When Cal had shown up fuming, waving with a reindeer fur hat and asking who Sergei was, Jasper knew the answer immediately. He didn't know why, but he certainly knew who. Taking the hat with him, he left Cal in the study with one of his lab notebooks and a bottle of gin and crossed the alley to SHOP's back door. He pressed his fingertip to the small pad next to the door, which Atlas had once explained could identify him via DNA. There had been a long explanation behind the thing when Atlas had gotten it installed, which Jasper had largely tuned out while thinking about the new Fred Perry line for summer, but in the end he'd let Atlas take a hair sample and do something that involved a retina scan.

Sergei had been created a year or two after Hogwarts. Upon noticing that Atlas looked large and forbidding while he himself looked like he was made of Twizzlers, Jasper had enlisted his friend's help as a sort of impromptu bodyguard when he was completing transactions with some of his less savory associates. At first Atlas had simply hulked about in the shadows, but after the first time he had to interact with someone as Atlas (and had mentioned something about Thor and possibly a turnip, much to the amusement of a group of thuggish looking blokes from Hackney), Jasper had suggested an alternate persona, and Atlas had just bought a new hat and a book on method acting, which he eventually took to heart a bit too much.

Sergei, former Kremlin palace guard and recreational knife collector, had been Jasper's bodyguard ever since. He favored clipped speech, black trenchcoats, and a large beard, and he had saved Jasper from having his arms snapped like breadsticks on more than one occasion. He'd been in less and less need as the years passed, particularly once Jasper's business settled in the shop, but he was occasionally resurrected even now. Usually, Jasper was in on the plan, but Atlas had apparently thought it appropriate to take matters into his own hands this time.

Looking down at the hat, Jasper pushed open the door and walked into the dim house. The whole bloody place smelled like borscht. Oh, God. He'd really gone method this time. There were varying levels. He took another step into the house and sniffed the air. Fermenting potatoes. This was at least an 8. 10 was ranked as the time Atlas had spent nearly two weeks transforming his house into a model of the Kremlin. Jasper made his way into the living room, shifting a nesting doll painted to look like Dostoyevsky off the chair. Atlas was in the opposite seat, pouring himself some tea from a samovar. Jasper brandished the hat.

"Explain yourself, Dr. Zhivago."

There was a bottle of Stoli on the coffee table and Jasper transfigured one of the smaller bits of Dostoyevsky into a shot glass and poured himself a drink. He was going to need one. Somewhere in the back of the shop, he heard a bell jingle. If there was another reindeer stampede, he was leaving.

Atlas regarded the Oerlikon 20 taking up the majority of the coffee table top and itched at his beard. It itched but he knew when winter came and the Siberian winds began to rattle through the orchard trees he would remember why they were so important. Some men trimmed theirs during the all too brief summer month, those were the men who he passed, freezing slowly in the snow, brought down by their foolishness. Some of the glue keeping the beard in place gave and the whole mass swung to the side suddenly, threatening to fall.

Dropping the cleaning rod he had been using on the barrel of the assault cannon (usually found on the decks of aircraft carriers but this new threat might need more than typical Kasatka rifles and explosives. Atlas fumbled with the hair, he had purchased it as a full wig from a drag soho. It was black and mangy and the very kind….though rather large lady had offered it to him in exchange for the satchel full of sequins he had taken from behind the Sinistra’s. He had hesitated, it wasn’t good to make business deals with shape changers of any sort but in the end he hadn’t been able to resist. It was rather soft (or had been before he apparated it into a tree outside of Moscow for three months) and smelled faintly of coconuts and Diana Ross music. He was rather fond of her…no wait no….Sergi loved the mandolin and drinking songs about the glory of the Czar. Must remain in the proper mindset.

He had just finished reattaching the clamp on the base of the gun’s stock when he heard the sound of feet in the hallway. Lifting his wand he turned down the original cast recording of Fiddler on the Roof on the record player (he had intended for something a bit more befitting a member of the royal guard….but all he had was this and the soundtrack from Anatasia) and then listened. The footfalls were short, staccato half beats on the hard wood, the rhythm was steady. Jasper. Apollo’s feat sounded like humming birds, barely there and quick. Will’s were heavier, a physical manifestation of his annoying brand of curtsey, he wanted people to know he was there. Jasper’s walk, like everything else seemed to be dictated by his fashion tastes. Minimizing contact with the ground, and its contaminants, as if he might be able to stop any wear and tear on the base of his soles.

A moment later Atlas’s musings were proven true when Jasper’s head came poking around the corner. Atlas made eye contact for the briefest moment before lifted the hand not lying on Olga, and nibbled at some of the caviar on the table next to him. He almost gagged on the stuff, it was horrible…but not Sergi, Sergi loves the fish egg, for they make him strong. Hoping to wash some of the taste from his mouth Atlas poured himself a dainty amount of tea, taking a few sips as Jasper poked about with Dostoyevsky before tossing himself down into the armchair opposite Atlas. Serglas made a face, the two of them had been having a grand conversaion concerning Notes From the Underground, Jasper should at least ask before removing him from his seat.

Explain yourself, Dr. Zhivago.

“I am Doctor of medicines, unless medicines be pain.” Atlas remarked, folding his fingers and wishing for a moment that he had a paunch to lay them on. “Do you like Olga?” He asked, leaning forward and caressing the gun. “She uses the 20 x 70RB cartridge. It costs 40,000 rupels to fire this gun for 26 seconds.” He itched at the contact lens milking on eye, Sergi had lost it in a knife fight with a wolf. “Or 7 galleons if using Berty Botts Beans.”

The worst thing about Sergei was the guns. Jasper never got used to that. He didn't like guns in general, Atlas and guns was even worse, but Sergei and guns was essentially his worst nightmare. On par with an ink spill in his closet or the news that there would never be any more gin. He'd convinced Atlas to stop bringing more than six weapons out when they were on "mission of importance," as Sergei called them, but even one was far too many.

“I am Doctor of medicines, unless medicines be pain.”

What? The word 'pain' spoken in the presence of so many semi-automatic weapons made Jasper distinctly uncomfortable. He finished his drink and poured another shot, watching Atlas as he poked a miniscule spoon into a tin of caviar. Jasper leaned over, plucked the spoon from his fingers nervously, and put the lid on firmly. Last time it had attracted the dancing bear. Atlas had tried to assure him that "Aleksandr, Terror of North" was actually a very friendly bear. Jasper remained unconvinced after watching him tear apart an elk leg.

“Do you like Olga?" No, no I don't please don't maim me. Atlas ran his fingers over the gun as though it was some sort of adorable kitten.

Atlas continued on in clipped English, explaining in further detail the many exciting ways Jasper could be severely injured. His good eye roved about the room, probably searching the corners for Bolsheviks. Sergei still harbored bitter memories of the October Revolution, where his brother Vladimir had died in the name of the Czar. Jasper had once tried to point out that Sergei was not, in fact, over a hundred years old, and had been treated to an up close and personal tour of Sergei's prized knife collection. He had since remained silent on the subject.

"She's very nice, Rasputin. I hope you didn't take her with you this morning when you were threatening Cal with deportation to the Gulag."

He glanced down at Atlas' feet, inexplicably clad in snowshoes, then up at his hair. Very probably there were things living in it. He moved on to shot number three and kept the bottle in his hand this time.

And how The expression on Jasper's face after he had explained the wonders Olga was capable of did not communicate the feelings of awe and joy that one should when in the presence of such a delicate and beautiful creature. Instead the expression oscillated from mild trepidation, to horror and then settled somewhere on wary. He was always this way, unable to see the big picture, or even the medium one. The noise blaster, the auto cross bow, even the brilliant (though poorly named) sword chucks, Jasper always choose to see the negative. Show him a dagger made of moon stones and enchanted to sing Verdi and he would back away slowly until you put it away. Wouldn't even bother to listen to one aria. He had given poor Vincenzo a complex, no telling what an ill placed word from Mr. Christie might do to Olga's self esteem.

She's very nice, Rasputin. Serglas's hand tightened on the barrel. Surely he knew how low the reference was. That damnable monk had been the one who led to the end of the reign of his beloved Czar. At least Atlas thought that was the way the history went. When he had begun to construct this persona he had gone to the London library, spending several hours looking over histories of the Russian revolution and beyond. Well he had tried at least, but once one got past the furry hats, the harsh weather, and the countries love of both vodka and borst it was actually fairly boring. His attention had lasted until the confusing and perplexing Red vs White debachal and then he had given up and rented several muggle films.

His favorite had been the animated version of the plight of Grand Duchess Anastasia, which despite its marker of 'a true story' on the box, Jasper always insisted as a fictional account of events. First he had insulted Olga and now he insisted on bringing up the unkillable voe of the royal family. What had he done to warrant this kind of cruel persecution? I hope you didn't take her with you this morning when you were threatening Cal with deportation tot he Gulag.. Oh...the manses.....of course. Serglas flexed his toes inside his boots, it was a bit warm for rabbit fur in here, but one had to keep up appearance.

He caught Jasper glancing at the boots and then up to his marvelously styled hair before he knocked back another shot and sat back into the plush cushion on the arm chair. One hand delicately jugged the glass between his fingers while the other maintained a tight grip on the neck of the bottle. Jasper was still using a glass rather than slugging directly from the bottle, that would have been undignified, and therefore unacceptable.

Atlas hunkered down, shoulders going down as he stroked a hand across Olga's ammo chamber. Considering how best to go about answering that question. It was best to begin with honesty.

“No....Olga was here, resting while I paid visit to this Mr. Ferox.” the 'x' was actually very hard to pronounce with the Russian accent and he slipped out of it for the duration of the name before catching it back up again. “Instead I brought Amy,” he cocked his head over the small, homemade cross bow, assembled from fishing line, a few metal rulers and some odds and ends found around the shop. Honestly Atlas wasn't even sure if the thing was functional. “I left commemorative gulag snow globe as calling card for three days prior to visit in person. Is not my fault if he does not take hint.”
He leaned forward and plucked the bottle from Jasper's fingers, pouring a generous amount into his tea cup before passing it back. “You should encourage him to go. He would like gulag. Dark, depressing, lots of like minded people to hatch conspiracies with, showers. Is not such a bad place really.”

Atlas' good eye roved over Jasper in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable, as though he was sizing Jasper up as a meal for his pet wolf. Jasper shifted in his chair, the rime of ice from the vodka bottle melting slowly and turning his palm clammy. A segment of Atlas' hair bobbled strangely in an unseen draft as he replied, a vague scowl on his face.

“No....Olga was here, resting while I paid visit to this Mr. Ferox.”

The 'x' came out like a cat coughing up a hairball. Jasper hated cats. He also, at this point, really hated Russia. And the day he'd been enough of an idiot to suggest that Atlas should actually partake in more activities that involved handling weapons, which had turned into a decision almost as foolish as the time he'd let The Shins play at one of his parties. Hipsters didn't like folk, it had practically caused a riot and someone got stabbed in the calf with a pointed oxford shoe. Disastrous.

“Instead I brought Amy,” Atlas continued. He tilted his head over at something that appeared to be a conglomerate of various shiny, pointy metal objects held together with glue tack. Several minutes later, his hair bobbed in a similar direction. Jasper tried not to watch too closely, as that made him feel a bit ill. “I left commemorative gulag snow globe as calling card for three days prior to visit in person. Is not my fault if he does not take hint.”

Jasper's mind started to repeat "commemorative gulag snow globe" in confusion, but was cut off when Atlas and his hair leaned forward and snatched the vodka from his hands. I'm not at all done with that, Jasper thought irrationally. Thankfully Atlas returned it after adding some to his tea. At least he was still capable of some logical decision making. Alcohol firmly in hand once more, Jasper was able to consider the unlikely nature of a gulag snow globe. He suspected that Atlas might have constructed it himself. He had once made Jasper his very own snow globe with a tiny Harrods inside, which had been one of the more useless, but also the most pleasantly innocuous, gifts he'd received from his friend. Somehow he doubted Cal would feel quite as warmly about his.

“You should encourage him to go. He would like gulag. Dark, depressing, lots of like minded people to hatch conspiracies with, showers. Is not such a bad place really.”

Even when he thought he was an ancient Russian solider, Atlas retained the capacity to make fun of Cal. At least Jasper could use that to judge that his friend wasn't totally gone. Small comfort. He sighed, put the bottle down and wiped his damp palm on the arm of his chair, then fixed a stern gaze on Atlas, carefully avoiding eye contact with either eye or hair.

"I really don't think he'd enjoy the frostbite. Or the years of hard labor." He paused when he heard a distant twanging, and looked through the door to the back of the shop, where Rudolph was tuning a balalaika. Jasper winced, remembering the last time he'd been forced to listen to Atlas' rendition of "Down the Volga."

"What were you doing there anyway? I didn't ask you--" Bad tactic, Sergei staunchly refused to admit that he actually worked for Jasper and not 'His Most Glorious Imperial Majesty'--"Your actions were not required for the glory of the Czar."

Jasper was studying him but never the same part for anymore than a few seconds. His eyes would light on one feature that he thought was safe before changing his mind and looking somewhere else. It was one of the greatest pleasures of this guise that slight nervousness that it caused in the other man and, well, in everyone really. Jasper settled on the space near the right side of Atlas's head. Away from the milky stare of his left eye and low enough to avoid any vision of the top of his head. Atlas looked up, then moved his cup and lifted the small silver tray it had been seated on (it was Dashas, all she had managed to save of their families once great wealth before the revolution came to their estate) and looked.

The hair was quiet tame compared to how it acted sometimes, though it did seem that it had a mind of its own. It was one of the strange odd qualities of the thing that sometimes made Atlas wonder if he should chuck it and find a new one. It had never really been the same after he used it to mope up spilled re animator fluid. Since then he occasionally found it clinging to the side of the fridge at night, or slinking around searching for stray hair product. He assured himself that this just gave it character and that its unyielding independence was perfect for Sergei. Jasper didn't seem to share that sentiment, at least if the slightly queasy expression on his face was any clear indication.

I really don't think he'd enjoy the frost bite. Or the years of hard labor.

Serglas scoffed before taking a dainty sip of his tea, swished it in its glass and took another. The frostbite was a lovely bonus, a gift from the heartland of Russia to its visitors and citizens alike. As for the hard labor, well that built not only character but manseel. Calixtus would benefit from it, a few wheelbarrows full of rocks of varying sizes, and he would take his arms from something much like a spaghetti noodle to strong bough of an oak tree....did they have oak trees in Russia? Atlas made a mental note to gain that answer. Otherwise he would have to amend the mental image and Cal would look silly with arms made entirely of trees.

He was about to extol the virtues of a few years of hard labor in a harsh environment but he hadn't quiet articulated the words when Jasper spoke up again. What were you doing there anyway? I didn't ask you..... Serglas pursed his lips and frowned at Jasper over the rim of his glass, Jasper stopped for a moment, leaned back and re-phrased. Your actions were not required for the glory of the Czar. That was better.

There were numerous code phrases and it was important to remember the more important ones if things were to go smoothly. He sighed and reached forward for the bottle, finished his tea before filling the cup with vodka and sitting back in his seat. This would need to be handled delicately because it was clear that Jasper was incapable of seeing this situation in a rational and unbiased light. “Underground spy network had received intelligence concerning cult activity and one Mr. Ferox, I believed it was best to send a subtle warning...became less subtle when he opened door......”

Atlas laughed as though the possibility of Cal lifting anything larger than a beaker or a martini glass wasn't utterly absurd. That was how Jasper could tell Sergei had really taken over; Atlas would definitely have used the opportunity to make a disparaging comment of some kind, possibly referencing obscure Latin grammar. It occurred to Jasper that perhaps there was one positive element to the fact that his friend was utterly mad and lost track of his own personality from time to time. It then occurred to him that his life had reached a sad state in which he had to look on the bright side of multiple personality disorder.

Having poured himself a quantity of vodka that Jasper would have classed somewhere between 'excessive' and 'excellent,' Atlas leaned forward and fixed Jasper with a patronizing look. This normally implied that he was about to explain something to Jasper as though he was a young and obstinately stupid child.

“Underground spy network had received intelligence concerning cult activity and one Mr. Ferox, I believed it was best to send a subtle warning...became less subtle when he opened door...”

Even in insane Russian form, Atlas still believed that Cal was involved in some kind of nefarious activity. Jasper couldn't really understand it. All right, so Cal was sort of reclusive, kept weird hours, and hated most human contact. So did all mad scientists. So did Atlas. He suspected that Atlas was, to some extent, perhaps unconsciously, jealous. Maybe that Cal made Jasper less available for Atlas' mad plots and trash diving invitations, maybe even that Jasper had replaced him with another eccentric. It seemed petty and slightly ridiculous, but Jasper's other relationships (if they could even really be called that) had never been any competition for his friends and Atlas was fiercely loyal. That was a trait that Jasper had always admired (and capitalized on, when in Thai prison), but now it had gotten out of hand.

"Sergei, while I admire your loyalty to our most majestic ruler, I really don't think it was necessary to tell Cal that he would be--" Here he pulled out a slip of paper, on which he'd noted down the various threats that Cal had managed to remember when he wasn't tearing apart the hat in a fit of rage-- 'gutted like wolf who eats the heifer in winter, then sent to farthest north.' Or that he would be 'destroyed like Napoleon in cold Siberian snow.' It might have also been excessive to throw boiled cabbage at his windows as you left."

Jasper thought back to the previous weeks, trying to remember what could have motivated Atlas. Sergei most often appeared when Jasper was in some kind of personal danger. Atlas had shown up in costume once when Jasper's house had become briefly infiltrated by the lobster bandits and he'd complained about a scuff on his shoe from an errant claw. But nothing had happened recently. Jasper had been doing nothing more dangerous than selling overpriced opals to spinsters and attending Friendly Fires gigs for the last few weeks. Not even so much as a risky heist.

"I know you always act in the best interests of the most glorious Nicholas, but are you sure this wasn't also a vendetta of a more personal nature?"

Vodka, it was the nectar of the gods. Really Atlas hated the stuff, it burned, had an aftertaste like nail polish remover and really who could really trust something that had no smell to it but produced one on the breath of others. Sergei however was a completely different story. To him it was like mother's milk, if mother hadn't been made an example of by the forces of the serf rebellions that one winter in Novosibirsk, and so with barely a hint of a grimace he lifted the glass and took a prolonged sip. Couldn't the Russians have made the Bingo Bango their international drink of choice. Maybe he should have gone with a Jamaican persona, pina coladas were delicious. Doing his best to avoid spilling anything on his beard he lowered the tea cup and found Jasper starring at him levelly.

Sergei, He was beginning diplomatically at least. He nodded and raised his cup as Jasper once again paid due praise to the last Czar of proud Russian. He felt wetness at the side of one eye and pulled down one tendril of hair to dab at it. Looking back over when Jasper shifted enough to pull out a perfectly folded piece of paper. If not for its drab color he might have mistaken it for a pocket square. Taking on a slight mock Russian accent Jasper enunciated carefully as he read out the words.

“It was 'of heifer' actually.” Typical of Calixtus to get it wrong. He was probably rubbish at telephone as a child.

It might have also been excessive to throw boiled cabbage at his windows as you left.. Serglas shrugged, placing his cup on down on the side table, anymore of that terrible stuff and he'd be tasting it for weeks. Making sure that it was perfectly balanced on top of a well worn copy of The Cherry Orchard before folding his hands in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. “I was planning Malitov cocktails...but it seemed silly to waste perfectly good vodka on such a small insect like creature.” Here he lifted a hand and pressed thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate. “Besides this there was a lot of cabbage that needed to be gotten through. Found whole pile behind Korean restaurant the other day.”
Jasper blinked once, twice, and then leaned back in his seat looking for all the world like he was trying to stay on topic. It was always challenge when anyone was speaking to Serglas (either one or the other) but Jasper had always been particularly attempt at it. Now he just looked as if he was trying to place some reason to this entire situation. Best of luck. Atlas leaned his head out as Rudolph clattered around the back hall, a babushka tied tightly around his skull, he looked as if he was heading into the kitchen, maybe the Shchi was almost ready.
I know you always act in the best interest of the most glorious Nicholas, but are you sure this wasn't also a vendetta of a more personal nature?.

Now Atlas leaned back in his own seat, hands on the arms of the chair, idly he drummed the fingers of his left hand along the worn arm. The rhythm similar to that of How Glorious Our Lord Is In Zion, or it might have been ‘Go tell it on the Mountain’ sometimes they sounded similar to him. “I am employed to maintain your safety. Fact that work happens to coincide with covering dwelling of Calixtus in fragrant inedible vegetable is complete luck.”

"Tried to speak to authorities...of course no luck. They are xenophobes and so matters needed to be handled secretly." He placed slightly more emphasis on that word, picked up his cup and took a grudging gulp.

Atlas put down his vodka slowly. Jasper relaxed slightly. The persona was cracking. Sergei kept a hold on his vodka like the grip of Siberian winter on a consumptive child. He drank vodka like Jasper drank...vodka martinis. Okay, that had been a rubbish simile, but Jasper's brain was largely occupied with keeping close tabs on the various extensions of Atlas' facial hair. One of them was making slow progress toward a tin of caviar and Jasper batted it back with a copy of War and Peace that he'd found wedged beside the cushion of his seat.

“I was planning Malitov cocktails...but it seemed silly to waste perfectly good vodka on such a small insect like creature. Besides this there was a lot of cabbage that needed to be gotten through. Found whole pile behind Korean restaurant the other day.”

Kimchi, then. Jasper wanted to point out that it wasn't precisely ethnically accurate, but he suspected that might result in glaring, which was terrifying considering Atlas only had one working eye at the moment. He tried to think of something to say, but Rudolph wandered through wearing some sort of massive headdress and distracted him. He finally managed to assert, very carefully, that Atlas had perhaps been acting in his own interests.

“I am employed to maintain your safety. Fact that work happens to coincide with covering dwelling of Calixtus in fragrant inedible vegetable is complete luck. Tried to speak to authorities...of course no luck. They are xenophobes and so matters needed to be handled secretly."

He'd picked up the vodka again. Damn. Jasper had been hoping he was actually making some kind of progress. He was, in the same way that Napoleon's army made progress in 1812. Unfortunately he was going to have to take a firmer line here. This was obviously some kind psychological reaction; Atlas actually couldn't contain all his hated of Cal, so he'd had to create a second persona just to take some of it on. The question was, why now? He'd managed to loathe Cal all by himself for quite some time now, and with stunning success.

"Sergei, I appreciate your loyalty. It is stronger than the scent of the musk ox during mating season which...I think is saying something. I don't always understand the metaphors of your people. At any rate, I employ you to maintain my safety when it needs maintaining. Which it certainly doesn't around Cal. I mean, not that you need help insulting him, apparently, but have you seen him? He's not exactly threatening. Plus I'm a wizard, I can take care of myself."

Sergei, I appreciate your loyalty. It is stronger than the scent of the musk of ox during mating season which....I think is saying something. It was indeed. Ahh that heady scent, he remembered it so well. It was difficult to forget due to its pungency and its miraculous ability to dodge the effects of all known heavy duty cleaning agents. That and Oxen mating season held a special place in his heart, seeing as it defined the three week period that constituted a northern Russian summer. Well oxen mating season and public firing squad demonstrations. He was loosing track of the conversation here and it only did well to dwell within nostalgia for so long. Much more and he might start having flashbacks to that battle of Kulikovo….1308 hadn’t been a good year.

Jasper continued, At any rate, I employ you to maintain my safety when it needs maintaining. Which it certainly doesn't around Cal.. Lips set in a firm line and one hand tight around rim of his cup he observed Jasper. Underestimation of the enemy was the first step toward ruin. Not that Jasper would see it, not if he didn't want to, which he clearly didn't. Atlas visibly shuddered, a tick motion of the head to the left. Had to focus and stay in character here. For the glory of the Czar....possibly Putin, but Sergei still wasn't sure exactly how he felt about the man. Mostly the Czar then. He's not exactly threatening. Plus I'm a wizard, I can take care of myself.. This elicited a snort and Atlas set the bottle back down on the small table between them, eying Jasper up.

The beard was itchy and the sticking spell, shoddy from the start, was on its way out. In terrible blowing cold of the Siberian winds it had been a great comfort, but what with the warmth from the fire and the heat seeping into the room from the kitchen (he would never understand why Rudolph needed things to be so warm while making okroshka but it was becoming oppressive). “It is seeming to Sergei that if you were fully able to take care of yourself my employment would not be needed in first place, da? Beside that point he is shifty...look small but when enraged I am sure he would have the strength of a Russian bear.” He considered what that might look like. “Well snake maybe, large one, coiling, deceptive, appears to be rubbing off.”

He could have gone on about all the ways he believed Cal to be similar to a serpent when he blinked wrong and the contact he had been wearing slipped back behind his eye. Making a rather unflattering 'meep' noise Atlas leaned forward, one hand coming up to shield his face, the other fishing for a lens. He found it eventually, flicking the offending object somewhere across the room, he'd accio it later. Blinking rapidly he sat back up, rubbing at his left eye with the heel of one hand. He looked back up once his eyes had managed to refocus. “I can see, is miracle, Hail Saint Olaf.”

Atlas twisted his face uncomfortably, a bit of the beard coming loose from his left cheek and wavering. He had to be hot between the beard, the fur lined coat, the knee length boots laced tightly over multiple pairs of socks, and the humid air wafting gently from the kitchen. Jasper hoped he could conclude this before Rudolph returned with whatever new thing he had concocted from cabbage. He always got so offended if you wouldn't have any.

“It is seeming to Sergei that if you were fully able to take care of yourself my employment would not be needed in first place, da? Beside that point he is shifty...look small but when enraged I am sure he would have the strength of a Russian bear.”

There was a pause as both Jasper and Atlas considered the completely inappropriate comparison of Cal and a large, vicious predator. Atlas amended.

“Well snake maybe, large one, coiling, deceptive, appears to be rubbing off.”

Atlas seemed to be considering further criticisms, but was sidetracked by the ridiculous contact lens sliding to the side in his eye. There was a moment of awkward flailing that made Jasper blink in sympathetic pain, then Atlas settled with the lens balanced on his fingertip. Jasper ducked when he flicked it across the room and leaned back once more, eyes watery. “I can see, is miracle, Hail Saint Olaf.”

"Yeah, you can go take potatoes to his shrine later or something. Unless you're too busy unnecessarily terrorizing Cal again."

Now it was just deflection. That was Atlas' primary tactic, really. Make him uncomfortable and he started spouting off every conspiracy theory and alien abduction story he could think of. Jasper thought he'd been direct before, but this was going to require extreme measures.

"I employ you to protect me against mafiosos, hit wizards, and Carmen Snidgeton, not the people I'm dating."

Atlas had produced an elk horn comb from somewhere in the fur coat and was picking at his beard. Foolish, he was only going to provoke it. He was paying no attention. Sighing, Jasper plucked his pocket square from his pocked and snapped it loose, covering his fingers. He leaned forward and ripped the beard off with a satisfying peeling sound. The beard flailed and coiled, so he dropped it on the floor and stomped it a few times until it crawled under the sofa submissively.

"I'm being serious, Atlas. You need to leave him alone."

Yeah, you can go take potatoes to his shrine later or something. Unless you're too busy unnecessarily terrorizing Cal again..

There were several corrections that needed to be made there. Chief among them was that St Olaf hated the potato, viewing it as a root unfit for the consumption of one with as much dignity and honor as a proud son of Russia. No, beets were a far more fitting object. Small, but peppy and red with vitality. The other important thing Atlas felt compelled to mention was Jasper's use of the word 'unnecessarily'. Of course it was unnecessary did he really think that rooting around in the closet for this get up and then taking the time to properly do the whole thing up (in the style of the old guard, only documented in written accounts found at the bottom of wells on the outskirts of Shevosheska) was something Atlas found to be in the realm of recreational fun.

These things were important but thinking of a way to word them properly and in the third person took long enough that he didn't get them out before Jasper had piped up again. I employ you to protect me against Mafiosos, hit wizards, and Carmen Snidgeton, As he listed each title Jasper extended one of the digits on his right hand, not the people I'm dating. And with this Jasper retracted them back into a fist and leaned back into his seat, sinking into the cushion of the chair slightly. They weren't getting anywhere and there was little he was going to be able to do to stall Jasper further. The facial hair that Atlas himself was incapable of growing slipped lose from his face. Leaning to the right he dug until his hand clasps around the comb that the General had always insisted they keep with them at all times. For the honor of the Czar.

He supposed that between his impromptu attack on Cal's flat had taken the place of normal upkeep, had the Major been there he would have forbidden him from taking part in drills for at least a fortnight. Involved as he was, Atlas didn't see Jasper moving and by the time he did it was too late to prevent the inevitable. The beard came lose with a disturbing tearing sound and then a few thunks as Jasper's boot ground it into the floor. Head down Atlas watched the object slink away under the sofa as he rubbed at the raw patch it had left.

I'm being serious, Atlas. You need to leave him alone..

Still rubbing Atlas leaned down and pulled both hat and wig from atop his head, dropping both over the back of the chair. It was too warm for elk anyway. “Thanks for that Jasper, going to have to lure him out with dried elk jerky later. Have to import that from Finland.” Jasper seemed unimpressed and non-pulsed by this. Atlas sucked in a breath, rubbed at the underside of his nose, where the glue had been the strongest and snorted. “There was no harm done at any rate.”

Atlas stood abruptly, shrugging out of the coat awkwardly, letting it drop to the floor before taking his seat again. He picked up his cup and grimaced at the vodka still filling about half of it.

“Here,” He handed the vessel and its accompanying offense over to Jasper. “Transfigure that into something I can actually imbibe would you?”

There was silence for a moment but it wasn’t the kind Atlas would have termed at all comfortable. “I don’t do this to annoy you.” He started suddenly.

“Thanks for that Jasper, going to have to lure him out with dried elk jerky later. Have to import that from Finland.”

Atlas brushed his fingers over the raw patch of skin under his nose. Maybe it hadn't been strictly necessary to pull the beard off quite so hard, but at least he'd managed to jar Atlas out of the persona. Jasper wanted to point out that it might be more prudent to just leave the beard alone until it died. Then he imagined the thing surviving on lobster bandits and going feral and remained silent. There were enough dangers to his cuffs in SHOP.

Letting the coat drop to the floor, Atlas brandished the vodka at Jasper presumptuously.

“Transfigure that into something I can actually imbibe would you?”

Jasper shot him a glare which clearly communicated, "You are not getting a Moscow Mule" before turning the cup into two martinis on a small tray. He offered one to Atlas and kept the other back, taking a grateful sip. A moment passed while Atlas resettled, Jasper glancing around for signs that the beard had overcome its fear and was lurking somewhere in the shadows near the bookshelf, waiting to spring. So far so good.

“I don’t do this to annoy you.”

Atlas lifted his martini to his lips to fill the uncomfortable silence. Why, then? Jasper thought, then answered his own question. Because Atlas thought Cal was an evil criminal mastermind, of course. That was the thing with Atlas. He always meant well, in the end. There was no malice in him. Made it very hard to be angry. Jasper sighed and swallowed about half his martini. Atlas had a true gift for driving him to drink. Not that it was an especially long drive, around the block, really.

"It's just a fortunate side effect, then?" Jasper tipped his head back and closed his eyes momentarily. He'd had this discussion with Atlas fifteen times already, so he didn't think one more was going to make a difference, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"What are you doing it for? Cal isn't doing--whatever it is you think he's doing. I don't know how else to prove that to you."

Atlas took an experimental and distracting sip of the martini that Jasper had handed him. It was actually remarkably good for a transfigured beverage, which usually came along with an unpleasent after taste of whatever they have been previously. Jasper had only stumbled with the spell once, 5th year when he was first learning to do it and all that had been available at the time for transfiguring was some fish oil (tablets sent by his mother along with several dozen other nutritional supplements). The results had been disastrous and has prompted a late night break into the hospital wing for industrial strength mouth wash. Jasper had recovered just fine but Atlas hadn't really ever had a taste for martinis since. It wasn't something he often thought about but he had never quite figured out why Jasper had chosen the god awful things as his drink of choice.

That Cary Grant bloke he was always one about must have liked them, because it couldn't be the taste, which Atlas typically classified as sweet with a touch of motor oil. Still, this one wasn't so bad as things went and it was a welcome distraction from the look that Jasper was leveling at him. Jasper seemed to catch on to the distraction and lifted his own glass, sighing as he swallowed. Atlas glanced at his throat only briefly before looking up in time to meet Jasper's eyes when they opened. It's just a fortunate side effect, then?.

In almost any and every circumstance the answer would have been 'yes'. Plain and to the point. It was a delight and had been ever since mid way through first year when Atlas had realized how easily flappable Jasper's perfectly constructed world was. The birthday presents, the mashed up protein powders in his drinks, even slight comments about possible muscle build were enough put Jasper down on level and make him mortal like everyone else. It was good for him, added perspective. It wasn't effective in Jasper's case, but, the intent to provide prospective was there. But this situation was different, though Atlas was admittedly having trouble expressing exactly why.

What are you doing it for? Cal, Atlas hated that, he hid his expression with the rim of the glass. isn't doing--whatever it is you think he's doing. I don't know how else to prove that to you..

“Fine.” He finished off the drink and carefully set the glass down on the small table between them, moving a copy of The Cherry Orchard to the side to make room for Jasper's glass when he had finished with it. “So don't.” He had been mad at Jasper for weeks, angry and distracted and completely unaware of how exactly he was supposed to process everything.

“I'm not Apollo.” He blurted unnecessarily, no one on the planet with a brain larger than the beet occupying the ashtray to Jasper's immediate right would ever make that mistake. “I can't grin and flit and go about planning your marriage, jokingly or otherwise. And I'm not Will who just lies down and takes whatever you give him hoping for a pat on the head.” He left Batman out of it, he barely knew the man and didn't feel he could make a fair comparison. “And I'm not Wendell, who would have had some sort of quick joke for you about the whole mess.” Where was he going with this, he shuffled his feet against the hard wood floor and breathed out of his nose. “I'm myself and thats the only way I can process things"

He wished he had another martini or something stronger, like that cactus wine they had in Egypt. He had had two canteens of it and woken three days later in a hut in the middle of the desert and for 23 hours and 22 minutes had completely forgotten who he was. Maybe he had some in the cuboard.....

Atlas pulled a bit of a face when he took a sip of his drink. A happy side effect of Jasper's favorite drink was that it was one of Atlas' least favorite drinks. Sometimes he felt bad about that and acquiesced to requests for things that involved mint sprigs and coconut shell glasses, but he refused when Atlas had been annoying him. This meant that Jasper usually ended up serving martinis.

"Fine.” Atlas put his glass down with uncharacteristic sharpness, and Jasper suddenly preferred talking to Sergei. At least he was so utterly ridiculous that there was an undertone of comedy; Atlas behaving in such a brittle, chilly way was unsettling.“So don't.”

There was a twanging pause. Jasper finished his drink and put the glass down softly next to Atlas'.

“I'm not Apollo.”

Atlas' voice wavered and Jasper felt the corners of his lips turn downward. Obviously he wasn't. He'd chosen Atlas as a friend for distinctly different reasons than those involved in his selection of Apollo.

“I can't grin and flit and go about planning your marriage, jokingly or otherwise. And I'm not Will who just lies down and takes whatever you give him hoping for a pat on the head. And I'm not Wendell, who would have had some sort of quick joke for you about the whole mess. I'm myself and thats the only way I can process things"

The silence stretched across Atlas' scuffed floorboards. They both looked down at their feet, Jasper noting the juxtaposition of his gleaming shoes with the gently worn edge of Atlas' oriental rug. He'd once told Jasper that the pattern around the outside edge translated into a prophecy that related somehow to a chimp takeover of Malaysia.

"First of all, I can't seem to reiterate enough that there is, and will never be, any serious mention of marriage involving me and Cal. Or me and anyone, for that matter. You should know that, Atlas."

He folded his hands carefully on his knee. It was rare that he and Atlas had a serious conversation, but Atlas was perhaps the only friend that he ever had one with. Atlas just thought more deeply about things than the rest of the Boy's Club; Jasper felt that he needed a kind of...coddling, maybe, that his other friends didn't. He was easily wounded by the kind of thing that Jasper did on a regular basis.

"And I'm not asking you to be best friends with Cal. If you don't like him, fine. But if you don't, and you have a real reason not to, tell me now. Don't go around making threats behind my back, yeah?"

First of all, I can't seem to reiterate enough that there is, and will never be, any serious mention of marriage involving me and Cal. Someone should very probably inform Apollo of that fact. Atlas had stopped by the shop earlier in the week with Rudolph (a reward for the skeletons impeccable behavior and helpfulness in cleaning out the southeast corner of SHOP) only to find Apollo knee deep in fabric swatches. What had proceeded was a strained conversation concerning which Atlas thought would match Calixtus' eyes. Apollo had found Atlas' terse answer of blank and menacing to be delightfully abstract. He kept this thought to himself as he was sure Jasper had told Apollo this 'wedding of the century' existed in only a very hypothetical sense almost as many times as he had told Atlas to cease in his efforts to uncover whatever earth shattering plot the little pot had been concocting.

Or me and anyone, for that matter. You should know that, Atlas.

At this Atlas glanced up, catching the tale end of Jasper's wry smile. He did know and really it wasn't all that concerning. If he supposed at any time that marriage was a possibility he supposed that Sergei would have made a much more speedy appearance. Jasper as a concept just didn't fit in with that particular social nicety, despite all of poor, frightening, Mrs. Christie's hopes. The implications of it, placing someone above yourself at nearly all times, thinking as a unit rather than an individual, and that tradition of telling the other person where you would be, when, with whom, all went against everything that had somehow assembled in the perfect storm that was the friend seated across from him.

And I'm not asking you to be best friends with Cal. If you don't like him, fine. But if you don't, and he have a real reason not to, tell me now. This was of course the issue....well one of the issues. The disparity between Atlas' definition of 'real' and Jasper's. Atlas felt hunches from a few years worth of distant observation that had tipped into full on suspicion the night after the Ministry. When Cal had, contrary to everything Atlas knew of him, offered help and then again that night when Ferox had escalated what was only a simple verbal warning into the arena of physical violence in Jasper's defense.

Jasper on the other hand, sitting back straight and hands perched atop one knee tended to like more concrete evidence of wrong doing. If he didn't see it then it might as well not be there. Don't go around making threats behind my back, yeah? Atlas was shaking his head, but did manage to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

“Oh that you would be so concerned with matters taking place behind your back.” Lip caught between his teeth Atlas leaned forward, elbows on knees with his hands dangling down limply before he looked at Jasper again. Getting in before Jasper had a chance to reply was important Atlas cleared his throat before carefully mimicking Jasper's rather unique accent, “ 'Cal takes his friendships seriously,yeah?'”. It was astoundingly difficult for him to be direct he realized after a moment.

He had to clear his throat to wash out Jasper's tenor pitched voice and reassert his own. “You were lying. To me. For weeks, possibly months, would have kept on I suppose. It's more than enough reason to be suspicious.”

“Oh that you would be so concerned with matters taking place behind your back.”

Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Jasper's fingers tensed on his knees. Atlas operated under the completely idiotic assumption that just because the majority of his time was spent concocting elaborate and secretive plans, that everyone else lived in the same way. Jasper wanted to point out, for possibly the eleven thousandth time, that this was anything but the case, but the other man cut in before he could open his mouth. This only served to infuriate him further when he did get the chance to speak. Atlas' utter lack of appreciation for the nuances of conversation frustrated him.

“'Cal takes his friendships seriously,yeah?'”

And now it was just blatant mockery? Jasper felt his drink slam down on the table beside his chair, unaware that he'd moved until the remnants of it sloshed over the edge and onto his fingers. Atlas was resorting to his favorite methods; when he couldn't make Jasper listen to what he thought was reason, he just did things that he knew would be annoying.

“You were lying. To me. For weeks, possibly months, would have kept on I suppose. It's more than enough reason to be suspicious.”

So that was the reasoning behind this whole thing. Atlas was angry that Jasper had kept a secret from him. It shouldn't have come as any sort of surprise; Atlas knew what he did for a living, and had to understand that it involved a great deal of secrecy and lying. Why would he expect anything else? Jasper suspected jealousy somewhere, that Cal had taken on a place of precedence previously reserved for Atlas and a few select friends like him. Which was understandable. It didn't at all make his behavior justifiable, but at least Jasper could see how his mind had worked through the problem. Why his feelings had manifested themselves in Sergei-- there were some questions Jasper couldn't answer.

"Don't be such a child. I didn't come here to sit through some barrage of mockery from a man recently wearing a buffalo pelt."

Jasper made himself breathe, once, twice, nostrils flaring at first. He adopted the tone of voice he'd found many occasions to use with Atlas over the course of their friendship. 'Don't mix those chemicals near fire, Atlas. P.G. Wodehouse is definitely dead. You didn't see him in a gas station in Essex. Atlas, Mick Jagger is not a communist leader.'

"Did it occur to you that I had reasons for keeping things to myself other than that I'm in some sort of--nefarious cahoots with Cal? Maybe I didn't want every person in London knowing about this right away, particularly my mother since she's going to need a bloody tranquilizer if she does find out. Maybe I don't know if this is going anywhere, and don't want to be scrutinized by every bloody gossip paper in Diagon Alley. Maybe I just wanted to be able to keep picking up models without any strings attached.

"Whatever the case, it wasn't any of your business. I know we've been friends for a long time, Atlas, but Cal is something for me to deal with. I don't want you going about roughing him up because you're angry at me or you feel like you know better than I do who's good enough for me."

The muscles in Jasper's shoulders were always the first to lock up when he got angry. Barely noticeable, if you weren't looking at them when it happened you might miss the very slight crease the reaction made in the fabric of his suit. For the emotional reaction to get up to Jasper's face it usually took a considerable amount of effort, but then few were as devoted to the cause as Atlas. Contrary to the majority of human beings meandering about the planet Jasper rarely showed emotions that he didn't want to on his face. Atlas had two theories about that, the first was that it was trained as Jasper would do very little business if any of his customers saw the sh-t eating 'I cannot believe I am getting away with this' grin that Jasper surely must feel whenever he made a sale. The second, and perhaps more truthful reason was that emotion tended to cause the skin of the face to bend in certain ways, and this over time led to wrinkles. Unacceptable and so other muscles had been trained to pick up the slack.

And really if Atlas hadn't been watching his shoulders he certainly would have gotten the hint when Jasper none too gently placed his glass down on the side table of his chair. A few shot glasses embossed with the words “Greetings from the Great North” jittered but managed to stay right side up and on the table.

Don't be such a child. I didn't come here to sit through some barrage of mockery from a man recently wearing a buffalo pelt..

Its elk actually, the Buffalo is a species relegated to American farms and a few scattered varieties in Africa. And they'd make terrible pelts..... To prevent himself from verbally expressing the now ongoing mental rant concerning the large difference between wearing a Buffalo hide (which clearly indicated some sort of mental instability or at the very least a death wish in the Russian winter climate) as opposed to the sensible and very fashion forward elk, he bit down gently on the inside of his cheek. Jasper was taking a series of deep breaths, Atlas was on shaky ground, but at least he wasn't doing the bit where he pinched the bridge of his nose. Or invoking his last name in place of his first.

Did it occur to you that I had reasons for keeping things to myself other than that I'm in some sort of—nefarious cahoots with Cal?. No, it actually hadn't. At all really. Atlas didn't see why it would have but obvious. When Jasper mentioned his mother Atlas had a brief terrifying flash of possible events that could occur should Mrs. Christie find out about her sons sway away from vessels capable of conceiving and incubating a child. No one would be safe, least of all Jasper. He shuddered and for a moment secrecy made sense. There was still a problem, namely the idea that Atlas would have felt it appropriate to tell anyone. He didn't know any gossip columnists and Jasper's parents were as frightening to him as any radio broadcast of 'Mr Bojangles', even to this day.

Whatever the case, it wasn't any of your business. I don't want you going about roughing him up because you're angry at me or you feel like you know better than I do who's good enough for me.
Atlas glanced down again at Jasper's throat and then back up as his jaw tightened clenching down on a retort concerning being roughed up. It wasn't appropriate and he vividly recalled how their last conversation concerning that had gone. Best to leave it be make an attempt to be reasonable.

“The possibilities you listed never occurred to me, but I suppose they make a kind of sense.” He sighed, exhaling heavily out of his nose, “We'd all be in danger if your mother found out. Though she might go after Will first, Apollo next....all the glitter and the occasional tutu, I might be in the clear. That is if she didn't just snap and come after you.” His eyes came up to meet Jasper's, the brown looking mildly reproachful. “Slightly offended that you seem to think my first order of business would have been to alert Witch Weekly that in addition to your womanizing you had acquired a second slightly less hygienic habit. Its a rubbish publication anyway, the Quibbler would have been a much better option.”

He clambered to his feet slowly, undid the sash around his waist and shed the ice grippers on his boots before plopping back down. “And I don't have to be worried about whose good enough for you, I know no one ever will be. Unless they develop some way to bring that Kelly woman back from the grave. I'm just....concerned.” The phrase has felt awkward to think and seemed worse as soon as it had been expelled into the open air.

“The possibilities you listed never occurred to me, but I suppose they make a kind of sense.”

Of course Atlas hadn't. He never thought of the logical solution to anything. That was how he'd ended up growing a potato tree instead of just going to the kebab shop like everyone else. There was a small pause and the slow breath out that signified Atlas' consideration of actual logic. A true rarity. Seeing Atlas use common sense was sort of like seeing blue whales migrate.

“We'd all be in danger if your mother found out. Though she might go after Will first, Apollo next....all the glitter and the occasional tutu, I might be in the clear. That is if she didn't just snap and come after you.”

This was mostly the truth. Chances are his mother wouldn't go after Will first. She liked Will; he was polite and shiny. Apollo would have been safe for a short time until she realized he wasn't as much of a simpleton as his outfits suggested. Wendell would have been first, if he were 'still alive;' he was notorious as Jasper's most frequent partner in parties. At any rate there would have been some level of carnage if she found out about Cal. Jasper had been considering for some time how he would break the news if he was forced to do so. 'Move to the moon and owl her from there' was the best he'd come up with so far.

“Slightly offended that you seem to think my first order of business would have been to alert Witch Weekly that in addition to your womanizing you had acquired a second slightly less hygienic habit. Its a rubbish publication anyway, the Quibbler would have been a much better option.”

"Yes, well, Snidgeton might beat you to that anyway."

Jasper sighed and tipped his head back against the top of his chair. He was also considering plans of attack for that situation, but right now they all ended in 'Kill her.' Might have to enlist Cal for that one. Atlas was slowly shedding more layers of Sergei. Good. He was returning to whatever base plane of insanity he normally operated on.

“And I don't have to be worried about whose good enough for you, I know no one ever will be. Unless they develop some way to bring that Kelly woman back from the grave. I'm just....concerned.”

Ah, Grace Kelly. Jasper had decided at age 13 that she was the ideal woman. The only ideal woman. Another unfortunate turn of events for his mother, since Grace Kelly had been dead for several decades by the time Jasper was old enough to get married. Merlin knew that if Grace did come back from the dead, Eres Christie would be directly responsible.

"I can't seem to reiterate this enough--" Jasper paused, taking in the implications of concerned. "There's nothing for you to be concerned about. I'm twenty seven years old, what do you think I need to be protected from?" His voice turned sarcastic. "Getting my heart broken? Oh, God, don't take that seriously."

Jasper mumbled something that Atlas wasn’t quite able to catch before his head lolled back onto the top of the chair. Soon his eyes went from hard to slightly warm and misty and Atlas knew exactly what he was seeing. It was the sort of boyish expression that he only ever saw on Jasper’s face when he was perched on the sofa watching ‘To Catch A Thief’ a film that, in Jasper’s mind contained the two most perfect specimens of humanity to ever drive a Sunbeam and steal jewels together. Atlas had always found it slightly disconcerting that Mr. Grant bared slight resemblance to Jasper’s own father but he had since decided that it was typically for children to admire their fathers.

That and Grant was a marvelously smooth operator in that movie. Atlas would know, through friendship with Jasper he had ended up seeing at least 98.6 times (the point 6 was the result of a boys club meeting and several ill advised mudslides.

I can't seem to reiterate this enough— Pregnant pause, some wisdom was about to be imparted. There's nothing for you to be concerned about. I'm twenty seven years old, what do you think I need to be protected from? Getting my heart broken? Oh, God, don't take that seriously..

There was always something for Atlas to be concerned about, all the time. Everything was trying to kill you, all the time and the only reason you weren’t yet protected from things like toasters and feather duster was that Magical Accidents and Catastrophes hadn’t yet gotten around to banning them, but they were under investigation. Rudolph had left the dishwasher plugged in the other day and after Atlas had questioned him thoroughly about why he had needed to use the dishwasher he had proceeded to berate him, there could have been a fire, or over sudsing. If household appliances could cause so much angst certainly Jasper would realize that getting…cozy….(as long as Atlas could think they were doing nothing more than cuddling fully clothed his mind was still able to function with minimal black outs) with Cal would cause a huge level.

And though he wouldn’t say it he wasn’t entirely positive that Jasper could and would take care of himself should there be a need. “Nothing as silly as that.” He said it but once again there was a nagging that he should say something. He didn’t. “More concerned about your neck really. In years of interaction I wouldn’t have ever really described Calixtus as ‘stable’. Especially after that man he worked for blew himself out of reality. Which may or may not have been what happened.”

Wait….Snidgeton? “Snidgeton?” Mind and voice both blurted the name at the same time causing Atlas to lean back and blink against the echo. He brought a hand up and grasped one ear for a moment before tilting his head and asking for clarification. “Carmen Snidgeton? You told her? That was a terrible idea…how drunk were you? I thought you hated her, why didn't you tell Will if you had to get it off your chest? I mean he’d look at you with those horrible baby seal eyes but I don’t see that as being a problem for you. Certainly wasn’t when he did find out….”

“Nothing as silly as that.”

Atlas all but scoffed dismissively. There was a relief, anyway. You never knew when he was going to take the most ridiculous thing seriously. Jasper had once remarked that he would wear track pants when he saw pigs fly, and Atlas had spent the next four months looking up whenever they were outdoors. He'd actually tried to make Jasper wear the track pants when he was convinced he'd seen the winged pork, but it had turned out to be an obese comorant.

Atlas' brow creased, and Jasper could tell he was either gearing up for the incredibly rare serious comment, or a discourse on Russian werewolf legends. He wasn't sure which he wanted to hear less.

“More concerned about your neck really. In years of interaction I wouldn’t have ever really described Calixtus as ‘stable’. Especially after that man he worked for blew himself out of reality. Which may or may not have been what happened.”

There was a pause during which Jasper tried to formulate an intelligent reply to the cornucopia of accusations and insults that Atlas had presented to him. He wasn't sure whether it would be better to address the claims of abuse, mental instability, or classic mad science first, but Atlas preempted him before he could get in even one synonym for 'absurd.'

“Carmen Snidgeton? You told her? That was a terrible idea…how drunk were you? I thought you hated her, why didn't you tell Will if you had to get it off your chest? I mean he’d look at you with those horrible baby seal eyes but I don’t see that as being a problem for you. Certainly wasn’t when he did find out….”

"I didn't tell her. No matter what you apparently think of me, I'm not an utter cretin, Caedmon. She tailed us to a club one night like the foul little nocturnal reptile creature she is, and ambushed us with a camera. For some reason she's holding off the blackmail. I haven't been able to sort out why." He suspected it had something to do with her encounter with Apollo at his birthday, but he was keeping that knowledge completely secret in case he needed some leverage with Snidgeton later on.

Sentence one, addressed. Check. Onward. "I don't even want to talk about Will, I still feel terrible about the whole thing. He always means so well. Sometimes I don't know what to do with that."

So his problem solving skills had perhaps been rather lackluster there. Something else Atlas never needed to know.

"By the way, it's incredibly horrible of you to insinuate that Cal had something to do with Carlisle's death. The man was his bloody mentor, he cared about him like I care about my vintage Christian La Croix. And he was centuries old and totally barmy, it makes complete sense that if you gave him explosives it was only going to be a matter of time. Hell, if I gave you explosives it would only be a matter of time."

"As for--" He gestured vaguely at his neck. "If that's what this is all about, you can really leave Cal alone. It was just a stupid fight, which you fueled, incidentally. Something silly and routine that got out of hand, and not even completely out of hand. I--let it happen. If he really tried to hurt me, I'd use magic. Honestly. You don't need to, I don't know, avenge me or whatever."

He could hope, at least, that the directness of the admission would shut Atlas up temporarily.

The expression on Jasper's face was one of complete and utter loathing, and when he spoke it was less his natural even voice and more of a draconian hiss. I didn't tell her. No matter what you apparently think of me, I'm not an utter cretin, Caedmon. And there it was, the last name made it's first appearance in this conversation. That had taken considerably longer than usual and Atlas had a moment to question whether or not he had lost his touch before Jasper continued on doggedly. He seemed offended that Atlas would have made the mistake of thinking her had informed her, “How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't have told her? Honestly who knows what you people get up to at those pure blood mixers. Have to talk about something...”

Atlas listened both to the explanation of what had happened as well as Jasper's strikingly accurate description of Carmen. This of course might not have been the best idea because now Atlas's had a mental picture to construct. He hadn't accompanied Jasper to any of the clubs he typically frequented in years but the experiences had been scarring enough to still be vivid in his mind. It was probably one of those ones with the large fire places and the ghastly red lighting. Carmen could only really exist in two places in reality. The first was her office, lording over her desk like some demon of gore and despair, making herself into a vessel for blood as her type writer beat out article after article. The other place were locations somehow resembling her natural environment, hell. He wondered if the club might have had gremlins as well... and ambushed us with a camera..

The loathing here morphed to absolute disgust and Atlas ceased his mental picture show lest he accidentally imagine what exactly Carmen might have gotten on film. For some reason she's holding off the blackmail. I haven't been able to sort out why.. Atlas almost offered a few reasons this might be the case, Carmen was one of the few people Jasper couldn't charm his way with. This no doubt because she was so serpentine herself, but it was disconcerting that she had any kind of pull on Jasper. Worse that she was just sitting on it, waiting. It was doubtful Jasper hadn't considered that.

That having been said Jasper raised a hand and gave a short, controlled shake of his head. I don't even want to talk about Will, I still feel terrible about the whole thing. He always means so well. Sometimes I don't know what to do with that.. For a moment Atlas sat, mouth slightly ajar debating whether or not he should tell Jasper about his conversation with William the other night.

By the way.... Another time then. it's incerdibly horrible of you to insinuate that Cal had something to do with Carlisle's death.. He continued on with one fair comparison (Jasper did love his Christian La Coix...sometimes Atlas thought a bit too much) and followed it up with one Atlas found far less workable. It had been years since Atlas had ever even been in danger of having a mortem-level accident involving potassium chloride or any other explosive substance. This was largely due to the fact that he had been expressly forbidden from working with such materials, first by Jasper in 7th year after he had lit the other mans pocket square drawer on fire by accident, then by his mother after he had tried to solve her garden gnome problem using exploding guid pus in their nesting holes, and finally by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes...he really didn't like to recall that whole debacle. It had been all Rudolph's fault anyway.

He wasn't about to recant the statement though, instead he just crossed his arms and snorted.

As for... And here Jasper gestured to the rather large elephant in the room. If that's what this is all about, you can really leave Cal alone. It was just a stupid fight, which you fueled, incidentally. Something silly and routine that got out of hand, and not even completely out of hand. I--let it happen. If he really tried to hurt me, I'd use magic. Honestly. You don't need to, I don't know, avenge me or whatever..

Running his tongue over his top teeth Atlas considered the statement carefully. Silly and routine were one thing, everyone had spats, few of them tended to end in strangulation but he didn't want to pry any further. There was a little surprise when he realized that he felt vaguely guilty for whatever part he had played in that argument. “...Let? It's not my intent to make things difficult for you, Jasper. I'll....” From the corner of his eye Atlas watched Rudolph carefully bottling some borscht in the kitchen, it was sad that it was all going to go to waste. “Do my utmost to stay clear of Calixtus' path and I'll cease with Sergei if thats what you want. It's too warm here anyway for reindeer. Make you sweat something aweful....but if I do find something I can't be expected to keep it to myself. ”

“Horrible as you might find the implication and barmy or not it was a strange accident. And a poorly documented one.”

“As for Carmen, that's.....a problem. She knows you saw her? Wonder what shes waiting for, suppose you've had the same thought. Any solution in sight? You might consider breaking and entering for its retrieval, it's better than a waiting game; and why else have an invisibility cloak. Who knows what she might ask for, a baby's toe, all of your hair, your soul in a small and compact jar. I could look for the beard, maybe she wouldn't notice it was me if Sergei were to pay her a visit. In most cases I'd ask what you'd done to earn her undying hatred but thats more or less mute where Carmen is involved.”

Rudolph glanced up, empty sockets gazing into the living room before turning back to his task. Atlas looked back at Jasper. “No one knows what to do with all the nicety Will exudes, its because we're all terrible people. But you shouldn't feel so badly about William....he seemed thrilled about it when I broke into his house the other day.” And....he hadn't meant to say that. There was a chance if he moved on quickly Jasper might not have noticed.

Atlas seemed to be doing actual, serious considering of what Jasper had said. This was a frightening prospect. When Atlas didn't immediately jump to insane conspiracy theories, his mind delved into terrifying and twisting caves of attempted logic.

“...Let? The word came out slowly, as though he was suddenly reconstructing his image of Jasper into some kind of horrible deviant. It's not my intent to make things difficult for you, Jasper. I'll....Do my utmost to stay clear of Calixtus' path and I'll cease with Sergei if thats what you want. It's too warm here anyway for reindeer. Make you sweat something aweful....but if I do find something I can't be expected to keep it to myself."

Jasper wondered what would have happened if Atlas had intended to make things difficult. Would he have skipped the preliminaries and simply constructed a tundra and miniature labor camp in his back yard? He went on to underscore that he still suspected Cal of offing a frail old man, which Jasper decided to drop for the time being. It was important to pick your battles with Atlas, otherwise you ended up in all sorts of painfully serpentine conversations about crop circles and messages in the strings of book binding and apple juice.

“As for Carmen, that's.....a problem... I could look for the beard, maybe she wouldn't notice it was me if Sergei were to pay her a visit. In most cases I'd ask what you'd done to earn her undying hatred but thats more or less mute where Carmen is involved.”

"That might not be a terrible idea. However, I don't want her to slice open your jugular with her talons then use your blood to make paintings of demons or whatever she does in her leisure time. We'll have to think of a clever plan of attack later, yeah?"

Rudolph made a brief rattle of interest then returned to spooning borscht into jars. He got on these cooking kicks sometimes. Jasper hated borscht, but Rudolph did make a delicious chocolate mousse. Maybe he would drop a hint or two on the way out.

"But you shouldn't feel so badly about William....he seemed thrilled about it when I broke into his house the other day.”

Jasper should have known. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security when Atlas had actually said something reasonable about not terrorizing Cal while dressed as a member of the Czar's army. Sadly the crazy parade had just taken a detour instead of packing it in for the evening. Jasper sighed. He didn't really want to ask, but he felt obligated. Anything could happen when Atlas broke into your house. Will might have come downstairs to find Atlas rearranging his kitchen for maximum feng shui, with a certain disregard for keeping the water pipes attached (also known as, "March 23, 2016, Jasper's house"). And God knew he would be too nice to say anything about whatever Atlas had gotten up to. He might still be at home mopping. Or disarming the latest 'security system' that Atlas occasionally invented and installed as a surprise for his friends. Or Atlas still thought he was evil after the Boy's Club incident and they'd had some kind of voodoo battle. In that case, he would need to get to Will's immediately, and also find a beheaded chicken.

"You broke into his house? Why? He would have let you in, and probably made you tea and scones and gotten you slippers. It's Will." Rudolph clattered in with a jar, bedecked with a bow, which Jasper took with a wan smile. It was impossible to turn down Rudolph's gifts; he just got more morose than usual.

"What did you go over there for, anyhow?"

Until Atlas' mouth had opened and his lungs had compressed and his rebellious tongue (contrary to mental instruction) had burst out his little breaking and entering stunt from days past, Jasper had been occupied with looking in on Rudolph's bottling enterprise. Now though he turned back slowly, head first swiveling on his neck moments later the rest of the body gracefully followed the motion.

One eyebrow lifted ever so slightly as the eye below it joined with its fellow in blinking at Atlas owlishly. There was no changing the subject now, no chance for retraction, it looked as if Jasper had already played the words over in his head a few times, just to make sure that he had them correct. Then he sighed, deflating in his finely tailored suit and adopting an expression of pained thought. He resembled one of those famous thinking staues for a moment, the kind who were usually wandering about with unruly large objects of penance laid over their shoulders. Jasper managed it without the weight, it might have made his shoulders too broad for The Plum King or some blighter with an unpronounceable Italian name who delighted in making clothing with about as much room for movement as a Victorian woman's whale bone corset.

The expression gave Atlas a moment of glimmering hope. Occasionally, if he was tired, or he felt Atlas had fulfilled his quota for sane conversation for that evening Jasper would let these things go. Decide that maybe the explanation behind what was often an accidental outburst wasn't worth the subsequent lecture he would take it upon himself to give. But then this did involve Will, who Atlas had far less than a sparkling track record with. They got on well enough so long as someone was there to act as an intermediary, however, left with just the pair of them things could quickly escalate.

Will was the sort of person that you could step all over and far from disliking you for it he'd take it as part of lifes rich tapestry, be glad for the moment and move on. It was infuriating, particularly to Atlas who had spent a good deal of second year desperately searching for a way to crack what he had then imagined to be Will's false identity. The way to the inner deviant. He hadn't had any luck then and so the project had continued. Still to no avail. Jasper seemed to be cheifly aware of that fact, especially after the acid incident.

Atlas had tried to explain it had been for the good of the city, humanity, any brain within a two mile radius, and Will himself because Atlas knew for a fact that if the Auror did become a member of the walking dead he would not have wanted to be allowed to be a potential danger to anyone. But of course Jasper had just seen the moment at hand, not the big picture and had made Atlas swear to a peace binding policy which negated any possible useful defensive measures he could take during Boys Club meetings. What if there was a Ginger Snaps outbreak? Jasper would yet come to rue that order....

You broke into his house? definitely not letting it go. Why? He would have let you in, and probably made you tea and scones and gotten you slippers. It's Will.. Atlas itched at his arm, fidgeting slightly, mostly at the idea of Will preparing warm milk and slippers for him. As if the two of them commonly came together to watch offerings of terrible muggle television and giggle.

Rudolph, bearing a jar of his recently completed cabbagey offereing, was a welcome distraction; one which Atlas hoped might stick around. Jasper accepted the jar and then juggled the jar from hand to hand. Rudolph's head and sockets followed the motion of the bottle before he lifted a bony hand to pat Jasper on the head. He gave Atlas a similar caress before clacking over towards the door, stumbling suddenly when the beard sprung from its hiding place and wrapped itself about he skeletons knee. Several bones clattered to the floor, Atlas glanced, sighed, and fidgeted some more.

What did you go there for, anyhow?

First things first he supposed. “I arrived there and knocked....more or less. No one answered, I had to enter the building to make sure he was alright. All those rumors about, one can never be too careful. He was in the shower as it turns out, nothing nefarious seemed to be about except for that smell all the Level 2s have, sort of like dogs actually.” Rudolph tugged at the beard, succeeded in dislodging it from his knee before it wrapped itself around his forearm, cuddling in. “I was very polite, I simply waited for him to finish while I re-familiarized myself with the Law Enforcement hand book. Did you know that the penalty for faulty transfiguration in a body altering compacity can be punishable by court martial, or a 15 minute swim with a giant squid? Fascinating stuff actually...”

Jasper was giving him the look. Fie. “I just wanted to visit. Have a chat...see if he was alright.” He deadpanned awkwardly. Not even able to apply proper inflection to the lie. “We were talking about The Circus...” He added, flustered.

Atlas tried to justify his visit to Will's just as he occasionally tried to justify his tendency to blatantly break into Jasper's house. I just wanted to make sure you'd remembered to turn off your oven. Jasper's oven had never actually been connected to the gas line, so that wasn't a problem. I thought I saw a light on. Well, yes, because occasionally Jasper liked to be able to see things at night. I came to get that book I borrowed fourth year, and then you weren't home so I thought I would just fix you up with a nice anti-zombie potion while I waited. It's made of parakeet blood and mustard, I'm almost done putting it on the windowsills. They hadn't spoken for a few weeks after that one.

“I just wanted to visit. Have a chat...see if he was alright.”

Atlas had used that excuse a few times too. He liked to assure himself that Jasper was all right on a regular basis, particularly on Tuesday nights around 4:30. Jasper had taken to not having guests on Tuesday nights. Cal had taken to glaring viciously if he was there and heard the door rattle. Jasper waited for the real explanation, putting the borscht down on the side table when Rudolph had safely extricated himself from the beard and exited the room. He could be seen in the kitchen attempting to corral the beard with a butterfly net. Jasper foresaw failure.

“We were talking about The Circus...”

It wasn't unusual, by any means, for Atlas to say things that didn't make sense. Actually, it was more concerning when he said too many things that made sense. Jasper could usually sort out his odd comments, but the circus was a total mystery. He rifled through the Shirley Temple movie oeuvre for something appropriate, but couldn't figure out why Atlas would have sought out Will for such a conversation when he could have just popped next door and bothered Jasper and forced him to make some horrific drink involving Malibu and a hollowed out coconut. Conversations with Will were normally about ninety percent "Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, a home baked scone, my kidney, a new car, my house? I could buy you a cat and then feed it for you," then you protesting awkwardly that you didn't need him to hand make you a pair of slippers. He wasn't sure why Atlas would want to chat with him at all, never mind about the circ--

Oh. OH GOD. No, it had to be a terrible coincidence. Atlas wouldn't. Why Will?

"Caedmon, you had better tell me you did not have the conversation I thought you did. Why Will? He's got nothing to do with Cal or me or--anything. What the f--k did you say to him? What did he say to you? Don't you remember how upset he was at the Boy's Club?"

Disaster. As usual with Atlas.

Jasper eyes trailed Rudolph's less than graceful exit from the room. Secure in the fact that he would be occupied elsewhere, Jasper looked one more time at the jar (particularly at the little bit of fabric between one part of the lid and the other) before setting it on the side table gently. With his hand no longer in such close proximity to calories Jasper seemed to have more mental space to spare turning over Atlas's thankfully cryptic explanation.

He appeared to have forgotten the horrific implications that the circus presented. Atlas didn't know how that had been physically possible as he had tired time and again to forget his new definition for 'the big top', the 'three ring', he had even had to dispose of any reminders. These included a metal figurine of a ring master and any plastic elephant he had come across (which turned out to be a disturbingly high number). He was also debating whether or not carnival should suffer a similar banishment from his daily life. The music of the two was similar.

It was possible that Jasper might have confunded himself over the whole issue, or acquired some medical texts and given himself an impromptu lobotomy, or paid someone to do it. If it was clear that he really had forgotten Atlas might have to do a deep memory dive to see who his surgeon had been. No....better to remember, horrible as it was, so that he could warn people. That Barnum and Bailey were going to be in London soon, all the children! He had to be able to warn them.

Yes, it was clear that he didn't at all recall why the circus would be a point of conversation between Will and Atlas. All the color drained from Jasper's face, he hadn't remembered and now he did. Must have been repression in that case, Atlas could stop looking for incision points.

Caedmon, you had better tell me you did have the conversation I think you did. Why Will? He's got nothing to do with Cal or me or.... Jasper had a pause, which might as well have been a sputter. anything. What the f—k did you say to him? What did he say to you? Don't you remember how upset he was at the Boy's Club?.

“Of course I remember! Looked like a baby seal after its realized that man with the club didn't just hit it by accident. You're the man with the club in this analogy by the by.” That was the very easy part of the statement to answer, the rest would be less so. There were a few highly allegorical, round about ways that Atlas could relay to Jasper what he had said to Will. Those might by pass the 'what I think you were' statement but Jasper was on to him now and there was always the chance Will would rat Atlas out anyway, that was if he got the courage up to see Jasper again anytime soon without the aid of copious amounts of alcohol.

“I had been doing some research questioning bearded ladies on the street.” He had been unable to locate any former circus employees but he had found a remarkable amount of drag clubs in the greater London area. “It yielding very little results. Excursions to the London zoo to examine the elephants yielding no results, they're obviously protecting their own. I had no choice but to seek William out. He's the only gay I know.”

“I surmised that he would be more attuned to the implications of one Ferox's recent purchase.....Sadly he seemed just as clueless as those sword swallower's I talked to.”

“He was largely useless, said he had no knowledge of the circus and its nefarious recruitment scheme. Though he did warn me that his people have other methods of getting to you, I have myself scheduled to visit one Alex Kapranos on my next Tuesday night excursion. In the meantime I would recommend skiving off his music.”

“Went on about how happy he was for you.” Here Atlas lifted his voice slightly higher before returning it to his normal pitch. “ Said you had found a real connection and that you needed something extravagant in your life. Personally I think hes just in some of sort of denial phase where he's just making half hearted attempts to justify your actions to himself rather than seeing the problem but I'm not a medical expert.”

Atlas was making one of his weird analogies. Jasper suspected that he didn't always intend for them to be mean, but his understanding of social niceties was just a little skewed. Not that it really made you feel better to know that when he compared you to someone who killed adorable baby animals. Jasper liked to think that he didn't lack the specific set of morals that made it okay to club seals.

“I had been doing some research questioning bearded ladies on the street...It yielding very little results. I had no choice but to seek William out. He's the only gay I know.”

Sometimes talking to Atlas was like walking down a dark tunnel, blindfolded, at 3 am, during a lunar eclipse. You had no idea what was going on, then suddenly something horrible flared up like someone had ripped off the blindfold and pointed a laser at your eye. That last sentence had been like the laser, if the laser had turned into an atomic bomb. There was absolutely nothing good that could come out of Atlas questioning the 'only gay' in his acquaintance, particularly about a topic that said 'only gay' had slightly more investment in the situation than Atlas was aware of. Hopefully. Oh, God, what if Will had been overwhelmed by guilt (there would be copious amounts of guilt, it was Will), and confessed to Atlas? Jasper wondered which door in the house was heaviest; he would need a good one to slam his head in repeatedly.

“I surmised that he would be more attuned to the implications of one Ferox's recent purchase.....Sadly he seemed just as clueless as those sword swallower's I talked to.”

He'd asked. About that. Gods knew what Will thought of Jasper now. He'd wanted desperately to make amends, but perhaps now he should wait.

“He was largely useless, said he had no knowledge of the circus and its nefarious recruitment scheme. Though he did warn me that his people have other methods of getting to you, I have myself scheduled to visit one Alex Kapranos on my next Tuesday night excursion. In the meantime I would recommend skiving off his music.”

Kapranos? How had Will even known? Jasper supposed he'd been less than subtle in his comments about the singer at a gig he and Will had attended, but he didn't think Will was aware of the...extent of his enthusiasm for the band. Atlas seemed to move on quickly, though, so maybe Will hadn't revealed (or known) as much as he thought. He would have to keep his face straight; he was certain he'd shown more surprise than he should have at those last few comments.

“Went on about how happy he was for you. Said you had found a real connection and that you needed something extravagant in your life."

Okay, good, at least he didn't think Jasper was some sort of creepy pervert just because Cal had managed to accidentally get clown porn from his drug dealer. Hopefully Atlas had omitted the drug dealer part of the story, that made it around four hundred thousand times more awful. But Will would have looked for the best even in that. Jasper remembered the day he realized that Will would never be able to join the criminal exploits that the rest of the Boys' Club enjoyed. It had been midway through fifth year, Jasper and Apollo had managed to score some doxy powder in Hogsmeade, and when Will came in to find them lining it up on the dresser top he asked what they were baking that used powdered sugar. At that age the baby seal face was almost permanently in place, so they'd told him they were making danishes and packed him off to Arithmancy.

"Personally I think hes just in some of sort of denial phase where he's just making half hearted attempts to justify your actions to himself rather than seeing the problem but I'm not a medical expert.”

"Hold up there, Freud. We need to discuss--a lot of things that just happened in this conversation." Jasper rubbed at his temples briefly with a borscht-warmed fingertip, trying to sort through all his questions.

"First of all, what did you need to ask 'a gay?' Second, what did you tell him about the--thing Cal had? Third, what are you on about nefarious schemes again? Fourth, what the hell does Alex Kapranos have to do with any of this?"

Atlas watched Jasper’s face as he spoke trying to gauge come kind of reaction. The only time it really happened was when he made mention of that music berk. The expression was a slight narrowing and then sudden widening of the eyes and Jasper’s chin tilted down very slightly. Atlas had gotten through to him then. Good, excellent, one dastardly plot foiled. He continued on unhindered carefully waiting for the moment where Jasper would more or less meet his threshold for absurdity. Once he did it was all down hill from there, first he’d ask for a drink and it would progress the more you exceeded the limit the more substances Jasper had to consume in order to cope.

One time, shortly after Atlas had returned from his first Roswell international Extraterrestrial convention Jasper had taken to chewing small bluish purple tablets. When he had enquired as to their origin Jasper had responded with a sluggish and lopsided “pez”, Atlas had researched the object and discovered some rather amazing things about the little fellows, though the blue ones seemed to be a rare variety known only to Jasper. The most fascinating thing about the pez has been his discovery of the pez dispenser. As a thank you for having babysat Rudolph during the duration of his absence he had taken to collecting the odd plastic mounted heads and passing them through Jasper’s post box. Hoping that maybe if the little candy had a house to live in Jasper wouldn’t need to consume all the ones in his possession in one go.

It didn’t appear that things had come to pez yet as Jasper lifted a hand to massage his temple. Hold up there, Freud. We need to discuss--a lot of things that just happened in this conversation. First of all, what did you need to ask 'a gay?' Second, what did you tell him about the--thing Cal had? Third, what are you on about nefarious schemes again? Fourth, what the hell does Alex Kapranos have to do with any of this?

Atlas sighed; sometimes he didn’t understand how Jasper’s mind worked. It was all so very clear. Rudolph understood and he didn’t even have any brain matter to work with, just that bony little melon perched atop a rather shoty spinal column. Jasper hadn’t said ‘the porn’ he had opted to leave out the name altogether. Atlas was uncomfortable but the opportunity to see what he felt writ all over Jasper’s face…why not. “The porn Jasper? The gay porn? The gay clown porn?” Every time the ‘p’ fell from his mouth he found it harder to say and though he supposed he might have been able to go on for a few more phrases he supposed that the point had been made.

“I told him what I thought, which is that Calixtus was intending to use it as a learning tool in order to do something horrible to you. Something very probably involving shorts. Possibly tents….” He trailed off for a moment seeing vivid images of the dvd cover lying in the grime of the alley floor. He shuddered.

“He stated that there was no connection between the underground homosexual recruitment ring and any form of the circus, American, European or Asian. I would have asked about the Middle East but I don’t think they have a circus, do you? He thought it was a bit funny actually….I failed to see the humor but he’s always taken a certain amount of pleasure in strange things. Laws, statutes, spending time with at risk children. Honestly if they were going to do it they were going to do it, there were so many other things in life to do besides that. He should be trying to track down Shirley.”

“And what do you mean what scheme? This scheme!” He gestured up and down at Jasper. “This…. radical situation that’s developed out of the clear blue. You’ve obviously been targeted. I thought maybe Calixtus had slipped something into your drinks. Food is a better conduit but you eat about once a month if it strikes your mind or Daphne is making new cupcakes. He was skulking around at your birthday party, there would have been countless opportunities….So see? I had to talk to William because he was the only one who could maybe sort this whole mess. Or….call off the attack or whatever. But no, he just bangs on about your ‘questionable sexuality’ and how wonderful he thinks all of this is…which is a lie. Whether he knows it or not.”

He was a bit startled to realize he was a bit out of breath, having forgotten to take some of the usual pauses for the intake of oxygen. “And Kapranos is Scottish and appears not to have aged in decades. Not unlike Dorian Grey and don’t pretend the comparison isn’t apt I know your preference for Wilde. Don’t you see it all lines up.”

“The porn Jasper? The gay porn? The gay clown porn?”

Over years of heavy drinking and strong visceral reactions to the destruction of clothing, Jasper had developed an almost superhuman ability to suppress the urge to vomit. Atlas, however, had a unique talent for bringing him very close to the limits of his control. Maybe it was the repetition, or hearing Atlas repeatedly use the word porn, but he felt a bit lightheaded. Should definitely have had an extra martini or fifteen before coming over. Terrible shame he'd run out of Ambien after their last conversation about Cal. Actually he'd run out the day after, when he'd come down to find another of those odd plastic things crammed halfway into the mail slot. This one had the words GREEN LANTERN emblazoned down the side. He'd looked at it suspiciously, chucked it in the drawer with the last 40, and had a nice soothing cupcake laced with something extra. Daphne was surprisingly open to recipe alterations.

“I told him what I thought, which is that Calixtus was intending to use it as a learning tool in order to do something horrible to you. Something very probably involving shorts. Possibly tents….”

Atlas shuddered. Jasper shuddered back. Half the shudder was motivated by Atlas' conjectures, the other by the memory of what had actually happened. He wasn't sure at the moment which he found more unpleasant. When he tallied up the negatives later, he decided that he was actually more disturbed about Atlas considering his sex life, particularly with Cal. Atlas wasn't supposed to think about sex. This had to be how parents felt when they found out their children had watched an R-rated movie too young.

“He stated that there was no connection between the underground homosexual recruitment ring and any form of the circus, American, European or Asian...And what do you mean what scheme? This scheme!” He gestured up and down at Jasper. “This…. radical situation that’s developed out of the clear blue. You’ve obviously been targeted."

Then he was off, doing the regular conspiracy drill. Straying a bit from Shirley down the less frequented path of poison and doping, then looping back around for some time in the classic nefarious plot zone. He was practically gasping by the end, and had to have a quick break before he continued. Jasper spent the pause imagining the gently rounded shape of the tiny blue pills, how they felt chalky against your teeth before dulling Atlas to a minor murmur of annoyance...

“And Kapranos is Scottish and appears not to have aged in decades. Not unlike Dorian Grey and don’t pretend the comparison isn’t apt I know your preference for Wilde."

It was true, Alex looked absurdly good for thirty fi-- Jasper forced his mind back to the parade of insanity that had just thrown a shower of cheap candy over him.

"Okay, let's set something straight, and I will only say this once. Whatever Cal wanted to learn, it really had nothing to do with the circus. At all. I promise. So you can stop...investigating that or whatever. It was nothing horrible, and it was nothing you need to be aware of, all right? Suffice to say it passed and I survived so you can let it go."

This was more than Jasper had ever wanted to admit to Atlas about his personal life. It was one thing to joke around with Wendell or Apollo about his latest model conquest, but this--an entirely different, awkward, horrible level. He cleared his throat and moved on.

"Also, there cannot be a conspiracy for everything, and I highly doubt there's one for my 'radical situation.' Do you honestly think, for all the time I spend at fashion shows, I wouldn't know if gay men were in on some kind of secret pact? What would I be targeted for? And why the f--k, if this was true, would they choose Cal as an operative?

"Wait, d'you think Alex is some sort of--enemy spy too? Oh my God, Caedmon, of all the things you've come up with--You haven't mentioned any of this to anyone else, have you? Bad enough Will. You'd better swear you'll never talk to Kapranos, he's my mate, he'll think I'm bloody mental."

Okay, let's set something straight, and I will only say this once. Atlas popped to attention, sitting up straight in his seat and scooting forward slightly. He finished preparing to listen with the slightest raise of his right eyebrow. This could be it, the moment where Jasper revealed the horrific inner workings of the three rings under the big top. As someone closest to the source he had always been the one who Atlas had wanted to question. Instead he had had to settle for sub par information from less than trustworthy sources. He waited, paying rapt attention.

Whatever Cal wanted to learn, it really had nothing to do with the circus. At all. I promise. Or not. Atlas practically felt himself deflate in his seat. No clowns, no nefarious ring leader. He supposed that he should feel some relief at the omission. A certain amount of security in the fact that whatever had taken place hadn't involved large red noses and big shoes. Instead he felt as if some large iron door had been shut, blocking out the ever present carnival music with it. It also presented a second issue, namely that a lack of a grandiose but improbable explanation for things left Atlas with only the reality to contemplate. Never a good thing.

So you can stop...investigating that or whatever. It was nothing horrible, and it was nothing you need to be aware of, all right? Suffice to say it passed and I survived so you can let it go. .

There was a brief moment where they both eyed each other before Atlas blinked, looked away, and then nodded solemnly. It wasn't by any means natural for Jasper to offer up insights into his life, to anyone. Atlas wasn't quiet sure of the reasons behind it but he had learned over years to try and respect anytime that it did happen and make the utmost effort not to press the matter to the point of annoyance. He did that enough in his daily interactions with his friend.

Also, there cannot be a conspiracy for everything, and I highly doubt there's one for my 'radical situation'. Do you honestly think, for all the time I spend at fashion shows, I wouldn't know if gay men were in on some kind of secret pact? What would I be targeted for? And why the f—k, if this was true, would they choose Cal as an operative?.

Jasper gestured wildly and it was times like these that Atlas almost felt like he had done enough damage for the day. It was a rare occasion that Jasper would make any kind of effort to retrace the lines of Atlas's various conspiracy theories and hypotheses in order to try and find their source. It didn't usually go well...but it was a noble endevour to try.

Atlas waited for Jasper to continue, eager to see what his mind might come up with given the proper time. Wait. Nope, back to reality. d'you think Alex is some sort of--enemy spy too? Oh my God, Caedmon, of all the things you've come up with--You haven't mentioned any of this to anyone else, have you? Bad enough Will. You'd better swear you'll never talk to Kapranos, he's my mate, he'll think I'm bloody mental.

Alex? He was on a first name basis with the Scot? Jasper really had to begin choosing his friends more carefully. First tolerating Mervin, then Calixtus (an American but the distinction wasn't entirely different), and now this Alex fellow. It was actually highly doubtful that anything Atlas might have had to say to the man would have left him with the impression that Jasper was the mental one. Sadly it always seemed to simple paint Jasper as the bastion of sanity, it could be extremely frustrating.

Atlas clapped his hands together tapping his index fingers lightly against closed lips for a moment. “The best conspiracies are always the ones that you can never prove. A regrettable but important detail to the whole hobby. Your willful ignorance of the nefarious elements all around you is startling. And your vain enough to imagine exactly why you might be the object of a long planned sting. Though you do have a point. The choice of Ferox isn't exactly inspired and William didn't seem to be in one the scheme if he was. There's a chance he was a rogue element. Jumping what was supposed to be Kaprono's job.”

He took a moment to scrutinize Jasper carefully. “And why would I mention it to someone else? Anyone could be connected with the source. At any rate I'm inclined to think that in the event of a confrontation with your 'mate' you'd come out looking decidedly more even keeled than myself.....and hes on tour at the moment. I checked.”

“Are you happy?” The question was tacked on to the end of his sentence and rushed out before he had to pause to inhale.

“The best conspiracies are always the ones that you can never prove.

This was one of Atlas' favorite phrases, usually the preface to one of his most unlikely tales. Jasper believed he had last heard it when Atlas had explained to him (for nearly an hour and a half) how sea slugs would someday take over the world using magnetic-pulse mind control devices constructed from coral. At the end of this, a little more than slightly drunk because he'd had about two bottles of wine to entertain himself during the monologue, Jasper had peevishly inquired who had originally said Atlas' conspiracy quip. He believed the answer had been McCarthy. Atlas had been less than pleased when Jasper pointed out how the whole investigating thing had worked out for him.

“...why would I mention it to someone else? Anyone could be connected with the source. At any rate I'm inclined to think that in the event of a confrontation with your 'mate' you'd come out looking decidedly more even keeled than myself.....and hes on tour at the moment. I checked.”

Jasper mentally glanced back to last weeks NME gig guide and recalled that Alex and Co. would be in South America for the remainder of the month. Small relief, at least. He spent a brief, horrible moment imagining Atlas getting backstage at a gig somehow, prattling on at Kapranos about conspiracies as Alex waited to go bathe in the blood of innocents or whatever he did to stay so young. Despite years of acquaintance, Jasper had yet to pry that particular secret from the singer. His plan for next time the band was in London consisted of absinthe and Veritaserum, if necessary. Man was like bloody Doria--

“Are you happy?”

The question tumbled out with the last of Atlas' conspiracy theory and made Jasper jolt backward in his seat. He wondered if there was some sort of conspiracy going on that had replaced the real Atlas with someone who talked about feelings. They didn't have these kinds of conversations. The last time they'd talked about feelings was when Atlas had asked if he still had feeling in his left arm after Helena had tackled him during badminton and pushed him over a pile of rocks on the beach in Greece. (Ridiculously competitive, that girl.)

"I--"

He wanted to get the response over with, but couldn't think of what to say. 'Yes' would make Atlas unhappy, even if it was the truth. He wouldn't want to know that Jasper liked having Cal around, most of the time. The benefits well outweighed the liabilities (at least until recent events, now he was slightly less certain.) But he also didn't want to bring up their problems. That was none of Atlas' business and it would only lead to more encounters like the one earlier today.

"I'm fine, Atlas." He sighed. "I never do things that make me unhappy, do I? I've been the most selfish bastard you know since age 11."

He paused, then pushed on. If they were going to talk about feelings, they might as well get it out of their systems and fulfill the quota for a decade or so. And for all his self-centered behavior, Jasper really did care about his friends. You needed them a lot sometimes, it was important to take care of them.

"He really bothers you, doesn't he? I guess I just don't see why, you know. I'm the same with my mates, yeah? I know you and Cal haven't exactly gotten on, but have I done something as well?"

It did appear as if Jasper was having some sort of small seizure. It started at the tips of his fingers, which twitched, and then the movement wound its way through the rest of the body. Atlas noted that the pinkie on Jasper’s left hand didn’t quiet make it in following the others to make contact with his palm. The digit had never really been the same since that incident with the cheese tray the first time he had visited Helena’s house in Greece. Atlas had warned him that she was very attached to symmetry and that her English wasn’t such that she might be able to differentiate between a comment about maybe moving something a bit to the left and a direct criticism of her choice of placement for the Kefalograviera. Jasper had never seen her coming…well that wasn’t fair, he had, he just hadn’t been afraid yet.

I…

The stunted response didn’t really sound happy, more chocked and twitched influenced. Atlas did however have a feeling that the tone had much less to do with Jasper’s actual moods and more to do with the scenario involving Atlas asking at all. At least if his physical reaction (something akin to a potato bug on the pavement) was any indication of his inner mental state. He wasn’t sure if he had even completely meant to ask that. It was an unfortunate happenstance that Atlas tended to say what he was thinking at the time and then not realize he had done so until he looked around the room and saw the reactions. As a child it had been particularly bad and though things had largely progressed to where it didn’t happen all that often the roulette wheel appeared to have decided against him in this instance.

Russian roulette…there was something for Sergei to add to his arsenal…maybe something with modified nerf guns. I’m fine Atlas.. Small plastic Muggle toys largely (but not entirely forgotten) Atlas made the effort to look back at Jasper. A few of the muscle along his jaw jumped and tightened while he drummed out the rhythm to ‘oh danny boy’ on one knee. Scrutinizing. I never do things that make me unhappy, do I? I’ve been the most selfish bastard you know since age 11..

True, but not an answer. He nodded hesitantly, realizing after a moment that Jasper had intentions to continue. He really bothers you, doesn't he? I guess I just don't see why, you know. I'm the same with my mates, yeah? I know you and Cal haven't exactly gotten on, but have I done something as well?. Atlas let his eyes slide off to the side, discontinuing his impromptu drumming session to rub the hand over the left side of his face. Up and down, slightly sandpapery. When he looked back up Jasper was still there, still watching him.

“Does it really need saying?” Sighing he dropped his hands down to the arms of the chair and slouched. “Yes, yes he does.” He hooked one hand under the arm, running his fingers along the familiar embroidery pattern. “He’s brilliant,” With his spare hand he gestured toward one of the crammed shelves next to the rooms woodstove. “I have at least half of his journal publications. He’s the type of person who I could like I think but that’s the issue with just reading what someone writes and making an assumption. He’s brilliant, but he’s angry and he’s not fully in control.”
Atlas did strange things; he stayed up days at a time to work on things that would never come out to anything, he picked through people’s trash, harassed the people who should be helping him to eek out a living, went to annual conventions on little green men in Roswell New Mexico and publicly read the Quibbler as if it were gospel but at all times he liked to imagine that he was in complete control over his actions. He needed to be, because a mind like his couldn’t be allowed to function any other way.

One of the only actual altercations he had ever gotten into with Jasper had been over the man offering him some doxy powder after they had graduated. Taking the stuff had proven one of the worst experiences of his life. He’d first felt elated then completely terrified moments later as he had gained a vague inkling that the workings of his mind and body were no longer entirely his own. What had resulted in the aftermath was a shouting match that quickly could have escalated into more had Wendell not been there to shoo each of them into respective corners.

“Didn’t matter when there would be no personal consequences of that to myself. Matters slightly more so at this juncture.” Well that was one thing solved, one of the floorboards above creaked and Atlas glanced upwards, wondering what Margot might be doing in the library and hoping she wouldn’t come down. If Jasper were to discover his live in muggle he would certainly lose all high ground. “I wouldn’t have given you sh-t.” He said still looking at the ceiling. “If you had said anything. Actually could have made leaps and bounds in avoiding all this mess. I do something to convince you otherwise?”

“Does it really need saying?”

Well, no, not especially. Jasper had asked the question with the answer hanging heavy in the air, but Atlas reiterated anyway. As though his actions in the past few weeks hadn't said everything he could ever want to say about Cal. Unless they were secretly best friends, in which case breaking his wrist and relocating his nose were just clever ploys to fool Jasper for some unknown reason (that would probably have to do with Jack Ruby).

“He’s brilliant”

That hadn't been what he'd expected Atlas to say first. If there was anything Atlas admired (and there wasn't much--nearly everything was open for his scrutiny), it was intelligence. It was the one thing that Jasper thought Atlas and Cal could have bonded over, if anything. It was, in some ways, what drew Jasper himself to Cal the most. He admired education, because it was one of the very, very few things that money would probably never buy him.

“I have at least half of his journal publications. He’s the type of person who I could like I think but that’s the issue with just reading what someone writes and making an assumption. He’s brilliant, but he’s angry and he’s not fully in control.”

He wasn't; Jasper knew that and it alternately frightened and attracted him. The summation of Cal was strangely accurate. Atlas wasn't wrong in his assertion, but Jasper found it comical that he thought he had room to talk about level-headedness and sanity. A man who spent his free evenings dumpster diving wanted to accuse others of acting oddly. Hello pot, this is kettle, I think you'll notice some aesthetic similarities... He wanted to say something scathing, but Atlas looked poised to continue.

“Didn’t matter when there would be no personal consequences of that to myself. Matters slightly more so at this juncture.” There was a pause and Atlas' eyes flickered to the ceiling. The floor above them creaked softly and Jasper wondered who else was home. No one needed to overhear them. “I wouldn’t have given you sh-t. If you had said anything. Actually could have made leaps and bounds in avoiding all this mess. I do something to convince you otherwise?”

Suppressing a sigh, Jasper leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his fingers tented together at the tips. He stared at the floor again, this time at his own polished shoes, to collect his thoughts.

"What you see of Cal is what you drive him to, Atlas. Don't you think anyone would react poorly to scrutiny like you've placed on him? And you're right, he's completely brilliant, but it makes him sort of, fragile, yeah? He's always in his own head, and you're just intruding." Of all people, Atlas should have understood that. Jasper had been breaking and entering into the strange little world of his mind since they were children. Over the years the locks had gotten harder to pick. "You've brought your own--personal consequences into it, and completely failed to think of what the consequences might be for everyone else."

The floor upstairs squeaked again and Jasper's eyes drifted upward curiously before settling back on his friend. He lowered his voice.

"I didn't tell anyone because I wanted to avoid exactly that kind of scrutiny. I'm not suggesting you'd have been an arse to me about it, because I think better of you than that, but I didn't feel like explaining myself. I know Cal is an unlikely choice for me, yeah? It didn't need to be anything personal until you made it that way, and I wish you'd drop the whole thing. Or now that you know, if there's something you must know, ask me, okay? Leave Cal alone. Please."

Another creaking floorboard and Jasper glanced up swiftly.

"Is someone here? I'd rather this be a private conversation."

The sigh that escaped Jasper was more of a huff, somewhat akin to the kinds his grandmother’s bulldog made when you refused to vacate his favorite spot on the couch. Atlas didn’t think Jasper would be pleased with the comparison. He had seemed a bit surprised that Atlas had placed Cal on the tier of brilliance, a coveted area rarely occupied by more than three living people at any one time. Whatever else he might think of the man he had always known that there was a remarkable level of cognitive thought going on in Cal’s cavernous head.

What you see of Cal is what you drive him to, Atlas. Don't you think anyone would react poorly to scrutiny like you've placed on him? And you're right, he's completely brilliant, but it makes him sort of, fragile, yeah? He's always in his own head, and you're just intruding.

It was so lamentable whenever Jasper had a valid point. Atlas had a natural tendency to jab at people, discover exactly what it was that annoyed them and then slowly and systematically work at until. Trying to find the limit and then often inadvertedly exceeding them. With Calixtus though he had tried, really he had. They had met years ago, Atlas was starting out, he still felt a need to try and cater to people. Carlisle had been one of his first regular customers and when he couldn’t come he sent Cal, who Atlas had felt he should extend the same curtsey too. And he had…that was until the man had died, and he had found out Calixtus was a squib, and preceded to stumble all over himself saying several inflammatory things along the way. Downhill from there more or less.

He’d still been interested in his work, delighted when Cal offered formulas and spells for whatever he was looking for rather than standard cash. He managed to keep a straight face when Jasper used the term ‘fragile’, Cal was, but it had little to do with his mental state. He, like Jasper had the physical build of a twiglet.

You've brought your own--personal consequences into it, and completely failed to think of what the consequences might be for everyone else..

The ‘everyone else’ of the statement was easily dissected into Jasper and Cal themselves. Atlas had doubts that his covert investigations into the squib had adverse effects on anyone else. With the exception of Will losing a few hours sleep he hadn’t bothered anyone else with research questions. It didn’t even involve Jasper really, accept when Cal picked fights he couldn’t win and then made the choice to engage someone who would let him.

“Calixtus does bear striking resemblance to a number of large birds, mostly carrion. Perhaps his bones are actually hollow. Libel to be brittle and crack, fragile?”

Another squeak from upstairs and this time Jasper’s eyes took noticed. Atlas tried his best to look nonchalant and was grateful when Jasper continued, albeit in a lower tone of voice. Conspiratorially.

I didn't tell anyone because I wanted to avoid exactly that kind of scrutiny. I'm not suggesting you'd have been an arse to me about it, because I think better of you than that, but I didn't feel like explaining myself. I know Cal is an unlikely choice for me, yeah? It didn't need to be anything personal until you made it that way, and I wish you'd drop the whole thing. Or now that you know, if there's something you must know, ask me, okay? Leave Cal alone. Please..

It was the end that caught Atlas off guard, enough to fully draw his attention away from tracing Margot’s movements on the floor above. He tried to remember the last time Jasper had sincerely used the word please in speaking to him. Years…….a quick rundown of the mental indexes only brought up one frantic utterance over the phone line, long distance from Tai Prison to Greece. The delivery was shocking as well, even and very polite. It was easy to forget where Jasper came from; his personality and various activities didn’t ally him with Atlas’s typical stock view of what old wizard families were. But when he wanted to he was capable of utilizing every bit of his breeding and preening. Atlas hated that version of Jasper. Here though he wasn’t mocking just asking a perfectly reasonable favor from a friend.

She was still in the library, Atlas knew what much when another, particularly loud cracking descended from upstairs, along with a few specks of dust. She was in the southeast corner then, where most of the Muggle books and low level spell tomes were. Atlas had been meaning to replace the boards there.

Is someone here? I'd rather this be a private conversation.. The real Jasper was back more of less, still folded over but now looking with mild apprehension upwards. Atlas looked to but hesitated noticeably. He couldn’t lie to Jasper, not very easily and definitely not when he had been directly asked like this.

“It’s not someone. It’s Margot.” At the mention of the name Rudolph ceased whatever he had been doing in the kitchen and peaked his head through the door, looking upwards and then clattering off toward the steps. The skeleton sometimes managed to forget that there was someone else here and every time he remembered it was like watching a baby playing peek-a-boo. Jasper didn’t look as if a name, and a female name at that was going to be enough to satisfy him. “She’s a squib… according to some documents.” He offered, trailing off the entire sentence.

“Calixtus does bear striking resemblance to a number of large birds, mostly carrion. Perhaps his bones are actually hollow. Libel to be brittle and crack, fragile?”

Jasper blinked briefly, silenced by complete incomprehension. As a child, his parents had taken him to the hedge maze at Hampton Court one day. Sorting through Atlas' brain sometimes felt like winding his way through the carefully pruned shrubbery as a child; everything was universally bewildering. He eventually realized that Atlas had spoken in answer to his comment about Cal's fragility, completely misconstruing the phrase, as usual. Jasper was about to point out that Cal's bones only seemed to be fragile when bent and smacked against brick walls, otherwise he was stronger than he looked. (Thank God Atlas didn't know any more about that. He'd been suspicious last week--got your ass handed to you-- but Atlas was both too literal and too innocent for that kind of comment.)

Before he could reply the floor had creaked again and then he had to ask. It was definitely the sound of someone else human; Rudolph's distinctive clatter could still be heard from the kitchen. Atlas' eyes slid toward the ceiling then off to the side before he answered. The subtle way he twitched away from looking at Jasper's face suggested that he wanted to lie. That face was common enough. I wasn't going through your trash, Jas. I didn't move your shoes to put in a heat lamp for the butternut squash tree... Apparently he thought better of it in the end, looking up to meet Jasper's eyes.

“It’s not someone. It’s Margot.”

Margot? Jasper had a moment to think as Rudolph rattled through hastily, shedding bones as he mounted the stairs. Did Atlas have a girlfriend? Impossible. He and Will had practically been forced to shove him across the bar to talk to Helena, and even then he'd remained convinced for months that she'd really been interested in Jasper. The thought of Atlas managing to meet someone on his own was simply absurd, especially when you considered how much stranger he'd gotten since Helena. Jasper had watched him retreat gradually into his little world of obsessions, culminating in all this nonsense with Cal.

They both watched Rudolph's left fibula somersault down the stairs and land next to some abandoned snowshoes. Jasper's mind boiled over with questions as it settled, and he picked up the smooth white cylinder, twirling it through his fingers in a gesture that was familiar with his wand. If she wasn't a girlfriend-- just an acquaintance? Hired help? Someone else Atlas was 'investigating?' The last possibility concerned him.

“She’s a squib… according to some documents.”

Atlas mumbled the last part in a way that implied whoever Margot was, she was definitely not a squib, and Jasper raised an eyebrow. He'd long known that Atlas had about as much respect for legality as he did, but that had been an alarmingly Jasperish statement. It was dangerous to do the things Jasper did without the proper concern for subtlety.

"Is she--" He made sure to choose his words carefully; if you wanted information, it was essential to not offend Atlas-- "have you hired an assistant? Just a friend? She's Muggle, I take it, if the papers are as specious as your tone suggests."

He paused, trying to make the questions sound casual.

"Is she helping you with your--research?"

What he really wanted to know was how much this mysterious third party knew about him, Cal, and Atlas' investigations. Someone else with that information, especially someone who didn't understand the seriousness of it, was rather dangerous. Or, in the incredibly unlikely event that she and Atlas were romantically involved, there was the legitimate possibility that she was utterly mad.

Crack, rattle, snap. And then a cocoffany of sharp clacks followed the decent of one of Rudolph's less vital framing parts came toppling down the stairs. Jasper, who a moment ago seemed to be ruminating on the revelation that Atlas would voluntarily admit another living breathing human being into his home, for any period of time exceeded 14.6 minutes (which Atlas had concluded after some careful calculations was his limit where non friends i.e. Most everyone were concerned), bent a bit further at the waist to retrieve it. He wasn't prone to fidgeting, when he did it was mostly his wand being twirled carelessly through him fingers, now the bone was a nicely fitting substitute.

Jasper was wondering where to start, carefully determining his plan of action while Atlas tried to think of a way to back out of this. He had nothing to be ashamed of and certainly nothing to be concerned about in any legal sense. Laws were for the normal, safe, and utterly boring, Jasper cared about as much for them as he did for poly blended suits or the color chartreuse. Back set firmly against the comforting solidity of the chair back Atlas divulged his last comment and watch as Jasper elegantly lifted a single eyebrow. Granted his delivery had been somewhat lacking in sincerity but there really was no need for his friend to stare at him like that.

s she-- Jasper's tone left little to imagine about his belief in the verility of Atlas' last statement. Let the fishing commence, Have you hired an assistant? Just a friend? Each of these questions was quickly followed with a quick sweep of Jasper's eyes over Atlas' features, looking for some kind of reaction, no doubt analyzing what he saw. She's Muggle,I take it, if the papers are as specious as your tone suggests..

Atlas wasn't sure exactly how Jasper might choose to react. Breaking the law for ones own profit (for a great deal of profit) was one thing, but Atlas had never really taken the time to inquire about Jasper's feelings on the tediously many and laboriously strict magical secrecy statutes. Even Atlas himself wasn't aware of all of them, when Margot had taken up residence he had borrowed few volumes from Will's while the other man was at work (he really did need to invest in some new locks) and had bored himself to the point of napping on the study floor. He'd had to return the volumes before Will noticed their absence and owled if there was anything else he needed to research. Since then he had never quiet gotten up the drive to return all the way to Wickliff for the purpose of perusing anymore. Jasper didn't seem bothered at any rate, the bone was still spinning when he piped up again.

Is she helping you with your—research?

Pushing up with his legs Atlas sat up in his chair, head going to the side and eyes narrowing slightly. What research was Jasper referring to? There were no less than 19 separate projects he was pursuing at the moment, though with Jasper asking there were really only two likely options. Either he was asking about the events in the Ministry, or he was asking about Calixtus as enemy number 2 (no one would ever usurp Shirley, short of the anti-christ, only possible if one were foolish enough to believe the two weren't one and the same).

The bones in his spine crackled pleasantly as Atlas pushed himself the rest of the way upright. “Not an assistant as such, shes more liability than help where the SHOP is concerned. The moose nearly had her signing his contract the other day. Luckily she had the sense to notice a request to sign in blood might not be something in her best interest. Cinema is good for something. What else would she be aside from friend?” He knew perfectly well what the implication had been, but it was nonsense and there was no point in acknowledging that he had understood. “She's 18, it would hardly be appropriate.” Age was merely the easiest excuse to provide.

“Muggle.” He nodded carefully, glanced upwards as the footsteps (and a closely followed rattling) moved above. She had apparently discovered whatever she was looking for, or had been accosted by Rudolph and was now in the process of placating him. “She's more magically talented than any Squib I've met.” He was smiling when he looked back at Jasper, excited. “She can understand Rudolph. Really properly understand him, just as she would with you or I. Some sort of 6th sense I think though its difficult to classify. Sees ghosts as well, although I get the feeling she finds them less than pleasant. Says that there are loads of them in Knockturn. Not even the Ministry registers the level of activity she does. Some kind of legimency maybe.....” He hadn't realized how interested he had been in discussing the matter with another wizard until the words were tumbling out in rapid succession.

Coughing into his hand he shrugged as he leaned back. “She needed somewhere to stay and she works wonder's with Rudolph. There's a lot of empty space here anyway...” He got up quickly shuffling over to the mantle and plucking up a few of the doctored papers he had created. “American Squib registries are actually very simple to make up and most British officials don't even know what they should look like.” He returned to his seat, handing them off to Jasper. “I think she has the Sinistra's fooled. She's a quick learner.”

“Margot's helpful in many respects, research is one of them. Is that relevant?”

Atlas looked distinctly uncomfortable. In any other person, Jasper would have assumed that this indicated some kind of romantic involvement that had been unexpectedly revealed. But this was Atlas. Unless he'd somehow managed to find the only other person on the planet who thought that ear compliments were the height of romance, there was definitely an alternate explanation.

“Not an assistant as such, shes more liability than help where the SHOP is concerned..."

'Liability' seemed a bit harsh. Who hadn't fallen for the serpentine wiles of the moose head at some point or another? Jasper had almost agreed to trade his soul for a pack of Parliaments once, in the face of its hypnotic gaze. Poor girl. Jasper reflected on how unlucky she'd been to encounter, out of all the wizards in London, Atlas. She had to think they were all utterly mad. He wondered then if she'd even met any other wizards; he was Atlas' bloody next door neighbor and he'd had no idea anyone else was spending time in SHOP. There was always the possibility that she only went outdoors between the hours of 5 and 11 AM (or 'night,' as Jasper liked to call it), but that seemed unlikely.

"What else would she be aside from friend?” Jasper could think of any number of responses for this, but Atlas obviously already knew what he meant. The nervous waver underneath his attempt at flippancy betrayed him. “She's 18, it would hardly be appropriate.”

She had to be pretty, then, if he was already breaking out reasons that she was unavailable. He wondered what was actually the matter with her. There had to be some defect in an attractive, apparently average young woman who was willing to spend significant amounts of time with Atlas and a depressed skeleton. He smiled anyway and shrugged, just to wind Atlas up.

"Loads of models are 18, Caedmon."

“Muggle... She's more magically talented than any Squib I've met." Jasper waited for the inevitable dig at Cal, and was mildly surprised when it didn't come. She can understand Rudolph. Really properly understand him, just as she would with you or I. Some sort of 6th sense I think though its difficult to classify. Sees ghosts as well, although I get the feeling she finds them less than pleasant... Some kind of legimency maybe.....”

Okay, talks to ghosts and reanimated bones. Jasper made a line through her name on the mental list of people he'd consider sleeping with, then added an asterisk that led to a footnote reading "Possibly mental, definitely unpleasant."

“She needed somewhere to stay and she works wonder's with Rudolph. There's a lot of empty space here anyway... American Squib registries are actually very simple to make up and most British officials don't even know what they should look like.”

This was surprisingly well planned; his own dealings with the Secrecy Acts were generally more haphazard and involved a fair bit of Confunding and some assistance from Will with the selective loss of documents at the Ministry. Atlas offered him some papers that had been carelessly stacked on the mantle and Jasper looked over them with interest. You didn't come across a lot of documents like this, could be handy if he ever needed to forge something. He'd seen Cal's Squib card a few times, obviously, but he'd never paid particular attention to it. Seemed like a rather sensitive subject; he sensed that Cal wouldn't really appreciate a lot of questions about the particulars of second-class citizenship. Atlas, who had paused while Jasper leafed through the papers, picked up his explanation again.

“I think she has the Sinistra's fooled. She's a quick learner. Margot's helpful in many respects, research is one of them. Is that relevant?”

"Apollo and Arty met her? Can't I? I'm offended you didn't bring her over! Or at least tell me she existed. How long has she been living here?" He wasn't really offended, but now he was even more curious. And he hoped he could guilt Atlas into letting him meet the mystery muggle. Atlas had obviously been taking her out; he wondered what she thought of Diagon, recalling how wide-eyed Dorian had been about it. Chances are it felt commonplace after the Old Caedmon Curiosity Shop. He still had a hard time believing she lived there, particularly that Atlas would tolerate the constant presence of another person; he'd chafed under the constant contact of the Hogwarts dormitory. (So had Jasper, their inconsiderate roommates had done little to help there, but that was another story entirely.) He'd been all right with Helena, but she was remarkably tolerant. It was impossible that another woman with her saintly level of patience in relation to reanimated taxidermy projects and carnivorous plants existed.

"Where did you--get her?" That sounded odd. Like Atlas had picked her up round the shops one morning. Magical defectives: collect them all! "I mean, did she find you? And find out that she could talk to Rudolph? And why does she need a place to stay? She some kind of Muggle mass murderess?"

He smiled quickly to make sure Atlas knew it was a joke. Otherwise he might get ideas.

Loads of models are 18, Caedmon.

Atlas shot Jasper a look that very clearly communicated the ‘she’s 18’ had been Caedmon speak for ‘she is an untouchable and unsullied vessel and so help your entire wardrobe if I find out otherwise’. Luckily that was all rendered unnecessary after he had launched into his explanation of what he thought of as Margot’s rather remarkable talents. Jasper, rather than immediately launching into what would (under perfect circumstances) have developed into a lengthy intellectually driven conversation concerning the rather fine line that some muggles managed to walk with abilities not quiet considered magic by the Ministry and other governments. Lamentably he had forgotten that it was Jasper in front of him, who for all his talents and quick wits wasn’t really one for high academic discussion. Not if it wasn’t somehow going to end him making obscene amounts of money for very little actual work, or sleeping with someone who had recently graced the cover of whatever magazine he had picked up off the shelves.

Both options were out in this situation, very very out. Rather than becoming excited though Jasper instead donned an expression very similar to the ones worn by judges at county fairs. Something he had said had seemingly wedded Margot out of the group of potential lovers. Maybe Jasper had added some more qualifications to his already massive list of standards. Rather than wasting energy systematically analyzing why Jasper might have decided to derail any plans to seduce poor Margot Atlas simply accepted it as a blessing and moved on. Handing Jasper the doctored up squib documents and finding himself feeling as slight swell of pride as the other man looked them over with rapt interest.

He wouldn’t have thought Jasper would be so interested. After all he broke the statues enough that Atlas thought he must have some kind of system in place. Jasper didn’t keep the most magical home, but his ability to retrieve anything he wanted from anywhere in said house with the flick of what a Muggle would no doubt see as nothing more than a finely widdled twig might have set off some warning bells, even for the price single brain celled organisms Jasper lured into his lair. For a time Atlas had seen less of them wandering around the alley in a confused daze and had thought that maybe Jasper had gone committed for Cal’s sake. Then, blessedly he had discovered that the schedule of the models appearances in back of the shop had simply shifted slightly. He had had to adjust his own doings in order to make himself available to escort them out of the alley and sometimes offer a few tips on what they might have done wrong.

Apollo and Arty met her? Can’t I?

Jasper, despite being 27 years of age, still managed to carry off an expression very similar to a child who had been derived of sweets by a cruel and corner conscious mother. Or maybe the expression was the result of never having been deprived anything, either way it was powerful. I’m offended you didn’t bring her over! Or at least tell me she existed. How long has she been living here?.

Atlas took the documents back and settled back down into his chair carefully. Jasper apparently wasn’t finished asking questions just yet. Where did you--get her? Atlas furrowed his brows, about to inform Jasper that contrary to some beliefs they didn’t sell muggles in shops, at least not the ones that Atlas ever frequented. I mean, did she find you? And find out that she could talk to Rudolph? And why does she need a place to stay? She some kind of Muggle mass murderess?

The frown deepened even as Jasper flashed his teeth with a clear use of his disarming smile. “No….I conducted several lengthy in-depth background checks before admitting her into the house. There was something called a parking ticket….but it didn’t seem to be something that might warrant jail time. Why? Have you heard something?” Jasper’s eyes went upwards in their sockets, went back and forth for a moment before coming back down to watch Atlas. No then, he’d just been taking the mickey.

“Well yes….Artemis and Apollo have both met her on several occasions. When Rudolph has been good I like to reward him with a trip over to the Sinistra’s. Margot is kind enough to take him and occasionally when he breaks out on his own she’s kind enough to go and retrieve him. Artemis just thinks she’s a bit touched really….”

As for existing, Atlas shrugged mouth quirking a bit before he answered, “It hadn’t come up really. Where was I supposed to have inserted that information? Somewhere in between beratings concerning Calixtus? Who, incidentally is the reason that I didn’t bring Margot around to see you. He’s shrewd and I wouldn’t put it past him to hate her for associating with me. I have enough to deal with from the Ministry without having someone give them an anonymous tip about Muggles running amuck which would allow them to invade my privacy.” He wanted to add that he had also held off in part, because he had had no idea what Jasper might have thought about the whole endeavor. They had had enough to argue about without heaping something else on top of it.

“I was in London…looking for some wire to get Rudolph back together a few months ago. I didn’t trust him in the SHOP by himself and I wasn’t going to leave him in the house so I decided to bring him along with me. Margot came upon the two of us and rather than being terrified and causing some kind of unpleasant scene she informed me that he was actually complaining about being claustrophobic rather than my choice of stringing material. We just sort of….stumbled into each other.”

“She’s been here for a month or so…maybe more. I didn’t ask for too many details, she’s a photographer; she’s helped the Muggle police out a few times, I guess her abilities lend her well to it. She’s American…it’s a long way from home and besides, if she was here then she was available for me to try and observe her. Not that she’s a project or anything it’s just…interesting. I’m not going to vivisect her or anything….”

“No….I conducted several lengthy in-depth background checks before admitting her into the house. Of course he had. There was something called a parking ticket…"

Jasper himself had gotten one of those a few weeks ago, tucked underneath the windshield wiper of the Aston. Who knew you couldn't park halfway between a handicapped space and a fire hydrant? He'd shown the thing to Will, who explained something about sending money to Muggles. He'd nodded, thanked Will for the helpful advice, then transfigured the thing into a fifty pound note and went to the champagne bar at Harvey Nichols. Will had been unnecessarily affronted and refused to join him until Jasper pointed out that he technically didn't have a license, own the car, or exist in Muggle society, so everything would be fine. At which point Will had sighed in the most put-upon way and agreed that he could actually use a drink.

...Where was I supposed to have inserted that information? Somewhere in between beratings concerning Calixtus?...He’s shrewd and I wouldn’t put it past him to hate her for associating with me. I have enough to deal with from the Ministry without having someone give them an anonymous tip about Muggles running amuck which would allow them to invade my privacy.”

Jasper wanted to point out that Cal would probably do his best to avoid any dealings with the Ministry, given the less-than-legal nature of a lot of his business and associates. But it was rarely worth arguing with Atlas over his paranoias, especially where Cal was concerned. He also wanted to point out that if he really wanted to keep this Margot a secret, the last person to tell was Apollo. The man had a retention ability somewhere between sieves and the Maginot Line. However, Atlas had gone on to describe how he'd met his pet Muggle and he didn't want to sidetrack the story. Once you got Atlas off topic it was like trying to shove a derailed train back onto the tracks getting him focused again. Jasper had heard enough impromptu lectures on the literature of Thailand and butter churns through the ages to learn his lesson.

“...Margot came upon the two of us and rather than being terrified and causing some kind of unpleasant scene she informed me that he was actually complaining about being claustrophobic...

Well, that a least explained why Rudolph pitched such a fit when Jasper put him in the closet that one time. He'd agreed, under extreme duress, to babysit the skeleton while Atlas went out of town for one of his alien powwows, but Jasper couldn't exactly have him hanging about predicting death and making all the models feel fat. Margot had to be an interesting character, if her first reaction to Rudolph hadn't been the stock terror and confusion. Well, she would have to be interesting if she spoke to ghosts. Which Jasper was somewhat uncertain about. Magic, of course, was commonplace. The paranormal, less so. As with most wizards, he was somewhat skeptical of Muggles who claimed some kind of power. But Atlas was the ultimate skeptic, so the woman had to be legitimate.

“She’s been here for a month or so...She’s American…it’s a long way from home and besides, if she was here then she was available for me to try and observe her. Not that she’s a project or anything it’s just…interesting. I’m not going to vivisect her or anything….”

"That's a comfort, anyway. Have you told her the good news?"

Atlas failed to see the humor and did an impression of someone sucking on a lemon until Jasper moved on.

"Can I meet her?" Atlas looked uncertain. "Don't worry, I'm not interested. One magically defective, barmy American is enough, trust me."

Rudolph's familiar clattering increased in volume as he made his way downstairs, followed by human footsteps. Jasper turned in his chair toward the steps in time to see a pair of feet in sensible flats approaching. At least she wasn't a complete heathen, then.

Margot spent a lot of time in the library. Relatively speaking, it was the safest place for her to spend any leisure time; well, that wasn’t entirely true, but her other option was sitting in her bedroom doing nothing, which was quite safe but not very interesting for an eighteen year old girl, even one as strange as Margot. As usual, Rudolph followed her around for a bit, trying to get her attention away from the book and back on him, but it worked about as well as it ever did and eventually he clattered off to the kitchen in frustration, tugging at his babushka (which he said was itchy) and babbling about Russian cuisine.

She reached up and loosened the tie of her own babushka a bit. She’d put it on to make Rudolph feel better; he was extremely self-conscious about the headscarf, and though she’d told him that it made it look like he might have hair underneath it, the comment hadn’t made him feel much better. He was still sore about losing the battle of wits with the tall, gaunt-looking man they’d met in the Sinistras’ shop the other day. As he’d said, it wasn’t his fault that he had died and his glands had decayed, and he would have been very glad to still have them. Margot had shaken her head at this and said that of course Rudolph didn’t want his glands or his hair back. Being without them made grooming so much easier.

Rudolph clattered back into the library, flinging his bony arms around angrily. He reached up and tore the babushka off, throwing it to the ground declaring that he was through with Russian cooking, since Atlas apparently couldn’t even stay in costume long enough to eat Rudolph’s food. How could he properly appreciate it, Rudolph asked, unless he stayed dressed up as Sergei? Atlas wouldn’t eat it otherwise, he was sure, the man had such strange tastes, but that was the last time he tried to do something nice for him, the absolute last time. Margot shook her head at him, smiling slightly, and put her book down.

“I’m sure he appreciates it very much,” she said. “Go back and finish it. I’ll eat it. I’ve never had Russian food before.” Rudolph stared at her incredulously for a second, before snatching his babushka off the floor and storming out noisily. Margot followed him and peeked into the kitchen. He was perhaps being a bit more violent with the pans and utensils than she would have recommended, but she was satisfied that he was occupied enough with cooking. She went down the stairs into SHOP and was immediately hit by a wave of heat coming from the back room. She pulled the babushka off her head and pulled her hair out over it as she entered.

"Can I meet her? Don't worry, I'm not interested. One magically defective, barmy American is enough, trust me."

Margot raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise comment. Atlas was sitting before her, almost entirely stripped of his Russian costume, drinking a martini (which she thought was odd). There was another gentleman as well, expensively dressed with a sharp face and a large nose. He was clearly the one who had spoken, and there was a strange sort of curiosity in his eyes. Margot felt rather like a zoo animal being scrutinized by someone who thought he was higher on the food chain than her. Atlas was, as usual, unreadable, but he was watching her carefully like he always did. She smiled at him and gestured at the outrageously roaring fire.

“Lapushka, why didn’t you tell me you were too hot? I could have banked the fire for you,” she said. She went to the fireplace and knelt in front of it, as close as she could get, and began dumping ash on the fire with a practiced ease. She had to empty almost the entire container to get the fire to calm down, but soon it was crackling gently and most of the heat was escaping through the chimney, as it was supposed to. She stood up and dusted her hands off.

"Who's your friend?" she asked innocently.