(1939-03-06) Queen of Ducks
Details for Queen Of Ducks
Summary: It's Ducks all around. Tiberius reveals his plan to make Beryl one; They discuss the Broker, who might look and act like one, but certainly isn't one, and when it comes to Hector's request - Tiberius reveals he plans not to give a flying duck.
Date: 1939-03-06
Location: The Drunken Dragon, London
Related: Tell Me A Tale, Miss

Drinking in a dead man's bar.

Tiberius frowns behind his whiskey, sitting in his casual businesswear. The bar manages to still run, with the new purchase pending by Malfoy. The man sighs, drawing a bare fingertip around the outside edge of his glass. A paper package sits infront of him, fetched from it's hiding place by Tyree. It's untied, but not opened, right now. A sigh, before he drinks. "Fuckin'…" He murmurs. Tyree's trail had gone cold. As punishment, the boy patrolled the 'cordon' that Tiberius had drawn upon a map, searching for the strange woman.

The note was received, and Beryl made arrangements to join Tiberius at the Drunken Dragon without much delay. Although the likes of her would not often darken the door of a bar like this alone, it's far less risky (and sketchy) to be meeting someone there.
A few pairs of eyes rise and turn to follow the auburn-haired woman as she passes through the door and into the dimly lit bar. Her movements are fluid and graceful, confident and cat-like as she walks with her delicate chin held high. Her footsteps scarcely make a sound upon approaching Tiberius' table, but he would know of her coming by the faintly exotic aroma that always seems to drift from Beryl. Somewhat uncertain of her surroundings, she doesn't make an affectionate show of a greeting, and simply glides onto the seat resting opposite the man.

"Hope I didn't keep you waiting, darling." Beryl says airily, flashing a coolly self-assured smile.

"Never." Tiberius murmurs, softly. A sip of his whiskey, and a wave to the bartender. Two more will be brought over momentarily. "I'm… Worried, Beryl." The man taps the package gently, with his wand. Never far from his hand when it comes to the item within. "… Worried, and concern. I might go have a chat with Hector about this, again. I think some more information might cause some recognition." A glance around the other patrons of the drunken dragon. "… My darling, would you do me a favour?" He asks, softly. Smiling at her.

Keeping firm hold of the calm restraint of her demeanor, Beryl glances down at the package in question without moving her head. Her eyes almost immediately return to meet with Tiberius', and she seems to study his face with care for a moment or two. The whiskey arrives, and she only breaks her gaze from his just long enough to offer a faintly warm smile at the server before they walk away.
"Depending on what's in it for Hector, he may or may not be pleased." Beryl remarks, holding her glass with one slender hand while running the index finger of her other around the rim, pensively. Also, she can't help but smirk a little: "You know I'd do anything… but, are you sure you want me to do you any more favours, Tibs? I have a nasty habit of unintentionally making life more difficult for you."

"Welcome to life, and love." Tiberius muses, the mournful touch teasing. "I'd have you disciplined were you part of my team. Unfortunately, all I can do is love you. As for Hector, one of the most influential families in the Wizarding world would give a great deal of coin to find out what happened. Moreso, for what little it matters to the man, the Sykes and Carrows are so interbred they're practically siblings." Tripes, on the other hand, try for a little more variety. A Crabbe, for example. "Although personally, I wondered if the Broker would make a bid for it. Deals with him leave me feeling /cold/." Tiberius frowns. "Information, lover, is beyond valuable. People will trade things they never knew they have, to keep things from coming to light… Or to have them forced there.

For a flickering instant, a wicked glint shows in Beryl's eyes, and she looks at Tiberius narrowly - cunningly even - from across the table. "Please, I've already been disciplined enough for one week," she says playfully, not elucidating any further on what she might mean by that remark. They are in a public place, after all.
A cool, soothing sip of her whiskey is taken at last. She savors it slowly like a connoisseur before swallowing. A vaguely confused look crosses her features after the man remarks on the Broker. "Who is the Broker?" She's heard the name mentioned before, but she is certain that she never heard who or what the man behind the title happened to be. Undoubtedly the last distracting question she asks before inquiring as to the favour she can perform for Tiberius.

"Discipline isn't supposed to be enjoyable." Tiberius counters with a teasing smirk. "Although you seem to have missed that memo. Or perhaps I did." A pause. "The Broker is an old acquintance. A few hundred years, at least. A Vampire who trades in whispers, rumours and secrets. A creature that made me rich, and nearly undid me." A chuckle, Tiberius settles back against his chair, and gestures to the crown, hiding in paper. "I could ask him about this. But I'd rather have it firmly under 'our' control. Which means, Hector as well."

Beryl is in the midst of taking another sip of her drink when Tiberius explains The Broker. Her motion freezes on the word "Vampire," and one perfect eyebrow twitches vaguely upward for an instant. The drink is taken - a slightly stiffer one than the drink that preceded it - and the glass is set down once more. "I see," she replies in two simple, restrained words.
Passing from the subject quickly, Beryl shifts in her seat a little and gives a small shrug of her shoulders. "What then," she asks, tilting her head slightly with curiosity, "Can I do to help?"

A chuckle. "You seem nervous. Don't worry, he only feeds on the willing. Or those incapable of refusal." Tiberius smiles a little at her nervousness. "Sufficit to say he knows much and has a lovely, chilling tinge to his presence. It's why I've never invited him over." The jest is light-hearted.
"I need more information. However it comes at some risk… You're the only one I could trust with it though. I need," A sigh, "Someone soft, beautiful, and wholly misleading."

Someone /would/ get bitten - very hard - if they ever DID invite a vampire to Beryl Crabbe's flat. Filthy, untrustworthy, loathsome creatures… It's bad enough that the police come barging in these days whenever they feel the urge. The look that flashes in Beryl's eyes at the joke about the Broker shows a bit of her more dangerous side. Beneath her otherwise frosty exterior lies a very hot temper.
The look quickly cools, and the fire dims from out of her gaze as the woman listens intently. Now, her curiosity is truly piqued; and a delicious smile slowly begins to form. "From whom do you need this information?" Her elbow comes to rest on the table, and her chin rests in her upraised hand as she leans closer to Tiberius. Lowering her voice even further, she also asks: "Upon what poor devil am I to try my charms?"

Tiberius frowns. "I don't know." The man flicks the package lightly. "I'm comissioning a replica. One I'd like you to wear whenever you know you're free from the eyes of Hector or the MLE. I want to see… Who recognises it." The man pauses. "… Problem is that there's risks involved. Don't know if I coudl live with myself if you got hurt, but… I know it's not fair to keep you shut out."

Beryl's hand moves slightly so that she rubs her fingers along the lower half of her face thoughtfully, instead of merely leaning there. Her expression sharpens, and her gaze drifts away from Tiberius: "Am I ever out of the wandering eyes of the MLE these days, though? But, even if I'm not I suppose, in a way, it could prove to be a useful red herring to lead them astray on and buy more time." Pausing briefly, her eyes narrow again.
A softer expression quickly overtakes her, however, and the redheaded lady drops the hand from her face. Reaching across the table with both hands to take hold of one of his, Beryl smiles warmly: "I'm pretty sure whatever this side of the job may be, it's a good deal safer than anything you're doing, Love. I can handle myself. Have a little faith in me."

Tiberius sighs, and holds her hand firmly. "Beryl; if the MLE see you with it there are /very/ real charges that could be laid against you. And it might incite VERY real violence. If anything were to happen, don't remain in danger." The man looks across the table at her, and smiles. "I love you. With all my heart. Please don't get hurt in the process."

Beryl can't help but smile a little wanly: "And I love you, darling… But, getting hurt is an occupational hazard." A small laugh interrupts her train of thought before she continues speaking. "I know what Hector would say if he were sitting here right now. He'd say you were using me and setting me up to be a sitting duck - a decoy for your little game." A small sigh escapes, and the woman's gaze drops to her hand held within his firm grasp. She's so much smaller and far more fragile than Tiberius in every way. But she makes up for it in spirit.
"We'll try it your way, though. I'll wear the replica when I can. But, in the meantime, you have to deal with Hector and see if he has any input. Much as you two don't get along, he /does/ know how to handle this sort of thing." Beryl says earnestly. "And I'd rather deal with the Collector over the Broker any day." She adds with a small, uneasy shudder.

"He's right." Tiberius notes, and sighs, "You are a sitting duck, in this game, my love. If /anyone/ recognises it, remember all you can about them and get the hell out of there. This symbol incites passion. Those who wear it are willing to kill - And die - Without hesitation. But you aren't going in blind. It might be said that I'm using you, but never, ever taking advantage." A sigh, and he lifts her hand, to kiss it gently. "Hector makes my blood boil. The man should be killed."

"Just focus on the task at hand, and try to keep personal feelings out of this, at least where Hector is concerned. We have enough problems without tempers getting hot again." Beryl says wisely, looking into Tiberius' eyes with understanding and sympathy. Her soft, warm fingers trace along his face gently for a moment. Then, a more resolute look enters her eyes and she draws herself up with a small breath: "I'll do my best, Tibs. Whatever it takes. Hopefully I won't let you down… this time."

"You're young," Tiberius teases, turning to kiss her hand. "And now you're being fought for by two bitter old men. Merlin have mercy, my love."

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