Atlas ran his hand along the top of the large glass case, which stood behind several suits of enchanted Spanish armor and a collection of stuffed Dodos. He had hatched this idea this morning somewhere around 4 am when he had awakened from unrestful sleep and again felt the compulsion to head back to the basement. He needed to get out, get away from the box, sort himself out and maybe then he’d be back to normal. He’d almost managed a simple levitation this morning. Almost being the important word in that phrase, Rudolph had been gracious enough to clean the mess up.

His mind made up the Shop keeper opened the case reaching in with both arms to pull out its contents before heading toward the entrance of SHOP. “We’re all going to die?” The skeleton peeked out from his position by the window and though it was always impossible to tell Atlas had the feeling that the skeleton had placed himself at the door with the idea of being some sort of watch dog. It was endearing in its own way and Atlas offered a bare smile. “Just going out to see Jasper.”

Atlas hadn’t had real contact with the man since the incident with Cal and that had been nearly a week ago. He suspected that the conversation had been emotionally taxing for his typically aloof friend and though Jasper had sent an owl each day that week without fail Atlas hadn’t seen him in the flesh. “Not sure when I’ll be back.” He paused with his hand on the door knob, juggling the contents in his arms until he could point at the skeleton, “Best close up for the day..” Rudolph tried, bless him he did but being dead he lacked a certain amount of tact when it came to customer service. That and he couldn’t be trusted, sometimes the skeleton actually sold people things they wanted.

Atlas stepped out onto the street, ignoring both the urge to bolt back inside as quickly as possible and the looks that were being thrown his way from every direction. Really they should all be used to these sorts of displays by now, this wasn’t the first time he had left SHOP, in broad daylight, arms laden with firearms. This was the first time that he had left SHOP, in broad daylight, arms laden with firearms and wearing flannel….maybe that was the reason for the looks? Glancing down at himself he made the very short walk over to Jaspers, the shop was dark and closed, Jasper liked to keep his own hours. Atlas slipped around the back, and gave the lock at the back store a glance before jimmying it roughly and huffing with satisfaction when it came lose. Jasper’s staircase emptied him out into one of the hall closets and Atlas took a brief moment to appreciate the irony Will coming and going through the back entrance before turning his attention to the matter at hand.

“Jasper!” He called with authority into the hallway. “We’re going hunting!” He cast a look down the staircase. "And you need a new door lock...."

“Jasper!”

Jasper's eyes jolted open to the sound of his back door slamming. The back door? What--who--

“We’re going hunting! And you need a new door lock...

Atlas.

He rolled over miserably, looking at the clock. It was 8:24. He'd always thought that time was a myth. People talked about it but no one ever actually saw it. It was the temporal equivalent of a yeti. Jasper wondered how long one could appropriately make someone wait in your hall while you slept and decided the limit increased based upon how early it was when they broke into your home. He was about to turn over, bury his face in the pillow, and leave Atlas to make entertain himself for a few hours when he heard an alarming clatter. Either Atlas had knocked something of his over, which was bad, or he had brought something with him from SHOP, which was infinitely worse. Jasper resigned himself to greeting his friend, shifting to get out of bed. F--k.

Cal.

In his shocked and near-comatose state, he had forgotten the obvious, that Cal was of course taking up the other side of his bed. Cal was still peacefully asleep in the position that Jasper had frozen him to last night, his face buried in the pillow. Jasper had a momentary, panicked flash of Atlas, who really had no personal space boundaries, barging into his bedroom carrying--whatever ungodly thing he certainly had--and finding a conspicuously undressed Ferox lounging with one arm draped across Jasper. This was the precise motivation he needed to vault out of bed, darting around the room to collect various articles of clothing for Cal and simultaneously shoving his limbs into an appropriate outfit. Once he'd dressed and collected an armful of clothes he sprinted back to the bed, grabbing Cal by the shoulders and shaking him awake (and out of paralysis).

"Cal, Cal wake up, c'mon."

Cal's eyes opened suspiciously,and he started to make an unhappy and much too loud sound. Jasper clapped a hand over his mouth. Cal scowled at him and tried to bite his palm.

"C'mon, get up get up get up." Jasper thrust the clothes at Cal. "Atlas is here, get dressed, hurry up."

He pulled Cal out of bed, muffling more sounds of protest, and flung open the bathroom door. Moved aside a rug and tapped at the fourth tile from the left with his wand. A trap door leading to a dark flight of steps opened. He waited for Cal to finish putting on his pants, then snatched his shirt and threw it over his shoulders as he pushed him toward the stairs.

"This goes to the back room of the shop, you can get out without him noticing if you're quiet." Cal took a slow, sleepy step onto the first stair, and Jasper put a hand on his cheek and turned his head back, kissing him quickly. "Sorry about this, I'll make it up to you, yeah?"

He watched Cal descend, still rubbing his eyes and walking a tad lopsidedly (they'd been a little drunk when he'd cast the spell last night, apparently he'd gone a bit heavy on the left leg) then shut the trap door, darting back into his bedroom and shoving his hands through his hair quickly before opening the door. Atlas was at the bottom of the stairs that led to his room, carrying an armful of guns. Shotgun shells were strewn on the floor around him. Jasper looked back into his bedroom. Cal's jeans on the chair. Physics book on the dresser. Extra toothbrush visible through open bathroom door. Damn. Jasper shut the door firmly and bounded down the stairs, hoping the rest of the house wasn't quite so--obvious.

"Good--it's not even morning, actually Atlas. Do you ever consider owling before you come over, or is breaking and entering the first thing that comes to mind?"

He stifled a yawn. "Glad to see you up and about anyway. Can we have a cup of tea before the hunting trip you've apparently planned?"

Atlas paused in the foyer, cocking his head to one side and taking a step away from the closet and into the foyer proper. No sound, he wondered about maybe just heading upstairs, Jasper wasn’t exactly a morning person…Well, no that was wrong, he liked the morning just fine, it was the part of the morning that also involved daylight that Jasper seemed to find so reprehensible. Atlas stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to Jasper’s bedroom when he heard several distinctive thuds and then a good amount of scampering. That meant he was up at least, shouldn’t be a to long a wait, Jasper knew better than to leave the other man to his own devices for any prolonged period of time.

Atlas was ready to move along into the kitchen, poking around Jasper’s cupboards was always an amusing and rewarding way to pass the time, he stopped when the sound of the feet on the floor above changed. Backtracking he again stood at the base of the staircase, dropping a few rounds of amo as he leaned against the door the to try and hear better. Jasper had every wall in the house charmed to be mostly soundproof so that idea bore no fruit. Stepping back Atlas craned his head toward the ceiling, scrutinizing the floorboards as if they might suddenly reveal something.

It sounded like two distinct pairs of feet were walking along up there. One hurried the other one decidedly more sluggish. Atlas made a face and took another, unconscious step away from the door. With any luck Jasper would send the poor thing down one of the numerous back stairwells Atlas was sure his friend had. The SHOP keeper had had the unfortunate experience of bumping into Jasper’s…conquests before, and it was always an awkward and off putting experience; and one that he wasn’t sure he was up to at the moment.

He was preparing for what he might say when Jasper’s door opened and some wide eyed, makeup encased, confused bint came trotting down the stairs and saw him standing at the bottom with a small cache of armaments in hand, but was saved from that personal hell when the door opened revealing only Jasper. Who glanced back into his room with an expressions Atlas couldn’t quite read before turning back and looking down the stairs.
Good--it's not even morning, actually Atlas. Do you ever consider owling before you come over, or is breaking and entering the first thing that comes to mind? Atlas rather than answering maneuvered his wrist and glanced down at his watch before peering back up at his friend. Jasper yawned before going on. Glad to see you up and about anyway. Can we have a cup of tea before the hunting trip you've apparently planned?

“Couldn’t go in through the shop, its locked, and I predicted my attempts to break in through there might have met with both us filling out police reports. That Morris witch across the street was watching me like a hungry harpy, had to use the back entrance.” Still speaking he drifted off into the kitchen, depositing the guns on Jaspers immaculate table. “I’m serious about needed a new lock. Did you forget to refortify it last night, or were you,” He paused as a sound from the other side of the wall caught his attention. “Busy.”

“I had to get out. Feeling much better, tip top, fit as a fiddle, hearty as a horse, all those idioms.” He picked over a few of the items lying haphazardly on the countertop. Something on the table caught his eye and Atlas shoved one of the double barrels to the side before lifting the piece of muggle paper to his eye level. He studied it for a moment, “Jasper, why do you have a torn,” He looked at the bottom right of the page and read, “’Folgers Chemistry’ text on your table…..” Turning he lifted a tie from the counter top, “And what happened to this poor thing? Were you involved in some sort of brawl with a Yeti that bleeds fondue?”

Atlas spoke as he and his armory were shepherded into the kitchen, Jasper straining to hear him over the thudding of his heart against his ribs. This was entirely too much excitement for anytime before 9 PM. The guns clinked onto the table, Jasper praying that they all had the safety on.

“I’m serious about needed a new lock. Did you forget to refortify it last night, or were you--busy."

Atlas' head snapped to the left and Jasper looked at the wall nervously. The faintest shuffling sound rose and died. That would be Cal; the passage curved around the pantry then into the shop. He quickly started making tea, knocking the cups around much more than was necessary and running the water to fill the kettle as slowly as possible. He attempted to look chagrined.

"I went to the Proenza Schouler show last night." He poured the tea and brought a cup to Atlas. Happily he could count on Atlas' pathological discomfort about anything even remotely connected to sex, and his friend moved on rapidly to a new topic.

“I had to get out. Feeling much better, tip top, fit as a fiddle, hearty as a horse, all those idioms.”

Jasper was busy putting lemon in his tea, so he didn't notice the new distraction that Atlas had found until it was too late. When he looked up, Atlas was prying something loose from underneath six or seven of the guns. It was a book; the bent, silvery cover was oddly familiar-- because it was Cal's chemistry book. Atlas examined it suspiciously as Jasper mentally composed a song of every obscenity he'd ever known, and a few new ones he was making up on the spot.

“Jasper, why do you have a torn,” He looked at the bottom right of the page and read, “’Folgers Chemistry’ text on your table…..” Turning he lifted a tie from the counter top, “And what happened to this poor thing? Were you involved in some sort of brawl with a Yeti that bleeds fondue?”

Oh God, not a tie. Jasper took a rapid step across the kitchen, ripped the bedraggled fabric out of Atlas' hand, probably hard enough to raise a welt across his palm, and shoved it into his back pocket. He wondered if he looked like he wanted to die quite as much as he did. Atlas had already been so oddly suspicious of Cal; God help them if he got his hands on the tie and checked the bite marks against dental records. (Atlas would too, in hopes they would belong to some heretofore undiscovered subspecies of platypus or something.) He swallowed and made himself stop wanting to vomit.

"I've been doing some new research on platinum permutations. Chemical compound related. It's going poorly. Er--the tie was an unfortunate casualty. I don't like to talk about it; it was a painful loss for me."

He plucked the book imperiously from Atlas' hand and put it down on the counter, wondering if eight thirty was too early for drinks. Or Valium. Another sip of tea calmed him remotely, and he turned back to Atlas.

"I'm glad you're feeling good enough to go kill small animals. Or large animals, considering you've brought an elephant gun and, er, three semi automatic weapons. And a grenade. I assumed you wanted to go to Scotland, but I don't really think quail require this kind of--violent subduing, yeah?"

Atlas hissed involuntarily as the course material of the tie slid against his palm on its way back toward Jasper. He fixed the jeweler with a look that communicated clearly that he could have just asked for the item back. What was so important about Atlas not having the tie in his hands? Any other time the shop keeper would have questioned the actions, he also would have questioned the excessive banging around Jasper had been doing with the kettle; but he was still tired, and his brain had that all together not unpleasant sensation of being wrapped in cotton, and he had woken Jasper up at a time that the other man clearly did not believe in. A temporal shift could be an excuse for all manner of behavior, so Atlas simply sipped at his tea.

I've been doing some new research on platinum permutations. Chemical compound related. It's going poorly. Er--the tie was an unfortunate casualty. I don't like to talk about it; it was a painful loss for me. The ties were like small, silken children to the other man and so Atlas placed a look on his face that offered due consolation while another part of his brain went over Jaspers babble. He wasn’t all that familiar with chemistry but it didn’t seem to make a great deal of sense. “Where did you even get a muggle chemistry book? You aren’t seducing coeds now are you?” Another sip of his tea. “They do call them that correct, coeds? And why on earth were you wearing a tie to perform a platinum permutation? That’s just amateur, the poor thing never had a chance.” Atlas realized that if the loss of the tie was as painful as Jasper seemed to be implying this whole conversation might be edging into the realm of rude.

Jasper took the moment of silence as an end to the conversation and, more gently than he had done with the tie, removed the book from Atlas hands. I'm glad you're feeling good enough to go kill small animals. Or large animals, considering you've brought an elephant gun and, er, three semi automatic weapons. And a grenade. I assumed you wanted to go to Scotland, but I don't really think quail require this kind of--violent subduing, yeah?.

Rather than sipping Atlas gulped the rest of his tea, ignoring the way it scalded his tongue and throat. Setting his cup down gently he stepped toward the table, rearranging the guns and setting them in order. “I bought the Tommy gun with me in case we have to liberate a speak easy.” He laid his hand on the guns violin case tapping a rhythm on it for a moment before moving on. “I don’t really know how the grenade got there….as for the elephant gun.” He looked up and said in a tone of complete solemnity, “There could be werewolves, and Scotts there. We have to be able to defend ourselves properly. Thus,” He lifted a dart gun and tossed it to Jasper. “Only one shot! Use it wisely.”

He surveyed the tabletop before removing his backpack from his shoulders and removing several plaid garments, “You’ll have change. You can’t go running around in the woods looking like….” He glanced in the other mans direction. “Well, yourself.” He rose, setting a small orange plaid hat atop Jasper’s ruffled head, “Your family has all that land in Scotland that they don’t use for anything except looking big and important. Sure they don’t mind the two of us depleting the local quail populace, do you?” He stepped back to survey his work and thought it good.

Atlas, seeming to realize the serious potential that Jasper was experiencing some sartorial grief, dropped the topic of the tie and fictitious chemistry experimentation. Thank Merlin. He knew his cover story was incredibly weak, and he had a suspicion that Atlas might recognize Cal's distinctly cramped handwriting in the book's margins if he opened it. That in mind, he pushed it slowly backward into the shadows under the cabinets as Atlas distracted himself with explaining why he'd decided to stock up on more weapons than a despotic ruler in a politically unstable third world nation.

“I bought the Tommy gun with me in case we have to liberate a speak easy.” He smiled at Jasper as though this was perfectly reasonable.

"Oh, I think we shut the last one down a few years ago, but you never know what the pheasants are up to."

Atlas looked up at him seriously, frowning to indicate that Jasper was not taking the dire nature of the situation to heart. “There could be werewolves, and Scotts there. We have to be able to defend ourselves properly. Thus,” He lifted a dart gun and tossed it to Jasper. “Only one shot! Use it wisely.”

Jasper's hand darted out reflexively, just in time to catch the gun. A bit of his tea wobbled over the edge of his cup and scalded the back of his palm. In his head, the obscenity song started to play on repeat. Atlas was rummaging through an alarmingly capacious bag, pulling out fistfuls of appalling plaid. Jasper's eyes started to water.

“You’ll have change. You can’t go running around in the woods looking like….Well, yourself.”

"Atlas, these are Hedi Slimane's latest creations. There's absolutely nothing the matter with them. Quail should be honored to be in my presence."

Apparently oblivious to the beauty of a charcoal and black herringbone, Atlas approached, wielding some thing, some atrocity made of pumpkin colored plaid, and shoved it onto Jasper's head. Jasper resisted the urge to shriek, clawing the thing off before it could come into too much contact with his hair and corrupt it. He suppressed a desire to ball the thing up and shove it into Atlas' left nostril and took a deep breath.

"If anything else plaid touches me, I'll be using my one shot on you, never mind the werewolves."

He put the dart gun down on the table and mentally rifled through his closet, trying to remember where he'd put his hunting clothes when he'd last come home from Scotland. Aha, behind his safari gear. And that white suit Giambattista Valli had told him would be coming in next season. He finished his tea and putt he mug next to the dart gun.

"Wait here, don't touch anything."

He hurried up the stairs, Accioing on the way so the clothes were waiting for him when he arrived. After a quick shuffle he returned downstairs clad in something appropriately tweedy, boots in hand. Everything was in tasteful shades of tan, and absolutely no plaid was involved. He'd considered looking for his guns, but he had no idea where they were, and he thought Atlas' supply would suffice. Back in the kitchen, he sat to pull on his boots.

"I've got more quail than you've got lobster bandits, I'm sure we can spare a few. My parents are always on me to use the house more." He realized he was missing something and Accioed a felt hat, complete with feather in the band. "Plus maybe we can do a few experiments with--" He didn't want to make Atlas feel bad here, but it did seem important-- "your magic. Might not be bad to be somewhere a bit more secluded than the Alley for it, you know?"

If anything else plaid touches me, I'll be using my one shot on you, never mind the werewolves.. Atlas resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. He also had to resist the urge to inform Jasper that the neuron toxin contained within the dart would only work on Scotts and werewolves, but it would still hurt when it pierced skin. Atlas knelt down and lifted the hat from the floor, dusting it off before replacing it in the bag. He had hoped that maybe he would be able to get Jasper to at least tolerate the feeling of orange hunting plaid on his head for at least 2 minutes. The reaction had been instantaneous and violent, but that moment where you could literally see Jasper' skin crawl was always worth it.

Wait here, don't touch anything.. Oh right, sure. Atlas rolled his eyes as Jasper dashed from the room, the sound of his feet on the stairs gave Atlas at approximately four minutes to rifle through Jasper's cabinets, or he could investigate the chemistry book Jasper had none to coyly attempted to hide out of sight. Atlas finished fishing through the satchel at his feet and rose to begin his customary snooping. He only made it through two cabinets, disappointingly filled with caviar and something in a can written in a language even Atlas couldn't decipher, when Jasper reappeared in the kitchen door way.

I've got more quail than you've got lobster bandits, I'm sure we can spare a few. My parents are always on me to use the house more. Atlas watched with detached interest as Jasper knelt to lace up his boots, his eyes kept roving over to where he knew the book was. Atlas had been to Jasper's family estate in Scotland on several occasions, usually for these impromptu hunting excursions. When he wasn't out on the grounds attempting to obliterate any living creature larger than a wristwatch Atlas liked to occupy himself searching for childhood photos of Jasper. One never knew when blackmail material would be needed. He hadn't discovered his golden goose yet, but there had to be at least one photo of the man in a kilt...

Accio Hat! His head snapped up as the object zipped into the room and then into Jasper's outstretched hands. The fingers on his right hand twitched toward where his wand sat in his pocket. The last few days of sporadic and sometimes non-existent magic had made him feel as if he was missing a limb.

Plus maybe we can do a few experiments with-- Atlas closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Just say it Jasper.. your magic. Might not be bad to be somewhere a bit more secluded than the Alley for it, you know? Atlas leaned against the counter top, intently watching the floor tiles and drumming his fingers on the drawers.

“Couldn't hurt I suppose....” He rubbed at the back of his neck, before pushing off from the counter and shouldering his pack. “I'm beginning to feel like a bit of an invalid to be honest. Managed to stir a potion from across the room for a bit last night, didn't last though.” He edged toward the guns on the table, “Suppose that two minds would be better than one.”

Atlas picked up his bag, which was jingling with all manner of gear that had been strapped to the outside with what appeared to be a mixture of Spellotape and that goo that Muggle children loved. What was it called? Silly Putty. Jasper thought it looked like Pinkie Pie snot. He wondered briefly why Atlas thought he might need a thirty foot strand of Christmas lights, an espresso machine, and a miniature portrait of Queen Ingrid of Norway, but he supposed he shouldn't judge. No one understood why he needed seventeen pairs of Chelsea boots for an overnight trip to Paris either.

Jasper himself didn't need anything. He stored most of his hunting clothes in Scotland since he didn't have many occasions for tweed in the city, and he couldn't imagine what sort of gun he could possibly have that Atlas hadn't already packed twelve of. He was about to swish his wand for Apparition when he realized that Atlas might not be able to summon the energy. Instead he led the way through to his study, where his fireplace was hooked to the Floo network. Thankfully he'd invested in connecting the house in Scotland a couple of years ago. He rummaged on the mantle for the snuffbox that he kept Floo powder in and offered a pinch to Atlas. A moment later they wooshed into the giant fireplace in his Scottish dining room.

The house in Scotland had been in the Christie family for generations, initially a hunting lodge, and later their permanent home when they left Exeter during the war. Jasper had spent the first few years of his childhood there, so he had fond memories of its dark, smoke-stained beams and antique furniture. It was the polar opposite of his house in London, but he felt it was oddly appropriate for hunting weekends. Modernity wouldn't suit.

He bounded gracefully out of the fireplace, followed shortly by Atlas, whose fishing poles and divining rod became briefly attached to the mantle. Once he managed to free himself, Jasper collapsed into one of the carved dining room chairs. He really hated Floo travel, it always made him feel dusty and shaken. He glanced out the window; grey and misty. Perfect Scotland. He looked up at Atlas, who was struggling to shake off a backpack that was approximately the same size as an obese water buffalo.

"So you feeling up to obliterating some birds? We can do deer, if the herds are close. I'll ring the gamekeeper and get the report, I've not been up in months." He watched Atlas pull out a gun that had very obviously been enchanted. Some strange gears were clicking at the base of the barrel, for what purpose Jasper couldn't discern. "Be careful to tone down the magic, the bloke's an old Muggle. One time I got impatient with carrying my guns and bewitched them to float behind me, and he nearly had a heart attack. Not only did I have to Obliviate him, but I had to learn to use defibrillators."

Atlas was engrossed on the long arduous process of disentangling himself from the Christie family fireplace but paused for a moment when Jasper spoke. With one last grunt and several popping noises from his satchel he pulled himself free and stumbled into the room proper. A quick glance around showed that little had changed, at least in this room since the last time Jasper and himself had found themselves with the urge to go north and try to kill anything generally larger than a wrist watch. He didn’t know if this was at the request of his parents or if Jasper liked the idea of having a rustic country estate, complete with stuffed animals heads and even more stuffed armchairs at his ready disposal.

Dropping the sack unceremoniously Atlas crossed the room to examine the carvings in the wood along the doorframe to Jasper’s left. “Whatever your up for….I promised Rudolph a pheasant but they shouldn’t be all that difficult to find. Especially if we use the Wrangler.” This was the pet name Atlas had given to the small charmed crossbow taking up space in the bottom of his pack. Assembled in 4th year from a metal ruler and a few piano strings the weapon had proven completely ineffective in vanquishing the colony of hinkypunks that was clearly residing in the third shower stall in the dormitory, which Will had insisted to the last was only some confused fireflies; but had proven to be one of the best pheasant slaying devices ever conceived.

Be careful to tone down the magic, the bloke's an old Muggle. One time I got impatient with carrying my guns and bewitched them to float behind me, and he nearly had a heart attack. Not only did I have to Obliviate him, but I had to learn to use defibrillators. . Atlas paused to glance back at Jasper. “What’s a defibrillator? Aren’t there laws against torturing muggles?” A thought occurred to him and he whirled around, stalking about the room, glancing behind furniture, and the curtains which blocked out most of the bleak barely there sunlight. “He isn’t lurking around here is he? Why a muggle aren’t there plenty of Scots wizards who specialize in rutting around in the mire and finding mammals and fowl for your family to kill? Rangers?” He search his brain. “Can’t recall if that’s an official term or not.”

His rounds of the room complete Atlas returned to his pack, kneeling and removing some of the more normal firearms. “Flint locks sound good? Figure if we have so much firepower we might as well try to play fair. This one belonged to a member of Washington’s secret service, takes 20 minutes to reload.” Grimacing he discarded it. “Does this mean we can’t use the enchanted dart gun?” He stood finally, swallowing and looking out at the mist covered forest laying just outside the window. “I always forget how bleak it is out here…Still.” He sniffed and turned back to Jasper. “It’s better than Russia.”

“He isn’t lurking around here is he? Why a muggle aren’t there plenty of Scots wizards who specialize in rutting around in the mire and finding mammals and fowl for your family to kill? Rangers?”

"Mervin can't lurk, he's got a bloody cane, you can hear him coming in this house from three miles away. Plus I keep a lot of stuff up here that's not strictly legal. Leftover inventory from the shop. It's much easier to hide from a Muggle, you know?"

This was true. Mervin had commented about some "unusual-like noise" once when Jasper had housed a stolen hippogriff in the third guest room upstairs, but otherwise he was largely oblivious to the strange things that Jasper kept in the upper floors. He was rather thankful his parents didn't spend much time here anymore. Explaining away the roomfull of bogus Sneakoscopes and counterfeit euro notes might be harder with them.

Atlas darted around nervously, as though Mervin, the Christie family gamekeeper who was older than some of the antiques in the house, was going to pop from behind the sideboard and maul him to death. Which was strictly impossible, since Mervin hadn't had any teeth since approximately 1963. Jasper waited patiently as Atlas examined every corner of the room, including testing each floorboard for hollow compartments, before returning. He knelt on the old Persian rug and started assembling a small armory in front of Jasper's chair.

“Flint locks sound good? Figure if we have so much firepower we might as well try to play fair. This one belonged to a member of Washington’s secret service, takes 20 minutes to reload.” Jasper looked at the thing, which may have been the first gun ever made, with some concern. Happily Atlas rejected it. “Does this mean we can’t use the enchanted dart gun? I always forget how bleak it is out here…Still.” He sniffed and turned back to Jasper. “It’s better than Russia.”

Jasper stood and peered out the window as well. It was looking lovely, for Scotland. Practically above freezing, only a smattering of hail. One could almost go outside without more than three parkas on.

"Anything is better than Russia." Jasper hated Russia. "D'you know I was nearly eaten by an enchanted polar bear in Minsk? In fairness, I'd just stolen something he was meant to be guarding, but I think a stern warning would have been just as effective as trying to gnaw off my foot."

He turned back to the guns and picked up a fairly normal looking rifle. "Anyhow--"

At this moment, Mervin appeared, poking his bearded head around the door rather suddenly. Jasper was quite glad Atlas hadn't been holding a gun. He had faith in Will's powers to divert the Ministry, but murder might be a big coverup to ask for.

"Mornin' Mr. Christie." He squinted at Atlas. "Are you lads shootin' today? A lovely day for a bit of quail, there's a flock round the back pasture."

He pointed through the window at a flat field bordered by some scrubby trees. Jasper nodded.

"Cheers, we'll give it a go. Is the blind still where it was last season?"

Mervin nodded, and shortly thereafter they were on their way to slaughtering some fowl. Atlas had brought a rather remarkable assortment of weapons, including what seemed to be a small missile launcher. Jasper restrained a comment about how this might not make the birds too tasty at dinner later. He looked down at his gun, and the flint lock that Atlas had pressed upon him.

"So, no poison darts, yeah? In case you miss." He glanced down at the gun again, in concern. It had a lot of...parts. "What is this bloody thing anyway?"

Anything is better than Russia. D’you know I was nearly eaten by an enchanted polar bear in Minsk? Atlas glanced over at that one. In fairness, I’d just stolen something he was meant to be guarding, but I think a stern warning would have been just as effective as trying to gnaw off my foot.. It took very little effort to conjure a sufficiently amusing mental image for the situation but the smile faded quickly as Atlas remembered a recent conversation. Anyhow…

Turning he grasped Jasper by the shoulders and have the man a light shake. “You didn’t hurt it did you? A man on the street the other day told me that polar bears were really reincarnated versions of the ancient Greek Gods. I managed to track Ares and Zues to the Berlin Zoo and I believe Hera is somewhere in a place called D.C. but that leaves innumerable Ursine possibilities…” He would have continued but there was a clicking sound and then a wizened old man he hazarded to guess might be this ‘Mervin’ character was standing in front of them.

There was a blessedly brief cordial exchange between the Jasper and his employee and then the two of them were bundled and heading out into the moorland. The mud was only about ankle deep, and the air was certainly more pleasant than anything that one would normally find in London. Atlas had been a city dweller his entire life and while being away from the claustrophobic alley ways and crowds was a welcome reprieve he always found himself slightly on edge when surrounded by anything but. The lack of white noise was the most unsettling. There was a pervasive quiet which was really only broken by chirping scuttling and the sounds that either he or Jasper were making.

Jasper, trudging next to him was the first to speak up. So, no poison darts, yeah? In case you miss.. Atlas baulked at the implication about his aiming talents and answered Jasper dryly, “Less about my aim, which I remind you is excellent. You recall the vampire canary incident? More to do with the fact that we are planning to eat these things…neuron toxin might not be the best method of capture.”

What is this bloody thing anyway? He surveyed the weapon in Jaspers hands fondly. “That’s Sasha. One of my own creations actually, its so versatile!” He edged around Jasper excitedly flipping one of the weapons switches, which looked like it might have started life as a ketchup dispenser. “It’s a potions thrower, chamber contains six distinct potions, all of them for use with different types of animals. Fowl is setting 185, works on magical and non magical bird life. The best part is that it has a spatial load chamber, you can store huge amounts of potions reserves in a teeny tiny space.” There was a rustle of movement to their left and Atlas crouched, grabbing the bottom of Jaspers coat to haul the other man down with him.

“Ahh perfect. Give it a go yea? I haven’t had any cause to use it since I built the thing and then I was only using setting 1775, which is a chemical flame thrower. A bit warm but very effective in stopping a harpy in its tracks, it even drizzles a little honey on them after….though I’m not actually sure why.” He grinned.

He dropped his shoulder to one side allowing his comparatively small and lamentably normal gun to fall into his hands. Inspecting it to make sure it was firing ready before leveling it at the bush and then waited.

Jasper looked out over the moor toward the edge of the damp, barren winter forest that bordered the back pasture. No quail in sight. He slowly pulled one boot free from the mud and focused on the scrub at the edge of the trees. Atlas was brandishing something that looked like it could maim him in many exciting ways, and he shivered inside his tweed jacket.

“That’s Sasha. One of my own creations actually, its so versatile!”

Atlas gave him a deranged sort of smile that had, many times at Hogwarts, been a direct precursor to someone spending the night in the hospital wing. Jasper took a slow, squelching step backwards. Various switches were being flipped on the gun in Atlas' hands and Jasper wondered idly which of his limbs was going to be obliterated first. With added concern, he noted that Atlas probably couldn't do enough magic to save him if something went (inevitably) wrong. Maybe they should have gone for experimentation before firearms.

“It’s a potions thrower, chamber contains six distinct potions, all of them for use with different types of animals. Fowl is setting 185, works on magical and non magical bird life. The best part is that it has a spatial load chamber, you can store huge amounts of potions reserves in a teeny tiny space.”

There was a crackling sound which Jasper was momentarily convinced was the gun's taser setting, but which turned out to be some sort of wildlife off in the tall, brown grass. Atlas, making a movement far too quick for someone who had just used the phrase "spatial load chamber," tugged him toward the ground by the edge of his jacket. Jasper indulged in a brief flail, successfully avoiding a meeting between his trousers and a murky puddle, and crouched behind the scrubby brambles with his friend, who was still telling him all the ways he could be permanently disfigured.

“Ahh perfect. Give it a go yea? I haven’t had any cause to use it since I built the thing and then I was only using setting 1775, which is a chemical flame thrower. A bit warm but very effective in stopping a harpy in its tracks, it even drizzles a little honey on them after….though I’m not actually sure why.”

Atlas had shoved the thing at him precisely as he exclaimed gleefully over the "chemical flame thrower." It took remarkable reserves of self restraint to avoid shrieking like Cal in a room full of My Little Ponies and close his hand around the one millimeter of the stock that wasn't covered in switches marked with skulls and poison symbols. He would have dropped the thing, but he was afraid it might go off and vaporize him. Holding the gun delicately away from his body, Jasper thought back briefly to the day he'd found Atlas in the Hogwarts greenhouse, pruning a potato tree named Susan, and wondered why he hadn't just turned the hell around. Well, mostly he'd wanted mashed potatoes. Curse his love of starches.

Atlas had produced a relatively normal looking shotgun from somewhere and was squinting intently at the place the rustling had emanated from moments before. Jasper wanted his own gun back, but didn't want to offend Atlas. He'd obviously worked hard on this mutant firearm; it might be best to humor him after the hard times he'd been having. He supposed he should just be glad that Mervin had agreed to stay in the house.

He lifted the gun cautiously, testing out the sight, and a quail appeared as if on cue. Damn, should have been paying more attention to Atlas-- he had no idea what the various components of the bloody gun did. A purplish button on the right side looked promising and within easy reach, so he pressed it gently and hoped that he would at least die quickly and without undue pain.

A greenish bolt of--something shot forward from the barrel, striking the quail somewhere below the left wing. At least he was still a decent shot. The quail flipped over and hovered in the air briefly--

then turned into a pumpkin, which exploded into a rain of reddish sparks. Several low-denomination kroner coins clinked into the mushy earth as the sparks faded.

Jasper turned to Atlas, gaping. He wasn't able to form sentences. "What. The. Bloody. Hell. Caedmon."
He put the gun cautiously on the ground and shuffled away slightly. "This is--okay, it's weird, even for you."

Atlas watched Jasper out of the corner of his eye as he raised Sasha to eye level all the while looking like a small trapped animal. Atlas could almost see the thought process going on in Jasper’s brain, manifested physically in the way that the mans arm kept twitching in different directions. It was one of a very few ways Atlas had discovered to actually rattle the man. Hand Jasper something homemade and potentially lethal and sit back for the show. There was a sick pleasure to be had in causes the un-flappable, to flap even if it was only for a short duration.

Not that Jasper didn’t have a reason to be afraid. There had been Misha, Sashas ill fated counterpart, that had been a weapon meant to launch charms but on its one and only test run it had instead managed to land both Apollo and Jasper, standing within what Atlas had told them was the ‘death zone’, in the hospital wing. Atlas and Will standing a safe distance away had managed to come away with little more than singed eyebrows.

Jasper seemed to have decided to go through with a test shot, and Atlas looked ahead in the bushes in time to see a small gaggle of quail emerge. He could hear Jasper shuffling the gun in his hands and Atlas lowered his own gun, looking over in time to see Jasper’s hand hovering over a mauve looking button. A stopping order was halfway to his lips when Jasper’s hand depressed the trigger. The beam that shot from the barrel blinded Atlas for a moment and even as his vision cleared he still saw a large green line whenever he blinked.

Something thunked into his head and he looked down to see a small kroner coin half embedded in the mud. Smiling he lifted the coin from the mud and cleaned it off before slipping it into his pocket and looking over at Jasper. The man was breathing hard, eyes wide as he turned to look at Atlas. What. The. Bloody. Hell. Caedmon. . Atlas beamed happily, clapping Jasper on the back and scrambling to his feet to collect the other coins. He heard more than saw Jasper carefully setting Sasha down, as if he thought the gun might come to life and attack. Silly thought, Atlas had charmed it not to do that after the third time it blew off Rudolph’s knee.

He couldn’t see any more coins glinting in the barely there sunlight, satisfied he turned back in time to see Jasper taking a few cautious steps backwards. This is--okay, it's weird, even for you..

“You’re getting older Jasper. You’re not as readily able to see great advances when they’re right in front of you. I thought you would appreciate Sasha.” Stooping he lifted the gun, caressing it.
That was mauve setting 12, why did you press that? There was a perfectly nice Red button right next to it, that would have barbecued it for us, could have had a nice early meal. This one though,” He flipped four switches, turned aimed at a bush and pressed a teal-ish button. The bush trembled for a moment before shimmering and exploding sending fireworks and small models of parliament into the air. “Guy Faulkes setting.” He tossed the gun back at Jasper, and knelt to pick up his own before taking a few steps away from Jasper. “Well have to find more quail now…imagine the explosions might have scared them.” He glanced back meaningfully at Jasper. “Stick to setting 777856 Q and it should be fine.” He took 10 more steps before turning back, “Well are you coming?”

As he watched Atlas gleefully plucking kroner from the mire, Jasper wondered if he had perhaps been foolish to come out here alone with his friend. Eventually, perhaps in the midst of gathering foreign currency from a Scottish bog, Atlas might snap. And then where would he, Jasper, be? In the middle of said bog with a madman wielding a--Sasha, with only a daft old Muggle to save him. Next time he was inviting Apollo. He drove off all the birds with his mélange of bangles and rhinestones, but at least he wouldn't accidentally turn Jasper into a pile of crispy pesos.

“You’re getting older Jasper. You’re not as readily able to see great advances when they’re right in front of you. I thought you would appreciate Sasha.” Atlas practically crooned at the gun. Maybe the snapping had already happened, but Atlas was already so far along the road to mad that it was barely distinguishable.

"I appreciate things that don't have the potential to amputate my appendages in horrible and creative fashions."

Atlas switched to a patronizing face, as though Jasper was an utter simpleton and luddite rather than someone with a healthy attachment to his limbs.

That was mauve setting 12, why did you press that?

"Oh God knows, I suppose I went mad there for a moment. Pressing mauve, only a lunatic would consider it!" Jasper fluttered his hands melodramatically, but Atlas continued his lecture unruffled. Unlike the unfortunate quail, who had been thoroughly ruffled, then exchanged for around three pounds stirling.

There was a perfectly nice Red button right next to it, that would have barbecued it for us, could have had a nice early meal. This one though--" There was a pause during which Jasper thought, Please, please don't let him set my hair on fire, then a nearby shrub was turned into a rather festive firecracker display--“Guy Faulkes setting.”

Atlas turned, lowering the muzzle of the gun, and Jasper thought that perhaps, finally, this was over. Maybe now they could just kill some birds the normal way, by blowing them apart with bits of metal. Much more humane. Instead, Atlas let go of whatever final thread of sanity remained in his brain and lightly flipped the gun to Jasper like it was a bouquet of flowers at a wedding. Jasper heard an inhuman gurgle of horror come from his mouth distantly, as though it had emanated from someone else, but his hands stretched out for the gun. He had a distinct feeling that if he didn't catch it, one of the other buttons might be pressed as it fell onto the grass and he would end up being turned into a marmoset.

Atlas had shouldered his own gun and was looking at Jasper disapprovingly, as if he was just dallying about pointlessly rather than attempting desperately to not kill himself in some previously unimagined yet terrible manner. “Well have to find more quail now…imagine the explosions might have scared them.Stick to setting 777856 Q and it should be fine.”

Jasper looked down hopelessly at the approximately fourteen dials plastered all over the barrel of the gun. One had numbers counting upward by three from 427, one showed pictures of various tropical fruits, and one appeared to be in Sanskrit. He decided he would just leave it on setting 430-Kiwi-Inscrutable Letters and see what happened. What happened would hopefully not include any sort of charring/harpooning/other gerunds which denoted a need for prompt medical treatment.

“Well are you coming?”

Carefully balancing the gun with the muzzle pointed well away from him, Jasper trudged through the mud and caught up with his friend. Mervin would be quite disappointed that they'd scared the quail away. It was rare that he actually found a flock, mostly because he couldn't actually see, per se, these days.

"Atlas, remember that time second year, shortly after I met you--and Susan, may she rest in peace." Atlas always got upset when Jasper failed to acknowledge the potato tree. He and Wendell secretly agreed that those had been the best chips they'd ever eaten. "You showed me and Will your new Sneakoscope, which you'd added hexing capacities to for extra protection, and it decided that Will was an evil overlord from Latvia and he was in hospital for a week while his foot turned back from a Cabbage Patch Doll? I think we should put--Sasha in the same box with that. She's so extraordinary, we wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her. It's a good storage location, you know. Six inch titanium, sound proof, triple locked. I'll make sure she's safe there, preserve her for future generations, yeah? Better than getting her all muddy out here."

Jasper failed to mention that the pirate ship was also in the box. He'd put it there after the forth time it smashed through his ceilings. Cal had insisted, since the mizzen mast had nearly impaled him while he was reading on the study sofa.

Atlas, The taller man stopped and turned as Jasper approached, Sasha lying across one forearm while Jaspers other hand was clasped on top of it. The man was taking mincing steps in what looked like an attempt to keep the gun from moving in any way. Honestly he would have to pull the trigger before anything even bordering on deadly could happen to occur…unless it bounced twice and landed with the barrel facing the east then things could get dodgy. Remember that time second year, shortly after I met you—and Susan, may she rest in peace. Atlas nodded his head in due reverence to his fallen love. She had started as nothing more than a stolen spud from the kitchens but she had become so much more. He could still vividly remember the night had returned to find her pot empty and a very consoling Jasper and Wendell.

They had offered him all that remained; the charred stump and his love of Herbology had really never been the same. He wiped at the tears that had bubbled up quickly before lifting his head to hear Jasper out. You showed me and Will your new Sneakoscope,. Ahh the Sneakoscope, that had been constructed during his small foray into charms, the results had been interesting. More than the sneakoscope though he remembered the look of complete abject horror on Will’s face when he had lifted his foot to find that unsettling Ginger haired squat faced doll had replaced his foot. Atlas had warned them not to do any funny accents around the sneakoscope, it was suspicious of most Eastern European countries. The fact that he asked Will to give him his best impression of count Dracula not 10 minutes later had been completely unintentional.

Jasper was still talking diplomat face firmly in place, occasionally the perfect indulging smile would twitch into another expression all together as the Jeweler stole nervous glances toward his forearm. It was like he was checking to make sure that it was still there. Jasper had always had a great concern for the material things in life, suites, fine wine, things he talked about with Apollo, money, his appendages and internal organs…Then Atlas caught what he was saying. “Why would something bad happen to her?” He glanced around, looking for Mr. Filch, maybe he had been sacked and set loose in the Mores somewhere ready to damage another one of Atlas painstakingly crafted creations. Maybe he and Jasper were in cahoots…He broke off from Jasper, poking about in the undergrowth but found no games keeper. He disentangled himself from one of the bramble bushes, picked the barbs out of his coat and considered Jasper’s case.

“I suppose….she’d need her own space though, she doesn’t play well with other toys. I left her on the counter in SHOP one morning, came back and all of my paper work containing the letter Q had been turned into dry chicken meat.” Carefully he lifted the gun from Jaspers hands, Jasper who seemed to be pleased to be rid of the thing, let out an audible sigh and then recomposed himself.

Atlas glanced down at the setting he had it on, and scoffed. “Might as well set it to off then….” He gave the dials a cursory glance, flipping it to 433-kumqat-sahhar. There was a small twinkling of lights and then the entire top panel of the weapon opened up, revealing a setting guide, as well as a simple ‘on’ ‘off’ button. He pressed the on button which resulted in the gun making a high pitched clicking noise before folding into itself and taking the shape of a pair of Mickey mouse ears. Atlas dusted off the ears, plucked Jasper’s rather posh looking hat from his head, ignoring the uncoordinated and panicked movement prompted by its removal. Stepping back with agility many people wouldn’t think he had Atlas, brought the two hats to eye level before darting forward and ceremoniously placing the mouse ears atop Jasper’s head. He spun the tweed hat on the index finger of his right hand while he used the palm of his left to press the ears down more firmly in place.

“M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E!” He sang out happily not at all put off by the look Jasper was attempting to skewer him with. “Right,” he beemed. “Muzzle loaders then?”

“Why would something bad happen to her?”

Atlas glanced around nervously, displaying classic symptoms of Caedmon paranoia. The taller man was rifling through a tangle of dried out weeds. Level three paranoia: obsessive searching. Check. Jasper decided to capitalize.

"Well, you never know Atlas. There could be all sorts of people who might want a remarkable weapon like Sasha. Terrorists, Filch--" Dramatic pause-- "Shirley. It's better to be safe, isn't it?"

“I suppose….she’d need her own space though, she doesn’t play well with other toys. I left her on the counter in SHOP one morning, came back and all of my paper work containing the letter Q had been turned into dry chicken meat.”

"That's...nice." Jasper sincerely hoped his future did not involve being turned into dry chicken meat. Or dry anything. Or any variety of meat. Or anything that was not his current form.

Atlas finally took the bloody thing, and Jasper did a quick self check for limbs and other pertinent body parts/items of clothing. Nothing seemed to be flambéed or mangled, which was always the important thing with Atlas. He flexed his fingers briefly, reveling in his continued ability to do so. Atlas was holding the gun as though it was a cuddly kitten rather than a heartless dispenser of wounds. He had switched back to the patronizing face that he adopted whenever Jasper displayed what Atlas seemed to consider an unhealthy concern with physical well-being.

“Might as well set it to off then….”

Atlas pressed a series of buttons and the gun lit up briefly. Probably its way of heralding the apocalypse. Jasper considered making a run to the bunker that Mervin had convinced Grandpa Christie to build during the fifties. It certainly hadn't ever had a useful purpose before. Happily, Atlas seemed to be just pressing the off switch. The gun folded in on itself with alarming speed. Jasper wondered briefly if that kind of compression was good for whatever explosives Atlas had inside the thing, then made himself stop thinking about it because it was making him sort of nauseous. What had it turned into, anyhow? Some kind of ears? He leaned forward cautiously for a closer look, then Atlas' hand shot out toward his head.

My hat is gone, Jasper thought rather distantly. He looked at Atlas, hat in one hand and ears in the other, as though the other man was moving in slow motion. Then Atlas' hand was moving forward again and something hard and plastic was being pressed against his skull--

Oh my God. F--k. I'm going to die now.

“M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E!” Atlas, grinning gleefully, had somehow decided that Jasper would like to spend his last few seconds on Earth having a Hooked on Phonics lesson. Had this all been some kind of secret assassination plot? Jasper wondered when his life was going to start flashing before his eyes. He had a lot of living to get through, and probably only a few seconds before the gun-ears turned his head into crispy duck. Self preservation kicked in finally and he snatched the thing from his head and put it down very, very carefully near Atlas' feet then stepped well back. Atlas looked inordinately pleased.

"Atlas, I'm going to say something to you now, and I want you to listen very closely. Try to remember." He took an authoritative step forward, plucked his hat from Atlas' hand, and settled it back onto his head. "If you ever, ever put that on me again, there is a very good chance I will try to rip my own head off, in hopes of avoiding a more painful death. I don't want that, and I don't think you want that unless you want to explain a lot of things to the police, my parents, our friends, and Cal. Who, incidentally, seems to be able to find enough reasons to hit you without you actually doing anything."

He took a deep breath. Checked that the hat was still on the ground and not scuttling toward him in an attempt to blow off his legs at the knee.

"Are we clear? Good. Get the guns, I really need to shoot something now."

Worth it every time, as soon as Jasper came to realize what had been placed on his head he flailed. All grace and charm seemed to stream off of him whenever he flailed, it was a movement that reduced Jasper Christie, suave, confident, charismatic Jasper reduced to mere mortal-dom by nothing more than a pair of theme park mouse ears. There various ways that Atlas had discovered over the years that produced similar effects, that time he had dissembled Jasper’s favorite coat to check for in sewn hexes, that time Atlas had worn Jasper’s very shiny brown shoes out to the green house, but Atlas’s favorite method always involved head gear.

Jasper had a puzzling attachment to his head and anything that he chooses to place upon it. In addition to the flailing, the delightful pin wheeling of Jasper’s arms and just the stricken look on his face, there was the inevitable catch 22 conflict that Jasper always managed to emote wonderfully. He was clearly torn between getting the hat off as quickly as possible and wondering if leaving it alone might prompt it to do him no harm. The real trick though was to keep a straight face, one upwards quirked lip and the game could be up. Luckily Jasper wasn’t paying Atlas much mind instead he seemed to be having some sort of rapid internal battle. A hard decisive look came into the Jewelers eyes and a moment later he had torn the hat from his head as carefully as humanly possible and placed it at Atlas’s feet, like some sort of sacrifice on an altar.

With that task done, he scooted backwards, and there was another delight, Jasper scooting! But Atlas could tell that Jasper had had about what he was able to tolerate. Now he was speaking, using his best ‘teaching voice’ soothing it its own way but with a warning menacing tone under it. I’m going to say something to you now, and I want you to listen very closely. Try to remember. Atlas fiddled with the bolt of his gun.

Right Jasper, listening, remembering. If you ever, ever put that on me again, there is a very good chance I will try to rip my own head off, in hopes of avoiding a more painful death. I don't want that, and I don't think you want that unless you want to explain a lot of things to the police, my parents, our friends, and Cal. Who, incidentally, seems to be able to find enough reasons to hit you without you actually doing anything.. Atlas nodded at the same time making a face. Did Jasper have to mention the chemist? Make him a fact? Atlas took the hat from the ground, flicking off bits of mud and then placing it carefully atop his own hat. One could never have enough hats, Apollo would be proud.

“Understood. Your parents would be the worst, a good deal of crying and blubbering about the family line and all that. Grounds for avoidance right there. Telling Calixtus on the other hand….” He drew out the phrase, relishing the small animated mental image it produced of Cal, grimy and devastated.

Are we clear? Atlas saluted, bumping the ears as he did so. Good. Get the guns, I really need to shoot something now.. Atlas nodded obligingly and dug into his rucksack this time producing a proper weapon, well suited for the task at hand and offered it to Jasper. “Good old boring flint lock it is. Though this one will load for you, which saves at least 15 minutes between shots.”

"Your parents would be the worst, a good deal of crying and blubbering about the family line and all that. Grounds for avoidance right there. Telling Calixtus on the other hand….”

Atlas looked like he was seriously contemplating it. Jasper wondered when the relationship between those two had escalated to such hatred that Atlas might actually consider Jasper's death a worthwhile sacrifice to make Cal unhappy. He was going to have to watch his back from now on. If Atlas, who was normally a fairly subdued sort (minus the belligerent weaponry) was that ruffled, God knew how seethingly enraged Cal must be.

"Oh yes, I'm sure that would be a splendid, entertaining moment for you. Except the part where I'm dead."

Atlas seemed to have found whatever part of his brain used normal human logic and had moved on to digging through his rucksack. Jasper waited with trepidation for whatever new torture device was sure to emerge, and breathed a massive sigh of relief when Atlas pulled out an ordinary looking gun. As he handed it over, the mouse ears wobbled menacingly from atop his hat. Jasper took a cautionary step back and accepted the gun. At least he had a weapon now, in case the ears went rampant and started assaulting anything with a pulse.

“Good old boring flint lock it is. Though this one will load for you, which saves at least 15 minutes between shots.”

"That's...nice."

Jasper didn't really know what Atlas was talking about. He liked shooting things, and he was relatively good at it, but he wasn't that interested in guns. When choosing one, he asked the person behind the counter in the shop which was the most expensive one for his intended purpose. It was a strategy that had served him well so far. Many a quail had appeared on the Christie manor table that had been shot down by a multi-thousand pound gun.

Atlas, on the other hand, had always been fascinated by the mechanical. Usually curiosity was an admirable quality in Jasper's eyes; he liked eavesdropping as much as the next criminal. But Atlas didn't limit himself to simply being curious; he had to go and invent and innovate and generally adapt things to inadvertently destroy as much human flesh as possible. This in mind, he accepted the gun with a degree of caution and they stomped off through the muck in search of quail.

For once, Atlas' invention had been anything but dangerous. It had handily reloaded itself, allowing Jasper the cathartic pleasure of killing many more quail than he could have if he'd had to reload himself (aka call Mervin and ask him to come out and reload). There had been no poison darts (much to Atlas' dismay), no impromptu amputations, and no more foreign currency. He wasn't exactly sure what two men were going to do with four brace of quail, but the cook could deal with that one. They slogged back through the mud as the sun set, ears still perched jauntily on Atlas' head, and stopped at the tall oak doors of the house.

"They're not coming inside." Jasper gestured at the ears with a brace of quail. "Mervin can put them in the stable if you promise they won't blow him up on the way there."

He took a step forward and opened the door. "Nice shooting today. I liked the guns-- the later guns. How do you want the quail tonight?" He took a breath, they would have to bring this up at some point. "And--do you want to, you know, work on the magic? Or wait until tomorrow?"

Atlas spent most of the walk back toward the mansion in amiable silence, just observing he countryside. For all of his gripping and moaning about Scotland there was a certain sort of beauty in it. If one ignored the mud, and the gray scheme color filter that seemed to cover everything and...he decided to appreciate the beauty of the dead quail (of which there was a good deal to appreciate) for the remainder of the walk. As the manor loomed ahead of them Atlas turned his attention back to Jasper who was gesturing busily at something on Atlas head. He lifted a hand to see what the problem might be but all he came in contact with were the ears.

They're no coming inside. Atlas did his best to look offended but Jasper did have a point. Ear-Hat-Sasha had been content enough to simply lie on top of his head while they were outdoors but Atlas wasn't sure what they would do when placed in an indoor environment. Thus far in their friendships one of the only injustices Atlas could say he hadn't committed was having a potions thrower disguised as the top part of an animated mouses head blow up in the family home. Best to keep it that way. Mervin can put them in the stable if you promise they won't blow him up on the way there. Atlas took a moment to consider if this was even a possibility before finally conceeding and plucking the ears from his head. He set them down carefully in one of the rather nice flower displays that littered the path to the doors. “Just tell him to give her plenty of water, and keep her away from goats. She hates goats.”

Jasper had hopped the few steps leading to the entrance and pulled the door open. Giving the hat one more forlorn look Atlas too ascended, noting the slightly off look now playing on the other mans features. As soon as Jasper had questioned him about how he preferred his poultry he segwayed almost without a hitch into the topic both had seemed determined to ignore for the majority of the day. And.... God it was embarrassing the way Jasper hesitated. Atlas went back to looking at the birds. Do you want to, you know, work on the magic? Or wait until tomorrow?.

This elicited a sigh and Atlas screwed up his face as he quickly assessed the questions. “I think roasted...maybe with rosemary, do they have rosemary in Scotland?” Jasper was looking at him. “Tonights fine. No sense in putting it off,” While he didn't want to entertain his next thought he voiced it none the less. “If I fail, it leaves tomorrow to try again.”

He should thank Jasper, these sorts of gestures were something he didn't suspect came all that easily. He had pulled himself away from his shop and from his...Cal. Atlas coughed at the thought pushing it back down where it belonged. He then piled some nice stock memories of kittens and puppies fighting over on top of it for good measure. “Do you have any theories?” It was much easier to speak to the other man when he could just detach himself from the situation, make it a technical, hypothetical problem. Like something from there advanced charms classes, 'Wizard looses magical ability, explain in no less than three rolls of parchment.'

Atlas looked a little stiff when Jasper mentioned the magic. That was fair. Jasper couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose magic. He thought of it something like a hollow inside your chest, where your heartbeat would echo around, but you wouldn't be able to hear the sound. Something impossibly lonely. He looked away quickly, before Atlas had a chance to see pity skim across his face. Pity never did anything for anyone. It was the most worthless emotion.

“I think roasted...maybe with rosemary, do they have rosemary in Scotland?”

Jasper smiled briefly. "Yes. No horseless carriages or moving pictures though, they're still working on that."

There was a pause, and Atlas stopped deflecting. It had been a valiant effort. “Tonights fine. No sense in putting it off. If I fail, it leaves tomorrow to try again.”

That was a remarkably positive, and sane, attitude about the whole situation. Jasper was proud of Atlas; he had a feeling that in the same position, he would be much more panicked. Then again, Jasper enjoyed magic much more than a lot of Wizards. He saw the maximum potential for its convenience and it had slowly worked its way into nearly every aspect of his life. There was a brief, uneasy pause, then Atlas continued.

“Do you have any theories?”

"A few."

They were weak. Jasper had done some reading, but he felt like he was largely over his head in what Atlas was experiencing. The material on the subject was mostly conjecture; there were so few cases that were even remotely similar. He'd considered asking Cal, who had an oddly encyclopedic knowledge of nearly everything, but he'd been afraid of having to explain why he wanted to know, and Cal didn't need to know anything about a weakness in Atlas. The two had enough to pick at about each other without more ammunition.

"I've done some reading, but I'm guessing you have too." He held up the quail, feathers rustling. "Go ahead, let me take these through to Mervin, he'll have the cook sort them. Rosemary, right?"

Jasper didn't particularly like rosemary. He preferred stuffing with his quail, but he supposed it was only right to cater to Atlas as much as possible. He'd want the same in this scenario. Quail dispatched, he returned to the dining room, where Atlas had taken a seat. With his back to a corner, as always. He seemed to be vigilantly searching for danger, probably in the form of Mervin, who he had once told Jasper was "quite clearly a Soviet operative."

"So I was thinking, this is an odd one--" He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Maybe--the Ministry just short circuited your magic. Have you tried a magical transference? Cal was trying to explain something to me about the Aston when I left the lights on, you get another car and zap it or something. Maybe that's what your magic needs."

He paused as Mervin shuffled in with the drinks cart. "I've got it Mervin--" He jumped to his feet-- "cheers."

Best to minimize contact. Mervin shuffled away again, grinning in the odd way he had, and Jasper made himself a martini.

"Drink?" He collected his thoughts. "Anyway, I was thinking about Transfero potens-- I know it's sort of weird and all, invasive, but I've done it before." He neglected to explain that this had been with Cal. "Maybe worth a shot?"

A few. Atlas stopped glancing around the foyer ceasing his search for oddities that years of mystery novels had told him always lurked in country estates such as this one and looked over at Jasper (he kept the painting of the terrier in sight though, it looks malicious). I've done some reading, but I'm guessing you have too. He had, and he nodded to confirm as much. Most of the documents had been completely useless archaic. Medical documents from St Mungos had also been proved woefully useless.

Jasper hoisted the quails up, shaking them in the air as if to remind Atlas of their existence, Go ahead, let me take these through to Mervin, he'll have the cook sort them. Rosemary, right? He nodded again to confirm rosemary as the spice of choice for the evening and then watched as Jasper and his quails darted down the hallway. As soon as the man was out of sight Atlas dropped to the ground, pressing his face to the hardwood floor and listening. No scuttling of any kind, just a dim echo of water flowing through pipes. From his new vantage point he looked down the long hallway, wondering where Mervin might be lurking.

He had made multiple attempts to make Jasper see reason about the family servant. Jasper was relatively well educated but he had obviously never read the proper amount of Agatha Christie novels and had never played clue. I was always the butler, the older and more senile they appeared the more dark and vile their inner character. The fact that Scottish game keeper had never done anything to Atlas than take his coat and inquire about his health was entirely irrelevant, he was just trying to make him complacent. Atlas picked himself up off the floor and dusted off his front before proceeding slowly to the dining room. If Jasper caught him on the ground looking for loose floorboards, again, they'd have to have one of their talks about how Jasper felt about unwarranted damage to his family property. Atlas hated that talk.

Atlas surveyed the layout of the room, unchanged from the last time he had been there, and took a seat on the southeast corner of the room. It wasn't long before Jasper breezed into the room, missing a gaggle of dead poultry. Without preamble Jasper seated himself and recommenced their conversation.

So I was thinking, this is an odd one--Maybe--the Ministry just short circuited your magic. Have you tried a magical transference? Cal was trying to explain something to me about the Aston when I left the lights on, you get another car and zap it or something. Maybe that's what your magic needs.

Car analogies? At least Atlas thought 'the Aston' was referring to a car. He had seen what Jasper was referencing, once or twice on his excursions into the wider world of London proper. It involved opening hoods, exposing insides, attaching cables to them and then some sort of energy conversion, the whole thing had looked throughly and rightly unpleasant. Was Jasper proposing attaching to a muggle battery? Who knows what things Calixtus might be recommending. Although, the theory might have wings. He folded his arms and rested them on the table top, placing his chin over his overlapped hands. A short circuit. Artemis and Apollo didn't seem to have suffered the same thing. He didn't know about Carmen, but he guessed he was the only one. He was prevented from musing on it further when Mervin entered the room, pushing a cart that looked as if it contained drinks. Looked, Atlas eyes narrowed.

Jasper shooed the man out as quickly as possible, but the game keeper did turn to give Atlas a small friendly wave, which the wizard returned with a wary glare and slight pursing of the lips. The man bore odd resemblance to Lenin. Jasper was doing something over by the cart, Drink Atlas almost shook his head no, no telling what Mervin had been up to, but he doubted that the man would try to poison Jasper, it was always the owners who went last, if Mervin was going to go on a killing spree he would start with the cook. He sniffed the air, something was cooking...alright then things were safe for now. “Harvey Wallbanger.”

Anyway, I was thinking about Transfero potens-- I know it's sort of weird and all, invasive, but I've done it before. Atlas head came off his elbows. [/b]Maybe worth a shot?[/b]. What had Jasper been doing to warrant a need for a transference spell on that level. Atlas knew that something of the nature of what Jasper did, knew it was precise, and complicated but he didn't think it required all that much heavy power. “I'd never considered that.” He answered honestly. It was a rather rudimentary and occasionally dangerous spell, something that was usually attempted by aurors, or people involved in highly taxing spell fusions.

Atlas chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Could work. If depletion is the problem, or a short circuit like you said. I've been away from the basement,” By this he of course meant soul in a box, “For almost two days, any drain from that should be canceled out.” He looked at Jasper and shifted in his seat, the closest he really came to fidgeting. “It might be dangerous. If it is a deficiency we don't know how much energy I might take out of you. From what I understand it can be a nasty little spell.”

It was silly to voice those facts. If Jasper was suggesting it was a method it meant that he had already thought the matter out, at length. Jasper was more calculating than compulsive, at least most of the time. If he was suggesting this first, he had probably determined it to be the best possible choice. “If your willing, it might be the best option. Certainly anything better than I've been able to come up with.”

"Harvey Wallbanger."

Jasper sighed. Honestly, making Atlas cocktails was ten times as challenging as sorting out his magic was likely to be. It took him a minute to remember what a Harvey Wallbanger contained, then another to transfigure a bottle of mediocre sherry into Galliano, since there was absolutely no chance he had the stuff on hand. A year ago, he'd finally consented to learning how to make one and only one of the archaic cocktails that Atlas requested at each boys' club evening. He'd drawn the line when Atlas had asked him for a Bengal Lancer's Punch and seemed absolutely affronted that Jasper wouldn't oblige him. How he'd chosen the Harvey Wallbanger as the only drink he was ever allowed to have in the Christie environs was a mystery that Jasper had no interest in investigating.

When he brought the drinks over Atlas looked contemplative, slightly worried. He took a sip of his martini and sat down slowly. Atlas' drink was ignored. Under any other circumstances, he would have been more than a little annoyed, considering he actually had to put some thought into making (unlike martinis, which he was fairly certain he could, and may have on occasion, concoct in his sleep).

"If depletion is the problem, or a short circuit like you said. I've been away from the basement.”

Of course if. The whole situation was one giant if. If Jasper had been able to come up with a better idea, he wouldn't be taking the chance that Atlas might siphon all his magic out accidentally. If Atlas hadn't gotten involved in whatever disaster had taken place at the Ministry, they wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't be keeping that repulsive thing in his basement.

“It might be dangerous. If it is a deficiency we don't know how much energy I might take out of you. From what I understand it can be a nasty little spell.”

Jasper knew that. He'd considered the dangers for quite a long time one night, lying awake for hours after Cal had fallen asleep. What he'd thought most about was the first time he'd done the transference spell with Cal. He hadn't learned to control it very well yet, and he'd been desperate. There had been a point, just before he'd pulled away, when he'd had a strange compulsion to keep going. A moment when he could feel, just beyond out of reach, a different core of energy that pulsed more brightly, and he'd nearly seized it. Part of his mind had known it would feel amazing, that he would be more powerful, just for a few seconds, than he could ever have imagined. But he'd also known that taking whatever the bright-white center of energy was would do something horrible to Cal, so he'd wrenched himself away. Even now, when he'd learned to control the spell with fairly delicate precision, there was always the moment of temptation. For someone like Atlas, if he was sapped of magical power--

But no, he'd decided that was entirely absurd. Atlas was one of his oldest friends. He would be able to sense, like Jasper, that there was a boundary that couldn't be crossed. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't himself, lately, either, but he would know better. Needed to know better.

“If your willing, it might be the best option. Certainly anything better than I've been able to come up with.”

Atlas still looked skeptical, but Jasper really did think it was the best option. Well, there might have been better ones. Ones that actually had some grounding in facts other than the ones Cal explained to him about cars rather confusingly. But he hadn't been able to come up with anything, and neither had Atlas, apparently, and doing anything was better than sitting and being a source of pity, wasn't it?

"I don't know if it's the best option. I'm no theoretician, obviously. But it's what I've come up with. We should eat first, the spell takes a lot of energy--you know. Then we'll try it."

Mervin brought the quail out a little after they'd finished their drinks. Atlas seemed nervous; he barely even gave the old man a McCarthy-esque glance, and didn't mutter anything about "Commie scum" after he left the room. Jasper was nervous too. He knew he should eat something, but the more he thought about Atlas and that thing in the box and that strange, hovering moment at the end of transfero, the less he wanted quail. Forcing himself through some of it, he put his fork down the moment Atlas did, trying to make his voice calm.

"You ready?" He swallowed. "If you feel the spell getting out of hand, it's incredibly important to let go right away. I'll be on the lookout too, but if it's working properly I won't be as strong as usual, so you've got to be ready to let go because I might not be able to--" He didn't like this part. Admitting to weakness wasn't something he had any experience with. "Anyway, it's best to start off slow with the spell, yeah? It doesn't feel so great at first, just push through it."

Pushing his plate aside, he let his arm drop onto the table, palm up and extended toward Atlas. "Whenever you're ready mate."

Atlas ran his finger around the rim of his glass as Jasper rationalized the incredibly stupid thing it looked like they were going to do. Jasper glanced at the drink and an almost imperceptible frown crossed over the mans features. Jasper always made the offer of cocktails but there was really only ever one correct answer to the question that was, ‘yes I would love a martini’ and then Jaspers whims would decide what make and type you would soon find before you. Atlas for his part had spent most of his friendship with Jasper learning subtle little ways to go against the other mans whims.

It was good for him, to have someone say no to him every now and then, even if it was about something as trivial as your preference in drinks. Sometimes Atlas’s carefully placed moments of decent were seen for what they were, like that time in 5th year when he had refused to use a charm suggested by Jasper even though there was no equivalent alternative, or when Atlas refused to pronounce the word ‘kilt’ properly. But years and considerable observation had yielded excellent results, the choice of a cocktail or the use of a gun no human would want to be within 5 square miles of, these were the things you could get away with. But Jasper was indulging him here and it was only right to indulge back. Atlas raised the glass, taking a series of small measured sips, before letting the glass rest precariously on atop his knee.

I don’t know if it’s the best option. I’m no theoretician, obviously. But it’s what I’ve come up with. We should eat first, the spell takes a lot of energy—you know. Then we’ll try it. .

Atlas sipped at the wall banger and considered ways he might politely end this. Jasper’s last statement did nothing to alleviate the nagging worry the whole idea of a transfero was building in his head. Jasper was young, strong, but Atlas wasn’t sure he would have added hardy to the list of traits. Physical strength often had little to do with magical ability though, and Jasper had that in spades. It was something people didn’t often notice about the other man, who tended to use magic for little things. Boiling water, picking up the wash, ironing, emptying his fridge, day to day tasks that most would never thing to integrate with magic. He had never participated in duels at school, save for that one with Wendell in the private confines of an abandoned classroom; and this had led to rumor of weakness.

All of these were untrue though; none of their fellow students had ever seen Jasper really work. Hadn’t seen the way he would study a formula for a good hour or so before augmenting and bending the spell in ways Atlas might have thought of, but wouldn’t have had the patience or the persistence to actually accomplish. The way he used magic was a complete contrast to the way he lived his life which was all public spectacle and flash. But he seemed worried about this, and that in turn worried Atlas.

They ate dinner largely in silence, Atlas carefully and discreetly dissecting the carcass of the quail. Not so much eating as cutting and rearranging the bits on the plate, a child’s trick to avoid eating ones vegetables. Some of the food he forced down, chewing and trying to think of anything but all the ways that this could go wrong, and then swallowing heavily. He continued the systematic task of consumption until he had consumed roughly half the quail, plenty of calories. Jasper must have been watching him carefully because as soon as the clinking sound from Atlas fork meeting his plate for the final time faded into the dining room Jasper was speaking.

You ready?. No. A child’s voice responded but Atlas didn’t move. If you feel the spell getting out of hand, it's incredibly important to let go right away. I'll be on the lookout too, but if it's working properly I won't be as strong as usual, so you've got to be ready to let go because I might not be able to-- Anyway, it's best to start off slow with the spell, yeah? It doesn't feel so great at first, just push through it..

Jasper reached a hand out toward Atlas, who inspected it for a moment. Long fingers, smooth palms, he took a deep breath, making a small o with his mouth and expelling it before he inched his own hand forward and carefully laid his hand on Jasper’s. He considered the arrangement of his fingers carefully before interlacing them more securely. He glanced up at Jasper who had adopted a rather stony expression.

“Transfero Potens.” For an agonizing moment there was nothing and Atlas almost retracted his hand, somewhere between disappointment and relief that their gambit hadn’t come to anything. Then there was a lurch, something akin to the tug of a portkey as it pulled you through a void of space. There was energy pulsating but not moving but it was right there and it felt so right. Atlas pushed harder, flooding the link, he felt it in his arm and chest and head, like he had opened a damn. It was exhilarating and exciting, and enrapturing, and….terrible. Suddenly the good feeling evaporated replaced by what Atlas could only describe as a full feeling. Some bizarre version of how ones stomach felt after sneaking an entire pie, or eating a whole box of fudge, but worse, so much worse.

It was like drowning, Atlas panicked, tried to close the link, failed, redoubled his efforts. He heard glass shattering, he couldn’t breath. He opened his eyes, raised his other hand and used it to wretch the one holding Jasper’s free.

Atlas put his hand out slowly. There was a pause during which their hands barely touched, then Atlas tucked his fingers tightly through Jasper's. His palm was clammy with nerves, a contrast to Jasper's, which turned dustily dry and frigid when he was nervous, as though he was too worried to bother with circulation. A beat of silent stillness followed. Jasper looked away from their hands uncomfortably; he and his friends didn't really touch. They weren't that sort. Aside from Cal, he found physical contact sort of uncomfortable. Even his parents, who had been loving to the point of fawning, had never been especially tactile. He held his face absolutely still. Atlas didn't need to see how nervous he was.

“Transfero Potens.”

Jasper had never said the spell out loud. Normally he thought it, to avoid interference with whatever spell he needed the energy for. Plus there was something damning about speaking the words, like admitting that you were stealing from someone else. He felt Atlas' grip loosen, then the compulsive tightening that meant the spell had begun.

At first it wasn't so bad. He felt the way one feels after a bad flu, weak and a little wobbly. It was nothing unbearable. He watched Atlas' face sharply, making sure he stayed focused. At first it was all right; he looked like Atlas, concentrating but in control. Then, horribly, Atlas' fingers tightened further, pushing the bones of Jasper's knuckles uncomfortably close together, and suddenly it was agony. He watched Atlas' eyes change, blanking out somehow, and for a moment he could feel every ion of energy draining through his palm into Atlas' skin, separate little pin pricks of life sparking away.

Even if that had lasted, it would have been bearable, but the feeling faded, replaced with the sensation of suffocation, as though he actually didn't have the energy to breathe in. His free hand flipped helplessly on the table and he heard his glass smash against the floor. He tried to look down at it and found that he couldn't see well anymore, his vision clouding with black spots.

This needed to stop. It was unbearable. He wondered, absently, as though he was floating outside himself somewhere next to the drink cart, if it felt this way for Cal. It couldn't. How could someone-- This had to be different. Atlas was magically compromised, unstable, he lacked Jasper's precision and caution. At school he had loved the flash of dueling, the most impractical uses of magic. He didn't know how to stop like Jasper did; whether it was conspiracy theories or collecting bizarre knick knacks or his obsessive persecution of Cal. Jasper should have warned him more. He'd needed to be the one who knew better, and now--

--oh God, God-- Jasper hadn't known how much pain he was in until Atlas tore their hands apart, flinging him back against his chair with the force of it. His arm was throbbing, the pulse of it sweeping up into his skull. He gasped in a breath and coughed it out again. A drop of blood landed on the table and, raising his hand to his mouth, he realized he'd bitten his lip. He leaned his head in his hand and tried to compose himself, not daring to look up at Atlas yet.

Since their first meeting, though still practically children when it happened, Jasper had felt an odd sense of protection toward Atlas. It wasn't his nature with most people; he was not kind or sympathetic or sentimental. But, for all his brilliance and wit and magical strength (He was, honestly, one of the few people Jasper knew had as much magical force as he did. The other definite one was Apollo, though he could rarely muster the concentration to use it), Atlas was oddly weak. Too fragile sometimes, off in his own world of experiments and conspiracies, for the concrete realities that Jasper loved and manipulated. He knew, even half-suffocated, that Atlas couldn't see how much he'd hurt him. It would be more damaging than anything he could have done to Jasper.

When he finally looked up, tongue running with morbid curiosity across the bitter salt of his bitten lip, Atlas looked ill. Jasper, for all the hatred he had of transfero, knew it made him look unusually robust, as though he was painted in slightly more vibrant colors than the rest of the world. Atlas looked painted in whitewash, dusty blotches of color unevenly across his cheeks. Jasper flexed his fingers and dropped them into his lap, saying the only thing he could think of.

"Well, did it work?"

Atlas’s hand convulsed on the table, unconsciously seeking out the power source it had recently been ripped from. He curled his fingers into a fist and it took a long moment for him to realize that he was slumped, face lying to the side and away from Jasper on the tabletop. Had the chair he was seated in not had such fine and intricately carved arms he might be becoming more acquainted with the hard wood of Jasper’s dining room floor. The room seemed brighter, the white of the table clothe sending glare every which way. Atlas closed his eyes and sat up, grateful for the back of the chair.

He could hear Jasper coughing. A hacking retching sound that followed each intake of breath, he was breathing but he wasn’t swearing, or making a quip or performing any actions that might be construed as being something Jasper might do were he fine. Which implied he wasn’t fine. A wave of panic was quelled when Atlas turned in his seat and looked at Jasper who was leaning into the tabletop, his face padded from the hardwood by his crooked arm.

He wasn’t coughing anymore, just lying there and breathing. The rhythm was uneven, alternating between deep and shallow and sometimes pausing for a moment altogether. He would not ask if he was all right Atlas decided. Jasper was fine, though there was a slight tremor running through him, and he wasn’t saying anything but he also wasn’t on the floor seizing. While he had decided he wasn’t going to patronize Jasper the man’s complete lack of movement was becoming unnerving, Jasper saved either of them from further embarrassment when he shifted suddenly.

With his head dislodged from his forearm Atlas could get a clear view of Jasper and he looked terrible. All the color was gone from his face, leaving him with a sickly green complexion. The dimensions of his face seemed to have changed, cheekbones more prominent, eyes sunken in and rimmed with black, the only place on Jasper’s face not devoid of all pigment was on his bottom lip, where the skin was torn and bleeding sluggishly.

Well, did it work? Atlas gaped at him silently. Stumbled over his own tongue on the way to apologizing. This couldn’t be the way the spell was supposed to work, he had let it go to far for to long. Jasper had placed himself in an extremely vulnerable position and though Atlas hadn’t done it intentionally he had taken advantage.

He stood from his seat, his head felt fuzzy but not in a way that was altogether unpleasant. Fumbled in his pocket for his wand and found it with little difficulty. The whole of his body felt like he had pins and needles, humming with energy but with nowhere for it to go. It wasn’t the feeling Atlas had anticipated. He looked around the room, agitated, twitching now and then, his eyes settled on the fireplace across the room. Ignition spell, simple, easy, he aimed, he shouldn’t even have to say anything.

And he didn’t, rather than lighting the wood in the fireplace the flames leapt in every direction, probably would have overwhelmed the room in a matter of second. Overload. Atlas did speak this time, “Amotio aero.” Atlas smiled, and then the smile broke into a laugh as the bubble formed, isolating the flames and then sucking the air out of the quarantined area. There appeared to be minimum damage, a few soot marks here and there. He let the spell drop, turned to Jasper with his wand arm raised. “Ha! Combination of a traditional Anglo charm for diffusion and Greek wind magic!” He was about to say more, to laugh off the whole thing, to make Jasper a bloody martini but then something changed.

Atlas stopped talking, frowned. He felt….ill. Then his legs buckled, That’s odd.. He wondered if magic was like blood type…two kinds incompatible with one another leading to a negative reaction. Too much. Or it was the opposite it was compatible but it was too much, instead of replenishing depleted reserves they had overloaded them and now, “Meltdown.” He had to think of a way to exhaust the energy, make the power levels manageable as it was it felt like it was tearing a hole in his skull.

His mind searched for spells, strong ones, exhausting crippling ones but every time the snatch of something came to mind and he tried to concentrate on it, he lost his grip on holding back the tide and went under. He was still holding his wand and he started scribbling runes into the floor. It was old magic, and the older something was the more power it took. This was especially true of alchemic circles, which were complicated and served no real purpose aside from looking pretty and causing large explosions. They weren’t very popular; his professors had told him they were a waste of time, so he had learned as many as possible. He finished, opened his eyes long enough to make sure and then dropped his wand, pressed his palm to the center.

The windows of the room, high, thick, and probably very old rattled, and then with little other preamble shattered. Had the rune been missing its final little curly q at its bottom it was likely the force of it would have skewered the two wizards but as it was the glass condensed, turning first to stone and then compressing and heating back into molten chunks of glass which fell onto the hardwood floor scorching it before they two shattered, but into large more manageable pieces.

Atlas sat back, shuffled away from one still simmering hunk of glass on his elbows. “It’s not a depletion issue…”

Atlas stood, quite suddenly, grabbing about for his wand. Jasper felt off, as though his eyes could barely track the motion when his friend shifted. He had to blink a few times to bring things into focus. Atlas was practically shivering with energy. Once Jasper managed to focus his vision he could see Atlas' fingers twitching. Atlas turned toward the fireplace and raised his wand.

F--k. F--k. Flames spewed across the room for a split second, and Jasper felt himself grate his chair across the floor. The motion made him feel dizzy, nauseous, and he wavered on the edge of the seat for a moment, convinced he was going to be burned to death.

“Amotio aero.”

Bubbles formed around the flames and they vanished, the after images blotching up Jasper's eyes. When he blinked them away, Atlas was smiling madly. This was like Sasha all over again. He couldn't take this kind of stress more than once a day. There were soot marks on the portrait of Great-grandmother Christie, who was scowling rather viciously and letting off a tirade not very appropriate for a high born woman of the early Victorian era. Atlas turned, waving his wand like a Muggle magician.

"Ha! Combination of a traditional Anglo charm for diffusion and Greek wind magic!”

Then he fell over. Jasper leapt to his feet then swayed, nearly fell and had to lean forward and clutch at the edge of the table. He tugged too hard and whipped the tablecloth askew, cutlery clattering around his feet. When he looked down Atlas was scrabbling on the floor madly with his wand. Jasper watched with an odd sort of detachment, his head swimming a bit. He normally had good vision, but whatever Atlas was drawing came across blurry and strange. Atlas wasn't acting Atlas-like. He was moving too quickly and sharply. Jasper sat down again and found that he felt like he wasn't floating above the floor as he had seconds before.

Atlas stopped drawing, and there was utter, vacuum-like silence, and then everything exploded.

Jasper dropped to the floor as giant chunks of what had once been fifteenth century leaded windows rained around him, scrambling under the table. He had come closer to death today more times than in possibly the previous five years. And that included Thai prison. Once the sizzling noises from the floor stopped, he poked his head out from under the table, hoping Atlas didn't have any more runes to draw.

“It’s not a depletion issue…”

Atlas shuffled away from something that was smouldering a hole into the hardwood. Jasper winced. His mother would not be especially pleased about this.

"I'd say not. Could you--could that possibly happen less? Or never again?"

He staggered to his feet, took the few shaky steps to the drinks cart that Mervin had left behind, and made himself a very strong martini. Even the first step made him feel vastly improved.

"You want something? You should have something. I'll make you a Savoy Corpse Reviver, I feel like I could use one after that." Archaic cocktail joke, lighten mood after massive destruction of family home. Check. He sat down heavily and finished off the martini, feeling himself steady back into his normal posture.

"Atlas, mate, I don't think it's a problem with your magic, in the sense we think. I mean--" He gestured around at the destruction of his home. This was going to be a pain in the arse to fix. "--you have enough magic. Have you thought about--getting rid of it? The--thing. In the box."

I'd say not. Could you--could that possibly happen less? Or never again?

“Do my best.” He said breathlessly. Jasper’s mother was always on the man to use the country house more often but Atlas didn’t imagine that using it and causing a fair amount of damage was not what she had intended. Although he was relatively secure in that fact that broken windows and burns in hardwood were preferable to the skewering of her one and only golden child. By the time Mrs. Christie had gotten through with him there wouldn’t have been anything left of Atlas to return to his own mother.

Atlas placed his hand with his fingers splayed over his heart. Reveled in the reassuring way it was hammering in his chest. That meant it was still here, he swallowed and continued breathing heavily, surveying the damage around the dining room. After glancing behind him to insure that he wouldn’t be flopping onto a molten hunk of half form glass Atlas let himself fall to the floor, craning his head backwards just enough to catch a glimpse of Jasper as the other man veered a zig zag path toward the drink cart. The transference appeared to have robbed Jasper of the natural and easy grace that Jasper always carried himself with.

Atlas stayed on the ground, calming his breathing, feeling the little twitches from his fingers and legs, he’d have to get up in a minute. The pain in his head was gone, replaced by the same hollowness as before, he concentrated on the noises Jasper made as he went about preparing his drink of choice. Atlas snorted, rolled onto hands and knees and then flopped back to lean against one of the table’s chairs.

You want something? You should have something. I'll make you a Savoy Corpse Reviver, I feel like I could use one after that.

Atlas laughed, a short but pleasant little sound and shook his head no. “Water wouldn’t be so bad right now…”

Jasper lurched away from the drink cart and teetered back down into his chair, setting the glass on the tabletop carefully, and then remembering that he was Jasper Christie he straightened up.

Atlas, mate, I don't think it's a problem with your magic, in the sense we think. I mean---you have enough magic. Have you thought about--getting rid of it? The--thing. In the box.

Atlas poked at one of the chunks with his wand, it sizzled slightly but it wasn’t smoking anymore. “It’s not an ‘thing’ Jasper, that soul is a person.” He stopped, swallowed. “And I don’t know who it belongs to, can’t just open the box somewhere and shoo the poor thing out. Or leave it in a bin somewhere.” Atlas reached out and picked up one of the smaller pieces, it was still almost uncomfortably warm but it didn’t burn. He juggled the object between his hands. “I’ve been thinking about going to see Logan Fletcher. I broke into the department of records the other night and got his address. He was there that night,” He shrugged. “Stands to reason he would know where it came from.”
Cradling the rock to his chest, he plucked up his wand with the other hand. Atlas eyed it up like it might do something terrible at any moment. “It was an overload I think. I took too much from you and added it to an already overstocked supply. Its all there apparently, I just can’t get to it and make it do anything.” He scrutinized Jasper. “I didn’t hurt you did I? Sorry about the floor….your Mother was saying she was looking to do some remodeling…”