(T.Broomsticks) A New Player In Town

[Newton Biggs]

Being in the hawking business left a level of fluidity to the places Newton Biggs had to be. He could come and go as he pleased and that was the way he had always liked it. Only the League ordered him about but even that had grown to a kind enquiry as to whether he would do them a favour. Or, at least, that was how Newton saw it. He thought very highly of himself, as anyone who knew him could tell you.

He had arrived in Hogmeade in the late afternoon just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. His cart he pulled behind him and parked it at the back of The Three Broomstick with Peter's permission of course.

'Now, I's got a nice room for ya upstairs,' Peter was saying as they walked into the bar, Peter's arm around Newton's neck.
'Ah, you're too kind to me, Pete,' Newton was saying but Peter simply shook his head.
'Tis the least I could do after you help me mum out of that spot of bother last year. She'd ne'er 'ave made it if it hadn't been fer you.'
'It was nothing,' Newton waved a dismissive hand. Peter laughed loudly, hugging Newton tightly with his one arm.
'Now, you've had a long journey, I imagine, you'd be wantin' some food.'
'Thank you, kindly,' Newton said and took a seat by the bar, humming a merry tune to himself as Peter fiddle around fixing him some food.

[rileybabe]

Andrea looked up as a man walked into the bar, he seemed a bit haggard, a little tired. The man took a seat at the bar, as Peter (one of her coworkers) fixed him some food. Finishing up with her current customer, the young redhead walked up to the bar to greet the new customer. "Good evening sir. I'm Andrea Riley, may I get you something to drink?"

[Newton Biggs]

Peter disappeared from sight, Newton made himself comfortable at the bar. Looking around he could see that for a late afternoon the bar was relatively full. That would explain the bouncy young barmaid that bounded up to him when Peter had disappeared. Her smile was radiant in the gloom of the smoky inn and Newton tried his best to smile back, though he was long past the time where his smiles were anything less then grimaces.

'I remember a time,' Newton said, conversationally, 'where it was only Pete and his dish cloth that kept this place afloat.' He clapped a hand to the bar, feeling its firmness. 'But some things don't change.' Newton rubbed his hands together and looked at the selection on alcohol on the wall he was facing, his old haggard appearance peering back at him from between bottles. 'Double Firewhiskey and grapefruit juice, please.'

[rileybabe]

Andrea nodded. "Coming right up!" Walking behind the bar she began to prepare the drink, calling over her shoulder, she asked curiously, "How long have you known Peter?"

[Fitz Hargreaves]

Throwing back his hood as the sun began to set Fitz slowly walked into Hogsmeade, peering up at the tall chimmneys and shielding his eyes as the last glimmering rays of sunshine illuminated his haggard face. He'd tried unsuccessfully to persuade his cousin to make his appearance a little more shabby, some black make up would have down the trick nicely, and wouldn't have felt nearly so horrible as the mud that he had instead had to wipe over, just to muddy his face a little. It really did make his stubbly beard itch, but he didn't touch it as he moved along, eyes roving the ground as he passed a straight backed Ministry official holding their nose in a haughty way as he passed on by quickly. Standing purposefully in that cow manure had been a spark of ingenuinity afterall, that man hadn't been gladder to pass on by. Though Fitz had become used to it, others nearly held their noses as they passed on by.

His disguise quick and cheap, Fitz marvelled that it was working; thus far, though simple and effective usually was the best way. So now he could enter the village without fear, and meet up with his contact, it was just finding him that might prove troublesome and tricky. Guessing the businessman would stay at the best pub in town Fitz made a beeline towards the Three Broomsticks, that would be his first port of call. Taking a quick peek about the back, unlocking the gate with a quick flourish of his wand beneath his cloak, Fitz peeked about out the back, smiling as he saw the cart pulled up. Quietly replacing the latch as he left, Fitz jumped a mile when he trod on a cat's tail and it spat ferociously at him after letting out a keening screech. "Agh." Fitz quickly bit his tongue, to stop his own yell, then walked casually back out to the main high street, his heart beating furiously.

Looking each way, Fitz ducked as he stepped into the the quaint pub, he was here somewhere then, now he just had to remember the description, wrinkled and lanky wasn't really much to go on. But he saw the man immediately, he had a certain presence about him that even Fitz, a writer, couldn't easily describe, a look of command that demanded respect. Continuing his sweep about the pub, not letting his eyes rest upon him for any longer than others Fitz walked up to the bar, calling for a "pint please," to anyone who would really listen so as to allay any suspicions. Taking a stool two places away from his objective Fitz bit a nail, then looked over at the relatively infamous Newton Biggs.

Now how to go about making first contact? That was always critical but Fitz had learnt that simple was often best. "What are you drinking mate?" He pulled out a small pouch of coins, setting it down on the bar before him; payment for Biggs' next job, if he chose to accept it. Fitz hated the idea of paying the man really, if he was truly with them he wouldn't need paying for his services, no matter how brilliant they were. But orders were orders, and Fitz had learnt to obey them.

[Newton Biggs]

From over the girl’s shoulder, Newton watched the girl pour his drink. He was always interested in how differently people poured drinks in different towns. She poured like Pete did and to Newton’s mind it made sense as Pete was more then likely the one who taught her. He, however, had clearly missed the lesson on small talk. Newton and Peter went back many years but the details were always between the two and few would believe the stories, not even accepting them as fairytales.

‘Pete and I go back many more years then even your parents have below their belts,’ Newton informed her, ‘and if you get either of us sufficiently intoxicated I am certain that we shall either tell you stories that would overwhelm even such a young mind as yours.’ He phased for a moment and watched a young man take a seat near to where he was before adding, ‘Either that or we’d conk out.’ He smiled at the young barmaid before his keen ears were caught by the clink of money.

After a prolonged moment where Biggs eyed the young man carefully with a stony impassive expression on his face, he responded, ‘whatever I may, whatever I might, whatever satisfies the palate tonight.’ The many lines on his face bent into a small smile as he continued, ‘and tonight that would be Firewhiskey and grapefruit juice. The whiskey is for the kick, the fruit juice is for the liver.’ This last he added leaning close to the young man. He ignored the purse of money for the moment, not even looking at it though he had certainly noticed it. It was the sort of message that was not easily ignored.

When his drink came, Newton smiled, ‘ah! Lovely.’ Taking a small swig, just to wet the palate after his long journey, Newton watched the liquid in his glass swirl around. He had not thought that he would be called upon so soon but then again the people he worked with upon occasion were very diligent that way, knowing his own movements before he even did, sometimes. ‘What can I do for you, youngin’?’ Newton asked, looking up at the dirt face, ‘besides offer you a bath.’

[Fitz Hargreaves]

Hearing the old man's claim of unimaginable stories, ones that would like make ones hair curl Fitz didn't doubt it. Not only did he have the years but also the reputation to boot. He was also known to like a drink, not a bad habit in Fitz's mind, but one he himself was wishing to slow; he planned a long life. With a light smile Fitz fixed his elder with bright, calculating eyes. Not averting his gaze his amused smirk grew at Biggs' reply, trust him to come out with something like that; nearly a riddle. "Ah sounds nice, never tried it myself. Fraid I don't mix business with pleasure anymore, it caught me out far too often." Biggs could take that how he liked, and he'd be pleasantly surprised if he wasn't questioned further about such a statement.

"Coming right up for you though," added Fitz succinctly, "firewhiskey with grapefruit juice for the gentleman," he asked the barmaid, switching his gaze from Biggs for only a moment, and keeping his hand firmly on the pouch filled with money. It wasn't that he didn't trust him, well, he just didn't trust anyone these days.

Laughing aloud Fitz grinned, "well a bath would be brilliant...but we've more pressing matters I'm afraid." He'd become far too business-like recently he knew it, but thought it was better to get the job done first. Casting a lazy glance about the room, he spoke normally, though kept his ears open for any eavesdroppers. "We need you to contact a certain Cattrim Rallon," Fitz smirked, they should know each other alright, being in the same line of work Catt was likely a competitor, and a good one at that. "On locating him you must give him this," Fitz slipped an envelope out of his pocket, passing it swiftly to Biggs. "Obviously I need not mention you can't open it, only protocal," he sighed exasperatedly, "says I must. With more of our members having to cut their activity as the Ministry hounds them we're having to introduce stricter measures," he explained, "personally I think they're pretty much useless, it's common sense anyway," shrugging, Fitz had now done his part, so he downed the rest of his pint, calling for his own firewhiskey and grapefruit juice.

"I'll give this a whirl, any questions?" He asked Biggs now visibly relaxing more as he no longer had to remember the orders word for word. "I know it sounds a stupid assignment, but supposedly it's critical, you've not a problem with Catt have you?" He asked interestedly having heard various rumours, one that they got on like a house on fire, and another that they hated each others guts, little did he realise it swung between the two constantly.

[Newton Biggs]

The boy spoke sense, in Biggs’s opinion, and he had to grin widely at him, the folds on his face contorting into new, happy shapes. ‘Fraid you’re not the only one, lad,’ Newton said before taking another sip of his drink. ‘To be caught out once is enough but that never spots us, ey?’ Newton chuckled to himself, finding himself most amusing. The fruit juice did one other thing that he had not mentioned and that was to make the evening last longer but such a young and sprightly gentleman as the one next to him would not have to worry on such things.

And then straight to business, Newton thought, his face in his glass, efficient. Biggs did not shift, made no sign that he was listening, did not even look at the young man. Instead he listened. Listening was very important and Newton always to his listening very seriously. The name of the man he was to contact was, of course, a familiar one: Cattrim Rallon, though one he had not heard in the longest time. Without moving his head, Newton extended a gnarled hand to the envelop and deposited it in his pocket.

That was Newton’s sign that he was taking the job.

‘Not at all,’ Newton said, looking now at the young man, ‘and orders are orders.’ In Newton’s life he had received stranger, more ridiculous tasks to perform that seemed menial and unworthy of his attention but he had done them anyway because they were orders. This was an important lesson for a youngster to learn and he would sooner or later. After taking another sip of his drink, Newton looked at the man new to him. ‘Rallon and I go back far enough for me to remember he still owes me seventeen galleons.’ Either way, Newton had no definitive opinion on the man in question but knew he enjoyed his company. Was anything else important?

Newton pondered if he had any questions by scratching his neck with a long finger. ‘Any … questions?’ he mumbled thoughtfully. He didn’t like to question orders and knew that he could figure things out for himself. ‘Will he require any information from me?’ Newton asked thoughtfully, ‘or just the boon?’ It was important to note that though Newton had worked with these people for many years he hardly trusted them. At every turn he had to be wary for the question of when he out lived his usefulness always came in sharp awareness when he was on a task.