Post by gear on Sept 3, 2011 18:19:52 GMT -8
Title: A Chance Encounter
Rating: PG
Character: Remus Lupin and OC
Word Count: 1240
Warnings: Alcohol consumption
Summary: All Remus wanted was a drink after a hard transformation. What he got was a drink, a vampire, and a mystery.
A/N: Some quick googling led me to believe that wolves’ hearts beat faster than humans. If that is incorrect, please let me know and I will correct it. This is set after the seventh book, sometime between the last chapter and the epilogue, and it continues as if Remus had not diedbecause he totally didn’t! It was all a hoax! and got his job as defense against the dark arts teacher back under Professor McGonagall. With the vampires I took liberties seeing as the cannon on them is pretty flimsy. Michael is my own character.
As I walked into the bar, I inhaled sharply, letting the scents roll around in my mouth and permeate through my nose. There was the odor shared by all drinking establishments: a concoction of sweat, alcohol, vomit, and in some of the rougher ones, blood. This one was lacking that last sent, a fact I was grateful for. My senses were still sharp from my last transformation; the wolf still had a foothold in my mind. In this particular pub, there was also the strong scent of perfume, from the group of young women in the corner, a part of my mind noticed absently. Perhaps most noticeable was the lack of the strong, tangy, peculiar scent that I have come to associate with magic. It is truly unique – the best I could describe it might be in comparison with the taste of copper, or the sound of snow. This absence was because that was a muggle bar, a feature that I had carefully selected for. My change had been rough that month, and while I was fond of Mrs. Weasley, she did have the tendency to be a bit intrusive if she thought it was to your benefit. Until at least the half moon, I was determined to avoid anyone who might lead me back to the woman.
As I walked to the bar, I detected another smell. It nagged at me – I felt that I should recognize it, it was familiar, and yet, its classification escaped me. I inhaled again, this time paying more attention to the elusive scent in particular. The recognition hit me suddenly, along with the thought that I should have noticed it earlier. It was truly distinctive to my enhanced nose, the scent of vampire. Now, despite what popular fiction (especially that aimed at teenaged girls) is fond of telling you, vampires and werewolves are not mortal enemies, and we do not have any sort of cultural or inborn enmity. My interest was, however peaked. What could a vampire be doing in a muggle bar? I wondered. It occurred to me briefly that a werewolf was not exactly a common customer in a non-magical pub either, but then, I knew what I was doing there. I was avoiding the somewhat overbearing and definitely undignified coddling of Mrs. Weasley. The vampire on the other hand was a mystery. Letting my nose guide me, I did a sharp about face and headed toward the scent of vampire. Another, deeper breath informed me that the vampire had not fed for a while – at least a few months – and was likely part of the abstinence league (it was started a few centuries ago as a sort of support group for those vampires who wished to stop drinking blood). At least, I hoped so. Generally vampires do not go for werewolves, we are too likely to fight back, and too resistant to the charm that vampires share with their cousins the Veela, but still, meeting one who wants a meal tends to be a bad idea.
And there it was, a young, maybe mid-twenties or early thirties (although, with vampires, it is hard to tell. One who looks maybe twenty can be anywhere from seven centuries old to fifty), Hispanic looking man. There was also an empty seat next to him. I sat down and gestured to get the bartender’s attention.
“What can I get you?” the barkeep asked.
Considering that it was only a few days after the full moon and my control was already pretty weak, it was probably a bad idea to have anything stronger than soda. On the other hand, I really, really wanted a drink. “A pint beer please. Whatever you have on tap is fine.”
While slowly sipped my drink, I studied the man beside me out of the corner of my eye. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a t-shirt, with the pasty, unhealthy look of a vampire that was not helped by his abstinence. Still, as all vampires were, the man was striking.
“Can I help you, werewolf?”
I jumped, turning quickly to see the speaker of the question. It was the vampire. Subconsciously I registered that he was an American, his distinctive accent giving him away, even after those few words. Out of habit I quickly cast a silencing charm, that would keep muggles from being able to hear our conversation, and hissed, “Keep it down will you!” I have learned that broadcasting my … furry little problem as James would call it, to the world at large, either wizarding or muggle is a quick way to, if I was lucky, get kicked out, and if I was not, gain a nice bruise or hex. Then, realizing that there should be no way that a vampire should be able to tell of my condition, I asked, “How can you tell?”
“Werewolf hearts tend to beat faster than humans. It takes some practice to tell the difference, so most vampires don’t go the trouble. And it is not entirely accurate - you could have been a remarkably un-athletic human. It … comes in useful on occasion though. May I ask what you are doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I responded automatically, still thrown by the new information about vampire senses.
“Ah, but I asked first,” the vampire responded, a smirk playing around his lips.
“Having a drink. And you?”
“The very same. May I ask your name?” the smirk was still there, making the wolf itch, wanting to be dominant. I shoved it back down.
I hesitated. This was, after all a vampire, and for all that I am for equal treatment of part humans, that doesn't mean that I’m stupid about it. But I had finished my beer, and started another that the bar tender had so thoughtfully provided, and I was a little buzzed, and a little tired, and the wolf was pawing at my control so I said, “Remus Lupin, Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You?”
His lips twitched. “A werewolf teacher of defense against the dark arts talking to a vampire in a bar. It sounds almost like the start of a very bad joke. I am Michael Rodriguez, tech mage, in search of a job.”
My first thought was Wizard? But he’s a vamp- oh right. Americans. Then I frowned. “Tech mage?” the term was unfamiliar.
“I was told that in Britain we aren’t very popular. I am a wizard who specializes in the combination of technology and magic. Do you think that your employer would be interested?”
“Maybe. You could ask,” I responded, truly unsure about Professor McGonagall’s opinion on the subject. For that matter, I was unsure of my own opinion on the subject. I had heard a little bit about it, witches and wizards who were striving to combine magic and technology into a happy companionship rather than one of interference. It had sounded like nonsense to me, I had seen enough muggleborns swearing at dysfunctional equipment at Hogwarts, but then it certainly was not my field of expertise (you very rarely get, say, possessed laptops).
Michael hummed under his breath, as if in thought. The rest of the evening passed in, quiet, amiable conversation, and we parted on good terms.
As I returned home to Tonks and Teddy, I was plagued by the feeling that this was not the last I would see of the vampire.
Edit: Awarded 10 Points by Lilac, on 4/9/11.
Rating: PG
Character: Remus Lupin and OC
Word Count: 1240
Warnings: Alcohol consumption
Summary: All Remus wanted was a drink after a hard transformation. What he got was a drink, a vampire, and a mystery.
A/N: Some quick googling led me to believe that wolves’ hearts beat faster than humans. If that is incorrect, please let me know and I will correct it. This is set after the seventh book, sometime between the last chapter and the epilogue, and it continues as if Remus had not died
As I walked into the bar, I inhaled sharply, letting the scents roll around in my mouth and permeate through my nose. There was the odor shared by all drinking establishments: a concoction of sweat, alcohol, vomit, and in some of the rougher ones, blood. This one was lacking that last sent, a fact I was grateful for. My senses were still sharp from my last transformation; the wolf still had a foothold in my mind. In this particular pub, there was also the strong scent of perfume, from the group of young women in the corner, a part of my mind noticed absently. Perhaps most noticeable was the lack of the strong, tangy, peculiar scent that I have come to associate with magic. It is truly unique – the best I could describe it might be in comparison with the taste of copper, or the sound of snow. This absence was because that was a muggle bar, a feature that I had carefully selected for. My change had been rough that month, and while I was fond of Mrs. Weasley, she did have the tendency to be a bit intrusive if she thought it was to your benefit. Until at least the half moon, I was determined to avoid anyone who might lead me back to the woman.
As I walked to the bar, I detected another smell. It nagged at me – I felt that I should recognize it, it was familiar, and yet, its classification escaped me. I inhaled again, this time paying more attention to the elusive scent in particular. The recognition hit me suddenly, along with the thought that I should have noticed it earlier. It was truly distinctive to my enhanced nose, the scent of vampire. Now, despite what popular fiction (especially that aimed at teenaged girls) is fond of telling you, vampires and werewolves are not mortal enemies, and we do not have any sort of cultural or inborn enmity. My interest was, however peaked. What could a vampire be doing in a muggle bar? I wondered. It occurred to me briefly that a werewolf was not exactly a common customer in a non-magical pub either, but then, I knew what I was doing there. I was avoiding the somewhat overbearing and definitely undignified coddling of Mrs. Weasley. The vampire on the other hand was a mystery. Letting my nose guide me, I did a sharp about face and headed toward the scent of vampire. Another, deeper breath informed me that the vampire had not fed for a while – at least a few months – and was likely part of the abstinence league (it was started a few centuries ago as a sort of support group for those vampires who wished to stop drinking blood). At least, I hoped so. Generally vampires do not go for werewolves, we are too likely to fight back, and too resistant to the charm that vampires share with their cousins the Veela, but still, meeting one who wants a meal tends to be a bad idea.
And there it was, a young, maybe mid-twenties or early thirties (although, with vampires, it is hard to tell. One who looks maybe twenty can be anywhere from seven centuries old to fifty), Hispanic looking man. There was also an empty seat next to him. I sat down and gestured to get the bartender’s attention.
“What can I get you?” the barkeep asked.
Considering that it was only a few days after the full moon and my control was already pretty weak, it was probably a bad idea to have anything stronger than soda. On the other hand, I really, really wanted a drink. “A pint beer please. Whatever you have on tap is fine.”
While slowly sipped my drink, I studied the man beside me out of the corner of my eye. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a t-shirt, with the pasty, unhealthy look of a vampire that was not helped by his abstinence. Still, as all vampires were, the man was striking.
“Can I help you, werewolf?”
I jumped, turning quickly to see the speaker of the question. It was the vampire. Subconsciously I registered that he was an American, his distinctive accent giving him away, even after those few words. Out of habit I quickly cast a silencing charm, that would keep muggles from being able to hear our conversation, and hissed, “Keep it down will you!” I have learned that broadcasting my … furry little problem as James would call it, to the world at large, either wizarding or muggle is a quick way to, if I was lucky, get kicked out, and if I was not, gain a nice bruise or hex. Then, realizing that there should be no way that a vampire should be able to tell of my condition, I asked, “How can you tell?”
“Werewolf hearts tend to beat faster than humans. It takes some practice to tell the difference, so most vampires don’t go the trouble. And it is not entirely accurate - you could have been a remarkably un-athletic human. It … comes in useful on occasion though. May I ask what you are doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” I responded automatically, still thrown by the new information about vampire senses.
“Ah, but I asked first,” the vampire responded, a smirk playing around his lips.
“Having a drink. And you?”
“The very same. May I ask your name?” the smirk was still there, making the wolf itch, wanting to be dominant. I shoved it back down.
I hesitated. This was, after all a vampire, and for all that I am for equal treatment of part humans, that doesn't mean that I’m stupid about it. But I had finished my beer, and started another that the bar tender had so thoughtfully provided, and I was a little buzzed, and a little tired, and the wolf was pawing at my control so I said, “Remus Lupin, Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You?”
His lips twitched. “A werewolf teacher of defense against the dark arts talking to a vampire in a bar. It sounds almost like the start of a very bad joke. I am Michael Rodriguez, tech mage, in search of a job.”
My first thought was Wizard? But he’s a vamp- oh right. Americans. Then I frowned. “Tech mage?” the term was unfamiliar.
“I was told that in Britain we aren’t very popular. I am a wizard who specializes in the combination of technology and magic. Do you think that your employer would be interested?”
“Maybe. You could ask,” I responded, truly unsure about Professor McGonagall’s opinion on the subject. For that matter, I was unsure of my own opinion on the subject. I had heard a little bit about it, witches and wizards who were striving to combine magic and technology into a happy companionship rather than one of interference. It had sounded like nonsense to me, I had seen enough muggleborns swearing at dysfunctional equipment at Hogwarts, but then it certainly was not my field of expertise (you very rarely get, say, possessed laptops).
Michael hummed under his breath, as if in thought. The rest of the evening passed in, quiet, amiable conversation, and we parted on good terms.
As I returned home to Tonks and Teddy, I was plagued by the feeling that this was not the last I would see of the vampire.
Edit: Awarded 10 Points by Lilac, on 4/9/11.