| Details for Goodnight, Mr. Travers |
| Summary: | Beryl and Tiberius subdue a particularly stubborn Mr. Travers. A kidnapping is afoot! |
| Date: | 1939-01-16 |
| Location: | Dark Alley, Knockturn Alley, London |
| Related: | The Most Eligible Bachelorette |
| Characters |
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The piece of cloth is exoticaly scented. It's a particular exotic scent of a /very/ classy lady, and the handwriting that adorns it is of an elegant and feminine script. Somehow it had appeared on Alistairs table whilst he'd been off getting a drink - Left by an invisible hand.
'I've been watching you across the room all night, handsome stranger. Come find me down Knockturn, the real party should just be getting started.'
It's late evening in Knockturn, very late evening. Men in dark robes shoot skittish glances at eachother, thieves talk trade and illegal items are bought and sold. A crimson scarf wraps around a pole beside a dark alleyway. Within, a slender figure waits against the far wall, wrapped in shadows. The alleyway is filled with that delightful, exotic scent.
High above. Tiberius is wrapped in an invisibility charm, one strong arm gripping the edge of a nearby roof, one foot pressed against the top of a window sill for support. Leaning out into the air - His wand is out. His eyes are alert. The third episode in his revenge begins soon. And it already tastes delicious.
The slender figure, so steeped in shadows, leans against the wall in such a way that only the faintest hint of light gives any indication of her feminine curves. She moves ever so slightly, stretching in a languid way - like someone who is waiting for another and growing a little anxious for their arrival.
Alistair had always been too bold for his own good. Too confident and too brash and after he received the note he didn't think twice about possible danger he lived for danger and so the blonde strides with all his grace and pride down Knockturn Alley. His head is held high as he looks about for whoever might have left the note that is tucked into a pocket of his flowing robes. Grey eyes the color of smoke spot the figure leaning aginst the far wall and with a charming smile he makes his way over to her. "Good Evening Miss. If I had to guess I would say you are looking for someone?" He studies her intently trying to get a better look at the woman who is so deeply hidden in the shadows.
Tiberius falls, his feet catching sills one at a time while he drops. The result is a very quiet drop to the ground, the theif drawing himself up to his full height. He'd be one hell of an imposing figure, were he visible. Instead, he's slipped in behind Alistair with only the quietest scuffle. Even should the man turn, he'll see absolutely nothing. Besides, with the lovely Beryl playing distraction, who would both turning around?
Dim light plays on the deep red curls half hiding the woman's pale features. Despite the darkness, it's easy to sense that a smile must be playing upon her lips. The shadowy female slowly shifts, and smoothly turns to regard Alistair with a sultry little sigh: "Mmmhm." Beryl moves toward him by one tiny step, just as Tiberius drops down to the ground behind the young man. "How lucky. I just found him too." Her silvery, delicate voice continues.
The tall blonde stands transfixed watching the light on that deep red hair. He studies her a moment longer and smiles warmly. "Have you now? Well what do you plan to do now that you have found me hmm? Alistair steps forward with an easy confidence. His senses are picking up on someone behind him but he brushes it off as someone passing close by. No one would dare hurt him after all. He takes another slow step forward moving closer to the mysterious woman.
Tiberius bites his lower lip against the urge to chuckle. Beryl is, exactly as he'd expected, one hell of a tempting treat. The man waits patiently, wondering if the gentle impact of his feet would be enough to give him away. Unlikely, after all. His other hand, still aching from supporting his weight reaches into one of his many pockets. A light toss, and the stone hits the side of the alleyway wall, inbetween the pair. The signal. Tiberius steps to the side, his spell silent, just a flick of his wand and a jet of red light straight to the back. Beryl has his back, in her own lovely way.
Exotic perfume seems to drift and linger around Beryl, and twine slowly around Alistair as they draw close to each other. She gazes up at the blonde man seductively through lowered lashes, and her soft lips part to speak… But then, Tiberius makes his move in a less-than successful fashion and the woman thinks fast.
"Ooh!" A startled, but stifled scream escapes her, and she reaches out to grab hold of Alistair's clothing with her hands. Clinging to the man, she is /obviously/ also trying to push him away to the side for safety. Away from the shadowy rogue with the wand!
Alistair feels a spell hit his back and stumbles forward trying to turn around but then the woman grabs him. He reaches up trying to remove and protect her her his left hand going toward his wand which is in his robe pockets. "Miss you need to get out of the way." He tries to stay calm but his voice is shaky all the same. He trys to turn but the woman manages to push him aside and he turns around his back hitting a wall. Grey eyes are wide with surprise and fury as he draws his wand looking for the one that dared attack him.
Tiberius is still an invisible bastard. A quick darting step to the side when his first spell fails to hit, his second voiced. The frustration in it obvious, a disdainful "Stupefy." As another flick of his wand, another jet of red is sent at Alistair. Walking closer, while he attacks.
Alistair is searching franticly for the man or woman that shot the curse but can't spot anyone nearby at all other than the woman. He is distracted in his search and the red light coming towards him has him raising his wand for a shield charm. The spell hits him in the chest before he can get the words out of his lips.
Alistair is stricken by the Stupefy spell, but it appears to have no effect on him. For her part, Beryl is playing the part of a terrified little woman who's caught in the crossfire of something terrible. She is now standing just behind Alistair - he is free to reel on his attacker. A hasty scan of her immediate surroundings causes her eyes to fall upon a loose brick on the ground near her feet. Stooping down quickly, she snatches it into her hand, raises it quickly and tries to give him a fast tap on the back of the head.
Tiberius abandons the wand. Fuck magic. He begins to close the distance, as Beryl is nice enough to clock their friend with a brick. A moment later, an invisible fist slams into the head of their mark, the man flickering back into sight a moment after he connects. Leather. Thick clothing. And a muscled man with an evil plan.
Alistair lets out a yelp of surprise as he is hit from behind. Stumbling forward he desn't have time to dodge the blow to his head and falls to the ground with groan clutching his head. He looks up at the man before him with dazed and wide eyes. There is fear there but anger as well. "Ugh…what on earth did I do to deserve that?!" He looks indignant and pouts slightly showing just how spoiled he really is.
The blow brings him to the ground. Tiberius follows up immediately with a swift round-house kick to the fallen man's head. It's a savage blow, probably more than enough to disable the man if not enough to knock him right out yet. He turns to Beryl, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Get to my place in Hoxton. Prepare the safe." His orders are sharp, Precise. "I'll drag him there in a moment." He advances, boot lifted. Alistair won't black out? Then this is going to get EXTREMELY unpleasant.
"That's it," Beryl hisses under her breath, sinking back further into the shadows. The brick is discarded as Tiberius and Alistair continue to struggle. The man in charge gives his orders, and the woman gives the faintest hint of a nod before her wand comes out. A breath of a moment later, and a distinct *CRACK* echoes through the darkness of the alley. Tiberius' accomplice is gone.
Alistair lets out an eep as he sees the kick coming. Curling into a ball he tries to minimize the damage the blow with cause lets out a grown as his head is hit again. He clutches it in pain and yells fearfully. "Stop that! I don't know what you want but I didn't do it whatever it was! Besides there is no reason to mess up my beautiful face just because I -might- have slept with your wife!" He seems panicked now clearly aware he is in danger at long last.
Something upon his begging keeps him from bringing the boot down upon the man's face. Instead, his wand is brought out, the words coming swiftly. Revealing this isn't a random hit. "Goodnight, Mr Travers. Stupefy." The jet of red light is at close range, undodgable, and slams into the man with a satisfyingly sickening thud, driving him against the ground and robbing him of consciousness. "… Fucking spell-sink. I thought he'd never go down." He mutters darkly.
Grey eyes are wide as the strange man speaks his name and Alistair opens his lips to say something just as the spell hits him. The words he might have turn into a soft scream. Then he loses awareness completely head falling aginst the groud as he lays there motionless and helpless as well.
"You." Tiberius breathes lightly. The man had put on more of a fight than the damned Constable. "Put up one HELL of a fight. Don't you worry, Mr. Travers. We'll get you back to screwing men's wives in a matter of days." He frowns, jabbing his wand at the man and casting. "Inspectus." Wrapping the man in the same invisibility he'd used for the attack. A silent wave of his wand gently levitates the man, and begins to lead them towards the safe where he'll be spending the next few days.
In a few hours, the party-goers would notice the letter that had been left behind. And then the panic would start.
The note is left upon a table at a party that Alistair Travers was attending, and found not long after his absence.
"Alistair Travers safety is now in the hands of his family and loved ones. Seventy Two hours has been allotted for them to assemble a sum of no less than a hundred Galleons. This small amount will buy his life, and repay the insult done to the Underground by any insinuation of association with those responsible for the Sykes Gala. Further insults will incur greater fines. While MLE Involvement will be tolerated, their presence at the hand-off will be frowned upon. Further Instructions Via Owl."
Interrogations of the party-goers can only reveal that the man had grasped a piece of crimson cloth, read it, and then left abruptly. It seems the underground have a captive. For now.