Ian Grimm
February 09, 2009 1:38 PM
*Mid-term plotting* Continued from pitch. by Ian Grimm
Snow, snow storms, ice storms, deep freezes, blizzards, nor'easters- Ian had had his fair share of them having grown up in the northeast, on a coast shorn with rocky cliff sides and unfriendly seas. Sure, the tourists ate the scenery up, and more than a few mall-based artists made a not-so-humble living off of painting the same three vistas again and again, but when it came down to the negatives, ie: any time between Thanksgiving and April, only the natives could be found braving the cold through. It helped having a house warmed by more than the usual central heating; his mother had made the stationary heating charm into a fine art, and in her house, no candle was just a candle.Still, Ian preferred the indoors to the outside and so he nodded agreeably when Amelia suggested they move inside. Within a handful of minutes, he had found them a private space in the Cascade Hall, the entirety practically empty but for the spare snatch of holiday reverie. He grabbed a passing prairie-elf, garnered the promise of some snacks and hot cocoa, and then began the very necessary process of unwrapping himself of outerwear.
His scarf was folded neatly beside him, his wool coat- worked over with a drying spell- beneath it, and his gloves made the final accent, placed diagonally on the top. He waited until the snacks- an assortment of crust-less sandwiches and holiday sweets- and cocoa arrived before beginning his proposal. He used the time in between to carefully consider his wording. Ian knew that having Amelia's cooperation would be contingent upon two things: what was in it for her and the potential interest level. He was fairly certain he could garner the later; somehow, he imagined that promising intrigue and family secrets would be just the sort of thing she'd get a kick out of.
The former, though; Ian didn't want to have to do it, but he could see no other way around it. It would have to be an open-ended promise, probably requiring a signature, to two favors to be drawn from him at her leisure. He highly doubted she would agree any other way.
"Let me start with a history," he began, knowing that all lead-ins required a good story and plenty of rope. "At the present, aside from my father, I am the only living blood Grimm. I had an uncle- my father's older brother- who after university eloped with a Muggle woman and literally disappeared. The woman," he neglected to refer to her as his aunt, having never considered the designation actually applicable, "had some sort of job in the state department and worked overseas at an embassy in Spain. There was a car bombing by an indigent terrorist group, and both she and my uncle were killed."
He paused to drain a good third from his mug, the semi-scorching chocolate coating his throat. "End of that branch- or, at least I thought so until last year." He bent to reach into his folded coat's inside pocket and withdrew a small black notebook, uniform with the many others that were stacked beneath his bed in his dorm-room. He turned to a page two thirds in, and passed it across the table. "The first picture is a portrait of my Grandmother Nora when she was sixteen. The second picture-" he broke off, his first real moment of uncertainty showing itself. There was always a third possibility to his proposal: Amelia could go straight to her housemate with the entire story and all of his careful planning would go to waste.
Still- and he steeled himself and bore through. "The second picture is Laurel Cider, a third year in your house. It's from last year's yearbook, and as you can see, the resemblance is more than uncanny. There's absolutely no way they're not related. The problem is, I have only two ways to prove it that I can figure." A note of frustration pooled in his voice and his emptied mug did little to assuage it. "We have a certain ward on our File Room at Grimm Inquiries that only allows those carrying Grimm blood to enter. If she passed through it, then that would do it. That would certainly provide a more immediate answer, but it would mean either kidnapping her or getting her to go along with it. And as confident as I am that she's who I think she is, if I'm wrong-" his tone gave no suggestion that he held any faith in that idea- "though, then it's going to be a mess, and I do not like messes."
"The second option is a Muggle one, and this is where I would need your help. I would need her toothbrush or a piece of hair with the root still intact. A toothbrush would be preferable, though," he emphasized. "Much easier to work with according to the lab I spoke with. A DNA test takes around two weeks to process, and they'd use a sample from me to compare with. I would know definitively whether or not we're related. Now," he held up a hand, very much aware that he had yet to divulge what her payoff would be. "I realize that this would involve some trickery on your side and so I'm prepared to offer, in writing, two full favors to be detailed by you alone and at your sole discretion. There would be no expiration date."
Once he was finished, he realized, somewhat distantly, that this was perhaps the most he had ever divulged of his inner thinking in his entire life. Generally, his plans and thoughts were confined to a mental sphere. He realized, uncomfortably, that he had left himself quite vulnerable, and the ball was most definitely (and in totality) in Amelia's court.
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Ian Grimm
*Mid-term plotting* Continued from pitch.
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Ian Grimm
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Amelia Smythe
February 17, 2009 12:55 PM
Are we plotting now? by Amelia Smythe
As they trudged back inside, Amelia became increasingly thankful she'd decided the return to indoors; her feet were quite positively the coldest they had ever been. She wasted no time in helping herself to a hot, chocolatey drink, and was just starting to feel properly relaxed when Ian spoke again, reminding her who she was with. Amelia had probably kept some worse company in her time, but there were undoubtedly people preferable to Ian Grimm. Nevertheless, he owed her, and was about to reveal how he was going to place himself further in her debt. therefore, Amelia listened quite attentively while she drank and warmed up.The story started out somewhat dull; what would Amelia care about his family? But then he included visual aids, so she kept on concentrating. "Get to the point," she interjected after he'd unnecessarily pointed out the similarity of the two pictures. Laurie was one of her sister's best friends - the unlikely one in the crowd; the only friend of a Smythe who wasn't 'pureblood and proud of it.'
Amelia yawned her way through Ian's plans to find out whether Laurie was, as he assumed, related to him and sat with an unintersted expression as he laid out, in detail, how he would be in debt.
"Yes that's fine," she said, her tone bored and somewhat irritated, "but you're being short-sighted even for you." Amelia allowed herself a smirk at that. "What's all this DN-whatsit rubbish? Just use blood magic, you idiot." Honestly, was he as pure as he'd just been boasting? What sort of wizard thought of some Muggle method before thinking of some, albeit highly frowned upon, spell. "It'll work like that room you talked about - just use a blood spell on an envelope or something, and if Laurie can open it, then tada! she's your long lost cousin and you may unite at lesiure."
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Amelia Smythe
Are we plotting now?
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Amelia Smythe
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Ian Grimm
February 23, 2009 12:43 PM
Sure. Plotting, planning- annoying each other: same thing. by Ian Grimm
Ian had his fair amount of pet peeves. He disliked lettuce, the flavor of vanilla, excessive cheerfulness, most animals, and stupid humor. He was not 'into' public displays of affection, false politeness, or musicals. He was forced to sing in St. Jude's All Boys Choir for six years and had hated every millisecond of it. He thought Latin to be an outdated and unnecessary addition to anyone's education- including those who expressly studied it. But at the very top of this (long) list sat one in particular: missing an obvious answer.The fact that Amelia all but smeared his face into this fact grated his nerves even further. "Point taken," he conceded grudgingly, the hot cocoa doing nothing to ease his annoyance. "In that case then, I rescind my proposal. Your aid will no longer be necessary." He rose abruptly, not caring that he was becoming the poster child for 'sulking child.' "Tell me what you want for the help in the Pitch."
He paused near the Hall's exit and then walked back to the table. "I probably don't need to say it, but still: you'll keep quiet about this until I've made certain, correct?" He didn't think he needed to stay for a confirmation, but he lingered all the same, his shoulders still bent in a determined seethe.
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Ian Grimm
Sure. Plotting, planning- annoying each other: same thing.
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Ian Grimm
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Amelia
February 28, 2009 4:29 PM
Then we do that a whole lot by Amelia
It hadn't immediately occuured to Amelia to be smug about pointing out something Ian had obviously missed, but as soon as he started to react to her simple suggest, Milly found herself loving every second of it. She was positively jubilant when he got up and left... but then he came back again. Ah well, perhaps this cloud had a silver lining."I probably don't need to say it, but still: you'll keep quiet about this until I've made certain, correct?"
She wasn't disappointed; Amelia positviely glowed. "How much is my keeping quiet worth?" she asked, her sweet smile at complete odds with the mischeivous glint in her eyes. "I mean, Laurie Cider is my older sister's best friend. I might accidentally say something." She blinked in a would-be innocent fashion.
"Tell you what," she said, flicking her blonde hair back over her shoulder in a well practised action. "You owe me two favours, as we originally discussed, and I'll make sure my tongue doesn't slip and say something it shouldn't," she demured. She knew she was treading on dangerous territory, but equally she knew this dog wouldn't bite yet. He was far too tightly wound to lash out like that. She would simply have to keep teasing him until she found that breaking point... or he went odd and laughed. It had happened before.
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Amelia
Then we do that a whole lot
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Amelia
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Ian
March 03, 2009 11:14 AM
Part of the fun, though, right? by Ian
Ian was no stranger to the art of blackmail. He had employed the device twice before in the past, and both times, it had played very much in his favor. Granted, he hadn't gained anything overly advantageous, merely the right to spend his counseling sessions employed in other exploits rather than detailing whatever mealtime discussion had been made the night before. His second endeavor had resulted in full ownership of the recess betting marbles for the remainder of his fourth grade year- a high prize indeed among the fourth level St. Jude's boys. He lorded over his success by promptly auctioning them off to the highest third level bidders.In short, Ian knew the game and had yet to feel any real sense of guilt over having plied the power of information over others in the past. He was not at all expecting to have the play reversed on him, and he suddenly found his shoes very uncomfortable indeed.
As much as he was loathe to allow anyone- especially this particular anyone- blackmail him, he was equally as loathe to have his plans disrupted by unnecessary communication. He adjusted his glasses back up his nose and let the pause stretch, considering his options. If Amelia were to tell the third year about his thoughts, there were only a finite amount of possible outcomes. One: she could believe Amelia and confront Ian directly; two: she could believe Amelia but investigate on her own; three: she could not believe Amelia and nothing happened; and four: she could not believe Amelia but still approach Ian.
As Ian had the utmost faith in his ability to lie straight-faced- a well practiced talent used judiciously- he wasn't terribly worried or concerned in that regard. He was fairly certain he could claim ignorance or skeptical disbelief and get away with it. The one outcome Ian did not want, though, was the second one. He did not need to have some amateur digging about and getting certain hackles (also known as adults) in the awares.
Plainly, though, Amelia wanted an immediate answer, and Ian wasn't feeling particularly prepared to give one. "Fine," he finally said, through grated teeth. "There's a time limit, though. You have til the end of the term. After that, it won't matter."
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Ian
Part of the fun, though, right?
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Ian
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