honey whiskey

but would you know yourself if you weren't burning?

[apareciumcresswell]

When: Present Day (Game Time) Where: Diagon Alley - Café With: Tarquin @tarqmctavish​

Dirk really wasn’t in the mood for meeting with a friend right now. Given what he’d been through only a day or so ago… He’d slept last night, but woken in a cold sweat, hearing phantom voices coming from those corpses in the woods demanding he do more, that he should have helped them. Misplaced guilt, but very powerful in the unconscious mind. He’d not returned to sleep from 4am onwards and gone through Akido drills then worked on his Giant-Tongue before showering and heading to the meeting he had planned for today. 

He apparated to Diagon and found the café he and Tarquin had decided to meet at and ordered himself a green tea while he waited. The waitress asked him if he was okay with a sympathetic air which confirmed that, despite his shower, he still looked far from himself. With a small sigh Dirk ran a hand through his vibrant green hair and took a small sip of his tea. He stared down into the cup, watching the lazy swirls of steam rise until someone called his name and he jolted slightly, almost spilling the cup.

“Oh, Tarquin,” he looked at the older man and smiled, “My apologies, I was lost in my ow head.” Dirk gestured to the seat opposite him, “Please, join me. Would you like to order?” He’d agreed to meet his friend and he would; it was important for them both. 

[tarqmctavish]

The attack was all that anyone had talked of. It was impossible to escape the panicked whispers; everyone so terrified of saying the wrong thing, terrified of offending the wrong person. It was a testament to the fact that the law enforcement didn’t have nearly as much control over the situation as they would have believed.

So, Tarquin had heard about it obviously but apart from that he didn’t really care. It didn’t concern him because he wasn’t the one who would be caught in the middle of it. He knew he had no desire to align himself with either side but purely for convenience purposed it had always made sense for him to favor the Death Eaters just a little bit more.

Considering Dirk was one of the only people Tarquin could consider a friend - Tarquin had been... concerned. He didn’t have a name for the sinking feeling in his chest but that was what it had been. And seeing, Dirk sitting there, looking so disheveled, only made it worse. 

“Well you look like shit,” he said, though there was no venom in his voice. He was in fact trying hard to keep the worry from setting in. He ordered a coffee as the waitress drifted back to their table before turning to him again, “I won’t ask if you’re alright because clearly you aren’t.” He tapped his fingers on the table, “So, what happened?”

[tarqmctavish]

silenciorosier‌:

Evan didn’t frequent Knockturn Alley often. He had his pristine reputation to think about. But sometimes even reputable wizards needed to venture into the place and he had a whole repertoire of stories at the ready to put any fears risen by his actions at ease. He had a meeting with a rather untoward individual at his fellow Death Eater’s request that simply couldn’t be put off any longer. Given how valuable the information was he’d likely be well rewarded for his troubles.

He paused in his movements through the alley when he heard noises and saw a young man locking down Borgin & Burkes. While he didn’t shop in the place himself (as reputation demanded) he had ways of acquiring some of their more interesting items. Considering what he should do was enough to get him noticed and with a little chuckle he stepped out and smiled, “Now, such an ugly word. I was merely being cautious, one needs to be in these times,” he said lightly, moving closer to the other, “Of course, had I known such a handsome man was before I would not have waited back in the side alley.” A small chuckle followed his words, “Just closing up for the evening?”    

Tarquin couldn’t stifle the sigh of annoyance when he heard Evan’s voice. He raised an eyebrow, taking a long drag of his cigarette. It seemed like a joke; to think that once they had actually gotten along. But then, that had been a long time ago. They were both exactly what they expected of each other and these days they hardly ran in the same circles. Which was why, of all the possible places, he hadn’t expected to see Evan over here. 

He scoffed in reply, “I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flames before setting foot here,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Tarquin shrugged, “You can dress it up however you want. Being cautious, Being creepy... lurking- it’s all the same thing, anyway.” He paused for a moment, “Why are you being cautious anyway, Rosier? Are you... scared?” Tarquin knew he was just baiting him but he was simply bored. “And I am. Did you need something?” 

[tarqmctavish]

rosemaryparkinson‌:

Rosemary wasn’t sure what she thought of Tarquin. He wasn’t a stranger to her but she was slow to form opinions about those around her. She was sure he was no threat to her. He seemed a bit odd perhaps. He hadn’t come out for either side in the war and while there were many that hadn’t she still couldn’t bring herself to fully trust them. Though she supposed that she didn’t fully trust most of those who had chosen her side. She thought briefly that she should have kept Bella with her. Shouldn’t have insisted on finding her own way back but such thoughts were of no use now. 

She took note of the roll of his eyes and for the briefest of moments she imagined the joy of removing them from his lovely head. Such things wouldn’t be acceptable though and instead she attempted to play nice. “Tarquin as always it’s lovely to see you. I do apologize for the inconvenience.” Her words dripped with honey and the smile she wore was sweet as sugar. She moved to fall into step beside him her hand going to hold lightly to the crook of his arm. A move natural and expected in their society. “You’re a vision as always. How have you been?”

The distrust was mutual but then again, Tarquin could count the people he did trust on a single hand. Tarquin was also well aware of how he was viewed in the Pureblood society, someone who was just barely above those with lesser blood because he had no name and no wealth to speak of. It kept him safe as far as the war was concerned but it sure didn’t make him popular. Keeping his distance from most people was just how he preferred it though.

He didn’t want Rosemary wandering around Knockturn Alley. Not because he particularly cared what happened to her but because it would just be easier to help her out of there. It didn’t escape his notice, how it annoyed her to accept his help and the thought made him smirk. “Can’t possibly leave you all here by yourself,” he replied sarcastically, “What sort of person would that make me? Perhaps next time you shouldn’t venture in places you can’t get out of.” He raised an eyebrow as she held onto his arm, his own hands in his pocket. “As good as ever. And you?” 

[tarqmctavish]

auror-scrimgeour‌:

Rufus ignored the question about other former arrests, as he didn’t think it was necessary to divulge that information to the man. In truth, he guessed that a good number of his former arrests would try to kill him, or at the very least use the opportunity to seek revenge. Tarquin hadn’t tried any of that, not to Rufus’ knowledge anyway.

Leading the way to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, where it connected with Diagon Alley, he noted just how quiet and almost abandoned looking everything looked with the stores all closed. The only thing that was likely open this time of night was the Leaky Cauldron, which is where he was headed. Whether or not Tarquin wanted to have a drink with him remained to be seen.

The man did not seem to be in a very good mood, though Rufus could hardly blame him; he supposed that getting an unannounced visit from the person who threw you in the worst place on Earth wasn’t a great way to spend the night. “And I wasn’t asking you to.” He shook his head, “In any case, you’ve turned over a new leaf. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How are things? Keeping busy, eh?” He found that keeping focused on a task helped him manage his anger when he was younger, and he hoped that it worked for Tarquin too. The anger would always be there, but that was something that the younger man would have to figure out how to handle on his own; that was something Rufus couldn’t help him with. 

Tarquin rolled his eyes, “So what makes me so special?” He asked, sarcasm dripping from his words when Rufus didn’t answer his question though that in itself was an answer. He let out a low laugh, “Don’t you have enough to occupy yourself with already? Shouldn’t you be concentrating on other important things? Like- I don’t know- how people are being murdered every other day, for instance.” 

Tarquin was bored and he was restless and he hated to admit it but at least talking to Rufus was something to do. Even if Tarquin was combative in his words and his actions and even if Rufus was the last person he wanted to see on most days. 

“I don’t drink, by the way,” he said as he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron once they got there. Alcohol reminded him far too much of his father and it was the one self destructive thing that he didn’t allow himself. Not unless he was truly and utterly desperate. He raised an eyebrow as he took a seat, “Just couldn’t go too long without seeing me, could you?” He scoffed, “Working my dream job as you can see,” Tarquin replied tapping his fingers on the bar. “But, sure,” he laughed, “a new leaf. Is it enough to satisfy you?” 

[moccarins-deactivated20201224]

#for science

[tarqmctavish]

rosemaryparkinson‌:

Rosemary spent her days going from the rich and elite to the shadiest of people gathering information for her column at the Witch Weekly. Though she supposed that often those that were rich and elite were quite often the shadiest people she had the displeasure of meeting. She wasn’t on company business at the moment though. She had met Bella at one of the more obscure shops in Knockturn Alley until the woman had had to run to meet with another of their associates. She admired the woman and the obvious way she seemed to command those around her. She couldn’t say she was thrilled about being left on her own in such a shady part of the street. She wasn’t helpless by any means but she didn’t quite think herself as intimidating as the other women she spent time around. 

As she moved farther down the street she felt herself beginning to trip and felt her purse slip from her hand making a rather loud crash as it landed on the ground. Her things were gathered up quickly as her eyes darted down each side of the street obviously looking to see if anyone was around. The voice of the man not too far away from her startled her. She hadn’t meant to be seen as lurking about. If she was honest she was a bit lost and having a hard time finding her way back to Diagon Alley. A quick smile came to her lips as she moved closer to the voice to get a better look at him. “I’m not. I’m a bit lost I’m afraid.”

Tarquin wasn’t surprised to see her there, wandering around Knockturn Alley even though it was possibly one of the least safe places in the Wizarding World, especially after dark. From what he knew of Rosemary she didn’t care much rules, especially not if she could get a story out of it. People often got lost in Knocturn Alley and it helped separate the regulars from those that just wandered in. Most shopkeepers in the Alley didn’t trust outsiders, there were too many secrets hidden under a very thin layer of legality and not enough benefit of the doubt going around. People especially didn’t like reporters so there was that too. 

He sighed, “Of course you have,” he said with a roll of his eyes before nodding to the side. “Take a left at the end of this Alley, then a right, another right, another left and another right until you get to Diagon.” He glanced at her for a moment before straightening, “In fact I’ll walk with you. Come on.” 

[tarqmctavish]

bloodmoongreyback‌:

“No, please. I can get it. I just need more time.”

Fenrir’s frame filled the space of the alleyway, blocking the only exit, unless the wizard had a broomstick hidden up his ass. With slow, casual movements he moved his duster aside to reveal the long bowie knife sheathed at his side. His approach was casual, unhurried, and his every forward step backed the man further into the alley’s dark shadow. 

“You don’t have any more time,” he grumbled into the night, smirking at the terror stricken man. The knife slid soundlessly from its sheath, the polished blade glinting in what moonlight was able to break through the overcast skies. Considering the serrated blade in his hand, Fenrir stated, “The Dark Lord’s moved on. The only thing you can do for him now is die.”

His steps backed the wizard into the wet, brick wall at the alley’s end, and he braced himself against it as he watched Fenrir close remaining distance between them, wide eyed and slack jawed. He raised a hand between them, mouth working as he tried to find the right words that would make him stop, but nothing would and Fenrir didn’t.

The hot breath that wheezed out of the man was why Fenrir liked daggers so much. There was something so intimate about feeling a person’s last breath leave their body, their screams muffled by the calloused hand clasped over their mouth and nose, about the scalding gush of blood slipping onto his hand as the serrated edge of his knife tugged innards through each stab wound as he plunged the blade in again and again.

Eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body went limp. When all that was holding the man up was Fenrir’s knife in his ravaged gut and his hand on his mouth, pinning him to the wall, he yanked his knife free one last time. There was the splattering sound of blood and gore, then a heavy thump as the man collapsed, dead weight. Wiping his bowie knife clean on the relatively clean shoulder of the man’s jacket, he slid the jagged toothed blade back into its sheath. Fenrir used his mangled middle as a pallet and wet his finger with the still warm blood. A quick image was drawn onto the man’s brow before he wiped his hands on the rag he kept in his pocket. 

Turning on his heel, he left the corpse amid the rubbish bins. No one would find him until morning, and he’d be long gone by then. With a relaxed gait, he strode toward the lantern light at the alley’s mouth then paused when a tall, lanky figure stepped into view. After a moment of consideration, and an acknowledgement from the man, he emerged from the alley’s shadow with a nod. 

Being the collector of knives and daggers that he was, Fenrir spent plenty of time perusing Borgin & Burkes selection. And McTavish had helped him find the more balanced blades with the most sordid pasts plenty of those times. They weren’t friends. Fenrir didn’t have friends. But he didn’t want to kill the man either, so that put him a peg higher than a majority of people. 

“That’s just how I get around, McTavish.” He nodded toward the cigarette, muttering, “Got any more of those?”

Tarquin’s eyebrows rose up in mild curiosity as his frame came into view. He looked at the alley behind him but it was too dark to see anything. He was sure though that if Fenrir was concerned, it couldn’t be anything else. The man spelled disaster and Tarquin had to respect him for that. Bloodshed followed him wherever he went and Tarquin had heard enough rumours to know that not all of them could be utter bullshit. He couldn’t bring himself to care though. This war was going to take lives and as long as his own wasn’t on the life, he couldn’t really care less who lost theirs. 

If nothing else, Fenrir’s interest in knives was enough to tip him off about what he liked to do in his spare time. At the very least he was good for business and they seemed to get along well enough. He chuckles in reply, “Bullshit. You don’t exactly try to hide in the shadows,” he scoffed before taking out the packet of cigarettes and handing him one. He took a long drag, “So do I want to know what you were doing in that alley at this time of the night?” He said conversationally, “Nothing good, I’m sure.” 

[tarqmctavish]

auror-scrimgeour‌:

Every now and then, Rufus made a point to check in with a former convict. He didn’t put in the effort with all his former arrestees, but this one, this one he wanted to prevent from going to Azkaban again. The anger he’d seen was like looking into a mirror, and he knew that having that sort of anger would make the man prone to getting into more trouble. 

Following the man from Borgin and Burkes, Rufus kept to the shadows to avoid being detected. He didn’t want to be noticed just yet. The man had stopped and decided to light a cigarette, so Rufus found a hiding place behind some bins.

Knockturn Alley was littered with unsavory characters, but for the most part, most of them didn’t want to have a run-in with an Auror. So, when some grisled wizard in dark clothing approached him behind and tried to pick-pocket him, Rufus growled, turned and flashed his badge. The would-be thief, in panic, quickly backed off and stumbled, causing an empty bin to topple over with a hollow thud.

The noise hadn’t gone unnoticed. With a sigh, Rufus put his hands in his overcoat pockets and stepped out from the shadows. “Evening, Tarquin.” Approaching the younger man, he nodded at the cigarette, “You know that shit’ll kill you.” It was one of the vices he didn’t partake in. “Though I guess being alone in the middle of the night in Knockturn Alley isn’t the safest thing either.” He paused then continued, “Let’s go for a walk.” He took a few steps leading out of the Alley and waited for the younger man to follow. A smirk appeared on his face, “You haven’t turned anyone into a tea kettle lately, have you?”

Tarquin tensed at the sound of his voice. It was only for a moment until he forced himself to relax against the wall again. This had been happening ever since he got out of Azkaban - the Auror would show up without any warning, and it always rattled Tarquin.

Azkaban was still something breathing, looming larger than life in his mind. He tried not to let his mind go down that path but at times, when there was nothing to occupy him, it was inevitable. Tarquin had made his choices and he would never regret them. The man deserved what Tarquin had done to him and in the same vein, Tarquin had deserved to go to Azkaban. It wasn’t logical that he blame Rufus for putting him there. Tarquin had never bothered to explain the reasons behind the attack but he realized that Rufus had still given him as much leeway as possible. Still, despite knowing all of that he couldn’t help that part of him that resented the Auror and all he stood for.

“Your concern for my health warms my heart,” he said dryly as he flicked the ash to the ground. “Do you take such an interest in all your former arrests or am I the only lucky guy around here?” Tarquin hesitated for a moment but then sighed and followed Rufus to the end of the alley, falling in step beside him. “Oh, good old days-” he scoffed in reply though his voice was strained as he took another drag. “Who knows?” He shrugged, “Maybe I’ve just learned to hide it better. I’m not doing your job for you, man.”

[uranodioning]

“are you a top or a bottom?” i’m a threat

[spellofwinter-deactivated202605]

[tarqmctavish]

Tarquin didn’t know how his days managed to both simultaneously drag on and end far too quickly. Borgin & Burkes wasn’t the worst job he could have had and he had needed something urgently. There weren’t many people that were queuing up to hire a convict. Tarquin had his suspicions that the only reason Borgin & Burkes had was because his stint in Azkaban lent their business another layer of danger. Most of the time all he had to do was figure out the serious buyers from those that ventured in the shop out of curiosity. 

Still, had gotten late by the time Tarquin finally managed to close down Borgin & Burkes. The late hours suited him though, if he didn’t keep busy he always ended up being restless and Merlin knew, that led to trouble. He was walking down Knockturn Alley when he stopped against a wall to light a cigarette which is when he heard a loud thud from the opposite side. He should have been wary, after all Knockturn Alley was not exactly safe even in the day, let alone the middle of the night but Tarquin just sighed. “You’re lurking,” he finally said, as the form of someone began to appear. He took a drag of his cigarette, almost sounding bored.

[silencio-rp]

D O S S I E R: S T A T S

NAME: Tarquin McTavish AGE: 35 STATUS: Taken FACE: Ben Barnes HOUSE: Gryffindor CLASS: Pure Blood AFFILIATION: Neutral / Civilan POSITIVE: Creative, Courageous, Intelligent NEGATIVE: Aggressive, Proud, Non-Commital OCCUPATION: Store Clerk at Borgin & Burkes >>>>>>>>>>> THIS CHARACTER IS AN OC

“ When you think you’re getting out, you’re getting further in, and you know at last that there’s no escape ”

D O S S I E R: B I O G R A P H Y

If you could describe Tarquin McTavish in a single word it would be volatile. The only son of a Pureblood family that had fallen from grace and immediately swept aside. The son of an alcoholic father who never cared for his wife or children. The son of a mother who perhaps loved her husband more than she loved her children—and who suffered for it. Older brother to a sister who was a Squib and hence had no place in the world she was born in. With the stakes so high, did he ever really stand a chance? A Gryffindor to the core, Tarquin never had many friends. It was hard to make friends when you tended to treat everyone as if they were replaceable. People tended to say that violence was never the answer but what if it was? What if that was the only thing that stifled the fire underneath his skin? Tarquin seems dangerous, as if he would go up in flames at any moment and take everyone with him. After all, it was no secret that he had done a stint in Azkaban for transfiguring an innocent man in a tea kettle. No one knew the words that man had said about his sister and Tarquin would never explain himself to people who couldn’t care less. He was out now though and still every bit a menace as before.

D O S S I E R: C O N N E C T I O N S

Katherine Pyrites: She’s a mystery to him. The way she sways in and around the shop like she’s gliding on air, the way she speaks with an old sort of authority that he doesn’t truly understand. All he wants is to learn everything there is to know about her, to get under her skin and feel the calming energy her voice elicits whenever she says his name…

Rufus Scrimgeour: He was the Auror that put him behind bars five years ago. The first Auror on scene, reverting his victim back to his physical state before carting the fiery wizard off to Azkaban. Rufus had recognized a part of himself in the younger man, in the anger that reflected in his eyes. He’d gone easy on Tarquin, and for that, McTavish would be forever grateful.

Marlene McKinnon: She was a kindred spirit, a rebellious nature if he’d ever seen one. She was a pureblood, too, but not like the others. He gravitated towards her on their lunch breaks, even though she worked in the other alley, the pair often found themselves sharing a butter beer and complaining about the idiocy of their customers. 

Mentioned In The Following Bios: -

[meiselr]

you lie awake in the depth of the night and you try not to choke on the feelings that he left like bruises on your eyelids. you asked him to leave because you’re too selfish to stop the mess of apologies between your bones and too cruel to accept that this boy means the world to you

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[annakareninas]

The Secret History, 1992. 

[lifeinpoetry]

i wish i wasn’t / such a raw thing.

helga floros, from “Insomnia,” published in Occulum (via lifeinpoetry)