takes solace in a long mouthful of her whiskey. Emptying her glass, and bitterly sighs before she reaches for the bottle again. Filling it up once more, before she admits. "… My thoughts exactly." She mutters. "Fuck it. It was a beautiful dream, but this… Is an ugly, ugly world." The quidditch star allows her wand to rest in her lap, unattended as she reaches up a hand through her dirty blonde hair. "So now I'm left either apparently sympathising with those who attacked me and mine, or being /exactly/ what they accuse me of being… Fuck it." She shakes her head dismissively. "I won't support violence, or legislate niceties. And equally, I can't justify denying that half-bloods are just as much wizard as I am…" The hand goes from hair, to forehead. Without Shelley, it seems like she really doesn't have anyone. Known to thousands, but friends are few and far between.

"You can still condemn their actions, if not their motivation," Frid suggests, finally leaning down to put the revolver away, convinced for now of his own safety, at least. "State that you will not resort to violence. Ask for a referendum on the statute. Suggest a vote of no confidence in Grindelwald. There are diplomatic ways to step back. Cease funding your cause, cut their finances and they can't survive as long, and put that money to St. Mungo's or to the families of those affected by the muggleborn extremists." He shrugs. "There are more options than the simple choices you've left yourself."

Sometimes, Jocunda Sykes can forget that she's not as world-wise as she knows. A soft, sweet sigh, and more whiskey. "… You're a wise man, Frid." A pause. "No wonder Ms Fairfax keeps you around." There's more to it than that, surely. "I was so busy afeared that I'd painted myself into a corner that I couldn't see for fear of my own shadow." Her glass is set down as well, so she can offer him the smallest beginnings of a smile. "I had hoped you might be able to help." She reveals. Clearly, not that disappointed.

Frid eyes her glass, and the bottle, judging exactly how much she's had, then looks her over, performing in his head the calculations based on her body mass, her mannerisms, and her balance, then pours himself another large one. "Whatever you do, wait until at least noon tomorrow before you make any decisions. Discuss them with your… do you have a valet? Somebody you can trust?"

The empty bottle over at the bar would make it hard to tell, but from how she's been drinking and how firmly she's in her chair? Mildly drunk. Just feeling /very/ sober. "Someone I can trust. Hopefully St. Mungos will let her loose, but… She's even less of a mind for politics than I." Her glass is downed again, and her wand taken back up in it's place. It's a comfort thing.

Frid considers for a long moment. "I believe Mrs. Fairfax will be at home this evening," he suggests delicately. "Of course, discussion of politics is hardly her thing, but I'm sure the company would be good for both of you. Shall I inform her that you might drop in?"

"I think… I think I would be better off not drinking alone." Jocunda admits. "But I'm hardly going to weigh down Ms. Fairfax with my whinging. And I'd rather… I'd rather you didn't tell her that I subjected you to it."

"Of course, ma'am," Frid responds simply, taking a small sip of his whisky. It's not his favourite Lagavulin, but he's not going to turn it down, regardless. "I'd invite you to join me this evening, but perhaps an evening with muggles would hardly be suitable either. Find somebody unrelated to the incident, or to your movement, or to your family. Take some time for yourself, ma'am, that won't be taken the wrong way."

"I've felt nothing but ill since the gala. I don't think Muggles will help me any." Jocunda sighs. "… I might have a shower, and see what the world has for me today." The woman slowly shakes her head, "… Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I will have a shower, perhaps I'll feel a little less dirty afterwards.

Frid offers her his hand. "Thank you for letting me speak, ma'am. And for not just assuming that every muggle might be behind the attack."

Jocunda takes the hand, and uses it to get to her feet. "… Don't thank me too hastily, Frid. Part of me…" She doesn't go down that road though, merely offering the valet as close to a smile as she can manage. "I do hope to see Ms Faifax, and yourself, sometime in the future.

"If I hear anything, I'll let the MLE know," Frid assures her solemnly, squeezing her hand briefly before releasing it and dipping his head. "Might I use your floo?"

"Surely. Forgive the mess, it's hardly used." Floo powder beside the fireplace, of course.

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