Jasper had a sinking suspicion that the walls were made of bits of rats. Possibly just live rats. It was too dark to see if they were actually moving, or if the incredibly dim light was just playing tricks with his tired eyes. The Thai prison system apparently didn't spend a lot on lightbulbs. He'd only seen one, dangling limply from a wire in the hall, as they dragged him in. Sighing, he shifted from one foot to the other. He'd decided it would be best to stand on one foot for as long as possible, to avoid any more than the minimum surface contact with the cell he was currently alone inside.

Jasper Christie was nineteen years old and in jail for the first and only time in his life. He'd started this series of heists, mostly of Eastern religious artifacts, which had a strangely high resale value, in an attempt to fund the shop he hoped to open. It would have been more obvious to ask his parents for a bit of a loan, but he didn't think they would understand why he needed quite so much storage for a few jewels.

Things had gone well in India, China, the gaspingly high mountains of Tibet, but it had fallen apart in Thailand. Stupid monastery. Stupid temple. Stupid golden statue of some strange looking female goddess. He'd had the thing in his hands, preparing to shrink it down, when the police had arrived. Apparently the monks here were a bit more sharp-eyed than those in Tibet had been. He'd gotten out of scrapes like this before by simply Apparating away, but there had been a scuffle with many hands waving around statue and Jasper, and his wand had been grabbed and snapped. Watching it fall to the floor, its two splintered ends clattering dully, he'd felt something tug uncomfortably in his chest. Immediate weakness had followed, and he'd let himself be carted off to prison in the back of a rusty Jeep. He was quite obviously no match for four policemen with semiautomatic weapons. A bit more intense than English security, certainly.

They had tried to question him, but none of them spoke English, and Jasper of course had no grasp of obscure dialects spoken in rural Thailand. Eventually they'd just thrown him into this damp, dirt-floored cell in frustration. There were mushrooms growing in the corner. Jasper could feel himself becoming consumptive.

An hour passed, then two, and one of the guards appeared with a cup of murky water, which Jasper refused because he liked life without parasites. After a bout of fervent miming, he managed to convey that he wanted to make a phone call, which the guard reluctantly nodded to. Taking a rather overzealous grasp on Jasper's upper arm, he tugged him down the flickering hall and presented him with a cracked plastic phone in a tiny office. The phone still had a rotary dial. Jasper had no idea how to use it.

Nor did he have many options. His parents were out, of course. Will had a Muggle phone, but he would be rather unhelpful in this scenario. Apollo and Wendell were just as technologically inept as he was, plus Apollo was the last person you wanted to stage a prison breakout, unless you needed to smuggle a file inside a vat of glitter. Atlas then; he had a phone and a shockingly detailed knowledge of post-communist prison layouts. Just what Jasper needed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his wallet. It had once belonged to the "directory" that Atlas had given him in their final days at Hogwarts, detailing how he could best be reached in a variety of scenarios. It had originally come in four volumes, but Jasper didn't think he would ever need the one for space travel, spelunking, or Canada. So he'd torn out the index to "Perilous Situations" and chucked the rest in his study.

Thrace, no. Three Thirty Three Club, Hoxton, no good. Third World Prisons, right.

"When in third world prison: Helena's house first, unless it is a Sunday after four, or any Eastern Orthodox Saint's Day, or National Cheese Day in Holland, in which case you should call my mum's house, unless it's between 6 and 615 and you're wearing pink. In that case owl."

Jasper ignored the footnote about the "prison rape barometers" as well as the one that guided him to further information about other Dutch holidays, and glanced down at the phone number. Helena's number in Greece. He didn't know how to use the phone in the best cases, so the Paleolithic example in front of him was a lost cause. Picking up the receiver, he pretended to twirl the dial as he'd seen actors do in old movies, while actually forcing the phone to connect wandlessly. There was the remote click of a long distance connection, then someone picked up. He didn't even wait for 'hello.'

"Helena? Atlas? Is Atlas there? I really need to speak with him. It's Jasper."

Atlas sat in the center of the bed, Indian style with a set of shards spread over a clothe in front of him. He had been forced to vacate the kitchen table a half hour before, when Helena had demanded that he 'come to bed', she had failed to preclude work from coming with him. Now she was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed but still looking amused. Atlas slid another one of the shards toward its possible counter part and grinned when the two pieces melded together, glowing before settling. He had found the tablet while gathering information on a man believed to be smuggling fish who had been forced fed a new kind of bacteria. One that could regenerate limbs and make you smarter.

Atlas had his doubts about the validity of this particular story, the man who came in to report the problem hadn't seemed especially bright, and he had definitely been missing the top half of the pinky on his left hand...But Atlas had been diligent in his searching. He had turned up a dead blow fish, a half dead jelly fish (he had remedied that situation after the bugger stung the crap out him) and the pieces currently in front of him. When reassembled he was sure the tablet would have some kind of value.

“.....He's Brazilian,” He glanced up at Hellena as she spoke, he had forgotten she was still standing there. He wondered how long she had been speaking, what vital point she had just made that he had missed.

“Who's Brazilian?” He asked, tone neutral and nonchalant as he held a piece to eye level, glancing down to see where it might eventually go.
“Captain Rodrigo. The man I'm leaving you for.”

He snorted setting the piece in its place, he could now make out the names of various angels....maybe it was a curse tablet. “Please. That is a profoundly stupid name. And you hate anyone with titles dictating some objective form of authority. Not even a proper captain I would guess. If one was going to lie about rank it seems a safe position. A lieutenant and someone will ask for details, 'whats your unit', 'where did you train'; but a captain, different altogether. A captain can be anything, which also makes him vague, you hate that as well.” Another piece slid into place. “Brazil is an inspired choice though. Beautiful flag, stars at night over a dark sky...but you know what they say about Brazilians?”

There was no response and when he looked up she wasn't in the door anymore, instead she was at the end of the bed, chin resting on her hand while the other idly shuffled his shards. He swallowed, looked down at the tablet. “Well...nothing that bears repeating.” Still not speaking Helena swept a black lock behind one ear and then with quick swift movements aligned the rest of the pieces, rearranging them as it suited. When the completed tablet ceased glowing she lifted it off the bed, swept the clothe away and handed the completed work to Atlas.

“It is a stupid name. Can we go to bed now please?” She implored, crawling up next to him and examine the tablet over his shoulder.

It was a typical curse tablet really, mentions of goats and olive groves, and something about someones wife that really could have been left out. He'd take it into work tomorrow, see if it could be put to any use. It wasn't active, maybe the person had never gotten around to it. It was hard to find the needed items for such a thing. Cat, easy, fire, easy, clothes of a man who died a violent death? In woefully short supply since the late Hellenistic. His admittedly morbid thought pattern was cut short by the shrill ringing of the phone in the kitchen...he hated that phone. His ire for it was near equal to his ire for the muggle alarm clock Helena insisted on keeping.

They exchanged a look, a series of non verbal questions and answers, and then Helena moved. Walked into the kitchen and lifted the phone to her ear.
Helena?Atlas? Is Atlas there? I really need to speak with him. It's Jasper.. As if she would mistake the voice. He sounded relieved but there was an underlying hint of panic.

“I recognize your voice Jasper.” Normally she might chat him up, wait to see how long it took Atlas to wander into the kitchen to find out who had managed to garner so much of her time and attention. This didn't seem to be the time though. “Hes right here.”

As she spoke she crossed back into the bedroom. Atlas had cleaned his work space and was now sitting back against the headboard, he looked up from the tablet and lifted an eyebrow as she approached brandishing the phone. She mouthed 'Jasper' distinctly, Atlas set the tablet onto the bedside table and took the phone from her, “Jasper?” While he talked he made a mental calculation, when he had last spoken to the man and what he had been up to at the time. He was somewhere in Asia wasn't he? “Why are you using a phone?” He hadn't been aware that Jasper knew how to use a phone. “Are you alright? Where are you?” He checked his watch. “Its dangerously close to being a Sunday.”

“I recognize your voice Jasper.”

It was Helena, then. Her pleasant voice was an incredibly welcome sound even through the tinny earpiece of the cheap phone, and Jasper breathed a sigh of relief. Behind him, the guard glared. Apparently any emotions but abject terror were frowned upon here. He carefully set his face back to misery as he listened

“Jasper? Why are you using a phone? Are you alright? Where are you? Its dangerously close to being a Sunday.”

Jasper wasn't sure who he was supposed to call on Sundays to reach Atlas. Probably the Portugese consulate or something. He'd used the pertinent page of the book to transfigure into 4000 yen about a week ago, when he'd decided he wanted a packet of crisps while walking down the street in Osaka. They had been tragically squid flavored. He really needed to learn to read characters if he was going to be spending time here.

From all the glaring, Jasper deduced that he did not have an extended time to answer all of Atlas' questions, so he tried to condense. Luckily Atlas was sharp and had a low level of disbelief. More accurately he would believe anything if you phrased it correctly. Jasper attempted to explain and hoped that the guard didn't know English. Or would just think that he was mad, if he did.

"I can't owl, it's wandless magic. I got arrested in southern Thailand on my latest heist and the police snapped my wand, so I'm stuck in Thai prison. I was hoping you'd bail me out. Please say yes, I think I have at least a 75% chance of contracting a blood borne illness if I have to stay here."

He waited for the inevitable barrage of questions. Jasper and prison didn't normally go together; he'd gotten out of more close calls than Vivienne Westwood had plaids in her fall collection. As he waited he realized he was rather embarrassed to admit that his wand had been broken. Wands were such an integral part of you, of your magic. It was quite weak to have it taken away. His free hand fiddled awkwardly with the cord of the phone, twisting it up and letting it untangle again. Atlas was momentarily silent.

"Atlas? You there? Don't tell me it turned to Sunday and I need to call back, because I can't. They'll put me back in my cell and the floor will eat me."

Atlas adjusted the phone against his eat and scooted over to allow Helena the room to sit down. She was looking at him, eyes darting between Atlas's face and the phone but keeping quiet. Atlas could understand her concern, Jasper communicated by fire and owl it was a rare and dire occasion when he could bring himself to use a phone. He wasn't accustomed to the things, had never really bothered to learn how to use one. Atlas would even go so far as to say that Jasper found them quaint, cute when used by muggles but not a go to method of communication for a wizard.

Jasper wasn't saying anything, Atlas pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it, as if doing so would prompt Jasper into speech. There had been no small talk between Helena and him, no barbs meant to dig under Atlas's skin, none of Jasper trying to woe her away to England or vice versa and this indicated a certain amount of gravity was involved. Atlas wished he would say something.

I can't, Atlas brought the phone back to his ear with uncoordinated speed, fumbling with it for a moment before getting it into the proper position. ..less magic. I got arrested in southern Thailand on my latest heist and the police snapped my wand, Unbidden Atlas's eyes sought out his own wand, set in one of the loops of the lamp on Helena's side of the bed, just to confirm it was still there. So I'm stuck in Thai prison. I was hoping you'd bail me out. Please say yes, There was a hint of panic that Atlas was completely unaccustomed to hearing in Jasper's voice. Lower pitched than normal and the cadence was off. I think I have at least a 75% chance of contracting a blood borne illness if I have to stay here.

Atlas blinked, breathed, blinked again and looked at Helena, processing the information. Really it was more of a 87% chance, depending on what part of southern Thailand he was in and the weather that the area had been experiencing lately. He doubted Jasper would find that at all comforting and decided to refrain from telling him. How could Jasper have been that stupid? Helena was still looking at him, Atlas flailed for a scrap of paper, sought out a pen and jotted a quick note handing it to her. Find notes on Prison layouts, basement, Asian continents, box labeled 'pancakes'.

The bed dipped upwards as she left, hurrying out of the room. Atlas? Of course, Jasper, Atlas hadn't said anything yet. You there? Don't tell me it turned to Sunday and I need to call back, because I can't. They'll put me back in my cell and the floor will eat me. In all probability he wasn't kidding. It occurred to him that this might be the one phone call Jasper was going to be permitted to make, it was astounding that he had gotten this chance. Apparently the Christie charm was capable of crossing language barriers far and wide.

“I'm here, sorry...um,” Jasper made a frustrated sound at him over the line. “Sorry. Are you hurt?” He shook his head, shuffled off the bed, started pacing. How hard was it to find a box marked 'pancakes', it was right next to the mannequin that had come to life long enough to steal some purses and then collapsed half way out of the shopping plaza, and in back of the ant race track. “Do you know the name of the prison? There are...alot of prisons in Thailand, they import prisoners from all over the place, central Asia, china, Vietnam.” It occurred to him that none of this was actually helpful. “I doubt bail is an option. Depending on what you stole they might be content to just let you live to death.”

Helena came back into the room, brandishing a folder, Atlas snatched it up, cradled the phone between shoulder and neck and opened it. “Breaking out might be the best option...”

There was a long pause and Jasper had a horrible moment of thinking that the connection had dropped. He wouldn't be allowed to make another call, and the guard would chuck him back in his cell. Or just feed him to whatever giant snakes certainly inhabited the basement of the building. Or possibly sell him into some kind of terrifying black market. Those abounded in this part of the world; Jasper knew because he frequented the ones that specialized in religious statues. He wasn't sure if there was one for poshly dressed young British men, but he suspected there might be. Shudder.

“I'm here, sorry...um." Thank God. Jasper sighed impatiently. The guard seemed to be sizing him up, possibly determining if it would be worthwhile to sell his clothes separately. Jasper glanced down at his new Atelier Versace pants woefully. “Sorry. Are you hurt?”

"No, not yet anyhow."

There was the shuffle of movement on the other end of the line and a further pause. Jasper was about to check that Atlas was still on the line when he's friend's voice re-emerged. He'd never thought he'd actually find Atlas' voice comforting. Usually the Caedmon tone was associated with conspiracy theories, questions about the need for pants that cost over £12, and warnings that Jasper was soon going to suffer some sort of grievous injury.

“Do you know the name of the prison? There are...alot of prisons in Thailand, they import prisoners from all over the place, central Asia, china, Vietnam." Great, fantastic, Jasper really wanted a detailed lesson about the history of Asian prisons right now. "I doubt bail is an option. Depending on what you stole they might be content to just let you live to death.”

"Atlas, if you're trying to console me, it might be better if you were just stoically silent."

Footsteps sounded in the background of the phone, followed by the crinkle of paper. Helena had brought something in, apparently. Jasper sort of wished he could speak to her instead; she was more tactful than Atlas and probably wouldn't start to catalogue all the exciting and new illnesses he could expect to contract in prison. Plus the possibility of a conjugal visit joke was too good to pass up. It was terribly easy to wind Atlas up; he and Helena had a field day with it whenever they met. The thought brought a smile to Jasper's face which he suppressed before the guard came over and broke his leg.

“Breaking out might be the best option...”

"Agreed, completely." Jasper breathed out in relief. At least Atlas was taking a somewhat sensible approach to this, rather than suggesting that Jasper tunnel out using his cufflinks. Maybe Helena was advising. He tried to think of something helpful.

"I don't know the name, there was nothing on the building. I was three hours north of Bangkok at the temple, and we drove for an hour, but I couldn't tell which direction because it was dark. Can't you triangulate the phone or something?"

Jasper ran a hand roughly through his hair, nails on his scalp. His hand holding the phone was clutching the receiver so hard that the knuckles were whitened. This hadn't been part of his plan when he'd gone criminal. Jasper had never struggled with anything in life, and getting away with things at Hogwarts, and even in England since Will had started at the Ministry, had been shockingly easy. This was the first time he'd ever suffered any repercussions for his actions.

"I don't know how long they'll let me stay on here, so whatever it is has to be fast. Sorry about this, I know you're with Helena, but you seemed like my best chance and I really don't want to be gnawed to death by rats."

Agreed, completely. Atlas nodded into the phone, shuffling through and discarding layouts from China, Bangladesh, and one from the Ukraine that must have been filed incorrectly. Jasper was still in one piece this was good, that meant that whatever he had done hadn’t caused the guards to try and shot him on sight, or to interrogate him to harshly. Atlas had heard horror stories, mostly from people now relieved of one or two of their limbs, maybe one of their eyes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Jasper had gotten to used to things being easy. Will had coddled him, using his influence and ties to ensure that Jasper stayed largely out of trouble and confidence carried his friend the rest of the way. Atlas preferred subtlety in all of these things. He had helped on one or two heists but largely in an Intel capacity he assessed the risks and often found them not to his liking. There was an opportunity for Jasper to be taught a lesson here, but Atlas wasn’t even tempted to take it. Thai prison was a rather brutal learning ground for the facts of life, and Jasper was a friend.

I don't know the name; there was nothing on the building. I was three hours north of Bangkok at the temple, and we drove for an hour, but I couldn't tell which direction because it was dark. Can't you triangulate the phone or something?

Atlas sighed, flopped the folder down onto the bedspread and knelt in front of it, going through papers with one hand. He was going to need a map.

I don't know how long they'll let me stay on here, so whatever it is has to be fast. Sorry about this, I know you're with Helena, but you seemed like my best chance and I really don't want to be gnawed to death by rats.

“Don’t worry.” There was a mental image of Jasper overrun with rats and Atlas rose feeling a certain amount of haste had been added to the situation. “Need to get a map. Be back, don’t let him take you off the line.” He made his way out of the room, handing the phone to Helena who watched him disappear out the back door, he must need something from the shed. Honestly, the places he chooses to keep things in….

“Jasper? He’s just gone out to find something. Should be back before long…I made him attempt to organize all of his jungle maps.” She sat down on the bed and leaned over to look at the folder. Sometimes she considered throwing some of his things out…but then they always seemed to have a use sooner or later. Not completely sure of the situation she decided to try and be helpful. “He’ll be back in just a minute.” There was an awkward silence that she felt the need to fill but could think of nothing that didn’t seem to be insulting to Jasper’s situation. “So Thailand…….I’m sorry Jasper my wit seems to be escaping me. Here I was looking forward to a nice evening, not even midnight and I got him to put down his damn work. He brought a curse tablet to bed. Honestly…it’s a wonder you survived 7 years.”

She perked up when Atlas reentered the room, arms laden with various maps in various states of disuse. He dropped them to the floor and took the phone back. “Jasper? I think I found it! There are two possible options, but its easy enough to narrow down. Where is your cell? Relatively? Do you have any idea? Did you keep track of where you were going between the room your in and your cell? Are you the only occupant? I can get there but its to far to apparate in one go…it’ll take jumps. I don’t know how tired I’ll be.”

Atlas handed the phone over to Helena, mumbling something about a map that Jasper didn't quite catch before he was gone. Helena's familiar voice crackled over the line quickly. It was without the normal sunny tone that Jasper was accustomed to. He supposed she understood the very legitimate perils of Thai prison. She tried to make the kind of awkward filler conversation that you had to when you were holding the phone for someone else, but the situation didn't exactly lend itself to a chat about what they'd been up to that week. She sounded a little tired.

“He’ll be back in just a minute.” Silence. Jasper tried to think of something to say, but he was distracted by the guard taking a warning step toward him. S--t. S--t. He held up a hand pleadingly, gesturing at the phone and his watch, and the man paused. He was running out of time. “So Thailand... Here I was looking forward to a nice evening, not even midnight and I got him to put down his damn work. He brought a curse tablet to bed. Honestly…it’s a wonder you survived 7 years.”

Jasper felt a twinge of guilt. Helena was terribly tolerant of Atlas and his eccentricities, she didn't need Jasper spoiling her evenings at home.

"I'm really sorry about that, I promise I'll return him quickly and in one piece. A curse tablet? Well, he did bring his transfiguration homework to my sixteenth birthday party--" Jasper neglected to add that he had summarily chucked it into the garbage and explained the definition of "party" to Atlas. "Anyway, I'll make it up to you two. Come to London and I'll send you out to dinner somewhere. I'd love to see you lot anyway, Atlas has practically dropped off the face of the earth."

Atlas, maintaining his love of contradicting Jasper at all possible occasions, chose that moment to return. “Jasper? I think I found it! There are two possible options, but its easy enough to narrow down. Where is your cell? Relatively? Do you have any idea? Did you keep track of where you were going between the room your in and your cell? Are you the only occupant? I can get there but its to far to apparate in one go…it’ll take jumps. I don’t know how tired I’ll be.”

It would be a hard apparition. And Atlas would have to side-along him out, but they could do that in several jumps. There was no hurry once they got away from the prison. Jasper glanced back at the guard nervously. He'd taken another step forward and said something flatly.

"My cell is the back corner one of the building. Trees outside, tiny window high up, I'm the only one in it. The building is one story." F--k. The guard put a hand on Jasper's shoulder and gestured for the phone. Jasper flinched away, trying to get in a few last words. "They're taking the phone now, I've got to--it was on a gravel road. The guards dress in grey. Can you tell which--"

The guard was tugging at the phone cord now. He'd have to let go.

"Atlas please hurry, I can't--" His voice escalated into something like embarrassingly like panic.

The guard snatched the phone and slammed it down, looking at Jasper impatiently, then grabbed him roughly by the arm and ushered him back to his cell. The door creaked shut behind him and he was alone in the dark, horrified but at least relieved that he hadn't been punished for trying to stay on the phone by having his ears ripped off. He shifted back to one foot again and waited.

Atlas listened to Jasper's description, writing out the words in short hand on the corner of one of the discarded layouts. Atlas's memory was phenomenal, nearly limitless but this wasn't the kind of situation where he wanted there to be any chance that he might forget. What if he arrived in Thailand and was bitten by a howling marmoset with a venom that would render everything he had learned in the past week useless. Warping the memories until he thought he was there to save a telly tubby from deforestation rather than a friend from prison. Nope, no chances were going to be take.

They're taking the phone now. The pitch of Jasper's voice went up a notch, communicating more than his actual words did. Quickly, urgently, Jasper launched into a few more tid bits of information, Atlas crushed pen to paper, making sure he had them right. He heard someone speak a garbled sort of sentence in the background. The phone crackled, loud enough that he winced and held it a few inches away from his ear. Jasper's voice came back, overlaid with interference but loud and scared and very different from the way Atlas was used to hearing him. Atlas please hurry, I can't— And then the line went dead. His mouth moved to say something comforting, or to affirm that he was on his way but he would only be speaking into the white noise of the non existent connection. His thumb hesitated over the disconnect button for a moment before he pressed it down with an air of finality.

Nothing to be done for it now. He looked up at Helena, who was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, pointed chin resting atop them. Their eyes met briefly before his slid back down to the maps he had brought it. He snaked an arm out, fumbled the drawer open and pulled out a red marker. Carefully he thought about what Jasper had said and then circled two seemingly arbitrary places on the map. The points were about 50 miles from each other. He'd prefer to know for sure which one was his actual goal but he didn't have high hopes of Jasper obtaining another phone call. “I have to go to Thailand.” He intoned without looking up. “How many jumps do you think it will take? To apparate there? I've never gone that far, could be fun.”

Helena scooted closer. “4 at least....10?” Atlas didn't like her answer, he snorted at her. She unfurled herself, patted the top of his head and then hopped off the bed. She held up the duvet with one hand and with the other managed to wrestle Atlas's back pack from under the bed. Dropping the blanket she walked back into the kitchen, looked around. Atlas had left her wand in the toaster again.... Rolling her eyes she snatched it up. Returned to the bedroom and began spelling items into the pack.

Tent, check. Orange socks, check. Water and other provisions (including but not limited to a copious amount of dried pineapple, check. “You owe me, sir.” She didn't look away from her task. Medical potions, check. Stuffed squid (an excellent tool for distraction) yup. She was getting to clothes when Atlas finally answered.

“You could always call Rodrigo, see if hes in port? Or is he not that kind of Captain?” There was a brief pause and then, “I know.”

Atlas found the two layouts he was looking for, spelled the others back into their folder and sent the folder floating toward the basement. He looked at the backpack, chock full with everything he could think of and some things he couldn't and it still looked empty. He loved temporal space spells. They were genius.

“Dinner would be nice. Cornells?”

Atlas sighed, carefully folded the map and went to the closet, this was going to call for the perception cloak. He didn't have an invisibility cloak at his disposal, they were extremely rare, and very coveted, out of his league. But you didn;t have to be invisible to fool people, you just had to be unnoticed. For this purpose he had invested in the cloak he was not unfolding. It didn't make you invsible but it could adjust to your surroundings, a camelion effect and as long as he stayed to shadows, and didn't make to much noise it would maybe be enough. “Its a 40 galleon deposit, non refundable, we'd probably have to cancel at the last minute anyway.” He turned back holding the cloak and caught the look she was giving him. “I'll call them when I get back.”

Helena took the cloak from him, carefully placing it at the top of the bag. “Get changed, your not going out into the jungle in quidittch themed jim jams. I'll get you pepper up potions, you'll need them.”

He almost protested about the jim jams, they were perfectly nice. They let his skin breath and came in a variety of fun colors but he did have to concede that they wouldn't be the best choice for a jail break. He changed quickly and was seated on the bed lacing up his boots when Helena came back. She finished packing the bag, fastened it shut and then tossed him a camera. He looked at her quizzically.

“Jasper is in prison.” The ghost of a smile came to her face. “I'd like to have some proof of this monumental event.”

Atlas didn't think Jasper would appreciate it...maybe with time. If he was in one piece...the thought prompted him into action and he stood from the bed. Carefully laid a kiss on Helena's forehead. “Back in a tic.” Then he lifted his wand and vanished from the room. Helena rubbed at her arms, and then settled onto the bed, in the center. She extended a toe and pushed one of Atlas's maps over the edge. It was satisfying.

10 jumps, as it turned out, had been a generous estimate. Atlas leaned against a rock face, breathing heavily after completing his 14th jump. After the 11th he had had to stop. Pitching the tent had almost been to much, he'd slept the better part of the next day, eventually rousing himself to continue, still feeling just above dead. The final jumps had been slower and more difficult, he guessed it had been a little over 29 hours since he had spoken to Jasper. There had to be more efficient ways to do these things. It was raining, it was humid, and Atlas didn't even want to consider what it was that he felt slithering over his booted foot. He had been here all of 10 minutes and already he hated Thailand. Thoroughly and completely hated it. England was damp but it was never oppressive, or sticky and was home to few poisonous snakes. Yes there were problems, Scotland being one of them but these things could be over looked. He took a step, slipped and ended up in the mud. Even the mud was sticky and oppressive. Pulling himself to his feet, he considered magically sweeping the mud off, but it seemed a frivolous use of magic and he might need it for something more important.

It took a few hours of tramping about for Atlas to fully get his bearings. He was atop some sort of ridge. There were lights under him, down the slope, he had to guess that was the prison. He dropped his pack to the ground, rummaged and produced a pair of binoculars. A gift from his grandfather, night vision, heat vision, a were wolf detector, and it could boil eggs from 200 meters away. Useful gadget. He held them to eye level, confirming his theory about the identity of the building.

Jasper had said the building was one story. If this was the correct prison then there were 6 possible buildings for him to be in. Atlas switched settings, looking for magical traces. There were odd little swirled patches scattered in the area. Threads of magical energy, completely undetectable to muggles, largely unseen by wizards. Atlas scanned the buildings, occasionally taking the spectacles down and blinking exhaustion from his eyes. He scrubbed at his eyes, reached into his jacket and downed one of the pepping potions, then lifted the glasses again. Scan building one, nothing, scan two natta, three, noppers, four....Atlas stopped. There was a blob, different from the incidental traces, Jasper. Unless there was another wizard in this place.

Atlas pocketed the binoculars, rummaged and found the cloak and then made his way down the hill, trying his best not to fall. Breaking something out here would be perhaps, the worst possible thing he could do. He apparated again to get through the perimeter fence, then carefully slid his way along the wall. There were dogs barking and people speaking a language he didn't even have a basic understanding of and it was still raining....he hated Thailand. He found a door, jimmied it open. Trying to stay silent. The hall he found himself in was almost as dark as it was outside...and definitely just as wet. Well....he rubbed his hands together. Time to start looking.

Jasper looked down at the face of his watch, but there wasn't enough light now to read the time. The dullest hint of moonlight from the tiny window glinted on the glass face. It was a Patek Philippe, his eighteenth birthday present from his parents, certified to go underwater to incredible depths and withstand the pressure changes of skydiving and otherwise withstand scenarios that Jasper sincerely hoped he would never have to face. It was not certified to be helpful in any way when trapped in Thai prison. Looking down at the watch, Jasper considered the fact that he might not see his parents on his next birthday. Or Wendell, or Apollo, or Will. Or Atlas, who should have been coming for him, but had, it seemed, either forgotten (not entitrely impossible, if a new book about alien abduction had crossed his path) or had had some kind of accident on the way. Jasper wasn't sure which was more disheartening.

He'd been here, by his best estimate, for almost two days now. In that time he'd had nothing to eat or drink, and nothing but the soles of his shoes had touched the floor. Sometime earlier, when the meager light suggested that it was nominally day, the guard had brought him another repulsive cup of water and a bowl of rice. Desperate to sit down, Jasper had managed to wandlessly transfigure the bowl of rice into a tiny stepstool when the guard left him alone. It had been cripplingly exhausting, the waste of magic into the atmosphere without a wand to focus the power was vast, making the transfiguration much more complicated than it should have been. Afterward, he had taken a seat on the stool in the far corner of the room and fallen asleep, body doubled over with his head and arms against his knees so he wouldn't have to lean on anything.

Sleeping for a long time would have been merciful, but he simply couldn't. He'd woken up barely an hour later, hungry and stiff, and spent the rest of the time wondering what had happened to Atlas. Maybe he'd chosen the wrong prison and tried to break in. That would have been a disaster. Or maybe he'd tried this one and gotten caught, or the Apparition here had been too long and he'd Splinched himself. Jasper started to try and think of some alternate plans, but there weren't many options. The chances of him overpowering several armed guards and escaping were slim, and even if he did get out, he wouldn't survive in the jungle without a way back to civilization. Evening came and he rejected another cup of water, thinking that if he had to, he could at least die of dehydration.

When he knew the guard had left him again, he dragged the stepstool over to the wall and stood on it tiptoe so he could look out the high, narrow window. Just jungle. At least it was a diversion from looking at the floor, which was made of a material that continued to defy classification. He examined the bars covering the window, a tight lattice of very strong steel. With his wand they would have been easy to destroy, but he could never manage it otherwise.

There was a movement, suddenly, at the edge of the trees that formed the perimeter of the prison yard. Jasper stared, but nothing appeared in the darkness. Disappointment again. He dropped off the stepstool and sat down.

Some time passed, which he couldn't keep track of anymore as much as he stared at his watch, and then there were footsteps in the corridor outside. They were different from the heavy, authoritative sound of the guards' boots. Jasper crept over to the door and looked out the slot that his food was pushed through. Footsteps, footsteps. The sound was approaching quickly, then emanated from what should have been someone directly in front of him. But no one passed. Well, nothing to lose--he hissed through the slot.

"Atlas!"

The footsteps halted, turned, clicked back, and Jasper saw the texture of the space of wall he could see shift very subtly. Perception cloak. Hard to identify unless you'd seen it a lot before. Jasper had had one from fourth year at Hogwarts up until last summer, when he had finally managed to procure an invisibility cloak in what had been by far the most difficult heist of his life. He stuck his fingers through the slot briefly, then pulled them back.

"In here!"

Please, please let it be Atlas and not a guard who will chop off my fingers because I put them outside my cell. Please.

Atlas prowled down the corridor, hugging the wall as best he could and finding himself very grateful for the complete lack of modern lighting fixtures. Apparently privately owned prisons didn't see the need for such things, or proper walls. A guard had passed him earlier in the narrow passage and when Atlas had pressed himself into the wall he had nearly gone through it. The guard had paused and approached and Atlas began mentally rehearsing what he was going to tell Jasper when he was thrown in with him. Something along the lines of, ' Jasper! So good to see you! This is going to be just like old times, minus, class, and Apollo, Wendell and Will, and food! But other than that...'.

Here the train of thought halted because this was the place in the conversation where Atlas guessed Jasper might have kill him. Then somehow transport himself out of prison in the body. The more important conversation would be the one where he had to explain to Helena that he too had landed in Thai prison. This conversation was considerably more difficult to imagine but he was saved from having to muse upon it further when the guard, dangerously close to him decided that the crease in the wall was due to natural decay rather than a wizard and continued his rounds.

Atlas continued on, casting a few silencing spells for good measure, he couldn't really be seen but he could definitely be heard. The floors of the corridor were made of a hard concrete, the material caught sound and echoed it. It was most likely a scare tactic, so prisoners could hear the guards coming and act in accordance. Cheap and cruel intimidation tactic.

Atlas rounded a bend and found himself looking down when just might have been the worlds longest corridor. He fumbled with the layout under the cloak, turned it and then squinted hard, trying to make out the lines in the almost non existent lighting. I hate Thailand I hate Thailand I hate Thailand. Atlas flicked his wand over the page, and some of the lines glowed. Green for the corridor he was in, red for the guards in the immediate area, Blue for doors. Better get to it. He moved to the left side of the hallway, deciding to tackle that first.

There were little slots in the bottom half of the door, kneeling he propped the first one open. "Jasper?" What greeted him was not Jasper but instead some sort of raving manic creature who leapt at the slot, screaming. Atlas toppled backwards, smashing into the ground with enough force to jar his spine. but managed to muffle his own scream into the sleeve of his arm.

He jerked his head left and right down the hall, holding his breath and waiting for the guards to come around the bend. Nothing. He looked down at his map. Nothing. Crazy prisoners were a regular occurrence then, lovely. He made his way down the rest of the hallway, no longer asking for Jasper's name, but listening to the gibbering and screaming, and occasional rantings in snatches of dialects he could semi comprehend. He didn't like what he heard.

He had done this with 4 corridors now, almost been attacked by a dog, bitten by a spider roughly the size of his hand, and called a ghost by a drunken sentry, and still no Jasper. This was getting frustrating maybe he was in the wrong building., or the wrong prison.

Atlas!

Or maybe not....he stopped, turned and waited. He couldn't really identify where exactly the sound had come from, and it was entirely possible that he was hearing things. It had happened before once or twice, Helena had joked that his mind was going, he didn't think it was so funny. In here! That was definitely Jasper, Atlas whirled to the right and caught a glimpse of pale, well manicured hands, peaking out of the mid way slot. He took another look at the map, closest guard was 4 hallways down....they really didn't maintain a tight perimeter...maybe they needed more benefits to get their work ethic up. Dental would be nice...right Jasper.

Atlas flicked his wand and apparated in, only to collide with the man, sending both of them to the ground. Jasper made a strangled noise sound and Atlas panicked, maybe he was hurt. Maybe they had taken out his eyes and then come back for one of his ears, Jasper had rather nice ears. He scrambled up, grabbing Jasper by the shoulders and pulling him off the ground.

"Jasper its me! See!" He couldn't tell if Jasper had eyes still or not. "Are you hurt? I'm sorry...."

I am touching the floor. I am TOUCHING THE FLOOR. THIS IS THE END OF MY LIFE. Jasper made a rather unmanly gurgling shriek and flailed his way back to standing. Since he hadn't consumed a liquid for around three days, the sensation made him extraordinarily lightheaded and it took a moment for him to blink his vision back into focus. He scrubbed his palms practically raw on the front of his pants trying to get the remnants of whatever the floor was made of off his skin. When he got home he was going to burn these clothes (Alas, Yves St. Laurent blazer, I barely knew thee, since I bought thee in Paris last weekend) then shower for approximately three weeks straight.

When he looked up finally, Atlas had struggled halfway out of the cloak, making one of his arms appear oddly wavy and uncertain. He was peering at Jasper's face rather nervously.

"Jasper its me! See! Are you hurt? I'm sorry...."

"I can see you." Jasper looked at him with vague confusion. "I'm fine. I mean, I'm going to have to scald off my own palms with acid since you made me touch the floor, which is made of...possibly animal carcasses, but otherwise I'm fine."

He paused, breathing too hard. The shock of Atlas appearing in his cell and bowling him over had been rather too much on top of the stress of the last couple of days and the fact that he was withering slowly away from dehydration. Not so much starvation. Jasper frequently forgot to eat for a few days at a time when he was doing more important things, like heists or shopping or chatting up models (which had become much easier since he'd started seeing some of the money from heists come in). But he normally remembered to drink, if only because he had an unhealthy devotion to martinis.

Atlas was staring rather pointedly at his ears. Jasper reached up self consciously and patted the sides of his head. Maybe he had contracted a flesh eating virus, just as he'd feared, and his ears had been its first victims. Once he'd assured himself that they were accounted for he felt up to speaking again.

"Thanks for coming. I know you were with Helena--she sounded right bothered on the phone, I think I owe her." He pushed a hand through his hair. Jasper wasn't very good with gratitude; he was self sufficient enough that he didn't have many occasions for it. But Atlas had come through, as he usually did when it really mattered, in spite of his normally flaky tendencies. "Thanks, really. Can we just--you'll have to side-along me out, what with my wand and stuff."

He offered Atlas his bent elbow to hold on to.

"How did you get here anyway? Was there a problem? I'm not trying to sound ungrateful or anything but it was a really long time, I thought something might have happened to you."

Jasper wasn’t answering, but Atlas didn’t see any tracks of blood and it appeared that Jasper was blinking at him. People tended to need eyes to blink…unless they had been burned out with acid…or a hot spoon. I can see you,. Eyes then, Atlas let out a heavy sigh and let his hands drop away from Jasper’s shoulders. His own eyes were beginning to adjust. I’m fine. I mean, I’m going to have to scald off my own palms with acid since you made me touch the floor, Atlas looked down, crouched and ran a hand along the floor. It felt dry but…sticky.

Well that was…odd. Defying the laws of touch really, Atlas wiped off his own hand on his pant leg as he stood. …but otherwise, I’m fine. Sometimes Jasper would stretch the definition of fine, like in 5th year when he had gotten in between Atlas and a gum tree hex (aimed at a squirrel who was behaving in a contrary manner), remarked he was fine only to stumble and fall down the hill near the pumpkin patch 20 seconds later. Atlas circled him, carefully looking for anything odd or injury causing. No stray javelins, no apparent hexes, he craned his neck to get a look at Jasper’s throat, no vampire bites. Satisfied he stopped back in front of Jasper, glancing around the cell while his friend spoke. The motion of Jasper’s hands coming upwards drew Atlas’s attention, Jasper ran his fingers along the curve of his left ear, then right before being satisfied that they were still present. Jasper’s breathing was heavy and he swayed slightly now and then, Atlas looked in the corner, there were small tin cups lined there, untouched. Typical Jasper, if it didn’t have an olive in it…

Thanks for coming. I know you were with Helena--she sounded right bothered on the phone, I think I owe her. Maybe he had just found his 40 quid deposit. Atlas banished the thought as quickly as it had come up. He wasn’t going to make Jasper pay for his own escape. Thanks, really. Can we just--you'll have to side-along me out, what with my wand and stuff.

Jasper offered up his arm, waving his fingers a little. Atlas moved forward, cautiously entwined his arm with Jaspers. He hated side alongs, he spent the whole time (brief as it was) worrying about splinching the person, reappearing covered in blood and only holding a wrist, or a spine maybe. He still remembered the warnings 6th year, ‘no side alongs under anything but dire circumstances, because you will get splinched and you will die.’. The situation did seem to fall in the range of dire…well between dire and perilous…certainly a lot of peril…did peril merit side alongs?

Jasper was starring at him. He had been talking a moment ago hadn’t he? Bugger. Umm…Atlas thought, assembling brief snatches of what jasper had said. “I didn’t think it would take so many apparitions…I estimated 4, it was closer to 14 or 15…had to nap in-between. It was really far.” He scratched at the back of his head self-consciously. Jasper was about to say something, his mouth was halfway open and he was inhaling. Atlas wasn’t interested in hearing it. He looped his arm tight around Jasper’s and apparated, landing them both on the crest of the ridge a moment later. Jasper stumbled, but both of them managed to stay on their feet.

Atlas let go of Jasper’s arms, darting across the clearing and wrenching his pack out of the tree. “I already know how you can make it up to Helena.” He couldn’t let Jasper see the camera, he’d flail and more likely than not fall off the ridge. Then they would be back where they started. “Cheers!” Atlas turned and pushed the button down; delighted at the flash and then the look Jasper gave him. “Its what she wanted.” He added as a way of explanation, stowing the camera as quickly as possible. “I’ll see if she’ll let you have copy.”

“I have a tent…” He offered, gesturing to the bag. “Proper wizard one, or Helena sent a port key back to her place. Either way you should eat..sleep….” Jasper was still rubbing at his palms, “Burn off the first few layers of your skin…whatever you like.” He perked. “Was that stool in there yours? It was brilliant transfiguration…what were you doing in prison anyway? Did you insult there monkey god? Do they have one of those or was that somewhere else….?”

“I didn’t think it would take so many apparitions…I estimated 4, it was closer to 14 or 15…had to nap in-between. It was really far.”

Jasper wanted to comment, but Atlas precluded it by grabbing his arms and flicking his wand. He closed his eyes through the wrench of side-along. He hadn't done it since he was a child and had forgotten the unpleasant invasiveness of it. Combined with the lightheadedness of dehydration it made him a bit nauseous, and he took a moment to stand and waver while he watched Atlas bound across the clearing they had appeared in. The prison was visible down below. Jasper peered over the edge of the ridge at it until he heard Atlas' voice behind him and turned.

“I already know how you can make it up to Helena.” Atlas was holding something small, square and black, approaching quickly. Jasper's eyes felt unfocused and he squinted at it in the pale light. What-- “Cheers!”

"Ow--hey!" A flash blinded him and he took a reflexive step back, nearly teetering on the edge of the ridge. Bright spots took up most of his vision and he tried to blink them away, scowling. When he could finally see again, Atlas was stuffing the camera into his backpack. Jasper briefly considered taking reactionary measures, but realized he'd have no way to get home if he grabbed the camera and used it to hit Atlas on the head. He settled for crossing his arms in a way that expressed his displeasure quite clearly. Atlas, who made a special hobby out of annoying people at the most inconvenient times, smiled inanely.

“Its what she wanted. I’ll see if she’ll let you have copy.”

Jasper smiled sarcastically. "Let me try to curb my enthusiasm at that prospect."

He crossed the clearing to Atlas, pulled the bag out of his hands, and sat down on it. As exhausted as he was, there was absolutely no way he was sitting on the ground here. It was made of at least 74% snakes. He shifted briefly, hoping the camera was near the bottom. Helena had wanted the picture. Apparently Atlas was teaching her his annoying ways. He'd have to intervene soon, otherwise she'd be pronouncing words incorrectly and wearing brown socks with black shoes and Jasper would be forced to cut off communication. Which would be a shame. He liked Helena, even if she did have somewhat misguided taste in boyfriends. (Who actually said yes to a date when someone spent the first ten minutes of the conversation talking about the shape of your ear?) Plus she was good for Atlas, who, incidentally, was speaking again. Probably to tell Jasper that he'd secretly filmed bowling him over in the cell and would be making DVDs available in the Alley next week.

“I have a tent…” He offered, gesturing to the bag. “Proper wizard one, or Helena sent a port key back to her place. Either way you should eat..sleep…Burn off the first few layers of your skin…whatever you like.” Jasper was about to ask for acid and hand sanitizer, but Atlas continued. “Was that stool in there yours? It was brilliant transfiguration…what were you doing in prison anyway? Did you insult there monkey god? Do they have one of those or was that somewhere else….?”

"I'd really rather go to Helena's, if you don't mind. The sooner we leave Thailand the happier I'll be. Plus Helena has a shower. And baklava. And her floor isn't made of--whatever that was. Unless she's done some pretty extensive remodeling." He paused. His tongue felt almost too heavy and sticky to speak. "You got any water?"

Atlas handed over a canteen, which Jasper made him swear on the memory of Herbert Illig (his favorite conspiracy theorist) was completely sterile, then drank it down in massive gulps. Jasper normally eschewed water because of it's lamentably low alcohol content, but sometimes one had to make sacrifices.

"Thanks. Anyway, yeah, the stool was mine, I made it out of a bowl of rice, took ages but it wasn't like I had anything else on at the moment. I was here stealing this idol out of a temple--market value is around ten thousand quid, it would have been genius. But apparently monks here have fairly high tech security systems and a good relationship with the police." He shrugged. "Next time, eh?"

He stood, knees cracking a bit from unaccustomed use, then thought back to what Atlas had said just before they'd Apparated out. "And--fourteen jumps? You took a nap in between? Look, I don't mean to be an arse about it, because you did rescue me, but you know the flight's only six hours between here and Greece, yeah?"

Jasper looked very kingly, sitting atop Atlas's bag with an expression of utter contempt for everything around him, gracing his features. While Jasper might claim to hate his nose at any possible time it was acceptable to bring it up it was very good for looking down on things it applied that last little bit of scorn that the rest of the face just couldn't. Atlas wondered if Jasper knew. His friend shifted his weight along the pack and Atlas took a half step forward to move him, stopped, decided that there really wasn't anything all that important in there. Joke would be on Jasper if he tripped Ulga into activation mode. The auto-cross bow would really do a number on some of the contents of the pack, like the potions kit and the haggis....not to mention what it might do to Jasper's pants.

I'd really rather go to Helena's, if you don't mind. The sooner we leave Thailand the happier I'll be. A happy Jasper was always a more pleasant Jasper. Unhappy Jasper's tended to get up to things, or practice their ability to strip your self esteem by zeroing in on the one flaw that most bothered you about yourself and then pointing it out to you. Atlas had a great deal of experience with both of these Jasper's. Plus Helena has a shower. And baklava. And her floor isn't made of—-whatever that was. Likely a combination of mud, sod, and sewage...not to mention any other number of bodily fluids. Atlas kept that to himself, he doubted very much that Jasper wanted to know, he might throw himself down the bank. You got any water? Atlas handed him a canteen, watching Jasper chug the contents (only after being completely assured of its purity).

Jasper admitted to his hand in the stool and Atlas, in spite of exhaustion and the surroundings beamed. Without a wand and running on now sleep and god only knew what Jasper had eaten last. He had a strange aversion to food that Atlas would never really come to understand, food was delicious and therefore needed to be eaten.

But apparently monks here have fairly high tech security systems and a good relationship with the police. Next time eh.

Atlas, who had fewer quams about dirt, and ground, and nature in general, took a seat next to Jasper. “Maybe someplace less rural next go round? You should try Greece, thousands of artifacts they don't even know what to do with, no one would miss them. People in the states like to buy them...couldn't tell you why though. Better prisons as well.”

Jasper stood, bones rattling and cracking as he stretched. Atlas saw no reason to move, mud was actually rather nice. It smelled a bit like spring, and there were no slithering things this time and Jasper was here and he had ears and all of his appendages.

And... Atlas looked up at Jasper quizzically. And--fourteen jumps? You took a nap in between? Look, I don't mean to be an arse about it, because you did rescue me, but you know the flight's only six hours between here and Greece, yeah?.

Atlas blushed, burrowed his neck into the lining of his jacket and made a concerted effort to look off into the distance. He hoped he had gotten out of this conversation...but no such luck. He shouldn't have given Jasper that water, his brain cells are desaturated and now they wanted to make a fuss about semantics.
“Hate airport.” He mumbled. “Nearest one was Athens, and thats a drive...and a boat ride, sometimes it involves a donkey...” He smacked a bug biting him through his shirt. “Your voice expressed urgency, in my haste a few of the logistical details might have slipped my mind. Besides didn't you know that there are giant wasps in the clouds, they take down planes all the time. Not safe, and I couldn't very well come and get you if I was floating around in the Baltic somewhere.”Atlas had been on a plane once, overseas to America. He had sat between a Russian and a Spaniard, both had begun drinking before takeoff, it had not been a pleasant experience. He had avoided them over since. “We're arguing semantics here.”

Atlas snaked a hand into the pack, looking for the portkey. He found it a moment later, pulling out what appeared to be a lawn gnome. There were chips of paint missing from his face and his hat was half green and half blue but he was a welcome little face to see. Grumbling he got to his feet and slung the pack over his shoulder. “Enough about my poor skills in geography, ready?”

Jasper stepped forward wrapping a hand around the gnomes little foot. The ground under them lurched and then feel away. There was the familiar but always unsettling feeling of falling and then both of them were sprawled out on the beach outside Helena's home. Atlas rolled onto his side and came eye to eye with a fiddler crab. There was an uncomfortable stand off got a few seconds, as the grab wielding its claws menacingly and Atlas hoped to avoid a pinch in the nose. Then a wave came up and took care of the problem for him....he hoped Jasper had gotten up before he was soaked with salt water. At least it was steril....

Atlas tried, vainly, to justify his choice of transportation, but as soon as giant wasps got involved Jasper tuned out and used the extra concentration to more effectively look for snakes, poisonous spiders, rabid monkeys, or rancid pad thai. There were so many dangers here, one had to be constantly alert. Finally, after conspiracy theory number fourteen wound down, Atlas switched his voice from lecturing Atlas back to regular Atlas and Jasper deemed it acceptable to start paying attention again.

“We're arguing semantics here.”

Normally Jasper would have made a snide comment, but Atlas had produced a portkey and he thought it wise not to jeopardize his chance to get the hell out of Thailand forever. The portkey was a garden gnome, of the sort he occasionally saw on adverts when he caught a bit of Muggle telly at Will's house. Will's dad found the gnome ads funny. Muggles. Atlas picked up his pack and Jasper took hold of the gnome by the foot, the ceramic boot cold compared to the dank air of the jungle. His clothes were probably mildewing every second.

They jerked up and backward, clothes whipping as the portkey carried them west with a sensation that was almost like flying, but not quite. Jasper spent the brief journey envisioning a pleasant evening at Helena's house. He could change his clothes, take a shower, have some feta, and fall asleep in the mercifully soft guest room bed. Maybe tomorrow there would be models doing a photoshoot on the beach like that one day last summer. Genius.

They landed, and Jasper found, much to his dismay, that he was far closer to the beach than he wanted to be at the moment. The beach seemed intent on working its way into every pocket and crevice of his clothing, gritty against his palms and faintly on his teeth where the sand had sprayed upward with their landing. He glanced over at Atlas, who was having some sort of staring contest with a crab. Could Jasper go nowhere today without meeting some sort of disgusting and violent wildlife?

Distracted by the crab, he didn't notice the wave approaching until it was starting to curl at the shoreline. Too surprised to even call out to Atlas, he scrabbled backward (ironically crablike). The thing still crashed over his left leg and shoe, leaving him feeling disgustingly grimy and damp. There may have been seaweed near his shoelaces. He stood quickly, staring down at a drenched Atlas.

"Caedmon, is this entire venture some kind of sick plot to make me throw myself off a cliff from misery? If it is, spare me and just kill me now. Honestly."

He left Atlas, now crab-less, on the damp sand and stomped up the beach toward the lights of Helena's house. The door was bolted, but he found a pen in his pocket, broke it for the spring, and picked the lock. He squelched his way through to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water before sitting down to wait for Atlas. There was the sound of a door opening both from the outside and upstairs, and soon Helena and Atlas appeared in the kitchen doorway, nearly simultaneously.

"It's great to see you Helena. Thanks for lending me your boyfriend on such short notice." He gestured down at his leg. "Could I trouble you for a drying charm? Atlas seemed to think drowning me would be a nice welcome to Greece."

There was a brief pause, during which he smiled. Helena kept a straight face, but the corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement. The go-ahead.

"You're looking resplendent this evening, by the way. When are you running away to London with me?"

No such luck on Jasper avoiding brine. From his position on the ground Atlas had a fairly clear view of the hilarity that was Jasper and his bid to escape from the wave. Maybe Jasper had heard the same rumor as Atlas, that there were demons contained within small plankton in the waves of the Mediterranean and that sometimes those demons could invade, taking hold of a body. Jasper managed to escape mostly un doused. Though his pant leg hadn't made it. He was fairly positve that the plankton needed a full body to lay eggs. Did they lay eggs?

He looked over to ask Jasper and found that he wasn't where he had last seen him. Instead Jasper was standing over him imperiously, sand clinging to his cheeks. Caedmon, is this entire venture some kind of sick plot to make me throw myself off a cliff from misery? If it is, spare me and just kill me now. Honestly..

Atlas lifted both of hands off the ground and shrugged as best he could, Jasper didn't stay long enough for him to provide a verbal answer, instead he turned on his heels and began tredgeing up to the house. Atlas would have hurried to follow but with the pack on his back it was rather difficult. He rolled in the surf for a moment, turtle like. Finally he got to hands and knees, flowed forward when another wave crashed into him and then hauled himself up and onto his feet. He was preparing to reprimand the ocean for treating him so illy when he glanced back at the house and didn't see Jasper. Bad.. His eyes looked back at the seas, “I'll be back to talk to you later!” Then he was off and running toward the house.

As he moved he fumbled for his keys, davy jone's locker, lobster cage in maine, car key....nexus key that was interesting and finally house key. Atlas fitted the item into the lock and followed the wet footprtins into the kitchen. Jasper was seated at the kitchen table, legs out in front of him with his fingers curled around a glass of water. The kitchen light was off but the hall light wasn't, he looked across the kitchen and caught sight of Helena, who seemed to be taking a mental inventory of the two of them, looking for bullet holes, and missing limbs.

It's great to see you Helena. Thanks for lending me your boyfriend on such short notice. Could I trouble you for a drying charm? Atlas seemed to think drowning me would be a nice welcome to Greece. Atlas snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, he tried to catch Helena's eyes but her attention was else where. You're looking resplendent this evening, by the way. When are you running away to London with me?

God and here they go..

Helena had heard them come in...well not heard so much as been alerted. Atlas had rigged everydoor in the place with at least 26 security spells, one of which flipped on the lights and gently informed you that there was a humanoid in the house and that you had forgotten to unplug the toaster. Upon reaching the kitchen she had first made sure that both men were present and accounted for. Jasper looked...aweful. Ruffled and dirty, not that she was going to tell him that. Atlas better have gotten that picture. Hey eyes went down when Jasper asked for a drying charm and she took out her wand, drying both of them before either could track anymore sea water into the house. Then she smiled, an act done with the eyes more than the mouth. Jasper was feeling up to playing and Atlas Had left her there on her night off.

“Oh this?” She toyed with the hem of her robe, light cotton and embroiled. “Its nothing much, you were so sweet to send it down.” She stepped forward, fully aware that Atlas was watching her every move. Using her foot she pulled out the chair next to Jasper and seated herself, tossing her hair back and then in a hushed tone. “I was packing just now, I've been preparing for months. I thought you were going to stall him in Thailand. One day certainly wasn't enough time to prepare. I haven't even started my overly elaborate good bye letter, yet.”

Helena twirled the hem of her robe flirtatiously, eyes lighting up with suppressed laughter as she pulled a chair in close to Jasper's. He could see Atlas, newly dried but still smelling faintly of salt water, starting to form a glare from the kitchen door. Jasper was sure he had never been less appropriately attired or coiffed to chat someone up, but the chance to toy with Atlas like this was priceless. Especially after the incident with the camera, Jasper had no qualms in teasing him a bit (or more than a bit, which it assuredly would be.)

“Its nothing much, you were so sweet to send it down.”

He ran a hand through his hair, which felt sandy and flat and distinctly not like his hair should have at all, and leaned toward her confidentially. "It was really nothing, I do hope you enjoyed the diamond necklace though. Nothing compared to your natural beauty, but I thought you might like it."

Helena mirrored his action, dropping her voice conspiratorially. Atlas upped the glaring a notch and Jasper struggled to keep the corners of his mouth from curling upward. Helena tossed her hair dramatically before answering. They practically had a system for this by now, but it never became less enjoyable. Possibly because Atlas took the entire situation with deadly seriousness. Undue seriousness, since Helena had once likened Jasper naked (unfairly, since she'd actually never seen him naked) to a Ken doll. In front of Jasper, no less. Jasper, for his part, had trained himself to completely ignore the fact that Helena was, in fact, very intelligent and quite fit by reminding himself, constantly, that she was his best mate's girlfriend. The Ken doll comment had made this significantly easier.

“I was packing just now, I've been preparing for months. I thought you were going to stall him in Thailand. One day certainly wasn't enough time to prepare. I haven't even started my overly elaborate good bye letter, yet.”

Jasper reached out and grabbed one her hands theatrically. "I tried to stall in Thailand, but I simply couldn't wait to see you."

At physical contact, Atlas turned the glare on full blast. The next step would probably be some kind of sputtering. Jasper and Helena had been keeping this farce up since practically the beginning; they'd quickly found they were kindred spirits in winding Atlas up, and Jasper considered it payback for Atlas' seemingly limitless ability to find new and creative ways to annoy him. It had started as simply flirtatious comments, and evolved into an elaborate backstory, documenting their long-burning desire for one another across insurmountable obstacles of geography and Caedmon. In retaliation, Atlas attempted to slander Jasper at every possible occasion, but the negative traits he had to work with were relatively few, so he'd had to resort to more and more outlandish responses. Last time Jasper seemed to recall Atlas noting that he had a 'really annoying sneeze.'

"Come away with me tonight!" He accompanied this with a dramatic clutching of her hands against the front of his shirt and a subtle glance at Atlas from the corner of his eye. "He'll never know where you've gone, I'll tell him Shirley was responsible. I just don't think I can go on without you!"

It was really nothing, I do hope you enjoyed the diamond necklace though. Nothing compared to your natural beauty, but I thought you might like it. They’re made of rocks, cheap ones….pebbles really. Atlas thought the words but said nothing, just stood, monolithic, and completely unnoticed. Jasper’s skills were amazing and brilliant and so damn inconvenient. Atlas’s eyes narrowed and he made a mental note to check Helena’s jewelry box for any new additions. Jasper’s hands went up into his hair, dislodging sand and brine and god only knew what else that had fallen from the ceiling of that cell and Helena smiled as if he was some sort of Adonis. Maybe Jasper was some sort of insect, one that released pheromones to attract a mate. Powerful, Christie pheromones. He dug in his pocket long enough to find his wand and subtly cast a small wind spell, enough to blow whatever Jasper was broadcasting back in….actually back in his direction. Atlas stepped out of the doorway quickly and moved over to the counter, eyes not leaving the pair of them. Things could happen in the blink of an eye and he was very good at starring.

At ‘overly elaborate good bye letter’ Atlas blinked and when his eyes refocused Jasper was holding her hand. Damn his eyes and their natural tendency toward dryness! I tried to stall in Thailand, but I simply couldn't wait to see you.Helena, rather than recoiling from the contact instead leaned toward Jasper, her fingers entwining with his, “Nor I you! But how long, must I wait! Everyday is a new torment. Washing, cooking, making sure he hasn’t left any active explosives in bed.”

At this Atlas was simply affronted. One time, you leave a tripping quack bomb on someones pillow one time and you never live it down. Well…maybe Helena was also counting the semi activated (but time sealed) Land mine Atlas had had kicked around in her knitting basket….but still twice was hardly a crime. He increased the pressure of the glare beam and hoping that it would enough to possibly slice through Jasper ear. The left one, yes that would do nicely.

It was times like these, and when there was a long line to the mens room at Quidditch matches, that Atlas wished he were a woman. Not for any of the conventional reasons ( being able to admit to enjoying the dulcet tones of josh groban or getting to choose among over 46 colors of nail varnish at sephora) but because then he could have children and by virtue of having children could acquire the greatest weapon even conceived by evolution. Mummy glares. They had the power to topple nations, and get people to fetch things for you at shops, Atlas had had a good deal of experience with the Mummy Glare, he had watched it topple a milk man, get a group of hoodies out of trouble with the local police, and he was sure that if he were to posses it at this moment Jasper would be nothing but a smoldering little ember in his chair….or at least would look mildly ashamed of himself.

Come away with me tonight! There hands tightened as Jasper flourished and Atlas gripped the counter behind him, hard enough that he thought he might have left embedding marks in the marble. Helena let the vandal pull her hands to his chest, while she sparkled, that was the best word. Something she did with her eyes, and the corners of her mouth. He'll never know where you've gone, I'll tell him Shirley was responsible. I just don't think I can go on without you!

There was a muscle above Atlas’s eye, it twitched in two situations. When someone was holding a wand on him, he really didn’t like that, or what Jasper did this. Created false Shirley alarms, he obviously didn’t understand how dire that could be, the world could be at stake, and while Atlas was scouring the world (well the world not including India…never again would he step foot there) looking for poor trapped Helena, Shirley could be elsewhere…her and her black hole accomplice.

“Think even I might notice she was gone.” He interjected sourly, and the two of them turned to look at him. Helena’s eyes owlish while Jasper had taken on the same expression he used when passing Aurors asked him what he had been up to lately. “And you shouldn’t cry wolf about Shirley…remember last time?”

“Oh no Jasper, we’ve been ousted!” Helena rose from her chair, moved past Atlas and behind Jasper where she ducked down a bit, peaked over his shoulder. “Now Atlas don’t hurt him, why don’t we be civil about this. I can’t hide it from you any longer! I was weak! And how could I resist this face?”

She poked Jasper lightly at the back of the neck, indicating that this was his queue to do something marvelous and Atlas crushing.

Atlas sighed, rolled his eyes, and plopped down into the chair Helena had just been occupying. “You’re a slut Christie.”

Jasper's lip threatened to quirk up at Helena's comment about explosives. That was most of the battle in this little game; keeping a straight face was nearly impossible. The accuracy of the last comment was what got to him the most. Atlas had come to stay in his flat for a few days the last time he'd been in London and Jasper had found what he was reasonably sure was nitroglycerin in the cabinet of the guest bathroom. He was reasonably sure because he'd accidentally knocked it off the shelf and it had blown a small hole in his tiles. Helena was really lucky that she still had feet.

He glanced over at Atlas after the Shirley comment, pleased to see that he'd managed to illicit the brow twitch. That was the real sign you were getting to Atlas. It wasn't an easy task, but Jasper had spent the better part of seven years mastering it. Shirley was his go-to in difficult situations, but misquoting from the secret government documents about Roswell was also an effective method. Jasper had once memorized a short passage just so he could mangle it, but it had sadly since been forgotten.

“Think even I might notice she was gone.” Jasper wasn't so sure. Atlas had once used a pair of earmuffs as tongs for almost a week in potions until Jasper pointed out the difference. He could probably just replace Helena with a coat rack and Atlas would find out in about two months. “And you shouldn’t cry wolf about Shirley…remember last time?”

"Last time" referred to an occasion that had ended in the tragic demise of Jasper's duvet and mattress. Atlas had made some absurd conspiracist claim, as was his wont, and Jasper had carelessly replied "Yeah, and Shirley lives under my bed." Thirty seconds later, Shirley could not possibly have lived under Jasper's bed because all that remained was the charred headboard.

“Oh no Jasper, we’ve been ousted!”

Helena dropped Jasper's hands and darted behind his chair, her presence apparent when her hair brushed over the shoulder of his jacket as she peered around his head. Atlas took a step forward, twitch firmly in place and glaring. Jasper was trying harder than ever not to laugh, one second away from biting the inside of his lip to stop it.

“Now Atlas don’t hurt him, why don’t we be civil about this. I can’t hide it from you any longer! I was weak! And how could I resist this face?”

Easily, was the truth. Atlas had long been convinced that Helena had been looking at Jasper the night they'd met in the pub. Helena had testified to the negative on many occasions, citing all the (rather unfounded) reasons she didn't find Jasper attractive, and Jasper had concurred. By now he knew when a girl was checking him out in a pub, and Helena had most certainly not been. If she had looked at him at all, the look had said, "That one in the ascot looks a bit like a plastic toy."

Helena poked him on the neck as Atlas sat down across from them, having apparently resigned himself to the fact that Jasper was stealing his girlfriend. “You’re a slut Christie.”

Well, that was just unfair. Atlas wasn't usually quite so judgy, but Jasper supposed having your girlfriend stolen right in front of you tended to bring out the worst. Had he not had such a high opinion of himself, Jasper might have been offended. Plus, he realized he could suffer being called a slut in exchange for how much fun he had. Especially from Atlas, whose judgement was sometimes...questionable. Unenlightened, maybe. Maybe he just didn't see the advantages of having a Givenchy model back to the flat now and again. And again.

"Atlas! You would speak to me that way in front of a lady? No wonder she's leaving you-- how crude, and what a flagrant lie!" Okay, so it wasn't. At all. He stood indignantly, arms crossing as he took a step back beside Helena. "It's no wonder you're leaving him, my dear, he's much too crude for someone like you."

He linked one arm through Helena's and led her out the kitchen door. In the hall he turned his head, making sure Atlas could hear their 'secret' conversation. "That said, if the shoe fits--your room or the guest one? You'll have to do the muffilato, I haven't got my wand back."

Jasper's face maintained its perfect mirror finish for a few seconds before...well it was something like pouting. Atlas! You would speak to me that way in front of a lady? Atlas let his eyes go from Jasper's face up to Helena's then back down, he lifted his eyebrow a notch higher into his hairline and settled more firmly into the chair. How crude, and what a flagrant lie! This time Atlas huffed, a small puff of outward air that rocked his folded arms upwards ever so slightly. Oh the stories he could tell...a great many of them he had forcibly blocked. Some of the more, well rauncy (and therefore traumatizing ones) he had morphed into stories; things that happened to someone else instead, in the presence of someone else. Mostly he felt like forgetting some of those nights when he huddled in his covers for a time before saying 'screw it' and sleeping in some of the schools hidden tunnels....the story about the seduction of the Divination professor would have been a good one to inform Helena of Jasper's no doubt dubious intentions.

Who took Divination for fun? Honestly...oh wait, best stealing away girlfriend right. Focus, dwell on trauma later. ...For someone like you. Splendid now he had missed something important and no duobt damning to his character. Not having heard what had constituted the beginning of the sentence Atlas had no clear way to retaliate. The slut comment had really been pulling out most of the stops. For one thing it had made him reflect upon, in vivid memory, all of the evidence he had to prove that point and second he had had to acknowledge Jasper as a sexual human being. Something he found difficult with everyone on a variety of strange and varied levels. Had to keep things fair, someone had to maintain a moral high ground.

Now they were moving...why were they moving? Atlas started forward on the chair, rocking the legs forward and ignoring the way they creaked under his weight. It wasn't just that they were moving they were moving toward the stairs. Atlas knew where the stairs went. Jasper turned back, he practically sparkled, he was coated in mud, he smelled vaguely like he had been rolling in his own refuse and...did Helena just nuzzle him?

Jasper craned his neck back, That said, if the shoe fits--your room or the guest one? You'll have to do the muffilato, I haven't got my wand back.

Helena sidled along with Jasper, she couldn’t look at Atlas she’d give them both away for sure. Jasper had been the one to crack first the last time. When they had found that tide pool, a large rock separating Atlas from the two of them, she had to stay ahead. Instead, ignoring the general grime that she could see sheaned over Jasper’s skin she went up on top toes and nuzzled into the side of his neck.

“My room,” She heard the chair squeak as Atlas pushed away from the table. “Of course. You poor thing!” She pulled Jasper up the first stair, “But maybe first a bath, I could wash your back? They say it’s the most intimate gesture a human can perform for another.”

It wouldn't be aesthetically pleasing at all, but Jasper could see the distinct advantages to having eyes in the back of one's head. Namely being able to watch Atlas gawk as he and Helena proceeded up the stairs, which he unfortunately had to just imagine. Perhaps it was for the best; he wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face if he'd actually looked at his friend. He could tell Helena was struggling. There was a familiar tightness around her lips. He had to beat her this time. The last occasion on the beach had been disgraceful, but he'd laughed until his sides ached, until he'd forgotten where he was and accidentally let sand touch him.

Helena rocked upward on tiptoe as they ascended the stairs, pressing her face against the side of Jasper's neck. He was reminded again what an odd couple she and Atlas made; even Jasper, not exceptionally tall, towered a bit over Helena. He also felt a brief pang of pity and awe at her dedication. She was willing to breathe in Thai prison dirt for this.

“My room." There was the squeal of wood on tile as Atlas' chair moved rapidly in the kitchen. Jasper could imagine the accompanying flail, and had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. Don't laugh. Don't. “Of course. You poor thing!”

Jasper could hear Atlas moving now, as Helena skipped a stair ahead of him and pulled him forward, turning in Atlas' direction. Rookie mistake, Polyxena. Enrgaed Caedmon was usually what led to laughter, in the end. He'd accidentally looked up at Atlas looming over the rock on the beach and utterly lost it. He'd been training since then. Now only the looks reserved for Shirley could crack his serious expression.

“But maybe first a bath, I could wash your back? They say it’s the most intimate gesture a human can perform for another.”

A master stroke. Beautifully done. Jasper's brow creased in thought, mercifully hidden from Atlas. Helena had upped the bets substantially. Now was the time to commit or admit defeat. Jasper hadn't lost at a game since he was eleven and his mother had invited over their neighbor's son in an attempt to have Jasper make friends who weren't Atlas and Will. The boy, a Muggle, had brought Risk. When he captured Turkmenistan Jasper had turned the tiny cannons into real tiny cannons and shot him in the hand. Jasper didn't like losing.

He took the step up, feet balancing on the edge between Helena's so she was blocked from Atlas' view. Inclined his head slightly to 'whisper' in her ear.

"What a lovely gesture, but we wouldn't want you getting all wet." He let a pause wring every bit of incredibly over-obvious innuendo out of the phrase. "Especially in something so...white."

He managed to keep his voice serious, but his mouth was shaking with laughter. Helena was making a face somewhere between smiling and looking like she was trying not to vomit, lips pursed together and throat shaking gently. Now the killing blow.

"Plus I couldn't wait a moment longer." He tilted his head, hands on her shoulders, their faces close. From Atlas' angle it would look like a kiss. "Quickly! Before he catches us, my love!"

It would have to be quickly because one of them was going to laugh. In one gallant motion, he picked Helena up and started up the stairs, thinking all the while that it was a bloody good thing she was small because really, one couldn't have muscle tone in Slimane.

Now she had him, she knew she had him, there was a little rooster in her heart and it was crowing victory. Jasper would have to concede here she was certain. He might be bold but she was clever and she knew that even as filthy and well….rank as he was Jasper would draw the line at the suggestion of the two of them bathing together. That was if Atlas didn’t pound him into the steps first. Which, considering the chocked and sputtering noises rapidly making there way down the hall, might soon be a very legitimate concern. It wouldn’t be a very long fight, Jasper was spindly and underdeveloped he hadn’t quiet grown into his wiry frame and with the way he ate he never would.

She locked eyes with Jasper who starred back but there was a slight crease between those beautiful chocolate eyes. Crack Christie common.. Jasper was trapped between Atlas (and one look at him would be his undoing) and her, not the most advantages of positions to find yourself in. Then he took a step toward her, very close, she swallowed.

What a lovely gesture, but we wouldn't want you getting all wet.. Oh you smug, pompous… Jasper had lifted one hand punctuating each of his next words with a small flick of his index finger. Especially in something so...white.. She resisted the urge to take a step back but just barely, she couldn’t go through it but she wasn’t going to let this be her final stand. Luckily a long-standing relationship with one of the most ridiculous people Britain had ever produced had provided her with a great deal practice in hiding mirth. The first Atlas told her about animal crackers and Shirley Temple she had laughed herself sick and then learned the error of her ways during her week and 2/3rds day probation period.

Plus I can’t wait a moment longer! Oh no…he leaned close for a moment and then she was up in his arms, rapidly ascending the steps. Funny she had thought Jasper’s arms would just crack and fall off if he tried to lift anything. Quickly! Before he catches us, my love!. As Jasper began his hurried ascension he readjusted her in his arms, placing her in perfect view of Atlas at the bottom of the steps. Dirty trick, forcing her to look. Finding herself with few other options and praying her grandmothers cleaning spells could get Thai prison dirt out of white cotton she threw her arms around the back of Jasper’s neck and buried her head underneath his chin. Then she giggled, hoping that Jasper’s footsteps and the low whistling sound that must have been Atlas were enough to muffle it properly. She didn’t dare speak.

The world had gone very small for Atlas, most of it was occupied with remembering the little things, like breathing, and that Unforgivables were illegal and a bit drastic, but spells that turned stairs into slides or put posh recent prison escapees in there place would have been just about right. Those options were out though, because the rogue was holding Helena and he wouldn’t want to bruise her in the process of her rescue. He’d hear about it later. He had once likened Jasper to a dragon, scaly and hoarding his mountain of loot, sometimes breathing fire, now he was going to have to add the kidnapping of innocent and impressionable young maidens to that description. Helena didn’t know any better; she hadn’t been acquainted with Jasper long enough, she didn’t know the lengths he went to get what he wanted. She just saw the long well groomed eyelashes, the deep eyes, and the impeccable dress and that smile, that sparkled like one of those terrible Muggle movies. No she couldn’t be blamed for this. Her arms snaked out and for the briefest moment Atlas imagined she was reaching back for him, asking assistance…. then they went around Jasper’s long skinny little neck and she cuddled in. Atlas’s eye crossed and there was a noise very similar to the sound a kettle made when it had reached a boil. It was the sound of all the air in Atlas’s lungs escaping from the slight gap he had between two molars. The sound was accurate to his feelings on this matter. The world blurred and there were brief flashes that were coming now.

There was that Hufflepuff girl who Jasper had led on for weeks…until Atlas came back from studying one night to find her naked in his bed. Jasper had told her to meet him there at 1 am, on a night when he knew he was going to be on a smuggling run with Wendell. This had left Atlas to explain the ‘mistake’ she’d hexed him and the kicked him in the shins…hard. In another brilliant flash he saw Amala Bulrich, slytherin, with a face like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to a bag of crisps, but had an otherwise amazing physical form. Jasper had kept a collection of paper bags around for the very short duration of that escapade. It thankfully hadn’t lasted long.

There were other incidents, the time Jasper had pushed Atlas and his beds together and ‘asked’ for Atlas to sleep in the library for a few days, or in the common room, because, “They’re twins….you know?”. He hadn’t at the time, but he had learned, he’d learned those kinds of lessons over and over and he would be damned if this was going to end the same way as Sally Owens had….Atlas was not going to stand guard on the outskirts of a pumpkin patch in November ever again. He blinked to banish the images, and then blinked when he noticed that Jasper wasn’t at the top of the stairs. No, no, no ,no, no, no!

Climbing the stairs would have taken about 22 seconds, apparating took a moment, he settled for the second option. He stumbled on the disapparation, bumped into a coral and looked up to find Helena deposited on the bed with the interloper looming over her. She might have been laughing he wasn’t positive, it was hard to tell when you were tackling someone. “Halt Vagrant!” He caught Jasper around the waist and disapparated again, both of them landed in the sand about 5 yards from the house. Momentum was a wonderful thing Atlas decided as he rolled to the top of their mini dog pile. He planted his rump firmly on Jasper’s chest holding him place. “Dragon.” He told him bluntly, punching Jasper lightly in the shoulder but not making a move to get up. “Impugning my honor is one thing but to drag her into this!”

The score was going to stay at one-all for the time being, because Jasper and Helena succumbed to simultaneous laughter as soon as Jasper turned the corner into the bedroom. He dropped her onto the bed, leaning over and gasping from the combination of the sprint up the stairs and the overwhelming hilarity of the situation. Helena's face was crinkled up, tears starting to glisten in the corners of her eyes. Behind him, Jasper heard the quiet crack of Apparition and felt a brief pang of disappointment that the gig was up, now. A heavy, fumbling footstep followed, and then Atlas' arms were crushing around his waist, pulling him back from the edge of the bed, which he had been leaning on since laughter had rendered him incapable of standing.

"Halt Vagrant!”

Jasper wanted to point out that the entire phrase was entirely inappropriate, since he was neither moving nor homeless, but he was prevented by two factors. One was the fact that he was laughing so hard he couldn't speak, and the other was that Atlas had apparated away with them. He froze instantly, terrified of a Splinching, and they landed on something soft and....grainy.

SAND. OH F--K. F--K.

Jasper flailed, trying to scrabble to his feet as sand poured into his shoes and scratched its way past his cuffs. This was awful. He managed to make it a few inches, the despicable stuff clogging underneath his fingernails, before Atlas caught him again, actually sitting on him to prevent him from moving. Jasper tried to squirm free but it just resulted in Atlas' substantial weight shifting to his diaphragm. He wheezed and laid still, keeping his head off the sand. It was already in his hair anyway, and he could feel it seeping down under his collar. His skin felt like it wanted to peel off and crawl away.

“Dragon.” What? Atlas punched him in the shoulder, weight pressing Jasper more firmly into the sand. This was how he was going to die. Not in Thai prison, but crushed to death by his best friend on a Greek beach. With sand all over him. Intolerable.

“Impugning my honor is one thing but to drag her into this!”

"She--" Jasper had to pause, cough weakly to dislodge a bit of sand that had fallen from his lips into his mouth--"she didn't need much dragging. You'll notice she came quite willingly."

Atlas scowled, a knee digging into his side. Jasper wasn't built for this kind of thing. His body had no padding for physical violence. Atlas' kneecap and his ribs were in much too close contact. He turned his head and spit out a few more grains of sand, horrified that the motion made more of it slide down inside his shirt. He shuddered and squirmed again. There would be bruising from this. He had a date with the new girl from the Dior campaign on Tuesday, dammit.

"Seriously though mate, I'm not impugning anyone. Helena tells you all the time that she thinks I'm some kind of plasticine nightmare, yeah? And you've seen the List."

He hoped Atlas would relent at that. Of course he'd seen the list. It had been tucked in the corner of Jasper's mirror from third year onward. "Man hands" was number four, just below "improperly shaped eyebrows" and "wears barettes."

"C'mon, let me up, I'm being sandblasted and I just had a facial in Japan."

Jasper rolled for a few moments, pressing back into the sand with the heels of his feet until he realized where he was, more specifically what he was lying in. Sand and Jasper, Jasper and sand. Never had there been a more descriptive chiasmus and never had there been a more dastardly foe as far was Jasper was concerned. It was fitting that he should meet his end in it. Atlas had always rather liked the sand, you could build castles in it, find things in it, loose things in it, it was the jack of all play things. He had had a sandbox as a child, a little one where he routinely would build small scale models of various world monuments. Then the Tibbons girl from the across the street had maliciously and falsely accused him of throwing sand into her eyes. His mother had made him watch while his grandfather turned the little patch into a grill pit.

She had been trying to kiss him, what was he supposed to do? She, Oh right there was a Jasper here. The force of Jasper’s cough reverberated through him and Atlas looked down in time to catch Jasper’s tongue trying to evict a conglomerated mass of sand away from his mouth. Bad move, liquids only made sand more unruly. He rocked back his weight a bit, waiting for the apology, then he and Jasper could strike a pact of mutual protection like the Greeks of old. That he would stay away from her but gladly and readily come to her defense should Atlas call. It was a nice thought, very sweeping and epic but Atlas figured the largest threat Jasper would be able to over come for Helena’s sake would be a fiddler crab or smaller, as long as the weather was nice and there was no sand. Still he waited with baited breath. She didn’t need much dragging. You’ll notice she came quite willingly..

Well, that might have been the expected outcome but it definitely wasn’t the desired outcome. To express that fact Atlas shifted slightly digging his knee into Jasper’s side like he was some sort of unruly horse. Or a mule. Jasper more or less convulsed in the sand, he seemed to be attempting to hover without the use of his wand or magic, just to get away from the stuff. Really sand wasn’t all that terrible, maybe Atlas could bury him, leave his head exposed and find some kelp for hair, make a mermaid tale for him, Helena could help. Jasper was sputtering and spitting more sand, if he kept at it there would be more beach in and on him and all around them.

Seriously though mate, I'm not impugning anyone. Helena tells you all the time that she thinks I'm some kind of plasticine nightmare, yeah? And you've seen the List.. He had, like a benevolent godfather Atlas had known the list at its birth and over the years watched it grow. At 15 (scuffs on shoes) he had purchased lotto tickets for it, and had taken it out for drinks at 18 (visible roots), until it had grown to its full 25 and he had given it a stern lecture about the tender hearts of maidens (which, like all god fatherly advise would be summarily ignored) and sent it on its way.

“Her hands are perfectly lovely. You just judge them on your own sick merits.”

C'mon, let me up, I'm being sandblasted and I just had a facial in Japan. Atlas gaped down at him for a solid 20 seconds. Then quizzically he ran the back of his palm along Jasper’s cheek. “Smooth, like plastic.” He clamored to his feet, giving Jasper one last nudge with his shoe before hoisting him up and brushing him off. Jasper stepped away almost as soon as his feet were back on the ground, shaking like a wet dog to try and dislodge sand. Atlas looked up at the balcony connected to the second story where Helena was leaning on the balcony, watching the two of them. “Worry not fair maiden I have subdued the cad!”

“Thank Merlin for that, the wand less ken doll really could have been a threat! Jasper would you like to come inside and take a shower now? I bet Atlas would let you if you agree to keep your hands and other appendages to yourself? Oh!” She turned to walk back in but rushed back to the balcony. “I believe this has been a win for me!”

Atlas frowned, the face he made when trying to remember the list in order. He always had problems with number 14, poorly maintained cuticles. Jasper couldn't understand why, it was one of the more obvious requirements in a woman. His friend finally concentrated the frowning more directly at Jasper.

“Her hands are perfectly lovely. You just judge them on your own sick merits.”

Poor Atlas. Always in denial. Someday he would come to understand that Helena, while otherwise an impeccable physical specimen, had the hands of a retired lumberjack who enjoyed recreational boxing. Jasper considered commenting on this, but realized he didn't want to be shoved any further into the sand. Atlas made a face, prodding his cheek when he mentioned the facial, then stood.

“Smooth, like plastic.”

Helena was brainwashing him now. Not that it was especially difficult, with Atlas. Jasper wanted to point out that it was more "smooth like a six hundred dollar straight razor bought in Paris followed by a seaweed scrub," but this was perhaps not the time for pedantry. He had more pressing things to do, like dislodge the sand from in between his teeth.

Jasper took a gasping breath as Atlas pulled him to his feet, by the lapels no less. As though this suit hadn't had enough reasons to be thrown away. He spent a few minutes frantically clawing the sand away from his body before realizing that it was an entirely futile cause and slipping off his jacket in an attempt to shake it out. Atlas had turned to shout upward at Helena, who was leaning over the edge of the balcony, smirking down at them.

“Worry not fair maiden I have subdued the cad!”

“Thank Merlin for that, the wand less ken doll really could have been a threat! Jasper would you like to come inside and take a shower now? I bet Atlas would let you if you agree to keep your hands and other appendages to yourself? At least Helena was being reasonable, and seemed to understand the revolting horror that was sand. She turned to go inside and, after glancing at Atlas to assure him there would be no appendages, plastic or otherwise, in inappropriate positions, started shuffling up the beach. Helena reappeared suddenly, leaning out further over the rail.

Oh! I believe this has been a win for me!”

Jasper stared upward, open mouthed. "As though, Polyxena! I heard you on the stairs! There was distinct giggling!"

He bounded up the beach and met her in the entryway, where she was smirking. He pointed a finger at her sternly. "Distinct. We can argue this later, I am in desperate need of that shower. Would you take pity on me and spell my suit clean? God knows I won't fit into Atlas' clothes."

Helena relented, and his suit was neatly folded and in at least wearable condition when he stepped into the guest bedroom, having stood under the shower on at full blast for 40 minutes but certain he would still be finding grains of sand in his hair for years. She'd even folded the pocket square back into place. Sweet girl, Helena, even if she did have palms like a lobster fisherman. He dressed and traipsed down the stairs, where Atlas and Helena were in the kitchen. The picture was between them on the table. Jasper sighed.

"You--" he turned to Helena, "are a miracle worker of clothing. Keep an eye out on the mail--when I replace my wand I'm sending you something. New ruby transfigurations are coming along."

He switched to Atlas. "You, on the other hand, are a despicable fiend. Can you please apparate me home so you two can laugh in private about my torture?"

As though, Polyxena! I heard you on the stairs! There was distinct giggling! Jasper’s voice wavered with each phrase, loud, but growing louder at the end of each sentence as if to punctuate the point. Comically every time he did so he rocked a little forward on his heels, bobbing almost and with each bob more sand fell away from him raining back down onto the beach. Atlas watched it go, eyes moving between that and Helena who was shaking her head as she made her way off the balcony. “She was giggling a bit….But I don’t see what that would have to do with anything.” Jasper apparently wasn’t listening. Or standing next to Atlas anymore.

Atlas looked around for a moment before catching sight of Jasper clomping his way up the narrow slope of the hill. Raising one foot slamming it down into the light packed sand and then following suit with the other. It looked rather like he was trying to teach the sand a lesson, stomping it into submission, or at least packing it a bit to give him more support. The sand retaliated, slipping out from under Jasper and causing him to stumble a bit on his way up. Jasper prided himself on a cat like grace and suave personality he had been robbed of both by this particular beach, maybe it just wanted its friends back….Jasper still looked to be carrying about three pounds worth the grainy abrasive sand up the hill with him.

He’d do better barefoot, Atlas almost told him so but decided Jasper might make the sacrifice and wandlessly transfigure him into a jellyfish right then and there. Sure Jasper would likely pass out from the resulting exhaustion, falling back into the accursed sand, but maybe Atlas being carried out with the tide would have been sufficient consolation. That, and he would then be left alone with Helena…maybe that was his plan. Goading Atlas into commenting that shoe less was the better way to go and than crossing “man hands” off the list before bounding back into the house. Not acceptable. Atlas hiked up the hill in pursuit, only stumbling in the milly stuff once before reaching the back door. Jasper was already there, finger pointed out threateningly at Helena who looked completely unperturbed both by the finger and by the small Zen garden that was now forming in the hall from Jasper’s droppings.

Distinct. We can argue this later, I am in desperate need of that shower. Would you take pity on me and spell my suit clean? God knows I won’t fit into Atlas’s clothes. Helena smirked at him, pursed her lips and then looked Jasper over. The poor suit, none of this was its fault. It could have gone to some nice bloke from the banking district but instead it had been subjected to the fate of belonging to Jasper and being dragged half way around the world to conduct dark deeds. She was still tempted to say that it was impossible, that nothing could be done and he’d just have to make due with something of Atlas’s or go naked. It had happened on two occasions, once when Jasper had made the mistake of leaving his clothes folded on the arm of the sofa while they went swimming. The sail of her small boat had torn the night before and Atlas, upon finding the very expensive material had decided that it would be the perfect patching agent.

Jasper had been less than pleased when Atlas had unveiled his work. He’d been even less pleased when Atlas offered him one of his shirts to wear. It was rather adorable actually, Jasper swimming in the material like a child who had raided their father’s closet. The second time Jasper had thought he had come prepared, hiding his clothes in a locked case under a box labeled ‘antique spoons. Unfortunately for the suitcase (and by proxy Jasper) antique spoons had been just the thing Atlas had needed to complete his experiment involving string theory and doilies. Jasper wore Atlas’s pants for three hours before painstakingly transfiguring new (and rather interesting clothes) from a few pieces of fruit and an old curtain.

“Just leave it in the hall and I’ll do my best.” Atlas insisted on escorting Jasper up to the bathroom and then brought the suit back downstairs for its cleaning before plopping down at the table and producing her requested souvenir.

“Its PERFECT Atlas! Look at that scowl.” She planted a light kiss on the top of his head, ignoring the bits of sand and the stray leaf. “You did good.” Cleaning the suit actually wasn’t that bad, there was some mud, and a few substances she didn’t recognize and Atlas insisted on keeping for further testing but all in all it was a quick fix. She folded it carefully and then levitated it over to the bed. She didn’t think Atlas would let her go back up there when a very naked Jasper was only separated from her by a door and a shower curtain. Then she sat down across from Atlas and commenced reveling in her present.

Jasper appeared a number of minutes later, looking significantly more like himself but tired. You. The pointing had started again, she did her best to look innocent, she would rub her victory in later. Are a miracle worker of clothing. Keep and eye out on the mail—when I replace my wand I’m sending you something. New ruby transfigurations are coming along.. She gave a little seated curtsey, smiling. She didn’t know how Jasper did it…well did it and didn’t get caught. It was completely brilliant. “Make them out of something cheap would you? Shale is nice.” Any piece of jewelry from Jasper was its own treasure, its own inside joke. She had a pair of earrings made from Gravel taken from some estate housing. The only ‘real’ item she had from Jasper was the simple silver ring Atlas had given her a few months after they started dating, embedded in the metal was a simple and very tiny opal. It had signs of being a beginners project but she thought it added character.

Jasper turned his attentions to Atlas, who raised an eyebrow but stayed where he was. You, on the other hand, are a despicable fiend. Can you please apparate me home so you two can laugh in private about my torture?.

“We’re not laughing at you Jasper! Perish the thought this is the joy of relief, face like yours is far to pretty for Thai prison. They would have shipped you off into white slavery before long and then I would have really had to look to find you. This,” He indicated the photo, “Is what I’ll be able to look at every time I haven’t appreciated you enough. I’ll see it and then I’ll think, ‘That Jasper, he wasn’t so bad…I hope the Yakuza who purchased him isn’t treating him too harshly’.” He relented finally, pulling himself out of the chair. “Fine, fine, come over here, and I’ll take you back.”

Helena smiled, getting up, grabbing a neatly wrapped box off the counter and handing it to Jasper. “Baklava, as per usual. Come down for a proper visit some time! Lots of models in Greece too.”

The sand was still everywhere. Jasper could feel it creeping down his neck from hidden crevices somewhere in his hair, possibly inside his skull, could sense it insidiously making its way out of the weave of his socks into his shoes, where it would scrape against his toes, could see stray grains of it still hiding under his fingernails. He wanted to trade in his body for one that had never even seen a picture of a beach. Atlas and Helena were grinning at him as though they had no idea their home was mere inches from a massive instrument of torture. He'd been well aware for years that Atlas was utterly mental (ever since third year when he'd tried to enlist Jasper in his attempt to construct a nuclear reactor out of pineapples and toothpicks...it was some kind of fruit with Atlas), but he'd had higher hopes for Helena.

“We’re not laughing at you Jasper!...They would have shipped you off into white slavery before long ... This,” He indicated the photo, “Is what I’ll be able to look at every time I haven’t appreciated you enough. I’ll see it and then I’ll think, ‘That Jasper, he wasn’t so bad…I hope the Yakuza who purchased him isn’t treating him too harshly’.”

Jasper stared in horror. He hadn't even considered Yakuzas. If he had, he probably would have used whatever magical energy he could have summoned wandlessly to AK himself in the jail cell. That would have meant falling dead onto the repulsive floor, but he would have been willing to take the chance. Atlas seemed to think his face of complete terror was one of annoyance, because he let go of the joke and stood. Helena had migrated to the counter, where she was closing a familiar white box. Baklava. Part of her ongoing plan to make Jasper gain the weight that she falsely thought he needed was plying him with insanely large quantities of baked goods. Jasper couldn't really complain about it; she failed to understand that the baked goods then became all he ate for about two weeks, so not much changed in his diet.

“Fine, fine, come over here, and I’ll take you back.”

Atlas offered an arm to Jasper as Helena handed over the neatly wrapped package.

“Baklava, as per usual. Come down for a proper visit some time! Lots of models in Greece too.”

"Lots of sand as well." He accepted the box and hugged her lightly, resisting the urge to make a final comment since he knew Atlas had the rather daunting power to splinch him in the next few minutes. "I'll be back with those jewels for you soon. Made of 100% London Transport Authority's finest gravel."

He stepped back and linked arms with Atlas, and there was the quick swoop of apparition before they landed in Jasper's front room. Side-along was a bit nauseating and he sat down on the sofa heavily, letting his eyes close for a moment. When he reopened them Atlas was looking at him expectantly. Oh, right, here was the part where you expressed some gratitude.

"Thanks for, you know, breaking me out of Thai prison, dry cleaning my suit, not crushing my skull in an attempt at chivalry." He smiled. "Seriously, I owe you a favor. D'you want a drink or anything before you go? Maybe some baklava, it feels like Helena gave me about thirty five pounds of the stuff."

Atlas oversaw Jasper's goodbye hug like some sort of American mid western farmer. The type with a cornfield and a shot gun. 12 gage, and a dog, and a pickup truck, and some beer....the mental image began to get ahead of him. When his eyes had refocused themselves Jasper had already let go. I'll be back with those jewels for you soon. Made of 100% London Transport Authority's finest gravel Helena beamed as if Jasper had just promised to bring her a sample of the hope diamond. Atlas rolled his eyes and warily watched Jasper approach.

Helena smiled up at him, bringing her index and middle finger up to her lips and then moving both fingers downward. A combination of rabbit ears and a wave goodbye, he would have returned the gesture but Jasper's arm was already looped through his and well....Jasper was there in general. It wasn't something for him to be privy too. Instead he just smiled, gave the barest wave to her with his left hand before fumbling for his wand and apparating away.

Helena stayed in the kitchen for a few minutes, shuffling jars, and making sure that everything was in its place. Then she headed for the stairs, there was sand everywhere, a constant invader when one lived this close to its home habitat. Normally though she didn't have people trapseing around the house coated in a solid layer of it. It could wait until morning. Passing the kitchen table she extended a hand and snatched up the photo, cradling it in her hands as she made her way up the stairs and into the bedroom. It took several minutes of wandering around the room before she found her right place to display it, tucked inside the seem of her mirror where the wood met with the glass. Right next to the jewelery box it would be a wonderful thing to wake up to in the morning, cheerier than any cup of coffee. Yawning she stood and picked her way over to the bed, pulling back the sheets and sighing as she sank into the mattresses and the sea of pillows that Atlas insisted on keeping there. She made sure to rob his side of all but one of the pillows before drifting off.

Atlas disapparated in Jasper's front room, a spacious place that served as foyer, dining, and living room. Disentangling himself from Jasper's arm he watched the other man sink down onto the sofa, his face displaying a weariness that was typically seen on welsh coal miners...ones in their fifties, not in the face of a 19 year old. For a time Jasper said nothing, eyes closed, head back, hands limp on the cousins he was seated on; Atlas thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep. He was considering how to handle that development (if Jasper slept like that you'd crick his neck something awful) when Jasper opened his eyes and regarded Atlas for a moment before finally speaking up.

Thanks for, you know, breaking me out of Thai prison, This elicited a smile. The thanks was delivered with the same flippant ease that one might employ when thanking a waiter for bringing you a new glass of water, or a shop attendant for getting you the next size up. Atlas didn't take offense though, he had known Jasper long enough to be able to discern the subtle differences in that ways that Jasper showed gratitude. ...not crushing my skull in an attempt at chivalry. Then he smiled as well. Seriously, I owe you a favor. Atlas looked away, mildly embarrassed and waved a hand back and forth. Jasper didn't owe him anything, it wasn't as if he could (or would) have considered not going. Jasper had asked him for help so he had gone, because they were friends not because he hoped to have Jasper be beholden to him somehow.

D'you want a drink or anything before you go? Maybe some baklava, it feels like Helena gave me about thirty pounds of the stuff..

This at least was something that Atlas could answer. He carefully flopped down onto the couch on the end opposite from Jasper, letting his head flop back onto the couch, angling his head in Jasper's direction he nodded. “I'd be very much obliged. I'd say thirty is a light estimate. She bakes the stuff all the time, just on the off chance I see you. She thinks you might have a tape worm, or a wasting illness. I try to tell her your just a vain little s---t,” He said the word with the same amount of affection normally used when he spoke to his mother on the phone or when Helena asked him what he liked about her. “Doesn't listen though. Works in my favor, she doesn't go for skinny blokes.”

"And I'd like a Singapore Sling, please."