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by: Tristan Viridian
11 May, 2012
10 p.m.
The Abbey

Oh, stakeouts, how he loathed thee. Tristan was never a policeman, but he was a soldier, and the night watch was just as bad as a cop staking out locations or marks to ensure safety or ensure that their target wouldn't suspect them or take off running. He sat in his favorite booth which had a good view of the door, a decent view of the personnel coming in and out of the back room. The vantage point also gave him a clear shot at the office door, where his sister or her manager on duty would head up and down the stairs to work on the ledger or grab change for the tills whenever they found the time. Dressed in his trademark cobalt blue, Tristan hid behind the thick black frames of his reading glasses, ones he wore mostly for show than to improve his sight, since his vision wasn't too bad. He was on his second scotch on the rocks right now, taking a sip here and there, with his big, blue-green eyes peeking at all corners to make sure he hadn't missed anything important.

Nope. Nothing yet.

Tristan hadn't spotted Kara tonight, which was fine because he brought his homework with him. He wasn't worried it'd be spotted because he had a charmed document to set over it, and today's muggle newspaper to set on top of that, to disguise it if someone got too close or too nosy into his affairs.

As he flipped through the file that was granted to him by King on their last outing, Tristan kept staring at the copies of the paperwork taken on Liam O'Donnell. The owner of this humble establishment, the brother-in-law he didn't know he had until recently, and murderer? Something wasn't adding up. Nevertheless, it made him a prime target for work with their operation, depending on how quickly he could get out of Azkaban. If he could get out of there, that is. With charges like this, Tristan figured it'd take a wrecking ball and one hell of an army to get him out of the cage. If and when that happened, though...

Tristan sighed and took another drink. It was gonna be a long night.
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by: Morgana Calloway
Things were getting bad. It had been a month and there was still no sign of Chase. She was supposed to be back soon. She was supposed to be back now. Still, no sign of her, Trevor, or anyone else that was supposed to be in charge. The last several weeks had been a blur of deception and paperwork. Meeting after meeting, signature after forged signature, parties, deceptions, lies. It was just like the old days. The only difference now was instead of trying to build an empire she was trying to keep it, and the world in one piece. Before there wasn't a muggle task force after exposure of the magical world and the enemies had been easier to spot. Now there were weapons and at least three distinct groups against them plus all the factions and frictions within the ruling order. It was enough to drive a girl to drink. Too bad that wasn't the agenda tonight.

Straightening out her emerald green lace peplum top Morgana stared at the door of her next stop- the den of the enemy. Reconnaissance was clear that this bar was closely associated with several order members including the current leader and escapee. Also a current prisoner under...well, special conditions so to speak. That was why she was here. Not to gather intelligence, or to stop them today. In fact, if her calculations were correct no one would be there except for the usual patrons and the one person she was here to talk to: Tristan.

It had been at least two years since Morgana had spoken with Tristan. They had worked alongside of each other in service to the Dark Lord and during the transition. She respected his work, his thorough nature, his tenacity even- just not when it was against her. He had been prying lately where he shouldn't. Something especially off considering he had resigned his official position almost as long ago as she had and, unlike her, had not been called out of retirement. In Morgana's long experience when someone was fighting so hard to seek information, it was not for good reasons- especially if they were not following the proper channels.

Licking her lips Morgana took a deep breath and opened the doors, scanning the crowd for her target. He stuck out like a sore thumb in bright cobalt blue. The only man she ever knew with a 'trademark color.' At least it made him easy to spot. Sitting delicately at the bar Morgana watched as he ordered a drink and seemed to resign himself to a longer night. A stakeout then? Her sources had eyes on the major order numbers, she had the bar on watch, no one was slated to come here tonight so what was Tristan doing here? "Family reunion or a date?"
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by: Tristan Viridian
“Neither.” Tristan responded coyly, just shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. Once the base of the glass hit the hardwood table again, he smirked at the woman nearby, at the bar. “What brings you here Morgana? I didn’t think a cathedral-turned-pub would be your sort of…environment.” She could take that however she wanted, but Tristan meant no harm, no insult by it. She was rather high-class, as were most of the upper-echelon of the Death Eaters save MacTail probably, so it surprised Tristan to see Morgana Calloway wander through the doors of his sister’s pub. She’d be scouting, more than likely, or at least he’d presumed, which was another surprising thought here because those high-ranking Death Eaters had people for that sort of thing.

Well, he wasn’t one to talk. King supplied him with a tremendous network of spies and informants and yet here he was, doing his own leg work for a change.

“Must be here on business because I hardly think you’re in this nice little rot-hole for pleasure.” He mocked the pub with his words, even though he’d been here several times in the weeks prior. He was just curious to know her purpose here, even though he was sure she wouldn’t want to stick around and keep company with him…unless he was her next target, in which case he wanted to keep things as public as possible. While Morgana wasn’t an enemy, she was hardly a friend as he didn’t fraternize with too many Death Eaters in his time spent in their ranks, so he was interested to see where things would go from here.
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by: Morgana Calloway
Of course he was suspicious. He was right to be. From his time in the organization he had known her as one of two things. Someone high up in the ranks who controlled messaging for the whole of the government or, in her earlier days, a trusted assassin- a killer of the highest order. It had been years since she had used the second skill. Morgana was sure that if she were asked to do it again she would be rusty. She hadn't snuck around like that in years much less had to use combat magic. She probably couldn't defend her way out of a paper bag. Still, he didn't need to know that. Neither did anyone else. She hoped she didn't have to test that theory tonight.

She raised an eyebrow as he called out her elite nature and smirked lightly, raising an eyebrow. Funny how people judged so quickly. She had been in plenty of holes like this one over the years. True it wasn't her favorite environment. It wasn't where she would choose to spend an evening, but she wouldn't run from somewhere like this either. She held up a hand a ordered a whisky for herself, just to prove her rough edges. "It sounds like you don't enjoy being here anymore than you expect me to Tristan. Funny considering it's practically a family business. So the question bears to mind what you are doing here if it's not for you pleasure....Business I suppose?" Morgana's smirk widened as she twisted his words back to him. Two could play this game.
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by: Tristan Viridian
Tristan huffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. So much for a quiet night.

"It is, family, it is." He affirmed, though he wanted to know what she was getting at. What was her play? To come scrutinize him for his current place of business, or rather his bar of choice? Tristan licked his lips and shook his head, but he gestured to the seat across from him in the booth if she wanted to join him. It wasn't out of choice, but he wouldn't want to continue their conversation over the heads of a few patrons seated between him and the bar. "Business." He pointed at the paperwork that was now scooted together in a neat little pile underneath his newspaper, and if anyone tried to swipe them he would move against them so fast they didn't know what hit them. So for now, he settle for keeping watch in case someone, notably Morgana, decided to get crafty.

"But I won't bore you with the details of a life of a private contractor. So please, do tell me...what brings you here?"

Take 2. He was going to get his answer one way or another, but he wouldn't tell her exactly how he'd extract that information from an informant. She walked in, was civil to him (surprisingly), and so he'd like to offer her that pleasantry and give her a chance to elaborate in conversation.
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by: Morgana Calloway
So it was family. And business. So there was something about the family that he was trying to exploit-deal with. If her intelligence was clear he was trying to gather information about one very specific member of his family, for what purpose she wasn't sure yet. That was what she was there to find out. She was there to find out just exactly what the plan is and what the interest was in one particular member of the family. One member of the family that she knew about intimately so to speak. Well at least their whereabouts, and their actions. And clearly she had a leak she needed to deal with if the paperwork he was now trying to pile under a newspaper with quite a lack of discretion. If he thought that she, a former spy, couldn't see that he had to be dreaming.

"The details of a life of a private contractor is exactly what brings me here. You are looking for someone, am I right?"
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by: Tristan Viridian
He tilted his head at the woman, and narrowed his eyes. After a second of taking her in, a glance from head to toe and back up to her eyes, Tristan just chuckled. He shook his head in amusement and simply shrugged as he folded his hands on the table in front of him. He leaned forward a little on his elbows. "I'm always looking for someone." It was the truth; his life working for a private 'firm' with a particular line of business meant that Tristan was always in the market for new recruits. Informants. Spies. Runners. Pushers, and the like. Morgana Calloway didn't fit the bill for any of those, except maybe a spy, but he trusted her about as far as he could throw her--and he was uneasy enough around her that he didn't want to get close enough to even try.

"What would that mean for you, Morgana? Hmm? Again, I doubt this sort of place is your sort of scene. What do you want from me?" Right down to business. No pussyfooting around for Tristan tonight. He wasn't in the mood for idle banter if it wasn't going to go somewhere interesting. He had a lot of reading to do and a lot of staking out to do here so he wanted his answer, and quickly. He didn't mean to come off as a complete jerk to the woman, but he was already stressed as of late, despite his employer telling him that things were going to turn out okay.
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by: Morgana Calloway
Why did he have to be so difficult. She was trying to help him, make his life easier. Simpler. Of course she would suspect him had their positions be reversed but still- couldn't just one element of her now once again hectic life go a little bit easier. Of course her past, their past really didn't help her in this. She was, after all, famous for going undercover, spying, breaking up rings and relationships in various ways. She had been an informant, an assassin, a spy, but that was years ago. Half of the new crowd of death eaters only knew her as the first press secretary- a paper pusher who had gone into temporary retirement before being called back under rather mysterious circumstances. Tristan knew the truth of her past career so to speak but still, the past was in the past since the take over as much for him as it was for her.

It took quite a bit for her not to roll her eyes at his grandiose declaration. "You always did know how to sweet talk a girl Viridian. Always the charmer. I was here to help you but i'm not so sure I want to do that anymore. You've really taken away all my fun now." She smirked and took a sip of her drink as she let him consider her offer. She really shouldn't play with him but as stressed as she was and and difficult as he was being why not play with her food a little bit before she had to bite? It would be good practice for getting herself back in the game she had once so adeptly played. A way to put the mask back on and see if she could still play the part.
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by: Tristan Viridian
So she wanted to play it like this? Of course. This was how she functioned, right? At least, that's what he'd thought, since they didn't interact too much when he was with the Death Eaters. While he enjoyed the spy game, the intrigue, the clandestine meetings with mysterious women and men like her, who liked to speak in riddles and be as indistinct to their detail as possible, Tristan was just tired tonight. There was a lot on his mind, and a lot on his plate. Not to mention, he needed to be home soon since he now had a guest to tend to and didn't want to leave her waiting. It wasn't a romantic guest, more of a business one...and in her current state, he wanted to make sure she was alright.

A few moments passed and Tristan noticed she wasn't going anywhere. She quietly sipped her drink...and continued to weave her little web.

Eventually, he sighed. The file in hand was carefully closed, placed back onto the table underneath the cloaking spell, and he waited until the text fully diminished before fold his hands together again. "Alright, I'll bite. That's what you wanted anyway, hm?" He smirked. "So let's try this again. Carte blanche, do over, whatever. What brings you by, Ms. Calloway? As you can see I'm just having a nice drink alone in my... family's humble establishment. I may or may not be looking for someone, yes. Now, I must ask. To what do I owe this pleasure?" It was as upfront and polite as he could be whilst spitting out the words through his perfect teeth as he gave her a sparkling smile.


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