hh_mirror | Multi-Sock and Open RP: The Gang's All Here! ... Minus One

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Multi-Sock and Open RP: The Gang's All Here! ... Minus One

((Backdated to the day before the annullments. This is the conclusion of this plot which you may or may not remember. I'm officially back now, yay!))

Nearly a full month after they'd left Hogwarts, the weary refugees (seven in all, counting the wolf and the wolf-boy) clambored up the road from Hogsmeade, exhausted but grateful to be back. How the rescue plane had finally found them, no one was quite sure -- whether Crowley's powers had finally done some good besides the free housing, or whether Fraser's signal fire had actually paid off, or if it was just a total coincidence -- but no one was exactly going to question. Some of them had actually enjoyed their little tropical paradise, but not a one of them wasn't happy to be rid of it.

After all, what was life without soap operas, fancy cigarettes, Jell-O, tea packets, curling, steak, donuts, and the Ritz? (And just go ahead and guess which of those belonged to whom.)

They were all looking toned and tanned after their long ordeal, with two notable exceptions: Crowley was as pale as ever and looked, in fact, entirely unchanged, while Francis was sporting both a shiner and a sunburn that made his pink face clash distressingly with his mop of red hair. The both of them were wearing black and were neatly-shaven; the other three were scruffy and unkempt. The dogs (well, dog, or rather half-wolf, and Robb) were shedding and panting with the heat as they loped along.

"Thank God," someone groaned as the castle loomed into sight, and everyone murmured their own version of agreement. Finally, after all this time, it seemed like it was finally over.

Little did they know that one more Tragedy was yet to strike.

The moment they passed through the gate there was a 'whoosh' and then a little pop!, and suddenly there were only six. An empty space had opened up next to Francis. At his feet sat a single kernel of popcorn, pale yellow and smelling faintly of butter. The group all stopped and stared in horror. There was a crowded pause.

"Oh, dear," Fraser murmured.

More silence.

"I, ah..." Mohinder folded his hands and closed his eyes. "He will be missed."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, it's not as though he were dead," Francis snapped, rolling his eyes. "Come on. I want to take a shower. My fleas have fleas." The others looked at him expectantly. He took a step back. "What?"

Fraser, Cox, Mohinder and Jim all somehow exchanged a four-way look. "Do you want to...?" Jim asked uncertainly. "I mean, uh, you guys were kinda close." Despite the fact that Francis and Crowley had shacked up together almost immediately, they all knew this wasn't particularly true, but it still seemed like the appropriate question to ask. Francis gave Jim a long, sardonic look, then turned and headed up the hill for the main entrance. Jim let out a low whistle and shrugged. "Guess not." He picked Crowley up and held him out. "Anyone?"

"I'll take him," Fraser volunteered, like they all knew he would. Jim handed the ex-demon over, but Cox intercepted.

"Nah, don't worry about it. I gotta swing by the Popcorn Room on my way back to the Wing, anyway."

Mohinder blinked. "You're... going back to work? Right now?"

Cox snorted and grinned. "Well, other than catching up on La Lohan and the VMAs, there's not exactly a whole lot else to do in this dump. I'll see you fellas around." Tossing Crowley back and forth like a juggling ball, Cox hefted his bag over his shoulder and followed Francis up towards the castle. Or, rather, absolutely did not follow him, but just happened to walk in the same direction.

After a moment of hesitation, the others moved along after him. After all, what else were they going to do?

"Do you think we should have a-- a funeral of some sorts?" Fraser asked uncertainly. "I'm not sure of the protocol in this situation."

"I'm not sure either," Mohinder admitted, looking around. "But in the meantime, do you know what all these tents are for?"

"Huh," said Jim.

((Okay, so as you've probably figured out now, Crowley has sadly gone the way of the popcorn. But check his journal to see the first part of the island adventure! As for right now, all of my characters minus Geoffrey -- Dr. Cox, Francis, Fraser, Mohinder, Jim, and Robb (and Diefenbaker!) -- are currently around the front lawn/entrance area and are free for RP in this post. Have at them!))

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Well, that was rather a lot to process. Fraser was as a rule quite good at processing, helped by a quick mind and a photographic memory, but... no, not a whit of this made any sense to him. He raised a brow. "I'm sorry, Ray, but I'm having a little trouble following you. Do you mean to say that you've been put on an investigation regarding Constable Turnbull and a gang of circus midgets?"

He had a fairly good excuse, he thought, for not being up to date on the situation. He realized that he should fill Ray in, just in case he wasn't aware. "I haven't exactly been fully briefed. I had a bit of a..." He waved a hand vaguely at his own head. "Well, anyway, I don't remember a great deal, and then I was on this island for the past few weeks... I suppose I'm a little behind the loop, so to speak."

"It could be midgets. It could be butter. A butter, midget thing!" He throws his hands up in the air. "I don't know, Fraser! All I know is, one minute I'm in Chicago, the next I'm here, buttered and cattle prodded. And then married to Turnbull by a hat! A pointy, talking hat! I figure it's a cover. I dunno, maybe it's just some kind of crazy revenge plot." Ray looks from side to side, then leans in and whispers, "I think it might be a robot. The hat. It might be a robot hat. Have we done anything to piss off any hat companies? Robot companies? Either one works."

Ray sighs and hunches his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. I heard about the island. I'm being electro-shocked, and you're off in the tropics. Not fair, Fraser."

It wasn't a whole lot clearer the second time around, but Fraser was picking up on some things this time that were deeply, deeply alarming. One thing in particular. "You got married?" he asked right over Ray's explanation, astonishment for once taking over the niceties of propriety, his voice rising sharply into the upper octaves. "To--" No, surely not.

Surely not.

He let him go on with the revenge and robots and hats and whatnot, looking shell-shocked, all big Mountie eyes and his mouth hanging open. He could only hope the continuation would shed some light on this, but... no. Baffled, he shook his head, murmuring something to himself that sounded vaguely like bag of marbles. Was Ray unhinged? Was he unhinged? He stared at his partner's jaw, trying to contoct some scenario in which being married to Renfield Turnbull was in any way, shape, or form an acceptable way to conduct onself.

Nothing was coming to mind.

He blinked and looked up as Ray pulled back to sulk, instantly on the defensive at his tone. He took a step back, a cloud settling over his face. "Well, Ray, it wasn't exactly a vacation. For one thing, I had no choice."

"Woah, woah, woah." Ray holds his hands out in front of him, putting a stop to this train of thought right away. "I got married to Stella. I was forcibly married to Turnbull. Using force. Coercion. All that. Biiiig difference."

Now that that's clear, Ray goes on about the robot hats, which is really the more important topic. "I'm thinking it might be related to that...string of...Radio Shack break ins..." Ray trails off, crinkling his nose at Fraser, who's looking real out of it. He reaches out, and pinches his partner's cheek, moving Fraser's head from side to side. "Hello? Earth to Mountie? We're detectiving. I need you here for that."

Hah! Like that makes it square! "Fraser, I didn't have a choice either! But I wound up sleeping in a freezing-cold tent with Turnbull, and you wound up on a white, sandy beach, sipping drinks from coconuts. And you got a tan! You've gotta be the only guy I know who can go off on a search and rescue, and come back better looking! So it's still not fair."

"I'm not sure I understand, Ray," Fraser said, although he was maybe being somewhat obtuse, pulling the wooden Mountie act. The truth was, he really didn't want to think about it; either Ray was indeed forced into marriage, which was a terrible thing, or he had actually chosen to marry Turnbull and was for some reason covering it up... in theory this was the better option, but the idea was unduly distressing to Fraser. His brow creased sharply. "How is it that you were, er, coerced, or as you say forced into this union?"

Union. Dear God. He felt a bit ill, although he carefully masked it from his face -- he was good at doing that.

The touch on his cheek was what snapped him out of it. He startled as Ray grabbed him, pulling back sharply. The touching was all right when he was expecting it, when it was friendly, but this was just irritating. Especially in his new mood. This homecoming really was not turning out like he'd hoped at all, was it? "I heard you, Ray," he snapped. "The Radio Shack case was over a year ago and happened thousands of miles away. Additionally, none of the stolen goods would be anywhere near sophisticated enough to produce something like the Sorting Hat. Not to mention that the Hat has been here since well before either of us were born, much less young Mr. Baldwin." Never question Fraser's attention to detail, Ray; that only ever led to trouble.

He couldn't believe Ray was blaming him for getting into a plane crash. This really... what was that expression -- took the cake. He huffed, folding his arms. "Ray, you can hardly blame me for the instance of sun exposure in a sub-tropical environment," he said with exaggerated patience. He was starting to use extra-big words! A sure sign he was annoyed. "I spent most of my time trying to help us survive, and a lot of that was in the open, so yes, I suppose my skin has darkened in response to the high concentration of ultra-violet rays, Ray. I don't see how that's my fault."

That's what Fraser's gotta say about this whole thing? Hell no. That is not what you say. You say, 'That really sucks, Ray, buddy. I'm sorry you were FORCED into a marriage against your will, pal.' You don't take a statement. Crossing his arms and smiling tightly, Ray starts speaking in overly drawn-out tones. Just to make things crystal clear.

"Well, Fraser, I woke up in a strange, foreign castle, with no memory of how I got there. Short, freaky-looking midgets came at me with electric cattle prods. They wouldn't go away until I walked down to this hippy-looking tent village. And who's waiting for me in the tent village, but Turnbull! Who is not only unhelpful, but-" Ooooh, no. Ray is not speaking of The Thing. Ever. "-annoying. Later, when I'm out looking for good Chinese food -and I couldn't find any, Fraser. You cannot find good Chinese food in Scotland- I find out that I was apparently married to Turnbull in some freaking mass-ceremony that I wasn't even there for. Now, to me, that sounds like being forced. In case you forgot, I've already been married, ready and willing. I think I know the difference."

Oh, and now he's going into fact mode. At least that's something. Annoying, but something. If they can figure out why they're here, they can figure out when they can go home. "Okay, then, Frase. You give it a go. What the heck are we doing here, who the heck did we piss off enough to get sent here, and why are hats involved?"

Sun exposure in sub-tropi...Damn it. Rays hates it when Fraser does this. Fraser knows Ray hates it when he does this. Narrowing his eyes, Ray stands up just a little bit straighter. Enough so that it's clear that he's taller than Fraser. He's got that, at least. "Did I say it was your fault? No, I did not. I said it wasn't fair. That's not the same thing! Quit stuffing words in my mouth."

Ray was getting snippy, but the thing was that he was right to be snippy and Fraser knew it. Not at him, of course -- it wasn't his fault that Ray had gotten force-married any more than it was his fault that he'd gotten some sun on the island -- but certainly, being shoved into that kind of situation was enough to make anyone a little... cranky. Fraser sighed and tried to calm himself down, to get over the extreme discomfort this was causing him.

Besides, if Ray's story was indeed accurate, this was a pretty serious problem. "And you can't remember anything before that?" he asked, switching almost seamlessly into Concerned Citizen mode. "Anything a'tall? Or did you see anything that might give a clue as to a reason why someone would want you to-- to-- to do that?"

As for Fraser himself, he was definitely... well, this case was going to be a challenge. He pursed his lips, rubbing at his brow. "Well, Ray, I first came here eight months ago and for reasons that I'm not currently aware of have remained, presumably in the study of magic. I believe Turnbull arrived about a month and a half ago, and your arrival must have been less than three and a half weeks ago, as I was already absent at the time. The Sorting Hat is the mechanism for deciding where each new applicant lives and studies. It's fully sentient and has a rather... strange personality." He shot a worried glance at his hat. "And very, ah. Very. Well, it has certain likes and dislikes." He cleared his throat, forcing back a slight flush at his neck and ears. "Um. The midgets in question are, I think, House Elves. They're sort of like... indentured servants, if you will."

He scratched at his brow again, frowning. "These are the facts as far as I know them, Ray... I can't think of any reason why the Hat should want to see you wed, and I have no idea why it should choose Turnbull as a pa-- as, as a... groom." He had been about to say partner, but under the circumstances that seemed horribly wrong.

Of course Fraser knew Ray hated it when he did that. He probably wouldn't have done it if he didn't know -- with most people, Fraser was obliviously annoying, but with Ray he was downright contrary. Something about the detective really brought out the worst in him, sometimes. He frowned as Ray drew himself up, unflinching -- did Ray really think he'd be intimidated by the extremely narrow height difference? "The fact remains that you're blaming me for my absence, Ray, and there was simply nothing I could have done about it." Something struck him suddenly -- he arched a brow. "Come to think of it, Ray, where have you been? Before this, I mean. While I was in the Hospital Wing."

"I remember tons. I remember being in Chicago, I remember scheduling a meet downtown. I remember walking to the rendezvous point dry and good-smelling, and then, boom!" Ray claps his hands together. It helps bring the story to life. "I'm walking down some freezing-cold hallway, damp and buttery-smelling. It was not pleasant, Fraser. Butter got in places it did not need to be. I had to wash my lucky boxers! You know, the ones I was wearing when I won the Hawkeyes (http://www.trinityslash.com/trans/ep154.html) game." Ray sighs. "That washes all the luck right out." Now what's he gonna wear on dates?

Anyway. "So, yeah. Tons of memories, but nothing that helps me figure out what the Hat was thinking. If, um, if the Hat thinks." Hm. "Hey, where do you figure it keeps its brain?"

Ray lets out a low whistle, following Fraser's line of sight up to the stetson and back. "Indentured servants? That's freaky. This whole thing is very..." There aren't words to describe the weirdness of this situation. But all the info is coming from Fraser, so Ray knows it's good. "Now I feel kinda bad for kicking 'em. I kicked a lot of 'em." A whole lot.

Ray holds a groan in, and clenches his jaw. "Did I say I was blaming you? No. All I said was that it isn't fair. I'm not blaming you for being all tan. You wanna go and get skin cancer, that's on you. Works for you. The tan, not the cancer."

Hang on.

"You were in the Hospital Wing?" All tanning-related thoughts whoosh right out of Ray's head. "You didn't say your 'bit of a' -" Ray mimicked Fraser's earlier hand motion "-was bad enough for a trip to the hospital. You gotta keep me updated on this kinda stuff!"

Fraser really, really hoped that Ray didn't mean he hadn't washed those otherwise. He was just going to pretend that was what Ray meant. It was one thing to let hygiene slip when you were, say, tracking a criminal across the tundra; it was entirely another when you were living in an apartment in Chicago with running water. Of course, this was the opinion of someone who not only did his laundry with conscientious regularity but also ironed and starched everything he owned, so they might have been coming at this from two opposite extremes.

Anyway, he was just going to pretend that wasn't what Ray meant.

Besides, there were more important things to worry about (especially since Ray was now clean. In theory.). "I'm not really sure. I'd been thinking perhaps in its hatband." His frown deepened. "This is all really very strange, Ray. And the butter... that doesn't quite follow."

He looked over towards the tent village and bit his lip, scratching thoughtfully at his ear. "Do you think we might go and see your tent? I'd like to take a look. Maybe speak to a few of the House Elves -- and yes, you should probably stop kicking them," he added wryly, glancing back at Ray. "They're not suspects. Although I admit the cattle prods were out of line." Probably. It was Ray, after all. He had a knack for provoking people. "Are you otherwise all right? You look very well."

He might have been about to continue the argument, but then Ray got concerned, in his Ray-ish way, and Fraser let it drop with a shrug. "It didn't seem germane. Anyway, I'm fine now, except for the memory loss, and there's not much anyone can do about that." He smiled uncertainly. "I just hope I'm not missing anything important, that's all. Shall we?" He looked around. "Where's Dief?"

There's really no way to salvage lucky boxers after they've been washed. Sure, you can try wearing them anyway, but the mojo's just gone. It's science, or something. Detergent gets rid of mojo.

Sigh. It was nice while it lasted.

He nods, considering. "That could work. Maybe a talking hat doesn't need a brain-sized brain. Heck, it's gotta be pea-brained to..." Ray pauses, having said a combination of the words 'married' and 'Turnbull' more times in one day than he'd ever hoped to be capable of. "Yeah. Tiny brain."

"That's a good idea," Ray admits begrudgingly, glancing over at the pseudo-commune with an unsuppressed shudder. "But if they come at us with ill-intent, I've got the right to respond with kicking. It's in the constitution." And if it's not, it should be. "Otherwise?" He smirks, just a little. "That's a pretty big category. But I'm hanging in there." Not by much, but he's hanging!

"Well, hospitals are pretty clean," Ray points out. "Not germy at all." He reaches out and puts a hand on Fraser's shoulder. Fraser's smile isn't 100%, and it's making Ray think the mountie's a lot more freaked out than he'll admit. "I'm sure someone would have clued you in to the big stuff." Hearing the wolf's name, Ray lights up. "Dief's here!?" Whipping around, Ray cups his hands and yells out, "DIEF! You want a doughnut?"

Unlike Ray, Fraser thought the Hat was actually a little too intelligent for its -- or his, or more specifically his Stetson's -- own good. Ever since his Sorting (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/997809.html?thread=50444209#t50444209), he had been waiting uneasily for the day the Hat made its move on his poor uniform. And he had to assume that there was some ulterior motive for this whole 'wedding' mess, a plan which had obviously succeeded, so... "I don't know, Ray. Brain size isn't always directly linked to intelligence. Why, just look at... say, Diefenbaker, as compared to an African elephant. Or, for that matter, you or I." He tapped the side of his head, lips quirking.

No, the Hat could be devious, Fraser believed that. And the more he thought about this whole issue, the more he was convinced that it needed to be stopped. "I'm sure it will be fine, Ray," he replied distractedly, his eyes wandering again over to the tents. Hmm. "They're normally very helpful." He could see about twenty, but that didn't seem like all of them... The scale of this operation was worryingly large; he felt a sudden surge of concern for his partner. "Don't worry, Ray. We're going to get you out of this," he said determinedly. "Whatever it takes. Keep, uh... keep hanging." Oh dear, the cliff metaphor was troubling. Not a good sign.

Out of automatic reflex his eyes darted to Ray's hand as it landed on his shoulder, but he didn't tense up the way he might have if anyone else had touched him. Then again, someone else might not have picked up on the fact that he wasn't as carefree about the amnesia as he let on. He knew it did no good to worry over it, and his father had assured him that everything was fine, but he was missing over half a year of his life -- how could he not be upset about it? He bowed his head and nodded, closing his eyes. "I'm sure you're right." Mostly, he'd been trying not to think about it. "Apparently it was something to do with a flight of stairs, I'm not sure of the details..."

He didn't pull back when Ray dropped his hand, which turned out to be a mistake. Ray was loud when he yelled. As skinny as he was, the man had a set of lungs on him like a bull moose. Fraser winced and stuck his finger in his ear, wiggling it around. "Ray! He's deaf. Yelling won't do you any good."

That didn't seem to make a difference, though. Dief had gone off on his own as soon as they'd hit the Hogwarts grounds, but he was on his way back now and smelled Ray the moment he got within range. Ray! And it was the real one this time, he was sure. Something had never quite smelled right about the old one -- this one smelled like Chicago, and that was Spiky!Ray all over (Shiny!Ray tended to smell more like meatballs). Only a few moments later he bounded up, almost knocking Ray over in his enthusiasm, licking eagerly at his hands and face. Ray was back! It was awesome!

"I dunno. You ever met any African elephants? How do we know they aren't tons smarter than the wolf?" Hey, Ray's seen the very ironically-named Dumbo. He knows a thing or two about elephant intellect.

"I'll try and do that, Fraser," says Ray, chuckling a little at his partner's very un-hip use of slang. This is good. The banter. Him being with it, and Fraser being...not so with it. For the first time in weeks, Ray's feeling slightly less weirded out by this entire Hogwarts experience. Maybe even a little bit optimistic that things will work out.

...because now there's a Canadian Mountie and a Deaf Wolf on his side. That can't be healthy.

And speaking of the Deaf Wolf, here he is! Grinning ear-to-ear, Ray leans down and scratches behind Dief's ears like there's no tomorrow. "Hey boy," he says, directly in Dief's line if sight, "Missed you, too. You want a sandwich, when we get to the tent? Maybe some pizza?"

Because he was Fraser, he gave this all due consideration. "No," he admitted. "And I suppose I might be biased in favor of my friends. They are known to have very good memories, after all -- elephants, that is." Dief was very smart, but his memory largely seemed to extend to Things Fraser Had Said That He Could Use Against Him. Wolves, honestly.

"Yes, exactly, Ray, just keep trying." Fraser nodded in satisfaction, giving his partner a quick clap on the shoulder and a smile. It was odd -- he was worried, yes, and he was extremely eager to jump back into work, but he also felt better than he had in ages. Like a weight had been lifted.

He wasn't consciously aware of it, but a part of him had been convinced that he was never going to see Ray again; that Ray would be staying in Chicago permanently, that he might even transfer away from the 27. Seeing Ray here, even a distressed and ~~married~~ entangled Ray, was a great but very welcome surprise.

Dief apparently felt the same way. He was going nuts, butting his head into Ray's hand and licking at his fingers, and at Ray's suggestion he only got more enthusiastic. Fraser sighed and stepped close, leaning in to murmur into Ray's ear, "If you don't mind, I'd rather you not give him any more junk food. He only just got into shape again and I'd rather not see him fall back into bad habits." Dief growled in annoyance. Fraser glanced down at him and shrugged. "Well, it's true. You haven't been this fit in years."

While petting Dief, Ray keeps looking over at Fraser with a stupid grin plastered all over his face. The possibility that Fraser wouldn't turn up never really entered into Ray's mind. He's Fraser. He's there, they're partners. Done.

...But, still. Nice to have him around. It was about freaking time.

"I gotcha," Rays says, holding his index and middle fingers up in a peace sign. "No junk food, scout's honor." Ray...doesn't actually know what hand signals the scouts are fond of. Peace sign's close enough. He turns to Dief with a subdued smile. "Sorry, buddy. We're gonna have to make it a veggie pizza. And no mayo on the sandwich."

Poor wolf. He was practicality being starved!

Fraser relaxed a little bit, stepping back. Ray was prone to tossing whatever donut, candy, or leftover Chinese was handy Dief's way, but scout's honor was scout's honor. He was sure he'd keep his word.

Dief, who had fewer illusions on that front, shot Ray a knowing look and whuffed, pawing at his leg. They were going to talk about this later, right? And by talk, he meant eat junk food together. He knew the score.

Fraser eyed Dief skeptically, then looked up at Ray and smiled, caught a little off-guard by the grin on his face. It was hard to explain -- when Ray smiled like that, it was like... like... well, he didn't have an appropriate metaphor, but Ray's smile was very... infectious. With the full force of it turned on one it was almost impossible not to feel just a little bit better about the state of things and nearly as difficult not to smile back. Fraser didn't even try to fight it.

Besides, having his partner back was worth grinning like an idiot over.

"All right -- let's go have a look at your tent, shall we?" He nodded towards the encampment. "Lead the way."

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Multi-Sock and Open RP: The Gang's All Here! ... Minus One

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