A return, some owls, and someone starts a fire

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

((The Socking Challenge, contender numero uno. The Dwight/Rachel sock was requested by Dean-mun, because she enjoys making my brain go 'bwah?'. Tip the waitress, try the veal.))



Right, so, next time I applied to a school, I needed to make sure I stuck around long enough afterward to actually, you know, go to said school. Barely an hour after I'd gotten Sorted - into 'Gryffindor', whatever (or whereever) that was - I had gotten a run which took me away for a couple of weeks. Now, returning to the castle, I realized that I had no idea where anything was.

Pieces of something that I'd rather not talk about were stuck in my hair and I'm pretty sure that roses weren't high on the list of things I smelled like. Hey, it'd been a tough job. But the troll (and company) were safely locked away and I was now several thousand richer - which was how I'd been able to get a decent wand, which seemed to be essential here, and some school books. Also a really amazing pair of black boots. Because I was worth it.

Anyway, I stumbled in the doors of the school, bag slung over my shoulder, hair in disarray, and was struck with two unavoidable facts: One, the entire castle was like a freaking stone maze, marked only with portraits that moved like a rabbit on brimstone and suits of armor that, I swear, kept trying to grab my ass. Two, I was starving. As punctuated by the sudden, loud growl my stomach decided to interrupt my thoughts with. Nice.

Sighing, I'd resigned myself to schlepping up a thousand flights of stairs in the blind hope I'd somehow find this Gryffindor place, when I heard a small 'Ahem' behind me.

Turning, I spotted a guy, tall, big glasses, balding, looking at me with an expression of mild disgust. Putting on my best 'lil ole me?' smile, I said brightly, "Can I help you?"

"You're dripping."

Wow, ok, that was not a greeting I was used to. Blinking, I looked around to see if this guy was, in fact, talking to me. Well, no one else around, so must be. Still... "Excuse me?"

Nodding towards my feet, he repeated, "You're dripping." Then, after a pause, he added helpfully, "On the floor."

I looked down. Indeed, some of the gunk that had come out of a troll orifice I never wanted to consider had gotten stuck to the side of my coat and was now plopping, bit by bit, onto the stone floor. "Huh." I'd come straight from apprehending my mark and turning him (and three of his best buddies) over to the people who'd hired me back to the school. If I'd stayed any longer, the hotel would have charged me for an extra day. No wonder I'd had so much personal space on the train ride back. "Er, don't suppose you know any of the handy cleaning spells I've heard so much about?"

Huffing slightly, rolling his eyes, the guy pulled out his wand and pointed it at the mess by my feet. I moved back a little. All right, a lot. God only knew if Bad Glasses Guy had any idea what he was doing, and I had no desire to make my psudo-triumphant return as a pile of splooge or whatever the hell he could turn me into. Plus, if he ruined my boots? I'd have to kill him.

Rolling up his sleeves, Bad Glasses Guy (heretofore referred to as BGG in my mind) pointed his wand at the pile of...whatever and said, "Scourgify."

A huge bang sounded along with a thick burst of black smoke. It was like the pile of troll dropping had suddenly exploded. The smell was horrific; choking, I backed up even more, hand pressed to my mouth. "For the love of the Turn, what the hell did you do?"

BGG glowered at me, eyes streaming from the stench. "Nothing! That's worked before. On other things." Then a slow smile crossed his face. "I totally Ryan'd that sucker."

"You totally did," I told him, having no idea what he was talking about, but figuring it was best to humor the crazy man with a wand. "Er, maybe we should..." I made a motion towards the door with my hands. I thought it best to get out of the area before someone happened along - always best to distance yourself from the incriminating evidence.

Nodding, BGG followed behind me as we fled the scene. He started laughing halfway to the door; and, God help me, I joined in. That had been freaking hilarious. "Oh, man," he said as we rounded the corner and could start to breathe normally again, "Angela would totally kill me." He held out one hand to me. "Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager, Dunder-Mifflin, Hogsmeade Branch."

"Rachel Morgan," I said, shaking his hand with a grin. "Runner. And, apparently, co-conspirator in the plot to burn down the castle."

This earned another laugh from Dwight and he scratched the back of his neck absently. "Yeah, sorry. I could try again...?"

"No, no, that's all right." I held up my hands. "I'll just clean up the old fashioned way. You wouldn't happen to know where Gryffindor is, would you?"

Dwight gave the camera me an intense look. "Of course I do. I've mapped the entire castle and inspected it all for soundness. I'm going to submit my written report to the Headmistress for review."

Okay. Nodding slightly, trying very hard to not be creeped out and/or laugh, I simply gestured ahead of me. "Lead on, then."

"You know, heels like that are really impractical on this flooring..."

"Shut up, Dwight."

He was quiet for a moment. "You know Jim, don't you?"

This was going to be a long walk. I could tell.

---

After I'd finally gotten rid of Dwight, washed up, and was generally feeling more human, I decided it was time for a little communication. Several wrong turns later, I discovered the owlery. Heh. Sending notes by birds was...just cute. Archaic. Between this and the flying on brooms, it was no wonder humans thought Witches had warts and green faces. Anyway.



Dean,

Just got back from a run and I'm dying for caffeine. Please tell me that there's a place to get a decent cup in the land of tea?

Rachel



Sansa,

Hey, back in the castle, and I was wondering if you'd like to give me that tour? I'm thinking it'll be good for me to find out where I'm supposed to eat.

Rachel



Chance,

Hey. Was in Glasgow on business and picked these up. Thought they might come in handy.

Rachel

(The owl is also carrying a pack of Bic pens.)



Tick-Tick,

Hey, just got back after a little trip. If you want, how about getting some food sometime?

Rachel

Letters thus sent, I began to wander my way back down the stairs. Maybe if I asked nicely, some of those frisky suits of armor would tell me where a girl could find some decent Chinese food in this place.

Comments

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

Rachel,

Hey, you got sorted, I'm guessin'. What House're you in?

Of course there's coffee, heh. I wouldn't exist right now if there was no coffee.


Dean.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

((LOL I blame you. :p))

Dean,

Gryffindor. Whatever that means. I've been in my room a grand total of twice now - got called out on a nasty troll run and just got back. But it has a bed, which is something I'm very much looking forward to, and a shower. And no cockroaches. So, really, better than some of the apartments I've lived in.

Oh, thank God. What would a girl have to do to get lead to said miracle brew?

Rachel

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

Rachel,

Trolls're nasty fuckers, I know what you mean. And no cockroaches here, actually. I think the house elves eat'm or somethin'.

...Wanna meet in the common room? Hah, I'm in Gryffindor too. Probably... just up the stairs from you. And a cup've caffeine sounds real good right now.


Dean.

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Dean,

Yeah, this one introduced me to smells I never want to experience again. He and three of his best friends. Wonderful people. Broke a couple of their bones.

Hey, someplace I actually know how to find! That sounds great. I'll be down in a few minutes.

Rachel

---

Of course 'a few minutes' in girl-ease translates to 'a quarter of an hour later'. Hey, I'm not about to go wandering around looking like one of the Troll Brothers I just put away. So, in dark jeans that Jenks would have called too tight (they did make my ass look fantastic, though) and a black leather halter top, my hoop earrings feeling far too light without a pixie sitting in one, I made my way down. New boots clacking along just fine on the stone floor, thanks very much Dwight.

Pushing my hair off of my face, I scanned the room for Dean.

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

Dean, of course, hadn't even responded to that last letter, mostly because... well, in guy-ican, when you said you were going to be there in a minute, unless you got distracted by something more important or you were gravely wounded, you were there in a minute. Strange, how someone who'd been synonymous with being a player for most of his growing up still couldn't begin to grasp the concept of girl-ese. At all. Girls were off on some other planet sometimes.

So, as a consequence, he had been plopped into a squashy armchair, resisting the urge to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair as he waited. And waited. And... waited. To anyone else, fifteen minutes wouldn't be long at all. But this was Dean, and twenty seconds was a long time for him, really. 'Fucking finally,' he thought to himself as she walked in and... even with his mind in its current state, his eyes automatically jumped to every curve and... Fucking hell, she was really hot, wasn't she? He hadn't noticed that so much at her sorting...

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

For my part, I'd learned early on not to apologize for my lateness. It was just one of my adorable quirks. Or, you know, the thing that drove people crazy. Whatever.

"Hey," I said, walking over to him. "Just so you know, I've been surviving for the past two weeks on tea. So you are officially my second favorite person in the world right now."

Dean was still incredibly attractive, and I let myself take a nice long look as I perched on the arm of his chair. After a few weeks tracking trolls? I deserved a little eye candy.

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

On Dean's part, it would probably end up being something that drove him nuts, if not just for all of his military training and crap that made him precise as a motherfucker, even despite his waking-up skills. Or lack thereof. ...That was what coffee was for. Which was why they were here, right? And, hey, Dean didn't look so hot on his own account, even despite Rachel's thoughts - he looked incredibly tired, some more dark circles under his eyes, but that was sort of as per usual as of late.

"Yeah, so, basically, you need to be... friggin' attacked or somethin'," he laughed, glancing up and scratching at the back of his head, trying to look anywhere that was very much not at her ass. "Only second favorite though? Aw. Now, that just ruined my day."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Hey, tired I got. Tired I was. Didn't change the fact that Dean-boy's shoulders were deliciously broad and I would bet my last quarter that I could bounce one off his abs. "My first favorite is being reserved for someone who can show me where to get food that doesn't have the word 'banger', 'mash', or 'tart' in it. Or a pie that doesn't have peas. Pies should contain chocolate or fruit. And be topped with whipped cream and/or ice cream. Some sort of cream."

Oh, God, I was hungry. Grinning at him, cocking one brow, I stood slowly - oh, I had caught the glances and if he wanted to look, I was more than happy to oblige - and nodded towards the door. "So, lead on, cookie. Before the severe lack of caffeine makes me just collapse and die."

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

You probably COULD have bounced a quarter off of Dean's abs, really. But he wouldn't know; he'd never tried.

He laughed at that, though, nearly overzealously, only because a) God, he probably would have married her right then and there were this any other occasion and he wasn't... extremely confused as to his romance conditions right now, and b) was she ever freaking right. British food was so weird. His first week here, he'd been about ready to strange someone for a cheeseburger. They had all kinds of weird, mushy crap and... scones and, okay, the quiches were pretty freaking good, but it still wasn't the fast food that he'd grown so used to. And pie should have most certainly fit her description.

Which was why Dean was extremely glad for the invention of House elves. "Don't know where the hell you're going," he said with a small laugh, and wiggled his eyebrows a moment, almost teasingly. He may or may not have caught a glimpse of her ass as she stood. ...Okay, he did. A little. "Watch this." And called out a name - Issob, actually, the House elf he'd made friends (yes, friends. With an elf) (hey, they got him into the Ravenclaw dorm. Free booze!) with over the course of the year - and an elf appeared with a loud cracking noise. After a short mutter of instructions, the elf promptly disappeared again, with a snap just as loud.

"Give 'em a minute," he offered back to Rachel, standing and traipsing a moment as an inevitable silence occurred, just for a moment, then two, and then Issob reappeared with a slight grin, a tray of two mugs and a piece of pie (http://images.allrecipes.com/global/recipes/small/105472.jpg) set neatly onto the thing. Dean was smirking in that way that kind of yelled, 'Get ready to make me your favorite person' after he'd thanked the House elf and it had left for a second time. "Voila."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

I couldn't help it - one of my eyebrows slid up at that mischievous little look and I paused. I'd been about to make a witty and charming comment (no, really!) when...

"Holy hell!" That was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen - and I've not lead a sheltered life. Blinking, I jumped back slightly, my hand instinctively going to the back of my waistband for a splat gun that wasn't there. But Dean was holding a conversation with the creepy little thing, and he didn't strike me as the type to converse pleasantly with something that might eat off his face, so I relaxed. The thing's disappearance made me jump again. I know I was losing cool points, but...damn. The only thing I was used to seeing pop in and out like that was a demon - and God, I was hoping Dean wasn't mixed up in summoning demons. I'd had enough of that with Nick.

"What was that thing?" I asked, just as, hey, it reappeared bearing... Ooh, food! With a grin, I walked back over, taking a seat and picking up one of the mugs. Oh, thank God. Closing my eyes as I breathed in the heavenly aroma, I murmured, "Dean, I could kiss you." Then I took a drink and had to actually stop myself from moaning out loud. Turn take me, but I'd missed coffee. Better than sex, sometimes. Opening my eyes in time to see his smug look, I simply nodded, grinning. Hey, he could be my favorite person. He'd earned it. I was a cranky Witch with no coffee or proper food.

Speaking of... With a gusto usually reserved for tackling a perp, I attacked the pie. Licking off the fork after a bite, I winked at Dean. "Now, see, that is pie. These Brits, no idea of what they're missing."

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

Yeah, House elves were fugly little sons of bitches. Plain and simple, really. Dean had freaked a bit the first time he'd saw one too, not to mention when one started making his bed when he was still inside. He'd been so tangled in the sheets that it was a bit difficult to tell he was even underneath them all, and he'd nearly gutted the poor thing, knife to its throat and all. He only knew that elf because it had been in a loincloth instead of a pillowcase slash potato sack like most of the others, but it definitely... didn't venture into Dean's room anymore. All of the books about killing fantastical creatures couldn't have helped much either. He was probably... pretty much their own Unabomber.

"'S a House elf," he replied with a nod as Rachel reached for the cup, and laughed aloud as that purely orgasmic look took over her eyes. Hey, he could sympathize. He'd nearly came in his frigging pants the first time he'd gotten coffee here. From living off the stuff to nearly a month without it - not to mention merciless Lily-mocking from not being a tea-drinker - oh yeah. His first cup here had been heaven. "They, uh. Kinda strange, I know," he added, continuing on with the House elf description. "They're friggin' weird anyway. Servants in the castle. Listen to everythin' you tell 'em to do." Heh. Hypocrisy much, Dean? "Only they're... happy to be. I dunno."

With a grab for his own cup as she... almost quite literally started to Hoover into the pie, he grinned again, shaking his head. "Yeah, no shit. They got all this treacle... tart crap or... what the hell ever. Don't know how they even live."

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

"An elf?" I gave Dean a skeptical look over the rim of my cup. Yeah, I was not putting this baby down for a while. "That's...not what elves look like where I'm from."

Considering as I took another drink, I leaned back, crossing my legs and letting my toe jiggle slightly in thought. "Trolls are the same, here, though. Which, you know, good to know. I'd have been screwed if they suddenly could sprout wings or breathe fire or some shit like that." Because planning? So not my strong suit. As Ivy could attest. My plans usually included 'go in, get the bad guy, get paid' as the sum total of my foresight. Sometimes 'bash in a few faces' got thrown on there for kicks; but, really, it'd probably been incredibly stupid of me to take on something I didn't even know my magic (or my right-hook) would work on. Eh. It was done, I'd kicked ass in every sense of the phrase, so all's well that ends with me getting new-boot money. Right?

"They're British," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "God only knows how this whole country doesn't float away on repressed emotions and kidney pie. Coffee's too honest of a drink for them. Can't lie to your coffee - hung over, exhausted, working too hard? Coffee knows. You're guzzling down five or six venti's from the gas station, that's like shouting to the world that you're messed up in some way and the caffeine's the only thing keeping you on your feet." I took another long drink. "Tea, though. Tea's a chickenshit drink. Tea could say anything. You're happy, you're sad, the moment is awkward, you want to get laid, you have something important to say... It's a spineless drink. Doesn't make a statement."

Yes, I was waxing philosophical about hot beverages. Hey, you try living on tea for two weeks while tracking down a troll in a strange country and trying to convince the locals that you needed rosewood for non-burning-at-the-stake purposes. Gets you all nostalgic for the truck-stop crap that could eat away a spoon. Mmm....coffee.

[wayward-son124.livejournal.com]

With a bit of a knowing smirk, Dean let his eyes widen a bit, nodding as he took a swallow of his own coffee. Mmm. Caffeine. "Yeah," he agreed, glancing around the room a bit. "Same here. This place, though. Don't exactly fit the rules'a my usual playground." No killing, for one, the hell was that about?

His eyebrows raised slowly at the mention of trolls, in intrigue, and he set down his cup on the table beside his chair, frowning slightly. "You seen a troll?" he asked, only because... Christ, trolls were nasty fuckers. He didn't know they were around here. Which, really, he very much should have, considering, hello, this place was a frigging magnet for paranormal activity; trolls were bound to be around here. Still, the thought hadn't crossed his mind for some reason. Maybe because trolls were nearly extinct. ...Or at least he'd thought so. It was the second mention of trolls he'd heard in the castle (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1086099.html?thread=54718099#t54718099), at any rate.

Coffee... and tea was... Dean blinked a few long seconds, staring at Rachel as she continued her psychological personification of heated beverages, eyebrow still cocked in question, although slightly more mockingly this time. She was totally not... giving coffee a philosophical validation. That... He started laughing once she was done, a slightly belittling one that made his eyes crease at the corners in that oh-so-pretty way. It was a bit mean - well, not even really mean, per se - but, seriously this was a bit ridiculous. He couldn't help himself. She was starting to sound like Sam there for a minute. ...The fuck was with him and people and coffee metaphors? (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1118359.html?thread=56580247#t56580247) "You... you're makin' coffee into a fuckin' art form," he commented once he'd finished, sitting up a bit and eying her with a shake of his head. "Man, coffee's just friggin' coffee. There's... it doesn't know anything. It's just... there."

[chance-silvey.livejournal.com]

Rachel,

Thanks. That was really thoughtful. They'll come in handy, of that I'm sure.

Glasgow?

-Chance

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Chance,

No problem. I brought back a bunch - writing with a feather just isn't happening for me.

Yeah. Got called in for a run - a troll was causing some trouble. Apparently people were paying the toll for the bridge, but he was eating them anyway. Not nice.

Rachel

[castleinthesnow.livejournal.com]

Rachel,

Oh, yes, certainly! I would be happy to, at your convenience.

Sansa

[racheltherunner.livejournal.com]

Sansa,

I'm free when you are. Just discovered the wonders of the showers, so I'm all squeaky clean and raring to go. Let me know when and where - can't promise I'll be able to find the where, but I'll try.

Rachel