Tales of Moffy

Four men were sitting at a table in a muggle bar in america. The year was 2005, and even for the questionable fashion standards of America at the time, three of the four men stood out like sore thumbs.

One of them, a short man wearing a purple and gold robe that reached the floor, plastic princess tiara stuck in hair so greasy it looked like it was made out of plastic keeping the party accessory anchored in place. A few acne scars pockmarked his face, yellowed teeth baring every time he opened his mouth. This man went by the name “Hanin”, and he was currently in the process of yelling at the bartender to bring him another mug of beer by banging the table, holding his mug aloft and gesturing dramatically to call attention to it’s clearly empty nature.

To Manin’s left was another man, this one wearing the opposite of a robe, which in this case was a pair of red jeans about 5 sizes too small. If they weren’t so obscenely tight, they could very easily be mistaken for a pair of capris. They were too short on both ends, showing the elastic band of a brand new, neon pair of underwear on one side, and skin up to about the mid calf on the other. His leather shirt was so tight it appeared to have been painted on, and in fact many of the patrons would have come to that exact conclusion had he not held his arms and legs so stiffly. So stiff was Wallace, for that was the name he was given, that he was unable to functionally sit in his chair. He sort of leaned into the chair, keeping his legs perfectly straight. It gave the appearance of a man constantly stretching himself.

Wallace was yawning, which only added to the persona, especially when you factored in his terminal case of bed head. He was far more relaxed than George, a short man whose entire external image seemed to have been crafted to be as similar to Churchill as a man could reasonably make it. A british bulldog with a bowler hat and suit coat, George sat stiffly in his chair, grinding his teeth in frustration, presumably at the complete lack of manners being displayed by the other men at his table. A knife was brandished in one hand, and a fork in the other, both hands planted firmly on either side of an empty plate.

The last man at the table was unquestionably tall, taller than any of the other three, or anyone else at the little bar, for that matter. He was wearing a pair of blue crocs, a heavy leather coat that reached his lower calves, a bit lower than Wallace’s pants, a pokemon cap that looked like Ash Ketchum’s and a tee-shirt that read “Chuck Norris, brah” Underneath a large image of a cartoon woodchuck drawn to look like Chuck Norris. His pants were a decent pair of sweats. The only other remarkable feature was the dragon ball keychain hanging from one of his coat’s buttonholes. This man had just arrived at the table, and had made himself comfortable before introducing himself as “John”.

George shifted slightly in his chair, his not inconsiderable weight causing the flimsy wood affair to creak dangerously. He was nervous, and in the open. But he had come for a reason, as had the others. Looking John square in the eyes, he opened the conversation the same way he always did. Blunt, with just a little bit of insult to round it out.

“Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting? This is not some social get together, I need to know what you have to say now, so I can leave. If you keep acting this unprofessionally..” George paused here to glare at both Manin and Wallace out of the corner of his eye. They were, in his eyes, also incredibly unprofessional. But they were his equals, in some very, very large stretch of that word. And that meant he couldn’t snap at them like he could snap at John. “Tell us what you have to say, and leave.”

Wallace nodded his agreement, which was almost impossible for him to do considering the tightness of the leather coat’s collar. Every man at the table was a Wizard. Most of the men at the table were very skilled Wizards. They had gotten a summons, an important piece of information was to be had, their ears only. And they were to come in disguise, muggle clothing. The bar was the designated meeting place, and no one was to be late. Still, the discomfort of one man wasn’t going to make John not tell his tale. Why would it?

“There’s a new problem, out there. A big one. But bear in mind that these are stories, okay? A lot of stories, but still stories. They’re probably exaggerated, and I could have been confounded, or maybe it was a mind altering spell…” John stopped his tale as George interrupted in the imperial baritone of someone whose highest aspirations in life involved a desk with a little plaque that read “boss”. “I thought you were an Occlumens. One of the best, in fact.”

John had to struggle not to smirk, to grin. Oh, yes. They had heard. This was going a lot better than he could have hoped for. But he had to keep up the facade. The reply he gave was not the confidence of someone whose internal smirk meter was so high it was threatening to knock the nearest satellite out of the sky, but the quavering voice of someone who wasn’t sure and didn’t want to get in trouble, but truly believed what he was saying.

“Well, yes I am- I mean, I thought I was. They say he’s some kind of monster. Part giant, part fish man, part dark wizard. And I don’t mean dark like you guys, I mean real dark, dark down to the core. I saw him wipe out one of my friends. My friend was an amazing duelist, one of the best. But this man, this man just mowed him down like it was nothing. You do not want to mess with him. I’m telling you this because if you did, I would lose business. You would be dead.”

John’s voice hardened with certainty as he neared the end of his little story, prompting Manin to ask a pretty sensible question. In a rasping sputter of a voice.

“And we’re trusting you on this because why? I need evidence. What does he look like? You don’t get paid unless we buy your story, do you get that?”

John nodded. He knew this was going to happen. “Well, clearly very tall. He wore a coat just like mine, with piercing blue eyes. Other than that pretty normal. No beard. But the way he carried himself… You’ll know him when you see him, I guarantee it.” John himself had a pretty decent beard. Nothing to write home about, but a good half inch away from his chin. It would come off later tonight, he knew. It was a bit disappointing, if he was being honest. He liked his beard.

George was about to speak when Manin interrupted him, causing the british wizard’s meaty face to slowly turn a bright shade of red. He was not used to people interrupting him, or speaking out against him, and he hated it when there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. If he lost his temper with someone as influential as Manin there would be consequences. No matter how greasy the repugnant man’s hair was. He would bear it until his teeth were so ground away they were nothing but gums.

Manin, who clearly had not bought John’s story, spat out something along the lines of “What, just some tall guy with a coat? Oh no, there he is now.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he pointed out a muggle at the bar who did indeed fit the description. John knew that that muggle in the bar had nothing to do with this, but he didn’t care. This was an opportunity, and he was going to make the most of it.

As soon as Manin started to say the words “there he is now”, John whipped out his wand, eyes wild and terrified. He put on one of the best performances he could in the less than a second it took for him to apparate away. As if he was worried, worried that the person behind him could possibly be this mysterious threat. Wallace had brought Veritaserum, and was slightly disappointed to not have been able to use it, but the intense pain he was currently in made it difficult to concentrate.

It was George who finally spoke up, with a final “Right, that may have been a pack of lies, it may not have been. Lads, keep an eye out. And I mean a sharp one.” After that, they apparated away one by one, leaving the muggles still in the bar to wonder if, perhaps, they had consumed enough alcohol for one night. Seeing four people vanish was a pretty good sign that it was time to stop and go home.